#astarion looking especially undead here

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

I Won't Lose You

I've been told by all my friends who have played bg3 that durge runs should not be the first run of the game but here I am, doing just that. In my defense, I want to go around as a fictional dragonborn trying to kill most things and save scumming on dialogue choices for approval ratings.

Summary: The dark urge takes over when Astarion gets injured in battle. In the aftermath, you flee, afraid of what the others think of you now but Astarion goes after you to bring you back to camp and reassure you that nothing has changed.

When the arrow pierces through his shoulder, all you can see is red. Blood roars in your ears, a scream tears itself from your throat and you change. You become a different person, your legs move of their own accord, the dagger in your hand twirls and you stab downwards. Over and over again you stab, blood splattering all over you but you don’t care. You’re not thinking, everything is a blur except the one word that rings in your head.

Kill.

And so you kill, your dagger tearing into flesh and drawing blood with each sickening squelch. The metallic taste floods your tongue and you grin. You feel alive, powerful, invincible. No one can stop you, no one can take anything away from you ever again. Laughter bubbles within your chest, bursting forth as you stand there, head thrown back. Blood drips from your clothes onto the floor but you barely notice it. Euphoria thrums through your veins, you’ve killed the being who tried to take the only thing you have left from you. It feels wonderful.

You feel as though a weight has been lifted from your shoulders and raise your arms towards the sky, laughing all the while.

“Try it! Try and take him away from me!” You yell. “I’ll kill you all!”

Adrenaline rushes through your veins as the goblins flee in terror from the figure covered in blood. Your legs begin to move, feet pushing off the floor as you hunt them down, a wild gleeful look in your eyes. Your dagger slices through their skin, ripping open arteries, tearing off limbs and you only laugh harder at their screams of pain.

You slam your dagger into the neck of the goblin leader, crouching on its back as the body falls to the floor with a loud thud.

“No one can take him away from me,” you growl. “Not even the gods.”

You look up to see your companions’ various reactions, but the only one you really care about is Astarion’s. As you take a step towards him, reaching out with a bloody hand, he takes a step back, ruby eyes wide with horror. For a moment, all he can see is Cazador, drenched in blood with a grin so wide it stretches his face, and then he blinks and you’re standing in front of him, a look of hurt in your eyes.

Before your name can fall from his lips, you’re gone, running into the nearby forest. Everyone turns to look at him, the same question in their minds: what did he do?

Back in camp, Astarion tries to ignore the gnawing feeling in his chest as Shadowheart heals his injury. He can’t shake the look you gave him before running away, the fear that filled your gaze. He recognised the look, after all, it was the same as the one he wore as Cazador’s spawn – the look of despair.

“I’m going out for a walk,” he says and leaves the camp before anyone can say anything. In all honesty, he has no idea how to find you, all he knows is that he has to. He can’t leave you alone to fend for yourself, especially not in that condition of yours. Letting out a sigh, he makes his way back to the battle site. He can try starting from there, track the scent of your blood and hopefully find you before anything else does.

When he reaches the site, he notices a lone figure sitting by the bloodstained rubble, their knees hugged against their chest.

“Y/N,” he calls out. You look up, and then quickly look back down, curled even more into yourself. Astarion feels his undead heart ache at the sight of your current state. You’ve always been the life of the party – cheerful, upbeat, optimistic. He’s the one who is broody, sitting in the corner and staring at everyone else and yet here you are, sitting all alone in the cold night with no fire to keep you warm.

“May I inquire as to why you have stolen my role as the broody rogue?” He seats himself next to you whilst maintaining some distance. You keep silent, staring into the distance.

“Come now, darling. Let’s head back to camp, the others miss you dearly, not as much as they miss me of course but –”

“Leave.” Your voice wavers. When he doesn’t move, you repeat your words a little louder. “I said leave.”

“But why, darling? You’re clearly cold and hungry, the camp has both fire and food. Don’t tell me you plan on freezing to death while starving? It’s not a very comfortable way to go,” he tuts. “You should choose a better way of dying.”

“I deserve it,” you mutter. “After what I did.”

“After what you did? You killed the goblins and protected the weak, I don’t believe any of that is deserving of such a slow death.” Astarion attempts to lighten the mood but your face remains sullen.

“You know what I’m talking about. I saw it, the way you looked at me. You don’t want me anymore, you shouldn’t. I’m a monster.” Your voice cracks, tears sliding down your cheeks.

“That’s not the worst thing I’ve seen,” his voice drops to a whisper. “And my feelings for you haven’t changed in the slightest. I still want whatever it is that we have, this weird relationship of ours. Nothing will ever change my mind about it. Your appearance simply…reminded me of something I’d rather forget in that moment, but the situations couldn’t be more vastly different.”

Astarion reaches out with a hand, simply holding an upturned palm towards you. A simple gesture, but one filled with so much meaning between the two of you. You stare at it, a hand slowly reaching out before pulling back again when you see how bloodstained your hand is.

Seeing as you are still in no mood to talk, he continues. “Whenever Cazador was covered in blood, it tended to be my blood. Usually it was after he had finished torturing me for whatever sick reason he had and he would smile at me, asking if I would be his good pet. You were covered in goblin blood, vowing to kill anyone even the gods if they tried to harm me. You were protecting me, not harming me, and I am forever grateful for that.”

Astarion takes your bloodstained hand and presses it against his cheek, leaning into the warm feeling, “I need you, Y/N.”

You feel a fresh wave of tears prick at the corners of your eyes, biting your bottom lip to stop the cascade. He shifts closer to you and leans in, ready to pull away should you flinch but you remain still, looking him in the eye and so he wraps himself around you, holding you tightly.

The dam bursts open and you weep, clutching at his tunic. Ugly tears dampen his sleeve, ruining his perfect appearance but Astarion doesn’t care. He’d do anything for you, just like how you’d do anything for him. The vampire spawn rests a reassuring hand on the back of your head while the other rubs circles on your back as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. Right now, only you matter, and if you needed a shoulder to cry on, he would be that shoulder.

“I can’t lose you,” you sob through the tears. “I’ve lost everything else already, I can’t lose you too. WIthout you, I…I don’t know what to do. You’re the only one who keeps me going.”

Astarion presses his lips to your head, closing his eyes as he takes in your sweet scent, “I can’t lose you either, Y/N, and I promise, we will remain by each other’s side forever.”

His words make you cry harder and you bury yourself into his chest, crying until you have nothing left to give and lie there panting, cries reduced to sniffles. Astarion kisses away the tears that remain on your cheek, lips lingering longer than necessary with each kiss before pressing his forehead against yours.

“All these years, I’ve always wondered if anyone would ever care about me to the point where they would do anything to protect me, and now I’ve found my answer in you,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t be happier knowing that you would choose me over everything else.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back. “Thank you, for accepting me after seeing what I really am.”

“Any time, dearest.” He continues to cradle you in his arms, gently swaying from side to side. As your eyelids begin to flutter shut, he decides that tonight, it can’t just be you who is vulnerable. You trust him enough to drop your guard to this extent around him, he wants to repay the favour.

“I had a nightmare about you, just the other night.” He gently pushes your hair out of your face, tracing your jawline. He’s been wanting to keep this a secret, afraid of scaring you but since you had challenged the gods themselves, perhaps a vampire wasn’t that scary in comparison.

“Did I look hot in it?”

Astarion blinks in surprise. Maybe he was rubbing off on you too much. Amusement colours his face as he gives your cheek a poke and pouts. “First you steal my role as the broody rogue in the party and now you try to take my place as the residential flirt?”

“It’s all your fault,” you huff good naturedly, folding your arms across your chest. “You’ve been a terrible influence on me.”

He smiles softly, giving you a peck on the lips, “I suppose I have. Although I must say, you have a long way to go before you can ever reach my level.”

“I can’t possibly put you out of a job, can I? Whatever will I do to keep my vampire lover around then?”

“You simply need to exist, darling. That is all.”

Your gaze softens and you press your lips against his, kissing him deeply.

“Do you want to talk about your nightmare?” You ask once you reluctantly break away from the kiss to breathe. He nods, swallowing hard.

“Cazador had you. He threatened to kill you unless I returned to him, threatened to turn you into one of his spawn just like me and make you suffer for an eternity while I watched. You swore and cursed at me, saying all this was my fault, that it was all because of me that you were now on the cusp of being turned into a vampire spawn, and I –” His fingers tremble. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Star –”

“I hesitated! I thought about putting myself before you, and I –”

“I want you to do that.”

His eyes widen, “darling, you can’t possibly –”

“Star, you’ve spent far too long putting everyone before yourself. You need to start putting yourself before others from time to time, to stand up for yourself. I want you to live your own life, not someone else’s. And if Cazador ever comes for us, well I won’t let him separate us. We’ll have each other’s backs as we always do, and he won’t stand a chance.”

You say it with such certainty that Astarion almost believes you, but a nagging voice in the back of his head reminds him of how strong Cazador is. Yet, looking deep into your eyes and seeing your resolve, a small part of him dares to hope again. Maybe, he really could stand up against his master with you by his side. Maybe one day, he really could be free, but for now, he’s more than content to simply hold you in his arms, feeling your warm embrace and his undead heart soaring.

[i-figure-out-the-name-later]

The Quiet Hour (Astarion)

To catch him unguarded such as this was a strange sight. Very occasionally could he be caught as still as this. Like a statue appeared in his place.

It was almost easy to forget what it meant to be undead while travelling with him, especially since he played living so well. How could you remember it when his body seemed to move through the world so easily. When every breath he let out cut through the air so smoothly. His curated performance worked so well for him, he himself sometimes forgot it was for the comfort of those around him.

But here he was now. Still. Quiet. calm.

It was late, so late it was becoming early, and the party was still deep in the throes of their dreams. All except for you, who paced through the surrounding woods in an attempt to waste unwanted energy. On the way back to your bedroll you expected the quiet energy of a sleeping party but had the feeling in your stomach that someone was awake. Curious, you look around to see the person of your affections sitting separated from the rest. On a pile of pillows, some greatly worn from time and others newly bought from travelling, Astarion sat staring at the sky. And paces away, you stood staring at him.

As he stared, no muscle twitched, no beath hitched, not even a breeze came by to rustle a hair. The simple action of moving yourself to breathe, to blink, felt too big a disturbance in the little realm he created involving you, him, and the sun soon to rise. It was hard to truly believe the sight was real. It was just so uncanny.

But that was him. Your lover, your friend.

"What thoughts were inside that head?", you whispered in your mind. Was he pondering the journey so far, or perhaps his future? Or was he savoring the peace silence brings? You wanted to ask, wanted to share this moment with him. But you could not bring yourself to rattle the air. However, in an effort to mimic his natural stillness, you did forget to breathe, and you felt deafened by the sharp gasps that you made.

Just as quick as your first gasp left your body, his shoulders raised as he took a deep breath in. But while his body regained its living appearance, as he turned his head it was clear his face had not yet. For a moment, his lips did not move, his eyes did not blink, his eyebrows did not shift. But he stared directly at you. The sight of him filled your heart with warmth, evident by its palpitations, but flickering reds of his eyes with their piercing quality made your hairs rise. But all the nervousness that had infiltrated your mind for disturbing him dissipated soon after.

His face broke out in a smile. A tad coy, as always, but genuine nonetheless, and you couldn't stop the shy smile that you gave in response. And whereas your breathing felt like thunder to your ears, the words he spoke came like feathers against your body.

"Ah, my favorite travelling companion. I was hoping you were the one staring from afar."

I made a new blog purely cause I couldn't sleep and needed to type, and its the first time I've written something like this, so maybe this isnt the best but pshh it's fine

[pursuitseternal]

“𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖑 𝖍𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖕𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖔 𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖊 𝖆 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖊:”

Ascended Astarion x Archdevil Supreme Raphael Explicit | 3.5 K

Happy birthday to the unparalleled @marimosalad, for you… your two pookies in power and in love 🎨🖌️ by them too. And 🩵 to @nyx-knox for her cheering and betaing

Summary: An arrangement for mutual power… no longer

CW: romantic fluff, two powerful men, pining/yearning, feelings confessions, anal sex

“Lovely place you have here, Devil. I must say, the eternal beggars are a nice touch. Homey. Especially the one with the chamber pot.” Lord Astarion giggles, dramatic, affected. Those scarlet eyes glimmering with roiling power. “I mean, when I tell people to ‘eat shit,’ I don’t mean it quite so literally.” His smirk broadens into something wicked and sadistic. “Good for you.”

Raphael sat at his desk in his boudoir, quill suspended midair in his grip. He didn’t need to look up to recognize that purring tenor or that refined, undead scent. He continued his writing, careful not to let the ink drip and make a mess. “To what do I owe the honor, Vampire?” he crooned, unbothered as he continued scribbling on the contract before him.

“Vampire Ascendant, devil,” the reply was clipped, Astarion reigning in his flash of a temper just before those brown eyes raised to observe him. “I am the one and only, and yet…” Astarion eased his stance, opting to lean against the side of a wingback chair instead of sitting in it, “the honor is all mine to be accepted into your glorious home here. One can’t always say they’ve met with a devil in his own home and lived to tell the tale.” He flashed that rakish, fanged smirk.

“You haven’t left yet, oh Vampire Ascendant,” Raphael’s mouth turned into a cockeyed grin. “Plenty of time for you to eat those words.”

Fingers picking at the threads of his ostentatiously embroidered jacket, Astarion took a heavy, dramatic sigh. “We both know you’re bluffing. We both know there is something you want that I could give you…” he raised his crimson eyes, their gaze roving down the Devil, lingering on the lines of his mortal form. “Perhaps more than one thing.”

“Speak plain, lest I cut out your churlish tongue,” he snapped back.

“The Crown,” Astarion replied. “You want it, I can give it to you.”

“You’d betray your own precious leader? The mortal that helped you ascend?” Skepticism twisted his tone, that dark amusement in his lilting his deep voice. “My, my, colour me surprised.”

“They’re nice, perhaps too nice. And they are short-sighted when it comes to their… ambitions. They think it will better serve another in our company on his own path to… ugh… healing.” The Vampire remained fixed in place, even as a storm of emotions danced across his expressive face. “But I am not one to pass up on an opportunity.”

Raphael leaned back in his seat, meticulously setting the quill down perfectly in line with the edge of his parchment. “Well… I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting such a gross betrayal within your ranks, but you know what they say…”

Astarion merely arched a silver brow.

“No good deed goes unpunished.”

With a deep chested giggle, Astarion pushed himself off the chair. “Indeed,” he replied, a rakish smirk on those refined features. “But given all that the hells has done for me, I figure a little quid pro quo is in order. Besides, I’d much rather make myself useful to another powerful being that understands the ways of the worlds in the same manner as I.”

Those crimson eyes locked into Raphael’s gaze as he continued. “I don’t need some bleeding heart creating a new god. I need… assurances of power, protection…” he paused to draw just up to the other side of the desk. “I need the promise of a little something extra powerful in exchange for something you hold dear, Devil.”

Raphael scoffed, leaning back in his seat and tilting his head. “I’m not interested in matters of the flesh, especially not of the undead variety. However, given the look in your eyes, I could offer you my Incubus…”

“My days of seeking those services are behind me,” Astarion fought the need to bristle, smoothing his tone as if to dangle the idea of his physical allure. “No, I want the secret of Hellfire from you in exchange for the crown.” He smirked, his fingers playing over the curve of his cane, those fingers dexterously teasing the gilded golden dragon that ornamented the handle. “Sex is nice, but power… protection… a way to keep my position as the Vampire Ascendant safe from any who would dare challenge me…”

His smirk twisted even more wickedly, noticing how the devil’s eyes followed his fingers briefly before drifting back to meet his gaze.

“I’d rather have power now than anything, even a horizontal dance with a devil.”

Raphael chuckled, shrugging before he snapped his fingers. Fire and smoke flashed between them; a new simple contract appearing midair. “Hellfire for the Crown is a deal I’d be a fool not to accept. I’ll even sweeten our bargain, Lord Astarion, giving you early access to my promised goods to help aid you in fulfilling yours.”

Astarion’s eyes widened, shocked at the generosity. “What’s the catch?” he snapped, eager eyes scanning the scanty few lines on the paper with a magistrate’s eye.

“No catch, nothing but the assurance that it will help you succeed in granting me what I desire…”

Steady handed, the vampire took the quill from the air and signed his name with a flourish. “Very well, Devil. I’m glad to see that our exchanges can come to mutual satisfaction.” He replied as the contract disappeared into thin air, leaving him facing the devil, those brown eyes roaming over his guest with searing appreciation.

“Indeed they do. Now run along, little vampling. I’ll be patiently waiting for word of your victories.”

Astarion gave a quick bow and headed for the door behind him.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Raphael’s voice called, sweetly and sing-song. He waited for that pale face to turn its sardonic grin back in his direction. “No one said the dances had to be exclusively… horizontal.”

Archdevil of Avernus. It even made the Vampire Ascendant grin as he stepped through the portal and into a great hall filled with mirrors. To his keen eye, not much had changed by way of appearances, though… the guest list seemed slightly more refined this time around. Other devils and infernal beings, a clear collection of mortal rulers watching with curious eyes at the display of decadence it was in the House of Hope.

A self-satisfied smirk twisted Lord Astarion’s lips as he recalled the last time he stood here. Halls still filled with debtors, those decrepit skeletal servants chattering about on their ancient bones. How much had changed since last he wandered these fearsome halls, since the day he handed Raphael the Crown of Karsus.

But today, he took a deep inhale, relishing in the revelry, drinking in the decadence. This soirée might have been for the Archdevil’s rise to power, and perhaps it was vain, but Astarion liked to think it was just as much his victory as well. And what a victory it was… the rush of power, the thrill of conquest, and the glory of ambition. The vampire gave himself a sly smile, knowing and craving those same things. After all, it was what he deserved after centuries at the hands of a master; he would have no other. None but himself. And at last, like in the true mirrored reflections he enjoyed so much, that lust for power reflected back at him in the face of this new Archdevil.

And it was… delicious.

No one else knew the obsession inside him, the need, second to none, to maintain control and to dominate. Only Raphael.

And, speaking of the Devil, Astarion laughed in his thoughts as he entered the great chamber of the House of Hope, he instantly felt those flame-flickered brown eyes lock on his entrance.

He entered, head held high, cane in his hand tapping along with his footfalls as he made his way, headlong into the fray of guests to approach the Archdevil. His gaze was searing, following every graceful movement Astarion made until he was right beside the Devil. He didn’t bow, didn’t fawn or bend low before the infernal creature. He just smirked, standing beside the arm of the Devil’s throne… and then he flicked his finger to ping the metal of the Crown of Karsus on his head.

The slightest metal click made those brown eyes squint as Raphael smiled up at the vampire. “You accepted my invitation to attend? A bit foolhardy but ambitious.”

“Me to a T,” Astarion chuckles, turning to scan the crowd from this vantage point. “I must admit,” he said, running a finger over the gilded top of the throne then down its side, “you’re the only other being I’ve met that makes power looks good.”

Raphael’s brows arched, brown eyes flicking up to meet those scarlet ones. “Aside from you, you mean?”

Astarion gave that rumbling low giggle. “Naturally, darling.” He gives a twirl of his hand, his cuff’s lace dancing in the air along with his wrist. “Aside from myself, I have never met another being so deserving of a crown.” He tilts his head; his kohl-rimmed eyes glinting at it covetously. “Perhaps I need one… a crown I mean.” He sighs, “It just looks so wonderfully elegant and powerful.”

Raphael stood, drawing to his full height, meeting the Ascendent right in the eyes, he gave a twisted smile. “Be sure to get your own, my vampling, unless you’d like to make a deal…” He lets the question hang in the air, the noises of revelry in full swing around them. Voices and music, it all fell to a hum as they locked eyes.

“Eh, a deal? I think my dealing days are quite done. I’m just happy to know I’m in the good graces of one as powerful as you,” he bows his head, flashing that charismatic, easy smile. “Besides, it’s a precious thing just to be on your good side, Devil.”

One final twist of his smirk and he made his way down to the throng of guests. Congratulations given, he was determined to sample a taste of the pleasures the hells had to offer. Reaching a table set lavishly with all manner of food and drink, he drew up short to feel that same searing heat standing behind him once more.

A tanned hand reached around his, grabbing a golden cup and offering it as Raphael slid to the side. “Allow me, Lord Astarion,” he crooned. “This vintage is perhaps best suited to your… most refined tastes.”

Astarion’s crimson eyes widened a moment, staring at the cup for the briefest of seconds before closing his pale hand around it. “I trust your recommendation, Devil.”

He lifted the cup to his full lips, the fragrant bouquet hitting his senses full bore. It went right to his head, or maybe that was the way those flame-flickering brown eyes seemed to drink him in as he lowered his cup.

“Is it to your liking, Astarion?” he asked, velvet tones caressing his name with something equally heady as the wine now in his belly. For a split second, the devil’s gaze watched as Astarion licked a drop of wine from the corner of his mouth.

Oh. No, couldn’t possibly… Astarion nodded once and smiled politely. “You give excellent recommendations on all things decadent. This party for one,” he scanned the lavish room. “Food and drink. Music and sex. So many indulgences in one place. Makes me realize I’ll have to step up my own soirées at the Crimson Palace if I’m going to keep my hedonistic reputation intact.” He snipped the consonants.

Raphael smiled, that swarthy face lifting as he grabbed his own cup, appeased and relaxed for once as he looked out on the fray. “Perhaps you’d deign to include me on your guest list? It’s been some time since I rubbed elbows with the undead elite.”

Astarion smirked to feel that devilish gaze back on him. “Oh, my darling, you mean me? Tch, I do suppose I am the elitest of them all now.” He took another drink of the wine, savoring the burn down his throat. Only to find Raphael a bit closer. Those corners of his dark eyes a little… softer.

“I do not make such offers lightly, Astarion,” the devil spoke, “nor do I pin hopes on wisps of nothing. You are unique, a mirror to my own ambitions and drives. You and I, we are cut from the same fabric of power, molded by the same sorts of trials, and seen by the ignorant as monsters.”

Astarion held his breath, watching those lips lift in a small half smile.

“But I know you are no monster any more than I am, and I… appreciate that connection.”

“Connection?” Astarion gave that rakish smirk, crimson eyes glinting with his swagger charm. Then he gave that flurry of giggles. “I knew devils like to toy with the truth, but this… tch.” He sucked his teeth, scolding just a bit. A sarcastic arch to his silver brow.

Raphael merely matched that easy, daring twist of a smirk, extending his hand and glancing his dark eyes towards the center of the room. “Care for a dance, Ascendant?”

Astarion’s eyes widened at the gallant gesture. “I… I suppose it would be rude to refuse,” he flashed that rakish grin, but something about it felt false. Too much of a show of detachment for the nagging feeling in his belly. A belly that no longer gnawed with a spawn’s hunger, largely thanks to the owner of the infernally hot hand that closed around his own.

For once, that now-beating heart in his chest lurched, pulled into the crowd of couples dancing. The music beat and swelled, but nothing was louder than that thump of his ascended heart and the way he seemed to breathe too loudly. Carefully, he schooled his face into that easy smile even as that other infernally hot hand pressed tentatively on his lower back.

He cleared his throat, turning his head to view the room. “You know…” he began, stopping short the moment he felt a pair of fiery warm lips on the arch of his neck. Just one little press right over his scars.

“Apologies,” Raphael rasped, feeling the tension in Astarion’s body. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. What is it I should know?”

Astarion, brows furrowed and full lips twitching, he looked into that swarthy, handsome devilish face. He expected sarcasm, a look meant to intimidate and ruffle feathers. But all he saw was curiosity and, if he was honest, hesitation. “No I was just…” his own silken voice stopped at the lump in his throat. His hand gripped into the top of the devil’s shoulder as he pulled him against his lips.

Warm. A hint of spice like cinnamon. The slightest purse against his own. That’s what Astarion felt the second their lips met.

A taste of power, a thrum of recognition. Astarion felt those warm hands on him grip just a bit firmer, pulling him slowly flush against the devil’s chest. Then that velvet voice whispered against his lips, “I’ve waited too long for a taste of you, of your own power.”

The vampire exhaled, intrigued by the taste of heat on the mouth against his own. “And, how does it taste?” he purred in reply.

Raphael’s lips twisted in a smirk, throwing back a word he’d so often heard the Ascendant use: “Delicious.”

The moment a lull had fallen on the festivities, that warm hand into the vampire’s grip once more. “Follow me, Ascendant,” he murmured in that pointed ear. Soon the crowd dispersed the further into his House they went. Heads held high, hands held tightly, they smiled with confidence, nodding to those few straggling guests who sought to congratulate the new Archdevil Supreme… or who recognized the Vampire Ascendant, royalty of the undead. Unspoken, they both began to tread just a bit faster once that shimmering door to his boudoir came into sight.

Entering, the rushing of the rejuvenating bath seemed to fade into the distance as their lips met again, this time in hunger and aching need. Neither even acknowledge the whines and pouts of the incubus that paced deeper in, knowing best to let their master attend to his own affairs.

Raphael’s body reached its limit, a blazing inferno beneath this mortal veil as he pulled Astarion against his chest and pulled him towards that decadent and sprawling bed. Those burning lips parted, barely withdrawing from that fanged and hungry mouth as he rasped, “Astarion, I would very much like to share with you my appreciation… for your power, and for… your very being, one that mirrors my own.” He kept those flickering brown eyes closed, holding his breath tightly in his chest as he waited, as he made his offer with no strings nor contract attached. And it made his heart pound in his damned chest.

