#burning blade tavern

[sharkodude]

Denizens of Darkmoor

Inspired by various concept art of Dark Universe

(Left to right: Darkmoor violinist, Hound member, Ygor, Victoria Frankenstein, Darkmoor Monster Makeup Experience scientist, Das Stakehaus waiter, Maleva)

[fangswbenefits]

The Arrangement (1)

Summary: You managed to convince Astarion not to go through with the rite of profane ascension. He remains a vampire spawn, and you now offer your blood from time to time to help with his sanguine hunger until a solution is found. Even though you had both decided to stay as friends back in Moonrise Towers, lines begin to blur once more as other cravings come to the surface… and things with Astarion are seldom uncomplicated.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Word count: 6k

Warnings: 18+. Endgame spoilers. Blood drinking. Mutual pining. Biting. S*xual tension. Mentions of past trauma.

Series masterlist . AO3

"He's upstairs."

You nodded curtly, but before you could turn in your heels and head to the wooden staircase, you felt a hand grip at your arm.

"He hasn't been paying his due," Bork, the Blushing Mermaid tavern's publican, said with a rise of his brows.

"Noble room again?"

"Yes."

As expected. Astarion would sooner be caught dead again than having to stay at a merchant or peasant room.

He adored all things lavish and that extended to his accommodations, naturally.

"I'll cover for it," you said, snatching your arm away. "How much?"

He bared his yellow teeth. "Thirty gold pieces."

You felt Shadowheart's burning gaze on you. She didn't approve of you cleaning after him. Especially since her protective instinct dragged her along with you every single time.

"Very well," you said through gritted teeth, rummaging through your pouch, and handing him the expected amount. 

"Good," the older man said with a twirl of his kitchen knife. "If your pale friend does it again, he's done for."

Threats like this would usually warrant you to bare your dagger or cast a less friendly spell, but you couldn't afford to cause a scene.

Not in front of so many onlookers. 

You felt Shadowheart briefly tense up by your side. "Do hurry up. I shall wait for you."

Nodding, you gave her an assuring nod before heading up the staircase. 

The first floor was reserved for the highest paying customers, and it was heavily decorated and with candles spreading along the narrow corridor.

You paced quickly along the wooden floor, already knowing where to find him.

Room 7.

At this point, you were already over common pleasantries, so you skipped knocking at the door and just barged inside.

You heard a sleepy groan from the crimson bed placed at the centre of the luxurious room.

Astarion wasn't alone.

He was laying on top of the silk sheets, flipping through a book, seemingly undisturbed by your sudden appearance. Curiously enough, he was fully clothed, wearing a frill shirt and his regular trousers. 

However, the woman next to him was very much fully naked, with only a blanket draping over her bare torso.

The sight made your stomach twist and turn.

"Hello, darling," he said casually as if you had just walked in on him picking flowers. 

She peeked over her shoulder with a horrified look spreading across her pleasant face.

Of course she was extremely attractive.

She let out a shriek. "Do you mind?"

"No," you said dryly.

She immediately rolled out of bed, shooting a murderous glance your way, while scrambling to collect her belongings from the carpeted floor.

The door snapped shut behind her, and you were already pacing toward his bedside table once you spotted his coinpurse.

"Happy, are you? You scared her off, poor thing," he shook his head, feigning disapproval.

"You owe me."

You reached out to grab the thick pouch, but caught sight of the glint of a blade and the cool touch of metal being pressed gently against the back of your hand. 

Typical.

"Ah-ah-ah..." he tutted with a click of his tongue. "Where are your manners?"

He seemed very serious all of a sudden, but you knew better. "I'll hex you."

"Faster than me piercing through your skin?" he asked, tapping the flat side of the blade playfully on your skin.

You really did consider hexing him for a split second just out of spite. "You overestimate your abilities."

"And you could have cursed me already, but are too lost in my dashing good looks."

Your jaw dropped in utter disbelief.

"That lovely mouth of yours could never compete with my agile fingers."

The insinuation wasn't even subtle, and it was enough to make your blood boil.

You scowled deeply at him, shoving his dagger out of the way. "Thirty gold pieces."

He slipped the blade under his pillow again with a devious grin.

"Bork was rather eager to have at you, so I just paid him. Maybe next time I won't intervene."

"And what would he do? Kill me again?"

Point taken.

A dangerous smile danced across his lips. "And here I thought you intended to start charging me for our arrangement."

You glared at him intensely, feeling momentarily outraged. "You're the one profiting off of it. Entirely."

"Hmm, debatable."

You narrowed your eyes. "If anything, you should be paying me, no?"

He snatched the coinpurse from your grasp, tugging it open before handing you a few gold pieces. 

"Here you go, darling. Sixty gold pieces," he said, voice dripping with amusement. "Buy yourself a new attire, while you're at it."

You glanced down the length of your body, arching a brow and straightening your shirt and trousers. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

Astarion scoffed. "I don't even know where to begin, but do not fret. You could be wearing nothing but a rotting sack of potatoes, and I would still not be deterred from your neck."

You pressed your lips tightly together, and glanced at the gold pieces in your hand. "Your sweet-talking skills have been slightly below par as of late."

He chuckled, crossing his hands behind his head and against the meticulously wooden-carved headboard. "Yet here you are."

Not that you had much of a choice, really.

Halving the sum of money he had given you, you shoved the rest in your pocket while placing the other half on the table.

"Keep it."

"Don't be ridiculous," you groaned.

"Working on your flattery, I see?"

He was enjoying this far too much, and the more you talked back, the more you instigated him to continue.

"Why don't you just pay him when he asks for it?"

"Oh, darling…"

Here we go…

He was casually checking his hands, putting on his condescending demeanour. "Patience is a virtue he clearly lacks. If I'm to live eternally, I might as well teach these commoners some manners."

"Or you just adore getting on people's nerves," you said with a sly smile.

He grinned so wide, you caught a glimpse of his razor-sharp fangs peeking through. "You know me too well."

You used to think so.

Now, you weren't so sure.

Clearing your throat, you looked around the dimly lit room until your eyes settled on the large majestic bed. "She was really pretty."

"You sound surprised."

"Not at all. She does fit your type."

He laughed dramatically, further grinding your nerves. "I have a type?"

You gave him a look.

"You mean outrageously beautiful and undeniably entertaining?" he asked innocently. "Like you?"

Your heart jolted.

His method of seduction was deemed nigh pristine, and a few weeks ago, you would have maybe fallen hard for this level of charm.

But not anymore.

Well, for the most part…

"She was not outrageously beautiful."

He placed on hand at his chest, feigning hurt. "First you rob me, and now you question my taste in beauty. I'm not entirely sure my dead heart can take much more of this."

You huffed, crossing your arms before glancing out the window. The full moon lit up the street below, as the night began to draw out those who preferred to keep to the shadows.

And those who had no choice but to do so.

Like Astarion.

"I didn't do it."

His voice startled you and you stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

He paused briefly. "I didn't do anything with her, if that's what you're thinking. There is an odd comfort in being surrounded by beauty, even if only to glare at, and nothing else."

Your heart clenched at how vulnerable he sounded all of a sudden. His pleasing face held an expression that you'd seen many times before…

Guilt.

The ripple effects of centuries of torture and abuse still slipped through the cracks of his usual pompous demeanour.

"Your personal matters are your own, Astarion. No need to justify yourself."

He stared at you in silence for a moment, and the urge to reach out to embrace him nearly took over.

Until his features began to twist into a light frown. "Don't look at me like that. I can't stand it."

"Like what?"

"That look. Pity. Spare me," he groaned with a roll of his eyes.

You weren't surprised in the slightest that he went into his defensive mode so rapidly.

He would fluctuate so often around you these days, that it gave you whiplash. Some days, he would let his guard down and allow you in, while others were plagued with him having a brick wall up around him if you happened to breathe in the wrong direction.

You had learned how to navigate through his tough exterior when the two of you traveled together, and as he opened more and more to you.

It all culminated when you offered your help against Cazador, and having him make the decision not to go through with the ritual that would doom so many souls – including his own — in the process.

He had thanked you for saving him from himself.

But nowadays, talking to him was like walking on eggshells while simultaneously dancing around his weathervane mood.

It was as if your relationship had somewhat soured over the past few weeks, and all the remnants of a solid friendship were now beginning to crack.

"You know, you don't have to be here," you said softly, trying to disperse the tension. "You are more than welcome to stay with us."

Astarion snickered darkly. "And having to endure that dullard? Please. I'd rather stake myself, darling."

You rolled your eyes and heaved a sigh at the targeted provocation.

"Gale is not a dullard. He is quite inter-"

But he began to part his mouth into a forced yawn. "Boring already! See, this is what happens when you choose to surround yourself with such unstimulating company – it spreads, and you used to be so much fun," he finished with a dramatic pout.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you sent him a death glare. "He's not the only one there."

There was a hint of amusement gleaming in his eyes. "Oh, yes! How could I forget Shadowheart and her magnificent ability to bore me." He swung his feet off the bed, standing gracefully. "Or perhaps you mean Lae'zel? She's clearly in debt to whichever god bestows a sense of humour."

An added layer of defense: sarcasm.

No one wielded it quite like Astarion, which also proved to be a major inconvenience when trying to win an argument. 

I'm also there, you wanted to say, but chose to remain silent.

Deep down, you detested how you still longed for his company. Even after so many weeks had gone by. Even when he seemed so averse to it outside of this… arrangement.

Your relationship had been reduced to nothing more than a transaction.

Once again.

Your blood for his hunger to be quenched even if only momentarily.

"Or are you referring to yourself?" he mused, pacing towards you while adjusting his shirt.

It was extremely infuriating that he could see through you so easily.

"Let's get this over with, then," you said, words stinging in your throat.

He offered a faint smile, as he came to stand before you. "I must say, our weekly encounters are nothing short of exciting," he brought his fingers to your jaw, tilting your head gently as his eyes roamed across your neck. "And I am positively famished."

You felt a gentle tug at the collar or your shirt, and glanced down to see him undoing the buttons with just one hand. 

All those years of honing his dexterity were bound to come in handy at the most convenient of times,  and Astarion would never shy away from displaying his expertise.

Your senses were suddenly hit with the faint scent of bergamot, rosemary, and aged brandy.

His scent.

The same that once brought you comfort through the toughest of times.

But now…

"Which side will it be this time?"

You swallowed hard, shuddering. "You decide."

He caressed your neck tenderly, tipping your head to the opposite side, half-hooded eyes roaming across your exposed skin.

"Ever so generous."

You huffed in annoyance. "Astarion."

He didn't need to be warned twice, and you soon felt his soft lips brush across your skin, as he searched for your steady pulse. The contact made you jolt slightly and he took your hands in his, placing them at his waist.

"Hold on, darling," he whispered, as his breath fanned your flushed skin, before darting out his agile tongue and enclosing his lips around the selected area.

You had let him feed on you many times before, but the flutter was ever present. It wasn't out of fear or concern that he might take it too far. He never did. But the knowledge that you were, once again, involved in something so intimate truly gnawed at your nerves.

As soon as you felt the initial sting, you balled your fists, gripping the fabric of his shirt tight, as you hissed in pain. 

He held your jaw in between his fingers whilst his other hand was firmly pressed to the back of your head, making sure you were anchored in place.

Astarion moaned first – a muffled and deep sound that reverberated across his lips with each mouthful of blood he downed.

Your eyes dropped close all of a sudden and he  pressed his body against yours, acting purely on the instinct driven by his bloodlust. 

And just like all those times before, you began to feel it.

With each passing second, the all too familiar and ever-growing pressure in your lower abdomen became harder and harder to ignore.

He had once revealed how your blood worked like an aphrodisiac whenever he drank from you; how he couldn't keep his body from reacting to it, and, ultimately, to you. After all, you had been the first thinking creature he had ever fed on. 

