deadtired-highkeyenergetic

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Feelings

Arcane. Yes. More brain rot as if I didn't have enough already.

Summary: Young!Silco x reader, Silco confesses to a certain extent when reader is drunk and very unlikely to remember the confession

You're a fighter, he knows that well. Those who lived in the underground tended to be such, for survival's sake. You're a survivor, he knows that well. You were still alive after all, and that was the mark of a survivor. So why did his chest tighten every time he saw you do a dangerous thing he knew you'd done a thousand times before? Why did his heart jump to his throat every time he saw you fight?

Why did his stomach flutter every time you looked back at him?

As you downed yet another glass of your favourite drink, the familiar smell wafting from your breath, he feels his throat constrict at the closeness of it all. Your free hand is mere inches away from his own hand, fingers tapping on the wooden counter top of the bar, your shoulder brushing against his. If he concentrates hard enough, he swears he can feel your warmth, then again it might be the chill of the night playing tricks on him. Still, it doesn't take away the fact that you are so close to him, knocking back shot after shot.

"How many?" Vander asks, gesturing towards you.

"Not enough," you slur, shoving the now empty cup towards him.

"Eight," Silco answers without hesitation, reaching over to take the cup away.

"Not enough," you mumble again, clumsily grasping for your cup.

"I think otherwise," Silco frowns, passing the cup to Vander who leaves the two of you alone to start cleaning up the bar. It's about time The Last Drop closes anyways, and Vander knows it's easier for his brother to talk openly to you when he isn't around. Felicia sends Vander a knowing wink and continues pretending to not eavesdrop on the juicy conversation, but fails to hide her growing smile. Vander huffs in amusement and decides to give the two some privacy, grabbing the woman's arm and gently hauling her away, much to her annoyance.

"You've had enough for tonight," Silco sighs, trying to drag you off the stool to which you stubbornly cling.

"Nooooo!" You whine, pouting at him which causes the butterflies in his stomach to go off at an alarming rate. Still, he finds a way to overcome that weakness, if only for a moment, and properly yanks you away. You stumble into him, head smacking into his shoulder and he grunts.

"You're heavy," he grumbles, slinging your left arm over his shoulder.

"I'm not heavy, you're heavy," you cackle, clearly thinking your comeback is very clever. He rolls his eyes, wondering why he even bothers sometimes but then he sees the way your eyes crinkle as you laugh and his heart melts again. He starts to make his way to the spare bed in his and Vander's shared apartment, the route familiar due to the number of times he's hauled your drunk self there. You stumble every now and then, groaning at the headache that's starting to kick in and nearly smack him in the face for some unknown reason but Silco still gets you to your destination, dropping you unceremoniously on the bed.

"Don't move," he says sternly, going to the wardrobe to take a fresh set of clothes for you.

"Hehe." He can hear you giggle, and from the way your giggles start to become muffled, he's pretty sure you've gone ahead and moved anyways. He sighs, shaking his head and turns around with your clothes draped over his arm to find that you've started rolling around on the bed. It's amusing, to see you drunkenly try to wrap yourself in the blanket as you roll about but then that feeling quickly gets replaced by fear when you roll off the bed and hit the floor with a yelp of pain.

He rushes over immediately, your clothes haphazardly thrown onto the bed and unwraps you from your blanket tangle, checking you over for any injuries. Fortunately, there's none aside from a bruise that is sure to form on your forehead where the floor had come up to meet it, and Silco is relieved. Not that he would ever tell you that, of course.

He helps you back onto the bed, listening as you whine about how your head hurts even more now and holds himself from flicking you in the forehead. Right now, he needs to ensure you don't throw up all over yourself and that you wake up tomorrow with as little issue as possible. Luckily, tonight you've decided to be cooperative, so it doesn't take long for Silco to change you into your new set of clothes and get you to lie down on the bed without rolling around.

"M sorry."

"For?"

"Everything."

"Everything?" He frowns, trying to recall a reason for you to be like this. You take it the wrong way and curl into a ball, shying away from him. He reaches out but you pull away, shaking your head.

"You always have to clean up after me," you mumble sadly. "I'm such a burden."

"Don't you dare say that about yourself!" Silco snaps, and immediately regrets it as you skitter as far away from him as the bed allows. He takes a deep breath, pushing the anger he feels at himself for not noticing your feelings earlier and centers himself. He has to rectify this mistake, make you see yourself the way he sees you, if only so that he can see a smile on your face again tonight.

"You're not a burden," he says, gently taking your hand.

"As if," you mutter, but don't let go of his hand.

"I mean it. I clean up after you because I —" The words get lodged in his throat. He swallows, and tries again. "I — I care for you."

There. It's out now. The reason why he always steals glances at you, the reason why he's always chiding you, the reason why he gets all worried whenever you throw yourself into danger without a care in the world.

Nobody cares if we live or die, you had said before, we're but specks of dust to Piltover, lost to the wind forever if we die and insignificant if we live.

But we are not. We're just as human as they are, he'd replied.

And that's why there's that dream of Zaun, isn't it? Your smile had lit the murky grey of the underground up. A toast, to a Zaun reality.

A toast. That was the first time he had seen you drunk, and you'd nearly fallen into the waters below. Silco had caught you just in time, staring into the depths of your eyes and saw the fire that burned behind them despite how drunk you were.

"You're special to me, in a different way from Felicia and Vander." He knows you won't remember this conversation, and that brings him a small comfort, even if there's a part of him that wants you to remember it. You look up at him, taking in the way his gaze softens, feel his hand give yours a squeeze, and feel a fuzzy feeling in your chest that's definitely not from the alcohol.

"Special," you echo. He gives you a nod, silent but encouraging. You squeeze his hand back, liking the way the word rolls off your tongue, but you like the way his name rolls off your tongue better.

"Silco," you say, unsure of what to follow the word up with. He raises an eyebrow, and huffs with amusement when he sees the way you struggle to keep your eyes open. The alcohol is catching up with you, it's only a matter of time before you knock out and this night will be lost to the wind.

"Stay, please." You whisper, feeling sleep tugging at your body.

"Always." It's a promise not just for tonight, but for the rest of your lives, whether you know it or not.

Always.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

First Snow

The Transformers OC brainrot is real

It's colder than usual, Shadowblade notes. The land is covered with a thin layer of white, the trees have lost their green outer shells that she vaguely remembers the humans calling leaves, leaving only their brown inner forms that are called…sticks? No that's not the word. Twigs? Oh wait, branches. Yes, branches. She swears the thicker brown things are called something else but she can't remember, and neither can she be bothered to search for the word.

Trekking onwards towards the Energon signal, her nose wrinkles as the wind picks up, taking the scents in the wrong direction and she scowls, annoyed. Whenever the wind blows, the air gets colder and she's never been one for the cold. Warmer temperatures helped her Energon flow better, the adrenaline pumped harder, and the thrill of a hunt coursing through her feel so much more alive. Still, she has a mission to complete and she isn't going back to base empty-handed.

As she nears the signal, the wind picks up and white stuff begins falling from the sky all around her. She shivers, armour plates rattling and mutters a curse under her breath. It's getting colder, and she would much rather be away from all this cold, preferably in the warm embrace of her lover but she knows he has better things to do than coddle her. Although he could be convinced to snuggle with her tonight, she's sure of that. He's always found it hard to deny her, and she found it amusing.

She quickly pushes through the white that's starting to pile up at an alarming speed, hoping to get to the signal before she freezes her aft off but something about the white stuff intrigues her. Maybe it's the way it turns to water on her armour, or its delicateness, or just the fact that there's nothing like this back on Cybertron but the sight of it falling all around her, disappearing into a sea of its brethren amazes her to no end.

Reaching up with a servo, she catches one of the white things, admiring the way it crumbles around her digit. Yet another fragile thing, she hums to herself, watching as another lands on her forearm, disappearing into colourless liquid the moment it touches her silver armour.

Pretty, is all she can think. Fragile yet beautiful, with an almost ethereal glow to them as the sun rises, casting its golden light. The way the trees filter the light, it's captivating. The ground is bathed in the sun's light, the brown of the trees' branches turning almost golden, it reminds her of this world's beauty but it also reminds her that she's a long way from Cybertron — her home.

Sorrow wells up within her, a pang within her spark but she brushes it off. Cybertron is lost, but the war rages on. As her brother once said, to be distracted from the fight is to beg death to come and claim oneself, and she doesn't intend to die yet.

Her digits dance over the white coating on the tree, sharp claws slicing through the substance with ease and leaves claw marks behind. She notices that the liquid the white substance turns into upon contact with her armour lingers on the tips of her digits and in a moment of sheer reckless curiosity, she licks it. Fortunately, it does no harm to her, although she can picture Ratchet coming after her with a wrench for not thinking it through and the disappointed look on Optimus' face. She really shouldn't tell them about this. Still, a part of her wants to, if only so that she can see if the scene plays out exactly like how she's pictured it.

Well, she has time to ponder about it as she finds that Energon deposit. If she can find it amidst this…increasing storm. She isn't about to freeze to death when she's fought monsters and emerged victorious, that would be a stupid way to go. So she trudges on, despising the way the wind is starting to howl in her audials and utters more choice curses she's learnt from the Pits. The white substance is starting to get into her optic, and Primus be damned if she was going to go blind because of some Earth storm.

The more she walks, the more she hates this white substance that keeps swirling around her. It was beautiful once, she won't deny it, but it's becoming increasingly irritating and cold. Especially cold. Her old injuries are starting to flare up, she swears she isn't that old, she just has a lot of scars from her time in the Pits that aren't helping in this weather. Yeah, that's the reason. No other reason exists.

After what feels like forever, she finds the place where the Energon signal is originating from. A cave, a shelter from the roaring white storm outside and she sighs in relief, nearly collapsing on the ground. Energon crystals glow a gentle blue in the darkness of the cave and she begins to collect them, casually nibbling on a small piece along the way. It feels nice, to be somewhat out of the cold and the storm, but she can still feel the chill of the wind. If only the cave was deeper so she could burrow inside and hide away from the cold, but alas, no.

Shadowblade finishes collating all the Energon crystals she can find and is about to contact the base for a Groundbridge when she realises the storm has ended. Sunlight pokes through the mouth of the cave, illuminating the scene before her and she peeps out, curious.

It's less cold now, kind of. That's good. Some trees are bent and broken from the storm, drenched in white but she likes the way they seemingly frame the mouth of the cave. Her audials twitch as the feet patter on her left and an Earth creature scampers across the ground, leaving footprints in the white that blankets the ground. She peers at it, marvelling at how tiny the creature is when a rustling sound catches her attention and the next thing she knows, a large pile of white is dropped on her.

She snarls at the sudden freezing feeling that sends chills up her spine, hackles raised and utters a couple of curses she learnt from the deepest parts of the Pits. That's it. Enough Earth weather. She's heading back to base. No more of this…white substance that she hasn't bothered to find the name of.

Back in the warmth of the base, she heads straight for the wash racks, eager to get the white substance off her when one of the human children pipes up.

"Did snow get dropped on your head?"

"What is snow?"

"You know, the white stuff on you?"

She bares her fangs into a snarl, claws curling before stalking off to the wash racks, refusing to let this conversation go any further. She's done with this. She will not suffer any more embarrassment, especially not from this…snow.