“Yes, devil,” the reply passed between his parted lips with that deliciously rakish giggle. “If you insist on worshiping me, how could I say no…”

His hands worked quickly to disrobe the vampire, letting that tailored suit of silks and golden thread fall to the floor to uncover the real luxury beneath. Skin pale and pearlescent, muscles etched and carved with strength, it even made his ancient heart stutter with lust and desire. He recalled seeing so many years ago already it seemed, on the road to Baldur’s Gate when this whole thing began. He felt him purr, lips twitching as they locked eyes again.

Smooth nimble fingers followed suit as Astarion pulled apart that elegant jacket to expose the chest of a man who was so, so much more. Trails and patches of dark patches of hair lined his body, and Astarion couldn't help but touch them, curious and aroused at the sensation so different from his own smooth flesh. He’d had mortal men before, of course, but none so sculpted and godlike… or perhaps not so devilishly handsome. He laughed at his own humorous thoughts only to feel a knuckle under his chin, lifting his face.

Raphael smiled at him. “Something funny, Ascendant?” he murmured, dark eyes watching those plush lips part to speak.

“The contrary,” his smile turned soft at the corner, hands winding around the heat of his back to pull him flush, to lose himself in that searing embrace. “I find myself very serious about you… how I, too, feel for you.”

Clothing shed, the bed caught them both as they tumbled into it. That dark skin and bristled hair was a crush of muscle, the devil carefully lowering himself on the pale elf, breathing rough and ragging into that fanged kiss. Arousals pressed together, and devilish hands clawed and gripped hard into that perfect swell of an ass beneath him. “So handsome, so powerful, a reflection equal to my own…” Raphael growled into his mouth, hips pressing and grinding into the vampire, slowly.

“Hells,” Astarion gasped, reaching between them to grip their cocks together and tighter, a bit more relief with the friction. Then he panted a laugh, “The irony… of that curse is not… lost on me.” His silken voice broke with each gasping breath he made.

“I’d rather hear my name cried from your lips,” he murmured, teasing his finger into that tight ring of the vampire’s ass. His laughter is slow, lazy and gentle for once, fingers suddenly coated in oil as if summoned from thin air…

“Neat trick,” Astarion purred, rocking his hips, lifting his ass for ease. “You’ll teach it to me… hgnf…” his voice broke as he was skillfully stretched open.

“That and more are yours, Astarion, when you’re by my side.” There was so much weight to his tone, so many asks and emotions implied, even as he pressed his cock at the vampire’s entrance.

Devils were vain, proud… and Astarion recognized the hesitation and vulnerability masked behind the words.

For they mirrored his own.

Nevertheless, a single, “Yes,” slipped from the Ascendant’s smirking mouth. Twisted lips parting in ecstasy the moment he felt hot, warm, and so full.

Foreheads pressed against one another—their breath a wash of warm and hot. Skin slid on skin—one dark and swarthy atop one pale and undead. For two such powerful beings, they drove one another to the brink.

Their voices huffed and panted, whimpered and growled until hot seed filled his insides, and Astarion’s own cum coated the rises of his belly.

Never, he thought, never was it so chivalrous with anyone, never had he felt so seen and desired by one so powerful and pleasing in shape. His mind awash with bliss, his vision filled with only those dark eyes set deep in that regal face, and Astarion actually felt his heart beat. Not just out of the magic of his rite or from the necessity of his new, glorious, undead life. No, this was an unsteady flutter… young and ruddy and uncontrollable.

A sensation he had long thought impossible. He pursed his lips, pressing them one last time for a kiss, clinging to the moment, to the feeling of seeing himself in the mirrored shine of those dark eyes.

As their lips broke one more time, that rich baritone voice crooned down at him, Raphael’s hot palm cupping his cheek. “Stay, Ascendant. Stay with me.”

“Yes, Devil,” he purred softly in reply, “my darling.”

@marimosalad I wouldn’t be doing this at all or still or this much without them. My tadpole sister, my constant collaborator. I am beyond lucky and blessed to call you bestie. 🩵🩸

[oakdaddypreserveme]

halsin x briar

warnings: smut, vaginal fingering, p in v sex, daddy kink

i did not edit this

summary: briar gets hurt and halsin helps her

minors dni

another day of going through the wretched shadow cursed lands. though they had been fighting the undead that haunted the area for days, briar reckoned that she would never get used to them.

the latest scrap had left her with a scratch and more than a few bruises. it hurt more than she let on when shadowheart first enquired about her condition. this place was dangerous and briar couldn’t afford to let her weakness slip in front of her party. as their leader, they needed to see her as a pillar of strength and briar knew that shadowheart was out of spells for the day, just as she herself was.

so when the glow of their camp’s fire could be seen in the distance, briar was more than overjoyed. there she knew gale was waiting with a meal, and astarion was waiting to give her comfort.

and halsin was waiting to tend to her wounds.

ever since she’d freed him from the goblin camp, she had to admit that there was an undeniable chemistry between them. on their journey he’d mentored her about being a druid, especially as she was fairly new to being one before the tadpole got stuck in her brain. oftentimes they would walk through the forest as he showed her the bounty of the oakfather’s gifts. they meditated together in the stillness of the evenings.

when he guided her hand to feel nature around her it seemed that it lingered. when he encouraged her to close her eyes and take in the forest, she felt his breath on her neck. it was enough to make her ache.

but he’d made it clear that the shadowcurse was his priority when they’d celebrated with the tieflings. they’d had plenty of moments since then but briar was certain he wouldn’t act.

so when she walked into halsin’s tent, bruised and battered and in pain, it melted away immediately when their gazes met. for a moment it was as though they weren’t in the shadow cursed lands anymore. for a moment, it was just the two of them.

“you’re hurt,” he said after a pause. he stood up and approached her with a worried eyes and eyebrows knitted in concern.

“a scratch is all,” briar said noncommittally. “shadowheart and i don’t have spells left. could you spare any?”

“of course,” he said. “but this looks like more than a mere scratch, briar. what happened out there?”

she chewed her lip. “we were ambushed on the way out of the gauntlet of shar. shadows and undead. i transformed into a bear to get them all once we got over our surprise. it won’t happen again.”

briar didn’t tell him that she barely had the energy to shift in the first place. that she was exhausted. but he took one look at her and it was like he knew.

“these lands are treacherous, little one. you don’t have to take on the burden of navigating them alone.”

“i don’t—”

he shook his head. “i understand that you need to be strong in front of the others. they rely on you; you are their light in a near hopeless darkness. but i am not them. you don’t have to be strong around me.”

briar laughed humourlessly. “you would say that.”

halsin looked at her steadily. “at the grove the other druids looked to me for strength in the same way a pride of lions looks to their own leader. but i had no one who could be strong for me when i needed it most. at least, not until you saved me from the goblins. so i ask this of you: let me repay the favour.”

it took a moment to realise just how close he was. his soft breaths fanned across her face. his l skin radiated warmth upon her own. briar sucked in a shaky breath as he grabbed her hand. he still had such an effect on her.

“i’m exhausted,” she admitted in a small voice. “i could barely transform into a bear when it counted, and we only just managed to stave off the undead. gods, halsin, what would have happened to everyone here if i’d made a mistake? to thaniel and oliver?”

he pulled her into a hug and she felt safe in his strong arms. “let it out.”

briar didn’t realise she was trembling until he steadied her. she processed her emotions as best she could as halsin comforted her. she truly didn’t realise that she had been hanging on by a thread this whole time and all it took for her to come crumbling was his kind reassurance.

after a moment halsin released briar and she found that she immediately missed the way his arms felt around her. when he gestured her to sit on his bedroll, she complied.

briar sat and he rummaged around his belongings before finding some bandages and ointment. then he looked at her.

“now, where does it hurt?”

briar gestured to her mid section and there the archdruid rested his hand atop her armour before he looked at her. she nodded her consent and he lifted the top to reveal her midsection.

“silvanus’s tears, briar. this…”

her dark, freckled skin was littered with bruises, while scratches made a tapestry of her. she hissed he placed his hand on one of her many lesions.

“this will hurt but a moment, little one,” he said.

she nodded and gasped as he cast lay on hands. it stung, but eventually the feeling melted away and was replaced with a cool warmth. she found herself relaxing under his touch as she closed her eyes allowing the spell to tingle through her body.

“good girl,” he said softly. “that’s it.”

briar moaned softly at the praise, forgetting herself, but the moment she heard it coming out of her mouth it clamped shut and her eyes whipped open.

halsin’s movements stilled at the sound and he looked at her.

“gods, halsin, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to—”

“i thought you were with astarion.”

the two of them spoke at the same time and briar felt herself getting warm.

“i am…” she started. “but we’ve discussed…my nature as a wood elf. he’s accepting of me, and gave me his blessing to be with you if it ever came to that.”

“how generous of him,” he said softly. “so accepting of our culture.”

“he’s full of surprises,” briar said fondly. “but you need to focus on the shadow curse—”

“i’ve done all i can on my end with thaniel and oliver reunited, thanks to you of course.”

briar felt herself warm at his words. “it was nothing.”

he leaned in. “finding art’s lute? keeping the shadows at bay while i entered the shadowfell? finding oliver and convincing him to stay? you sell yourself short, little one. i could not have done any of it without you.”

the praises shot through her.

“in truth, i’ve admired you the moment you saved me from the goblins,” halsin said, his voice barely above a whisper. “i had my duty to liberate these lands from the curse, and i thought your bond with astarion would prevent anything from happening between us regardless. but i would be lying if i said i enjoyed our lessons together for more selfish reasons. any excuse i could have to touch you, to be near you…

“i’ve lived a long time, briar. i’ve taken many lovers. my heart does not stir lightly. but it does now.”

he placed his hand on her cheek and she leaned into the touch.

“i cannot express how much i’ve wanted you. if you would have me.”

his words were pure poetry, something the wood elf had no experience in. they flowed like water, sang like the melody of the forest. it was a wonder how she’d made it this far at all without getting charmed by the way he composed his words.

“i’m right here.” her voice was breathless as she responded and before she knew it, halsin’s lips were on hers.

briar moaned into the kiss as his hands trailed up her sides. the remnants of the spell tingled through her as he brought her closer to him, creating a delicious sensation wherever he touched.

his tongue prodded her lips and she welcomed him in, relishing the how he explored her crevice. she shivered at the sensation of him brushing her gums, which earned a smile from the archdruid.

the way he felt under her hands, so firm and warm and safe, awoke something in her. where with astarion she felt protective, with halsin she wanted nothing more than to let him have his way with her. to be whatever it was he wanted her to be. to let nature at its most primal take over.

briar bit halsin’s lip and he growled as he grabbed her hips and pulled them to his. his excitement became very apparent against her.

“poking the bear, are we?” he asked between kisses. his tone was almost feral and she relished the way he sounded. being the reason that the usually calm archdruid lost control filled her with some kind of pride. “you’re playing a dangerous game, little one.”

“from where i’m standing, it seems the bear is poking me,” she snarked and she felt him smile against her lips before he moved down to her neck. she moaned softly as he gently sucked an area that made her go wild.

afraid others would hear, briar muffled the sounds she was making with her hand. she heard halsin chuckle against her. “good girl. we wouldn’t want anyone else hearing us.”

she whimpered at his words and halsin pulled back. “it seems you enjoy when i call you that…or when i give you any sort of praise in general.”

she felt herself get warm under his gaze and couldn’t help but look away to avoid it. “i…i like it.”

a delectable smile graced halsin’s lips and he leaned into her neck to kiss it again. “you like being told how good you are for me?” he murmured against her skin. “to be told you’ve done well? to be told that you’re my good girl?”

“hells, halsin,” briar whispered. “i need you.”

he kissed her with more fervor, guiding her down so that she lying comfortably on her bedroll with his form enveloping her. halsin was large and everywhere, with his hands on her breasts, gently tugging at her nipples.

“the noises you make,” halsin whispered, his eyes glowing gold as his hands travelled lower. “gods, briar. i can’t wait to taste you on my tongue. to feel your thighs on my face like a vice. to have your walls clench around me as you cum. you have no idea how long i’ve wanted you under me, the amount of times i’ve rubbed my cock at the thought of you taking every inch of me. of marking you with my bites and having everyone at camp see them the next morning, of staking my claim—”

halsin stopped abruptly as his hands glided against her underwear . a shudder rocked through him as his eyes slid closed and he nuzzled her freckled neck.

“oak father, preserve me,” he moaned against her dark skin, his voice absolutely shattered. “you’re so wet, little one. i’ve barely touched you.”

“i can’t help it,” she responded. “you have such a way with words.”

he chuckled. “talking isn’t the only thing this mouth can do, you know.”

he moved lower, kissing every scratch and bruise on her torso like an act of worship. taking a breast into his mouth, he suckled it while the finger that was circling her drenched underwear teased her folds. briar gasped, her back arching as a soft moan escaped her lips before she watched him tear off her underwear with a growl.

“white panties on a body like yours should be considered sinful,” he muttered before tasting her on his fingers. he groaned when her taste coated his tongue and he took a deep breath as if to compose himself. “not even the sweetest honey can compare to your nectar, briar. i want to drown myself in your scent. to lose myself in you completely. i’m going to absolutely devour you.”

“is that a promise?” she asked and she gasped when he grazed her clit in response.

"you'll be the death of me," he groaned. he placed his forehead on hers and looked deep into her olive green eyes. “if that’s how you want it, we’ll need a safeword,” he murmured, tracing her jawline affectionately with his knuckles. “something you’d never say during sex.”

briar thought for a moment, noting that though his tone was soft, his intention was incredibly serious. this wasn't something that she should take lightly. “drider?”

halsin paused his movements and looked at her as he considered her suggestion before accepting it with a nod. “that’s good enough. say it out loud for me.”

“drider,” she repeated with more conviction and the older elf smiled and kissed her.

“good girl. if things get too much for you, just use that word, alright?”

“you underestimate my abilities, master halsin.”

he raised a cheeky eyebrow before plunging two of his fingers into her. “you’re going to be the death of me.”

briar opened her mouth to retort but just then halsin sent a delicious thrust of his fingers along her walls which caused her to gasp. “fuck.”

“that’s the idea,” he responded before setting a slow, teasing pace. “i'm going to taste you, but first i need to see you cum on my fingers. i need to know how you look like when i do this to you.”

though his fingers felt delicious, the pace was agonisingly slow. briar bit her lip and gasped as she closed her eyes, but her chin was grabbed suddenly which made her whip them open again.

"don't close your eyes," he said firmly. "i need to see you."

briar mewled but nodded her head, focusing on the sensation of his fingers dragging along her walls as she made eye contact with him. it felt divine, almost sinful to feel this good from such a simple movement.

though slow, the pressure began to build inside of her, trickling through her. she tried to form words between gasps around her swollen lips but was too drunk on the feeling to be able to be coherent.

"what is it, lover? use your words," he said before giving her a particularly hard thrust that made her see stars.

he knew what he was doing if the way he was smirking at her was of any indication.

"mmm...~ how m'i s'pose t'say anything if you tease me like this?" she asked between breaths, breasts heaving at another particularly hard thrust.

"hm?" he hummed. "i don't know what you mean."

"fucker," briar said without bite.

"i will be, in a moment," he promised before kissing her full lips again. "now, what was it you actually wanted to say, hm?"

she gasped again as he suckled on her neck once more and felt his teeth graze against her skin. "more."

he let out a soft, teasing breath and she knew he was chuckling. "you'll have to do better than that, briar."

"how do you mean?"

he looked her square in the eye, not for a moment pausing his ministrations. "i'm not in the business of giving in to those without manners. ask nicely."

his words cut through her. briar was never one to demean herself so easily, to give in so readily. but the way he had her in the palm of his hand, the way he got her teetering on the edge so easily...gods it did things to her. she found it easy to submit to him in that moment, to want to submit to him. to want to trust him with her whole being.

though, she didn't want him to know he won so quickly. like a child she let out a petulant hmph and said, "make me."

he paused his movements and regarded her steadily. there was a look in his gaze that was foreign to her. yes, it was still somewhat soft but there was a whisper of something darker lying underneath his eyes.

she shivered as he completely disengaged from her, leaving her cunt aching with emptiness as it tried desperately to squeeze the fingers that had left it. halsin grabbed her hands and pinned them above her, and she squirmed under his intense stare. a new pool of wetness leaked out of her as she saw his eyes flash gold.

"i'll let that slide for now because this is our first time together and you're injured," he said gently. "but if that's the kind of game you want to play i promise i can be a lot less accommodating."

his tone shot through her. she had no idea that she would enjoy being reprimanded like this. being the subject of his present ire only made her want to misbehave more.

"silvanus's breath," she muttered.

he shook his head with a smirk. "that's not the name you should be calling out when i'm having my way with you."

"oh?" she asked with her own smile. "what would you prefer? 'master halsin'?"

he cringed. "i'd prefer not."

briar smiled wickedly. "daddy?."

he froze and let out a deep breath. "you're playing with fire, little one."

"even forests get burned as nature takes it course."

halsin's grip on her hands tightened. "i was going to treat your body like an altar. i was going to taste you until you saw stars. i was going to worship you so thoroughly sune herself would be envious. but now..." he brought her leg to wrap around his hip as he slotted himself between her legs. briar felt his bulge nudge against her engorged clit and she moaned. "...i see you don't want that. at least, not tonight."

"and what do i want? enlighten me."

he growled lowly. "you want to be fucked. to be used as my plaything. to be so utterly wrecked that you forget your own name. did i get that right?" his voice had dropped an octave and she bit her lip at the promise.

"gods, yes."

"yes what?"

"yes, daddy."

"good girl."

he smiled and kissed her gently before look her in the eyes once more. they were soft, and inherently she knew he was asking if she wanted him to continue. "i'll be rough. what's your safeword?"

"drider."

he nodded before unbuckling his trousers and finally, finally, setting his glorious cock free. immediately briar's mouth watered, and halsin must have noticed her lick her lips because he laughed.

“i’ll use your mouth another time. perhaps even later tonight. but right now…” he teased her entrance with this tip. “i’m going to have my way with you, little one.”

briar struggled with her pinned arms.

“since you asked for more earlier, that’s what i’ll give you. however, because you’d forgotten your manners, you don’t get to cum until i say so. is that clear?”

“what? wait that’s not fair—”

“i didn’t ask if it was fair, i asked if i was clear,” he interrupted.

she genuinely didn’t know if she could do it, but she trusted halsin enough to know her limits so she nodded.

“the safeword is always an option,” he reminded gently. then more firmly he asked, “am i clear?”

“yes daddy.”

“good.”

slowly he began to sheathe his cock into her and the stretch burned but in the best way. she realised that he had been preparing her earlier, opening her up as much as he could and she was grateful.

“i’m halfway in,” he said gently and her eyes shot up. only halfway? gods she could die on his cock. it was better than dying by tadpole, that was for sure. what a way to go.

when he finally slotted himself into her fully, her legs trembled uncontrollably. she had to take a few long breaths as it grazed a sensitive part inside her that made her see stars. “ahhhh, halsin wait. if you move i think i’ll cum.”

“already?” he asked and when she nodded he swore under his breath. “oak father, preserve me.”

it took a moment for the intense feeling to subside and for her to nod the okay.

he began thrusting at a steady pace, slowly at first to get her used to his length. he reached down and flicked her clit which made her arch her back from how good it felt. his hips snapped into her which sent her soaring and she felt herself trembling again.

his forehead was laced with concentration as his eyebrows stitched together. sweat beaded all over his body as his muscles rippled.

briar struggled against his arm as all she wanted to do was touch him. she needed to feel his skin under her own but gods he was strong.

“halsin,” she said, closing her eyes. “please. need to touch you,”

once again he grabbed her chin and made her look at him. “what did i say, briar? as soon as you learn one rule you forget another one.”

“m sorry halsin it just feels so nice,” she said.

he tutted and increased his pace. “you learned your manners at least. as for touching me,” he rubbed her clit again, “if you can promise you can be a good girl for me, i’ll let you go.”

“yes, i promise to be good. please let me touch you.”

he loosened his grip and gave one of her hands a light kiss. “the way you beg could turn the most hardened of hearts.”

“thank you,” she said, at both the compliment and him allowing her to touch him.

their fingers interlocked as her other hand explored his torso. it was damp with sweat and rippled as he fucked into her.

the string in her was tightening once more as he carried on. the way he looked at her as she panted and gasped was almost with reverence as she fought to stave off the orgasm.

“i’m so close,” she warned.

he slowed immediately, taking his hand off her clit and leaned in to kiss her. “good girl. i didn’t even ask you to tell me.”

she whimpered into the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck, not wanting him move away from her. briar pulled his hair when he thrust deeply and he moaned, swearing under his breath when her nails dug into his back and scratched him as she arched into him.

emboldened, halsin lifted her hips so his thrusts could reach deeper inside and briar screamed at the sudden change in angle.

“how does it feel, briar?” he asked softly.

“you’re reaching all the deepest parts of me,” she managed. “it’s like i can’t get enough.”

“if you can still speak so coherently, maybe i’m not doing as thorough a job,” he said before picking up the pace again.

he was rough, and briar knew she would ache for days to come but she didn’t care. she craved him like sun craves the west.

he left bites and marks all over her body to pair with her earlier bruises. she sobbed from how good it all felt and from holding onto the impending orgasm with all her might.

“halsin please,” she begged, tears in her eyes.

“just a little longer. you’re taking me so well,” he said gently.

the juxtaposition between his tone of voice and the way he was fucking her could send anyone into a dizzy spell. briar cried and begged and pleaded but not once did she even consider using the safeword. it all felt too good and a part of her wanted to see how far halsin would take her.

finally, finally, “cum for me, briar . let go for me.”

she came the hardest she ever had in her life, sobbing and thanking him as she trembled. the feeling washed through her like a river of pleasure.

with a roar, halsin came inside her, pumping her with his seed and fucking it into her. it felt good, and she whimpered as he slowed until he stopped.

halsin kissed her forehead as his orgasm waned. briar shivered when he pulled out, once again feeling empty.

halsin was on her immediately, kissing her gently before grabbing some water and a towel for her. briar drank her fill while he wiped her and got ready to cast healing touch before she grabbed his hand.

“no, i like the pain,” she said softly.

halsin looked troubled. “i went harder in the end than i intended. please, let me—”

she shook her head. “safeword, remember? i trusted you not to hurt me.”

“even then—”

a stern look from briar quickly shut him up and he shook his head. “at least let me lie with you until morning.”

“i can manage that,” she teased.

[cambria-writes]

Chapter 1: Blow out all the candles

pairing: astarion x bard!f!reader word count: 6,010 rating: T13 warnings: swearing, mentions of blood and gore, implied past sexual abuse/assault, nothing outright spoken about, if there's anything else to be tagged please let me know

a/n: it's here! and it's proofread! i'm very excited to put this out because i've been working on it for actual months by now. i think about this when i go to bed at night and i look forward to the weekend to keep writing. i don't know that there will ever be smut—there might be, i just haven't properly considered it yet—but there will be a lot of self-indulgent soft moments with the bastard.

please let me know what you think, and comment if you'd like to be tagged for future updates!

You feel like shit.

You feel like shit, there are burns all over you, and the whole of your party smells like soot, death and disappointment. Well, at the very least, you, Lae’zel and Astarion do. Karlach seems to be managing perfectly fine if her boasting is anything to go by. And she tends to smell like smoke most days, to begin with.

Shadowheart, bless her, manages most of the minor wounds on her own. Chastises you gently for running into a burning building again—this time literally. Her lecture has no bite though; she can see on all your faces that this latest encounter has left an extremely bitter taste. In all of your mouths, not just yours or hers, and not just because of the smoke.

Once you no longer look like more of a corpse than your actual undead party member, you drag your feet back to your tent. Grab a change of clothes, pull a bucket from by the fire—with a promise to a whingeing Gale to bring it back, clean and preferably full of equally clean water—and thoughtlessly head towards where you’d last seen running water. It would suck, it would probably be freezing, and the idea of being mostly unarmed in any state of undress makes you want to curl in on yourself and disappear into the Underdark. Maybe let the monsters there take you, while you’re at it. At least then you wouldn’t have to worry about an uninvited guest in your fucking skull.

But there is work to be done. Horrible, dreadful work. You know you’ll sleep… maybe not better tonight, but at least not as miserably, you hope. All that physical exertion has to be good for something.

You try not to think of the people at Waukeen’s Rest as you walk. Conveniently—or supremely inconveniently—there’s already someone in the clearing you’ve wandered into. The shock of white hair lets you know it is, in fact, Astarion who’s sat at the water’s edge. You figure the only reason he hasn’t noticed you yet is because he seems very… aggravated. His back is turned to you, but you can tell he’s violently trying to scrub something out of his hairline.

Probably the same blood, gore and soot that’s dried into yours.

You raise the bucket in your left hand and knock into it with your right. The vampire flinches and spins around so quickly you wonder if secondhand whiplash is a thing. There’s a moment where his face displays what you’re almost certain is fear, before he controls his expression into something more akin to familiar annoyance.

“Oh. You. What do you want?”

You wrinkle your nose at his almost pouty tone. Lately, Astarion’s been especially bitter with you. No idea why; maybe it’s because you turned him down those two times he propositioned you? You hadn’t figured he was serious. He flirts all the time with nearly everything with a pulse—probably things without if given half a chance—how would you ever know if he was being genuine?

…or maybe it’s the whole conversation with Raphael. Hm. Well it’s not like anyone—except Astarion, apparently—could fault you much for not wanting to trust a devil. At all. Ever.

You’re thinking too much about it.

Instead of offering an immediate answer, you approach Astarion with a not insignificant amount of caution.

“I can…” you start, but trail off. If you offer help—which he clearly needs, what with being unable to see his own reflection and therefore see his own face to wash the dried blood, soot and grime off of it—he’s going to refuse you. If you try to impose yourself, you’re probably just… not going to make it to see the next morning, actually.