As such, you had grown accustomed to his erection being pressed firmly against you – a constant reminder of how easy it was for him to make you yearn for more.

Whatever pain you had left from the initial bite, had morphed into a very subtle wave of pleasure that spread from between your legs.

You cursed inwardly, tugging harder at his shirt.

You didn't wish for your body to be so… primal. 

Even with blood being drained from you, and the act itself being considered so profane, it was still a much welcome moment of intimacy that you had come to embrace. 

A soft roll of his hips lulled you into him like a moth to a flame. Your body struggled with fading from the blood loss as well with the increasing throb between your thighs.

At this point, you couldn't help but moan softly as he eased his grip on you until he had fully withdrawn his teeth from you. 

Your eyes fluttered open and you had to blink twice to disperse the haziness blurring your vision.

Crimson red tainted his lips, and droplets of the warm liquid threatened to spill over. The sight of him revelling in your blood used to make your stomach turn, but now it had morphed into a habit.

But what truly caught your attention was how he looked faintly… displeased?

He lowered his head, crimson eyes locking in with yours. 

"That was quick," you whispered, struggling to ease your throbbing clit, as his erection was still very much pressed against you.

But now he was frowning. 

Suddenly, you felt experienced fingertips trailed across your lower abdomen, casually teasing the hem of your waistband.

You sucked in a breath, chills sprawling all over your body, as he began to trace down your thigh, just where your dagger was resting.

"What are you–"

He pressed a long finger to his blood-stained lips and you swallowed, his eyes darkening. "We have company."

Before you could process his words, you felt your dagger being yanked swiftly from its sheath. With a languid shift of his feet, you watched as he threw the sharp blade across the room.

Just as it cut through the air, the large wooden door began to swing open and Shadowheart came into view.

The dagger landed dangerously close to her head, the tip carving into the wood and wobbling faintly.

She frowned slightly. "You missed."

He darted out his tongue to collect droplets of blood. "Did I?"

She looked positively unimpressed by such a display of skill, even one that could have easily maimed her.

But he had deliberately missed.

Of course he had.

You caught a glimpse of Astarion's reddened ears – the ultimate proof that he had recently fed, and one that, somehow, sent a shiver down your spine.

The bloodless effect was also beginning to take a hold of your body, as dizziness spread more and more.

Snapping out of your transfixed gaze, you hurriedly brought the handkerchief in your pocket to apply some pressure to your bleeding wound.

"Stealth was never your forte, darling," Astarion mused, visibly annoyed. "You're about as subtle as a pack of gnolls."

A teasing smile parted her lips. "You have such a way with words."

He grinned deviously. "It's called being eloquent, dear Shadowheart. Not that you'd know anything about that."

"I was taught to converse with others without constantly resorting to sarcasm," she mused, hurling your dagger back at him. "Not that you'd know anything about that."

As expected, he caught it in between his fingers with little to no effort, twirling it easily with the expertise that only centuries of practice could provide.

He clicked his tongue. "No wonder you're so tedious. But… eavesdropping? My, my… how unbecoming of you, darling."

A flash of surprise crossed her face. "I - I was doing no such thing! I merely decided to make sure everything was all right." Her face softened as she turned to you, her usual caring nature surfacing. "Do you need any healing?"

You smiled warmly at her, patting the pouch at your hip. "No need, thank you. Brought the scroll of Lesser Restoration you gave me."

Astarion scoffed.

Shadowheart ignored him. "I ought to go. Gale needs my assistance with some letters he's received from Waterdeep," she said, straightening up to her default stoic pose. "I trust you're quite done here."

You nodded, clearing your throat.

"What, you're not joining us for a nibble?" Astarion pouted dramatically.

"Over my dead body."

He looked as amused as ever. "That can certainly  be arranged. Though I prefer fresh blood… right from the source."

Her features hardened once more and you decided to intervene. "Will you stop it? You're like a cat with its claws out."

Astarion snapped his head at you. "Excuse me? Claws?"

"Would it kill you - well, again - not to be so damn abrasive all the time?" 

He groaned sheepishly. "She interrupted my feeding. It can be quite hard to resist the urge to behead her."

Shadowheart's gaze dropped to his lower half with the slightest uptick of one corner of her mouth. "By the looks of it, Astarion, you have other hardships to concern yourself with."

A rush of heat spread across your face as you followed her line of sight and were met by the very prominent outline of his erection strained against his trousers.

He turned around, mumbling curses under his breath to adjust himself, and Shadowheart looked at you with a triumphant smile.

It wasn't an easy feat to silence Astarion, yet she had achieved it so gracefully.

"I'll see you later, I suppose," she mused and you nodded. "It was rather entertaining seeing you again, Astarion."

He threw her an infuriating glance over his shoulder.

By the time she had closed the door behind her, you were already taking the scroll into your hands and whispering the incantation, as the paper scroll began to disintegrate itself.

A wave of warmth spread through your hands, before engulfing your body in it. Strength and heightened senses gradually returned to you as the lasting effects of him feeding on you dispersed. 

From the corner of your eye, you spotted him glaring at you with a visible sulk. 

"I'll come back next week."

"Leaving already?" He asked, fake heartbreak twisting his features and voice. "Was wondering if you could, perhaps, give me a hand."

He handed you your dagger, which you promptly slid back inside its sheath.

Your eyes then widened at his not so subtle suggestion.

Uncertainty boiled deep within you, and you had to muster your will to keep yourself from immediately leaving.

Astarion's healing path had been one he had decided to tread alone. The relationship he had with sex had been the reason you two had decided to be as friends and nothing more. You had fallen hard for him – or his deceit – but you figured what he truly needed was a friend and not a lover.

And so you left your infatuation for him behind.

It was better off this way.

But now… watching him fall back to his usual charming advances made you somewhat wary. Was he back to forcing himself to seek intimacy with his body, because he still couldn't do it effectively in any other way? Was he simply feeling more at ease?

You met his sultry gaze and cleared your throat. "Well, I'm sure you can ask that outrageously beautiful woman to help you out, if that is what you truly seek."

That seemed to have caught him by surprise, and he cocked his head. "What?"

"She seemed positively distraught for having to leave your company so early," you said, dragging the handkerchief down your neck to wipe off the trail of blood.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Do I detect a hint of jealousy, darling?"

"Delusion does not suit you, darling."

He took a few steps towards you until you could see the crimson of his eyes flicker as they studied your face.

Your stomach turned.

The proximity made you feel vulnerable and you immediately felt naked under his burning gaze. 

Astarion had over two centuries of practice when it came to reading others. It wasn't an easy feat to deceive him, and you were no exception.

"We traveled together for so long and I can safely say I never took you for a liar – perhaps too soft-hearted for my liking, but not a liar."

"I did not lie," you shot back, lifting your chin in defiance. "I can offer you my friendship and even my blood, but I'm not so sure about anything else."

He heaved a deep sigh.

"I just fed on you and the bloodlust can be quite… overwhelming," he confessed. "I usually take care of it myself, but you did taste absolutely exquisite tonight, what can I say?"

That caught you off guard.

"What do you mean? Take care of…" your voice trailed off as realization hit you.

Oh.

Oh.

Astarion clicked his tongue. "Don't act so surprised. You can feel it whenever I'm feeding, can't you?" He took another step back and only came to a halt once your back was pressed against the carved-wood wall. "There is only so much I can withstand with your delicious blood coursing through my body, darling."

You swallowed hard. 

He was being particularly firm on his advances tonight. You were used to his occasional flirtatious remarks whenever he fed on you ever since the arrangement took place. However, this was bringing things to a whole new level.

One that you hadn't expected you'd reach ever again with him.

Somehow, you managed to find your voice. "Maybe you should stop feeding on me, then?"

A weightless taunt, obviously.

Crimson eyes darted all over your face as if studying you. He remained silent for what seemed like an eternity, before the corner of his mouth curled into an intriguing smile.

He had seen immediately right through it.

"If that is what you wish, then so be it," he said in a rather dismissive tone, but still towering over you.

You arched a brow. "That's it?"

"Darling, as immortal as I am, I do not beg," he continued, now tracing around the fresh bite marks on your skin with uncharacteristic tenderness. "I will surely find other exquisite necks to sink my teeth into."

His words carried a hint of a threat, which unsettled you. 

"That was not the arrangement, Astarion," you said with a scowl. "It's either wild animals or my blood."

His fingertips paused at your pulse point, and you were certain he could feel the throbbing increasing rapidly. "How possessive of you, my dear," he mused playfully. "Although, I am quite sure you are aware that many do carry fantasies with vampires."

You pressed your lips together in a silent reply.

A man as attractive as Astarion was bound to allure all sorts of attention. When passing through Moonrise Towers, the drow Araj had tried to have him bite her in exchange for a rather powerful potion, but you had assured him that you did not demand anything against his will.

The memory still left a sour taste in your mouth.

But he did have a point.

Vampires could be regarded as a taste of the forbidden, and he could certainly deliver it.

"That was not the arrangement," you repeated through gritted teeth, deciding to ignore his previous remark.

His eyes narrowed dangerously in an instant.

"'The arrangement'," he mocked, inching near and pinning you frozen against the wall with the weight of his burning stare. "Does dear Wyll know that I haven't been exclusively feeding on wild animals? Because that was the arrangement, darling," his face drew closer and his cool breath fanned your skin.

Upon becoming Duke of Baldur's Gate, Wyll had agreed to allow Astarion to reside within its walls, but not without assuring he posed no danger to others.

But then you decided to volunteer in aiding him until a solution to his vampiric condition could be found. Hopefully, it wouldn't take too long to find something useful. 

Your research had led to a couple of enchanted items, but those were rare to come by. A wish spell seemed to be the easiest way, but even as a sorcerer and with Gale's help, it would be extremely challenging.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "He does. He knows blood from thinking creatures sates you more effectively, so he allows it for the time being."

He scoffed, dropping his hand from your neck. "How very thoughtful of him, indeed."

"This is what friends do."

He sneered at you. "Friends do not hand out ultimatums. Care to revive my memory?" His lips almost brushed against yours and you didn't dare take a breath. "I am to wag my tail like an obedient pup as I wait for a solution to this minor inconvenience, all the while enclosed in a golden cage."

Impatience gripped your nerves ferociously. "These things take time, Astarion."

"Oh, my darling… I have all the time in the world, but you only have a limited supply of blood," he whispered softly and you could almost taste his taunting words.

He drew back slightly, his glare so intense you felt yours waver and drop, catching a glimpse of his sharp canines. "We are actively looking for a solution. Gale is also making some progress-"

He pressed a finger to your lips, effectively silencing you.

"Do not make the mistake of thinking I am faulting you," he said, his face suddenly softening, as he caressed your lower lip. "If anything, you are the only reason I was ever able to kill Cazador."

He was being sincere, and that was what made your heart drop to your stomach. 

"You have my eternal gratitude."

You shuddered under his touch, feeling your breath quicke, as his other hand trailed down your neck until it was resting just above your left breasts and beating heart.

He was too good at this…

Unfairly so.

"Wyll ought to allocate more of his resources into aiding me, don't you think? After all, you are the one at risk here," he continued. "I know he cares not for me, but I could have ascended and bent Baldur's Gate to my will… if not for your intervention."

"I'm not at risk," you said with a roll of your eyes. "And if you drink more than what you need, then you know the consequences."

His eyes dropped to your cleavage as he began to caress the flushed skin. With each deep breath you took, you pushed more of your breasts into him, further igniting the heat between your legs.

"Promises, promises… unfortunately for you, darling, your words don't match your body."

Fuck you. "You're impossible."

He slowly dipped his head until his lips grazed yours. "You would stake me?"

Never. 

"I would."