"She did get snow dropped on her head! I knew it!"

Optimus' optics crinkle as he allows himself a small smile of mirth and Ratchet snorts, knowing how much Shadowblade despises the cold.

"About time she got what she deserved for messing up my medbay."

"That was a long time ago, old friend. Surely holding onto a grudge for so long starts to wear you down."

"Oh no, not when it comes to her. I'll operate on sheer spite if I have to. You know she'll do the same."

"Unfortunately so."

A howl suddenly tears through the base followed by a string of swears and Ratchet smiles, "I suppose I'll get what's coming to me too."

Optimus sighs as the others look at them, concerned. "I will go and check up on her." With that, he hurriedly leaves in the direction of the wash rack, lest it be destroyed with claws.

Ratchet simply grins victoriously at the others, his smile unnerving. "Shadowblade and the cold don't mix well. A cold wash, however, fits into the wash racks."

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Past and Present

A very big thank you to @poetnix29 for providing me with a source of inspiration in the form of one of their poems (linked below). Do go check it out, especially if you're a transformers/megop fan all the poems are rly good I promise you.

I did make Megs a little crazy in this fic but I'm pretty sure eons of war will drive anyone a little crazy yea?

Megatron can't help it, his spark thrums every time the familiar flash of red and blue appears in his vision. Even though he's covered in Energon, both his and his enemies', the Prime is still a sight to behold. The Autobot leader's Energon axe swings gracefully through the air, slicing a blaster in half before tearing through metal and wires alike before coming down to deflect a blade aimed at his legs.

Beautiful, is all the Decepticon leader can think, even as Autobots hound him from all sides. They are nothing but pests, blocking his view of the only one who truly matters. He hungers to know the emotions the stoic Prime hides behind his battle mask, to taste the anger he knows for certain is lurking behind the calm facade. He loves pushing Optimus to his limits, testing the boundaries for that sweet satisfaction of knowing he is the only one who can bring the Prime to life.

"Megatron!" Ah, there it is, the oh so familiar battle cry. The Prime has finally made his way over, blue optics blazing with a fury reserved only for him and Megatron feels special. The Decepticon warlord smirks, swatting away the annoying Autobot who tries to attack him and focuses on the mech in front of him.

"Optimus," he very nearly purrs. Megatron shoves away the thought of how similar Orion and Optimus' optics look when angry and deletes it, Megatronus and Orion are dead now, replaced by leaders of opposing factions who are determined to kill one another to win this wretched war. Still, Megatron can't stop thinking of how the light reflects off the red and blue armour at just the perfect angle, giving the Prime a sense of divinity.

Said divine figure had a deep gash in his shoulder he could have well avoided had he not pushed one of his precious Autobots out of the way of the explosion, and he now places himself between Megatron and the annoying Autobot, urging the pest to run.

That damned selfless nature of his, Megatron muses, once he had thought it endearing, but now he found it irritating. He unsheathes his blade, licking his fangs in anticipation for the fight to come. The only opponent to ever get him this fired up is Optimus, and he's almost afraid to find out what happens when he kills the Prime, but it's not as though he's not going to try anyways. He knows they're both difficult to kill, they've survived time and time again where most could not, and that eases his spark just enough for him to bring his flail down with all the might he can muster.

He relishes in the way it punches through armour, smashing apart metal and ripping through wires, eliciting a grunt of pain and for a moment, he sees the bright blue optics wince in pain, but the mask quickly slips back on and Megatron has to dodge a swipe from the Energon axe. He laughs, closing the gap so that his fists can continue the work his flail has started and feels the rush of air as a fist nearly clocks him in the cheek. He retaliates with a punch of his own which also misses, and he can feel the thrill of battle coursing through his veins.

This is how it's meant to be, a deadly dance of death, a clash of weapons, an exchange of fists, nothing else can satiate him, and judging from his opponent's gaze, the same goes for the Prime. He sidesteps yet another blow, laughing at the growl of irritation from the usually calm Prime and rams into him, tackling the red and blue figure to the ground.

Optimus throws him off with a grunt, but Megatron lands on his feet, fusion cannon already charging up. Optimus quickly fires a shot of his own from his blaster, catching the Decepticon warlord in the shoulder. The Prime doesn't give him a moment to rest and charges forward, slashing open a cut on his cheek. Megatron simply grins, the sting of the wound only serving as fuel to strengthen his attacks and licks the Energon that drips into his mouth, sending Optimus reeling with a punch to the stomach area.

How does Optimus taste, he wonders, watching as more Energon oozes from the Prime's injuries. He's never been one to obsess over anything, but his arch nemesis is slowly starting to change that. He hates how all he can think about now is Optimus, from the way his hands curl into fists to the way he shifts into a defensive stance. He can see the scratches on the red and blue armour amidst the wounds that litter the Prime's frame, the little twitches of his audial finials as he tries to formulate a strategy to take his enemy down.

He grins, but it's quickly wiped away when Optimus staggers slightly. His spark aches and his lips curl into a frown, but the worry is quickly replaced by white hot hate when the Autobot symbol on Optimus' shoulder flashes into view.

Orion is no more, he reminds himself, all that remains is the traitor Optimus Prime. Still, a part of him wants to linger on the past and leave this war behind, but he knows that future has long been buried in the ashes of war. He moves to close the gap so that he can rip the damn symbol into pieces but then a blade swipes at him and he leaps backwards, avoiding the blow.

Typical Optimus, still able to fight back despite the numerous injuries that would have rendered a normal bot unable to move.

His lips curl when he sees the fire in the light blue optics that once looked upon him with nothing but pure adoration and he swings his own blade, wanting nothing more than to split the orbs apart but another figure jumps into the fray, blocking the blow. Other Autobots scramble to get their precious leader to safety and Megatron watches them go, knowing this will not be the last time he and Optimus cross blades.

This war will go on until one of them inevitably falls, even if it means they are the last ones remaining on the battlefield. Destiny has carved this path out for them, star-crossed lovers to enemies, kindred souls ripped apart by the hand of fate, and Megatron regrets nothing. He would do this all over again, given the chance, to see the look of seething fury upon the usually impassive face of Optimus Prime, to devour the look of devastation upon the Prime's face as he rips apart the innocent, to know that he would be the only one Optimus would ever think about.

He laughs, tearing open the healing injury on his cheek as it dawns on him. They are bound indeed, by the red string of fate, whether as lovers or enemies, and neither can run from the other. He will forever chase Optimus, and Optimus will forever chase him. They will obsess over each other for all eternity, never able to wipe the other's past self from their memory, but never able to stop trying to kill one another because they both know the war will not end otherwise.

Megatron laughs and laughs at this new revelation, but Megatronus weeps for the past that can never be reclaimed.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

hihi!! Can I request Astarion with someone who has ptsd? Maybe him trying to comfort them or something? As someone with it I usually just keep it to myself lol

Hiiiii sorry I took forever to answer this. Sending you virtual hugs alongside this fic, hope it makes you feel just that little bit better. Here's your vampire comforter!

It's kicking in again. The weakness you try so hard to hide from everyone else, afraid of the ostracisation you're sure will follow should they know of it. You feel your throat constrict, wheezing as you struggle to suck air into your lungs. Your vision is a blur, your mind racing and your body is frozen to the spot.

You hate this. The feeling of blood freezing in your veins, the inability to move, to fight back, it makes you feel completely helpless and being completely helpless is never a good thing. Your heart hammers in your chest, blood roaring in your ears as you struggle to put one foot in front of the other. Your throat is dry, flashbacks tearing your mind apart and you barely feel your body tip forward but something, no someone, catches you before you hit the ground.

"Falling for me again, darling?" His honeyed words are muffled, ringing in your ears. Your skin prickles where he touched you and you pull away quickly, curling into a tight ball. Clapping your hands over your ears, you try to drown out the voices, whimpering hoarsely and suddenly, your throat seizes up. Your lungs scream for air but no matter how fast you breathe, no air makes its way into them.

You're going to die. You're going to die. You're going to die.

"Darling, focus on my voice. Find me, like you always do." A quiet gentle voice cuts through the haze, reaching out to you from beyond the veil. You strain your ears to pinpoint where it's coming from, the voice familiar.

Astarion.

That singular thought drives you forwards, grasping in the direction of his voice.

"That's it, darling. That's it. Keep going, you're almost there. Don't forget to breathe, you still need that air." His voice is strangely comforting, even with all the teasing. With an unusual gentleness, he guides your breathing, whispering reassurances into your ear.

"I'm right here, darling. I'm not going anywhere, I'm not leaving you alone to face this."

When your vision swims back into focus, it's just you and him. You're huddled on the ground, knees pressing against your chest while he sits on said ground next to you. His eyes are filled with concern, a hand resting on your back.

"Darling?" Astarion murmurs.

"Star —" You rasp, devolving into a fit of coughing. He panics for a moment, fumbling for a flask of water in his bag and thrusts the flask into your shaking hands. You struggle to open the flask, still trying to calm yourself down and Astarion leans over, opening the flask for you. All snark is gone, replaced by genuine worry and seriousness as he watches you gulp the water down.

Once the flask is empty, he holds out a hand and you place the flask in it. He puts the flask down and holds his hand out again.

"Take my hand when you're comfortable," he says softly, and silence falls over the both of you. You slowly reach over, feeling his cold fingers gently curl around your hand and tug you towards him. Wordlessly, you sink into his embrace, feeling the tears start to prick the corners of your eyes.

Astarion tentatively wraps his arms around you, relaxing only when you press against him. He buries his face into your hair, hugging you tightly and traces random patterns on your skin. You bite back the tears, gripping his arm but a whimper still escapes your lips anyways and you feel your vampire lover curl around you, gentle kisses pressed against your head.

"It's alright, no one else is here. Let it all out."

His words are enough to burst the dam and you find yourself crying into his chest, clutching at his shirt as each wail tears your body apart. You've never allowed yourself to cry like this before, but this feels…cathartic, and knowing that your lover is right there for you to lean on only serves to comfort you further. Your tears stain his pristine shirt and you babble an apology, voice thick from crying but he hushes you, stroking your hair in an attempt to comfort you.

He holds you close, a hand resting on the back of your head as the last of your cries fade into sniffles, gently rocking you as he hums a lullaby he thought he'd long forgotten. The lullaby's words are lost to him, but the tune alone helps you calm down, and when you next look up at him with puffy eyes, he smiles at you softly.

"Feeling better, darling?" He presses a kiss to your forehead, gazing at you with a fondness you never knew he had in him. He gently wipes away the tears that have fallen, cradling your cheeks in his hands and presses his forehead against yours. You reach up to rest your hands on his, basking in the quiet comfort of your vampire lover.

"Yeah," you croak out. "Feeling better."

He nuzzles you and you lean in, inhaling the familiar scent of bergamot, rosemary and brandy. Your arms wrap around his waist, holding him close. You feel him rest his head on top of yours, and the both of you simply stay like this, embracing each other until the sun dips beneath the horizon and the stars come out.

"Stay a little longer, please?" You whisper, feeling him shift.

"Of course, darling," he whispers back. You smile, a wave of relief washing over you at his words. He wasn't going to leave you, he didn't see you as a burden, he was choosing to remain by your side.

