#I have technically made it to Cazador's fight but every time I fight him I get beat so I would just reload and put that off for later

[mokeonn]

Anyways im just very peeved that my problems with honor mode so far haven't been the fights because I'm very good with cheesing them. It's been with the consequences of failing certain story events.

Like I haven't touched my game with Poetry, my adorable little pink tiefling bardlock, because despite almost being done with act 2, I foolishly decided to talk to Isobel because I thought I could handle the fight. I didn't need to talk to her! I didn't need Selune's blessing! I had the pixie's bell! Yet, for some reason, I decided to tempt fate anyway with an encounter that took me at least 8 tries to get right on my first playthrough. Now I'm too bummed to play the world's cutest bard because I ended up condemning tons of wonderful characters to their death with my hubris. It doesn't matter that I was technically already continuing the run with dishonor (the phase spider matriarch), no reloading allowed ever I suppose.

So I'm gonna probably make an even more wholesome run with a halfling, and I will simply not take any risks that happen to take out an entire village if you fail.

[tieflingtareon]

My love, are you the devil? (Oh, call me a devil)

Chapter 37 | Words: 10k

Summary: Astarion found himself often surprised by his heroic companion. He had one goal. To become the favoured companion of the group, to earn the Tieflings loyalty, to make Tar'eons strength his own. Yet Tar'eon isn't like the usual target of his manipulations. Despite his naivety, he does not seem gullible. There is something very wrong with their 'leader' to begin with. Astarion isn't sure if he wants to control it or eradicate the threat it posed. But can he really do either when Tar'eon himself seems so...unwaveringly kind?

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50668558/chapters/127995079

SMUT AHEAD ENJOY

Tar’eon had his guesses about where they would be going but a graveyard was…not on the list. It was silent, like a ghost town should be, he supposed. There wasn’t another living, breathing soul around. It was only them and the crunch of gravel beneath their boots.

The silence was begging to be broken, and Tar’eon blurted out the first thing that came to him.

“Hot.” He burned with shame the moment it came out. He hadn’t meant to say that.

“You couldn’t wait ten seconds before being an absolute freak?” Astarion didn’t seem annoyed though, much the opposite.

“Sorry, I— I was trying to make a joke. It was a bad.”

“It was a little funny.”

“Though, truthfully, if you had brought me here before I lost my memories, I probably would have meant it.”

“Too bad you don’t still do.” Astarion snorted before shaking his head and looking at the grave before them. He patted his hands against his sides, feeling awkward in the quiet before he knelt down and removed the overgrown vines from the stone, wiping after a centuries worth of dust and dirt.

This was what he had wanted to show him. This whole time, he’d been wearing a mask before him, or trying to appear better than he was. He’d had his moments were he failed to hide away from him, but…he was done hiding. This was who he had lost. How did one grieve their own death when they still technically lived?

He’d never been able to bring himself back to the place he’d been buried. Afraid it would be too much for him. That he’d try and bury himself back in the dirt to escape Cazador. Now though…he wasn’t alone. That fact alone was enough for him to face what once was. What he was finally letting rest. He wouldn’t let who he could have been, what he'd been warped into, haunt him. Not anymore.

“Nearly two hundred years and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there.” He placed his hands behind his back, squeezing his left with his right. Trying not to let his voice waver before he got it all out. “I had to punch a hole in the coffin…and claw my way through six feet of dirt. Then, when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood…Cazador was waiting.” He could still taste it in the back of his throat as he spoke.

“From that day on I was his.” He stared at the grave, where he died and was reborn by Cazador’s blood, where he clawed his way out on the pure instinct to live, to survive. He’d been doing it since the night he awoke in his coffin. Fighting. All to survive. To live. And two hundred years later, he was finally being given the chance. Not just to survive, but to thrive. “Until today.”

“You were never his.” Tar’eon swore in a low voice. Astarion never belonged to Cazador, just as he had never belonged to Bhaal. People weren't possessions, even if they had been shaped to be. Bhaal's blade and Cazador's canvas. “What he took, he took by force. That doesn’t make it his.”

“Maybe…but he did take it.” The scars he left on him, physical and mental, would never disappear. He was coming to accept that. He would spend every day of the rest of his life trying to be better than he was. Better than what Cazador made him. He only hoped that would be enough to reclaim most of himself back. “There’s almost nothing left of the person I was. Just a name on a rock.”

Whoever he had been had stayed in that coffin, long after he broke free of it.

“For nearly two centuries I stalked the streets like a ghost while the person I was lay here, dead and buried.” He gave a humourless chuckle. “Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want.”

There was endless possibilities for him now. There were limitations in terms of walking in the sun and through running water, once the tadpole was gone, but even then…the world was his oyster. He wanted to explore it. To see everything he never got to while on Cazador’s leash. To experience everything he had been denied.

“And what do you want, Astar?” Tar’eon asked, his mismatched eyes glowing in the dimly lit night. To think once they had scared him. Now, he loved nothing more than gazing into them, letting them be his light in the dark. Here he was, listening intently, patiently. Always so patient with him. So thoughtful. So kind.

“You…I want you.” Astarion turned to him with a small, warm smile. He wanted to do it all; explore, live, thrive, with Tar’eon at his side. “You were by my side through all of this. Through bloodlust and pain and misery. You were patient. You cared. You trusted me when that was objectively a stupid thing to say.” He huffed out a laugh. “You trusted me with your heart, you stupid, stupid man. After all the hearts I’ve broken. You’re a fool.”

“They say love makes fools abundantly.” Tar’eon smiled without a hint of regret and Astarion scoffed softly before looking down at his feet, pressing off his heels in an anxious little movement before he looked back at Tar’eon.

“I feel…safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t.” Tar’eon reached out and took his hand in his gently, caressing his callous thumb over Astarion’s knuckles, his elegant fingers. “Whatever comes next…I’ve got you. And I know you’ve got me too."

“Thank you.” Astarion meant it. Gods, he meant it. He felt like he would never be able to thank Tar’eon enough for all he had given him. All he had done to help him take back what was his. He’d reminded him of his own strengths, and lent his own when he needed it. In his moment of weakness, in his desperate hunger, he had reminded him he could be more. That he was more.

He looked back to the grave and smiled awkwardly.

“Well, I should probably fix this.” He reached for his dagger and frowned when he realised it wasn’t there. Right. He must have lost it when Cazador trapped him in the ritual. It was always on him, so he didn't even think to reequip himself. What a shame, he really did like that one…

“Looking for this?” Tar’eon lifted the hem of his shirt and slipped out a sheathed dagger, offering it out to Astarion.

“You-“ Astarion took the dagger and opened it. He blinked. It wasn’t the same one, he could tell by design alone, but it was frankly, gorgeous. “Where did you get this?”

“I, uh...I had it crafted a while back. Back at Last Light. It’s silly, but I was waiting for the right moment to…give it to you, I suppose.”

“You silly devil, why would you wait so long?” Astarion shook his head, unsheathing the dagger completely and admiring the black blade, curved like a fang. The handle was wrapped with red leather, the cross guard a bright silver colour and curling downwards on one side to curl around his fingers. Harder to knock away or steal. After another look in the dim lighting, he could confirm it was definitely pointed at the end like a familiar pair of horns he adored, the pommel curved like a crescent moon and embedded with a bloodstone. It made him grin. When he tilted it in the moonlight, the black blade revealed a crimson hue.

“Where on earth did you get the materials? It's exquisite."

"I picked up a lot of stuff, I suppose. I kept the prettier things in the chest." He smiled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you...do you like it?"

"Like it? Darling, I love it."

"It's not enchanted like the other, but..."

"As long as it cuts clean, I'm happy." Astarion smirked and turned to his grave, kneeling before it and taking a breath before he began carving into the stone. He'd be blunting his beautiful new blade, but he'd be sure to take much better care of it in future. It felt right he supposed, to use a gift to close this chapter of his life. Bittersweet in a way. He looked back to Tar'eon and smiled, not because he was particularly happy, but because he was grateful to end his story with him here. Now, it was time to start a new one. The sequel, he supposed, and with a much happier plot than the last one, he hoped.