So you hedge your bets and, after taking a few more careful steps forward, reach your hand out, palm up.

“May I?” You ask, gesturing vaguely at the washcloth Astarion’s holding. He predictably narrows his eyes at you. His gaze flickers between your outstretched hand and your face as though there’s some form of deception there that he should be able to see.

His right leg shifts, just barely. You already know that’s the side that has a small dagger hidden in the boot. You do your best to pretend you don’t see or know.

You’re not sure you do a terribly good job of it. Astarion sighs—a terribly loud, put-upon sound that just reminds you of a child being told to clean their room.

“Fine. Just be quick about it.”

You’d sigh yourself if you didn’t think it would set him off even more. So instead you approach, carefully and slowly as you can manage without looking too terribly awkward. Once you’re a foot or two away, you grab the washcloth and give it a quick rinse in the river. Once you’ve wrung it out, you maneuver the bucket upside down to sit on it and scoot yourself a bit closer to the… very obviously displeased vampire.

You barely catch yourself; when your right hand comes up to his face with the washcloth, your left immediately follows. It hovers by his cheek and you freeze, for a moment, and try to remember to breathe under Astarion’s extremely judgemental stare.

“Can—do you mind?” you ask, barely over a whisper, quickly glancing at your left hand. You’re already curling your fingers to pull it away.

The vampire spawn rolls his eyes like your antics are truly the most boring thing in the world before answering.

“Whatever gets this over with the fastest, if you don’t mind. I would really love to stop wasting time on a face I can’t even see.”

You nod and try not to swallow thickly. But you don’t think any effort matters. The sound of your thundering heart would probably bury any other sound your body would make anyway.

His skin is incredibly soft, but you bite your tongue to prevent yourself from saying so. You focus on what you’re meant to be doing, focusing on a spot above Astarion’s left brow. Then the right brow. You do your best to remember to breathe through your nose the whole time. No talking. No fast or twitching movements. You pray the smell of death and fire are enough to overpower whatever your breath smells like.

You don’t realize when he closes his eyes. Maybe after the second or third time you gently push his head this way and that. You run the washcloth around his ears, along his jaw. Meticulously avoid the two puncture wounds on his neck.

“As good as it’s gonna get,” you whisper, quickly casting your eyes down before Astarion opens his, and busy yourself with folding and refolding the washcloth. Take a deep breath and look back up while you pass the cloth back over. “Still gonna want to dunk your head, though. Hair’s still…” You gesture vaguely at what should be a shock of pure white.

It’s… well it’s not entirely white anymore.

There’s a moment where you catch an unusual expression on Astarion’s face. It doesn’t last long enough for you to be able to figure it out. And where maybe you would’ve asked, any other time, today doesn’t—the timing doesn’t feel quite right.

“Well then,” you start, grabbing the bucket by the handle and quickly moving to the river to scoop up a decent amount of water. You pretend it’s not heavier than you think it was. You’re trying to figure out what you should say as you leave—if anything at all—but your companion makes the choice for you.

“Thank you,” he says, not quietly, but not with the usual bravado you hear from him. It’s enough to make you pause. “I would hate for my slovenly appearance to ruin vampires’ prim and proper reputation,” he continues, and you can’t help but let your mouth twist into the smallest grin. “Even though red is my colour.”

You snort in amusement, but quickly shake it off. There is something you want to be saying, actually, and you open your mouth before you can lose your nerve.

“When you’re done, can you—do you mind passing by my tent?”

Astarion’s eyes narrow as he wrings out the washcloth. He doesn’t move, despite the fact that you’re pretty sure he wants to slighter back to the water’s edge. You cut him off when he opens his mouth; you’re not sure you’re ready for whatever biting one-liner he’s got ready for you.

“Actually nevermind, I’ll just—I can see you tomorrow morning. It’s not that important.”

You beat as hasty a retreat as the weight of the bucket of water lets you.

You help Gale for supper. Wash, peel and cut various vegetables, fetch more water by the riverside—Astarion has blessedly left by the time you crouch back down by the bank—and take the time to throw the ball for Scratch a few times. By the time the sun begins to sink into the horizon, the smell of deliciously spiced duck, stewed in with a mouth-watering variety of vegetables, wafts over to you and lures you by the fire where your companions have assembled.

Your local vampire is, predictably, absent. You find yourself wondering if the smells that are so tantalizing to you now would be repugnant to you if you had survived on the blood of pests for two hundred years.

Supper is generally a calm affair. You catch up with whomever was absent from the adventuring party for the day, offer Gale some praise for the meal, indulge Wyll with a few dances—kept at a very polite and respectable distance—and eventually settle by the fire.

Lae’zel and Shadowheart seem to have made peace, for now. They watch each other from their respective tents. There’s not as much contempt and disdain as there was a few nights ago when they’d tried to kill each other. You’re relieved they no longer feel the compulsion to ask to the rapidly mounting pile of absolute bullshit you have to deal with. As if mindflayer spawn in your brains and the looming threat of annihilation weren’t enough to sate their need for excitement.

Well after the sun has set, Wyll rests a hand on your shoulder before sitting himself next to you by the fire. You nod in acknowledgement and quietly retreat to your tent. You’ve set yourself up far enough from the campfire if only just for some solitude after a day surrounded by other people and death. Close enough to the water that, when you return to camp at the end of the day, you’ve an easy time just shrugging off your armour and clothes and just walk into the water after sliding into a well-loved, black cotton slip.

You’ve sat yourself behind a makeshift low table—really just a few planks of wood, scavenged from a damaged dock, atop a pair of crates you’d emptied—and open your journal to begin writing. You were never an avid diary-keeper before being abducted by the nautiloid. Never saw the relevance of it. Not that you could remember to keep track of your daily activities, either way.

But now that so many things happen in only the span of a handful of hours, and so much planning to do, and so many people to remember... you find it easy to sit down at the end of the day and write down everything you saw. You write about Halsin’s release from the dungeons in the defiled temple. Write about how conflicting he seems as a man, and as an elf—so incredibly large, and his speech is so incredibly gentle and soft until it suddenly is... not so much.

You take a moment before writing about your encounter with Abdirak. You keep it brief; the only person reading this journal should be you, after all, and you trust yourself to remember how you felt, beneath the mace, and how you feel now, trying to untangle those feelings.

You omit Astarion’s interjection, much as you do spend a minute thinking about it.

You’re flipping to your fourth page of daily notes when you hear a gentle knocking on one of the wooden poles holding up the canvas of your tent. You don’t look up from your writing but call them in, anyway. You gesture vaguely in front of you, motioning in what you think is the general direction of the cushion set in front of your makeshift desk.

“Sit,” you command. “I’ve just got to... finish. This sentence,” you add haltingly. You have to cross and rewrite a word, spend a few more seconds completing your sentence, before finally putting the quill down. When you look up from your notes, you hastily shut your journal, still-wet ink be damned.

There are... probably too many things written down that you wouldn’t want Astarion to see, especially if his current smug expression means anything.

“What, too caught up in waxing poetics about my boundless charms?”

You scoff at the play of arrogance before pulling one of your smaller packs into your lap and stuffing the journal back inside.

“If you must know,” you start, tossing your back near the back of your tent. As far out of reach of a rakish rogue as you could manage in such a small space. “I was writing down my expectations for the day tomorrow. Which includes going back to the grove to collect our reward from Rath.”

Astarion raises his chin and you and narrows his eyes. “Suspiciously selfish of you, bard.”

You shrug your shoulders and lean back on your hands, letting your legs stretch out in front of you. “I’m not as tooth-rottingly sweet as you seem to think I am. My altruism is also self-serving.”

Astarion shifts and pulls a knee up to rest his arm against and leans in. There’s a glint in his eye you recognize. Your heartbeat flutters, for a second; you could say that you don’t like it when he looks at you like a roast to carve, but closer to the truth would be to admit that you’re terrified of it for lack of knowing how to respond.

You clear your throat before adding, “I’ve got too many people relying on my decision making, besides. I can’t afford to extend a hand if I can’t be sure we won’t all get bit. I very much intend on having us all get to Baldur’s Gate in one piece, and live to see our brains roommate-free.”

Astarion scoffs and leans back. You breathe a little easier now that he’s back to being more aloof and judgemental rather than overly-observant.

“I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse,” he replies, feigning interest in the cleanliness of his nail beds. “The fact that you’ve assumed that kind of responsibility for... what, exactly?” He turns his gaze to you, and you can feel more than see the derision in his eyes.

You look down and take a moment to think. The obvious answer, the first one that comes to mind, is that you feel you have the moral obligation to help when you’re able to. It’s how you were raised.

Another answer, just as true as the first, is that you hope that if you treat others with kindness, maybe they’ll allow you mercy when you need it. Self-serving altruism, just as you’d said.

“Safety,” you eventually respond, lifting your eyes to Astarion’s and tilting your head. “Same as you, I figure.”

Astarion bristles at this, but only barely. You can see it in the tension appearing in his shoulder and the way his face seems to become a little more taught, a little more rigorously controlled.

“Safety, you figure?”

You hum in agreement. “I’m the one you chose to bite that night.”

Again, he scoffs. “Because you were the one least likely to stake me, darling. Not because I thought you’d keep me safe.”

“You thought I’d keep your secret safe, though” you say, pulling your legs back towards you and lean in to rest your elbows on your desk. “I was the safest risk because somehow, all of you with the brilliant exception of Wyll, think I’m a bleeding heart with no sense of self-preservation.”

“You quite literally wandered into a room full of smokepowder barrels with a torch in your hand. A lit torch.”

“I didn’t know there would be smokepowder there, come on!” you exclaim in defense. You compose yourself almost immediately; you know Astarion’s just trying to rile you up. Looking at him, he’s not quite smirking, but there’s the pull of an expression there that feels like it could be satisfaction.

You sigh and run a hand down your face. It feels like a cold shock to have him speak so casually with you now when he felt so unapproachable by the river, earlier. Maybe it’s the fact that he chose to come see you, come into your space, makes it feel different. You feel more in control, if only a little.

In here, you still have the pretense of being the leader of your eclectic group. By the river, stripped of armour and excuses, you felt untethered.

“Whatever. Is there a reason for your visit or were you just bored with getting under everyone else’s skin?”

Astarion fakes hurt and offense, a hand to his chest. “You wound me! You’re the one who asked me to come to you, or has the tadpole knocked the memory loose?”

You lean back a little. You had forgotten. In the midst of the food and the dancing and the writing, you had completely forgotten that you’d asked for him to seek you out. You had, however, figured he would actually wait until the morning. Or maybe another week, if you survived that long. Or never at all.

You were never quite sure what Astarion thought of you at any given point in time, nevermind how seriously he would take your words.

“Right. I just fi—it’s. Right.” You trip over your words, before leaning off to one side to grab at a small pouch. You pull at the drawstring as you right yourself, and plunge a hand in to pull out its singular content.

You hold it up in front of your eyes for a second. It had started as a peculiar stone, but with some time and effort and possibly too much polishing, had revealed itself to be a particularly beautiful opal. Clear nearly all the way through save for a single starburst of vivid colour in the center, tendrils of refractive colours reaching out for the edges.

It had reminded you of sunlight, when you had first held it up to a candle after the final polish. And then, unbidden, you thought of Astarion, and his complicated and upturned relationship with the sun.

You slide the pendant, carefully wrapped in looping metal wires, strung on a simple braided leather cord, over the desk to Astarion.

“I found this in the village,” you explain, trying to calm the panicked thrumming of your heart. “It reminded me of you so I... well, it’s yours if you want it.”

This felt like a good idea at first. While grinding down the rough edges and sanding the surfaces smooth, it felt like a kind gesture. Currently, it feels like maybe you might have given Astarion even more to relentlessly tease and bully you with. Like perhaps you’ve found something that would add another weight to you both.

You keep your eyes on the table. See Astarion slowly reach for the pendant to hold it up in front of his own eyes. You swallow thickly and motion to the candle at the edge of your desk.

“If you hold it up to the light, it looks better.”

He wordlessly nods and follows your directions. The stays motionless for several seconds, and you’re having to remind yourself to breathe. His expression doesn’t change at all, and that makes you even more nervous.

This feels like the riverside all over again. You never know how Astarion will accept kindness, you realize.

“...I don’t understand why you would give this to me if it reminds you of me,” he eventually says, though his eyes are still riveted to the flame-like starburst of the stone. “Why would I keep it?”

You flounder for a second and do your best to try and remain composed. I just wanted to isn’t going to be an acceptable answer. When Astarion turns his gaze to you, otherwise unmoving, you hold a hand up.

“Give me a second,” you rush to say, biting the inside of your cheek and looking down at the wood of your desk to think. There has to be a string of words you can put together that will make sense, even to someone like Astarion. Surely.

Some bard you are.

“I suppose,” you start slowly, placing your palms flat on the desk. Astarion brings his arm down. You don’t see what he does with the pendant. “I wanted you to have something that meant someone thought kindly of you.”

You expect to see a sneer on his face, or something akin to disgust, maybe revulsion. But, no, he’s returned to examining you again. You feel the tadpole squirm behind your eye and squint against the discomfort. Is he trying to...?

Well, fair enough.

You hardly have any control over the tadpole—not that you want to control it, you only want it out of your skull—but do your best to try and let him see you finding the stone. Try and open the door just wide enough for that single experience.

Astarion, of course, pushes his luck. Though he’s about as skilled with using the tadpole as any of you likely are at this point, and gets pulled into your mind like a receding wave. Your mind shows you sharp, white teeth and crimson eyes. A shock of silver-white hair under moonlight just as his face comes into view. Teeth at your neck and the feeling of uncertainty of what any of this means for you. The flood of relief when you realized your campmate was just a vampire, and that he was never intending to do anything worse than taking a sip.

Astarion withdraws suddenly and violently from your mind. The absence of him feels like the bleeding gap left by the removal of a particularly large splinter. There’s a headache beginning to drum just behind your eyes that has nothing to do with the illithid parasite. You rub at your eyes with the butt of your palms to try and ease the soreness there. When you pull your hands away, the expression you see on Astarion’s face is indescribable. There’s horror there, but understanding and a non-insignificant amount of apprehension.

“Next time,” you croak, clearing your throat and rolling your shoulders. “I would appreciate if you just asked.”

“I did, and you let me in,” Astarion answers, uncharacteristically soft and quiet. He says nothing else before standing up and turning to leave your tent. You feel aloft in the wind before he turns around to add, “Thank you, for your gift.”

The canvas of your tent moves back into place. Your candle keeps burning. The quiet of the camp is only broken by the habitual night time sounds of nature, the occasional sound of Scratch’s collar, and the crackling of firewood when Wyll throws in another log.

You whistle sharply, two tones, and you hear Scratch eagerly making his way over to your tent. He pushes the canvas out of his way with his snout and quickly comes to sit in front of your desk.

“Is something bothering you, friend?” the dog asks, tilting his head to the side. You smile when one of his ears flop over.

“I’m alright, boy,” you answer with a relieved sigh. “Mind spending the night here with me?”

Scratch stands back up excitedly, tail wagging. “Of course!”

You make short work of moving the planks of wood to the side and stacking the crates out of the way. Unfurl your bedroll and pull some salvaged sheets for some extra padding. When you lay down, Scratch curls up at your side. You put an arm around him and distractedly scratch at his back.

When you trance, you try to keep your mind as clear as possible. You need to be sharp, alert and aware for the day tomorrow. You need to clear the rest of the goblin camp, prepare yourself for the brutality of it. And then report back to the grove and Zevlor once you’re done.

This does not prevent ruby eyes shining like stones from appearing in the shadows every now and then.

You walk to the grove with everyone in tow. You, Astarion, Lae’zel and Wyll are covered in blood and probably viscera. Karlach seems mostly untouched, and though Gale and Shadowheart look exhausted, they seem perfectly fine. Nothing a nice, long rest won’t fix. Probably.

In front of the large wooden gate, you call out to Kaldani.

“Let them know it’s done,” you shout up. “The goblin camp has been cleared!”

There’s shouting as the gates open, and immediately the tieflings begin to swarm you. Zevlor appears out of practically nowhere. Alfira even makes an appearance to interrogate you about the goblin camp, the defiled temple. You end up following her deeper into the Grove to sit and regale her with your... well, you suppose they are heroic endeavours, but you take a moment to sincerely let her know it was horrible. Yes, you whole group is competent, yes, all together you make for a terrifyingly effective strategist. But slaughtering people who don’t know any better because it was kill or be killed isn’t something heroic. It is not magical or fantastic. It is brutal and it is bloody, and when you say that, you wrinkle your nose.

You’re still covered in blood. And gods know what else.

Alfira makes sure to convey her understanding, lets you know that she won’t be composing something wonderful and fantastic. She tells you she wants to make it a cautionary tale; being influenced by powers you cannot see and compelled to perform acts of cruelty yet unmatched. The grit and resolve it takes to prevent such a thing, and the knowledge that sometimes you must choose means for ends you cannot promise. It’s a bit much, but you appreciate it.

You don’t bother letting the rest of your crew, swarmed as they are, know of your departure. You slink off to go collect from Rath, as you had mentioned. Leaving the inner chamber and escaping unnoticed, however, was a significantly greater challenge. As you’re attempting to make a quick escape, you get held up by Zevlor. He offers to pay you for your help—the word makes you grit your teeth—and given that you’re alone and no one else can complain about your decision making, you refuse. Looting the defiled temple had provided you all with more than enough tradeable materials to make for a sizable amount of gold.

And you have a feeling the tieflings are going to be needing whatever they can get their hands on far more than your lot will.

You accept Zevlor’s offer to celebrate your party tonight, if only because you don’t have the heart to turn him down. And maybe also because the idea of drowning your sorrows in several bottles of wine and ale sounds like an amazing idea.

Shadowheart is the only one that spots you trying to make a hasty getaway. She smirks at you before looking away, back to whoever she was conversing with. You let out a sigh of relief and trudge your way back to camp.

By the time you make it by the extinguished fire, you’ve already taken off your breastplate. You feel better already, without the weight of it on your shoulders. Make your way over to your tent and make quick work of the rest. Staring at the pile of metal and leather, you find yourself wishing you knew any transmutation spells. Prestidigitation would be very useful right now.

You disrobe, piling your clothes into a wicker basket, before slipping into your cotton shift. Grab the wicker basket and make your way to Astarion’s tent. You pilfer one of the six bars of soap the man has before making your back back to the waterside. You’d at least like to be clean of blood and dirt and have the possibility of wearing clean clothes if you’re going to be up all night drinking to what you suppose is a job well done.

You let your face screw up in disgust while you scrub at your face with a threadbare washcloth. Evil as goblins may be, you’re still unsure about the near-thoughtless slaughter of the children you found in the dungeons. There’s something off-putting about anything resembling genocide. You let yourself get angry, in between scrubbing your hair with soap and dunking your head in the water to rinse it out. Angry about being in the horrible position of leading a group of people with different ideals, angry about the stupid fucking worm in your head, angry about everyone looking to you for the correct path to take.

“Correct path my left fucking nut,” you spit, flattening your wet hair away from your face. “Like a bard’s supposed to be a moral fucking compass.”

“Well, isn’t that unusual,” you hear from the riverside, and take a moment to close your eyes and brace yourself. You take a deep breath before turning to face Astarion.

“I hardly think bathing is unusual,” you retort back, twisting and wringing the water out of a tunic particularly roughly. “Did you also escape ahead of the tieflings, then?”

Astarion leisurely kicks a log—probably one that was by the fire—before taking a seat a few feet away from the water. He looks... alarmingly clean for someone that emerged from the same hellish depths you have. You don’t listen to his reply, but instead try to remember whose face you remember seeing in the grove. His was not one of them.

A twig hits you in the forehead and stuns you out of your thoughts.

“What in the world was that for—”

“I was asking you a question,” Astarion says, leaning an elbow on a knee and cradling his chin in his hand. “But it seems someone was too preoccupied with my shoulder to properly pay attention to me.”

“I realized you didn’t follow us to the grove,” you trail off, turning back around to continue washing your clothes. You freeze, for a moment, realizing he very well could have seen you sneaking the bar of soap from his belongings. You resume your scrubbing, determined not to bring it up if he doesn’t. Not like Astarion hasn’t pilfered some of your own things before.

“I did,” he replies with all the drama of someone being called a liar. “I simply left once the news had been given that we’d been successful.”

You hum to yourself. “So you left before they even opened the gate to let us in, then.”

You hear a scoff, then, “Are you going to answer my question or not?”

“You’re the one who was saying I wasn’t paying attention,” you say with a bit of a huff, twisting and wringing out your trousers before slinging them over your shoulder. “What was the question?”

There’s a long enough pause when you’re scrubbing and rinsing your undergarments that you wonder if Astarion’s just left. You let the clothes fall back into the wicker basket you’d wedged in some tall grass and turn back around.

He isn’t looking at you. You don’t think you ever quite understood the concept of someone looking through you until this moment. Astarion’s gaze is, technically, you suppose, on you. But he seems far away, like recalling a memory he isn’t quite sure how he feels about.

“Well?” you prompt, grabbing the wicker basket and making your way to ground.

“When we spoke, last night,” he starts, and you find he sounds a little unsure of himself. Hesitant, maybe? “When you... let me in.”

You’re not sure if you shiver because of where the conversation is going or because your dripping, waterlogged shift is making you cold. You don’t say anything and wait for Astarion to continue.

“The first night I—when I bit you, what...” he trails off and looks away. His face contorts into something like disappointment, but you’re not quite sure what with. “What is it you were scared of?”

You busy yourself with finding a nice, wide rock, exposed to the sun, to lay your clothes out to try. Do your best to make sure everything is flat and won’t wrinkle.

“I was scared of the same thing any woman would when she wakes to a man looming over her.” You try to keep your voice level and not let the vitriol—the result of equal parts rage and terror that Astarion couldn’t possibly ever have had any hand in—out of your voice. “It wouldn’t have been the first time,” you add quietly.

You turn around to wring the water from the bottom of your shift. You keep your eyes down as you twist the fabric, but catch Astarion standing in your periphery. When you do look up at him, after he’s taken a few steps toward you, something horrible and expanding twists in your stomach.

He looks ashamed, somewhat, but there’s something else in his eyes that takes you a moment to place. It’s understanding, it’s knowing that he had put you in a position that he, himself, is intimately familiar with. It’s the kind of look you seldom ever see on a man. It rends your heart, a little bit.

“Right,” you say suddenly, moving to shake and wring the water out of your hair. “Glad we’ve got that out of the way, so if it’s all the same t—”

“I’m sorry,” Astarion blurts out. Like the impulse to apologize for his transgression was stronger than the need to preserve whatever image he’d constructed himself. “I wouldn’t have—if I’d known—”

“You could have,” you interrupt him in turn. When you look down at your hands, you can see your veins honeycombing in a familiar pattern. You still the shaking in them by picking up the hem of your slip. “I’m not being fair to you, sorry. I can understand why someone in your position wouldn’t have been asking for everyone’s personal circumstance.”

“How—what do you mean by that?” Astarion asks, frowning like he thinks you know something he doesn’t. You shake your head.

“The expectation would have been for you to share your own history,” you explain, making your way to your tent. You pretend you don’t loathe the feeling of dirt and grass stuck to your feet. “Even if you’d lied, that would’ve all been blown away as soon as we got to Bladur’s Gate, wouldn’t it?”

Astarion looks down and away. You shrug your shoulders as he follows you. Busy yourself rolling and tying up the fabric that served as a door to your personal space. You turn your head just in time to see him open his mouth to speak, but whatever he starts saying is lost under Gale’s booming greeting.

“There you are! We were wondering where our fearless, valiant leader had gone!”

You glance over Astarion’s shoulder, where you can see Gale leading your merry band of misfits, before looking back at the man in front of you. He already looks detached and aloof again.

“Suppose I’ll leave you to your social duties then, darling,” Astarion says as way of a parting greeting, and ambles over to his own tent and disappears inside.

You let Gale fill you in on the plan—wherein the tieflings will pack everything up and, on their way out of the grove tonight, will come celebrate their ‘liberation’ with the camp. You sit on the small stool you have set in front of your tent and only half-listen while coming through and braiding your hair.

You don’t see Astarion again until well after the sun has set.

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Stimulation

In which you, dear reader, discover a certain wizard gets turned on seeing you fight. NSFW.

“It’s quite thrilling, to fight off such grim creatures as this region throws at us. Especially being by your side.” Gale smiles warmly at you after you, Shadowheart, Astarion, him, and the Harpers you came across fought beings warped by the Shadow Curse. He becomes nervous in an instant. “I once read a book that explained in some detail the effect a brush with danger has on one’s desire for…other forms of stimulation.”

You blink. Is he…he surely can’t be suggesting…

“Have you ever read anything on the subject?”

Have I…WHAT?! No, he…oh my gods, is he turned on by me fighting?!?!?

Your brow furrows. “What are you saying exactly?”

“Only that I find you quite irresistible. Even illuminated by such rotten light as this place produces.” He is turned on by me fighting. “Perhaps it’s just the thrill of our near-undead experience talking. But standing at your side through such darkness and disrepair, it only makes me want you more.” OH MY GODS?!?!? He winces and then shrugs. “Unfortunately, this is neither the time nor place to indulge such feelings. So, we must be patient and push all such thoughts aside. For now.”

You blink a few more times, trying to process what he said.

“Erm, we should be going, no?” Astarion coughs under his breath. “To the safe haven the Harpers told us about?”

You nod, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Yes, of course. Let’s go.”