Letting out a deep breath, you look up at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "thank you."

"Anything for you, love," he purrs.

"I mean it. Thank you for not abandoning me, for staying with me through all…this, for…for everything really." Your words catch him off guard and the tips of his ears turn red. He huffs, trying to pretend that your words didn't affect him and gives you a peck on the top of your head.

"I'm only doing this because you did it for me," he mutters, hiding his face from you.

"Doesn't mean I can't thank you," you chuckle, brushing his silvery white locks aside so you have an unobstructed view of his face. He lets you catch a glimpse of his shy smile, fangs peeking out and you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his lips.

"I love you."

He blinks, startled at your confession and splutters, struggling to find a suitable response. You simply smile at him, giving his hand a squeeze and his cheeks flush, but he returns the gesture and continues holding onto your hand tightly afterwards, refusing to let go.

The both of you may be broken, shattered by the past but it doesn't mean you can't try to put the pieces back together, with each other's help. The scars will forever remain, but they don't have to define either of you, they don't have to control your lives, and they don't have to separate you from him.

You know that no matter what, he will stay by your side, even on the bleakest of days, on the days where your past tears you apart, and you vow to do the same for him. As you walk back to camp holding his hand, you make that silent promise and unbeknownst to you, he makes the exact same promise. He won't ever let you feel like a burden, you won't ever let him feel alone. He won't ever leave your side, you won't ever let him fight alone.

He will love you with everything he has, and you will love him with every breath you take until the end of days.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

To Those About To Die

Transformers is now sharing my limited number of brain cells with bg3. Just dropping an oc fic before going back to that Astarion fic I'm in the middle of writing.

There's a certain sort of bliss that is gained from knowing one may die the next day. Shadowblade tipped her cube backwards, feeling the highgrade slide down her throat and pool in her tank, warming it up. Around her, bots knocked back cube after cube of highgrade, filling the mess hall with rambunctious chatter and laughter. She let them indulge, after all, this may just be their last day.

"You're awfully quiet." A voice sound behind her. Her ears twitch and she lets the figure sit next to her. The figure hands her another cube of highgrade which she accepts with a nod of gratitude.

"It's possibly our last night alive, why are you here?" She snorts, keeping her gaze trained on the others.

"Well, I thought I'd check up on our glorious leader since she's hiding here in the corner instead of being front and center of the celebration." The figure, Stormwind, smiles, holding his cube of highgrade out. "A toast? To tomorrow."

"To tomorrow," she echoes, their cubes clinking. Stormwind grins, downing the entire cube before heading off to find Flamewar. Shadowblade waves him goodbye before turning her attention to the newcomer — Optimus Prime himself.

"Optimus," she greets with a nod.

"Shadowblade." His voice is filled with sorrow.

"I'm surprised you came." She offers him her half-drunk cube but he graciously refuses.

"They—you—all are still my Autobots. I would rather not sacrifice any of you." Optimus frowns. "There has to be another way—"

"There is no other way. This is war, Optimus. Sacrifices have to be made or you will never win." Shadowblade's ears flatten against her helm, her glossa peeled back to reveal fangs. "We chose to take up this mission, don't spit upon our choice."

"I wasn't—"

"You are. You're denying our choice to live and die how we want to. All of us here, we know what we're signing up for, we know we may not see the end of tomorrow but we still choose to fight. Back in the Pits, I was forced to fight, forced to enter the arena knowing I may not leave it alive. I was forced to die each and every day. At least this time, I'm choosing to my fight. I'm choosing my death, I'm choosing how I die." Her yellow optics shine with a fierce gleam. "Let me, let us have this choice."

"I would rather none of you die," Optimus murmurs, placing a servo on her forearm.

She laughs, but shoots him a look of gratitude and places a servo on top of his, giving it a gentle squeeze. He looks at her, sorrow in his optics and her spark skips a beat. The only Cybertronian to ever care whether she lived or died was right here, begging her to stay with him and yet she was choosing to face death.

"Don't worry about me." The words almost get stuck in her throat. She removes his servo from its place on her forearm. "Won't be the first or the last time I'm going to stare death right in the optic."

It will be the first time anyone's cared about whether she comes out on the other side.

"It doesn't mean you have to do this."

"You know there's no other way. The Ark has to take off, it's the Autobot cause's only chance of survival, and the Decepticons know that. They will do anything to ensure it gets destroyed. I'm one of the best fighters you have and one of the few who have nothing left to lose, I have to be there tomorrow."

Optimus' gaze lowers. He knows she's right, to a certain extent, but still, he wishes things could be different. Shadowblade was special to him, one of the few Autobots he had known before becoming a Prime and one of the few he leaned on when times were hard. To lose someone as precious as her…he didn't want to admit it but it hurt. He knew he had to place the needs of the many over his own needs, it was his duty as a Prime, but he hated how it tore him apart on the inside. He wanted nothing more than to abandon everything if it meant he could spend the rest of his life with the cyberwolf but to turn his back on those who had placed their trust in him, it would be betrayal of the highest order and he knew Shadowblade would kill him for that.

"You…have me to lose," he whispers. Her sharp ears catch it and she huffs, smiling ever so slightly.

"Find someone better. There's plenty of those out there, and many of them are vying for your attention. You'll find one that suits your tastes." Shadowblade grins, but he can see the sadness in her optics, the hurt that she's trying to hide for his sake.

"But there's no one like you."

A blush creeps onto her cheeks, turning them slightly blue. She looks away, but Optimus can see the small shy smile that has formed on her faceplate. He reaches out to touch her, servo gently slipping into hers and holds it tightly. He's never said the three words to her before, and now they quiver on the tip of his tongue, threatening to fall out. He doesn't want to lose the relationship, but he also doesn't want to squander the opportunity and never get to tell her his feelings.

"I should go and talk with the others. Knowing their personalities more will help with devising the battle strategy." She removes herself from the moment and rises to her pedes, but not before finishing her cube of highgrade. "Enjoy yourself."

And off the cyberwolf goes, forging ahead as always while Optimus watches her fading figure. She had always been focused on what's ahead, leaving the past behind, leaving her shackles behind. He was the one who always looked behind, at the days when he, Megatronus and her were the best of friends, when there had been no war.

Shadowblade can feel his gaze upon her and pushes the thought to the back of her processor. Such emotions will only serve to weaken her resolve, and she cannot falter, not when the moment is so close. She slips through the crowd, pushing through couples saying their last goodbyes, friends embracing each other and finds the one she is looking for.

"Swiftstrike. I'm surprised to see you here."

The jet turns, grinning. "And why would I not be here? This is the party of the dead, there's no place more fitting for the likes of me and you."

"More?" He offers her a cube of strong highgrade.

She takes it, sipping at the fiery blue liquid. "Tomorrow's battlefield is where we belong, not here."

He laughs, "what's wrong with enjoying ourselves a little before we die? Drink up, like the old times."

"Like the old times," she echoes, taking a gulp. She winces as the liquid burns her throat on its way down, making her optics water but she refuses to admit any weakness.

Swiftstrike grins, his sharp fangs glinting in the light and claps her on her shoulder. "Death is nothing new to us former gladiators. Tomorrow, we face it head-on, and whether we win or not, well that depends on how well we fight. As always."

"At least we get to choose this fight with death."

He laughs, harder this time. "Still hung up about that huh. Ever the idealist."

"I'm no idealist. I simply want to choose what I do with my life. Is that too much to ask?"

"We always had a choice. It was just two shitty choices — die by combat or die by execution. This time we have better choices — die by combat or live." He snorts. "But the gladiator in us will never let us choose anything that's not dying by combat."

"That's only if we haven't found anything to live for." Her yellow optics pierce through him, a fire he's never seen before burning in them. He raises an optic ridge in surprise, then slaps her hard on the back, sending her stumbling forwards.

"Who is it?" Swiftstrike is grinning widely, optics shining in amusement. "Spill."

Shadowblade rolls her optics, punching him in the shoulder. Hard. "I'm not telling you."

"As if." He punches her back. "Is it Stormwind?"

"You know he's got his optics on Flamewar."

"Wheeljack?"

"Frag off."

"Ultra Magnus?"

"I'd rather die."

"Hmm…who have you been talking to recently…ah Optimus Prime?"

"Shut it."

"You're blushing. I win!" He crows, knocking back another cube of highgrade.

"No I'm not!"

"Yes you are!" He cackles. "The great Shadowblade, the Wolf of Kaon, blushing because she has a little crush on the Prime himself!"

"Quiet!" She snaps, harder than intended but it only makes Swiftstrike laugh even more. She gives him a shove and he shoves back, laughing all the way.

"Ah, to have a crush on someone. How cute, little wolf." Swiftstrike pats her on the helm. "I'm surprised you volunteered for this mission, and even decided to lead it."

"I'm one of the few who can. If…if the Autobots, if Optimus is to survive this war, it has to be done." Shadowblade grows quiet, her face solemn. Swiftstrike sighs, then places a servo on her shoulder.

"Look. I can take your place. You don't have to be so selfless."

"I'm not—!"

"So a part of you still wants to die. Don't deny it." Swiftstrike shakes his helm with a snort. "I won't tell you to accept it, but I will tell you to think about the ones you'll leave behind. The ones you care about at least."

"It's because I care about them that I choose to do this!" The cyberwolf snaps. "You know me, you know I wouldn't just sacrifice myself for some random stranger."

"I also know that dying and leaving the ones you care about behind is pathetic."

"You—!"

"You know I'm right."

Shadowblade looks away, gaze downcast. Swiftstrike sighs, handing her a cube of highgrade which she knocks back immediately.

"Still, I won't stop you if it's what you want to do. It'll be an honour, to die fighting by your side." The former gladiator pats her on the back before taking his leave, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She glances at the bots who have chosen to face death tomorrow, with or without her, and searches the corners of the room for a certain bot, spotting his familiar red and blue frame seated exactly where she had left him. She starts to move towards him, catching herself at the last second and turns to eavesdrop on the conversations happening around her.

She learns of a couple who are prepared to die side by side, she learns of a grieving friend who chooses to go onto the battlefield tomorrow with a death wish so that they can join their friend in the Allspark, she learns of a group of friends who have no one but each other and are willing to die for the Autobot cause.

Shadowblade slips out for some fresh air, holding back the tears that threaten to spill over. She will be one of the few who will leave loved ones behind, she will be one of the few who will die alone tomorrow. Then again she has always been alone, at least from the moment she defected to the Autobots. Back then, she had Megatron, her brother, who swore never to leave her, who betrayed her as much as she betrayed him, who cast her out, and now…and now she had no one.

"It's quite the view, isn't it?" A low voice asks.

"It is." She replies. The red and blue figure inches closer until his shoulder presses against hers and she leans in, grateful for the comfort. He places a servo on top of hers, thumb brushing over the warm metal.

"Whatever your decision, I will support you, just as I promised."

She blinks at him, then breaks out into a smile. Thank you, she mouths, and turns back to look at the night sky. Her last moment of peace, savoured with the one whom she has given her whole life to. She could ask for nothing more.

"Just know that you have long paid your debt to the Autobots. You have nothing prove, nothing to make up for anymore." His words bring a tear to her optic which she quickly wipes away, pretending as though nothing happened.