Tar'eon smiled back softly, seeming to understand that he didn't need to say anything. Astarion knelt in front of his grave and looked at the new date left on the stone. He had died two hundred years ago, and now, that part of him could rest. Meanwhile, the him of now, would finally have the chance to live. He had been reborn in Cazador's death, and perhaps one day, someone would write the true date of his death, his final death. He was ready to accept the possibility of having more than just himself in the far future. It was almost nice, to think one day, someone may mourn him when he left this world, instead of going silently in the night, forgotten by all.

Tar'eon reached down and gently placed a white flower on his grave as he knelt beside him, smiling at the stone.

"Cute." Astarion remarked. It was a sweet gesture. He didn't know if anyone had put flowers on his grave after his death. Perhaps his parents had, but he wouldn't know. He wondered if they were buried here too, or in some gutter, or if they were still out there.

He took his time to let it all soak in. All that he was putting to rest. Everything from his past would stay there. It was for the best. Even if his parents lived, he doubted they'd want to see him. He wasn't sure he wanted to see them himself. It had been so long that he couldn't even remember their faces. What was the point in chasing ghosts from the past?

He'd rather look to the future. Soak in the present.

"I've been dead in the ground for long enough. It's time to try living again." He broke the silence that had fallen upon them and found his chest felt lighter to voice it out loud. Like now that it was spoken, it was unavoidable. A promise to himself that he couldn't break. He turned on his knees to face Tar'eon and took his hand in his, guiding him to face him. Tar'eon slipped his other hand into his and smiled, squeezing gently.

"With everything that life has to offer." Astarion thumbed over his scarred knuckles, feeling a little shy honestly. When was the last time he asked for sex? It felt strange to. To admit he kind of...wanted it. Not solely for the satisfaction but to...be close to him. He'd never had the choice before, the desire, to share his body with another. It had always left him feeling uncomfortable and disgusted in himself, wishing he was anywhere, anyone else, but...

It wasn't like that with Tar'eon. He'd proven time and time again that he didn't mind waiting around for him. He didn't mind not having his body. He never expected it. Even when he teased him on purpose and riled him up, he never got mad at him for it. He genuinely...just wanted to spend time with him. Know him. It was different from any other relationship he'd ever had. If he could even call what he had in the past 'relationships'.

"Meaning...?" Tar'eon blinked him slowly, waiting for him to elaborate and Astarion chuckled breathlessly, unable to help his small grin.

"If a night of passion is on offer, I...could be persuaded." He offered, not wanting to seem too eager. After weeks of telling him no, he was honestly a little anxious to see how he'd respond.

"Persuaded? I don't think I like that word." Tar'eon didn't let go of his hands, but his expression said enough. He wasn't going to agree unless Astarion was completely honest. Unless he expressed genuine interest.

"I...I want to." He looked away. When had he gotten so embarrassed over the topic? He was hardly a stranger to it, but...this felt different. Gods, he had butterflies in his stomach for Heavens sake. "Tonight is both my final night and my first. I...I want to spend it with you."

"If that's what you want," Tar'eon stressed the word. After all, this was Astarion's new beginning. He was free. He had a choice in this, in everything. Especially when it came to his body. Always when it came to his body. "Then I'd be happy to be your 'first'."

Astarion barked a short laugh.

"Gods, you are hardly my first, darling."

"You technically weren't mine either, but I consider you to be." Tar'eon smiled. "If you want a night of passion, I'm here. If you just want to cuddle, I'm here for that too. I'm here for you, no matter what you can and can't do for me. I promise."

"That...that means a lot to me, actually." Astarion smiled down at their hands, slipping his fingers between the gaps of his and locking them together. "You know, I didn't care for you when we first met." Looking back, it made him chuckle. He had been so blinded by his own narrative of Tar'eon and his great plan to manipulate him, that he hadn't realised he'd been falling for his own sham, quickly and deeply. He had been just as naive as he had called Tar'eon to his own feelings.

"But I do now. Being with you is more than lust, or manipulating you into a tactical alliance." He rolled his eyes at himself, at the silly ideas he'd had in his head, thinking he couldn't fall for him when he was so damn lovable. When he had so much love to give to any poor soul who needed it. He had needed it.

"I love you." The words finally felt light on his tongue. There was no beautiful lie anymore. Only truth. He was finally ready to say it with meaning. Without holding anything back from him. He was ready to accept that this was it. That Tar'eon was it. "I love this. And I want it all."

He knew he would be his only and one, the one he'd cherish the memory of for centuries after he was gone. He may love again, he may show affections for another, but Tar'eon would be the one he'd think of when the world caved in and everything turned to dust. He was willing to carry the hurt for however long he lived, to have just several decades of happiness with him. That would be more than enough for a lifetime, even if he selfishly wanted forever.

He released his hand, reaching up to cup his cheek, smoothing his thumb over the dark scar etched into his face as he guided him in for a kiss, Tar'eon meeting him in the middle with eagerness that betrayed his earlier reluctance. Astarion suppressed a grin, smoothing his hands down his neck, skimming over his chest before he pushed him back. Tar'eon made a small sound of surprise, looking up at Astarion with wide eyes before he gave a nervous laugh.

"We, uh...here?"

"Where else?" Astarion grinned without shame, eyes shimmering with amusement as he slunk up his body, making space for himself between Tar'eons legs. "Weren't you the one that remarked on how hot it would be? Let me satisfy those dark urges of yours, Bhaalbabe."

Tar'eon tipped his head back with a stifled snort, covering his grin with his hand. Gods, he was the worst. That was horrible. He loved him irrevocably.

He curled up, taking Astarion's chin in hand and guiding him that extra inch to his lips, catching them in a hungry kiss. If he wanted to tease him, to make corny jokes at his expense, so be it. Tonight, he would indulge him. It seemed only appropriate to give him the 'little deaths' in a graveyard. There would be no need to perform for his benefit. Any delicious sounds he wrung out of him would be an apt enough compromise for disturbing the peace of the dead in their home.

Astarion's cold breath tickled his lips as he broke the kiss, burying a hand in his curls, making a mess of loose, soft strands as he sat up properly, his left hand sliding up his thigh.

"Come closer, virdulq myirz." He murmured against his cheek, brushing his lips against the sharp cut of his jaw. "Tonight is about you."

"Then you better undress faster, darling." Astarion countered, swinging his leg over his, slipping his hand beneath his loose shirt, touching hot skin with relish. Tar'eon let out a throaty laugh, pulling back to tug his shirt over his head, throwing it aside for Astarion's pleasure, resting back on his palms so he could have an eyeful. The vampires eyes darkened, Tar'eons cock throbbing in response, keeping his hands to himself even as he dug his claws that yearned for flesh beneath them into dirt. He shivered beneath cold hands, the sharp change in temperature to his natural body heat only making him feel more sensitive.

He wouldn't say anyone was in charge when it came to this particular act, but...well, he was a slave to Astarion's whims. Whatever he wanted, he could have. If he desired him beneath him, free to be moulded by his hands, so be it. Nothing pleased him more than knowing Astarion liked what he saw. His back met dirt and gravel as Astarion forced him back down, tracing perfectly manicured nails along the ridges of his skin, along long forgotten scars.

"This makes a lot more sense now..." He mused, scratching gently over a raised, thick scar the spanned across the right side of his chest to his shoulder. Astarion's eyes flicked up to meet his, a small smile curling onto his lips. "I would have thought you more assertive after all the teasing. I could hear how much you wanted me. But I suppose it makes sense. You were made to worship, weren't you, darling?"

Tar'eons chest stuttered as Astarion slipped his hands up his clavicle, curling elegant fingers around his throat. He groaned lowly, tipping his head back to bare it to the man. He may resent his creator, but Asatrion was right. It was instinctive to worship, and in the same vein, to kill. If he had to worship anybody, it seemed only right to worship the angel illuminated by moonlight before him.

"Yes...My gentle devil, you were made to love like no other mortal man could." He purred, straddling his waist properly and reaching for the latch of his doublet, slipping himself free of the leather and velvet. He tossed to towards his grave and grinned. He suppose all that power was worth giving up, when he had his own little godling smitten in his palm. Gods, if he wasn't just as smitten.