***

Several hours later, and you still cannot believe the conversation you and Gale had. As you lay on your bedroll, you stare up at the canvas of your tent. He actually finds me attractive when fighting? When I’m sweating and gross and—

Then again…

You think about how every time he casts Mage Armor on himself you get a little jolt of pleasure. His voice is so sexy. He could read me a census, and I’d melt. The thought of him summoning fire, lightning, and ice makes you feel like all those elements are in your veins. He said his power’s been diminished because of the orb, but gods, he’s magnificent and talented and handsome and kind and funny and—

“Hello?”

You see Gale’s silhouette against the side of your tent and inwardly panic. Shit. Fuck. I’m thinking about how hot and bothered he makes me and he’s HERE?!?!? “Hi Gale.”

“Do you mind if I come in? If you’re too busy or tired, then I can—”

“No, come in!” Don’t say come!!!!! Don’t torture yourself!!! You try to sneakily adjust your top (the girls must look good) before he enters, a large smile on his face.

“Forgive me, I know the hour is late, but after our…conversation earlier, I wanted to see you.” He sits beside you on your bedroll, hands folded in his lap. “If I made you at all uncomfortable, then I do apologize. It wasn’t my intent to embarrass you or—”

Shut up.

You suddenly take his perfect face in your hands and kiss him soundly. Gale hums softly, deepening the kiss. After a few moments, you break off and your forehead rests against his. “Not uncomfortable at all. Just unexpected.”

“Why unexpected, my dear? I thought I was fairly obvious with my intentions the night of the celebration. I clearly wanted to do more than simply chat with you.” Gale explains. “Gods, I wanted to sit with you under the stars and kiss you just like this,” he whispers and pulls you for another kiss. This one is slower but no less passionate. He shifts slightly to easily wrap an arm around your ample waist. His other hand caresses your cheek gently. I could melt into him right now. Let him envelope me. “And tell you that I love you most ardently.”

Heat builds inside you as you kiss and suddenly appears on your face when he confesses his feelings. You look into those soulful brown eyes and cannot stop grinning. “I love you too, Gale.” After a quick kiss, you bury your face in your hands. “That night I thought you were letting me down in the nicest possible way.” Because I’m not a goddess.

Gale blinks. “By Elminster’s beard, no! I wanted to experience the Weave with you again. Far more intimately. We could…” His hand on your waist gives you a squeeze. “Do that tonight, if you wish.” He looks at you expectantly, while you feel as if your heart is going to beat out of your chest.

Magic sex? Nah.

Reminding him of the pleasures of the flesh now that the orb won’t go off if he comes? Absolutely.

“Another night. What was it you said earlier?” You tease, shifting so that your legs go over his lap, your lips inches from his. Oh. Oh wow. He is very hard. How long has he been like this?! “Seeing me fight…stimulates you?” You kiss him and then trace the purple lines under his eye. The orb? Must be. “Tell me about it, love.”

He swallows, his apple of throat bobbing. “I, well, you see when you’re casting spells, sweat dripping down your brow as fire explodes from your hands, when you use your quarterstaff to crack a skull, gods you’re so beautiful. I mean, that’s not to say you aren’t normally, darling!” He grins sheepishly. “You are stunning. You take my breath away each time I see you.” He cradles your cheek in his hand, and he kisses you again. You can feel his thumb rubbing gently against the corner of your mouth. A part of you wants to shove him down and ride him until dawn, but before you have a chance to act, he ends the kiss and stares into your eyes like I’m the only person alive. Gods, I love you. “I must ask something of you, my beauty. Please, let us wait. I want our first night together to be perfect and not so rushed after a long day. I’ll make it worth your while,” he smirks. “I swear, my love.”

You raise a teasing eyebrow. “Is that so, Mr. of Waterdeep? Then you’ll simply leave me wanting tonight?” Of course, he won’t. He’s so giving and generous and amazing and funny and—

“I will never leave you wanting. Allow me,” he conjures perfectly soft pillows under your head with the snap of his fingers. His brown eyes are full of excitement as he reaches for your thick thighs, running his hands up and down them. “May I remove this offending garment and possibly one more under it?”

Your cheeks burn and heat pools in your belly. “Gods, yes. Please.” You pant, lifting your hips slightly as his long, elegant fingers far too slowly pull down your leggings and underwear. Now, with your lower half bared to him, you feel a little self-conscious. “I, um, don’t shave down there, sorry.”

Gale shakes his head, his soulful eyes twinkling. “What luck, my love! I happen to adore that. If you could spread those beautiful legs for me…that’s it. There’s a good girl.” You dutifully do as you were told, the heat in your belly becoming quickly unbearable. He must have noticed because he smirks. “Do you like that? Being called a good girl?”

If I scream, “Fuck yes, don’t stop” does that count as an answer? You nod slowly, never breaking eye contact. “Yes. Please, keep going, Gale.” He hums to himself as settles between your legs, on his knees. He complains about his knees frequently, but I suppose it’s fine for…whatever sexy thing he’s going to do. With one hand resting on a thigh (gods, he has such beautiful hands), the other dances towards the apex of your thighs. You let out a small whine as he rubs your clit.

“Sing for me, my beauty. Let me hear you.” You feel a finger tease your opening, once again making you whine. “So very wet, dearest. Is this all for me?”

You moan, nodding slightly. “I-I fantasize…a lot…ah, about you…” Morning, noon, and night. Only you. Want you.

He hums softly, a long, elegant finger now curling inside you. “Truly, my dear? Please tell me what antics I’m up to in your fantasies. Am I doing this?” He sticks a second finger inside, and you are already starting to see stars. “Or perhaps this?” With a frankly delicious smirk, he removes his fingers and dives headfirst into your curls.

Too much. Not enough. Want more. Want him. Always him. “Yes, gods yes. And fucking me senseless…in every room…of your tower…”

His parasite connects with yours.

In every room in every possible position, my love. I can see it now---you bent over the desk in my study as I fill you until you’re positively bursting with my seed. What a beautiful image…perfect in every way…like you…

“Gale…love…please…so close…” You moan, grabbing his brown hair and tugging slightly. “Shit sorry!”

No, my sweet. Pull as much as you desire. It only drives me madder for you.

When the bowstring within you snaps, you see not simply stars but entire universes forming. I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard. Ever. As you pant and gasp from the aftershocks, you can feel Gale’s beard tickling your thighs.

You’re very welcome, my dearest lady.

Your eyes widen. “So, uh…you heard that, huh?”

He chuckles, finally raising his head. His beard is soaked with your juices, and he grabs a cloth to wipe it. “I did! Unexpected but extremely pleasurable. To know that I have that effect on you makes me feel like the most fortunate man in realms. I’ll not lie---one of my fantasies is devour you while these beauties,” he ran his hands up and down your thick, soft thighs. “Make the most valiant attempt to squeeze my head.” He wiggles his thick eyebrows, making you giggle softly. “While a few mage hands see to any other needs you have. I told you I’ll never leave you wanting, and I mean it.”

“But Gale,” your eyes travel to the significantly large tent in his trousers. “What about you, love?” I can’t leave him like THAT.

To your surprise, he shook his head, smiling warmly at you. “I’ll be fine, darling. You needn’t worry. Now, we’ve had a long day, and you need your rest.” He takes one your hands and gently presses a kiss to your knuckles.

Oh, fuck that. “I’d rest better if you stay. Please.” You say as your mouth forms what Mum calls “the pretty please” face.

His features softened more than they already were. Works every time! “Of course, my dear.” You and Gale settle onto your bedroll, barely fitting the two of you. He is spooning you from behind, his hands settling on your belly. “Do you know what I love about fantasies?” He whispers, a hand going under your shirt. Shaking your head, you wait for him to answer. “The only limit is our imaginations. I cannot wait to discover what we can create together, my beauty. But I do know this,” he presses a kiss to your neck. “It will be magnificent.”

You hum softly, your eyes growing heavier by the second. “And discover the effects of certain stimuli on such things, love.” You tease as you drift off to sleep.

When you wake the next morning, you find yourself alone. He must be making breakfast for everyone. As you sit up, you see a note where Gale was laying the night before. A mischievous grin appears on your face while you read its contents.

My darling,

I very much look forward to our further experiments regarding the effects of specific battle-related stimuli on my desire and hopefully, yours as well.

All my love and devotion,

Gale

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Undead Heart

Astarion x Y/N - drabble - 1.4K WC

Masterlist

Warnings: necromancy, defensive reader, Astarion being a supportive little baby (he is so precious), doubt, reassurance, flufffff, kinda angst? idk

———————————-

Astarion laid his head on your chest, smushing his face in for good measure. You let out a breathy laugh. It was still early, the birds hadn’t graced the winds with their songs yet. The sun hadn’t peeked over the horizon to start the new day. You held Astarion close, one hand gently caressing his soft curls at the base of his neck - the other drawing circles on his bicep that was holding your waist. For a creature who didn’t sleep he appeared pretty dead to the world currently. You listened to the little breaths that left his mouth. You watched his eyes move beneath his closed lids. You loved looking at him, especially when he was like this. His face was calm and smoothed over with rest. Nothing could hurt him here, you wouldn’t let it. 

“Staring is rude.” he mumbled into your chest, somewhere between sleep and wake. 

“It’s not staring, it’s admiring.” you whispered into his ear, kissing the side of his face softly. You could feel a begrudging smile form on his face for a moment before his breathing evened out again. 

You slowly slipped away from him. You were a necromancer, of unknown origin. Your past was muddled but you had found histories of yourself at the citadel from the far reaches of Faerun. You had lived a life. Full of good and bad but your future was yours alone to define. You were ancient, you never aged. The years, for the most part, had been kind to you. Your powers were unmatched and your beauty was unparalleled. Slipping out of the tent you walked out of camp through the fog of the early morning. You could feel the sweet dewdrops kissing your feet as you walked barefoot to the cemetery you had passed yesterday before setting up camp. The souls there called to you. They wished to be released, to visit one another after an eternity apart. As you walked to the center of the graveyard you felt your powers start to flow from your palms. Black smoke and glowing green light emanated from you, swirling and twisting about. Figures started to arise from the graves, transparent and ghostly. You kept your concentration as the ghosts mingled. Laughing and dancing with one another as if they were in the midst of a ball. Your power enveloped the graveyard in a shimmering light, as if millions of little sparkles had graced the small event you created. You walked through the endless rows of graves, quietly admiring everyone. Out of all the things you could do with your abilities, this was always your favorite. Reuniting old friends, families, lovers. Even some enemies who decided to call truces due to their undead circumstances. Everyone always looked so happy, so relieved. The ghosts could see you just as you could see them. One floated through you before another held your hand, spinning you about to the quiet tune that drifted through the air. An enthusiastic bard playing his instrument, as if he had never put it down all those centuries ago. You knew the sight was strange, and that people often found you strange yourself. Death did not scare you. You were its equal and enjoyed teetering that otherworldly line. 

You had never shown this power to Astarion, concerned he would find it odd. You had been together for  a few months. He knew you were ancient and powerful but beyond that you tried to be quite vague. You continued to smile and laugh amongst the ghosts, feeling relieved to use your powers. In battle you were skilled with necrotic and psychic attacks along with general melee fighting but this is truly what you enjoyed using your powers for. Bringing peace, unity. After a while though, the air shifted. You felt eyes watching you. You searched for the source, eyes finding a very much awake Astarion leaning against the graveyard gate.You jumped, sucking in a shocked gasp. You made the shimmer fade, the swirling slow, the smoke dissipate. The ghosts slowly drift back to their respective graves, solemn looks on their faces. No amount of time living or dead would be long enough with each other. And yet, you felt their appreciation radiate to you. You felt pale, almost sickly. Astarion was going to think you were some sort of freak, you just knew it. You slowly made your way to him, keeping your head low and arms tight across your chest to protect yourself from some unknown threat. 

Astarion’s face wore a slight frown, his eyebrows drawn up in a furrow “Little love, whatever could be the matter?”

Your heart raced at the pet name. “How long have you been standing there?” you asked, walking past him, heading back to camp. 

He trailed after you, “Long enough. You looked like you were enjoying yourself.” he quipped. There was no malice in his tone, nor teasing but it made you cringe internally anyways.

“I wish you hadn’t.” you whispered, walking into your tent. 

Astarion felt confused, he tried to follow you into your tent but was stopped by a similar shimmering force at the entrance of your tent. He stepped back, he could still see and hear you but he couldn’t get to you, couldn’t touch you. 

“I would like to be alone.” you said picking up a book and sitting down, eyes never meeting him.

“Darling…” Astarion said quietly, noticing a few tears on your face. “Please let me in.” 

“Why?” you spat, you wanted to fill your heart with anger in preparation for the negativity you were sure you were about to receive. 

“I let you in.” he spoke softly, you knew he wasn’t just talking about his tent. He had shown you every facet of himself, the least you could do was let him into your damn tent. 

He slowly pulled the book from your hands as he sat down, attempting to take them in his own. You pulled away quickly, crossing your arms over your chest. He felt a pang of hurt within him but pushed it aside. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Well, get on with it…” you huffed  out shakily. 

“I have to say… that was pretty powerful magic you were doing back there…” you snorted a bit at his comment. ‘If only you knew’ you thought. 

“Freaky, right? Strange? Unnatural? Unholy?” you rambled off sounding angrier by the second. Your walls were building back up at breakneck speed, preparing for the worst. 

“My sweet, why do you sound so upset? I thought what you were doing was quite… amazing. Honestly… everyone looked so elated, thanks to you.” your eyes flicked to his. 

“I know it’s weird to be so… involved with the dead. I never wanted you to see me doing anything like that… but they sounded so sad, so lonely…” you tried to explain yourself.

Astarion chuckled, causing you to snap your head up. “My precious, you do realize I am undead? I think I might understand better than anyone why you wanted to give those souls a reprieve. It was… sweet of you.” he smiled at you tentatively, hesitantly going for your hand. He smoothed his thumb over the back of it. 

You wanted to trust him, to believe him. Yet a voice still tugged at your mind. “You think so?” you whispered.

“Darling you gave them a few minutes of life, do you know how sacred that must be for them? And you did it out of the kindness of your heart. Now that, is truly meaningful. That shows the soul you possess.” Astarion moved his other hand to cup your cheek, tilting your face to be level with his. 

Your eyes were glossy, “I just don’t want to be too different. Too strange.”

“You are quite strange… it’s quite possibly my favorite thing about you.” he smiled, his fangs peaking out a bit. “Do you know why I rest on your chest so much?”

You shook your head ‘no’ at him.

“I do it so I can listen to your heart. I feel almost as if mine beats with yours for the first time in centuries when I hear it. Strong. Compassionate. Wonderful.” you tilted your head into his hand, kissing his palm. 

“I love you.” you said quietly. 

Astarion smiled, you had only said those words to each other once before when your emotions became too much to hold inside. 

“And I you, endlessly my strange little love.” he kissed you deeply yet gently before laying you both down. He settled in his usual spot, listening to your heart. Strong, even, calm.

-------------------------

Naboo's Note:

Hello! I hope everyone likes this piece, it came to me suddenly as I am in fact writing and posting it at damn near 2 AM #worthit. I think I might try to write another this weekend but I work tomorrow and have been pretty exhausted (mentally and physically) as of late so idk, no promises. Anyways - thanks for all the likes comments, reblogs, and requests! Ilysm xoxoxoxo, talk soon.

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Little Star, Little Sun

Love Bites, Chapter 5 // Love Bites {Masterlist}

Ship: Astarion Ancunin x fem!vampire spawn!elf!Tav/reader

Summary: A long-awaited reunion that doesn't go quite as planned can lead to many things, especially when two manipulators both lay their traps for one another. Though is it really a trap when all you want to do is spare your lover from yet another night of torment?

Word Count: 5,068 words

Warnings: back to main timeline, angst, insecure Astarion, alcohol, switching between your perspective and Astarion's, Astarion opens up/trauma dumps, you're protective of Astarion, sex workers, direct & indirect mention of rape and sexual abuse, reunion, self-sacrifice

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

As soon as the door to the tavern opened the following night, a few hours into the night, somehow you knew it was Astarion before you even saw his head of silver hair. You were relieved that you didn’t have to wait a few days to see him again, but your relief shriveled up the moment you realized he was wearing the same doublet as last night. It was still slightly dirty and more than a little rumpled.

You waved him over to the bar before he could spot an empty table. Something akin to relief crossed his face and he came over.

“Someone’s eager to see me,” he teased as he took a seat on one of the bar stools.

You shrugged. “Just glad you’re not being a stranger,” you said. “That’s no life for an elf such as yourself.”

His eyes flashed. “I suppose not,” he said, almost too quietly. 

“Same as yesterday?” you asked, already reaching for the bottle you had put in ice in the hopes that he would come back today.

Astarion nodded. “What the hells, why not?”

You grinned and poured him a glass. You pushed it to him and watched him sip daintily. He turned slightly, passing his gaze over the filling tavern, and you caught a glimpse of his fangs through the glass. Even though you’d been expecting them, it still made your stomach turn. 

A vampire. Your beloved was a vampire and had been these past two hundred years. It hadn’t been the Gur who had desecrated his grave; it had been himself, hadn’t it? Him and the bastard that turned him, whoever it was. 

Was it painful? you wanted to ask. Did it hurt to claw your way out? Did you come up out of the ground and know I had been there only seconds before? Did you want me to be there still?

But you kept your mouth shut. Astarion hadn’t let on that he knew who you were, so you figured he probably didn’t remember you, as painful as that realization had been last night. Two hundred years and he was all you thought of every day and yet—

“Was she fun last night?” you asked, then cursed yourself. You weren’t sure you even wanted to know the answer to that question, so why were you asking?

Astarion flinched and turned back to you, shocked out of a reverie. “Hmm?”

“The elf you left with last night.” You wiped down your already clean bartop, reluctant to make eye contact with him. “Did you have fun?”

He pursed his lips in thought. The action was so familiar for a moment you were certain you had asked him to explain a new law he’d passed that he was finding difficult to put into common tongue instead of magistrate jargon. “Yes, I suppose she was,” he said after a long moment. A teasing grin slipped onto his face. “Jealous?”

“No,” you said, though you knew you were lying through your teeth; you would have given anything to be with him again. 

The smirk on his face suggested he didn’t quite believe you. You kept yourself from looking too long at that smirk and admitting everything you felt by refilling his glass. He thanked you quietly.

“She’s not here tonight,” you mused, looking out across the tavern and spotting her nowhere.

He tensed. “Should she be?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d never seen her before last night. I never caught her name.” You glanced up at him and he looked away quickly. It was your turn to smirk. “I take it you didn’t, either?”

If he weren’t undead, you figured he would be blushing. “I had other things on my mind,” he muttered into his wine glass. 

You giggled. “Of course you did.”

“But why don’t you know?” he asked. “I thought bartenders usually kept that information stored away in case customers come back?”

“I don’t press for information people don’t willingly give me,” you explained. “She didn’t give me her name, so I didn’t ask. Besides, she had the look of someone who was just passing through.”

Astarion raised one delicate brow. “You don’t press?” he scoffed. 

You gave him the same look. “I haven’t asked you anything personal yet, have I?” 

He sighed. “I supposed not.”

Biting back a smile, you leaned on your bar. “You almost sound disappointed that I haven’t asked anything.”

He shrugged idly. “Well…you haven’t even asked me my name,” he said and put a dramatic hand to his chest. “I’m hurt, darling.”

Darling. The nickname shot through you like an arrow or a hefty dosage of poison. You hadn’t heard that name from his lips in two hundred years, and the first time you heard it again, it was being used as a moniker for who he thought was a random bartender. How many other men and women had he called darling since he crawled out of his coffin?

You recovered as quickly as you could and he didn’t seem to notice. “Like I said, I don’t ask. Some people wish to remain anonymous until they become regulars—which, I might add, you seem to be doing.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m a regular at every tavern I come across. I move between them all looking for the best wine there is and moving on when I grow tired of it.”

You hummed. “Ah, I see. You’re an alcoholic rather than a…a people-person, shall I say?” And yet you weren’t surprised. The Astarion of your memories had also had a taste for quality (and expensive) wines, including the vintage you had just poured into his glass. 

“It’s easy to get along with wine,” he said quietly and you weren’t sure if he intended for you to hear it. You decided not to comment on it and went back to cleaning up your bartop, taking two glasses that had been left by patrons earlier in the night and washing them. You counted the coins they left for their tab and smiled at the hefty tip they’d left you. 

You felt Astarion’s eyes on you as you dried the glasses and put them back on the shelf behind you. 

“Astarion,” he said and you almost didn’t catch it.

“I’m sorry?” you asked, turning back around. 

“My name’s Astarion,” he said.

Your chest felt suddenly very tight. You looked at him and for a moment he was alive in front of you, his skin flush with blood and life, his eyes honey colored. You blinked and the memory was gone. “Little star,” you translated. 

Astarion looked away, suddenly very shy. “Yes,” he admitted softly.

“It suits you,” you said. 

He looked up. “Does it?”

You nodded. “Silver hair like that, sharp cheekbones, nice jawline, pale skin… Yes. Yes, you are quite the star.” As you spoke, you leaned forward, propping your head up with one arm. The two of you locked eyes and there was something akin to desperation in his.

His eyelashes fluttered the way they once had when you flustered him. He cast his gaze down slightly, murmuring a soft, “Thank you.”

Tightness grew in your chest. Of course he’d changed, you had anticipated that; but for some reason, seeing the man you had complimented grow quiet and embarrassed under lesser praise instead of grinning and preening, seeking more like the Astarion you had been engaged to, hurt more than the fact that he didn’t remember you.

You let him sit with it for a few more moments before you teased, “You don’t get complimented much, do you?”

His charming smile and snark—a mask, you were sure of it—came back quickly. “Oh, every day, darling. But, ah… Rarely before I’ve taken my clothes off.”

Your heart sank. Some part of you wanted to be hurt that the love of your life had broken his vow of loyalty to you, but you saw the look in his eyes that he was trying to hide and knew it hadn’t been of his own accord—at least not entirely. 

So you refilled his glass and said, “Seems a shame. You strike me as the kind of man who deserves better than that.” You emptied the bottle and set it down, turning back to the wine rack behind you. You pulled a second bottle out and found Astarion gazing at you when you turned back around.

His expression was one you had seen plenty of times before, gazing lovingly at you before he left for work or when he watched you dress in the morning from the comfort of your shared bed. Pure, loving admiration—and this time it seemed almost instinctual, for he seemed puzzled when he realized what his face was doing when you mimicked the look.

Astarion lifted his glass to his lips and drank deeply before he said, “You know, you’re oddly, painfully familiar.” 

You raised a brow. “Really?”

“Like…like a face out of a dream,” he said. “Like I knew you once, but I just…can’t place you. Odd, isn’t it?”

“Not really, I get that a lot,” you said, brushing it off on instinct. “Though I must admit, you do strike me as the kind of person I’d want to know.”

He grinned, sitting up straighter in his stool. “Oh, really? Do you say this to all the devilishly handsome elves that sit at your bar, or just to me?”

“Just you,” you admitted, though it sounded more like a promise. “It’s been… Well, it’s been a few centuries since I really had interest in anyone. Not since…” You.

“Ahhh.” Astarion nodded sagely. “Your lover. Your…friend. Your best friend.”

You nodded. “Yes,” you said quietly. 

“What was his name?” he asked.

Shit. Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t think of a name other than his fast enough. His name formed on your lips for a moment and you stopped yourself quickly. “It doesn’t matter.” Astarion raised his brows in a way you could only describe as judgemental. You sighed and backtracked. “It’s not that he doesn’t matter. He does. He’s all I think about, every day. Hells, I even see him out of the corner of my eye when I shouldn’t because he— He’s been gone for years. But…right now…my problems aren’t the ones that matter. Yours do.” 

Astarion scoffed and made to get out of the stool. Panicking, you grabbed his arm. He froze and looked at your hand on his wrist. You softened your touch.

“Please, don’t leave,” you said, your voice trembling a little. You had just gotten him back; you’d be damned if you were going to let him slink off so soon. “I mean it. I want to hear your story. You look like a man with plenty of interesting tales.”

After a moment, he relaxed. You let go of his wrist and he caught your hand before you could pull it away. He blinked again at the instinctual movement and let go of your hand. You didn’t move away. 

“Is this how you entertain yourself? Trading alcohol for stories?” he asked, attempting to tease, but his voice was shaking a little too much to be suave. 

You shrugged. “Not exactly. Only the best stories warrant a free bottle of alcohol, and only at the end of the night.”

He laughed sardonically. “I doubt my stories would fit that bill.”

“They might,” you prompted. You covered his hand briefly, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. “Talk, I’ll listen.”

~❊~

So he talked. Over the course of the night, between other patrons and your busy hours, Astarion told you stories. Some of them, most of them, were lies and exaggerations of what had actually happened to him, which were stories he’d never tell anyone. He watched you make cocktails, pour wine and mead, and serve your customers with a smile; each drink, whether it was for him or not, got him to open up more. There was something about you, the way that you worked while also paying attention almost solely to him, that comforted him.

Halfway through the night, just after a midnight rush, he sat alone at the bar again. You served him yet another glass of wine with a smile and a hint of adoration in your eye and something in him cracked. 

“It’s been like this for two hundred years,” he said quietly. He could feel the liquor in his veins instead of blood; it felt like honesty. “Night after night in taverns, searching for people. Random people, mostly. Sometimes looking for…specific people. People he wanted me t…to bring back to him.” 

You paused midway through wiping down the bar, noticing his change of tone. “He? Who’s he?”

“My master,” he whispered. Slowly, he met your eyes. “Cazador. He…he’s a… A vampire.” He watched you, expecting your face to fall in fear as he added, “I’m one of his spawn.”

You just nodded and poured him more wine. He gulped it down. You refilled it just as quickly.

“You’re not afraid?” he whispered. “You’re not going to kick me out?”