He chuckled. "You would stake me as I sink my teeth into your darling neck and feast on your divine blood?" 

No. "Yes."

But his smile only widened as amusement settled on his face. "I can't think of a better way to part this world for good."

Your mouth parted slightly in surprise, and he rolled his hips into you, earning a soft gasp.

You half-expected him to finally take your lips, but he tilted his head instead to press a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

And your body nearly imploded as old sensations resurfaced.

Fuck.

"You're so sweet…" he whispered with a sigh, as he began to graze along your jaw, taking your hands in his and planting them on his waist. "So warm… the gods above could never do you justice." He continued in between light kisses with his hips matching the pace.

As your eyes fluttered shut, you lost track of how eagerly your hands tugged at the hem of his shirt, fingers brushing impatiently against the waistband of his trousers.

Astarion groaned softly, helping you with the inconvenient lacing at the front. "And here I thought I was the starving one."

He always talked way too much and had a natural talent for doing so at the least opportune time. 

"Can you shut up for once?"

"Gladly," he said as he quickly took your lips in his, muffling your groan of protest.

Reason told you to halt everything once. That you were taking things too fast, and that there was no need to indulge in such depravities.

But you had missed this.

You missed having him so close that he completely overtook your senses. 

The kiss turned rougher and his tongue soon found yours. Instinct guided you as you succumbed to the vicious grip of desire, and you pressed yourself further into him.

It was almost embarrassing how wet you already were and how intensely your swollen clit was pulsing. Your body was already readying itself for him to be buried inside you, and you shuddered at the prospect of it.

Your tongue darted into his mouth and your eagerness had it glide across one of his sharp fangs, and you felt a sting of pain as you accidentally drew blood.

"Fuck," you grumbled, breaking the kiss at once.

The familiar taste of metal began to pool in your mouth, and you felt gentle fingers grip your jaw tight, as he titled your head back.

"I would apologise, but it was your own doing," he said with a smile, hunger in his eyes. "So let's not allow it to go to waste, hm?"

And then he pressed his lips against yours, immediately parting them with his experienced tongue, in search of the warm liquid he so badly craved.

The cut wasn't deep or wide enough to cause much to spill, but it was certainly enough for him to let out a beautiful moan of delight, as he lapped at your blood.

Your hands gripped the front of his trousers, the lacing now undone and offering you the opportunity to feel him, and he was kissing you so ardently, that your mind was completely clouded by all of him.

Testing the waters, you caressed his cock through the fabric.

He immediately parted from you to let out a delicious hiss, as he rolled his hips into the palm of your hand.

Astarion was incredibly hard, but just as you were about to slide it inside to grip him, he caught your wrist and held it firmly in place.

And everything halted all at once.

Your eyes found his, and he seemed… distant.

Concern washed over you. "Astarion?"

He was frozen, eyes fixed on the floor.

As he eased his grip on you, it became apparent that he wasn't listening to you.

Fuck.

You brought one hand to grip his shoulder. "Astarion…"

He shook his head lightly. "Give me a moment, darling."

The way the last word drawled out of his lips, made your heart clench violently. It was so instinctive for him, that you doubted he even realised he had uttered it.

You stood still, unsure of what to do to help.

The two of you remained silent for a few moments. You kept your hold on his shoulder, gently caressing it in an attempt to bring him some comfort.

Then you felt rage swirl in you.

Cazador had warped him in such a way and for so long, that the ramifications of his abuse on Astarion seeped so deep and gripped him so tight, causing you to feel nothing but anger.

You took a deep breath, and carefully placed your hands on either side of his face, slowly guiding him to meet your eyes.

He looked broken.

"I apologise."

You caressed his cool skin with your thumbs, shaking your head. "There is nothing to apologise for. Ever. Do you hear me?"

He tilted his head until his forehead touched yours. "I really wanted this."

Even though the two of you had grown apart over the past few weeks as he had distanced himself, you couldn't think of anyone else who had such a hold on you.

With one hand drifting along his soft curls, you pulled him further into a hug, which he promptly embraced, lacing his hands behind your back.

This was your Astarion.

The one who made it so easy to love and care for him.

"Sometimes what we want is not what we need."

His cheek was pressed to the side of your head and you heard a faint chuckle. "So poetic. I reckon Volo has competition."

"Your mind goes to Volo when holding me? Is there something you wish to tell me, Astarion?" you teased lightly.

He patted your back twice before letting go.

"Guilty as charged," he mused, slipping back into his usual antics.

He crossed the room, tying the laces of his trousers before plopping himself on the bed with a stretch of his arms.

"I'm sure you're exhausted. Maybe you should go back to that dullard friend of yours," he said with a sly grin.

His words hit you hard and your face dropped. "I can stay a little longer…"

He picked up the book next to him, examining the cover. "Whatever for? I'm perfectly fine, darling."

Now, this was not your Astarion.

Cold. Distant. Impenetrable.

The one who pushed you away whenever you attempted to bridge the gap that had come in between you two. 

He focused his attention on the book in his hands and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

"Very well."

You composed yourself, and headed to the door, not even bothering to exchange another look.

"Thank you for the meal, and for… well, you know."

You nodded, feeling the overwhelming urge to just leave. "See you next week, then."

He didn't reply.

You rushed out of the room, feeling the familiar prickle of tears in your eyes, and you tried to convince yourself it was better off this way.

That he needed time and space.

That he didn't need you.

By the time you crossed the crowded lounge of the tavern, you crossed paths with that woman again.

She locked eyes with you, a faint smile curving her lips, as she rose to her feet from her chair, probably heading back to him.

She truly was a sight to behold, no doubt.

But what tore your heart was realising that, even after everything you'd been through with Astarion, he still favoured her company over yours. 

Next chapter

Masterlist . Series masterlist. AO3

[feyascorner]

6 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. You remember how the sunlight glistened against his skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press the sharp end against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 6.4k words,,,tav is better than me i would've thrown hands like twelve years ago,,,I HAVE NO IDEA HOW I WROTE THIS IN LIKE TWO DAYS???? also thank you for all your comments they really motivate me to write!! so have this monster of a chapter early as thanks!!

"You'll kill them, Astarion," you mumble. "They might not have had the power to help you, but they're still your siblings. I don't want them to die hating you."

"They're not my siblings--not really. I don't care what they think of me. Hells, they could haunt me even in the afterlife, as annoying as that would be, but they're no innocents either. They've brought in as many souls as I have," he responds, his jaw visibly clenching at the thought. "I don't care if all seven thousand of them die hating me as long as you're here."

And while you feel flattered, you can't disregard the worry driving a hole through your conscience. Ever perceptive, he lifts a hand to brush stray strands of hair out of your face, his fingertips tracing your jaw. His voice is but a hushed whisper.

"You understand, don't you, my love? It would set me free--after two hundred years of forcing myself through hell--I can finally free myself from Cazador," his tone sours at just the mention of his master's name, and he intertwines his fingers with yours, drawing your attention back to him.

"It is what you want for me, no? For me to be happy?"

It is what you want. Just not like this.

Music was your way of releasing the mountain of feelings you kept locked away in your chest, waiting for the right person to recognize them for what they are. You’d hoped someone would understand the meaning behind your lyrics without you telling them outright, and they’d know what it truly meant to you. And for a while, you’d believed Astarion would be the key to this safe.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

“While I usually entertain your certainly out-of-the-box plans, this is bordering on just foolish, I’m afraid,” Gale sighs, eyes tracing you as you pace around the house, stuffing every possible weapon and healing potion into a brown sack. Despite his insistence, you ignore him, testing the blade of a knife against the edge of the table. It’s not entirely dull, nor is it sharper than the dagger in your drawer, but it’ll have to do. “Simply charging into the tavern won’t do much good if you’ll be overwhelmed in number anyway.”

“I know what I’m doing, Gale,” you hiss, snatching an Alchemist’s Fire and shoving it a tad too hard into your bag. He tenses. “If they want to talk to me so badly, then I’m not waiting around for them to attack another one of my friends—I’ll go to them.”

“Yes, your determination is certainly praise-worthy, but can we please just sit down and think this through before running into a battlefield with a few knives? This is basically a suicide mission.”

“The wizard is right, even if it’s hard to believe,” Lae’zel announces from the corner of the room, wiping a cloth on her sword. “When I arrived, they’d already fled. They could be anywhere by now, and they’ve had more than enough time to plan another ambush if we were to charge now. We must be smart about this. I am a warrior, but I am no fool.”

“I’ll go by myself,” you say, a sense of finality in your voice. “They already showed what they’d do if someone they didn’t want to talk to approached them. I’ll just talk to them.”

Gale stares with lidded eyes. “So why are you packing so many explosives, exactly?”

“...Precaution?”

Silence befalls the room, and you take it as a sign to finish your preparations. All you can hear is the crackling of the fireplace and the rain falling against the windows of the home. The lot of you had somehow managed to stabilize Shadowheart by the time Lae’zel returned, and while she’d been conscious earlier, you insisted she rest before she consumed herself with the investigation again. You didn’t miss the way she limped back to her room with little to protest against you.

“Take the spawn with you.”

Two jaws drop at the words, the only one remaining fixed belonging to Lae’zel.

“The kainyank is living here to help. Not cause more problems for us. And so far, he’s only done one of the two things, and I’m dangerously close to turning to my blade if he doesn’t choose otherwise,” she says. “The spawn are searching for him, too. If blood breaks out, you must use him to flee safely.”

Gale blinks. “As in…use him as a body shield?”

“What else is he good for?”

While the wizard seems positively appalled, you can see the contemplation flicker in his eyes before he shakes his head. He's always been more considerate than the rest of you. “No, Tav would never agree to such a-”

“Okay.”

They both whip their heads toward you, and you avoid their piercing gazes, staring down at the dull blade in your hand. “It might help, too, if we find out why they want him. There are nearly 3000 spawns in the city—we can’t kill all of them, at least not immediately. It’d be best if we convinced them to leave, and the best way of doing that is to understand what they want in the first place.”

Lae’zel narrows her eyes. “Then you must swear it. Swear that if Astarion were to face risks, you will leave him behind. If he were to turn on you, you slice through his throat without a second of hesitation. He is there to aid you–nothing else.”

“I will,” the words feel hot on your tongue.

And so, you soon find yourself standing in front of his door, hand reaching for the door handle. There’s a slight pause right as you touch the cool metal, but you bite your tongue and shove it open, praying he’s still not as ravenous as he was a few hours ago. And much to your surprise, he appears wholly composed.

He lowers his book to his lap, eyes training themselves on you as they dart from your bag and then back to your face. The window’s wide open, bathing him in the moonlight, with dark curtains tied to the wall to keep them from obscuring his view of the city. He raises a brow. “What could you possibly want from me at two in the morning? Come here for a cuddle?”

You’re scowling again.

“I need you-”

“I’m flattered, but I fear you may stab a butter knife into my eye, so I’ll have to decline.”

“Not like that.” Your frown creases deeper at his smug grin. “We’re going to the Blushing Mermaid to find the spawn.”

“Just us?”

“They want to see us.”

“And if I refuse?”

The answer is almost immediate, cutting through the atmosphere like a knife on bread. “I hear the bloody bedrolls in the Duke’s dungeon are very comfortable.”

He drops his smile at this, and a tiny spark of pride puffs your chest. He seems to weigh his choices before snapping his book shut and standing from the bed, snatching a comb from his bedside table before pacing up to you, pocketing it behind him.

"A comb?"

He shrugs as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, I doubt you’ll be giving me a weapon of any sort, so I must make do.”

You don’t correct him.

As the two of you make your way downstairs, you hear your other companions speaking.

“I didn’t expect you of all people to defend Astarion,” Gale says in disbelief, still comprehensive as Lae’zel poorly cuts up slices of an apple.