He stripped his shirt off and swooped down to snatch his lips up in a passionate kiss, groaning low as a large hand buried in his hair, the other smoothing down his back. Heat rippled off the tiefling in a way that burned in the most delicious way against his own skin, pulling him even closer by his hip, his touch holding the intensity of a brand. Any disgust or loathing was left at the door, left in the dirt, chest too full of every other emotion he thought long forgotten to allow them to fester. Tonight? Tonight was his. His and Tar'eons.

Astarion giggled as his fang caught on Tar'eons lip, the centuries worth of practice lost on Tar'eons enthusiasm, tongue tracing enticing canines as he pulled away.

"Careful now, love."

"Fuck careful." Tar'eon rasped, eyes burning with heat as he slipped his hand to his nape, squeezing gently as he ducked his head to lavish the vampires neck with tongue and teeth. "If I cared for careful, I never would have let you sink your fangs into me, ph myirz."

A surprised laugh escape his throat, mixed in with a hapless moan, arousal burning low in his gut.

"Like you didn't enjoy it." Astarion grinned. "You're a little masochist, darling. I've known that since you let that priest strike you thrice without killing him." He shivered as blunt teeth scraped over the swell of his chest, a hot tongue licking a stripe between his pecs, tasting and inhaling the rosemary scented oil on his skin.

"I like knowing my blood is what makes you so blush so beautifully." Tar'eon murmured against his flesh, the back of Astarion's neck burning at his words, heat tingling his cheeks. Oh. So that's how it was. Gods, he was more possessive than he'd admit to, wasn't he? It didn't dim Astarion's arousal in the slightest, only making it burn hotter. Maybe because he knew there was a difference between possessiveness and possessing another. After all, he too quite liked when Tar'eon wore his bite mark with pride. There was something about others knowing he was his darling that made his fragile heart ease it's trembling.

Astarion's stomach quivered at Tar'eons large hands grasped either side of his waist, pressing gentle kisses into his skin, mapping out the moles and freckles on his chest rather than the hard lines he maintained over the centuries. He'd been told on multiple occasions he had the body of a dancer, but he could not remember a single time he'd bothered to try.

This though, this felt like a dance. Not in the sense of routine practice, but in the sense that moving his body against Tar'eons left him just as dizzy as spinning circles on a dance floor. He moaned weakly, wrapping his fingers around one horn and guiding Tar'eons lips away from his skin before he crumbled to ash beneath the heat. All survival instincts were out the window now though, because he crushed his lips to his, letting the fire consume him, letting skin split and blood spill between their tongues. It was as esurient as the kiss in the crypt, and he didn't bother holding anything back.

His first rebirth had been raw and cold, filled with hunger. This time, he'd be reborn in blood and fire, just as ravenous as the first time, but he would not go hungry.

He knew Tar'eon wouldn't allow that.

"Get these clothes off before I tear them off." Tar'eon groaned at the demand, lips throbbing and stinging as he licked the blood off them, hands falling to Astarion's laces. The vampire leaned back against his legs, like it was his throne, crimson eyes looking at him like he was prey. Like he wanted to eat him up. A thrill ran up his spine. He had expected something tender, but he wasn't going to complain. They had plenty of time ahead of them to be tender, to make love. They'd both been wanting this though.

To make each other theirs. They were both men turned monsters trying to overcome their pasts at their core, both scared, frightened souls, lead by urges and compulsions that were instilled into them; love wasn't the question between them. It was the answer. They already had that. Now, all they needed was to appease the insecurity in them. To show it was just as loved. That the blood and selfish urge to covet between them was equally adored.

His love was greedy and intense, intense enough to kill and die for, to destroy or create for, and Astarion's love was metallic and insatiable, always hungry for more, voracious. Those things were simply facts. Had they met in another lifetime, it would be a love that levelled cities. In this life though, it was a love that would save one.

Tar'eon tipped the man back onto the ground in a swift motion, kneeling above him as he eased him into the dirt, supporting his weight so he'd be laid out like the treasure he was, lips finding his chest and travelling lower as he slipped his pants down his hips. He only paused to take off the others boots, smiling to himself at the bloody trail of kisses on Astarion's marble skin, tossing his trousers aside.

"I was quite enjoying my view, you know..." Astarion said petulantly, a pout in his words that made Tar'eon grin.

"I'll make it worth the trouble, my oilqyv dajy." He assured, reaching for his own laces to ease the pressure on his cock, his spare hand running over his calf and up his thigh, ducking his head low. He kissed up one thigh, leaving behind faint red prints against his flesh before he did the same to the other, purposefully ignoring the hard cock before him in favour of sucking dark bruises into the flawless skin.

He felt a tug on his left horn and gave a hoarse laugh, licking his lips as the small glare Astarion was giving him.

"I think I preferred when you were some clueless virgin, rather than a cocktease."

"You won't after I'm done with you." He may not have much experience he could remember, but he knew for a fact that he wasn't clueless in terms of sex. Far from it. He pressed a sticky kiss to the crease of his thigh, eyes locked with his lovers as he smiled, only half hidden against his skin. There was a visible stutter of his chest, a flutter of lashes, and Tar'eon grinned, looking more fiendish than ever.

He let Astarion keep his grip on his horn as he licked a stripe up his cock, base to tip, blunt teeth scraping the deep red head and enticing a soft gasp before he ceased his teasing, sheathing his teeth behind his lips and swallowing the vampire down as far as he could, eyes falling shut. He didn't dare touch himself, wanting to reserve his pleasure for his lover, instead taking his hip in one hand, the other wrapping around what he couldn't fit just yet.

It would probably always feel strange, his mouth full of cock than wasn't burning hot but instead leeching the heat from his own wet mouth, but knowing it was Astarion - it made it ten times better than anything he could imagine comparing it to. He bobbed his head with leisure, delighting in the little breathless sounds he drew out of him. There was no better reward to servicing another than the appraisal he would receive. He knew that in the same way he knew the sky was blue.

"Gods," Astarion sounded glorious, voice so soft yet rough around the edges. "You've definitely been thinking about this, haven't you? I can tell." Tar'eon didn't spare him a reply, simply looking up at him and taking him deeper, swallowing around him as he held his gaze. The vampire cursed, head falling back as his hips twitched, both hands grasping onto the thick bases of his horns. He wouldn't mind if he held them tighter, if he pulled, if he tugged at his hair. He wasn't sure he'd mind anything Astarion did to him, as long as he was touching him.

"Now, now, I have plans, darling, I can't cum just yet." Tar'eons quirked a brow, eyes darkening as he buried his nose in coarse white hair. He had plans too. Without hesitation, he allowed the bond between them to stir, opening the gate to his mind wide open. He'd let Astarion see it all, seeing as he still had the sense to blabber on despite having his cock buried in his throat.

Astarion gasped softly at first, surprised by the sudden connection, but a rush of images and emotions flooded in through it before he could question it. Tar'eon wasn't withholding anything, allowing it to tidal wave over the vampire as he lavished his cock with attention. The intensity of his desire, his love, the centre a pure white light of devotion and warmth, shrouded by tendrils of darkness than wanted to consume and be consumed, to make bleed and be bled. There was shame deep, deep within the shadows, hazed over by burning hot passion and yearning, every thought filled with ardent affection for the pale elf.

Astarion thought one scenario would be enough to possibly unravel him, but it wasn't just one. No, it was a dozen, mixing and mashing together through the bond, every fantasy like a phantom touch, warm hands and lips covering every inch of him, sliding, caressing, fingers and teeth digging into his flesh. There was heat everywhere, Tar'eons desire consuming his mind like a wildfire, his lust leaving him feeling feverish, and though realistically he knew the only place he was touching was his hips, knew the only place his lips were were around his cock, it felt like he was everywhere, tearing into him with vicious teeth and putting him back together with gentle hands.

The connection sparked suddenly, short circuiting and turning to static as he ripped his hands from his horns, clamping his palm over his mouth. A guttural sound tore from his throat as his nails dug into the dirt below him, back arching off the ground, pressing up into Tar'eons palms as his body drew itself tight like a bowstring. The sudden gut punch of pleasure leaft him trembling, his vision spotting with bright white spots. He didn't even recognise his own orgasm until after it was over, his cock pulsing weakly after his release, his body deflating against the cool dirt and grass. Hells.