You shook your head. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

Astarion scoffed. “You don’t know that, you don’t know anything about—”

You put the bottle down a little harder than he had been expecting and he flinched. He looked up at you, silent.

“I know you won’t hurt me,” you repeated, meeting his gaze. “Trust me on that.”

He wanted to protest. He wanted to argue that he was a dangerous creature of the night, that you were just a bartender, that you wouldn’t be so quick to trust him if you knew what he’d done to two of your patrons and would do to a third tonight, but for some reason, he couldn’t make himself say it. He looked you in the eye and suddenly felt very strongly like you were right. He wouldn’t hurt you. Something about you made it impossible to even consider hurting you.

The gears in his head began to turn.

“So,” you said. “Cazador, this master of yours… What does he make you do?”

“I…” His throat seemed to close up, his mouth dry. “I bring back…food. People for him to drink from. Sometimes it’s random people I deem…worthy enough of my time that also meet his standards. Other times he sends me after specific people. And if I don’t bring them back, he—” Astarion looked down at the bartop as another patron walked in and took a seat at the far end, eyeing him conspicuously. “It’s not a pleasant thing he does to me.”

You pushed yourself off the bar. “I would think not.” You glanced at your new customer. “Let me handle him, and I’ll be right back.”

Astarion nodded and slowly sipped from his glass. He watched you closely as you took the other man’s order with a smile and got to work on what looked like a complicated cocktail. 

You weren’t afraid of him. Why? Why didn’t you kick him out? Why didn’t you see his red eyes and his fangs and realize that he was a danger to you and everyone else in this establishment? Why didn’t you fear the things he could do to you?

Why did he look at you and know with absolute certainty that he would never hurt you, that he couldn’t hurt you even if he tried? 

While you worked on his drink, the other man turned to Astarion, leaning on the bar in a way that made Astarion stifle a scoff. This man was a caricature of the sultry grace Astarion oozed—and he was faking it most of the time. 

“So,” the man drawled to Astarion, “what brings you here?”

You looked up from the cocktail, frowning at the man, who somehow didn’t notice your glower. You glanced at Astarion.

“Sorrow,” Astarion said dryly. 

“Oh, really? Perhaps I could…help you with that,” he said, his tone lacking subtlety. 

You cleared your throat, getting the man’s attention. “Not at my bar,” you said waspishly. “If you’re going to continue to accost other customers, you can pay for the drink and get out.”

The man sneered at you, and for some reason it started a fire in Astarion’s gut. “Look here, little miss, I’m a paying customer looking for paying customers of my own and I will not be—”

So quick Astarion could barely keep track of it, you grabbed the man’s wrist, flipped his hand, and pushed back his sleeve. There was a tattoo there. You scoffed. “Just as I thought, you’re one of Niess’s harlots? I’ve told your master that none of his workers are allowed on the premises. Get out before I force you into another line of work by removing your anatomy.”

The man’s face drained of blood. Astarion could hear his pulse quicken and a tense hunger curled through him. “You wouldn’t dare—”

“Out,” you ordered. You held out your palm.

Grumbling, he slapped what he owed into your hand, threw back the drink, and sashayed out the door. Into Astarion’s ear, he whispered, “Catch you outside, handsome.” He trailed a finger over Astarion’s shoulders and he shuddered with disgust. 

“I’m sorry about him,” you said, taking away the empty glass and cleaning it. “If I’d known what he does, I wouldn’t have let him sit in the first place.”

“Not a fan of prostitutes then, huh?” Astarion asked, voice grim and dry. His skin was still crawling from the man’s touch—and, he realized, from the prospect that you might order him out once you found out exactly what it was he did.

“Just those kinds,” you said. “You know—the ones who won’t take no for an answer? Niess has always been a problem. His flophouse is just down the street and he’s constantly sending his workers out to taverns and on the streets. It wouldn’t bother me so much if they weren’t known to— Well, there’s no delicate way to phrase this, actually. If they weren’t known to rape patrons who tried to say no. Niess himself does it more often than his workers, but…I won’t take that chance here.” 

Astarion shuddered violently. He felt like he might be sick, which he wasn’t even sure was possible.

Your shoulders slumped and understanding dawned on your face. “That’s what Cazador has you doing, isn’t it?”

Hands trembling, Astarion nodded slowly. “Y…yes.”

“I’m guessing you haven’t got much choice in the matter?” you asked gently. You reached over and offered your hand. Astarion took it and immediately felt comforted when you squeezed gently. 

“No,” he said. “I… I seduce the people he wants me to bring back. Seduce them, sleep with them, promise them wonderful luxuries and…deliver them to his fangs. That’s only when he wants me to bring people back. Sometimes my siblings bring back enough so he…he hosts a party where I am the entertainment.”

He could see your heartbreak on your face. “Oh, Astarion… Honey, I’m so sorry.”

A tear slipped down his cheek. Gods, he could still cry? He thought he’d shed the last of his tears over this ages ago. At least, the tears that weren’t coaxed out of him during the rougher parties where he was used until there wasn’t anything left and he was aching and numb at the same time, or when a whip split open his skin in the same spot just one too many times. 

You reached up and wiped his tears away. He sniffled and looked up at you through his watery gaze. “Thank you,” he muttered. 

For a few moments, it was just the two of you in your own little world. Astarion felt strangely…comforted. He wanted to collapse into your arms and stay there for a fortnight or longer and tell you absolutely everything. The thought of it, of finally feeling arms around him that didn’t want anything from him, made his whole body shudder with a sob. You cooed softly, cupping his cheek and catching his tears with your thumb. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “The wine’s making me emotional, I— I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you said. “Please don’t apologize. Not for this. You’ve been through so much and…you don’t deserve any of it.”

“You don’t know that,” he said.

“I do,” you said with such certainty that he paused in his protest, the list of his wrongdoings on his tongue fading into nothing. He looked at you and found sympathy in your eyes. Sympathy and love, genuine love, not the manufactured version he so often found in his victims’ eyes. If he had possessed a working heart, it would have stopped beating at that moment.

“I know you,” he whispered. Hope washed over your features. “Who are you to me?”

You opened your mouth but were interrupted by a server calling your name. You let go of his hand after one final squeeze and went over to her, taking a list of drink orders from her. You made them in your corner and Astarion watched, taking in your familiarity. 

He could see himself running his hands through your hair, taking the braids out and scratching your scalp with his nails. He could picture you laying in a soft bed with him, your bodies tangled together and with damp sheets. He could imagine you sitting across from him at a dinner table, two other shadowy figures in his mind between you both. He could feel your hand clasped in his as you sat next to each other, both dressed in matching finery, your face turned away from him but your thumb stroking his skin reassuringly. 

You were a part of his life. Or you had been, once. He was sure of it now. You had to have been someone special. Perhaps…

His stomach seemed to lurch. Oh, gods. Here he had been, flirting with your patrons, talking about his nightly sexual conquests, while you had been gazing at him so lovingly because he…

No, it couldn’t be! He’d remember you, wouldn’t he? If he’d had a best friend, a lover, he would remember them. 

You don’t remember your own parents, he reminded himself. 

Astarion looked at you while you worked, keeping your eyes down and trying very hard not to meet his gaze but sneaking little glances at his figure whenever you could.

His body tingled at the remembrance of lips on his neck, gentle and loving and wanted, kissing all the way down his stomach. It was you. It was you.

~❊~

He knew. He’d figured it out, you were certain of it. You could see him out of the corner of your eye and you watched the realization take over his face and body. 

How much does he remember? you wondered as you worked, slammed with yet another rush hour and too busy to even stop and think, much less talk to your undead lover. 

A tiny, unbearable flame of hope had started in your chest. He was here, sitting right in front of you, and he remembered you now. You were so close to having him back for good—and yet it was impossible. He was a vampire, cursed to the shadows and owned by a master worse than Niess. Even if you spent the rest of your long life working the night shift, Astarion would always have to return to his master with a victim in tow. How could you keep him at your side like that?

A thousand ideas popped into your head over the course of the night: kill his master. Run away from Baldur’s Gate. Continue as you were and let him leave you every night and every day to serve Cazador. No. You couldn’t do any of those things, and you certainly would not let Astarion keep slaving for a man who quite clearly abused him, even if Astarion hadn’t said it himself. 

You kept track of time as best you could. It was nearly closing time when the flow of drink orders stopped, accompanied by groups of people leaving the tavern, calling their drunken goodbyes to you as they swayed toward the door. 

Eventually, you returned to Astarion, who was still looking at you with that expression of dumbfounded realization as he had been the whole night. His last question was still bouncing around in your head: Who are you to me? 

You folded your arms and leaned on the bar. You met his gaze, looking into eyes that had once been a beautiful honeyed gold, and said, “I was your fiancée, once.”

A choked sob came from his throat. He reached out and you let him take your hand. “I know,” he whispered. “I… I remembered you.” He kissed your hand and you sucked in a sharp breath. “My darling. My love. My wife, oh gods, you were going to be my wife.”

You squeezed his hand. “Honey… I missed you. I missed you so much. I saw you everywhere, I thought you were just a figment of my imagination but maybe—maybe sometimes it was you.”

“Two hundred years,” he whispered. “Two hundred years without you. How did I… How did we manage it?”

“I didn’t,” you answered honestly. “I kept going only because I had to. I pretended I was fine so your parents could take the time to grieve and I mourned only when I was alone. Everyone was always telling me how strong I was but all the while I…I was shattering like glass every night because you weren’t there to hold me together.” 

Astarion squeezed his eyes shut. A few tears leaked out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, I’m sorry I forgot you. I’m so sorry I didn’t try to escape him before I…before I forgot everything.”

“I’m sure you did try, Asty, you just don’t remember it,” you said quietly. “Or at least, I’d like to think you tried.”

“Asty,” he whispered. “I’d forgotten you called me that.” 

The last of the tavern’s patrons shuffled out, watching you out of the corner of their eyes. You were certain they thought you were trying to coax a very drunk and emotional patron out the door, if they even had a thought behind those eyes made glassy with liquor. 

The last server of the night began cleaning up. You squeezed Astarion’s hand.

“We’ve just closed, darling,” you said quietly.

“Closed?” he asked, a flash of panic in his eyes. “But I—I don’t have anyone to bring back to him! He— He’ll be furious.” The fear in his entire body made your heart break into two pieces. 

“Astarion, honey, I need you to calm down for a second—”

“You don’t understand,” Astarion moaned lowly. “You don’t understand the things he’ll do to me!”

“Darling—”

“You don’t understand,” he gasped again. 

“So help me understand,” you said quietly. “Come on, hun, talk to me. What will he do if you don’t go back?”

Astarion took several big gulps of air. While he calmed down, you told the last server to go home and began cleaning up yourself. You were nearly done when he began talking again from the bar, suddenly strangely calm, his voice dry and devoid of all emotion.

“He’ll starve me. He already does, but…he’ll take away all of it. The rats, the bugs… And he’ll beat me. No, no, he’ll watch while he has Godey beat me. Or he—” His voice caught in his throat. “Or he’ll…use me.”

You stopped and immediately went over to him. You opened your arms before you even got to his stool and enveloped him in a warm hug, holding his head close to your chest. Like a dam, everything broke. He sobbed into you.

“Hells, I’m going to be in so much trouble,” he whispered.

“No, you’re not,” you said firmly. “We’ll leave. We’ll run as fast as we can and never come back.”

He was shaking his head before you even finished your sentence. “No, no, we can’t, he’ll send someone after me.”

“Surely he has other spawn to torment—”

“I’m his favorite,” Astarion bit out, voice trembling. “He…he likes my screams, my suffering, the best.”

You fought down bile. “Oh, gods…” You hugged him tighter. “I wish I could—” 

You had a terrible idea that stopped you cold. An idea that would save him from his master and keep you together for the rest of your very long lives. 

“Come home with me,” you whispered. He began to protest, but you continued, “Come home with me and we can spend one last night together as we are. And then when the time comes…take me to him.”

Astarion went stiff in your arms. He pushed away from you enough to stare into your eyes. “What?” He sounded as horrified as he looked. “You want me to give you to him? No, absolutely not. I can’t! I can’t subject you to the same torture I go through night after night, I can’t do that to you! I love you, gods damn it all, even if I didn’t remember it for so long. The man I was when you loved me would never have brought you to Cazador.”

You cupped his cheek. “I still love you, Asty, I’ve loved you every day since you died. You might be changed, but deep down you are still my Astarion.” You showed him your hand, on which there was still a ring—delicate and beautiful and oh so lonely on your finger. “You are still the man I dreamed of marrying.” 

“You kept it,” he whispered, touching the ring. “All these years even though— What, you never wanted to start over with someone new?”

You shook your head. “Never. It was always you, Astarion. And it always will be. So just take me to him. Give him to me, keep yourself safe for the night. And I can stay with you this way. I will always be there to soothe your suffering if you bring me to him.”

He shook his head. “No. No, I can’t, darling, I—” His voice broke. 

“Please, Asty,” you whispered. “I cannot bear the thought of you being hurt because of me.”

“It’s not because of you,” he protested.

But you shook your head. “I kept you talking all night, love. I kept you at my bartop when you had a job to do. Please, darling.” You brushed his hair behind his ear. “Let’s go home.”

For several long moments, Astarion just stared at you. Then, in the quietest whisper you had ever heard, he said, “Alright.”

☞ ❊ ☜

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Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

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[brabblesblog]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 11: I know what it is to live entirely for and with what I love best on earth

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

Preparations for the wedding begin.

Professionally edited and collaborated on by my dearest friend <3 @editing-by-night

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Art commissioned from the amazing @dafna-winchester

Astarion peered down at his hand, eyeing the ring now wrapped around his ring finger. A simple gold band, not too thick - lovely, if a little too plain, he mused. Beside him Ban admired her own ring, just as simple, much to his displeasure.

He’d allowed her to select the rings, allowed her pretty much free rein over organizing the wedding, content with watching her fulfill her dreams of being wed to him.

Married. Such an odd notion, especially for him. Over two centuries old and he’d never considered it would happen for him, especially after he’d turned. He’d dismissed it as a youthful dream, stolen away by his undeath. He’d never thought he’d find the person he was meant for, and even when he’d been confident it was her, there had been so many things that had threatened it.

He remembered the first hundred or so bodies he’d lain with. He’d dreaded feeling that certainty and devotion when he’d bedded them, terrified of finding his thiramin in a victim he would have no hope of saving. What would he have done if his heart had stirred for someone who was doomed by simply having met him? The loss would have likely driven him to madness; elves often went insane, many ended their lives, when they lost their thiramin. He had no illusions that Cazador would have allowed him a second death had that happened to him. He couldn’t imagine what he would have become.

But then the years had stretched on, endless and dreary, and none of them ever stirred him. He’d thought no one ever would. His heart had lain still, silent save for the slow, undead beats, and he’d resigned himself to an eternity of loneliness. Of being less than whole.

She had brought that dream back, though. She’d awakened his heart, made it long for more. And then she’d restored it. His heart, now beating, living. Hers.

He looked back down at the ring, feeling the cool metal with his fingers. Whatever style it would be, he knew he’d find it perfect. However…

“You could at least add a rock or two, Ban.” He looked over at her. “Rubies, to match my eyes. Diamonds, to match my skin…”

He gave her a gentle nudge and Ban playfully bumped her shoulder against his. He smirked, stepping behind her as if to admire the display from over her shoulder. His hands slowly slid down her back to grip her ass, squeezing through the thin fabric of her dress. He noted the lack of underwear, pleasantly surprised.

“It seems like there’s less… material here than usual,” he purred into her ear. She shivered as his hands traced the curve of her ass.

“I figured you’d want easier access if you chose to end our little game early.”

“Tempting, but that won’t work.” He pressed against her back, hands reaching over her, as if he were merely admiring the ring on her finger. He lifted her hand up so that it shone in the light; as he did, he surreptitiously ground his hips against her ass, cock nestling in the cleft.

She jerked hard, gasping in surprise, then pressed back against him. He allowed it for several deliciously torturous seconds, allowed himself this small moment of intense desire as he closed his eyes and imagined bending her over the stall, vendors be damned, the wares clattering to the ground as he spread her legs, sliding his cock deep inside her…

He forced his eyes open, drawing away, chuckling at the bereft whine that came out of her.

“Later? When we’re alone?” Ban pleaded, making no effort to hide the desperation in her voice. He gave her a small shake of the head.

“I’ve never wanted anything more, my love, but sadly I must decline. You won’t get out of it that easily; you ought to know that by now.” He nipped her neck playfully, enjoying her quiet groan, then nodded at the ring on her hand. “Better get back to ring shopping, love. Were I you I’d reconsider the choice of design. Vanity aside… stones would add a little more luxury to it.”

“If I got rocks, it would be woefully inconvenient. It would snag on things, and were we to get into a scrap, it would easily get damaged. Another thing to worry about.”

He thought about this for a moment.

“Engravings would not catch on clothing nor weapons,” he suggested. She’d chosen the rings from a selection the jeweler had presented them with, and she had picked these. He hadn’t complained, especially when she said she’d want them to match, but a tad more opulence never hurt.

She turned to the jeweler to discuss alterations. Astarion watched her, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

The past few tendays had been a bustle of activity, the wedding planning having taken precedence over everything else. Tailors, florists, caterers, jewelers - the list had been almost endless, the palace almost never empty. Nights were the only quiet moments, even more so now that they were playing their game. Abstaining from sex wasn’t easy for either of them, but they’d been having fun with it, and the lack meant their nights were spent wrapped in each other’s arms, discussing anything and everything. He found he loved it, even when the conversation went to heavier topics, as it had the other night.

“Astarion,” she murmured, nuzzling against his neck. He gave a small hmm? in response, opening his eyes. He’d been drifting off, thoughts of tomorrow’s meeting with the florist and the frankly overwhelming choices of floral arrangements looming annoyingly large in his mind.

She traced a path downwards with her lips, ending at the hollow of his throat. “I still don’t know what to do with Adrien. I don’t think we’ll be able to convince my parents to reveal anything, much less help me see him.”

Ah. He’d been turning the idea over in his mind, considering possible methods to prise the information from Roderich.

“Would Adrien be amenable to meeting you in secret?”

She scoffed, her breath tickling his skin. “He would never dare defy them to such a degree. He’d… he’d tell me to ask them, or have the meeting with them present. I’m not even certain where he is, or how I can establish contact with him. He… he might even hate me for leaving, which I guess I deserve.”

“Hate you for leaving?” he asked, incredulous. “And since when has it become your problem that your sibling cannot stand up for himself?”

Ban pressed her head against the swell of his chest. He’d wrapped a comforting hand over her head, pressing her closer to his heart. “I was the older sister. I could… should have done more.”

“Did he ever stand up for you?”

She fell silent, merely shaking her head.

He sighed. “You’re not required to save everyone. You never were,” he added, irritation creeping into his voice. An old grievance - not that he minded her saving him and their companions, of course - but the fact that she always somehow thought it her responsibility to help out, even when it risked herself, irked him.

“Oh, I know,” she shrugged. “But it should be what I want to do. Or at least what a better person would want to do.”

He blinked, surprised. “I never mentioned it being something you should be doing, Ban. I merely assumed you, with your bleeding heart back then-”

She laughed, and he found himself even more confused, brow furrowing. He looked down at her as she peered from where she’d snuggled against his chest; to his shock she seemed mildly amused.

“Bleeding heart?” She shook her head. “Far from it, Astarion. Too far, even.”

“Then what of the tieflings? The gnomes? You had us save each and every one of them - a tiresome task, which I’m sure I’ve mentioned to you.” The confusion gave way to incredulity. “Are you saying you never really… cared?”

She splayed a hand over the dip in his chest, silent. He noticed she looked away, as if considering something; he felt her mind touch his and let her in.

He was holding a greatsword, effortlessly hefting its weight in both hands. Before him a tiefling spoke, begging for help. He could feel his lungs exhale in a sigh, a surge of irritation in his mind. He opened his mouth.

“Astarion! We need to help them. Can you come with me?”

He saw himself, clad in that drow’s armor, striding closer. “Must we?” His other self stood lackadaisically, hands on hips.

He felt fond amusement, bordering on giddy joy, and intense affection. His eyes couldn’t even seem to lock onto his other self, heart racing and cheeks flushing as he attempted to do so. His back straightened up and he spoke, eyes pointedly fixed at a spot above the other Astarion’s hair.

“They need help. So,” his hand rose, letting go of the massive sword long enough to beckon. The hand came into his view.

Her hand. Her memories. He’d known, of course, but it was still rather novel watching his past self glower as he approached her. It was far more amusing to feel her silly crush, a warmness seeping through her at his mere presence.

But beyond that, the feeling she wanted him to notice was there: an irritation with the tieflings, tamped down by a begrudging reminder that helping them would be the right thing to do.

The vision shifted, and he was her yet again, a man covered in soot before her. She felt the man’s ring in her pocket, tempted, for a split second, to walk away with it. They did need the gold, and for a fleeting moment she considered giving it to Astarion, then stopped herself. He’d consider it a stupid gesture.

She saw Astarion burst in through the broken doors beside her, scowling at the smoke; the color of the feelings immediately changed, turning into pleasant excitement and glee at having him near.

“Darling,” his past self drawled, “let’s just go. This place won’t do our clothes any favors.”

She sighed and made a decision, hand slipping into her pocket, fishing out the ring for the man. He saw his old self sigh.

Another memory, this one of Oskar Fevras. She’d convinced the Zhent to let him go, but…

He could feel her debating whether to give the man some coin. Her thoughts flitted from an outright no to a perhaps; she then turned to him.

“The pouch, please,” she said, all confident and unfazed when his past self inevitably grumbled, but inwardly hanging onto every word and move he made.

Again, the feeling was there, the annoyance at Oskar for bothering them, the urge to just let him leave penniless - it wasn’t my concern, she thought - and then a reluctant voice in her head told her to do better.

He finally pulled away from her mind, opening his eyes to see her still peering up at him. She averted her eyes the moment they met.

“Not… good,” she stated. “Never was, like I said.”

She had indeed said so before, but he hadn’t really believed her then. He huffed out a laugh, masking the sheer relief settling into him. Not good, indeed. How long had he tormented himself with the idea that he’d ruined her, that she’d corrupted herself by allowing his ascension? Not that he hadn’t, he mused - seven thousand dead was quite a few degrees worse than anything they’d ever done before or since - but the confirmation that she was no saint, not an angel whose wings he’d torn off and dragged to hell with him was a relief. He ruffled her hair again, a little rougher this time, amused by her snort of annoyance for messing it up.

“You’ve mentioned that, yes.” He clenched his jaw. “At the time I thought you meant the events of the rite.”

She bit her lip. He could almost taste the way she began to turn away, her expression closing off. But it lasted for mere seconds. Instead she exhaled heavily.

“No. I meant… always. Being good, or moral, I suppose, is work, work I constantly have to remind myself to do. I don’t want to be what they raised me to be, as natural as it feels.” Her eyes finally met his. “I want to be more, and…” she shrugged, “I’ve failed. Especially when it mattered most.”

“If you mean helping me at the rite…” he began, fingers stilling on the path they had been taking on her head.

“No. I mean with you. After.” She sat up, biting her lip. “You made mistakes. I made more. It just didn’t fix anything.” He watched her fingers twist and tangle as she continued. “When I first saw you, I saw that you were like me, that… being better isn’t in your nature, either.” She was interrupted by his rather humorless laugh.

“You could say that, yes.”

Despite the seriousness of the conversation she felt a small smile ghost her lips. “I saw that… that you were like me. But you were also in so much pain. So much suffering in so beautiful a man, in so precious a soul.” She watched his eyes widen and squeezed his hand. “I saw you at night, saw how you sought solace in my arms when nightmares haunted you. Saw how you kept everyone else at arm’s length, even if at first I thought you actually were attracted to me.”

Astarion pressed his lips to the top of her head then, placing a short, intense kiss as an apology. She squeezed his bicep, sending a thought through. It’s alright.

“I forgave you that a long time ago. Probably would have forgiven you the second you did it. I can’t blame you, after all. I’m no great beauty.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I just saw all that sorrow, saw that you needed kindness. Needed care.” With every word she traced his cheekbone, then moved to his jawline.

“I wanted to be your rock, then. To protect you, to be where you could hide. Even if…” she swallowed, “even if I could not let you in. Not enough.”

He huffed, a sharp exhale of breath, and she looked up in surprise. Part of him wanted to assuage her concerns about her physical beauty, but he decided to tackle the more pertinent issues first. “I did not need a cave to shelter in, Ban. I needed a home.” She opened her mouth to apologize, but he continued. “Be that as it may, I was… not aware of it, at the time. What I needed and what I wanted were two entirely distinct things.”

“I’m sorry.”

His arms tightened around her. “Forgiven, as you know all too well. As for… what you really are, Ban. Why refuse me a glimpse of that? You knew we were alike; you had to have known I’d have wholeheartedly accepted you as you have done for me.”

“Thought I could be better. Thought… you needn’t carry that burden. That you deserved someone whole and good, someone you could give your suffering to, without worrying about theirs. Someone strong.” He watched her avert her eyes, hiding by skating kisses across the plane of his chest. He appreciated the honesty, particularly because it wasn’t the easiest thing for her.

“Ban,” Astarion admonished. It was a soft, gentle murmur, but one that told her in no uncertain terms that he wanted her full attention. He waited until she looked at him to continue. “I’d have loved to know all of you. Perhaps I would have pretended to be slightly miffed,” he joked, “to have to share your burdens, but I would have been secretly honored. Inside.”

“Deep inside,” Ban teased, poking his chest. He nodded, a small smirk playing on his lips.

Astarion’s hand resumed stroking her hair. “So. Is this drive to do the right thing the reason why you’re so keen on saving your brother from your parents?”