“I am doing no such thing, istik,” she mutters. “I am giving him a choice. Either to pick up his dead weight and prove his life is worth more than the dirt on my shoes or die at my hand.”

The walk to the Blushing Mermaid is painfully awkward. To you, anyway, because he seems positively unbothered the entire time. Seeing him leisurely follow behind you is irritating—and it bothers you more than you’d like to admit.

By the time you survey the area around the tavern, you’ve discerned they must be inside, considering there are no ambushes awaiting your arrival. While it’s a relief, it also increases the anxiety of what lies inside the tavern itself, and you confirm your knives are at your disposal if it were ever to come to that. You sincerely hope it doesn’t. Astarion sighs dramatically for the umpteenth time as you approach the front doors, and you finally snap to look at him with a glare.

“Will you stop breathing so damn loud?”

The change in your attitude toward him is apparent, but he doesn't seem to care. If anything, he seems more pleased with you than he was before every time you shoot him an annoyed glance or something along those lines. He responds with lazy answers, but it's better than the bitter ones he gave you before.

You're not terribly surprised, though. He's always loved pissing people off for his own entertainment, and it would be an understatement to say that he's been somewhat successful with you.

“I’m not breathing, my dear. I don’t need to, remember?”

“Then what is your problem?” you hiss between your teeth. “Are you trying to wake up the entire city with your insistent groaning?”

“Must we do this tonight, of all days? Couldn’t this wait till tomorrow?”

“No!” you say in exasperation. “That gives them too much time to heal and recover from Shadowheart and Gale. It has to be tonight, just in case they do decide to fight—then we’ll have an easier time because, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s just us two!”

He sighs again, and you swear you might pluck a strand of his hair for good measure. And just as you shove past him and reach for the door, he clears his throat again. Loudly.

“For God’s sake, what?” you nearly yell.

He smiles at you, pointing at the front door. “Well, if we’re looking to avoid an ambush, perhaps we should find another way in than the main entrance. Unless my prior knowledge as a rogue proceeds me.”

You blink. You recognize the validity of his statement and feel your face flare, and you immediately march past him again—the other way this time—and search for the nearest wall you can climb up to the roof. You hear him snicker, but you do your best to ignore it. 

Somehow, you manage to climb in through the window, admittedly a lot louder than him, but you don’t think it’s fair to compare yourself to him when he has footsteps lighter than a child’s. Hidden behind one of the tables, you peer into the rest of the tavern, which is completely empty save for the bottles of alcohol scattered everywhere. You turn to signal to him that the coast is clear, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Immediately, your face drains of color.

“Right here, darling.”

He drops down from seemingly thin air, and you gasp, nearly letting out a shriek if it weren’t for your hand covering your mouth. He grins at that.

Bastard.

“There’s nobody in the entire building–at least, not visible to the eye,” he confirms, glancing around the room.

“How do you know that?”

He points at the ceiling, and your eyes follow it. “Someone decided to build such useful beams on the roof. You can see the entire place from up there. Care to take a look?”

While you would have thanked him if he had been any other person, you only march straight by him. “Don’t do anything without telling me first.”

“No ‘thanks, Astarion’?” He quirks a brow but huffs when you ignore him. “Very well then, my liege. No need to acknowledge a humble servant such as I. But I shall let you know when I’m about to take any questionable decision.”

You’re starting to wonder if his presence is worth the headache it gives you.

Pacing around the tavern, it seems all too normal. No blood splatters against the wall, no broken chairs—hells, even the booze cups look clean, which is a rarity for the Blushing Mermaid. You check each room, inspecting down to the last cups in case there are traces of blood in them, but to no avail.

It’s like there was never anyone here.

“You look like you’re having trouble, my dear,” Astarion clicks his tongue mockingly, leaning back in one of the more luxurious chairs he’s decided is his own.

“Considering the only company I decided to bring along is lounging around like a bum, I’m not surprised,” you say back, now searching the smallest cracks in the walls for some sort of secret passage. It’s strange. Even though your companions had spoken of the bodies they encountered when facing the spawn, there’s not a single speck of blood in sight. Neither is there anything outside but the whistle of the wind.

“This particular wall must be quite fascinating.”

You fight the need to groan and whip around to snap at him, but he’s suddenly just a foot away from you, staring at the spot you’d been squinting at. Gods, you hate how quiet he is when he walks.

“As wonderful as it is getting a fresh breath of air,” he feigns disappointment with a half-hearted sigh, turning to walk toward the entrance. “I believe we’ve done what we can. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d love to return to my book–”

The wooden floor underneath him creaks. It sounds hollow.

As if there’s something underneath.

“The basement,” you blink, eyes wide. “The hag’s lair.”

He stares at you as if you’ve taken too many mushrooms. “It was sealed up after we rid of that dreadful woman. Good riddance, too, I mean, I’m not particularly fond of children, but eating them, even I wouldn’t be able–”

You rush toward the very corner of the tavern, sensing that he’s following you regardless of his obvious distaste toward your decision. There, you push against a table perched on top of the basement latch and test its locks.

It’s open.

“Heavens, it reeks here. How didn’t I smell it before?”

“Of what?” You sniff the air. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Blood, my dear. Fairly recent, too, if my judgment hasn’t gotten rusty in the time I’ve spent cooped up in that room,” he pauses. “And I haven’t gotten rusty, to be clear.”

“Right,” you retort, reaching down to pull the latch open. You don’t see him do the same, and you glance at him quizzically.

“Gods no,” he says, when he realizes why you’re staring. “I’m doing no such thing that ruins these nails.”

You sigh. Loudly.

The latch opens relatively easily, but you make an effort not to simply swing it open in fear the occupants inside might be warned of your arrival. You prop the trap door open against a chair and begin your descent down the stairs, remaining as silent as possible.

The first thing you can notice is that he’d been right.

The stench of blood burns in your nose, and you immediately cover it with your sleeve to avoid inhaling anymore. You’ve smelt enough of your companion’s blood today, and you’d rather not continue the streak with the blood of complete strangers. Astarion, however, frowns.

“Such a waste,” he mumbles.

When you turn to where he’s looking, there’s a pile of bodies—poor victims, no doubt—lying over a puddle of their collective blood mixing with one another. It almost feels inhumane to leave them that way, just hours after their death, as if they’re cattle to be used.

Though, in this case, they are cattle.

“Are you sure it’s them?”

“I’m telling you it is!”

“Where’s their lyre, then?”

“How would I know that?”

You locate the source of the whispers instantly, reaching for one of your daggers as your eyes bore into the corners of the lair that are obscured from your view. Astarion steps forward before you can figure out a plan to approach them, arrogance exuding from his very body as he holds nothing but the comb tucked in his back pocket. “We can hear you, you fools. Come out before I lose my patience.”

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

“They’re only a few spawns, my dear. Nothing like Cazador—no need to be so cautious.”

You open your mouth to protest, but a woman emerges from the shadows, her eyes trained on your own as she marvels at your mere presence. You realize she’s not alone as multiple vampires begin to emerge from different corners of the room, all a safe distance away but not enough to ease the nerves jittering in your stomach. She steps toward you. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”

Another spawn steps beside her, and you immediately notice how ravenous he seems, eyes almost glistening with hunger as they bore straight into you. The woman puts a hand on his neck, seemingly soothing him, before he slumps his shoulders again, but the pure violence swirling in his head doesn’t seem to vanish. She then looks to Astarion, and the expression on her face morphs into something more akin to dread. “And you, brother.”

“Dalyria.” Astarion only stares with lidded eyes, visibly unfazed.

You instinctively scan the entire lair, searching for any differences you can spot since the last time you were here. The only glaring thing besides the bodies piled in the corner is the study desk on the other side of the room, scattered with different potions and concoctions. Behind the desk is an entire wall plastered with diagrams—most of which study the anatomy and functionality of what you can only determine to be a vampire judging from the fangs. There are also beds everywhere—though they look like they could collapse any second—and the room almost looks like a hospital.

The atmosphere between the siblings is so uncomfortable you’d think they’ll start attacking one another any second.

“Is Leon here?” you finally cut through, lowering your hand away from your blade. “I need to speak with him—technically, all of you.”

“How curious. We were hoping to speak with you as well,” she says, motioning all the other spawn to stand down. It does little to ease you. “By all means, feel free to go first.”

You take the opportunity, too exhausted, to demonstrate polite etiquette. “The spawn are causing too much trouble in the city, Dalyria. They’re killing too many people, and it’s getting noticed by more than enough people. At this rate, you’ll lose some of your own if the Fist figure out how you guys are hiding throughout the city.”

“...Yes, I’m aware.”

The resignation in her voice makes your throat bob, but you continue anyway. “I’m saying we need to get you guys somewhere more stable. Whether it be the Underdark or elsewhere, we can’t have you staying here.”

“I see,” she says slowly. “I appreciate you trying to talk this out with us, but I’m afraid I cannot grant your request.”

Your shoulders tense, and you can see Astarion shift beside you. “You don’t understand, sister. There’s going to be an outright war at this rate-”

“Baldur’s Gate is our home as well, Astarion. You, of all people, should know this,” she demands. “We have a right to remain here, and if the Fist insists on forcing us out, we have no choice but to retaliate.”

“But you’re killing the city off!” you gawk in disbelief, unable to believe what you’re hearing.

“We’re surviving,” she corrects, the corners of her lips turning downward. “Surely you can’t hate us for that.”

“Then…” you blink at her, positively appalled at her words. “Why the hells did you need to speak with me? What was worth putting my companion through hell?”

“...There is a way—for both parties to benefit.” She looks down at her hands, then back up at you. “I didn’t expect the both of you to come together. Our informants were correct when they claimed to see Astarion in your possession. In all honesty, we technically only needed one of you, but this makes things a lot quicker.”

Confused but desperately wanting an answer, you urge her to continue. Only you can see the way Astarion’s hand slips toward his pocket, where his comb lies.

“We were going to ask you to bring him to us, you see. But it appears you’ve already done the hard part.”

The dreaded intuition in the back of your mind tells you something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

“Me? What do you need me for?” he scowls.

She disregards him and continues speaking to you, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. “If you turn him over to us, you’ll never have to see him again. That is what you want, yes?”

Both you and the pale elf freeze.

“I watched as my brother nearly killed you the day of the ritual,” she continues. “I understand how you feel being betrayed by someone you thought shared your pain. And I believe this is a way to relieve you of that pain—and finally move onto a new stage of your life.”

She acts as if Astarion is the only thing holding you from moving on from the past few months of your life. And if she’d said so a week ago, you would have nothing to defend yourself with. But you’ve cut the few strings left that tie yourself to him. You remind yourself that you no longer care for him, regardless of the slight squeeze in your chest. You’ve already sworn to force yourself to disregard him, and you want to say all these things to her, but nothing comes out. So, instead, you keep your mouth sealed.

Astarion scoffs from beside you.

“For God’s sake, please tell me you’re not actually considering this. Let’s just force the madwoman out and go,” his voice attempts to stay firm, but it’s high-pitched at the end. He’s panicking.

You don’t respond to him, and he stiffens. “...My main concern is the city. If you think you can use my personal matters to convince me to just let you keep killing all these people–”

“That matter will resolve itself in its own time. We’ll return to the Underdark—or wherever it is you wish, and you won’t have to spend your nights hunting us down anymore.”

With a dry throat, you fixate your gaze on her face, desperately trying to discern any hint of a crack in her mask. Instead, you find nothing. “Why would you do that? For one spawn?”

“I’m afraid that’s for me and my siblings to know. But I can promise you that no harm will come to you if you take this deal.”