"Optimus…" She swallows, uncertain about how to phrase her words.

"Yes, Shadowblade?"

"I…" Who knew it was so difficult to just say three simple words. She had faced down giants, faced death a thousand times over, and yet three simple words had defeated her.

"It's alright. You don't have to say it if you can't. Don't force yourself." He smiles reassuringly, and it only infuriates her more.

"I have to! It's probably going to be the last chance I get! I…I…I! Love! You!" It comes out nothing like how she had imagined it. Her delivery sounded so much better in her helm, so much more confident, self-assured, and yet this iteration made the Prime laugh.

It is a nice sound, she thinks, hearing Optimus laugh. If only it could last forever. At least I managed to coax one out of him before it's all over.

He beams at her once he's calmed down, leans in and whispers the same three words before pressing his glossa against hers. She kisses back fervently, desperately, claws digging slightly into his armour as she pulls him close, savouring the moment.

When they pull apart, Optimus looks at her with such adoration in his optics that Shadowblade almost doubts her decision to join tomorrow's battlefield but she remembers the commitment the other bots in the mess hall have made and steels her resolve.

"I'm glad I managed to tell you how I feel before we parted ways," Optimus presses his forehelm to hers, optics closed.

"Same here." She whispers back, cradling his faceplates in her servos. The two stay like that for a while, in the quiet night away from the bustle of the mess hall until someone calls for Shadowblade.

Letting out an annoyed noise, the cyberwolf reluctantly parts with the Prime and stalks towards the bot who dared shatter the sacred moment, much to said Prime's amusement. Optics crinkling, he watches her go, pitying the bot who called for her and decides to head back to the party.

Shadowblade scowls hard at Swiftstrike, who simply grins as if he hadn't just interrupted her moment with Optimus and ushers her up onto a table, placing a cube of highgrade in her servo. The gathering of bots cry out for a speech from the one who will lead them to their deaths tomorrow, wanting words that will bolster their courage, affirm their decision about the fight ahead, and most of all, comfort to bring with them when they stare death in the face.

She looks at the cube of highgrade in her servo, then up at the waiting crowd. She'd never been one for speeches, that was more of Megatron and Optimus' thing. She preferred watching from the sides, sticking to the shadows but she had been chosen for this, chosen to lead this group of ragtag Autobots who were about to throw their lives away for a cause they fully believed in.

Raising her cube of highgrade, she takes a deep vent. This is it, there's no going back now. Glancing at Optimus in the corner who simply gives her a small nod, she locks optics with the crowd before her.

"A toast, to we who are about to die!"

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Immortality

A random thought about immortality being viewed as a curse and blessing caused this fic to be born.

Summary: You decide to tell Astarion about your immortality (immortal!Tav x Astarion)

Immortality has always been a curse for you. Watching the ones you love grow old and die for countless years has long since taken its toll on you, and to top it all off your body refuses to die. You know there's a difference between immortality and invulnerability, but with the years comes the skill of staying alive, a skill your body has honed all too well. You're not invulnerable, but you're not easily killed either, and that hasn't been working in your favour, not when you're so tired of living.

Others never suspected a thing, not when you charged into the fray, unafraid of dying. They commend you on your valour, reward you for your bravery while you curse your inability to die. It would be easy, yes, to just roll over and die or do one of those 'self-sacrifice' ploys but something within you just refused to do so.

As time went on, you built wall after wall around you, afraid of the pain that losing loved ones brings until you no longer remember what it's like to care about someone. You're fine with it, apathy makes it easier to go through life and the years past by in a blur until one day, you're taken by mind flayers and a tadpole is inserted into your eye.

It's been a while since you escaped the mind flayer ship. You've gained companions for the journey, others who too have a tadpole in their eye and seek to be rid of it and you know they've grown closer to one another, whether they want to admit it or not. You, meanwhile, have continued to maintain your distance, quickly shutting down any talk of your past and changing the subject. The others back off easily, but not a certain vampire spawn, who insists on uncovering more about you.

"Will you quit it?" You snap, downing yet another bottle of wine.

"There's something you're not telling us, and I'd quite like to know what we're dealing with," he frowns, snatching the bottle out of your hands before you can get yourself drunker.

"Says the one who refused to tell anyone that they are a vampire," you spit back, trying and failing to grab the bottle.

"I had my reasons!"

"So do I!"

Astarion sighs, finishing the bottle of wine much to your dismay and tosses the bottle behind him. "I know that look in your eyes all too well, I've seen it many times before. You want to die, don't you?"

You freeze, gaze narrowing at the vampire. "What did you say?"

"Whatever you've been through, it makes you want to die but you can't. I…know the feeling all too well."

"Shut up." You hate how you're not immune to the vampire's charm, no matter how hard you try. You've journeyed with him, grown fond of him against all odds, and he's been chipping away at your walls. The night after the encounter with Araj had been the last straw and he had let you into his heart, displaying his vulnerability before you. In turn, you had let him in a little more, wondering if it would be alright to tell another immortal your greatest secret.

Astarion wouldn't leave you like all the other had, would he? He was immortal too, being a vampire spawn, so there wasn't the fear of losing him to old age, but there was still that fear of being left behind, left alone.

"Darling I —"

"I said, shut up!" You whirl around, spit flying from your mouth. "I don't want to talk about it, and don't presume yourself so high and mighty that you can tell me what to do!"

"I didn't tell you what to do!" He shouts back, confused at the fire your words had lit in him. "You're not the only one who wonders why they have to live a life of suffering, you're not the only one who's wondered why they continue to live while everyone else dies! So stop thinking yourself special!"

Shocked at his outburst, you take a step towards him, and then realise your hand is raised, ready to hit him. His hands are covering his face, peering at you between the gaps in fear. Quickly, you lower your hand, turning away.

"Sorry," you mumble, face turning hot from shame. You'd nearly hit him, the one you'd let into your walls, the one you'd promised to keep safe.

Astarion forces himself to take a step towards you, despite his instincts screaming at him to back away, to cower in fear, and places a shaky hand in yours.

"You should leave." Your voice is quiet, barely a whisper. "We should break up, before I hurt you further."

"You haven't hurt me, and I trust you not to." He gives your hand a squeeze. "I pushed you too far, I'm sorry."

Letting out a deep sigh, you let him continue to hold your hand and turn to face him. "Star, there's something I need to tell you. I…I'm immortal."

There. It's out now. All that's left is to see his reaction.

His silence causes your heart to plummet and you remove your hand from his, heading in the direction of the camp. You shouldn't have said anything. Of course he'd abandon you after finding out your secret, everyone else did too. Now it's just a question of when he'd betray you.

"Wait, darling!" He lurches forward, grabbing your arm before you can take another step. "I — thank you, for trusting me with this secret. Knowing, well, what you are doesn't change a thing, just like how finding out I'm a vampire spawn didn't change anything between us. It would be hypocritical of me to do otherwise."

He laughs nervously, struggling to find the right words to say. Damn his inability to say something genuine without being sarcastic.

"You…still want me? Despite this curse of immortality I have?" You ask breathlessly, confused and relieved.

"Of course! Us immortals have to stick together, you know. I — I'm relieved, honestly, to learn that you're immortal. I was worried about the lifespan difference between us but now," he laughs, "now I don't have to worry about it anymore. I'm delighted, really!"

You give him a small smile, a victory in his eyes, before gripping his hand tightly. "I'm glad you feel that way. I was afraid you'd…leave me, or worse, betray me like so many did before. To know that you're willing to remain by my side and continue whatever it is we have, I…I'm grateful."

Astarion smiles back, pulling you into a hug which you return, burying your face into his shoulder. You let your walls drop fully, just for tonight in the privacy of the moment and lay your heart bare before him. He cradles you in his arms, enveloping you in his embrace and the two of you remain like that for a while, holding each other's broken pieces together until you drift off, tired from the day's events.

"I'm never leaving your side, Y/N. I promise. I'll kill anyone who tries to betray you, anyone who dares to hurt you. I'll protect you, be there for you until you no longer see immortality as a curse, and then I'll continue to be by your side for all eternity." He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against yours.

"I'm yours, forever."

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

update

Hi yes I'm still alive. Sorry for the lack of fics, was writing some oc stuff and then during my schl term break i was stuck addicted to bg3 with a friend. Schl has started again and from past experience, this means i'll be writing more so look forward to more astarion

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Destiny

Sorry all, megop angst has just been filling my head and I can't get it out. I promise more Astarion will be coming, more fluff Astarion but I need to get this angst out of the way first. I blame Transformers One for this brainrot.

Megatron rested his servo on the window, looking out at the sprawling landscape that was his domain. He watched as his army prepared for their next strike, the sound of engines revving and jets soaring through the sky filled his audials and bit back a sigh.

Why do you do this to me, Orion?

He unsheathed his blade, staring at the blade as his own reflection stared back. It wouldn't be the first time his blade would be stained with Energon, and it wouldn't be the last, but it would be the first time his blade would be stained with the Energon of one he loved so dearly.

Back in the gladiator pits, when he was Megatronus, he never allowed himself to get close to anyone, fearing that one day he might have to face them in the arena. Then the brightest star he'd ever seen in his life ducked into his quarters, calling himself Orion Pax. He'd kept the mech at bay initially, wary of anyone who was from the higher castes but the light the star gave off was far too alluring, and Megatron found himself opening up more and more, until he fell into the deep chasm called love.

He started to look forward to their meetings, started to look forward to seeing the shining pale blue optics, started to look forward to hearing the excited chatter as Orion talked about the bright future he envisioned for Cybertron, a future he wanted the gladiator to help bring to fruition. He wanted that future, but more importantly he wanted to spend that future alongside a certain bright star that had illuminated his life.

And then everything changed.

Orion had stood before the Council, the very same Council that had rejected him, and had been granted the title of a Prime. The mech had the audacity to accept the title, continue to uphold the very structure they were to tear down, and worst of all, had betrayed him.

As he left the building, Orion hadn't even bothered to call out to him. Instead, the mech had stood there, basking in the glory of his new title, leaving the one he considered more than a brother in the darkness, all alone.

Megatron ignored the pang in his spark, gritting his denta. Orion was gone now, replaced by the false Prime. The bright optimistic young data clerk had died the day Optimus Prime was born, and with him all hope for a future together. He powered up his fusion cannon, relishing in its low hum and stepped out the door, all trace of Megatronus left back in the privacy of his quarters. He'd have to kill his past young and naive self someday, or that weakness would be his downfall, and he would not be defeated, not by anyone. If Primus didn't want to give him the destiny he desired, then he would grab it with his own two servos and not let go. He didn't need anyone's aid to grasp what was his, he'd always been at it alone and this time would be no different.

The sound of engines roaring and weapons charging up sent his spark thrumming in anticipation. He could feel it in the air, his Decepticons were raring to go, eager to reclaim what was rightfully theirs, and who was he to deny them that? The Autobots would fall before them and know the wrath of the oppressed, they would know the cost of the lies they had been living in. They would be dragged from their towers, their positions of comfort and be forced to face the harsh reality of life — that they were no different from those they had looked down upon their whole lives. His Decepticons would rebuild Cybertron anew, usher it into a true Golden Age where there would be no false Primes, no caste system, no weak-minded fools deciding the fate of the whole population.