Tar'eon dropped his softened cock from his lips, licking his lips. He hadn't hesitated to swallow. Astarion drank from him near daily. It felt only fair to consume him in return.

"...Are you okay?" Astarion blinked a few times, finding it hard to focus. Gods, was that what people meant by having their mind blown? He felt like his brain had died and was being rebooted. Now that - that was a climax. He thought he knew pleasure, the way any expert would with the experience he had, but he'd never experience anything close to that before.

"Huh? No, yes, I-" He ran a hand through his hair. "You are...full of surprises, as always. Give me a moment. I think you just sucked my soul out, you bloody incubus."

Tar'eon smiled shyly. Gods, the nerve to act shy after that. If Astarion didn't love him, he'd stab him. The tiefling came to lay beside him, tucking his curls back from his damp brow, the gentle thump of his tail giving away how pleased he was with himself.

"I hope I didn't overstep. I probably should have asked first." He admitted sheepishly.

"It wouldn't hurt to warn me next time, but...honestly? That was - mind blowing." The thumping grew louder as Tar'eons eyes brightened.

"Good to know." The tiefling nuzzled his temple and kissed his cheek, tracing his claws along his clavicle. "How're you feeling?" It felt like a good time to check in, all things considered. "You need anything?”

"I was going to rock your world, you bastard. I can't feel my legs." Tar'eon laughed at Astarion's half-assed grumble.

"It's the thought that counts." He slipped his arm around his waist and smiled down at the vampire. "We can end the night here, if you want. I don't mind. Naked cuddling sounds perfect to me, honestly."

"Absolutely not, you pest. You're going to fuck me and you're going to like it."

"Oh, am I?" Tar'eon smiled coquettishly, knowing Astarion didn't actually mean it as a command. He was being melodramatic, as per usual. "Shall I bark too, while I'm at it?"

"Oh, you have such wonderful ideas, darling. If you want to bark for me, I'll gladly to collar and leash you like the mutt you are." Astarion grinned, pinching his chin gently as he leaned up, noses bumping as the vampire's eyes shimmered with mirth. "Pant for me, puppy."

Tar'eon stifled a laugh and tilted his head to crush his lips against Astarions, unable to suppress his grin as he licked into his mouth, chest burning brightly with desire. He saw right through him. After all those lovely thoughts he shared with him, he was obviously liking the prospect of having him everywhere. He would have been happy bottoming, but there was something equally delicious about fucking Astarion.

Perhaps he just lived to please.

“Ah, one problem.” Tar’eon gave a small finger wave, implicating his claws as the problem at hand. “And I didn’t bring anything to rectify that little issue I’m afraid.”

“Gods, making me do all the hard work.” Astarion rolled his eyes and sat up with a groan, cracking his neck. Maybe fucking in a graveyard wasn’t the best idea, but he wasn’t willing to back down now. He wasn’t finished with him just yet. “Well? Make yourself useful, darling.”

He offered up his right hand and smirked, waiting for Tar’eon to get the hint. The bard looked at his hand cluelessly before taking it and kissing the heel of his palm. Astarion laughed.

“That’s very cute, darling, but I meant I need something to make this whole process a bit smoother...” Tar’eon blinked before his cheeks coloured, smiling despite his embarrassment. He whistled softly, a soft yellow glow coating his fingers in grease.

“Good boy.” Astarion grinned and leaned back on one hand, spreading his legs with little shame. No point in such a thing when it was just Tar’eon. Beauty was in the eye beholder as they said, and Tar’eons intense gaze told him he was more than ‘beautiful’ to the tiefling. He was infinitely more. A quiet purr rumbled from Tar’eons chest as the tiefling curled his hand around his calf, nuzzling just above his knee and resting his cheek on his thigh, watching with a languid sway of his tail like a pleased feline.

“Enjoying the view?” Astarion drawled, refusing to let the other know how hot he found his watchful gaze to be as he circled his hole, lazily pumping one finger. Tar’eon didn’t bother with a response when the answer was obvious, his claws scratching gently along his calf as he rumbled out another purr, the sound vibrating through his lover. Astarion shivered, his cock twitching weakly against his thigh before it began to stiffen again. Tar’eon smiled to himself and stopped holding back the urge to vocalise his pleasure at the scene before him. He's not sure where he learnt to refrain from doing so, but something about Astarion's acceptance of him made it easy to unleash, purring louder, a continuous thrum. It was far too animalistic to do around others, growling and purring like some sort of creature, but it was a natural aspect to his ancestors. Why should he hide it from his lover?

He turned his cheek against his inner thigh and pressed a gentle kiss to the pale skin, watching long, elegant fingers disappear past the second knuckle, sinking deeper as his soft breathing grew heavier. His lips parted and he scraped his teeth along the sensitive inner flesh, closing his eyes as he lavished his lovers thigh with love marks, with gentle bites that never dared to break skin. Astarion's sweet sighs were music to his ears, better than any tune he could play upon a flute, or any instrument for that matter.

"Gods, can't keep your mouth to yourself, can you?" Astarion laughed breathlessly, not sounding annoyed in the slightest as Tar'eon smiled against his thigh.

"It's impossible to when it's so easy to get lost between your legs." His hummed, gaze flickering up to meet the vampire's dark eyes. "That's what you wanted, wasn't it? To have me, to make me lose myself in you?" He purred, teasing Astarion about his own pick up lines. The vampire gave a little giggle, tilting his head and biting his lip.

"I've never had my own lines used against me. Aren't you just a saucy little minx?" He grinned down at him and Tar'eons eyes sparkled with mirth.

"Well? Do they work?"

"As well as they did on you, darling." Astarion smiled softly, cheeks the faintest pink as he shifted with a sigh of pleasure, slipping another finger into his hole, relishing in the warm intimacy that shrouded actions that had once been mechanical, performative. "I have you now. Entirely. And not for a mere night."

"You have me for as long as you want me, ph myirz." Tar'eon swore in an oath, pushing his body up from the ground so he could catch Astarion's lips in a kiss, a gentle hand pushing his hair back and cradling his head, swallowing up the faint whimper that clawed its way up past Astarion's lips. He drew himself up onto his knees so he could hold the spawns face in his hand, caressing the smile lines he adored, the curve of his high cheekbone, tracing the length of his pointed ear before tugging gently on the bare lobe. Astarion gasped softly into the kiss, tingling all over. He couldn't remember the last time he was kissed while touching himself rather than touching another. What was the point of sparing affection to someone prepping for the main course, after all? He hadn't known anyone long enough to be given that kind of intimacy, or to return it.

It felt nice though. To be kissed like he was the finest vintage, savoured and consumed slowly. He parted his lips with a low moan, sitting straighter if only to have more. To be held like glass, to be drunk from, to be treasured. Gone was the greedy hands, the scorching kisses, the sanguine hunger - in it's place was the warmth of a hearth, was a touch that cherished and adored, the hunger nothing more than a gentle ache. He loved the tenderness as much as he loved the ravenous need. He was more familiar with the latter than the former, but he said himself that he wanted all of it, and he meant it.

All of it, all of Tar'eon. He wanted nothing less and nothing more.

He slipped his fingers out with a small groan, his arousal not liking to wait. His cock ached, stiff against his stomach, but he ignored it in favour of slipping past Tar'eons loose laces, wrapping his slick hand around his cock and squeezing. He couldn't tell if the sound he let out was a purr or a growl, but the thin ring of colour around his blown pupils told Astarion everything he needed to know. His tenderness hid desperation, his cherishing touch was a newly learned skill, conjured up purely for him, body coiled tight like a viper ready to strike.

He was holding it all back, purely for him, had always been. Astarion hadn't seen it the first night, but he saw it now. He wasn't sure he'd ever been able to pick someone apart so expertly before. Maybe it was because he knew him now, truly saw him, just as Tar'eon saw him too. It wasn't their bodies bare before each other anymore. It was everything that made them who they were, it was their very minds and souls, at each others fingertips. All they had to do was take the time to look.