“Possibly. I’m not sure; it’s an urge - to at the very least know how he’s doing. And the way my parents were acting… there’s definitely something hidden there. Something rotten.”

Astarion mulled this over, silent for several moments. “We could yet pry the information from Roderich, I think. A simple yet precise application of coin, some strings tugged on and favors called…”

“I’m listening,” Ban said, her curiosity obviously piqued.

“Focus your attentions on our wedding, love,” he assured her. “Let me handle this. All you need to worry about that day is being the beautiful,” he tugged her up so that they were eye to eye, “wonderful bride that you are.”

He noticed that she shook her head almost imperceptibly. “Would you indulge me, love? Never say you’re not attractive. I won’t stand for it. Is that understood?” There was a firmness in that last question, one reminiscent of the Ascendant.

“We should admit I’m not-”

“Conventionally attractive? As if convention or the opinion of the masses ever mattered to anyone, least of all me.” He tilted her chin to face him and kissed her deeply, roughly, sucking on her bottom lip. He let his hips buck, let her feel his cock press against her belly as he gripped the back of her head to deepen the kiss. She whimpered, and he groaned in response, throaty and deep, holding nothing back.

“See?” he breathed, pulling away from the kiss. “I do think you were made to ruin me, and as much as that was a silly line at the time… I mean it.” She laughed, and he savored the sound, pecking her cheek. “Besides, the Vampire Ascendant could not have had bad taste when he chose his consort, couldn’t he?” he teased.

“Fine,” she acquiesced. “I’ll agree that at least you find me cute.”

“Far more than that, darling, but I think we can settle on cute for now. I can show you how enthralling I find you after our…” he drifted a hand down, skating over her hips, “little game…” he pressed the heel of his palm over her mound, allowing her to grind him briefly, “...is over.”

“Scrolls, flowers, or some other design?” Ban asked, holding out the sample rings to him.

“Scrolls,” he answered, returning his focus to her.

She relayed his preference to the jeweler, turning to him once it was settled.

“You do seem to like scrollwork, considering the new mirror.” Yet another mirror, this one purchased from the master of the mirror-makers’ guild.

“It has a measure of sophistication, I suppose, one Roderich’s monstrosity rather… lacks.” He tilted his head to watch her, delighted to see her snort at his remark. It wasn’t that Roderich’s creation was horrible, he figured - but he did find it perhaps a touch ostentatious. He recalled Roderich calling the design dated and realized belatedly that the man had been right.

“It’s a lot prettier,” Ban agreed. “You’ll look wonderful reflected in it, once your suit arrives.”

His eyes crinkled in amusement. “Darling, I don’t need a mirror to know that.”

“I know,” she chuckled. “It’s still nice though, for you to be able to see yourself.”

Astarion froze for a moment, unsure what to say. Of course. “You’ll look lovely too, I’m quite certain. You already manage to enchant me every single day - no doubt you’ll be positively captivating in your dress.”

“Sure. I’ll have you show me, come the day.” She paused. “Perhaps I’ll ask Gale for a simulacrum. You could stand next to it and I could see how we both look in our finery.” She waved a hand at him, seemingly wanting to leave the conversation at that; the expression on her face, however, wasn’t hidden at all. Melancholy.

“You miss it, don’t you,” he murmured.

“I… do.” She shrugged. “But it’s not too big an issue. You can always show me what I look like, whether it be by linking minds or through your flattery.”

“Is that what I am now? Your poor husband, relegated to being a seeing glass?” He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, mimicking woefulness.

Ban laughed. “You act like looking at me is such a hard task.”

“Oh, but it is. Grueling, in fact,” he leaned in, a hand pulling her flush to his side, “it’s extremely difficult, to look at you and not touch you,” he whispered, lips hovering a hairsbreadth away from hers, “to speak words of praise and not put my mouth on you, on every inch of you, taste you.”

He chuckled, pulling away the moment she tried to go for a kiss. “I wouldn’t consider the truth to be mere flattery, my love.”

She playfully swatted at him, then squeezed his hand, a small gesture of gratefulness and understanding.

The thought, however, dwelled on his mind. It wasn’t as if he’d ever forgotten - all the commissioned art was for her to be able to see herself in some manner. He knew it wasn’t the same, but that had been the only way he’d thought of.

But the desire to give her some more permanent way to see herself, and Gale’s name, had tangled in his mind, eventually becoming the nebulous beginnings of an idea.

He followed her as she walked towards another stall, wrapping an arm around her waist. He searched for a topic to discuss, something to cheer her up.

“We’ve been invited to a party, a tenday after our wedding. The guildmaster Meiros’ daughter is to celebrate her twenty-first birthday.”

She considered this. “Meiros. You purchased the new mirror from him, yes?”

“Indeed I did. He used some newfangled method for it - apparently Barcus Wroot’s mining operation has proven more fruitful than we expected.”

“That was a good idea, suggesting Barcus go back and claim the Grymforge. Unfortunate that we didn’t introduce him to Meiros ourselves, but then again, we weren’t aiming to rub shoulders with mirror-makers then.” She inspected a silk scarf, looking thoughtful. “I was doing everything in my power to avoid approaching anything related to mirrors.”

“It makes little difference - I mentioned being well-acquainted with the gnome to Meiros. If he had his wits about him he picked up what I was alluding to.”

He groaned. “As for the party… I do so loathe that we have to go - it’s pointless mingling amongst whoever else his daughter’s invited, and I highly doubt hobnobbing with a gaggle of vapid young women is going to do us any good.”

“It’s the father you want, anyway,” Ban commented, her hands running over a selection of tanned hides, considering them for shoes for Astarion. She held one up, handing it to him to inspect. Astarion took it from her with deliberate slowness, allowing his fingers to drag across the back of her hand, pairing the caress with a dark, hungry look that made her shiver.

“Will you ever tell me what the plan is, regarding that?”

A smirk crossed his features. “As I previously mentioned, love, I will handle it while you concern yourself with the wedding planning. Don’t you trust me?” He selected the sample hide from the center of the set, a smooth calfskin.

“I do,” she answered without hesitation, “I’m merely curious.” She shot the hide he’d selected a suspicious glance. “That will scratch easily, you know. Especially in white.”

He grumbled and looked through the other samples, reconsidering. Purchasing the mirror was only the first step; a little more would be required for his plan.

“You’ll need a gift,” Ban said from beside him.

She tapped another sample. “Rothe-hide. Much tougher.”

“For the lucky debutante, you mean,” Astarion nodded.

He fingered the hide Ban pointed at, finding the texture thick but a little rough. “I can hardly imagine talking to one, let alone figuring out something one would want.”

She frowned. “A book, a satchel… a portrait. There are options.”

“Gifts,” he sighed. “Even now I can see the endless parade of them arriving at our doorstep, and I haven’t the foggiest what to do with them.”

“You say thank you, and you put them in storage.” She watched him finally settle for the rothe-hide.

“Some of them are rather useful. Halsin’s previous gift, for instance, was enlightening.”

“And in storage,” Ban reminded. She took a moment to admire the swell of his ass as he was turned away, engaged in conversation with the tanner. She moved in close, grabbing a handful before he could even notice.

Astarion yelped, then rounded on her. “Bad girl. Very, very naughty.” He set the hide sample down, slowly crowding her against the side of the stall in his sensual, predatory way. But she knew exactly what move he’d attempt and as he closed in she slipped away, laughing.

“Getting slow, old man.” She dodged yet another attempt to grab her wrist.

He stared at her for a moment, mouth agape. “Old. Old?” He clutched his chest. “You wound me so, my love.” He ambled up to her, watching her smirk widen as she held her ground. He leaned down, breath tickling her face. She could smell traces of the blood he’d had for breakfast on it. “You’ll have to take that back the moment our little game ends.”

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows. “I highly doubt that.” Astarion knew it was a lie - the way she shifted her hips, pressing her legs together, was more than enough indication. The smile grew wider.

“Then allow me to continue teasing you,” he whispered. “Let me keep tantalizing you. If these attempts are futile, then you will have won, and I shall stop. If you lose…” he kissed her lips for a fraction of a second, “then I shall redouble my efforts and make sure you can’t think of anything else other than your dear, old, husband.”

She stifled a giggle. “You can try, Astarion. We’ll see by tonight.” She changed the topic in an attempt to hide how flustered she was, though it was futile - he could still see the faint flush on her cheeks. “I’m sure we’ll find some use for every present, whether it be collecting dust or something actually useful.”

She was lying in bed when Astarion walked into the bedroom, a triumphant grin on his face. He was carrying a small, wooden box, rather dusty and vaguely familiar.

“Don’t bring that to bed, Astarion,” she warned. He paused, raised an eyebrow at her, and headed towards her anyways. She stood, quickly heading to the chaise.

“Really? We could have the sheets replaced. This,” he tapped the chaise as he sat, “is not so easily cleaned.”

She snorted. “Smartass.” She sat down, legs crossed, and he took the spot opposite her, box still in hand. She eyed it, trying to remember what it was.

“A gift? Or something else?”

He beamed at her, fingers unlatching the lock and lifting the lid.

Letters. From when I was in Waterdeep. She swallowed. “Where did you find this?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “I stumbled into one of our storage rooms the other day and had a quick rummage.”

She eyed him carefully. “Part of… whatever plans you have for my father?”

“Perhaps.” He pushed the box towards her, eyes glinting with excitement.

“Astarion…” she hesitated, looking at the papers within. Did they really want to bring this up, that painful time apart? “Does this not…” she trailed off. Hurt you?

He sensed her question and the smile fell, replaced by a somber, if earnest, expression. He picked up some of the letters. “It should. I recall writing them, knowing it was a meager gesture, but they were the only way I could reach you then.” He bit his lip, considering his words as he unfolded one.

“You kept them. All of them.” He looked at her, eyes wide. “You arranged them according to when they arrived, saved them all in this box, and…” he smiled again, eyes crinkling, “you drafted answers on the backs.”

“I… did,” she nodded, picking one from the pile and turning it over. There it was, in her own neat, if rather childlike, handwriting. Big, circular letters that spelled out her feelings. That she did miss him, missed him so much it hurt, so much she could barely sleep. That she wanted him back, if only he’d try harder, meet her halfway. She sighed.

Astarion watched her every move. His hand gripped her knee. “You never told me any of this. Never… let me know you were miserable too, that you longed for me just as much as I did you.”

“I know. I’m sorry… you know why. I couldn’t, back then. Refused to show you anything resembling weakness.”

He nodded, taking the letter from her and reverently placed it back in the box. He closed it and put it down on the floor. The moment he straightened up she spread her arms, beckoning him to her. He tilted his head, a grin settling over his features when he realized what she was asking for. He obliged, settling into her embrace as she reclined, his head pillowed against her breasts, one of his legs slung over one of hers.

He took a small breath. “There is a silver lining to seeing those letters, I suppose.” She guessed that was why he seemed happy about finding them. She waited for him to continue.

“They tell me you cared. Even in the depths of our despair you yearned for me as well. Your heart reached for me, as mine reached for you,” he murmured into her skin. “You simply could not allow yourself to tell me. You were… hiding, just as I was.”

Her fingers tightened where they had settled in his curls, kneading the back of his head in a massage. He exhaled, breath hot against her skin. “Again, Astarion, I really am sor-”

A hand reached up, palm covering her mouth. He shook his head at her. “Enough. I choose to take what I unearthed as something… positive. Don’t ruin it.” He leaned up and his thigh pushed up against her mound, delightfully arousing in its simplicity. She swallowed heavily.

“You were hiding… and that is fine,” he whispered, leaning forwards to aim his words into her ear. “So was I. But that was then,” he ground his hips, rubbing his cock against her leg, pushing his thigh more firmly against her rapidly-dampening core. “And this is now.”

He didn’t remove his hand from her mouth, and when she tried to speak again he shushed her. “No more words from those pretty lips, my love. I don't want to hear you beg to touch me, because I have no intention of allowing it. There is no need to waste your breath.”

Astarion was merely tormenting them both, she assumed. He moaned as he rubbed himself on her thigh, smirking when her eyes widened at the sound.

He had been teasing her constantly all month. Light, deft touches, his fingertips ghosting over sensitive spots, speaking a little too close to her ear, sometimes breathy, sometimes growling. She’d loved it, even as her body had begged to be touched and taken each time.

He'd also gotten into the annoying habit of grinding into her ass when they spooned before bed. He’d do it once, twice, sometimes several times, then pull away, smirking all the while. He especially liked it when he managed to elicit a needy moan from her, and try as she might to keep them in - not wanting to give him the satisfaction - she almost always failed.

Oh, she knew he was suffering as well. She could feel the insistent, likely painful, throb of his cock every time he pressed against her, the heat of him even more than usual - almost fiery. She imagined that were she to wrap her hand around him, she'd merely have to stroke once and he’d come undone. One quick pass, one swipe of her thumb on his slit, or perhaps one lick against the underside of his cockhead, and-

“Ban.” He gasped her name against the shell of her ear. She blinked.

“Are you with me?” Astarion’s face changed from seductive to concerned. He lifted his hand from her mouth, easing his body off of hers. She paused, realizing this could be an opportunity to give him a little taste of his own medicine. Bracing herself, she grabbed his waist and twisted, aiming to pin him under her. She saw his eyes widen in surprise, and knew she had won.

…but not quite. She had him under her, but his hand was firmly around her neck.

Astarion laughed, tickled by her attempt. “Good try.”

“Had I twisted the other way,” Ban nodded towards the fireplace in front of them, “I could have rolled us off the chaise and onto the carpet, grabbed the poker, and staked you.” She simpered. “I win.”

“And I could have broken your neck whilst you were debating on which way to roll,” he countered, hand squeezing for a fraction of a second. “Strong as you are, my dear,” the fingers on her neck danced, tapping against her skin in a pattern only he knew, “dexterous hands are far likelier to succeed.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he swallowed her words with a fierce kiss. She fought the urge to grind against the thigh between her legs, failing miserably. The hand on her neck somehow managed to convey aggression and tenderness at the same time - something in the way his fingertips stroked her neck with such exquisite gentleness while his palm remained firm and controlled her movement - and she loved it. His breath was hot against her skin, his body deliciously warm beneath her. It was all she could do not to beg for more.

He parted from the kiss to let out a shuddery breath. “Gods,” he moaned in a whisper, “wouldn’t it be exquisite to have me inside you?” His hand roamed down her back to her ass, pressing down so she sat on his cock. “If I was sheathed inside you, my love… losing myself in you…” he purred, his hips rolling to accentuate his words. “Fingers dancing where you need them most... Lips… crying out for you.” He finished his little spiel with the smuggest of grins, knowing he had her - she was hopelessly wet and needy.

Ban exhaled, squeezing her eyes shut, then shifted off him. “You win,” she said meekly. “I cannot contest any of that.”

Astarion smirked, sitting up. She caught a quick glimpse of his cock straining against his pants before he crossed his legs; that made her smile. “At least I’m not the only one.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “As frustrating as it is, I promise you. It will be worth it.”

“I know.” Her eyes softened. “I know it’s important to you, and that’s all I need to make it worth suffering for.”

He snorted. “It’s hardly suffering-” he cut off as she rolled her eyes, holding his hands up. “Alright. It is torture. Still, a little exercise in patience never hurt anyone. Besides, it was your idea to make it the whole month, rather than merely a tenday.” She sat on the floor in front of the chaise; he leaned over to kiss the top of her head.

“I do thank you for indulging me, however. It means more than you know. Little remains of who I was before my life was taken from me. I am glad to have some small part of it returned to me, even if it is for something as admittedly silly as this.”

"I wouldn't say silly." She mused, her voice thoughtful. "It's part of your heritage, and my heart does not mind it in the slightest, even if other parts of me do." She smiled, leaning her head back against the plush cushion. Her eyes shut, and she felt his fingers ruffle her hair.

There were more plans to make, and their lives would inevitably be even busier as the wedding approached, so for now she savored the silence, indulging in the quiet companionship.

She felt him touch her mind as he laid on the chaise, his hand still on her head.

It was in these little moments, these little snippets of eternity - where she felt most at home.

Taglist: @tavamarie @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decadentcoffewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind kind @pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann @wisteriaofthegraves @midnight-musings-of-nyx @toni-winchester @icybluepenguin @beepersteeper @hereliesblackdragon @generalstephkenobi

[katthyacinth]

Define Alive

As you prepare to rest your mind is preoccupied with questions for your vampire companion. Unable to push the thoughts away you approach his tent.

“Astarion?” You ask softly peering inside.

“Yes my sweet?” his voice replies from inside.

A rustling sound follows as he then appears in front of you.

“Can I ask you a question?” the words fall from your mouth

“Anything darling” You fear that might have been a mistake

"i guess now that I think about it its less of a question and more of an observation... you hate us, or maybe it's envy? of the living I mean. Do you wish you were still alive? That you were never immortal?"

He pauses not expecting your question slightly caught off guard. "I- I- well one loaded question there my love... I- pity you all. You must worry about the fact you'll one day be old and decay, you all can die from disease your so fragile and weak you living people..." he pauses, a long pause as you look at him expecting more. You haven't gotten the answer you wanted yet. he knows you won't leave until you do "although I guess if I had to say one nice thing. I envy the fact that your warm, that I can hear your heartbeat... it's calm... you living people are so careless and light for people who are so fragile." he trails off to himself until he realizes what he's doing "but I never wish I was still alive god no I would have been dead two hundred years ago and no one would be able to bask in my beauty!" he adds seemingly to dismiss the rest of his words. “Yes I suppose we can't have that” you chuckle "then I would've never met you the tragedy. Although sometimes I think what really defines being alive... I mean I think you're pretty alive to me" you muse

He scoffs giving you a look “I think the whole point of vampires is we're dead love. or undead if you want to be so technical about it”

“No, I mean think about it, what is making you not alive right now? You don't have a beating heart? Trees and plants live and they don't have organs or bacteria, diseases they're alive. The fact you don't can't eat? Plants eat sunlight and they don't even eat it. A Lot of animals don't have mouths too like worms. They're still alive.”

"Sweetheart while the philosophical thought is nice I-" He starts to speak but you cut him off again lost in your own ramble. He decides to indulge

“The point is Star… I think the fact that you're standing here having you're own thoughts walking around talking to me, that's enough especially with magic … who's to tell you if you're alive or dead you are both and it's ok. You're both!”

You look at him. He looks at you curiously thumbing over the odd thoughts you just piled into his mind. after a prolonged silence, he speaks

"you know... maybe you're right. I've been dead in the ground for far too long. I think it's time I start living again..." he finishes putting his arms around you.

It doesn't matter that his skin is not warm or that you can't feel a beating heart, you love him, he is yours you are his. Everything is ok.

(This is a rewrite for a fic I have on AO3 That I thought I should share so I have slight diversity in my evil men hyperfixation lol.)

[thechaoticdruid]

This Bites (6)

Pairing: Astarion x Fem! Chubby!MC

Plot: Astarion gets to know Winnie's little step sister Vanessa as the trip to the carnival date grows near.

Content/Warnings: Fluff, mean vampire threatens smol human, smol human is annoying and asks too many questions, smol human's dad is a bigot, Batstarion abuse.

Chapter 5: Long ass chapter

Chapter 6: We here.

Chapter 7: To the carnival!!

“Shit.” Astarion breathed out, staring at the little girl with shock. This was not good. Winnie had busted her ass to make sure no one in the house found out about Astarion. Winnie shot up from the ground, eyes widened with horror as she saw her stepsister in her room.

“Vanessa! What are you doing in MY room?” Winnie snapped, arms crossed. 

“I couldn't sleep!” Vanessa complained before her eyes stared at Astarion, taking in his features. 

“He looks like the vampire from that game all my favorite YouTubers are playing!” 

“Ah…Well, he's just a big fan!” Winnie said nervously before elbowing Astarion in the shoulder.

“Oh! Yes! I am just absolutely captivated by him! He's so beautiful and dreamy.~ It's as if he was carved from stone by the gods themselves!~” Astarion put his hand over his heart, lacing every word with some dramatic flair.

“Okay, I think she gets the point.” Winnie rolled her eyes, as she huffed at Astarion's ridiculous and frankly egocentric theatrics. 

“You sound just like him too!” Vanessa said, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “And are those fangs in your mouth?”

“He's a cosplayer and he just so happens to be very good at impressions! Seriously Nessa, don't tell me you think he could actually be a vampire. You know they aren't real, silly.” Winnie said, laughing nervously as her anxiety began to spike.

“He literally has no reflection.” Vanessa said, pointing to the mirror in Winnie’s room. Just to add to their shit luck, the two of them had been standing at the perfect angle for her to notice. 

“Fuck.” Winnie cursed, stomping her foot and covering her face in her hands. 

“Well…Looks like we'll have to kill the child.” Astarion said with an annoyed sigh, clenching his clawed fingers.  Vanessa tensed up and backed up against the wall as the vampire took a step forward. Winnie quickly moved in front of him and blocked the way to Nessa.

“No no no! We are not murdering my stepsister!” Winnie put her hand on his chest. 

“I can't believe there's a real vampire in our house!” Vanessa exclaimed, sounding way too excited about a blood sucking undead being hiding in her home.

“You are not having the appropriate reaction to finding out a bloodsucking monster-” Winnie was cut off by Astarion clearing his throat,” right sorry LIFE CHALLENGED INDIVIDUAL is in your house.” 

“Well, you obviously don't seem afraid of him.” Nessa exclaimed, “and if he was dangerous why would you bring him into the house?” 

“I am very dangerous, thank you.” Astarion scoffed, crossing his arms with a slight pout.

“He is my friend and I'm taking care of him…” Winnie began to say. 

“Dad has no idea he's here does he?” Vanessa raised an eyebrow with a smirk.

“No and I want to keep it that way.” Winnie said sternly. 

“I can't believe there's actually a video game character in front of me!” Nessa squealed in excitement. “Wait, how is this possible?” 

“I've been trying to get to the bottom of that.”Winnie rubbed her temples, “look the bottom line is you can't tell anyone about him being here, understand?” Vanessa ignored Winnie and immediately went over to inspect Astarion.

“So what's your name?” She asked curiously.

“It's Astarion. ~” The vampire replied with a dramatic little bow. 

“Astairen?” Vanessa repeated, pronouncing the vampire’s name incorrectly. The elf sighed and rolled his eyes.

“A-star-rion.” He corrected her. 

“Ha! You sound like a Pokemon!” Vanessa giggled.

“A what?” The vampire was completely confused. 

“Vanessa.” Winnie huffed, “listen to me.” Vanessa eventually turned back to look at Winnie. “You cannot tell anyone about him, understand? Especially not your father.” 

“I won't tell anyone! I promise! I've just always wanted a vampire friend!” Nessa exclaimed with a twinkle in her eyes. 

“Let's not get carried away…There are very few people in this world I consider ‘friends’ and you are certainly not one of them.” Astarion said in a sassy tone, face scrunched in disgust. Winnie quickly elbowed him.

“Be nice.” She scolded him. 

“Ugh….If I must…” Astarion groaned and looked over at the young girl. “…I may consider becoming friends…” The vampire said the last word as if it would make him vomit.

“Don't take what he says too personally, Ness. He's basically a cat on the inside.” Winnie said calmly, causing Vanessa to giggle. 

“This is going to be so cool! I have so many questions!” Vanessa said with excitement. 

“Ah yes well, it might be best if you hold off your questions for tonight. I'm really tired.” Winnie said with a yawn, stretching out her arms.

“But come on! Just a few minutes! Pleaaassse!” Vanessa whined. Winnie groaned in annoyance before sitting on the bed and kicking off her shoes.

“Alright. You got ten minutes.” She said with a sigh. 

“Okay okay! Can you fly?” 

“No.” Astarion replied.

“Can you hypnotize people?”

“No.”

“Can you see the future?” 

“No.” 

“Read minds?” 

“No.”

“Do you….sparkle in the sun?”

“Not sure…Usually I'm too busy burning to death to check.” 

“Well, you're a boring vampire!” Nessa huffed.

Astarion rolled his eyes,”I can rip your heart out and eat it. Is that exciting enough for you?” 

“Kinda gross, but okay.” 

“Alright you've asked enough questions. Now go to bed.” Winnie sighed. 

“Fiiiine.” Vanessa finally gave in before leaving to go back to her room. 

Winnie let out a groan of annoyance once her step sister left her room. She rubbed her temples in frustration as Astarion sat down on the bed beside her. 

“God, I hope she doesn't tell anyone…” Winnie muttered before suddenly feeling clawed hands on her shoulders. Astarion began to rub her gently. 

“Since you won't let me kill them I dearly hope you have a plan brewing in that pretty head of yours? In case our little secret gets out.” The pale elf said as he continued to massage her shoulders, thumbs moving down to rub circles around her shoulder blades. 

“We'd have to move out I guess…..Which is just a problem in itself. There's no way I can afford my own house and an apartment is too crowded. You'd never be able to sneak out and hunt without the possibility of being seen.” Winnie hummed, unable to help but let out a slight groan at the vampire’s touch. 

“Our own home does sound wonderful though. Just you and me living together. It'd almost be as if we were married.” Astarion hummed. The subject of marriage made Winnie go pale. She hoped he wasn't trying to drop some kind of hint? They'd only actually been dating a few weeks. They haven't even kissed yet for pete sake!

“Ah…Let's not get carried away now. I'm still a bit too young to be thinking of marriage.” Winnie huffed before pulling away and laying down on the bed. 

“Ah..Yes of course. I only meant that it would be similar.” Astarion replied with a sad smile as he noticed Winnie facing away from him. He didn't want to make her feel pressured into anything, but he couldn't help but long to be closer to her. It was hard for him to understand that what seemed like years of companionship to him were only days, weeks at most to her. Winnie was completely infatuated with him. But love, real genuine romantic love was still such a foreign concept to the young woman. It was something she never thought she'd ever receive. She had to be smart about it and not rush into anything.