A Cybtertron where no one would ever be unwillingly made into entertainment for the masses. A Cybertron where only those who were truly strong would rule. A Decepticon Cybtertron.

Optimus Prime looked at his newly added weapons arsenal, anxiety gnawing away at him. He never wanted it to come to this, come to a war, but Megatron had been the one to declare it, and he could do nothing to stop the Decepticon leader's destruction except to fight him. Or so his officers said. He hated fighting, hated the sound of the battlefield where the groans of the dying mingled with the sound of weapons being fired, hated the smell of Energon that permeated the air. He hated watching as life faded from blue and red optics alike, hated the screams of pain that would sound all around him as he fought for his life. Most of all, he hated feeling powerless, a feeling that threatened to overwhelm him with each and every Autobot death.

He was their Prime, their leader. They looked up to him, looked to him for hope, and yet more of them died as the war raged on, their wishes going unfulfilled. He may not have killed them directly, but they were dead because he had pulled them into his war. Their Energon might as well be on his servos, no matter what the others told him.

He placed a servo on the window to his quarters, heaving a tired sigh. He wanted nothing more than to end this war, but he also knew he couldn't simply roll over and let Megatron have his way. The mech he once called more than a brother would stop at nothing to tear Cybertron apart, bend what remained of the planet to his will, his rule. He had to fight against such tyranny, it went against everything he stood for, everything he once thought Megatronus stood for. Maybe it had been, before Megatron cruelly killed him, burying the revolutionary gladiator beneath red optics.

His spark ached for the bygone days, the soft tender moments where it had just been Megatronus and Orion Pax, two forbidden lovers pining after each other. He missed the tender touches, the small laughs as they hid away from the world, nestled in each other's embrace. Now the same servos crushed all who stood in his way, the lips that once often quirked into a smile now twisted into a scowl of hate.

He knew the mech he faced on the battlefield was Megatron, not Megatronus, but every time his gaze met the red optics burning with fury, he couldn't help but see Megatronus, the mech he had fallen so hard for. He could never bring himself to pull the trigger, emotions overwhelming him every time he tried. The others chastised him for it, telling him that Megatronus was dead, but he couldn't shake the sight from his processor. Deep down, he yearned for them to be together again, even as destiny tore them apart with each step.

A quiet sob tore itself from his throat as the alarm was raised, shouts filling the base as his Autobots readied themselves for a fight they may not survive. Megatron had been sighted, the scouts reported, and Optimus knew he had to face his fears once more. Running a digit one over a piece of carved metal one last time, he snapped his battle mask into place, hiding the pain and sorrow behind a stoic facade and strode out of his quarters.

Had Megatron thrown out his piece already? Optimus found himself wondering. He couldn't bear to throw it away, not when it held such precious memories, and a small part of him hoped that Megatron still kept his. It would give him the sliver of hope he needed, a sign that the mech he had fallen for was still in there somewhere, but he doubted Megatron would ever tell him if he had kept his piece. For now, he had a battle to win, a war to fight for the future of a Cybertron he envisioned.

A Cybertron where all were treated fairly and justly. A Cybertron where all were equal. An Autobot Cybertron.

Megatron felt something prick his arm and frowned. A piece of carved metal, one he thought he had long lost. He stared at it for a moment, feeling buried emotions flare to life but quickly reburied them. He had no time to dig up the past, the only thing that awaited him was the future he was going to build.

With a flick of his wrist, he sent the piece of metal flying into the wasteland, and never looked back.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Hi! Can I ask for prompt 12?

Yo sorry for the long wait, here it is! Thank you for requesting!

Prompt list is here

Summary: Astarion gets drunk enough to finally sit down and do more than just flirt with you (by that I mean he talks to you)

Getting drunk was never on Astarion's agenda, yet here he was, giddy from the combination of wine and bear's blood he'd just inhaled while you continued to sip from your cup, watching amused as he stumbles towards you.

"Ah, just the person I wanted to see. It's been far too long, darling, since we last talked."

"It's been half an hour."

"Still, darling. Far too long." He seats himself beside you rather unsteadily, gripping your arm. You can smell the wine on his breath as he leans in, fangs peeking out. Swallowing when he comes way too close, you gently try to push him away but he refuses to budge, instead burying his face into your neck and inhaling your scent.

"Astarion," you say warily. "You're drunk."

"Am I now, darling?" He laughs, trailing his fingers along your arm. "I don't think so."

"Astarion, I'm not going to —"

"Not going to?" He smiles, an index finger along your chin. His other hand moves towards the laces on his shirt, clumsily undoing them.

"I'm not going to take advantage of you." You firmly pull his shirt back up, covering the collarbone he just undressed. You push your cup away and rise from your seat, leading him away by the arm. All the while, he giggles, lavishing you with words of temptation but you ignore him, nudging him into his tent.

"Oh, here?" He grins, lying on the bedroll you gave him some time ago. He rests on his elbows, looking up at you and wiggles his eyebrows. You sit next to him, much to his surprise and he turns to face you, still propping himself up by the elbow. More honeyed words rest on the tip of his tongue but you never give him a chance to say them.

"No, not here." You shake your head, and he gets even more confused. Why then did you bring him to his tent, away from prying eyes? What did you want from him that required the both of you coming to his tent? Maybe his charms weren't working on you well enough, maybe you were just testing him, seeing how good he was at flirting. Well, he was about to show you just how good he was at this.

"The gods were showing off when they made you, darling, because you're the very definition of perfection." He purrs, leaning in closer until your lips are but mere inches apart and you pull back violently, pushing him backwards. He lets out a yelp as his back hits the floor and your eyes widen.

"I'm so sorry Astarion! I didn't mean to push you that hard!" There's panic in your voice, why? It won't be the first time his bedside partner has been rough with him, in fact he's quite used to it. He just needs to picture an empty space, pretend like he's floating and all the pain will fade away into a dull throb. He won't complain about the roughness, as long as you're happy he's happy…he thinks.

"Didn't know you liked it rough, my dear. You don't seem like the type, but I suppose appearances can be quite deceiving." He continues to upkeep the fake smile, but a small fear has started to grip him. In his drunken state, he's far less concerned about what happens tonight since he'll likely forget all about it the next morning but he'd rather not suffer too badly.

"I — I said I'm sorry! I don't — I'm not going to sleep with you alright? You're drunk and clearly not in the right state of mind, doing anything that requires consent would only be taking advantage of you." You desperately shake your head, shifting further away from him. "I only brought you here so that you'd be safe."

You look away, curling up into a ball and Astarion knows you're embarrassed. It's a habit of yours, one of the many he's noticed over the course of your journey together and in all honesty, he finds it cute. You remain curled in a ball even after you've finished being embarrassed and it then hits — you really don't want to sleep with him. All this while, you've remained on one side of the bedroll, never once entering his personal space. He's the one who has been going into your personal space, even though he too would rather not sleep with you if possible.

His mind hazy, he lies there, staring up at the ceiling of the tent in confusion. Most of his clients liked it when he was drunk, it meant he was more pliable, didn't resist as much, and they were free to do whatever they wanted to him. You, you were different. You wanted his consent before you did anything, wanted to know his opinion if the little incident with Araj was any indication. This was new to Astarion, at least he thinks it's new. Centuries of torture would erase all memories of the time before said torture, and memories of those centuries of torture are mostly a blur.

The wine has loosened his tongue tonight, and he dares to ask questions he would never have otherwise.

"Why do you keep me around?"

You look up, blinking. His gaze remains fixed on you through the silence, searching desperately for an answer.

"For your company, of course."

"Why me? Why not Karlach, or Wyll, or Shadowheart? They have so much more to offer, even Lae'zel. Why not them? The only thing I can offer…is something you won't even take from me." He whispers the last part. Fear gnaws away at him, the need to understand you wholly so that he can avoid your wrath tearing him apart, and his confusion isn't helping in the slightest. Whenever he was confused about Cazador's actions, it never bode well for him, and he was afraid the same would happen with you.

"Because they're not you. None of them have the sass that you have, none of them are as fun to be around as you are, none of them…are well…like you at all." You shrug, smiling softly at him. "I like spending time with you, whether it's talking or just sitting in silence. I enjoy your company, really I do, and we don't need to sleep with each other to spend time together."

"You…do?"

"Mmhm." You nod. He stares at you blankly, his mind struggling to find deception in your words but it comes up empty. You mean it, you mean everything you say. You aren't lying to him, not that you've ever done so. The edges of his vision blur and something wet trails down his cheek, causing him to quickly turn away before you catch sight of it.

"Do you want me to stay?" Your voice is soft, gentle, and full of concern.

"Please." He chokes. "I…enjoy your company as well."

"That's a relief," you chuckle. "Maybe we should…keep each other company more often."

"That sounds…nice."

"It's a deal then. Rest well, I'll be here when you wake up."

"Thank you."

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Always Thinking of You

Apologies for yet another interruption of the usual Astarion Ancunin programme. I swear I'm still very into our beloved vampire idiot, it's just that the Transformers brainrot has invaded once more.

Summary: As the base burns down all around him, all Optimus Prime can think about is you. (set in TFP universe)

Optimus couldn't get the look in your optics as you turned away from him out of his processor. You didn't say a word, you didn't need to. He knew you well enough to tell exactly what was on your processor, he knew you were disappointed in him for choosing the humans over Cybertron, he knew you were hurt by his decision to destroy the Omega Lock. Most of all, he knew you were angry that it had come down to this.

Still, he watches as you disappear into the swirling vortex that is the Groundbridge, an emptiness filling his chest. He didn't know where he had sent you, didn't know what the future held for you, but that was for you to figure out. His job here would be done in a moment, and seeing you again…he futilely clung onto that silver of hope, knowing that such a day would never come. He would die here, leaving you alone on this Earth. No, not alone. You would still have the other Autobots, and whoever the Matrix chose to be a Prime next.

A single tear slides down his cheek as he turns to face the console, raising the Star Saber high. In the face of imminent death, he finds that he regrets a rather long list of things. He regrets that he parted ways with Ratchet like this, that he parted ways with you like this. He regrets that he'd never get to bring you to the top of Iacon Tower to see the view from there at night, that he'd never get to see how you'd react to the crystal gardens. He regrets that he'd never be able to feel your touch again, to feel your lips on his, to hear your laugh, see the way your optics light up when you lock gazes with him.

But he has to do this. The Autobot cause is far greater than his personal relationships, the both of you knew that. By doing this, he's ensuring your safety as much as he can, he tells himself, even if it's at the cost of his life. He'd meant it, every time he said he'd give his life for you. He feels his Spark constrict, a pang of guilt for being unable to uphold his promise to you.

As he swings the Star Saber downwards, he whispers one last prayer to Primus. He prays that you'll find someone new, someone better, someone who could give you what you needed, not a failure of a Prime who couldn't even keep his loved ones safe.

Then all he feels is the searing heat, followed by white hot pain. The entire base collapses on him, steel beams twisting in the flames and he feels one run through his abdomen as he crumbles beneath the weight and pain of it all. He can feel Energon leaking out of him as rubble cuts through his armour, opening the wires beneath. Everything hurts, his vision is getting fuzzy, he can barely breathe now. Sparks crawl along his arms where his wiring is exposed and he can't feel his legs anymore.