He reached up and touched his cheek gently, the grey dirt on his fingers and palm marring the tieflings skin. Tar'eon closed his eyes, savouring the caress, and Astarion found himself smiling softly.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"I think I'll always love you." He wasn't sure how else to say it. How to explain to the man that his heart was his, for as long as he would live. He may love again, he may share a life with another after him, but it would never be him. It would never be this. He couldn't see it ever being possible.

"As will I." Tar'eon opened his eyes, and there was no lie in that mismatched gaze. Astarion could almost seeing himself within them, reflecting him in a way no mirror could. His eyes fluttered shut as Tar'eon kissed him once more, wrapping his arms around his lovers neck and dragging him down with him, legs curling around him to keep him as close as possible. Tar'eon bracketed his head with his forearms, not wanting to crush the elf as he laid above him, kissing the promise to his lips. His love would cloak him like a shield, long past his death. He didn't intend to haunt him, but he did intend to watch over him. Until he was ready to let him go. Until he moved on with another. Tar'eon would make sure he wasn't alone in the end, even if it meant walking the Fugue plane for centuries, waiting for him to return to his side.

His tail wrapped around Astarion's thigh, squeezing lovingly as he broke the kiss.

"Don't ask. You already know my answer, darling." Astarion huffed out a soft sound of amusement and Tar'eons eyes softened.

"Doesn't mean I won't try every time." He kissed him again, the press of lips gentle and warm as he grasped his own aching cock, pressing and sinking himself into his lover slowly, breathing in the shaky exhale that escape the vampire before kissing away the pinch in his brows. It took everything in him not to move, to not give into the Urge that skulked around in the back of him mind that wanted blood, wanted tears, wanted to tear into marble flesh.

This wasn't his. This, Astarion, Astar, would never be his. This belonged to him. Not his Father, and not his Urges.

He buried his nose in white curls and shuddered out a breath, inhaling rosemary and citrus, allowing it to cleanse the rottenness inside him. Astarion may use the concoction to hide the smell of death than clung to his undead body, but Tar'eon found comfort in it. It smelt like home. What he imagined home could be. What it once was. Fresh and fruitful.

"Gods..." Astarion's voice warbled. "Just- move." The plea was unmistakable in his tone, nails biting into his back, the skin beneath his cold hands riddled with scars of the past. Even when adding his own crescent moons into his flesh, it felt like healing. Like he was being abolished of all sin; forgiven.

I've paid my penance. Let me keep him for myself, Father.

Tar'eon banished the voice of a younger, more foolish man. There was no forgiveness to seek. Not for this. Not for love. He would never ask permission to love, again. He tilted his head and ducked his chin, catching Astarion's lips in a passionate kiss and letting the past slip away in favour of indulging the present before him. He wanted to be here for this. There was nothing in the past that could compare to this moment. To his life now. Maybe...it was okay to leave it forgotten. Maybe, he didn't need to know the truth, as much as he craved it.

He soaked up Astarion's soft sounds as he rolled his hips, slow and deep, breaking the kiss and burying his face in his neck, not wanting to tempt himself into muffling a single noise in favour of kissing him stupid. He wanted to hear everything. He didn't want to hear Astarion perform this time, to sing like a pretty bird. He wanted to hear his raw vocals, relish in the cracks and imperfections of his voice on the brink.

"Don't," Astarion's fingers tangled and pulled taunt dark strands. Tar'eon groaned. "Don't treat me like I'm fragile. Please. Give me-" He choked softly, but Tar'eon didn't draw attention to it. "Give me everything. My sweet, sweet darling devil, give me all of it." There was a breathless note twisted into his words, begging for it even as he permissed it. Tar'eon shivered, squeezing his tail tighter around his lovers thigh as he raised his head to look at the vampire, loose white curls splayed out against dark dirt and ruby eyes blown and shiny in the moonlight. He looked like an angel...

He knocked his forehead against his, sighing softly.

"I want to treat you kindly. Like you deserve."

"You always do. And I know you always will." Astarion tucked dark strands behind the tieflings ears, caressing the shells of them with a small smile. "I trust you."

"Gods..." Tar'eon closed his eyes and swore softly. Well, wasn't that it then? Whatever he wanted, he would have. Anything he could give him, would be his. Anything he owned, already belonged to him. Astarion's trust was all he needed in return for everything.

He nuzzled into his palm, the scent of the earth stuck beneath his usually perfect nails. He smiled and kissed the lines of his hand with reverence. These hands held his heart in a vice, but he was grateful that it was him who did so. That he could trust him to hold it, to be gentle with it. He kissed the pads of his fingers, cradling his left wrist in his larger hand. In another life, he might have snapped it for the sheer pleasure of it. He parted his lips and took the fourth finger between his teeth, canines clamping down around the base. Astarion hissed, jerking at the sudden, sharp pain.

"What're you-?!" Tar'eon pulled back, licking blood from his canines and looking down at Astarion.

"Trust me a little further." The vampires eyes widened at the request, reminded of his own words. Even that far back...Tar'eon had trusted him. His undead heart threatened to kick to life from the tension alone. Trusting anyone who made you bleed was objectively stupid thing to do...but love made fools abundantly. In pairs. Slowly, he nodded and Tar'eons weariness melted away, eyes softening as he released his slim wrist, hot hands grasping at his hip, his waist, the burning heat of his desire unable to be ignore any longer.

Astarion's hand fell to his shoulder, eyes focused on the imprint of teeth, the broken skin around his ring finger. He wondered if it would scar. It was the first scar he didn't mind the idea of keeping.

He gasped as he was pulled impossibly closer, legs spread further apart by the sheer width of the tiefling's body, his fingers digging into impressionable flesh and hard muscle as the man loomed over him, somehow enveloping him in his shadow even in the dead of night.

"Ph virdulq myirz," His eyes, like Avernus and Cania shrouded in darkness, burned just for him. "Xe dajy haf." It was the last thing he whispered before he bore his weight down onto him, leaving not a single inch of skin untouched as he buried his face in white curls, dragging his hips back and slamming them back into his.

The greedy hands were back, but there was an underlying feeling care, of being almost precious like a jewel, even as claws dug into his pale flesh, possessive and desperate to leave their mark. Pleasure sparked up his spine, arching into the other as the sparks ignited into flames, burning up his neck, his ears, down his chest. The moan that escape him was guttural and raw, head tilting back and eyes falling shut as his cock drove deeper into him, raking blunt nails up the expanse of his shoulders.

There was little else he could do when completely blanketed by the massive man, enveloped in his heat, being warmed from the inside out. He grasped at his back, feeling the ridges of his body, the scars, thick and thin, the burns...He held two lives within one body, full of forgotten stories, and Astarion had the honour to hold it, to embrace it. What an honour it was.

He reached lower, fingers snaking around the tieflings tail, grasping it tight and relishing in the low growl that vibrated through them both. Tar'eon didn't slow his thrusts, even if it pulled the appendage taunt in Astarion's hand, body trembling faintly above him. Astarion smirked, a fang peeking out from his top lip as soft noises were fucked past his lips. He tilted his head forward, burying his nose in the tiefling's neck as the man refused to relent, claws leaving faint red welts down his stomach. He could hear the harsh thumps of his heart, the erratic beat, all that sweet blood burning within his veins, turning his skin a delicious pink. He always smelt the sweetest when excited like this. So close to the scent of him post-battle.

Tar'eon reached up with a moan and cupped the back of his head, encouraging him to bite, to pierce his skin. Take his life essence from him as he took his pleasure from Astarion. He would make sure Astarion never went without, would never hunger - not for anything. Love, blood, pleasure, he'd find a way to satiate his every desire with his body and heart alone.

Astarion didn't clamp down on the offering though. No, he brushed his lips against his jugular, pressing cold kisses down the expanse of his throat. Tar'eon was more than a meal to him. More than a means to an end. He was so much more now.

"Please." But he supposed he couldn't say no to such a pretty plea. It was hard to say no when he was shaking above him, thrusting against that special spot that made his toes curl. He wondered how long he would last. If he'd hold off until he gave the word. It was a tempting idea.