“Are you upset with me?” His saddened voice immediately made her look back.

“No, no! I'm just really worn out. Today has been tiring.” Winnie explained looking up at him. She let out a deep sigh before patting the space beside her. “You can ... .lay here if you want..” she murmured shyly. Almost as if on command Astarion immediately slotted himself beside her, arms pulling her against him. Astarion smiled, nuzzling his face between her neck and shoulder.

“Goodnight my love.” Astarion whispered in her ear. Winnie blushed a bit, returning his embrace as she closed her eyes.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“So you can turn into a bat, but you can't fly?” The twelve year old girl looked up at the vampire who stood in her room. Ollie the dog was curled up by her feet, sleeping.

“Technically I shouldn't be able to turn into one at all, but yes flying doesn't appear to come instinctively.” He rubbed his chin, glancing around the child’s slightly messy bedroom in discomfort. Vanessa sat down on a bean bag chair, dressed in a yellow Sonic the Hedgehog hoodie and blue jeans. 

“Then it's probably a good idea to practice! My dad won't be home until four so we have the whole house for you to fly around in! I can get you a little tiny bat helmet if you'd like?” Vanessa exclaimed as she hopped up. 

“Are you always left home alone this long?” Astarion asked, curiously. 

“My dad says I'm old enough to be here by myself.” Nessa exclaimed. “And Winnie said I need to keep an eye on you while she's at work so come on!” Nessa got up and quickly grabbed something from her drawer before leading Astarion out of her room and into the kitchen by his hand. Astarion rolled his eyes but complied with the girl’s wishes, not wanting to hear her whine. Astarion followed Nessa into the kitchen before taking his bat form, disappearing into a cloud of red before reappearing on the group as a little white vampire bat.

“Aww you're so cute!” She cooed before putting a tiny pink doll helmet on his head. “Okay now I'll get you started, and you remember to flap your wings!” The girl said before picking up the tiny bat who let out a few squeaks of annoyance. The sandy haired girl held him over her head before suddenly launching him into the air. The poor little bat let out a terrified squeak as he was slung through the air wings flapping frantically. Ollie shot out of Nessa’s room, hearing the bat’s squeaks. He immediately began to bark and snarl at the little creature. 

“Ollie no! Leave him alone!” Vanessa scolded, but the untrained pup just ignored her and snapped at the little bat, hopping up to try and bite him.

 Astarion hovered above the dog, just safely out of reach as he flapped his wings in desperation. 

The dog continued to lunge at him until Maddie poked her head out of Winnie's bedroom. Almost immediately she charged at the dog, a nasty growl left the feline's mouth as she came close, ears straight back and fur puffed up.

“Merrrrooow…” Maddie's vicious yowl caused the dog to turn tail between his legs before he ran off into Brian's bedroom. Astarion huffed, gradually slowing his flaps before dropping down onto Maddie’s back.  

Astarion let out a sigh of relief before hopping off Maddie's back and transforming back to his elven form. The little helmet falling off his head as he did so. 

“Alright, I think I've had enough of flying for one day.” Astarion dusted himself off before noticing Maddie rub against his legs. 

“Awe come on! You were doing so good!” Vanessa pouted. 

“Darling, you're completely impossible. If it wasn't for your sweet sister I would have drained you dry already.” Astarion scoffed. 

“Darling,” Nessa mocked, “you sound like a girl hehe.” 

“Oh such a cruel clever insult! However, will I possibly recover?” Astarion's words were dripping with sarcasm as he held a hand over his heart dramatically. Vanessa looked at him curiously and blinked.

“Are you gay? My dad said guys who act like you are gay.” The twelve year old asked bluntly. The vampire looked back at her, not quite understanding what the rude child was asking. 

“Not at present. I'm rather annoyed actually.” 

“No I don't mean happy gay. I mean do you like boys?” The young girl asked.

“Gods, you're a nosy child.” Astarion rubbed his temples.

“I just wanna know. Dad said I shouldn't talk to gay people. Not sure why though.” The child shrugged. “So do you like boys or girls?” 

“Hmm…I much prefer adults rather than boys and girls….” Astarion finally answered with a grimace. 

“Ah! That's what I meant! But what gender do you like?” 

“Must I choose?” Astarion chuckled before his pointed ears twitched and he heard someone pull into the driveway. He peeked his head through the door to the livingroom and spotted Winnie through the window. She had gotten off her motorcycle and was walking back to the house. Astarion grinned before entering the living room.

“Hey!” Vanessa whined and followed him. 

Winnie walked inside, she looked exhausted, hair messy and her uniform had a bit of dirt on it. 

“Winnie.” Astarion smiled at her sweetly,“welcome back my sweet.” He quickly pulled her in for a hug, nuzzling his face in her neck. Winnie nearly fell over, but the vampire held her up. 

“Darling? Are you alright?” He asked with concern.

“I'm exhausted. Work was hell today.” Winnie huffed, leaning against him. 

“Oh my God. You guys are dating aren't you?” Vanessa piped up.

“Ugh ...Not now Nessa. I don't have the energy for this.” Winnie said and pulled back from Astarion’s arms. Astarion smirked a bit.

“Winnie and I are partners, yes.” He said, smugly.

“Astarion.” Winnie glared at Astarion slightly.

“What? I'm simply being honest with the kid.” Astarion said with an innocent look. Winnie rolled her eyes before walking into her room. The messy haired female laid on her bed and took a deep breath. She laid there for a while, staring at the ceiling in silence. Eventually Astarion came into her room and sat on the bed next to her. 

“Love, I brought you something to eat.” Astarion hummed, setting down a plate with a sandwich on it. He looked down at her tired face and gently caressed her hair.

“Some crazy lady screamed at me today.” Winnie began suddenly. “She was pitching a fit because we didn't have any of the dog food she wanted. Becca wasn't working today so I had to handle it by myself.” 

“A pity I couldn't join you there during the day. I'd be happy to dispose of anyone who gives you trouble.” Astarion said with a smirk, clenching his free hand into a fist and cracking his knuckles. 

“You'd get arrested in a heartbeat.” Winnie chuckled, finally grabbing the sandwich and taking a bite. It was just bologna between two pieces of bread. No cheese or condiments. So incredibly bland. Well, she had to give the vampire some credit for trying. Winnie ate the sandwich before tossing the plate in the trash and laying her head on Astarion’s lap. 

“It pains me how little faith you have in my skills, my love.” Astarion said as he continued to stroke Winnie’s hair.  

“Honey, I've told you already. It's not like how it is in Faerûn where you can just dump the body in a ditch somewhere and no one will ask questions. People keep track of everyone who goes missing here. You will get caught.” Winnie mumbled, snuggling her head against his thigh. 

“Well, actually they do begin asking questions in Baldur's Gate. Of course I still managed to get away without being caught.” Astarion said smugly. 

“Makes me wonder if I should be involved with such a dangerous, dangerous man.” Winnie teased. 

“Oh don’t worry, pet. I'd never hurt you. Not unless you wanted me to.~” Astarion tapped Winnie on the nose with a flirtatious wink. Winnie rolled her eyes and just relaxed with her head on his lap. 

“Anyway, we have a lot to look forward to. We're going to meet up with your friend for a date in a few weeks, aren't we?”  Astarion reminded her.  Winnie’s eyes widened as she remembered they were supposed to meet Becca and her boyfriend at the carnival for a double date.

Shit.

Winnie turned and buried her face into Astarion’s thigh as she thought of all the things that could go wrong. 

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The carnival came to town much sooner than Winnie expected. It didn't take long before Nessa was begging Brian to let her go before she had to go back to her mother's house.  Winnie had called up Becca a couple nights back to make sure they'd meet up after sundown. She told her friend that her boyfriend couldn't get off of work until then. Everything was in place for the evening. Winnie wore a black T-shirt and ripped skinny jeans along with a pair of black converse. She brushed her hair out as best as she could while she stood in front of her bathroom mirror. Once she finished she put her glasses on and left the room, grabbing an old leather jacket from her closet that she barely wore as she let out a sigh.

Red eyes looked her over as their owner sat on the armchair, brushing his snow white locks. He was dressed in a sleeveless dark purple turtleneck which covered the bite scar on his neck. With it he wore black skinny jeans and tennis shoes.  

“You're going to get cold wearing that, you know.” Winnie hummed. 

“Well then, perhaps you'd be so kind as to lend me one of your coats if you're so worried about little old me.~” Astarion hummed, hopping up and moving a stray hair out of his face as he followed his lover into the bathroom.

 “I already told you, Star. My jackets won't fit you right. You're too tall and skinny to fit in my clothes.” Winnie said with a sigh as she began to brush her teeth. “Besides I already bought you your own jackets.”

“But yours are so much softer and more comfortable.” The vampire replied, fiddling with a bag on the sink counter. He took out a small purple tube of mascara before applying it to his lashes. Astarion put the mascara back before grabbing a black eyeliner pencil. 

“You're ridiculous but I-.......Where did you get that make up?” Winnie said as she looked back at him and blinked.

“Oh this? I found it in your mother's closet the other day. Looked like it hadn't been touched in a while so I thought it best not to let it go to waste.” Astarion replied as applied the eyeliner under his eyes. 

“Don't steal from my mom. You know you can ask me if you want something right?” Winnie let out a sigh and kept brushing her teeth. She spat out into the sink before rinsing the sink and her toothbrush off. Then she walked back into her room, picking her backpack up off the floor. 

Astarion came out and swiftly grabbed Winnie’s purple hoodie from the closet. He pulled it over his arms and let it hang off his shoulders before following his love out the door. 

Theys snuck out of the house quietly, making sure to lock all the doors behind them before leaving. Winnie hopped onto her motorcycle with Astarion getting on behind her as the two set off. It was 8pm by the time they reached the carnival. The rides were all illuminated up with bright colorful lights. The sound of screams of excitement filled the air as did the delicious smell of fried foods. 

Astarion glanced up at the strange contraptions with curiosity and a slight wariness. This wasn't like the circus as he predicted it would be like.

Winnie smiled a bit, memories from past trips to the carnival flooded her mind, filling her with joy and sudden enthusiasm. Perhaps this would actually be fun? She quickly shook her head, she needed to focus! There was another reason they were going here! 

Winnie got off the bike and led her vampire up to the entrance. He kept an arm locked with hers as they purchased their tickets, heading inside. Winnie checked her cellphone to see if there were any messages from Becca. 

“Okay, Becca's here. She’s with her boyfriend waiting for us by the snack stand.” Winnie hummed before looking over at Astarion.  His eyes scanned around the crowd. There were so many people and a sweet alluring scent hit him like a brick.

“Hon? You alright?” Winnie asked curiously before noticing some random guy had fallen on the sidewalk and skinned his knee, drawing blood. Winnie placed a hand on Astarion’s face. 

“Star…Look at me.” She said softly, causing his blood red orbs to snap back to her. “You haven't fed for a while have you?” 

“I tried going out and hunting but the last few nights prey had become rather scarce…” Astarion admittedly. 

“I told you, you were going to eat the whole forest. Look, hold on until we get back home and I'll let you feed from me.” Winnie said with a sweet smile. 

“Thank you my sweet.” Astarion returned the smile before Winnie tugged him along. 

“Now, let's go! Becca and Anthony are waiting!” Winnie exclaimed. They wandered through the carnival, marveling at the sights and sounds. The more they saw, the more Winnie began to grin, mind constantly slipping away from her main objective. 

“Yo! Winnie!” Becca's voice snapped Winnie out of her thrill fueled trance. “Over here! Come meet my babe!” The redhead called. Sitting next to Becca was a tall lanky man with messy black hair and green eyes. He had to be about mid twenties and was dressed in a sleeveless blue hoodie and shorts. 

Winnie walked over and smiled shyly, Astarion still holding on to her arm. 

“Hey…I'm Winnie and this is Star…” Winnie introduced them.

“Star? So that's his name, huh? You know I can't quite put my finger on it but your boyfriend seems really familiar.” Becca scratched her head.

“The vampire from BG3! He looks kinda like him!” Anthony spoke up.

“Oh shit, you're right!” Becca exclaimed, “dude's even got elf ears on! Wicked!” 

“Yeah, he really loves cosplaying!” Winnie said nervously. Astarion just stared at her in confusion.

“Cos-what?” He murmured. 

“It's an amazing costume. You look pretty hot in it too!” Anthony grinned.  Astarion smirked with a smug look.

“You flirt.” The elf rolled his eyes.

“He really is. It's part of his charm.” Becca giggled.

 Winnie looked at the two with a slight discomfort, but shook it off.  It was all harmless banter. “Anyway! Let's get this show on the road!” Becca hopped up with a grin.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Druid here! I hope I didn't make Vanessa too annoying, honestly I'm really just trying to portray her as a mischievous naive child though I can understand if she isn't well received. I'm going to New Orleans soon so it might be a while before the next chapter is dropped and I've also got some Winnifred The Druid oneshots to do.

Hope you guys liked the chapter! Next time we'll have some drama at the carnival!

~Druid

Taglist:

@seradyn , @plimsim, @astarioffsimpmain , @marcynomercy , @iamsexytrash , @gaymistakeboi , @divineknightmare , @tinyfreakgirl , @misscrissfemmefatal, @gianchan-de @jaksfanficsaver , @the-disaster-in-waiting , @hp-art-studio , @im-just-a-simp-le-whore , @dajeong , @iamnotokei

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Valentine's Day Special

I did it! I got it finished! As a thank you to everyone who has given kudos and comments, and because Valentine's Day is coming up, here's a smuterific one-shot featuring: pegging, butt stuff, Astarion having feelings, Eleanor has dom tendencies she didn't know about, and Astarion getting nice things!

Rated a very, very E for smut.

Roses are red, violets are blue, blah blah I’d like to fuck you.

Or: Astarion bought a toy. Eleanor wants to give him a night he won’t forget.

“Legs up,” he says. “Pull your knees up. Better leverage.” You do. He leans back, bracing his hands on your knees. Moving himself so you hit his sweet spot ruthlessly. Another peek at you, pleasure painted over every line of his body. “Fuck me, Eleanor.”

The inn is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Two stories, shutters closed against the torrent, lantern light turning puddles and muddy streets golden.

You’re going to cry. Not that anyone will be able to tell in this storm. Poor Karlach has been hidden in a cloud of steam since the downpour began.

“Gods, I’m not taking another step unless it’s towards the front door of that inn,” Astarion says, voice pitched firmly into bitchy. “I am not slogging through one more minute of this filth.”

Filth being the inches-deep trough of mud the road has turned into. Y’all are coated up to the knees.

“A warm bed and a warmer bath would be nice,” Wyll says. And if Mr. Of-the-Frontiers “I’m used to sleeping on rocks” is saying that, you know everyone is thinking it.

“Fuck,” you say. Eloquent as ever. “We got gold, right?”

“Plenty,” Gale says. His hair keeps sliding over his face in rivulets of water. He looks like a sad, wet cat.

“Hope they got rooms.”

They have, in fact, got a packed-ass seating area, a handful of alcove bunks in a common area upstairs, and a single, small room with a modest bed (other travelers had the same idea when the storm hit).

Y’all’ve had a helluva day. Chasing down leads to some sort of bullshit or another. Half of y’all ain’t even here (Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Halsin, and y’all’s new friends had split off to go hunt down something else).

Which meant when y’all triggered a bunch of undead critters in the shitpile of some tomb, y’all had to do a lot more work to clean up. Astarion took the brunt of it after the two of you (again) got separated from the others.

He stands there, hair plastered to his skull, not an ounce of pink in his complexion (and looking grayer than usual). That’s when the idea comes to you.

“Y’all mind if me and Astarion take the room?” you say.

Ain’t no way to be subtle about it. They all know what you two are about. Especially since that goddamn newspaper came out (it wasn’t neither of y’all’s fault the fucking graveyard grounds keeper was a nosy sunuvabitch who both took his job way too seriously, and took off sprinting to the Faerun equivalent of a tabloid newspaper after catching a glimpse of you.) (You’d finished by then, which was probably the only reason Astarion hadn’t run him down and shut him up.)

They’ve known you two were a couple for a long while. They’d assumed you two had been physical for longer than you actually had been.

“Really?” Karlach says, still steaming. “After all this?”

Astarion says nothing, though his eyebrows quirk in mild interest. The bags under his eyes are more prominent, the color almost bruise purple. His eyes are duller. He looks more corpserific than he has in a while.

You started it, he seems to say. So you finish it.

“I just wanna take a bath and lay in bed, and all my clothes gotta dry,” you say. “We both’ve seen each other naked.”

Clever mischief glints in Wyll’s eye. He’s the most solid out of all of you’uns. The one with the most rigorous sense of morality. Usually plays the straight-laced folk hero.

But the man’s damned charming, and his genial good will hides a wicked sense of humor.

“All the bunks have privacy screens,” he says. “We’ll all be drying out our belongings.”

Gale says nothing. Just stares into the middle distance as he hikes up a section of robe to wring about a liter of water out.

Wyll makes a show out of checking out the common room and y’all’s fellow travelers. “In fact, I see other couples doing just that.”

“I’m not saying we’re gonna fuck, but if we do, you really wanna sleep right next to that?”

Wyll snorts and waves a hand, smiling. “On second thought, I think I’ll pass.”

Karlach pulls a face. “In public?”

“Y’all said they got privacy screens. And you didn’t have no problem walking around tits out during that heatwave.”

“Which beds did we get?” Gale cuts in. He used up even his much-improved magic capacity trying to get you and Astarion out of that fucking trap sinkhole. He can’t even do his presto-tation cleaning spell to dry himself off.

So you end up taking the key and heading upstairs, Astarion trailing after you.

Bath water is something you gotta pay for, in Faerun. The tub’s in the room, and you’re free to haul up however many buckets from the well outside yourself. But that’s a lot of buckets to drag up a flight of stairs, and the inn keep don’t let customers heat it up over the fire themselves.

So a good hour after you and Astarion settle in, you finally got a bath drawn and steaming.

“You go first,” you say.

Astarion sits on the bed in nothing but his drawers, wrapped in a blanket. He don’t get hypothermia—undead and all—but he does get real achy in the cold.

He gives you a small, tired smile, and lets the blanket (and his drawers) slide down.

You still ain’t super used to seeing a cock all bare. Not more than what your occasional forays into porn showed—so mostly just the part not currently buried in somebody. It hangs more forward than you thought it would. Also smaller than you thought it’d be (again, porn and both unrealistic standards, and flaccid ones are smaller).

You make yourself look away. But not before Astarion—ever alert and enough of a bastard to make that your problem—notices.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” Where once that line would have been pure, silken debauchery, his voice is calmer when he’s alone with you, now. Still carries a flirty lilt (he always does with everyone), but with less performance woven through it.

“Just curious,” you say. “And I like watching you—not creepily, I mean. Anyway, if you want a bath and then the bed—for sleeping only—I’m down for that.”

“Mmm,” he says. Steps into the water and hisses. He eases himself down slow. Finally sits and all but melts against the wedge of the wooden tub, eyes closed and head tilted back. “Yet you requested this little love nest for us. And that cunning mind of yours always has at least three ideas fluttering around.

Said with a wiggle of his fingers around his temple.

He’s got a long neck. Stretched out like that, his adam’s apple stands out. As do his bite scars.

“We really can just sleep,” you say.

Now he cracks one, red eye open. Tilts his head to better peer over at you. Swirls his hand in the water as he waits for an answer.

He’s being patient with you. Says you’re patient with him, but you can count on three fingers all the people you ever actually wanted to bed, and none of them ever got that far. It’s not an ordeal for you to wait. You don’t have any expectations for him in that department (which you suspect had been a huge relief for him, and one of the reasons y’all’ve worked out).

He does so much for you. He’s helped you work through hangups you didn’t even know you had. He’s saved your ass more times than you can count, directly and not.

“If you wanted,” you start slow. “And you can say no at any point. But, if you wanted, I thought we could take a night and I could learn, um. We could learn what you like better. Just you. Or, well, me focusing on you.”

His idle finger twirling stops. He stills, both eyes open now and fixed on you. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Doesn’t even breathe.

Then his lips part. His words stutter and he frowns. Then, “You want to give me pleasure.”

Every word slow and enunciated. Not…trepidation, exactly. And not quite disbelieving. He trusts you, he’d said. He’s just verifying for the sake of both’ve you.

“I’m curious,” you repeat, so deliberate and nonchalant it’s borderline teasing.

“Pleasure me how?” Astarion says. Once again, flicking at the bathwater.

Aaand the rest on AO3 so tumblr doesn't slap me.

[pheavampire]

Datamined Cazador situation

I watched an old datamining video about Cazador and it looks like my ideal Astarion situation was so, so close… before they rewrote it.

According to the old data, Cazador was going to be an important political figure in the upper city. The player could do quests for him and help him to fight the Butcher character - another undead leader, who was working for the absolute. Cazador didn’t like the whole absolute thing, because it affected his domain and thus - his power.

What's especially interesting to me, apparently other spawns or vampires living with Cazador were saying that he is strict, but they were actually happy about their situation, saying everybody is scared of them and that Cazador... makes sure they are well fed! I think this implicates Astarion was the only spawn treated so bad by Cazador, probably because he tried to cheat him in the past and Cazador never forgave him.

I wouldn't be surprised if Cazador's spawns scars had different meaning back then.

I would sell my soul to Raphael for the opportunity to play this version of the game. It was so close…

Link to the video: HERE

[vole-mon-amour]

Thinking about Cat!Astarion experiencing snow and snowstorm for the first time and Halsin encouraging him to at least try it.

"Am I supposed to walk in this?"

"Just this one time, please, my heart? Maybe you'll like it?"

Because there's no way Astarion is going through the snow as a small cat (house cat, if you will, but there are definitely small wild cats, and sometimes he's one of those feral ones) and he definitely refuses to try and fly in a bat form through it all, he takes a form of a serval. More on that here.

Astarion with one paw up, frozen to the place, not wanting to leave his shelter/cover. Nervous tippy taps with his front paws because it's cold and wet and he's an undead creature that's generally cold, so it's extra extra cold for him (and there's nothing nice about your paws getting wet, especially as a cat and a creature that always lived in a relatively warm climate).

And when he's forced to keep walking (maybe they're travelling with companions, and they don't have all day to sit and wait it out), fur wet after some time under the snowfall, he looks so down and pathetic, Soggy Wet Man, Halsin takes pity on him. Obviously, Halsin is used to winter, snow, and hibernating, but also going through snow—both in his elven form and in his bear one.

So when Astarion hears a small chuckle, with a lingering smile on Halsin's face, and the words he wants to here, "Come here," Astarion's eyes lit up with hope. His first response is to turns into a smaller cat, but he knows that won't help him much. He doesn't want to experience snow and wetness on his skin (and fur) any longer.

Astarion turns into a bat, and for a moment, it's immediately way worse. Cold, so incredibly cold, and windy, this is terrible. But then Halsin scoops him into his palms and then tucks him close to his bare skin. Halsin is naturally warm, so near his skin, but with the winter clothes on, Astarion all safe and secure. Perfectly insulated (and, in time, perfectly toasty, oh yeah) unless he doesn't peak out of Halsin's clothes.

And with how comfortable he is, with Halsin carrying him through the snowstorm? No longer needing to walk, nor fly? His boyfriend heating him up? Oh, Astarion has no reason to check for the weather.

(Not only Halsin's got his back, but his entire body. He doesn't really mind. Astarion barely weights anything to him as an elven, and as a bat? Not a problem. Not at all.)

(And in the end, Batstarion just snoozes there, safe and sound. His bear is doing all the walking for him.)

[britishassistant]

Setting The Tempo

You are exhausted.

Turns out, falling through the cracked floor into a crypt is not the way you wanted to spend this morning. Nor is attempting to fight the treasure hunters who decided to kill first, ask questions never. Especially once you realized that the people with you are only highly skilled at fighting solo.

You shudder at the memory of seeing the firebolt leave Gale’s fingers and hit the grease covered floor. Which you all were standing on.

Even now, your clothes smell faintly of char.

And then, after somehow finishing off your attackers, the four of you have spent the rest of the day entirely lost inside this place.

It’s all very well to know every square inch of the place is trapped and all the doors are locked when you have nothing to disarm or unlock them with. And the one door you did manage to unlock? With the one set of tools you found that didn’t immediately break inside the lock? Led to a room of skeletons that decided being dead was less fun than trying to get you to join their number.

You don’t even know what set them off! Astarion was just leaning against a wall, lost his footing for a moment, and then you were facing a horde of undead!

You all got as far away from that room as you physically could before setting up camp.

At least the room you’ve found is somewhat spacious. Enough that everyone can set up their tents a fair distance from each other and still have room to spare. You’ve circled the perimeter a few times, and found no hidden entrances or enemies that could take you off guard. A few small antechamers, but they only open onto the main room. All is made of that same thick stone keeping you trapped here, so unless an orthon escaped the Hells and is hiding somewhere in the bowels of this place and decides to engage in some recreational wall flattening, you should be able to rest unmolested.

Ha ha. Ha.

By the gods, you wish you were hyperbolizing.

You duck behind a pillar to tug on something a little more comfortable than the leather jerkin you’ve been stuck in for the last forty eight hours.

You’d sworn you’d never forgive Trappola for making you announce yourself as “Saer Daisy Fluffington the Third” at the last inn to receive this pack of supplies. You’d doubled down once you’d seen the “bard appropriate attire” he’d selected.

Right now though, when you’re pulling on a cotton shirt and pants that feel as light and fluffy as clouds compared to your battered armor? Shoes worn to softness that ease the blisters on your feet? Not to mention fresh undergarments?