He never thought this was how he would go out. Sure, he'd thought about martyring himself many times over, before and after you came into his life, but the martyring usually came in the form of an execution by Megatron, not…whatever this was.

He finds his thoughts starting to wander to you as his life ebbs away, wondering what you're doing right now, if you've found a safe spot to hide for the time being. He wonders if you'll mourn his death, or if you'll only remember the time he doomed Cybertron with his own servos and hate him for the rest of your life. He hopes it's the former, it pains him to think about the latter. He's enjoyed all the times the both of you had spent together, especially all the stolen kisses in the dead of night when everyone else was asleep or on patrol. Those moments had made him feel like Orion Pax again, his Spark racing as he snuck out to meet you, tingles running up his backstruts as he held your servo, starry eyed and lost in your optics.

He remembers the time you'd thrown yourself in front of a missile for him, screaming for him to move as you slammed into him, taking the full brunt of the impact. He'd been so afraid for you, panic seizing him as he shouted for a medic, cradling your bleeding form. The Decepticon the missile belonged to made the mistake of trying to finish off what they started, and found themselves on the receiving end of his ion blaster. He had never felt such rage in his life before then, was it the same kind of rage that fueled Megatron's conquest? A shudder runs through him at the thought, would he wage such a terrible war for you? Would you do it for him?

At least 70% of his system has shut down at this point. Everything is muffled and his throat feels dry. Fear wraps its tendrils around him, squeezing tightly as thoughts he believed he'd long locked away hear cloud his processor. He doesn't want to die, he wishes he'd never been made a Prime, he wishes he could have a normal life with you, continue to be friends with Megatron, he wishes he wishes, but this is the reality he's in. He hates how he crumbles beneath the burden he's made to carry, hates the way he breaks down in front of you when the burden overwhelms him, hates the way you're made to carry his burden alongside him. Most of all, he hates the way his burden turned friends on each other and destroyed the planet he called home.

Black is creeping around his vision, threatening to devour the world around him. Just before it consumes him, he pictures your smile, the warmth in your optics, and the cold regret of never being able to see them ever again.

When he next opens his optics, the sound of your voice washes over his audials. There's an edge in your tone, and Ratchet says something but he doesn't quite catch it. Wait…your voice? Is he not one with the Allspark yet? Why would you and Ratchet be one with the Allspark? Had he failed?

"He's awake." The ringing in his audials stop.

"I can see that. I'm not blind." You're still as snarky as ever.

"Good. Then watch him while I go and retrieve a couple of items."

"Tch." He hears pedsteps fade away as you come into view. There's not a hint of anger or hatred in your optics. The only thing he can see in them is worry, concern, and love.

He doesn't know what to say. He didn't prepare for this, he didn't expect any of this. You gently touch his helm, gaze soft as you smile at him.

"You're safe now."

"I'm sorry," he rasps. It's the only thing he can say, the only thing that lingers on the tip of his tongue. He feels the lubricant gathering at the corners of his optics, his chest constricting and you simply hold him in your arms, cradling him.

"I forgive you." You murmur, and he clings to you in response. He was so afraid back then, but the moment you said those words, all his fears melted away.

"Thank you, my spark."

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Invitation

Inspired by this post, I miss my precious vampire but schl work says no bg3 for me

Astarion stares at the closed tent flap in front of him, at a loss of what to do. He didn't think the argument the both of you had was that serious, but the silent treatment he was receiving right now said otherwise.

You'd stormed off in a huff, retreating into your tent and hadn't come out since, not even for Gale's cooking. That had made the others worried, and Jaheira had advised him to talk to you, but that was proving to be harder that he thought.

He pokes the flap of the tent, watching as the fabric caves beneath his fingertip and then bounces back. He knows you can see the fabric caving inwards, you're not blind, and yet he can hear no movement coming from inside the tent.

Why are so you so mad at him? It was a harmless joke, nothing more than one of his usual quips, yet you didn't react how he thought you would react. He'd rather die again than admit it but he was genuinely very concerned that this argument had broken your relationship. He didn't want to lose what the two of you had, he enjoyed it, enjoyed the moments it had given him, enjoyed the fluttering feeling in his chest it had given him.

Still, the words "I'm sorry" remain buried beneath the honeyed words he's used to saying. Apologising never meant anything good back under Cazador's thumb, and he's uncertain saying those words will do anything to quell your anger. For all he knows, you could react like Cazador, dealing pain and punishment despite his apologetic pleas, but maybe you won't. You haven't laid a hand on him yet, only giving him the silent treatment and stalking off to your tent. He continues to wait outside your tent, fiddling with his thumbs until he gathers the courage to say something.

"Darling? I know you miss me as much as I miss you. We can forget any of this happened, put it all behind us." He laughs nervously. He wants nothing more than pretend nothing happen, to erase the argument if it means you'll continue adventuring with him, continue protecting him. Still, there's no movement from the tent, no indication that you've put the argument behind. Worry gnaws away at him as the silence grows longer, but just as he is about to head back to his tent, the flap to your tent opens and you peek your head out.

His heart soars, chest fluttering with hope at the sight until you duck back into your tent, leaving him all alone outside once more. His shoulders droop and he turns away, crestfallen, but not before pawing at your tent in a last ditch attempt to grab your attention.

Your head pops out of your tent again, an annoyed look on your face. "Make up your mind about whether you want to come in or not."

Astarion blinks. "You'll have to invite me in first if you crave my company, darling."

"I don't believe I have to invite the vampire who isn't burned by sunlight and can stand in running water into my tent," you snort. "But if you sorely want an invitation, I can extend my dearest vampire Astarion Ancunin an invitation into my humble tent."

Astarion's cheeks flush, dusting them a light pink as he wordlessly ducks into your tent, settling on your bedroll out of habit. You seat yourself next to him, a good sign, and watch as he wrestles with what to say. A small smile creeps onto your face as he fumbles with his words, carefully picking them out so as to not offend you while being as genuine as possible.

"I forgive you." Your words are simple, but they cut right through.

His eyes widen, taken aback by the ease with which you say it. You smile softly, reaching for his hand but he pulls away, shaking his head.

"How…how can you forgive me so easily? What do you want from me in exchange? What can I do to earn your forgiveness?" The words tumble out of his mouth unbidden.

"Earn? After I gave it to you?" You tilt your head in confusion.

"I know forgiveness isn't freely given, but I don't understand what it is you want me to do. You don't want to sleep with me, you don't want me to serve you, so what exactly do you keep me around for? Just to pick locks? I'm confused by you and what you want from me!" Astarion nearly screams in frustration, then shrinks, anxiously babbling an apology.

He shies away as you try to move closer to him, his body trembling. His hand move to shield himself, reflexes honed over centuries of torture kicking in. You move backwards, giving him some space and he shakily looks up at you, confusion written all over his face.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Astarion. I will never hurt you, I swear." You upturn your hands, showing him that you pose no threat and he slowly relaxes.

"I…" He mumbles, picking at his nails nervously.

"It's alright, you don't have to say or do anything." You wave your hand. "Take your time."

He quietly sits there, contemplating his next move as you busy yourself with fluffing up the pillows and neatly arranging the bedroll. He silently watches you, his chest fluttering weirdly when he realises you're preparing the bedroll for him as well. This sort of affection…was a rare occurrence and even if it did occur, it was never to such a degree. Astarion lets out a sigh, and decides the best course of action is to address the argument the both of you had.

"Y/N…about the…little argument we had earlier…"

"Mmhm."

"I…want to apologise for what I said. I didn't…realise it would affect you that much." He takes a deep breath, forcing the next words out.

"I'm sorry."

You smile, reaching over to rest your hand gently on his. "I know, and I forgive you. I can't seem to bring myself to even hate you."

A laugh bubbles from your chest and you give his hand a squeeze. He squeezes back, the tension within him dissipating as you continue laughing, and soon he finds himself smiling. A fuzzy warmth envelops him and he shifts closer to you, wanting more of the warmth and light emanating from you. You tentatively wrap an arm around his waist and he leans in, indulging your need to be in physical contact with him. He lets your hand rest on his cold cheek, relishing in your gentle touches.

"Next time, invite yourself into my tent, Star." You press a chaste kiss to his lips, grinning cheekily.

"As you wish, my dear. Don't you regret saying it." He pulls you into a full kiss, hungrily devouring your lips.

"Never."

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Chances

As much as I love playing evil routes, patch 7's Spawn and Ascended Astarion lines really killed me on the inside. I'm never going the evil route while romancing him, it's too much for me to bear.

Summary: The tragedy begins with your first sacrifice, Astarion.

You watch the burning city of Baldur's Gate from atop the Netherbrain, taking in the chaos your Illithids sow, the blood they spill in your father's name. The tadpole in your brain hums, resonating with your army below and you bathe in the power you hold, all thanks to the three Netherstones in your possession. So much power, so many things to do but first things first.

The companions you have fought alongside all this while stand next to you, watching in horror at the carnage you have chosen to inflict in your father's name. You could care less about their reaction, all of them…except Astarion's.

The pale elf turns to face you, a sorrowful look in his eyes. Your heart would have shattered at the sight, but your heart was long gone, devoured by the pool of blood in your father's temple. All that's left is the Unholy Assassin Bhaalspawn, the very figure parents use to scare children.

"So, you chose this. Over Baldur's Gate, over your friends, over us…you chose this..."

You see the hurt, the betrayal written clear as day on his face. Your face remains impassive, unmoved, unchanged, but a small part of you breaks down. It screams at you to apologise, to turn back, to regain your heart. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't. You'd promised your father to bathe the world in blood in his name, to sacrifice it all at his altar, including the one you once loved. There was no going back, not when you'd come so far. Besides, your father would flay your mind into pieces if you tried to resist.

His face changes, anger and what looks to be disappointment clouding his face. Still, you look at him with a blank face, before beckoning him forward and closing the gap yourself. His lips taste as sweet as ever, feel as soft as before, and you feel a small pang in your chest. You kiss him like it's your last, devouring every inch of him and he returns the favour. His kiss is desperate, as if kissing you would bring you back. You nearly laugh, but hold it in so as to not jeopardise your mission.

The old you is gone forever, drowned in the pool of blood.

Your hand slips to your dagger, fingers grasping its hilt. At the final step, what's left of your heart skips a beat, your chest tightens, and you nearly falter. The thought of caressing his face crosses your mind but you quickly brush it aside before you start regretting things. You close your eyes, readying yourself and open them before the kiss breaks, thrusting the blade into his side.

The blood that springs forth brings a small smile to your face and you pull the blade out, watching him stagger backwards. He looks at the wound in horror, before looking back up at you sadly. The future the both of you had once discussed flicks through your mind, disappearing into the depths of your broken sanity just as quickly as it appeared. That future is no longer an option — your life belongs to Bhaal now, as does his.

He presses his hands to the wound but blood leaks through his fingers. It's too deep to be staunched, you'd made sure of that. After all, he was to be your first death, the beginning to your glorious story as the true Bhaalspawn where you would walk amidst a field of corpses and blood.