He didn't pierce so much as ease into the flesh, feeling skin and muscle give away to his fangs, tasting the sweat on his tongue before the blood as the tiefling inhaled sharply. The gentleness only hurt more, radiating heat and pain around the stinging wound, burning hot like his dry throat. Tar'eons hips stuttered and he was forced to slow, dragging out every agonising inch of pleasure as they rutted against each other, Astarion thumbing along the bumps at the base of his tail. He drank deeply, letting the blood wash over his tongue, over his lips and down his cheeks, the angle messy. Usually, he only had to worry about making a mess of Tar'eon and the poor mans bedroll, but the droplets he missed now dripped onto him, cooling as they slid down his cheeks, his chin, slipping down his neck.

His whole life had been controlled, perfection expected of him, every moment performed like he was an actor on a stage, prim and proper and appealing...It felt good to be messy. It made him happy to know the scent of Tar'eon would stick to him like a second skin even after he washed the blood away.

He pulled away from the wound with a soft sigh of pleasure, looking up at the tiefling who looked back at him with wonder. He couldn't even question why he was looking at him like that though, too happy to think clearly. He grinned, teeth still coated in red, the lower half of his face streaked with dark blood. There was no shame in those shiny ruby eyes, and Tar'eon cupped his cheek, admiring the expression of pure bliss on the man before he crushed his lips to his, wanting to understand how on Toril his blood alone could make him look so debauched and angelic at once.

Astarion groaned against his mouth, releasing his tail from his grasp so he could clutch at his ribs, clawing his way up his shoulders, aching to be crushed beneath his weight, to shatter in his arms and be put back together. He was close, only growing closer, and he craved the release. Craved the collective ecstasy he had never cared for before. He wanted to die and be reborn a man worthy to stand at his side.

Tar'eon broke the kiss with a curse, lips red with his own blood as he panted above him. Astarion knew the man was unravelling, burning up inside, trying so hard not to fall apart for his sake. He guided him back down and licked across his lovers lips with a hedonistic moan.

"Keep going. You're so close, darling..." He rocked back into him, urging him on, encouraging him to get him just that inch closer to the edge. Tar'eon moan was rough, a hoarse rasp as he buried his face in the vampires neck, his pace growing uneven, sloppy, but he didn't relent. He shuddered out a groan as Astarion's legs squeezed his hips, teeth brushing against his pale neck, aching to litter Astarion in lovebites.

The vampires breathing was growing laboured, cock throbbing between their stomachs as he felt the wave rushing up on him, digging his heel into the back of Tar'eons thigh. He grasped at his nape and gave a sound closer to a dying animal than a man, head falling back as he waited on the precipice, canines scraping at the sensitive skin beneath his ear, a hot tongue cleaning away tacky blood.

"Gods, just do it." He begged, voice cracking as he fisted dark strands, his eyes threatening to roll back into his skull as his orgasm finally peaked, pleasure crashing over him as his cock jumped, spitting stripes of cum between their stomachs, smearing between them as Tar'eon clamped his teeth down on his neck. Astarion's choked sound of pleasure gave way to a weak keen he'd rather die than admit to, skin splitting beneath sharp canines.

"Fuck," He groaned, blunt nails threatening to split skin in return as the tiefling moaned, finally stuttering to a stop. Astarion shivered he felt it, the hot release, the dead weight that came upon him, the grip of his tail growing lax as he pried his teeth from his neck. Astarion could feel blood leaking from the wound, but he didn't move to staunch it, his hands relaxing against the younger mans back, smoothing down and wrapping around the small of his waist. Keeping him there.

They were silent a while, both focused on catching their breath, on soaking up their post coitus bliss. Eventually, Tar'eon shifted, raising himself up just enough to look down at Astarion.

"Are you...okay?" He asked softly. Astarion only realised now that he had lost the twine holding the top half of his hair back, likely from his tugging, dark strands tickling the vampires face. He considered the question, and after a pause to sit with himself, sit with how he felt in that moment, he smiled.

"Yes...I am." He knew it wouldn't always be like this, as much as he wanted it to be. There would be bad days to come, days he wouldn't be able to stand being touched, or days he'd asked for it for all the wrong reasons...but right now, he was okay. He was happy. He felt like he had reclaimed something he lost. The notion that sex could be more than just an orgasm, more than a chore or a tactic.

Such a simple thing to most, but to him, it was special, to know that for himself. To experience it. To know Tar'eon cared enough to make such he wasn't regretting anything afterwards. How many people had bothered to ask, once it was all over?

"How do you feel?"

"I don't think I could put it all into the right words if I tried." Tar'eon chuckled and tucked a curl behind the vampires ear. "But...I know I'm happy. Right now, I'm beyond happy."

"You better be, that fucking hurt. Why do you let me do that to you, Gods..." Astarion stretched his neck, grimacing before he smirked. "There's something deeply wrong with you, you know that, dear?"

"Mm. I happen to have a leech I take everywhere with me. He's quite troublesome." Astarion barked a laugh and Tar'eon smiled softly, admiring the creasing around his eyes. "I guess it's my own fault though. I'm too attached to let him go hungry."

"Oh, poor you. Is that why you had to bite me so badly? Trying to make the score even, darling?"

"No...I just thought it would look better than his." Astarion's eyes widened and he reached up to the fresh wound, brows furrowing.

"What- what do you mean?"

"Oh. Right. You can't see yourself." Tar'eon remembered and blushed a little as he shifted to sit back, pulling out with soft hisses from both of them, Astarion huffing softly at losing his own personal heater. Tar'eon was quick to distract him though, closing his eyes and prodding at the connection. Astarion lowered his hand from his neck as he sat up with a small groan, his lower back aching. He accepted the gentle prodding and allowed him to show him what he meant.

A flurry of images of fang marks on the side of his neck came to him, melding into one. Cazador's bite - he supposed he should have known it was there, but he hadn't realised how dark it was on his skin, how noticeable. He remembered struggling against the pain the night he turned him, wrenching his head away and having to endure a second bite. No wonder the marks looked so dark and deep, he'd only made it worse by struggling.

Then, the image fell away, replaced by the vision of his blood-covered face, and the deep red bite now on his neck, a perfect ring of teeth with the impression of eight canines, the bottom four covering the dark marks. He looked at Tar'eon with round, surprised eyes as the connection faded.

"You...I hadn't realised. Or, I suppose I never thought about it."

"I hope I didn't...overstep." Tar'eon looked away, looking embarrassed and even a little guilty. Astarion scoffed and took his hand, dragging him back down onto the ground with him so he could curl up on his chest.

"You didn't." He was being honest. Cazador's mark only made him think of pain, of misery. Tar'eons made him think of the all the good things to come. Of the happiness he found with him. Of love. "I know your intentions are different. You aren't trying to own me."

"Gods, never. You're your own person, Astar. From here on out, you make you own choices, and you live your own life." He assured, reaching for a discarded item of clothing, his shirt, to help wide the mess off Astarion's cheeks before it got hard and flaky. "Getting to share mine with you is simply a blessing I'll work to deserve."

"Gods, if anyone doesn't deserve the other, it's me. Don't sell yourself so short. I thought I had standards before, but you've definitely made me raise them."

"You deserve nothing less than exceptional." Tar'eon smiled and kissed his curls sweetly. "I want to be exceptional. For you."

"I don't need you to be. You're fine just as you are. Murderous tendencies and all." He chuckled, resting his cheek on his chest and looking at the grave before him, his doublet hanging over half the stone.

All he could read now was Astar Ancun, 229 - 468. It fit well enough, he supposed. He turned his nose into Tar'eons chest, basking in the quiet. In the warmth of his body. In the silence of the graveyard, the only thing that could be heard was their breathing. The cool earth beneath them was grounding as they laid there, Tar’eons arm wrapped around Astarion’s waist.

After a few minutes passed, Tar’eon moments from drifting away into slumber, Astarion shifted and spoke.

“You know what we should do?”

“What?” Tar’eon asked, voice husky.

“We should burn his palace to the ground. Wipe it off the map.” Tar’eon raised his head up, looking down at Astarion who’s eyes were focused on the sky above, only breaking away from the stars to look at him.

“…Is that what you want? To watch it burn?” Tar’eon whispered, brushing his hair from his face ever so gently, unable to help glancing down for a moment to the ring of teeth marks on the side of his neck. How long they'd last, he had no idea. There was a chance they wouldn't be permanent, considering Astarion was a vampire, but...he was the child of a God. Who knew what was possible between the two of them.