You wouldn’t be opposed to committing murder if the ginger punk needed you to, is all you’re saying.

You try and give your armor and boots a rudimentary wash with the carafe of water you’ve scavenged. The leather and cloth doesn’t look too much cleaner by the time you’re through, but hopefully it’ll mean some of the smoke smell dissipates once it dries.

You spot Gale standing by the fire. Maybe he knows some of those cantrips that make cleaning easier? Prestidigitation, perhaps? Worst he can say is no, or that he’s all out of energy for the day.

You amble over, mouth opening—

“Go to Hell.”

You stiffen on instinct, your lip curling. “And a good evening to you too.”

Gale lets out a wry laugh.

“Glad to know you’re a good sport.”

You’re really not sure what in your tone communicated that to him, but you’re not going to start a fight after everything you’ve been through today.

He resumes staring at the fire, a solemn set to his brow.

“‘Go to Hell.’ An everyday expression. So trivial it’s almost meaningless. But we’ve been to Hell. It’s real. And it isn’t trivial.”

You say nothing.

“Devils, dragons, mind flayers— they used to be abstracts. Pictures on a piece of paper.” Gale mutters. “What a difference a day makes. Now we have tadpoles slithering through our heads like carnivorous foeti.”

He looks to you, beseeching. “That’s not abstract.”

Perhaps you should take a gentle touch. Be the soothing reassurance he so clearly wants you to be.

But you’re tired and you’re sore and you’d rather say what you’re actually thinking for once before you go mad.

“Abstract or not, by now it’s kind of academic.” You spread your hands wide. “Brooding will get us nowhere. Action will.”

The wizard’s brow furrows, and his head tilts slightly to the right.

“The ballet of flames invites reflection. But, you’re right. Let’s be up with the lark—find a healer before the wee one gets hungry.” He smiles at you.

You nod. “Best plan I’ve heard all day. Good night, Gale.”

He preens slightly at that, preparing to turn away and head to his tent.

“Oh, and Gale?”

“Hm?” He looks back at you.

“Next time, I’d advise against using that line on anyone who lived through the Descent of Elturel.” You lean in, conspiratorial. “Hardly the most pleasant associations.”

The wizard actually blanches, a wave of emotion sweeping across his face.

You give him a tight smile as you turn, making a beeline for the stone door to the antechamber you’d noticed earlier.

A large hand clamps down around your elbow, jerking you to a stop.

“What were you two talking about?” Shadowheart asks, with feigned nonchalance that belies the steel in her grip.

“What do you mean?” You reply.

“You, and Gale.” Her hold tightens as you try to gently pull away. You can feel how much stronger she is than you.

How easily she could wrench your arm from its socket, if she so chose.

“We were just discussing next steps.” Your jaw is clenched as you smile. “It’s important we’re all on the same page, after all.”

“I see.” She tilts her head forward, exhaling slightly through her nose. Then she says, “I’d be careful with Gale. All wizards care about power, and there’s very little they won’t do to get it.”

You can’t help the small snort that escapes you. “I was hardly confiding in him. Besides, he’s as involved in this as we are. No harm in just talking.”

“So am I.” She holds up her free hand, as if to soothe you. “If we’re to survive, we need to trust each other.”

“Really.” You eye her hand on your arm. Pointedly.

“Yes, really.” Shadowheart breezes onward, “You seem reliable. I think you know how important it is that we find someone who can cure us. Best to focus on that.”

“Why, how bizarre!” You exclaim in mock astonishment. “Gale was just saying the exact same thing! It’s almost as though the others in this camp have the same priorities we do.”

She scowls at you, doing that odd little exhale again. “Just—! Mind who you associate with. It may come back to bite you, if you’re careless.”

“Fine. Now, if it pleases you,” You say in your most sickeningly sweet voice. “I’m afraid I must excuse myself to climb inside a tomb, curl into a little ball, and gibber my merry way into madness so that we can set out at first light in a timely manner. If I’ve your permission?”

Shadowheart’s lip curls but she lets your arm go, dismissing you with a toss of her braid as she makes her way back to her tent.

You pull a face at her back, then when you notice Astarion smirking at you, stick your tongue out at him too for good measure.

Finally, you heave open the door to the tiny antechamber you discovered earlier, pulling it shut behind you.

You spare a moment to go around the room, lighting the dust-covered torches.

Then you crouch down in a corner behind a sarcophagus, and try to scream into your hands as quietly as possible.

After a guilty two minutes of indulging in that luxury, you bite your tongue to force yourself silent.

That’s quite enough of that. You won’t get anywhere if you keep just reacting like you have so far, or let yourself get overwhelmed by it all. You need to get your brain to stop panicking and think.

Action over brooding.

It’s the only way you’ll survive.

Okay. So.

1. You have a mind flayer tadpole in your head.

2. You are trapped in a set of dark and musty ruins with three strange adults.

3. All of these adults, over the course of the short time you’ve known them, have shown a remarkable capacity for violence with very little provocation. They’re certainly more capable in combat than you, with your purloined crossbow and flute.

4. These strangers are all also implanted with a mind flayer tadpole, just like you. Though, you will admit, their survival and your own is…odd.

5. All the kidnapped thralls on that ship, many instantly killed in the crash, if not by the creepy little brains on legs after the fact. And yet you and these three adults somehow survive? How? Why you? Why them?

6. One of whom begged you to let her out of her pod, only to grow cold when she realized you weren’t alone. The other two who both admitted they were watching you as you tried to escape. If it’s a coincidence, it’s an odd one. But they all seemed to be as unknown to each other as they are to you. Unless they’re not?

7. They could all be in cahoots! And spies for the Order of the Companion or the Hellriders! You don’t know! You don’t know anything about these people!!

8. You can’t sleep because if you sleep one of them will try to kill you or the others or tie you up and use you in some creepy evil deity summoning ritual or send you back to Avernus again or they’ll turn into a mind flayer and suck out your brain or you’ll turn into a mind flayer and—

9. you can’t breathe

10. You can’t breathe.

11. You’re panicking too much. You can’t breathe. This is all a big fuss over nothing. You can’t breathe. Your thoughts are going into a corkscrew. You can’t breathe, you need to get ahold of yourself, you can’t breathe, you need to do something, you can’t breathe you need help you can’t breathe you need you can’t breathe you need—!

You lurch forward, seizing a discarded piece of masonry and dragging it into your lap.

You try to focus on the cold weight crushing your legs and stomach, try to recapture that distant memory of your heart slowing, of your mind clearing, of feeling safe.

Instead, you just feel like you’re hugging a rock as you struggle for air.

Alone.

You only drop off when your body finally succumbs to exhaustion.

Your sleep is fitful and brief, and you wake in the wee hours of the morning.

In the cold dark before dawn, you feel deep embarrassment at your histrionics last night.

So what if these adults could easily kill you? You used to manage violent thugs just like them on a daily basis. Just because you don’t have the shield of a desk doesn’t mean this has to be any different.

Hells, the fiasco that was the fight yesterday is proof enough none of them knew each other prior to this. So they’re likely to be as confused and panicked as you are. Maybe even more.

You can work with that. The Descent taught you that you excel under pressure, rallying disparate arseholes together around the common cause of ‘not dying horribly’.

And if they really are plotting together to capture you and return you to Elturel…

Well.

You now have an illithid tadpole in your head. You haven’t lived this long without learning how to leverage what little you’re given to your advantage.

First things first, you need to list the facts, set some actionable goals. Properly, this time.

First, escape this ruin. There was a locked door past all the trapped sarcophagi which might be promising if you can get to it. If you can’t disarm the traps, can you get around them somehow?

Second, find a healer/other specialist who can extract this parasite. Your alien warrior was adamant it could be done once you all reached the material plane. It’s up to you now to find out how.

Third, ensure the three violent adults don’t kill you, kill each other, or run off. They may be dangerous, but you’ve a much higher chance of surviving with them than without. Even if that means navigating the volatile group tensions that have already begun to spark.

Fourth, and only to be enacted once you’re all safely cured, is to extract yourself from these weirdos as swiftly as you can with the least amount of bad feeling possible. From there, you can make your way to Baldur’s Gate.

If you can meet up with the group of tiefling refugees you heard about on the way or once you’re in the city, so much the better.

Your original plans aren’t ruined. You’re still going to become a bard. You’re just taking a—a detour, is all. Yes.

You’re doing this.

You’ve got to.

Of course, to that end, you need to make sure they don’t abandon you at the next sign of trouble. Given that they seem to attract fights like vinegar attracts flies, you can admit that a noncombatant who isn’t even a bard yet is more of a hinderance than a help.

So you need to make yourself useful. If not liked, then tolerated. Someone who can give them all what they want most, or at least facilitate matters in their favor. Trade an attentive ear and problem-solving for protection.

Your journal is still in your pack, but you still have half a pot of ink and a quill that’s mostly intact. Once you stop to make camp again, it’ll be easy enough to dedicate three pages to your current companions’ quirks and preferences.

You’re already thinking of semi-discrete titles for each of them as you heave yourself up and stumble over to the door, limbs stiff from a night on the cobbles.

“Wizard of Waterdeep” is nice and alliterative, easy for you to associate with Gale. You deeply appreciate how easy he’s made it for you.

Astarion…hasn’t actually told you what his profession is yet, so until you can ask him and come up with something catchy, “The Pale Elf” will have to do.

Shadowheart…is tricker still. You know she’s a cleric, but you don’t know of what deity, or much else about her. “The Conniving Cleric” is far too heavy-handed. “Lady of Faith”, perhaps? Or maybe—?

“Wha’re you stomping ‘round for?!” Comes the grumpy voice from the tent of the woman in question as you poke your head around the door. “‘S dark. ‘S still night. ‘S sacred. Lemme sleep.”

You sidle out and back over to your pack as quietly as you can while whispering, “Sorry, sorry!”

There��s a grumpy noise and a muttered oath against you that you can only partially make out.

Fuck it.

“Daughter of Darkness” it is.

[mumms-the-word]

In Fathoms Below - Ch. 5

Ch. 5 - Dragon Turtle

Characters: Gale, Karlach, Wyll, Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Astarion, Halsin, Minthara, Gortash + other OCs; pairing is Gale x fem!Tav Plot: The island city of Nautera disappeared over 4500 years ago, if it ever existed at all. Now not a single, legitimate record of Nautera exists, save for one. The Nauterran Account. Long thought lost, it has recently been retrieved from the depths of Candlekeep’s archives and placed into the capable hands of one Gale Dekarios. With the Nauterran Account in hand and an eclectic team of Baldurians and other allies mounting an official expedition, Gale journeys to find the ruins of Nautera…but hopes to find so much more. A/N: Dragon turtle alert!! Will the team make it out of this encounter alive? Will they find the entrance to Nautera before anything bad happens to them?? Read on to find out, intrepid readers!

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“Tribute?” 

Gale glanced over his shoulder at the room behind him. The submersible was tilted at a steep angle so that the floor sloped sharply downward, forcing most people to hang on to controls, pipes, and railings to try and stay standing. It was Minthara who voiced the question from where she crouched using the side of a control unit as her foundation. 

All heads turned to seek out the vampire. Karlach was holding him mostly upright with a strong grip around his upper arm, her other hand hanging on to a bit of railing. The vampire’s eyes widened as he noticed all eyes were on him.

“Well don’t look at me!”

“I don’t think it will accept lives as tribute,” Wyll said. He had one hand wrapped around a pipe and was leaning out like a swashbuckling pirate, completely at ease with the new angles in the room. “Especially undead ones. It’s a dragon—the only language it speaks is treasure.”

“Well we don’t have any treasure to give it,” Gortash snapped. 

“This entire submersible is coated in polished bronze and brass, Gortash,” Shadowheart said. “I doubt it will believe that.”

“Then our only course of action is to attack,” Minthara said.

“Attack a dragon turtle?” Halsin asked, twisting from where he was, his back flat to the nearly vertical floor and his feet on a series of pipes, to look up at her. “Are you mad?”

“Would you rather get eaten, druid?”

“It spoke to us first, perhaps we can respond!”

“I think it’s growing impatient,” Gale warned, as the dragon turtle turned its head again and narrowed its eyes. 

A hollow-sounding, panicked voice suddenly rang out from a trumpet-like fixture on the wall. “Saer! The outer walls are cracking back here and water is leaking in! I don’t know how much go longer the bulkheads can withstand the pressure!”

“Gods-damned monstrosities,” Gortash growled under his breath. He shifted from where he knelt against the main control panels, his foot nearly wedged in the ship’s wheel. “Gale. You can speak to it. Convince it to release us.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Gale asked, irritation and disbelief making his tone sharp. “Ask it very nicely?”

“I was told you were intelligent. Figure it out. Quickly.” He turned his head toward the rest of the room. “The rest of you, ready yourselves!”

“Battle stations!” Minthara barked. “Send word to the others—be ready for anything.”

The dragon turtle spoke again, its impossibly deep voice once more causing the entire submersible to rattle and shake. 

Speak, creature. Who sends you?

Gale took a deep breath and got to his feet, planting one foot on the glass and the other on the metal control unit next to him. There was no way this dragon turtle could hear him inside the submersible, even if he shouted. It was clearly time for some good old-fashioned thaumaturgy. 

He touched a hand to his throat and cast the spell—Fortior!—and willed his voice to be three times louder, almost as loud as the dragon turtle’s. With another deep breath, he shouted in draconic, “We are priests of Umberlee! Release us so that we may offer our tribute to you!”

Surely a small lie wouldn't make things worse. They just needed to get free.

The dragon turtle narrowed its eyes again and then gave another deep, rumbling laugh.

Ahh…not a creature, but a vessel. Priests of Umberlee, you say?

It tilted their submersible again, almost leveling it out. Gale had to scramble to jump down from the control unit back onto the floor without falling flat on his back. “Yes! Release us and we—”

The entire world suddenly tore out from underneath Gale and then slammed against him once more as the dragon turtle dragged the submersible through the water and smashed it against the rocky face of a cliff. Gale and several others flew through the helm, falling first to the floor and then crashing against controls, levers, wheels, and pipes as the submersible crunched against the rock. An explosion of pain bloomed in his side and chest as he was thrown against a set of controls, all sharp edges and hard metal, knocking the air from his lungs.

The dragon turtle let go of the submersible with a rumbling laugh. As they drifted downward, sinking slowly, black spots began to swirl in Gale's vision. He tried to find his breath again, willing his struggling lungs to take in air. As he struggled, he vaguely made out the dragon turtle's next words.

You lie.

“What the hells did you say to it?” Gortash yelled, climbing back up to his feet.

Gale clutched his side with a grimace and tried to sit up. “It—it doesn’t matter,” he gasped. “We’re free.”

Gortash stumbled over to a speaking horn on the wall and leaned in to yell, “Gunners! Launch the harpoons!”

“I don’t think harpoons are going do much against that guy,” Wyll warned. “Except make it angry.”

“I don’t care. Redhammer! All engines as high as they can go! If we can’t fight this thing, we’ll outpace it.”

But Redhammer, lying crumpled just a few feet from Gale, made no response. Gale’s stomach flipped as he noticed the unnatural angle of the dwarf’s neck. Across the room, two other pilots, a gnome and a human, lay deathly still, unconscious or killed by the brunt of being thrown about by the dragon turtle’s attack.

Outside, large spear-like harpoons shot through the water, launched from somewhere in the lower decks and sides of the submersible. Most of them bounced off or barely grazed the dragon turtle, but one shot forth right as the dragon turtle opened its mouth, sticking fast into the flesh of its gums. The creature growled, shrinking back, and lifted a clawed flipper to swipe at its face, clipping the submersible as it did. They tilted again, swaying and rocking.

“Redhammer!” Gortash twisted to look for the dwarf, then swore and took hold of the wheel himself, forcing the submersible to steady. “Pilots! Engines to—”

“Lord Gortash!” Another panicked, tinny voice burst from the horn on the wall. “Saer! The port side fins are damaged—bad. I don’t think—”

Another voice interrupted them, the voices mingling with a din until the second won over. “—starboard fins! I repeat, excessive damage to the starboard fins! Half of it’s torn off and—”

Yet another voice. “Saer! The rear bulkheads have burst and water is rushing towards the engine rooms! If we don’t get out of here fast we—”

“Gods damn them all!” With gritted teeth, Gortash let go of the wheel and dragged the dead human pilot over, wedging them beneath the outer spokes of the wheel to keep it from turning. “Evacuate the ship, now! All hands to the battle subs and cargo vessels!”

Flashes of light began to illuminate the waters as something else, cannonballs of some kind, shot toward the dragon turtle and exploded against its thick hide. Inside the submersible, the helm was a frenzy of activity as people rushed out of the room. Wyll swung down from where he’d been clinging to the pipes to help Gale to his feet as Karlach hefted the still-bound vampire over her shoulder.

“Come on, fangs, you’re with me!”

“Up you go, Gale, on your feet,” Wyll said, hauling him up. “Don’t fall behind!”

Gale didn’t bother gasping a response. He merely checked that his satchel was still around his body and that the Nauterran Account was still inside as he rushed after Wyll and the others. They clambered down ladders, down into a large cargo bay area. The vast space, now filling with water that already reached their calves, was lined with smaller submersibles and two medium-sized seacrafts—the cargo vessels. Each was shaped like a big metal fish in the same bronzy coating as the main submersible, but several of them were armed with harpoon guns and even a few cannons.

He saw Shadowheart and Lae’zel disappear into a smaller craft with another pilot while Wyll and Halsin ran ahead to help others. Gale swerved to follow Gortash, Minthara, Karlach, and her fanged hostage into a larger vessel alongside several others.

The minute they were inside, Karlach dumped the vampire into one of the seats that lined the wall and pointed to a seat on the opposite side. “Buckle in, soldier, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride! You,” she said pointing a clawed finger in the vampire’s face, “I’m unbinding you but you’re staying buckled in, got it?”

“Whatever gets me out of this madness intact,” he said, nodding quickly. She quickly cut through the bindings on his arms and then buckled him in tight as he was rubbing his wrists. She left his ankles bound and strapped herself into the seat next to him.

Gale collapsed into the other seat opposite them, fumbling with the buckles with shaking hands, sweat beading his brow. The pain in his side was impossible to ignore now and every breath sent a new wave of pain. The orb marking in his chest hadn’t stopped glowing since he’d stared down the dragon turtle through the glass, but now it throbbed in time with the waves of pain coursing through him. Outside the vessel, the main submersible shook again, as if something had broken or ruptured.

“Get us free of this damnable ship before it kills us! What are you waiting for?” Minthara barked from where she and Gortash sat in the cockpit of the submersible.

“Damn you, woman, I’m working on it!” he snapped, flicking a series of switches and pulling one of the levers. 

Dimly outside they could hear the roar of the dragon turtle and feel the submersible shaking as the gunners continued to load and launch harpoons and cannonballs. A loud bang blasted toward them as two massive metal doors on the far side of the cargo bay swung open and then crumpled under the pressure of the oncoming flood. A torrent of water rushed over them, lifting them up, nearly toppling them over, sweeping away several people still scrambling to get inside the smaller subs. Within seconds they were completely submerged in seawater.

“Finally! Took them long enough,” Gortash said. He pulled another lever and something—the cargo vessel's engines—roared to life. 

Gale twisted to look out of the front windows of their vessel just as they launched out from the cargo bay. Gortash steered them sharply downward from the submersible, deftly dodging around another vessel and dipping toward the sea floor. A great flash of light illuminated the waters around them, followed by the barely muffled sound of a massive explosion, sending out a wave of force that rocked their vessel violently. The dragon turtle gave a piercing screech.

“The submersible!” Karlach yelled, turning to look through a porthole on her side.

“Good,” Minthara said viciously. “Let’s hope it harmed the creature and bought us some time.”

The depths outside were chaos. Gale watched through the glass as the wave of force from the submersible explosion sent a gunner ship careening to the side and straight into a rock tower. The vessel hit the rocks and crumpled like tin. Before its lights flickered out, he saw the tower begin to crumble down over it.

All around them, the trenches were filled with a frenzy of flashing explosions and high-speed metal subs veering around stone columns, cliffs, and other submersibles, all pursued by an angry dragon turtle the size of a large fortress. Everything came in glimpses as lights from the subs swung wildly about, attempting to pierce the inky darkness enough to avoid the hazards all around them. Gale tried desperately to think of some spell to help in a situation like this, but his pain-addled mind was useless—inside an underwater submersible flying around at reckless speeds, he was useless.

“Gale!” Gortash yelled, over his shoulder, shouting to be heard over the din of others attacking the dragon turtle and its angry roars.  His voice snapped Gale out of his thoughts. “What are our chances that this dragon turtle is guarding your entrance to Nautera?”

“Given all these destroyed ships, extraordinarily high but not a guarantee,” Gale shouted back. They swerved sharply again to avoid crashing into one of the dragon turtle’s legs as it turned in the water. Smaller gunner ships were flitting around it like flies, trying to shoot harpoons and exploding cannonballs at it. The beast swiped a clawed arm at them, catching one of them and sending it crashing into another. Gale forced himself to look away from the gruesome sight and back out toward the front of their cargo vessel. “If it’s here, the statues are lying on the sea floor—look for a stone head or an arm worn down by time and the currents!”

“And then?”

“You’re looking for a crack in the rock—a crevice or a wide split that tunnels downward into the bedrock! Follow it down and around and we should end up in the Underdark!”

“There!” Minthara pointed. “I see something amid the broken ships!”

Gale craned his neck to peer through the front windows. In the distance, faintly seen in the lights of their vessel, two giant statue heads rested against the rocky sea floor, one lying on its side. They were worn smooth by time, but there were still a few features that were instantly recognizable as humanoid features, marking them as distinctly different than the rocks and boulders around them.

“Yes! That has to be them! Look for a deep crevice—”

Another explosion, this one much smaller, rocked their vessel as another gunner was destroyed. 

“Shit!” Karlach said, looking out of the portholes. “Gortash you gotta push this thing faster or we’re gonna be dinner for the big guy!”

The dragon turtle roared again, much closer and much louder, the sound one of rage and pain. Gale could vaguely make out words in the cacophony, which rang so loudly he and the others had to clamp their hands over their ears.

I WILL CRUSH YOUR METAL SHELLS AND SCATTER YOUR BONES TO THE DEPTHS!

It yelled something else, but Gale stopped trying to translate in his head. He gripped his satchel with one hand and the edge of his seat with the other, trying to keep himself from rattling around as Gortash pushed their ship to its limits, veering sharply around rocks and other vessels.

“Gortash! It’s gaining on us!”

“There!” Minthara yelled, pointing ahead. 

Gortash didn’t respond. He dipped them suddenly downward, aiming for a wide cleft in the bedrock.

Gale clutched tighter to his seat, trying to talk himself out of a rising panic as visions of crashing at full speed into the rock clouded his mind. “Just rudimentary plumbing, it’s just like rudimentary plumbing, it’s—”

The vampire looked at him like he was going mad.

The roar of the dragon turtle was right behind them as they dove down into the darkness of the crevice. Its giant clawed flipper reached in after them, scraping them and causing them nearly to crash into the tunnel walls, but soon they were free—and driving dangerously fast in a very narrow tunnel.

“Gortash, watch it!” Karlach yelled.

Gortash pulled a lever and the vessel's side fins turned suddenly vertical, creating a drag effect that acted like a harsh brake, abruptly slowing them as the tunnel took a sharp turn upward. Gale and everyone else buckled into the vessel's seats were flattened to their seats and then banged around as they clipped the tunnel walls trying to turn and follow the snaking tunnels upward. Behind them, some unfortunate gunner wasn’t so lucky, crashing directly into the tunnel walls with another bright explosion. Gortash threw the lever again, manipulating the fins and engines to make it through the tunnels as they twisted and turned.

For one terrifying moment, Gale was convinced he’d been wrong. That these tunnels went nowhere except to a dead end and that they would crash into bedrock with enough force to spell instant death for everyone inside. He clenched his teeth so hard together he thought they would crack as they hurtled upward into deeper and deeper darkness—

And then all at once, they shot free of the tunnels, rocketing into open water. Gortash flattened the side fins again, dragging them through the depths and slowing them quickly. Seconds later, the water came to an abrupt end as they surfaced with an explosive spray. Gortash killed the engines, leaving them to bob up and down in the waves their abrupt surfacing had created.

Then…silence. Silence and darkness, save for the lights beaming out from the front of the cargo vessel.

“Did…did we make it?” Karlach asked, running a slightly shaking hand through her hair. Beside her, the vampire looked like he regretted ever climbing aboard the submersible in the first place.

“I think so,” Gale said, his voice somewhat weak. He pressed a hand to his aching side and turned carefully to peer out of the portholes on his side of the cargo vessel. Water lapped against the window, only coming about halfway up the glass. Overhead, there seemed to be nothing but space. This was no small cave or air pocket. It was a large cavern.

A moment later, two of the small gunner ships surfaced beside them, followed by a battered-looking third. Shadowheart and Lae’zel climbed out of the top, standing on the roof to look around. They bent their heads together for a moment before Shadowheart cast a spell on something in Lae’zel’s hands, creating a wide aura of light. Lae’zel threw the illuminated object into the darkness. 

As it sailed through the cavern in a high arc, piercing the darkness around them, Gale could see arching rocky walls and hundreds of stalactites hanging from the ceiling. Just before the illuminated object plopped into the water and sank, still glowing, into the depths, Gale spied a rocky beach and the ruins of four towering, carved columns framing a series of hewn stone steps. The evidence of humanoid craftsmanship, though ancient, couldn't be more obvious.

These must be the ancient roads to Nautera.

They had found the Underdark path to the lost city. Just as the Nauterran Account said they would.