You watch as he keeps stumbling back, the energy slowly draining out of him. A glorious yet saddening sight. This would be the last time you see him, a bittersweet moment that would haunt you forevermore. You yearn to touch him one last time, to hold him close as his undead life flows out of him, to breathe in his scent but the time for that is long gone. All that awaits your touch is the stickiness of blood and the smoothness of bone.

The sadness turns to anger as he bares his fangs at you, the reality of your betrayal setting in. His disbelief is gone now, cemented by the blood on your blade. His words are spat out, poison dripping from each and every syllable.

"I should have killed you when I had the chance…"

He falls off the side of the Netherbrain, his energy sapped and you merely watch, as if the one who had just died in front of you was a mere stranger, not the one you once called 'your star'. You watch as his body grows smaller and smaller, until it's no more than a speck in the sky.

Goodbye, Astarion.

You turn to the rest of your companions, lips quirking up into a sinister smile. They look at your warily, but the tadpoles in their heads force them to obey. You hold your arm outstretched over the side of the Netherbrain and they follow, although you can see their reluctance in every step they take. They soon follow Astarion's example and fall all the way down. More sacrifices to your beloved father.

The smell of blood is enticing, the urge within baying for you to take your rightful place atop the mountain of corpses, and so you fall.

Striding amongst the corpses impaled by countless blades, you inhale the sweet scent they emit, bathing in the glory your father has paved for you. You will be the last one, walking through blood and bones and will finally take your place as your father's truest spawn. Still, when you spot a familiar corpse, a flash of sorrow fills your chest.

You really should have killed me when you had the chance.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

There's apparantly a ratty little blanket that Astarion brings with him into whatever tents and caverns he goes to that has been dubbed his "safety blanket"-- and now I'm obsessed with seeing a ficlet about that. *puppy eyes* <3

Hiiiii sorry for the long wait. Been busy since school started and also really tired. Hope you enjoy!

You let out a quiet sigh, staring up at the roof of the tent as you have been for the past…you've lost count how long it's been since you first laid down in your shared bedroll with Astarion. Tomorrow is the day you take the fight back to Ketheric Thorm and despite knowing that his immortality has been removed, you can't help but feel nervous about the fight that lies ahead.

Turning over to your side, you realise Astarion is just as restless as you are, and is fiddling with the worn blanket you've caught only glimpses of previously. He hugs it closely to his chest, playing with a corner of the fabric and you lean in closer.

"Can't sleep either?"

Astarion scowls in response, quickly stashing his worn blanket away and turns over to face you, leaning forward to plant a chaste kiss to your lips. You smile when his gaze softens, even if it's just for that split second and laugh when he huffs in response.

"I was about to trance when you disturbed me."

"Sure you were," you hum, tucking a white curl behind his ear. You feel him shift, pressing closer against you and feel his arms wrap themselves around your waist. Each breath you let out ruffles his hair and you feel his cool skin beneath your fingertips. His ratty blanket peeks out from where he hastily tucked it beneath the corner of his pillow and you gently pry it out, the rough fabric scratching against your skin.

"I'm surprised you keep something like this. I pegged you for someone who prefers luxury and comfort."

You feel Astarion tense, his clawed fingertips pricking your skin and you shift, wondering if you should give him some space. Your worried gaze meets his crimson eyes and you sense a hint of sorrow in those eyes. He shakily inhales, then exhales and crumples into your embrace.

"That…" His voice trails off. "That's one of the few things I ever owned. Before you, before all of this."

"I'm sorry," you murmur. "I shouldn't have."

He shakes his head, "you were bound to find out about this some day."

He blindly reaches for the blanket, hugging it to his chest when you hand it to him. He looks so small, so vulnerable when he curls around the blanket, it makes your heart ache for him. His scars shine pale underneath the moonlight, yet another reminder of the life he once led, of the shackles he has yet to fully throw off. In that moment you vow silently once more to help him strike his chains off, to watch as he tastes true freedom.

When Astarion speaks again, his voice is soft, the complete opposite of his usual tone.

"All the spawn always fought over the beds in our room, all the beds except one, tucked away in the corner. That bed was always reserved for me, everyone knew I always came back covered in fluids and no one wanted to go anywhere near the bed that was possibly contaminated with those fluids. No one wanted to touch the blanket on it either, but I was fine with that. It meant the bed was mine, the blanket was mine, and I was happy about it. Cazador stole everything from me — my life, my body, my everything. To have something to call my own, it made me happier than anything ever could. It felt like a small defiance in Cazador's face, to still retain something when he tried to strip me of everything. When I fled the castle, the only thing I could bring along was this blanket and the clothes on my back."

He plays with a loose thread dangling from the edge of the blanket, letting you gently rub circles on his back. He presses against you, leaning into your warm touch. You press a kiss to the top of his head, relishing in the comfort your beloved vampire brings simply by being right next to you.

"I'm surprised it's still in one piece," you trace a finger over the fabric, feeling the little bumps where it has been stitched over. "Did you patch the holes up yourself?"

"Of course I did. As if I'd let anyone else touch something so precious."

Still, he makes no motion to pull his precious blanket away from you. Your hands brush against each other, sending tingles up your spine, a quiet chuckle slipping from your lips.

"Will you teach me how to sew?" His eyes widen at your suggestion, and then the smirk you're all too familiar with forms on his face.

"Under my tutelage? You'll learn well, but you won't ever be as good as me."

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "That's all I need."

He smiles a genuine smile that lets his fangs peek through, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Underneath the moonlight he looks ethereal, the moon's glow outlining his figure. He then closes the distance between the both of you, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss that you wish will never end, but your lungs beg for oxygen and you are forced to break the kiss.

"You have more than just the blanket now. I am yours, every fibre of my being, forevermore." You press your forehead against his, closing your eyes as you breathe in his familiar scent. He cradles you in return, soaking in the warmth you exude.

When you open your eyes once again, there's a glimmer in his eyes that wasn't there before. He nuzzles into your shoulder, smiling contentedly and drifts off into a trance, his worn blanket left forgotten. You hold him in your arms, feeling sleep finally take over, all stress forgotten.

There are words left unsaid, but they will be spoken in due time, that you're sure of. After all, a life waits for you at the end of this journey, wherever it may bring you. Somehow deep down, you know this to be true. The words can wait until the time is right, but until then, you're contented to know that you are his and nothing can ever change that.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

extremely excited for this!!! and rly honoured to be a part of this zine!!

🌈 CONTRIBUTOR SPOTLIGHTS 🌈

Coming up next with another writer, it's Beatrice! Her dynamic, action-packed scenes will have you on the edge of your seat— we're on the edge of ours just waiting for it, we can't wait to show it off soon!

☘️ @deadtired-highkeyenergetic

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

prompt8: urge ! I Love the way you describe all the Feelings in your stories :DD ( and keeping It gn so i can at least have my mxm Imagine haha xDD)

Hiiiiii so sorry it took so long, wrangling that muse is difficult. I did, however, manage to subdue it with the help of this post, much thanks to OP.

You feel it well up from deep within you. A barely contained fury, a dark sinister urge to rip apart those responsible for the scene before you. Orin smiles from her perch above Astarion, who is bound upon a slab whilst Orin's dagger rests just above his heart.

"Come to save your beloved?" She smiles at you eerily, twirling her dagger. You say nothing, mind clouding with anger as you walk down the steps towards the stage upon which Orin will perform her final dance. She laughs, eager to get the ritual started but your gaze remains cold.

You don't need a Slayer form to kill her.

What happens next is but a blur. All you know is that at the end of it all, Orin lies in a puddle of blood at your feet, gasping her last breaths as she reaches out to you. The Urge within you howls victoriously, eager for the feast and your ears ring, the shouts of your companions muffled. All you can focus on is the dying traitor in front of you. Blood roars in your ears, the beast inside hungrily calling for you to take your place as Bhaal's true chosen but when you deal the final blow, it's to save the man you love from Orin's clutches, not to become what your father wants you to be.

As your dagger tears through skin and flesh, ripping away Orin's final breath, the pained cry that slips past her lips sounds familiar, almost as though it were…

Astarion.

You blink and the scene before you changes. Astarion lies before you, bloodied by your blade, your magic, you, while the monster Orin laughs from her place upon the sacrifical stone slab. Your mind goes blank, arms falling to your sides as you crumble to the floor.

"Star." The word feels thick in your throat. Bile floods your mouth, making you sick and you resist the urge to gag. Blood bubbles from Astarion's lips as he tries to speak but all that comes out is a gurgle. His crimson eyes glare at you, as if blaming you for being unable to differentiate your lover from your sister. He's right to blame you, all this is your fault, all because of your inability to see past Orin's illusions. You can vaguely hear Orin cackling as your other companions fight their way to her, and then everything falls silent, save for the dripping of blood onto the stone floor. She's disappeared, leaving only a mocking thanks for your sacrifice to Bhaal.

"Star." The word comes out as a sob, your greatest fear now realised. Tears stream silently down your cheek but no one's there to comfort you. You've killed the one who was always there for you, gentle whispers of reassurance lost forever because of your bloodstained hands. Overwhelmed with grief and self-hatred, you scream.

And then you wake up.

Sweat clings to you like second skin, drenching your clothes. Your chest heaves with each gaping breath you take, your hands clammy and your face sticky with tears.

Astarion.

You whip around wildly, eyes frantically searching for your lover in what is slowly registering as your shared room. The vampire is peacefully trancing in the bed next to you, a singular crimson eye cracking open at your wild movements.

"Darling? Some of us are trying to sleep, you know."

Relief floods you at the sight and you collapse back onto the bed, nearly bursting into tears yet again. Then laughter takes over, your abdomen hurting from the effort.

Orin is dead. Astarion is alive, as alive as an undead can get.

Astarion rises to get a better look at you when he realises you're acting weird, concern colouring his face when he sees the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. The snarky facade quickly fades, giving way to genuine worry. His cold fingers send tingles running up your spine as they run along your cheek, gently wiping away the stray tears that roll down.

"Orin's dead," you gasp out between the laughter. "Orin's dead."

"She is." Astarion is unnaturally quiet. His eyebrows are furrowed in worry, lips tentatively hovering over your forehead. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You reach up, cupping his cheek, feeling the skin beneath your fingers. Your beloved is right here, in front of you, unharmed. Orin lies somewhere in the bowels of Baldur's Gate, carrion for the rats that lurk there. You exhale sharply, closing your eyes as you try to bring your heart rate under control once more.

"You're here." The words leave your lips in a shaky whisper. "You're here."

"I promised I'd always be, love. And I'm not one to break my promises." Astarion slips an arm around your waist, an invitation that you gladly take. You bury your face into his chest, muffling the sobs that you choke out and feel him curl around you, holding you tightly. You feel the kisses he presses to the top of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he holds the back of your head. The silver tongue from which honeyed words usually flow remains quiet, the only sound in the room being your sobs.

"I didn't kill you. I didn't sacrifice you to my father." The words are but a whisper, and yet his sharp ears catch each and every single one.

"Bhaal has no hold over you anymore, no more than Cazador has over me. You're no longer his captive, you're free. Free to do whatever you want without that Urge taking over, free to be more than just a creature who slaughters for the sake of it. I'll kill whoever tries to convince you otherwise." His grip on you tightens, fangs peeking out at the mention of killing.