“I do. I- I want to burn his existence from this city. I don’t want anyone to think of him again. I want him to…die in every possible way. To be forgotten, like I was.” Astarion swallowed hard, looking back to the sky as he blinked rapidly. Tar’eon smiled sadly and caressed his cheek softly.

“Okay. Then we’ll burn it down. Before dawn breaks, we’ll go, and we’ll strike a match. We’ll watch it disappear for good.” He pressed a gentle kiss to his brow and laid back down beside him, taking his hand in his and resting it over his heart, thumbing over the small wound on his ring finger. “For now, lay with me. I want to hold you.”

“I…want you to hold me too.” Astarion whispered, turning back into his chest. Tar’eon smiled softly, wrapping him up in his strong arms. Astarion sighed softly, nuzzling his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Maybe. But I’ll catch up with you one day.” Astarion chuckled softly. After all, Tar’eon was an endless well of love. Astarion was still learning how to fill his own, but he felt like he was finally making progress. When Tar'eon needed it, he would gladly share what he could to fill his well back up.

For now though, he was happy to let Tar'eon keep pouring into his as not to overflow.

[incorrect-kotor-quotes]

HOW DID YOU TAKE LONESOME ROAD AT LEVEL TWO?!

Ah, there’s that bewilderment and outrage I was talking about. 

Let me regale you with the tale of Kari Essex, who is less of a human than an invisible tank on legs.

The first thing you need to know about New Vegas in contrast to KotOR is that stealth, called “sneak” here, is totally overpowered. Max it out, and you’re practically undetectable while crouching unless you go up and touch someone, your attacks when you’re hidden are automatic critical hits, and several perks can increase the damage output even further. At the start, with my well-educated, maxed-out intelligence courier, I put all available skill points into sneak, then busted into an abandoned schoolhouse, and stole the stealth boy (cloaking device if you’re not familiar with Fallout). I headed towards Sloan, the place overrun with deathclaws, one of the nastiest enemies in the game. Once there, I injected myself with a ton of drugs to get the Day Tripper perk, which makes stealth boys last slightly long, and headed through.

Keeping crouched and with my back to the rock wall, I made it as far as possible until one of the twenty nearby deathclaws sensed something was amiss. I turned on the stealth boy, got through unmurdered, and headed for the Gun Runners. Then, since the weapons I needed were way out of my price range, I fast traveled back to the starting point. Now with the Gun Runners marked on my map for fast traveling, I could bypass most of the map to come and go as needed, and made for the Canyon Wreckage protected by my pathetic armored vault suit and a 10 mm pistol, ready to take on what’s supposed to be the final DLC. If I wasn’t supposed to do this, they shouldn’t have put the entrance so close to the starting town.

The first area of Lonesome Road is mostly deserted, with a bunch of corpses and some defense robots. My solution for said robots was to let my own robotic companion, ED-E, take care of them while I cowered in a corner behind some boxes, hoping my sneak skill would protect me. This worked out, because sneak is broken. Also Lonesome Road’s attempt at setting a dismal, isolated tone fails completely thanks to ED-E. Because when I hear the words “lonesome road” the first thing I imagine is having a companion constantly following me everywhere whom I can talk to whenever I want.

With the robots taken care of, I got to looting them and the bodies of the Marked Men, the most common enemies in the DLC. Then I went right back to the Gun Runners and sold it all for my anti-materiel rifle with a ton of explosive rounds. 

The game was basically over at that point, nothing could stop me anymore. Everything after me getting that gun and that ammo was a formality. There might be weapons that technically do more damage, but I haven’t found any other with the same combination of range, accuracy, and destructive power. The base damage is 110, plus that same amount for a critical hit, plus 80 points from the explosive blast which affects nearby enemies, then double that because all my hits were sneak attacks. Standard Marked Men have <300 hit points. With the scope and my sneak skill, everything in my way would inevitably explode before it could fight back.

I went back to the Divide and emerged from the initial silo area to hear Ulysses, everyone’s second-favorite Chris Avellone avatar, start talking to me, except in this run he was confused because I was still level 2 and had no faction allegiance for him to insult me over. He insulted me anyway, and I headed down into the ruined landscape, squatting low to the ground, looking for elevated positions from which I proceeded to kill everything in my way with no effort. Then I looted everything, cashed in as much as possible at the local terminals, and lugged everything else back to the Mojave again to sell, this time upgrading my rifle and getting more explosive rounds.

Back to the Divide, I proceeded to the next area, got the laser detonator so I could get those damn warheads out of my way, continued to slaughter the Marked Men, looted their bodies because every one of them is worth like 1000 caps, and went back to the Mojave. This time, since I was full up on ammo, I began buying implants from Dr. Kusanagi at the New Vegas clinic, beginning my transformation into an unstoppable cyborg badass with the health regeneration implant and the subdermal armor. Combined with the riot gear I found, I was well-protected and could slowly regenerate any minor damage without needing stimpaks.

Then in the underpass, I had my first encounter with the Tunnelers, the supposedly implacable threat even Ulysses fears as if they’re anywhere close to the same threat as Cazadores. The Tunnelers emerged from their burrows, then looked around confusedly because although the game had told them I was present and they should come out and kill me, they could not tell where I was, even though I was close enough to start laying down frag mines everywhere. After slaughtering them all with my shiny new 12.7mm  SMG, I headed up to the High Road.

Once there, I found another cluster of walking money sacks for me to kill, made another trip back to cash it all in, and moved on towards the deathclaw-infested road. The deathclaws proved to be the most difficult obstacle so far, required two or dare I say three shots to kill, with a couple even managing to get as close as fifty yards away from me. At the Crow’s Nest, I found upgraded armor to make myself even harder to kill even though I was still probably around Level 5 or so, I don’t remember, and used the elevated position to clear out most of the deathclaws in my path.

Then I moved forward and went inside the trailer. You know the one. The one where you go in and a deathclaw spawns right on top of you. By all rights this should have actually been my first death, but luckily ED-E was outside and drew its attention away long enough (about four seconds, RIP ED-E) for me to get out and shuffle far enough away for it to lose track of me, then I killed it just like every single other enemy in my way. 

Then I reloaded the game and placed frag mines everywhere to hurt it when it spawned and took it out head-to-head with my SMG to prove I could. Because if the game wants to pull cheap bullshit, I’ll pull cheap bullshit right back.

One more Marked Man Massacre and three cybernetic enhancements later, I launched a nuke, listened to Chris Avellone Ulysses get mad at me for launching a nuke even though Chris Avellone the many talented, hardworking, totally-not-pretentious people who made this DLC didn’t include any other option to progress, and moved on to the next stretch.

You know the pattern by now. I got to the next location, killed everything, looted bodies, bought upgrades. The Cave of the Abaddon presented my second instance of panic, though this one was my fault as I forgot to keep squatting while moving forward so the horde of Tunnelers inside spotted and swarmed at me, forcing me to kite them back the way I came. I collected Seymour the dog, and headed up to the last stretch of the Divide.

The Marked Men continued to die easily to me in the next area. Then I went to track down Rawr, the most dangerous deathclaw in the area, killed him in two shots, and took his talon as a trophy. In the next area, I encountered a few Marked Men with their own stealth boys. I killed them, took their stealth boys, used the stealth boys to maneuver and get above their friends. It was over once I had the high ground, and I rained explosive death upon anything and everything that wasn’t already in pieces by this point. I’d finally reached Ulysses’s Temple. Then I turned around and walked away because I had a ton of loot I needed to sell.

I entered Ulysses’s little base, sprung a captured ED-E, then went down to face the devious villain, who was standing at the far end of the silo room facing away from me. I shot him in the back of the head, then a few more times to finished him off, looted his body, fought off a swarm of Marked Men, sacrificed ED-E to stop the nukes from launching, and left.

I went back to the Courier’s Mile, retrieved Blood-Nap, my favorite Bowie knife, and approached the area the same way I did everything else. I ended up taking exactly one hit point of damage from a stray bullet throughout the entire area.