For what seems like the millionth time this month, you have no idea what to do. Lae’zel’s words flood you like a wave crashing onto shore as you remind yourself that Astarion is here not as your ally but as a shield. If things are as Dalyria says, simply turning over the man standing next to you would end this entire ordeal. You could return to your everyday life of repairing the city, learning to heal and grow from the terrors of the illithid invasion. You could learn to let people in again.

You could learn to play music again in hopes of finding the person you dreamed would understand.

Such an enticing, perfect deal. It’s almost too perfect. But you’ve learned not to trust perfection, especially when handed to you by a vampire spawn.

Astarion, who had been observing your expression this whole time, almost seems to read your mind. Or perhaps he’s just feeling selfish, ready to defend himself. “You’ve created a lot of problems for me, dear sister. I’ve gotten accused of your own murders, thanks to your pets.”

The delirious spawn, who’d looked sluggish after Dalyria’s soothing, now bares his teeth at Astarion. Dalyria attempts to calm him again, but it’s no use. The bloodthirst cannot be satiated unless there’s blood spilled on his very hands.

Astarion doesn’t seem to take a hint—or maybe he does but chooses to simply ignore it. “I’ve always known you were strange, Dalyria, but really? Experimenting with your ‘useless procedures’ on fresh spawns? He looks positively possessed, sister. He might just resort to eating you instead.”

“They are not useless, Astarion,” she snaps. “I am a doctor. I’m only curing what needs to be cured.”

“Then tell me why you haven’t managed to cure yourself of our curse? You may be intelligent in medical aspects, but gods above, you are more foolish than Cazador himself if you really think you can cure vampirism.”

“I had nobody to test my ideas on for two centuries, Astarion! Now that I do, surely I can-”

“You’re starving them, Dalyria,” he snaps, tone drastically different from the banter you shared just minutes ago. “And they’ll give into the thirst sooner or later.”

His words are the final straw.

The spawn who’d been standing beside her launches himself toward you. Before you can even register what’s happening, his fangs are at your throat, your neck tilted so it shoots pain up your side. Just as you feel your skin split at the tips of his canines, Astarion rips him away from you so harshly that the spawn flies helplessly into the wall, which crumbles under his weight. Dust flies into your eyes, and you cough, wiping at them until it clears just enough to see Dalyria staring in horror.

“I told you, Dalyria. You are no doctor, not anymore,” Astarion scoffs, eyes narrowed into slits. “And I’m afraid I can’t let you kill my liege here, as I’d much hate to be trapped in a cell somewhere underground.”

You reach the specks of blood drops forming on your neck, horrified by the close encounter you had with death just seconds ago. The culprit of your injury lies unconscious beside the cracked wall, and you wonder just how hard he had to be thrown to be rendered in such a state. You can see the other spawns’ eyes practically glow at the sight of your blood—fresh, unlike the pile of corpses on the other side of the room.

She turns to you, desperation pouring from the wavering of her voice. “Please, don’t make me do this. Don’t make us enemies. All you need to do is give us Astarion. My brother, for heaven's sake!”

You think better of it. Something that obviously pleases Astarion if the way his face relaxes tells you anything.

“May I?” he glances at you.

Surely, there are ways–more civilized ways–-than drawing your blade, but the ferocious growling from the rest of the spawn tells you otherwise. You need to find out why she needs Astarion so badly, and clearly, she’s not willing to tell you unless it’s through pure force. You despise the idea as much as you despise the predicament you’re in, but you refuse to be attacked and deliver nothing back.  Just as you nod to his question, another spawn lunges, unable to resist the red staining your neck.

But it’s smart this time, choosing to eliminate any threats before turning to the full course. In this case, the only thing between you and the vampires is another vampire.

“Brother!” Dalyria shouts, horrified.

You don't bother calling his name, only barely manage to tackle Astarion out of the way before the spawn’s claw sinks into the very ground he was standing on just seconds ago.

As embarrassing as it is to practically crash on top of him, both of you wince because it’s more painful than anything. You force yourself up with your arms, and it’s then that you see even more spawn crawling from whatever shadows they hid in, and you realize you are terribly and most definitely outnumbered. By a lot. 

“Dalyria, if you’re truly a doctor, do something! Stop them, godsdammit!” you shriek in her direction.

“They’re not—they were doing so well!...” she gasps before she reaches for a tattered journal and desperately files through its pages in a frenzy. “They were nearly docile before. I don’t know why–”

You feel Astarion’s hands slip out of the sack you carry on your back, realizing you hadn’t even noticed him opening it. He’s still lying flat on the ground, and you look down at him, puzzled before he laughs bitterly.

“I’ll be borrowing this for a few minutes, darling.”

You barely dodge another spawn that comes flying at you, rolling off of him and practically slamming into the wall. And before you can crawl away, your knife—in Astarion’s hand—stabs through the spawn’s left eye through the back of their head, specks of their blood splattering against your cheek.

You want to throw up.

“No, don’t harm them! Please, just let us go!” Dalyria pleads, but you’re finished being patient with her. She clearly has no way of calming the spawn, and you’re tired of being thrown around like a ragdoll in the mess that is the lair.

You yank out the Alchemist’s Fire and chuck it at the nearest cluster of spawn—around 2 or 3—and flinch as the vial collides and explodes into flames right before your eyes, blowing your hair out of your face in a gust of smoke and wind. You swear you hear Astarion cackle in utter glee at the destruction, but you choose not to dwell on it, too busy figuring out how else you could get out of here alive.

“You’re ruining the patients!” Dalyria screams, and you almost regret not throwing the vial at her instead.

“Your spawn are the ones attacking us!”

Suddenly, her face goes impossibly pale, and you hear a hiss of pain from a few feet away. Astarion winces as one of the spawn claws at his chest leaves behind a reasonably deep wound following the path of their sharp nails. Your knife is kicked away from him, and you hear Dalyria again just as he reaches for the comb instead. “Brother, be careful!”

You’re not sure if she wants you and Astarion dead or not, but it’s seriously giving you backlash at this point.

He stabs the comb into the spawn’s neck and kicks him away, and you take the opportunity to send the knife he dropped through the air.

By some miracle, it pierces straight through the spawn’s arm. Astarion lets out a breathy laugh from the floor, attention glued to your handiwork. “Ha! And to think that could have been me!”

And while you want to admire your aim yourself, there’s no time. Dalyria’s footsteps rush up the stairs, out of the basement, and you realize you need to follow moments after Astarion, who’s already fleeing up the steps, cursing under his breath. “That demented wench!”

You stand to follow after him, but the remaining spawns are already blocking your way. There are only two more, but you brace yourself for the worst, reaching for whatever remaining weapons you have left in your sack. The smoke and debris feel suffocating in your lungs, but you have no choice but to push through, praying to whatever God you can remember at the moment that this be the last time you have to fight this many vampire spawn. Or any, for that matter.

You wish you had left your fighting days behind you when you defeated the elder brain, but you suppose even that was too much to ask for.

You arrive just in time to see the sunrise.

Lying against a wall is Astarion, who you find just before the sunlight hits the part of the ground he’s on. He’s clutching his shoulder, which drips with his own blood, and showing no signs of the quick vampire regeneration. You stare down at him, face stoic as you wait for him to say something.

Judging from his condition, you assume Dalyria got away.

“Leaving me to die here would be unwise,” he scoffs. “Though it’d be rather easy to let me burn to death in the sun, I must remind you that I much rather prefer decapitation if it’s all the same to you.” 

“I’ll consider it,” you reply curtly. "Can't promise anything, though."

He leans his head back, amused. The sunlight is just a few feet away now, and you wonder how long it's been since he's been outside to watch the sunrise. “You’ve always had a cruel streak in you. I just had to lure it out, sometimes, but when it did come out—Gods, you should have seen it yourself.”

“You’re delirious,” you remind him, observing just how much blood he’s losing. You remind yourself of your resentment when worry probes a small part of your heart. One that you hope dies soon. “Why aren’t you healing?”

“I haven’t been exactly feeding well, unfortunately. And days old boar’s blood can only sustain me so long, darling,” he lulls his head forehead, sneering to himself. “Now that I think about it, dying by sunlight sounds rather poetic, don’t you think? Perhaps you can make a song about my glorious death.”

He’s definitely unhinged from blood loss.

You sigh, tossing his arm over your shoulder as you deem the sunlight a bit too close now. It’s a slow process with your own body’s soreness, but you manage to drag him to a more shaded area, propping him against the wall there so that you can rummage through your sack for a healing potion. You stop when his hand latches onto your arm.

“What?” you frown.

“It won’t help. I need blood, my dear.”

“There’s none for you here.”

“The bodies in the basement,” he bites back a groan, more blood gushing out of his shoulder. “I can make use of them--give their deaths a sense of purpose."

The displeasure on your face must be apparent because he laughs.

You pause, lowering the sack onto the ground. While you’re illuminated by the sunlight now, he remains in the shadow of the building, only able to see the sun with how it reflects off of your skin. And you find that he’s no longer looking at you but looking past you into the glowing orb you call the sun. You remember how its light glistened against his own skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press its tip against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

His eyes widen, and the temptation is more than evident with how his mouth falls open as if he tastes your blood from a few inches away. But as fast as it had come, he tears his eyes away. “I’m not taking your blood.”

“Stop with your prideful act, Astarion. You’re going to bleed out.”

“I wouldn’t die, exactly. I would just remain unconscious until I can properly heal myself.”

You spare him a long, hard stare. He refuses to look at you, biting the inside of his cheek to ignore the scent of your blood. And it's painfully clear he's failing.

You have no idea why he's so insistent on avoiding your blood, but you refuse to spend your own time pondering it.

“Fine then.”

He watches in utter loss as you lick the blood off of your finger, shrugging. “Bleed out for all I care.”

You turn to stand, but his hand latches on your arm once more. You’re not sure if you’re imagining how warm he feels, but you think you must be. He's always been terribly cold.

“Do you hate me now?” he asks again, this time staring up at you through his lashes. “Have I finally run through your patience?”

The question remains the same as he asked you a week ago, but it feels different now. This time, you know your answer, and it feels so, so relieving. You just wish you could understand his own feelings, but his expression is so superficial you don’t even attempt it.

“Yes,” you reply blankly. “I hate you.”

He takes a moment to process your words. You have to admit it’s satisfying to say it to his face, even if your hatred for him is new. But perhaps because it’s new is why you feel it so strongly, and you silently thank it for how confident you sound saying the words. Even if they taste bitter. You think he might have some quip to respond with, but he only smiles, and as usual, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You never want to see it again.

Without another word, he pulls you down to him, and you nearly topple over before stabilizing yourself with either of your knees on either side of his legs. He breathes against your neck, and you think he might drink from you until you feel his fingers brush against your nape. Immediately, your body freezes like a deer in headlights, flinching at his touch as your mind involuntarily forces the last memories you have of his hands on your neck.

And ever so perceptive, he notices how you recoil from his touch.

You hate your body for reacting the way it does out of fear. Not the disgust or the anger, but something much more pathetic, and you want to go back on your own actions to stop yourself from appearing so weak to him. You think he might tease you--taunt you, even, but he stops, slowly pulling away and lowering his head from the crook between your shoulder and head.

You’re unable to see his face, but his movements seem more sluggish.

Instead of going for your neck, he lifts your wrist, brushing his lips against it before sinking his teeth into the tender flesh.

Despite the initial sting, it’s a feeling you’ve grown accustomed to over time. With him, it had always felt so intimate. It’s why you can’t help but feel heat bloom across your cheeks before you remind yourself you no longer care for him. Only when you think he’s drinking a bit too long do you try to pull away, but his arm loops around your waist, bringing you even closer as the amount of blood he’s taking increases with how deep his fangs are.

You feel so cold, yet heat burns through your very blood. It makes your head dizzy, and you take it as a sign that he’s had enough.

You only manage to speak a few seconds later, breathless. “Astarion.”