You sniffle, clinging onto him as though he would suddenly disappear and nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder. His underlying undead scent pokes through your clogged nose, a comforting scent, much to your amusement. Taking a deep breath, you dive into your still fractured mind, searching for the bloodthirsty Urge within but find nothing. Instead, a stillness you weren't aware of before resides where the Urge once lay, waiting to be filled with something else.

Astarion presses a kiss to your forehead, crimson gaze still resting on you. In his eyes you find a fondness he reserves only for you, an unwavering loyalty, and most of all, an undying love for the one he calls his significant other. Maybe the void within you can be filled after all, bloodlust replaced with gentleness, murder replaced with love. Your hands will never be clean, that much you know, but perhaps they needn't be stained with more needless bloodshed, not while you remain free of your father.

You tilt your head up, pressing your lips against his and savour the moment. You're free, truly free, and this is proof of that.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Leave

We interrupt your usual program of Astarion to bring you Aemond Targaryen, my newest obsession. (song listened to while writing this is Shatter Me by Lindsey Sterling)

You spot your lord husband staring out the window at the city beneath. It's quieter than usual, the usual bustling of merchants now a whisper and fewer lights flicker in the dark. The city knows war is about to break out in full force soon, the common folk speak of it in hushed whispers, and you can feel the tension in the air.

"Aemond," you call out softly, announcing your presence as you make your way over to him. He remains silent, still looking out the window even as you settle beside him.

He's never like this, the rumours might be true after all.

You're not sure what to say, you don't even know what exactly happened at the Small Council today but you have an inkling of what went down. You'd seen Queen Alicent scowling as she briskly walked out of the room, Ser Criston Cole hurrying alongside her, heard the other members mutter something about your lord husband, their prince, and give you harsh glares. Concerned and furious, you'd searched for Aemond, only to be denied entry into your shared chambers by his guards no matter how much you tried to force your way in before storming off to the godswood to cool off.

You'd waited and waited until nightfall before approaching your shared chambers once more, and now here you are, right next to him and still he refuses to see you. You play with your sleeves anxiously, wanting to know what had happened but at the same time wanting to give him the space he needed.

"My pri—"

"Aren't you going to leave me too?" His words come out harsh, like arrows that pierce through your heart.

"Leave?" You ask, confused.

"Did you not hear me clearly the first time?" He snarls, features twisting in fury.

"Why would I leave you?" You reach out to touch him but he slaps your hand away, eye narrowed.

"Because I'm a monster who wants war, a kinslayer who wants to kill the rest of my kin, a bloodthirsty prince who—" The rest of his words get caught in his throat. Tears prick the corner of his eye but he swallows the urge to break down in front of you. His throat bobs as he lifts his head high, just like his mother always taught him to. Show no weakness, lest others take advantage of you.

"You're none of those." You shake your head. "You're a prince who wants to protect those he loves, you see the threat looming over their heads and want to remove it as soon as possible, you're my dragon prince who just wants to see those he cares about safe, and that's why I fell in love with you."

He snorts, pushing you away. "Lies. All of them."

Still you persist, your fingers gently brushing against his arm and he flinches slightly. He chews his bottom lip, hesitantly lifting his eye to meet your gaze. You hold the connection, resting your hand on his forearm. This time he doesn't move.

"I would never leave you." The tone of your voice leaves no room for argument and for a moment, Aemond is taken aback by your ferocity. Then he gives you a small smile, resting his hand on top of yours. His thumb runs over your smooth skin, feeling the size of your hand against his, feeling the warmth that resides in it.

You're still here. Even after everyone has left him.

His lip trembles, struggling to hold back the dam that wants nothing more than to burst forth. His throat feels tight, his smile wavering and then you pull him into a hug, burying your face into his chest.

You're all he has left.

His arms wrap themselves around you, holding you tightly as he presses his lips against the top of your head. Tears start to roll down his cheek silently, with him biting back the sobs that clog his throat. He doesn't want to show such weakness in front of you, and yet you always manage to coax it out of him.

Gently, you lead him to your shared bed, cradling his face between your palms, your thumb wiping his tears away. Your soft lips press against his, a quick peck before you slip the eyepatch off, and then another kiss on the sapphire sitting in his empty eye socket.

"If the world was ending, I would want nothing more than to be next to you."

The words are but a whisper, spoken within the walls of your shared chambers for no one but him to hear, and are more than enough to shatter the dam. Your dragon prince weeps, sobs wracking his slender frame and tears stain the fabric of your clothes. You continue to cradle him in your arms, your heart aching with each cry that spills from his lips.

His fingernails dig into your sleeves as he clings onto you like you're his lifeline while you run your fingers through his silver-gold hair. You feel him lean into your touch, almost keening. He needs you just as much as you need him, he needs you to be there to catch him when he falls, to be the shoulder for him to cry on, to be the only witness to his weakness.

You patiently wait for him to let it all out, sitting in silence until he lifts his red puffy eye to meet yours. He swallows, letting you coax him into lying down and buries his face into your chest.

You smell nice, like home, like comfort, and he knows he's secure in your arms. Just for tonight, your roles are reversed. You're his shelter, his haven, and only in your arms does he allow his walls to come down.

"Promise?" He asks, his voice thick with sorrow. He sounds so small, so vulnerable, nothing like the prince he is outside of these doors.

"Promise." You nod. He sighs, relaxing against you and places a palm on your cheek. You rest your hand on top of his, keeping it there as your fingers intertwine, connecting the both of you.

"I won't ever leave you too," he whispers, letting his eye close.

"I know, my dragon."

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

You

So I went from listening to "If I Die Young" by The Band Perry (because it was stuck in my head for some reason) to listening to Burying the Dead by Kevin Kiner from Star Wars The Clone Wars and all I could feel was angst. Obviously I have to pass it on.

Summary: Astarion realises he's known all along what it means to live, all thanks to you

He can feel the stickiness of the liquid sandwiched between your palms, feel it sliding down his wrist and trail along his forearm. He can feel your hand slowly slipping from his grip, your fingers weakly grasping at his palm for purchase, unwilling to let go. He doesn't want to let go either, but your ragged breaths remind him of the pain you're in, the hurt in your eyes tearing his soul apart.

"It's alright, love. Everything's going to be alright." A lie. He bites down hard on his bottom lip, feeling tears prick the corners of his eyes and swallows as hard as he can, willing his sorrow away.

Just endure it for a while. Until they move on.

Your chest is barely moving, crimson bubbling from your lips as you desperately suck in whatever air your weakening lungs can. Your eyelids flutter, your body fighting to shut down and Astarion has to force his hands to stop trembling, his undead heart crying out with each weak gasp that slips from your fading body.

He brings your bloody hand to his lips, hating the way the sweet taste floods his mouth. The smell fills his nose and his fangs reveal themselves, his body urging him to drink but he forces his mouth shut, pushing down the hunger that threatens to take over.

Your lips move, but Astarion can't make any of them out, rendering your final words lost forever. His hand shakes as it clasps tightly around the hilt of his dagger, his eyes squeeze shut as he inhales deeply. He can't do this, he can't.

He can't kill you. But he has to.

His dagger trembles as its tip hovers over your heart, the steel of the blade reflecting the setting sun. The evening sunlight casts a beautiful yet saddening glow over you, framing you in its radiance like it has a thousand times before, but today is the last time he will ever see you bask in the sun.

The poison has chewed its way through almost your entire body, your pained laboured breathing is all that remains. He has to do it now, put you out of your misery or the poison will drag your suffering out until your lose your mind, and he can't let that happen.

His fingers tighten around the hilt, hoping that it will stop the dagger from shaking so much and forces his hand to move downwards.

One strike and it will all be over. One strike and you wouldn't have to suffer any longer.

Blood springs forth from the new well he has created and he gags. He loves your blood, yes, that is an undisputed fact. It nourishes him, tastes absolutely divine, but only when it's you giving your blood of your own accord. Not like this, not when it's being poured out all over the ground, not when it steals you away from him.

He watches as your body twitches for the last time and hears your last breath leave your lips, a quiet thank you for everything he's done. He stares blankly at your now dead body, mind and body numb to the core.

Where does he go from here?

He sits on his heels, feeling the pent up tears trickling down his cheeks. It starts out with quiet sobs, soft whispers of words he never got to say to you that grow louder as he starts to cry, his heart shattering into a million pieces. Reality hits him hard. You're gone now, forever. He will never see your radiant smile again, never hear your melodious laugh again, never feel the warmth of your skin as you hold his hand tightly, never feel the softness of your lips, never…never see you again.

He wails out his agony to the deaf gods above, the tears flowing freely as he curses the hand he's been dealt, wanting nothing more than to have you back. He'd made a promise to you, to always be by your side, to never leave you but that promise lies broken at his feet, buried beneath the dirt you too will soon lie under. He will live on, alone once again, with the weight of world crushing him.

He cries until he has nothing left to give, cradling your now cold body against his chest, and feels exhaustion taking over. The sun has set, turning the sky pitch black with few twinkles from the stars above. He remains where he is, kneeling in the bloodstained dirt surrounded by the forest and the creatures that inhabit it, holding your cold corpse tightly and ignoring his body's call to rest. He doesn't want to rest, he wants you, he wants your warmth.

He wants this all to end.

He contemplates the idea, nearly giving in when a familiar whisper pulls him back from the brink.

"I want you to live."

He lets out a pained chuckle, even in death you're still there for him, catching him when he falls. He remembers exactly when you had said those words. It had been at his tent after everyone else had fallen asleep, under the moonlit sky as the campfire was fading out. You'd held his hand in yours, a fiery earnest look in your eyes as you delcared out loud that you didn't want his body in exchange for keeping him around.

"I want you to live. That's all. What living means to you, I don't know, but I suppose that's what life is for, to find out what all these fancy words mean. I know you'll find it, you're the kind of person who will."

He presses his forehead against yours, drawing a shaky breath and closes his eyes. He steadies himself and lets the breath out, opening his eyes to take in the sight before him.

"Darling, I…" His throat clogs. This is stupid, he's talking to a corpse. You can't hear him anymore, you're dead. His words will never reach you, but he has to get this weight off his chest, and maybe by some miracle your soul will hear what he has to say. He regrets not being able to tell you this while you were alive, but he supposes it's better late than never. Besides, it's more than just words he wanted to say to you, it's a declaration to himself, a reaffirmation of what he's discovered alongside you.

"I've found out what it means to live. It's more than just staying alive, more than just waking up to the next day. It's making my own decisions, choosing what I want to do, knowing who I am and who I want to be. You've taught me all that, you've shown me what it's like to live, and I…I thank you for that. It's because of you that I'm free from the shackles of my past, it's because of you that I know the path I should take. I owe you so much, more than I've been able to repay you, but knowing you, you don't care about it."

Astarion lets out a huff of amusement, his eyes filled with sorrow.

"Still though, love. You could've asked anyone else to ease your suffering. It's not fair, to make your beloved vampire do all the work."

He looks to the sky, wondering if you're able to see him through all the damn clouds and laughs. He can't stop laughing at the absurdity of it all. The laughter soon turns to sobs, fresh tears dripping onto your cheeks.

"I'm sorry, darling."