That’s it, that’s how I approached Lonesome Road. I originally found it to be an obnoxiously stupid and boring conclusion to the DLC storyline, so I chose to exploit it to rapidly gain money, experience, and equipment while participating as little in the story as possible. Also, I got the Legion version of the Courier Duster at the end and I have no idea how or why.

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A night at Dimples, Japantown's sometimes curious, often funny, always welcoming oasis

It’s a Friday around 11 p.m., and Dimples is in full swing. The karaoke rooms of this subterranean Japantown bar are occupied by one party of mild middle-aged men singing Korean songs, and one group of decidedly not-mild 30-somethings singing the standards. Shouted segments of “Don’t Stop Believin’” blare into the main bar whenever someone opens the door.

At the bar, an old man in a newsboy cap nurses a Budweiser as he watches a sports recap on TV, a bag of golf clubs propped next to his stool. To his left, a guy in his 20s chats with a bartender, while both of them ignore the fact that the guy’s friend is full-on asleep, face down on the bar.

To the right, near the door — where posted notices include a “no smoking” sign (a few feet from where two patrons are smoking) and a flier alerting victims of sex trafficking of their rights — is a foursome that looks to have just come from a more upscale establishment, a double date.

“I mean, he doesn’t like soup or salad,” says one of the women, a blonde who came in limping from her heels, to the other woman. “What am I supposed to do?” Her friend has no discernible solution.

It is, in many ways, a typical dive bar on a Friday night. But Dimples is more than meets the eye. There’s a mythology to this place — and you don’t need to be a troublemaker to leave Dimples with a good story. People who are not fighting types get into fights at Dimples. Mistakes are made. Once, while standing outside, I watched a man bolt up the staircase, vomit efficiently on the sidewalk, then casually trot back down.

“I’ve been asked to leave Dimples,” wrote Chris Ying last year in a Chronicle column on Japantown and the kind of guilty voyeurism the neighborhood can inspire. “If you’ve been to Dimples, you understand what it takes to get kicked out of Dimples.”

For the record, my interest remains piqued.

Dimples was opened in 2002 by Tracy Yang, an effusive woman now in her 50s with a warm and frequent laugh. Yang emigrated to the U.S. from South Korea in 1982; she was running an Irish pub in the Sunset when the Japantown bar came up for sale, and she decided to make a move. Then called Club Cello (though city maps show the basement room was technically USA Karaoke Box), the bar got a swift rebrand: Dimples was the name of Yang’s favorite restaurant back home.

In 2018, San Francisco’s Dimples is more a time machine than a means of vicarious international travel, thanks to its interior design, which can best be described as a sort of faded glory, vaguely “Miami Vice”-esque kitsch. It boasts magenta lighting, mint-green vinyl booths, indoor foliage, mirrored walls, two rooms for private karaoke ($75 an hour), a jukebox (sadly upgraded to the digital variety in the past couple years), a small seating area at the bottom of the entry stairwell in which someone is always chain-smoking and an L-shaped bar from behind which an all-female staff serves cocktails that are neither well-made nor especially reasonably priced. Depending on the day and time, you might also be served free peanuts or pretzels or seemingly leftover fried squid.

The cumulative effect is both unabashedly strange and, somehow, charming as hell.

More Information

To order: Sierra Nevada in a bottle ($5)

Where: Dimples, 1700 Post St., S.F. 415-775-6688.

When: 7 p.m. to 2 a.m. daily.

And then there’s this: In April 2014, Dimples had its license suspended for 45 days after a three-month investigation in which the California Department of Alcoholic Beverage Control determined what nearly every Dimples patron already knew. Dimples is a hostess bar.

Hostess bars, in which patrons can pay extra for female company, are a fixture of the nightlife industry in countries including Japan. They are legal in California, and commonplace in Hawaii. There’s nothing explicit about the transaction: A table full of businessmen might pay a surcharge for a pretty employee to sit and flirt with them for an hour or two, for example.

But the ABC caught Dimples on a technicality: It’s fine for hostesses to receive tips directly from patrons, but apparently illegal for them to receive a cut of the bar’s take. The ABC’s report described this as a “drink solicitation scheme” that could “contribute to the over-service of alcohol.” Within the industry, regulators point to the profit-sharing — not the hostessing itself — as a gateway to prostitution.

There have been no prostitution charges at Dimples. But some of the bar’s idiosyncrasies are hard to ignore: Roughly half the times I’ve been to Dimples, there’s been a chair in the single-stall women’s bathroom, sometimes accompanied by a few pump-top bottles of lotion. Whispers about the karaoke rooms’ less musical uses have floated around for years.

Suffice it to say, few who have been to Dimples were stunned by the suspension. “Dimples Karaoke Bar is Shut Down and No One is Surprised,” read the Bold Italic’s headline. After closing for 45 days in 2014, the bar reopened around Memorial Day. I heard that weekend was packed.

Yang chalks the legal issues up to one bartender and a handful of isolated incidents in which customers were solicited for extra cash after asking servers to dance, she says. Since that time, she keeps a more watchful eye.

“I don’t want any trouble,” she says.

It was, it turned out, Yang’s second sting inside three months. Pagoda, a bar just up the block whose license is also under her legal name (Sonyong Crouere), had been slapped with a 90-day suspension in February 2014. In Pagoda’s case, according to The Chronicle, “one employee was arrested on suspicion of soliciting prostitution and another was investigated over allegations of pimping.”

When asked about the Pagoda allegations, Yang waves off mention of funny business there as well, but adds that she’s recently sold Pagoda to her half-brother and sister. She’s taking a step back. She just moved to Concord after years in San Francisco, and she has five rescue dogs that need her attention.

But she’s keeping Dimples. She loves Dimples. And Dimples, she says, is now following the rules.

I saw little evidence of hostessing — in air quotes or otherwise — on my two most recent visits to Dimples. On one occasion a server asked an older man at the end of the bar for money, which she promptly used for the jukebox.

No, on these visits, my most enduring impression of Dimples was the almost stunning lack of effort they seem to put into what most bars would call their main goal: making and serving alcoholic beverages.

At our table of six on this particular Friday, an impressive one-third of the drinks seem to be wrong. My friend’s date made the beginner’s mistake of ordering a cocktail with more than two ingredients: a Cosmopolitan, as advertised on the laminated menu card. We all sip it, and it’s not a Cosmo. It’s Bacardi or a similar rum, plus something red. Another friend, who ordered a Cazadores Tequila and soda, is more intrigued than upset by the apparent errors. What’s in it that’s sweet, exactly? Tonic water?

Nearby, a man is having a waitress itemize the tab she’s just closed for him. Does he believe his bill was jacked up as part of a “drink solicitation” scheme? I wonder. Or something much less insidious, just an honest mistake? You can almost see the triangulations: his sense of justice versus not wanting to argue with this friendly woman, especially while someone has propped the karaoke-room door open and “I Want It That Way” is making it difficult to talk at all.

And then perhaps the more important question: How exactly do I justify my affection for this place? It’s tough, as I sit in this weirdly lit basement, listening to this man argue about his bill, while my friends sip bad drinks.

I’m still working it out, but I think my Dimples loyalty has to do with the following: life in this city can sometimes feel besieged by affectation — by shiny surfaces, by self-importance and exclusivity, by menus that treat mixology like it’s going to cure brain cancer.

In that context, Dimples is an oasis. A sometimes gross, often funny, always welcoming oasis. Come as you are, it whispers. And all kinds of people heed its call.

Around 1 a.m., the woman on the date with the picky eater is making friends with someone from the karaoke room, asking if she can join. A server is absentmindedly patting the sleeping customer on the back. Overcharged guy has paid his bill — and then been persuaded by his friends to get another round.

We decide it’s time to leave then, to climb the stairs, up out of the bar and back into San Francisco, the San Francisco of “rules” and “expectations” and “standard drink recipes.” We’re a little tipsy, a little lighter in the wallet — but altogether comforted by the evidence that this city still has its weird edges. You just might have to look underground.

Emma Silvers is a San Francisco freelance writer. Twitter: @emmaruthless Email: food@sfchronicle.com

Source: https://www.sfchronicle.com/restaurants/article/A-night-at-Dimples-Japantown-s-sometimes-13350144.php