He pulls away, seemingly out of breath himself as he releases his hold on the rest of your body. He runs his tongue over the access, staining the side of his mouth. He uses his finger to make sure the rest is off his face. “I know.”

He rarely feeds so messily, so you discern he wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been drinking well. Knowing he wasn’t deceiving you brings little relief, but it’s still a welcome feeling. Rubbing at your wrist and the two puncture wounds now residing there, you stand up and slug your sack over your shoulder. He watches you the entire time, and you hate that you can never seem to read his expressions—only one, and that’s whenever he claims to despise your very existence.

His shoulder has already stopped bleeding.

“Why didn’t you drink from those people at Sharess’ Caress?” you finally say.

“Their blood…” he pauses, trailing off, and suddenly he seems to change his mind. “...I've grown tired of it.”

“Blood is just blood, isn’t it?”

He stares at you for a moment, then laughs.

“I wish it was, darling.”

Tags:@ayselluna@littleenglishfangirl@bg3obsessedsideblog@iwillpissyourpants@cyberpr1m3@ukeia-uchiha@snowlotr@road-riot@spacekidnova@madislayyy@lordfishflakes@nicalysm@djarinsway@tinystarfishgalaxy@brainz00@hopeful-n-sad@ohdeerieme@madisban@chrismarium@chonkercatto@fanfic-share@sleepyred1703@miskouly@ravenswritingroom @iamlowkeycrying @deezus-roy @spiritraves @mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc @whisperingwillowxox @bdudette @misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @aelieknox @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @bitterbeanren Please let me know if I didn't add you to the list or if you'd like to be added!

[arcielee]

Insatiable

Summary: Osferth finally has a moment with the barmaid he has been pining for. Paring: Osferth x Plus Size Reader Word Count: 1575 Warnings: AFAB Reader, kissing, titty sucking, grinding, pre ejaculation because baby monk is thrumming with life being tucked between your thighs, implied sexual themes. Author's Note: This was requested by the lovely, the wonderful @helaelaemond ���� I hope this does justice to your request. Thank you @aemondsbabe for being my beloved beta reader for this hot mess I wrote at 1 in the morning and thank you @myfandomprompts for the title! 🥰 Dividers by @saradika

They prefer your tavern and its reputation, your wit and your hired help–always the loveliest of girls you gave sanctuary too. In return, you enjoyed both their coin and their company, which was something all encompassing whenever they would enter your establishment.

On this night, it was the tittering of your barmaids that alerts you before the bawdy Irishman announces their arrival. He fills the door frame, his dark eyes settling onto you and you returning his cheeky grin. 

“Lord Uhtred and his pretty boys,” you greet and he guffaws. You begin to pull empty tankards from the shelves behind. “To what do we owe the honor?” 

Finan pushes up towards the bar, his teeth bright beneath his dark beard. “My lady, tonight we are celebrating!” 

“What are we celebrating?” You fill up a mug and pass it over to his wide grasp. 

He begins to gulp it down, ale spilling the corners of his mouth before setting it down, his smile roguish when he says: “First bloodshed.” 

Osferth had slain the great Dane, Sigefrid Thurgilson, and its tale was already webbing throughout the cities that settled along the river bank of the Temes, rising from the ashes of Beamfleot. 

Your brow raises with your surprise. The warrior monk was a recent addition to the motley swart of men that shadowed Lord Uhtred’s steps. Osferth was a solemn addition, tall and lean, with piercing blue eyes that would cut through the crowd, searching for you whenever they visited. 

You could not help but favor him out of all the men that served Lord Uhtred. He was handsome with his sharp features, but you noticed how they softened with your voice whenever you spoke with him. You relish his reaction, the soft pink hues that stained his cheeks, his soft timbre to answer you, and you actually began to mourn him, assuming his inevitable demise at the end of a blade. 

But instead, Osferth showed himself to be so much more. 

The wooden walls begin to vibrate with the jubilation of surviving another day as the locals pour through the doors, adding to the cheers of their heroism. Lord Uhtred and his men preen under the attention, always adoring your pretty help, your girls flutter throughout to refill mugs or fall into an empty lap. 

You were watching, sipping at your own cup, dressed to complement your curves, the low neckline of your blouse to draw the eye to your heavy bust, aglow with the umpteenth retelling of baby monk’s bravery. Only then did you notice that Finan was trying to call your attention. 

“Please,” his lilt was thick as he began to beg, his ruddy cheeks burning and his dark eyes finally pulling away from your cleavage to meet with your own. “Osferth has been so hopelessly besotted with you. I was thinking you should give him a kiss to congratulate that he is now truly a man.” 

His words, partnered with the ale, warm your blood with the realization, flushing your cheeks and your cleavage. It propels your feet forward, pushing through the crowd towards Osferth, whose eyes were already trained to you. They widen, bright and beautiful and blue, to drink in the sight when you lean over, his skin prickling with your whisper to his ear, “Come with me,” and he is quick to stand and follow after you. 

The cheers of his comrades are drowned out with the call for another round, and you leave it to your help to tend and to fawn over the rest of the men as you pull Osferth away.  

The oak door shuts out the noise and you look back to see his lithe frame leaning against the wood. In the intimacy of the room, you could smell the musk of the battle won, lining his angular features, his sandy locks disheveled with the uneven new growth of his old religious style. 

You reach for his hand, pulling him towards the bed, and he follows, towering over you, watching as your hands pull at the collar of his alb; he helps you peel it off, showing the pale planes of his chest beneath.

Even as he sinks to sit on the edge of the bed, he is still so very tall, and you blush, turning to grab a clean cloth from the basin, coming back to touch his jaw and to wipe away the ash smeared across his face. 

Osferth hums with your touch, leaning into your palm, and your blood thickens beneath your skin with his close proximity. Your eyes watch the rise and fall of his chest as he tries to steady his breath, and when he finally looks back up at you, you can see the lustful black swallowing the cerulean coloring of his eyes; they wash over you, drinking in your curves, and a bashfulness stricken your bones with his heady gaze.  

You take a step back to return the cloth, and only then does Osferth dare to push up, towering over you. His large palm catches your elbow and pulls you back towards him. “May I–?” but his question stops on his tongue, your hands already moving to pull him close enough to kiss. 

The taste of ale is present, but not overwhelming, his mouth pleasantly warm and his lips soft to press against your own. You melt against his chest and a soft sigh escapes, allowing his clever tongue to curl, to deepen the kiss and find its tandem with your own. His large hands move, respectful but appreciative of the tactile nature of your figure, touching your soft waist, moving to settle on your hips with a firm hold as he continues to draw the very breath from your lungs. 

You break away for air, for who knew he would kiss like a man starved? You see his lips still pursed, kiss swollen, the hue now darkening to a red stain on his cheeks and on the tip of his nose. 

“Forgive me,” he says after a movement with the same sweet diction you were always fond of, and he grows shy with his admittance, “but I have thought often of how you would taste and I now find myself insatiable.” 

You close the space between, finding his mouth once again, and his palms roam, his stance staggering as he follows the pull backwards, until you both fall onto the bed. 

His arms cage you against the mattress and he dips forward for another desperate kiss; your blouse laces are pulled to allow the natural slope of your breasts, your hands rutting your skirt up so he can slot his slender waist between your plush thighs. You softly whine with the pressure of his length against your clothed cunt, and his deft fingers travel to remove your smallclothes. Osferth then pulls back with a pause, a moment of admiration with the enticing way of how you now spill from your clothes. 

You burn under his gaze, your fingers bold to loosen his ties, his length straining against the crotch of his slacks, now flush and upright towards his bellybutton. Osferth melts against you with his soft groan, your own soft sighs echoing with the delicious pressure of him against your slick folds. Your fingertips move to dig into the divots of his lower back, pulling him to rock against you with the genial glide of the underside of his cock against your warmth, rubbing your clit, and a pleasure begins to lick at the base of your spine. 

He is lost in the rhythm, the now crimson flush spilling from his face to his neck to his chest, panting and trembling against you; his eyes search for your face and you pull him in for another quick kiss. Osferth groans into your mouth, breaking away to return his attention to the tops of your breasts, his hot mouth leaving blooms of color as he suckles and savors every bit of your skin now showing. 

You squirm beneath him, your soft moans spurring his motion, and his brows knit with a focus on your pleasure, your sweet sounds, but it shatters so easily with your breathless whisper of his name that tickles his ear, “Oh, Osferth…” 

With a strangled cry, you can feel the hot pulse of his spend between your thighs. You tighten them around his waist, supporting him as he lowers his weight on top of you. “Forgive me,” he is panting against your flush skin, the ripple of gooseflesh in the wake of his exhale. “Forgive me, my lady, it is no excuse but I…have been thinking about this, about you, for so long…” 

You press a finger against his lips and Osferth is quick to kiss the pad. You smile with his gesture, your hand moving to curl the back of his neck, bringing his lips to your own for another sweet kiss. “Would you like to make it up to me?” Your voice is sultry, velvet, and you can feel the twitch of his cock in response.

His eyes are soulful and wide, with the returning blue a stark contrast to the flush of red that remains on his face. “More than anything,” he vows, “I will spend all night right here, if you wish it.” 

And you kiss him again, unable to help the giggle that spills from your lips. “I wish it,” you whisper and you can feel his smile in return. 

Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @black-dread @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch

[argisthebulwark]

"Would You Kill For Me?"

summary: asking your partner the most intimate question of all - would he kill for you? gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Cicero, Teldryn, Vilkas, Miraak, Brynjolf, Erandur, Farkas, Mercer warnings: obv allusions to violence, nothing explicit. alcohol.

"I already have."

Cicero giggles, slapping a gloved hand on your shoulder. "Of course I've killed for you! Silly Listener, asking your poor, beloved Cicero such a question." Rationally, you know any other person would be upset - but it's endearing. You know deep in your heart that Cicero would slice through anyone who even looks at you wrong without a second thought. "Would you kill for your Keeper?" He asks coyly, sliding closer. It's too difficult to resist his charm. You find yourself grinning, remembering the many threats of bodily harm you've inflicted upon any initiate who breathes a negative word about your beloved. "Any day, my love."

"Why? You offering to return the favor?" Teldryn smirks before taking a drink from his mug. The tip of his boot knocks into yours under the table, earning a nice flush in your cheeks. You've clearly had too much to drink but Teldryn looked so pretty in the low tavern lighting, the alcohol loosening your tongue enough to voice all those silly little questions you've had floating around. "You have?" You urge, leaning so far over the table you're practically laying on it. Teldryn grins, bowing toward you and his voice conspiratorially low when he speaks again. "Of course - why do you think all that chatter about you being an untrustworthy outlander stopped so quickly?" "I thought my good deeds were enough to earn their trust." You pout, thinking back on the sudden shift in opinion. "Oh yes, yes - that too, but a few well placed jabs never hurt."

"I'd die for you."

"Isn't that better? To die for you?" Vilkas laments, lips stained red from his third glass of wine. The question had hardly been in your mind before it slipped out - late nights toasting to the Companions often left you tipsy. "I'd rather you lived for me." You hiccup, leaning closer to him. Those dark eyes still track every little move you make despite the intoxication. "A happy, long live if I have any say in the matter." He lapses into silence but you know his mind is still chewing on that question. Swirling the wine in his glass Vilkas reclines into his seat, staring earnestly into the low burning fire. "Vilkas, it was just a silly question." Those eyes cut straight through you, blinking away whatever retort he'd come up with before simply placing a kiss to the back of your hand.

"I would die in your stead." Miraak's hands cup your face, each word soaked in adoration. "I've died in your arms once, my Dragon. I would gladly do it once more." You will never truly grow accustomed to this version of him - stripped of the malice he'd lived with for so long, he's become devoted to you. Too many pupils gaze lovingly into your eyes, the crooked bridge of his nose bumping yours. You've never known a love like his and doubt that many ever will - he's had lifetimes to yearn, to want something more and hone a vocabulary that often leaves you a flustered mess. "You're far too serious." He grins at those words, the ones you've said dozens of times. "I would tear the world to shreds for you, my love. I would tear myself to shreds."

"I cant."

Brynjolf's words carry a silent apology - of course you knew his answer but watching him squirm can be fun. "I'm sorry, love - I know it isn't the romantic answer but I don't think I could bring myself to do somethin' like that. Not after -" "Bryn." Grasping his face, your heart still skips a beat when those green eyes find yours. "I know that blade you wear is simply decorative, I would never ask you to draw it." "It is not merely decorative, it serves other purposes." "Such as?" "It's fairly useful for intimidation. And breaking windows." He huffs, pressing a kiss to your palm. He pauses for a moment, eyes falling closed and nose nuzzled into your hand. "Truth be told, I like to say that I wouldn't - hell, I tell myself I won't take a life every day, but after Mercer takin' you away from me, I'm not so sure."

"I swore against such actions, my love." Erandur murmurs, forehead pressed to yours. "Lady Mara may have forgiven my past transgressions but I took an oath to bring no further harm to her people." "Of course, dearest." You smile, a bit entertained by how easy it is to get him talking. Erandur's fingers play across yours, rings bumping into your knuckles. "Would you kill for me?" You're a bit shocked by his question, even further surprised by the little hint of hope buried in his words. "Without second thought." It's the easiest answer in the world. Of course you would kill for Erandur - you would fight through hordes of enemies to ensure his safety. "I can only pray that your Lady's forgiving attitude extends to me."

"Of course."

Brows raised, Farkas assesses you across the training yard. He sucks in a deep breath, wiping the sweat from his brow before heaving the giant practice sword over one shoulder. "Any day." He says easily, a quick kiss pressed to your brow. No matter how long you're together this sight still seems too good to be true - muscles glistening in the midday sun, his hair tied back and an easy smile on his face. "Why, you need someone killed?" "Not at the moment." "If one of those recruits gets too mouthy, you come find me." He grins before turning his attention back to a battered training dummy. You notice after that question that his sword strikes just a bit harder, hammering that point home.

"No." Mercer lies, kicking his feet atop the desk. You mirror his position - boots on the desk and arms crossed, though the scowl is hard to mimic. He's perfected it. "Yes you would." You counter, fighting back a laugh when he rolls his eyes. That little divot appears between his brows - it's cute. You'd tell him but fear being assigned some awful job across the continent. "Why bother asking?" He grumbles, shoving a stack of paperwork toward you. "If you insist on hanging around asking inane questions, least you could do is make yourself useful." "I'd kill for you." "Lovely." He mutters, though you note a bit of color rising in his cheeks when he turns to some parchment he'd pointedly ignored all evening. It's too easy to get under his skin.

[fangsyouverymuch01]

Just friends

Summery: The hero of Baldur's Gate greatest battlefield is now drunkenly returning home from the tavern because your connection to the arcane world is dying, and it has been for months. Adding to it, is your unresolved feelings from a certain vampire you've sworn to forget.

Rolan and Lia, aiding you in your search for answers, are determined to divert your mind from troubles. Unbeknownst to you, this night is destined to change everything.

Pairing: Astarion x f!tav, Astarion x f!reader , Rolan x reader

Warnings: Fightning, sort of depressed reader, drinking, Astarion being a prick

Tags: Slow burn, friends to lovers

Note: This took way too long to write, and tbh I'm scared to publish it. Had a hard time coming up with a plot that would make sense (and yes this is the underdark/menzoberranzan fic)

Nevertheless, hope you enjoy and stick around for more parts in the future.

In front of you is an array of literature varying from books, scrolls and notes. Just like yesterday and the day before that. Picking up yet another scroll and unrolling it, the words painted on it turns into a blur. Arcane symbols dance before your eyes but the contents of the page escapes your fleeting mind and it drifts to past memories of Moonrise Towers. 

“...And all I had to do was not fall for you… Which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart,” he pauses, searching for the right words to continue. “You’re incredible. You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”

Stunned by his confession, your own voice momentarily failed you. The Elf spoke again, revealing a truth that cut through your heart like a blade.“Being close to someone - any kind of intimacy - was something I performed to lure people back for him.”

Astarion further explains his train of thought, you could see his mouth moving but not a word reached your ears. Sadness, confusion, happiness and anger; the emotions mixed and collided within you. Was your relationship built on lies? Had you somehow forced him to sleep with you? It was all so much.

“I don't know how else to be with someone, No matter how much I’d like to.” 

You’d decided to remain just friends, and it had felt like the right choice. Liberating even, seeing Asterion grow into a person no longer controlled by fear. But now, you wallowed in selfishness due to your aching heart. Now it is the thing that keeps you from focusing on the task ahead. Now it is the thing keeping your from nights embrace, your body twisting and turning when the moon shone through the curtains. Now it is the numb feeling whilst faceless men sing your name between your legs. The decision, made with the intention of preserving your friendship, now felt as liberating as a chain strung to your neck. 

Moreover, you haven't seen him in weeks -  or could it be months? The passage of time blurs and certainly eludes you. Yet, effortlessly, his image flits into your head - bouncy white curls, piercing crimson eyes, a sharp nose and that godsdamn smirk. Interchangeable in your memory - forever young - he remains a vivid specter that refuses to fade.

Breaking your train of thought, there is a tap on your shoulder, a figure crouching over you to peer at the discoveries revealed in the scroll. 

“Found anything of interest?” Rolan spoke, eyeing you from above. 

“Ehm no, just lost in thought.” you replied, attempting to shake off the lingering memories that had clouded your focus. 

“Well, neither have I.” he puffed out a breath of air, “My best bet is to return to the House of Grief for more answers so I could study the mirror you spoke off.”

“I’m not sure they’d warmly welcome me back after my latest visit.” you let out a strained chuckle, struck by a memory of  Viconas lifeless person as Shadowhearts struck the merciless final blow to her chest. 

Since your time in the House of Grief, your bond with magic has slowly dwindled. The once-familiar currents of arcane energy now seemed distant. Magic had been an extension of you, and its absence felt akin to a cruel mutilation and you were desperate to feel magic coursing through your veins once more. Your desperation had led you here - Sorcerous Sundries, for any clue or hope that you might become whole again.

"Anyhow, have you heard from Gale yet?" you inquired, seeking a distraction from your thoughts.

"He deemed Waterdeep fruitless in our search and should be arranging plans to continue in Neverwinter as we speak," Rolan replied, his eyes pacing the floorboards beneath him. "Maybe we should pause our search for today; the sun is setting, and you, my friend, are in desperate need of a drink." His suggestion hung in the air, a respite offered amidst your futile search for answers. 

You had no energy to protest, you truly wanted to go, you really did. But what you needed was to dive into the mountains of untouched texts sprawled in a ring in front of you. 

Lazily tracing the arcane figures, partly lost in deliberation you answer “Thank you for the offer but I shouldn’t, you go and I’ll stay here.”

"Come on, just one drink. It won't solve all our problems, but it might provide a momentary escape," he insisted, recognizing the heaviness in your gaze. "We can resume our search tomorrow with clearer minds. Trust me, it's what you need right now."

A defeated sign escapes your lips “Fine, one drink but no more than that”. 

Laying a victorious touch on your arm, the tiefling grinned, "That's the spirit!" Helping you up, he proceeded, "The Elf Song in an hour; I need to run something by Lia first." With determined steps, he led you away from your search for answers in the pile of books. 

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

The warm light emanating from the Elfsongs' painted windows cast a glow over your figure as you linger outside the bustling door. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses weave together, that should beckon you inside but it doesn't. Nothing seems to pique your interest these days. The hero of Baldurs Gate was but a mere shell of what bards sang about and the thought of being recognized, of eyes filled with anticipation that lingers for extraordinary tales to be told - you can't stand it. 

Adding to your dread, are the invasive questions about your companions - about Astarion. Head spinning and lips slowly drooping to frown, you instinctively recoil from the entrance. 

With a heavy sigh, you reach into your bag, fingers wrapping around a familiar flask. The cool metal brings a small comfort, and in contrast your throat burns as you gulp down liquid courage. 

Stealing yourself against the prying questions and the weight of everyone's expectations, you push open the tavern door, stepping into the warm embrace of the tavern, where Rolan and Lia await, immersed in their own stories. You offer them a weak smile as you approach the booth. 

“There you are, I almost thought you wouldn’t show but I’m glad to be proven wrong.”

“Come, sit!” Lia urges, patting the cushion beside her. As you settle into the booth, you can't help but notice the curious eyes around you.

Gods no.

Instinctively, your finger twirls and you mutter a spell to cast disguise self, only to be reminded of your uselessness. A tinge of frustration tightens your jaw, quickly masked by a forced smile. You divert your gaze, hoping to shield yourself from the unwanted attention. 

“What’s your poison for today?” Lia asks, a mischievous smile spreading from cheek to cheek. Her breath smells of alcohol; Lia and Rolan had clearly begun drinking ahead of you. Not that you could judge them, having indulged in your trusted flask outside the tavern minutes ago. 

“I’ll have what you’ve had.”

“Coming right up!” Lia responds, her enthusiasm undeterred. She signals the bartender, and soon enough, a trio of drinks arrives at the table. 

Rolan is the first to grip the glass and then clear his throat, “To us,  and Gale - and hope that tomorrow will give us more answers.” 

One drink turns into four drinks, and at some point, you lose track of both time and the units you’ve allowed to warm your gullet. Honestly it’s quite funny, why did you worry so much before? Silly you with silly thoughts! Almost as silly as Rolan’s eyes focused on your neck. He looks funny with his eyebrows furrowed, and a chuckle escapes your lips at the sight.

“You’ll get wrinkles if you keep staring at my neck like that, Rolan.”

“I did no such thing!” he retorts as a flush creeps up on the tiefling's cheeks.

Lia heartily laughs, swaying a bit, and offers her hand to you. “Join me for a dance, will you?” The music in the tavern entices you and despite the blurred lines of inebriation, you take Lia’s hand and step into the lively dance floor.

Lia practically dragged you through the crowded tavern, Rolan following closely behind to his best abilities. The dance floor was filled with twirling bodies, in rhythm with the bard's melodies. Pulling your arm up, Lia spins and chuckles as you reach the bards scene. Rolan, with a playful twinkle in his eyes, reaches the two of you and joins the dance. The world seems to sway with the music and for the first time in a long time, a genuine smile spreads across your face. 

As you moved to the music, you sensed Rolans’ proximity. His hand found its way to the small of your back, guiding you through the intricate steps of the dance. The unfamiliar warmth of his hand against your skin was a stark contrast to the memories of Asterion's cool touch.The bard's music kept on playing, the tunes bouncing off the plucked strings, the odor of alcohol on his breath, and hot uncontrolled bodies clashing against your person -  Gods, its too much. You can't stay a minute longer or you might suffocate. 

“I need some air,” you mumble and offer an apologizing smile, excusing yourself as the dance continues without you. 

“Wait!” a muffled voice calls out, but you pretend that you’re too far off to hear. 

Faces blurred into a sea of strangers, and the lively chatter became an indistinguishable hum. Your breath quickened, and you couldn't shake the feeling of faceless men and women judging your every step. Because now they know - they know that you were no hero of Baldur's gate, just another drunk who couldn’t even cast a simple spell to disguise herself from embarrassment. 

Pathetic. 

As you stepped out into the cool night air, the contrast between the warmth of the dance floor and the refreshing chill outside sent shivers down your spine. Crouching down you plant your hands to your knees, trying to catch your breath and ease your mind. 

A moment later, the tavern door swung open abruptly, an curly haired man emerging as he wrestled with another almost feral one. The creature thrashed and snarled at the curly haired man as he strained against the frenzied movements. Caught off guard, you stood up in the shadow beside the entrance, your breath hitching again as you observed the scene unfold. 

Seizing the opportunity to make sense of the situation, you assertively approached the struggling men, dagger clutched and ready strike if needed. The curly-haired man's eyes flickered toward you and your gaze met his.

Deep crimson eyes, ivory curls, and are those fangs?

No, that can't be.

"Astarion?" you uttered, your voice a hushed whisper that sliced through the night, your eyes fixed on the elf's face in utter disbelief. There he was, right before you.

Astarion's attention shifted to the rabid man, deftly maneuvering to subdue him. He restrained the creature, halting any further erratic movements. With precision, Astarion extracted a flask from his belt, causing the man's struggles to intensify. Despite the increased resistance, Astarion's actions remained calculated and exact.

With the man momentarily contained, Astarion secured him in place with one hand, the other retrieving a flask. He raised it to his mouth, a subtle glint of fangs emerging as he skillfully removed the lid with his teeth.

"Hello," the rogue spoke, pausing to inject the man with the unfamiliar substance. The feral struggles ceased, and Astarion continued, his tone now imbued with a nuanced warmth, "darling."

Stunned you remain constrained where you stood. This is real, Astarion is here after days, weeks and months of him plaguing your thoughts every waking moment. Your mind races, trying to process the surreal present. A rumble in your stomach seems to pull you out of your trance, nausea spreading in your throat. 

Keep. it. down. 

“Care to help or do you intend to stand there and just gawk?”

Once more the door beside you swung open, a tall figure emerges with swaying strands of long hair catching in the wind, intent on reaching the paralyzed man and Astarion. 

“We said no killing, remember?" he spoke.

"Oh, my apologies, brother. I must have forgotten our little agreement when I was wrestling the feral dog whilst you were nowhere to be seen.”

At that moment, you recognized the man - Leon. His expression remained stoic, though a flicker of irritation crossed his features. "Your theatrics aren't amusing, Astarion. We need to keep them alive; this is not the time nor place for you to display your unique methods."

You finally had a surge to act, fumbled in your bag and searched for any potion or scroll that could help. A glass vial of what seemed to be a healing potion met your fingers, and you pulled it out, unscrewing the cap with shaky hands. 

“Here take this,” you called out, holding the potion aloft, offering a forced smile amidst the charged atmosphere. 

As you step forward to give Leon the vial, Rolan stumbles out the tavern door, tipsy and eyes searching for something in the night. You’d completely forgotten about Rolan and Lia, they’d probably been worried since you hadn’t returned. His eyes widened at the chaotic scene before him, and he instinctively moved to stand in front of you, a protective gesture. His hand flickered with a small flame, ready to defend against any potential threat. 

"What in the hells is happening here?" Rolan demanded, a mix of concern and bewilderment in his voice.

Before anyone could respond, Astarion let out a small laugh, one that you couldn't seem to decipher the meaning of. What was so funny? Rolan certainly wasn't amused, and the flame rose higher from his palm at the elf's dismissive laugh. Leon's gaze moved to Rolan, his hands raising in a gesture of peace, showing that they were no threat to him or you.

“Got yourself a knight in shining armor, have you now?” Astarion remarked, a sly grin playing on his lips.

Knight in shining armor? The words stung, and a spark of anger flared within you. Rolan didn't need to save you nor did you want him to. Opening your mouth to retort, Leon interjected, his voice firm and commanding.

“Astarion, don’t,” Leon snapped at him, a stern edge to his voice. He then looked directly at you, his expression softening. “We don’t want to fight you. Let's find a quieter spot to talk, and we’ll explain everything.”

You nodded, the tension in the air making it clear that this was not the time for confrontation. Rolan, still wary but trusting your judgment, lowered the flame in his palm. With cautious glances exchanged between the group, you began to move away from the chaotic scene, guided by Leon's lead to a more secluded spot where answers awaited. 

[moonselune]

Mizora x Reader | Flirt.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The Elfson Tavern is buzzing with life tonight, and you find yourself at the center of it all, a drink in hand, surrounded by a crowd of new friends and curious faces. The evening had unfolded with easy laughter and a touch of reckless abandon; it was one of those nights where your worries felt like faraway troubles, and the warmth of the tavern seemed to melt away any need for caution or restraint.

And yet, it seems Mizora has other plans.

She had, you thought, been nothing more than a passing pleasure—someone you’d enjoyed in the way you’d enjoy a rare wine, something heady and intense but ultimately fleeting. She’d seemed satisfied enough by that arrangement too, always aloof, quick with a coy smile or a snide remark before vanishing into thin air. But tonight, there’s an energy about her that surprises you.

She’s watching from the shadows at first, lingering by the door with a glare sharper than any blade, and when she finally approaches, it’s with a determined stride and eyes fixed only on you. Her heels click sharply on the wooden floor, the sound slicing through the laughter and chatter. You assume she's put on her human guise for everyone else to see, her devilish form reserved only for you.

“Having fun, are we?” Her voice is a low, sardonic murmur as she stands before you, gaze icy and arms crossed.

"Always," you reply, flashing her a casual smile as you lean back in your seat, undeterred by her obvious irritation. “Didn’t realize you were keeping tabs.”

Her eyes narrow, and there’s a glint of something—resentment, maybe jealousy?—beneath her icy exterior. She scoffs, though it doesn’t quite mask the tension in her posture.

“There is a city to save, or did you forget?” she says, voice laced with disdain.

You shrug, smirking slightly. “Right now, there’s only one thing I’m interested in saving.” You raise your glass with a faint toast, letting your eyes sweep the now-quiet tavern. "Unless, you are jealous, Mizora?”

She clenches her jaw, her grip tightening around her arms. And then, with a snap of her fingers, the tavern shifts. Every patron, every distant laugh, every clinking glass, vanishes in an instant, leaving only the two of you surrounded by silence and the ghostly remnants of revelry.

“Much better,” she remarks, though her voice trembles slightly with suppressed anger. “Now, go back upstairs and rest, quick-quick. We can’t have our hero too worn out, can we? Wyll's only a pup, after all, we cannot solely rely on him and my benevolent generosity.”

But you merely raise an eyebrow, leaning in with a sly smile. You can see her wings twitching to wrap around you.

“Who’s giving the orders here, Mizora?” you say, voice soft, challenging. “I thought you came for a good time, not to ruin one.”

She stiffens, clearly unaccustomed to being defied. Her eyes flash, that burning ember of control she clings to so tightly flickering, just for a moment, as she tries to gather herself. But you’ve already closed the distance between you, your voice a low, provocative murmur as you run a finger across her sharp jawline, to then brush your hand against her cheek.

Then, with a surge of boldness, you pull her into a deep kiss. It’s a searing, fervent touch, catching her completely off-guard. For a heartbeat, she goes utterly still, hands clinging to your shoulders as if she’s torn between pulling away and giving in. But when you pull back, her face is flushed, her eyes wide and her confidence faltering.

“M-Mind yourself,” she stammers, attempting to recover. “I didn’t come here for this.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head, a soft chuckle escaping as you gaze at her, meeting her flushed cheeks with a faint smile. “Then why did you come, Mizora?”

A flicker of doubt crosses her face, and she averts her gaze, struggling to maintain her usual composure. There’s something vulnerable, almost unguarded, in the way she grips your arms, her claws sinking into your sleeves as if grounding herself.

“You’re so easy, mortal” she mutters, though her voice betrays her. “Just because I humor you once or twice, you think—”

“Don’t lie to yourself, Mizora.” You reach up, tucking a stray lock of her crimson hair behind her ear. “You’re here because you want this.”

Mizora’s eyes glint with a dangerous flicker, her attempt to remain aloof slipping as you brush your fingers along her jaw, pulling her back into your hold. Her composure begins to fracture, and as your lips meet hers again, she melts, her control unraveling beneath the kiss. Her sharp nails press into your arms, her attempts at resistance weakening as she gives way to the passion simmering between you.

As your mouth trails from her lips to her throat, you can feel her breath catch, her frame tense against you before she lets out a quiet, unbidden moan. And just when you feel her giving in entirely, you pull away, stepping back with a smirk as you take in her disheveled appearance: flushed cheeks, parted lips, a look of intense frustration and want in her gaze. Her composed, icy exterior is now thoroughly cracked, her frustration evident in the way she clenches her hands into fists, biting back a snarl.

"Why did you stop?" she snaps, her voice edged with annoyance as she glares at you, her lips still tinged with that reluctant, almost guilty pleasure. “Getting cold feet, mortal?”

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you give her an unimpressed once-over.

“If you want more, come here,” you reply calmly, challenging her with an unwavering stare, arms folded as you lean against the bar. Mizora’s jaw tightens at your demand, her wings flaring slightly as she wrestles with the audacity of being ordered around. Her pride wars with her desire, and the anger in her gaze falters, replaced by something darker, almost needy.

For a moment, she seems on the verge of refusing, her lips pressed into a defiant line. But that inner struggle lasts only a moment before she lets out a begrudging, irate huff, taking a step toward you, heels clicking as she closes the distance with a sharp glare.

“You’re insufferable,” she mutters, but there’s no venom in her tone, only the reluctant vulnerability she’s trying so hard to hide.

“Good,” you murmur, pulling her close with a firm grip, letting your fingers slide along the curve of her waist. You press her back against the bar, savoring the way her breath hitches, her usual elegance now a flickering ember in the intensity of the moment. The confidence she usually holds so firmly has slipped, replaced by a begrudging surrender, her sharp nails finding purchase against your back as she lets out a low, breathless sigh.

Your hands explore her with the same deliberate pace, fingertips trailing over the delicate points of her wings, tracing the sharp curve of her horns as she arches into your touch. Her protests melt into the air as your lips find her throat again, tasting the warmth of her skin, drawing out the kind of sigh that she’d likely deny to anyone else. She shifts under you, caught between irritation and desire, muttering insults in a breathy, strained voice as her control continues to slip, each word softened by the needy edge to her tone.

“You think you’re so clever,” she gasps, her voice a defiant whisper, fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer, her wings twitching in a last attempt at resistance. "An audacious, insolent—”

But her words dissolve into a moan as your hands move lower, each touch calculated to keep her at the edge, to tease her into letting go of the last shred of her dignity. Her usual snide remarks falter, her scathing tone softening as you press her against the bar, bringing her to the edge of her restraint, making her feel every moment of her own desire. And when you finally close the distance between you, Mizora is forced to admit to herself that, for all her pride, she wants this more than she’d ever admit aloud.

For all her power, her deadly confidence, Mizora shudders beneath you, gasping as you press her into the bar, showing her exactly who’s in control. The air between you is charged, and she has no choice but to submit, even if only for a moment. With each touch, each kiss, you leave her less composed, less certain, and when she finally gasps your name, it’s almost a plea, her voice heavy with need.

You smile against her lips, your own satisfaction mingling with the thrill of seeing her pride reduced to this—reduced to the very pleasure she’s been so determined to deny. And as you pull back to meet her eyes, the flicker of surrender in her gaze is unmistakable. For tonight, at least, she is no longer the proud haughty cambion, but a quivering mess beneath you. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She's here ladies, gaydies and theydies; just a little snippet to keep y'all fed. And I had a Mizora brainworm that was just taking over my life. Hope you guys enjoyed it and I may do more of these spontaneously but I will not be taking any Mizora requests until the inbox is open - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[a-killer-obsession]

Wavelengths [Killer x Reader, Heat x Reader]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns. THIS IS A DEAD DOVE FIC PLEASE READ A03 TAGS BEFORE STARTING!!

Masterlist || AO3

Chapter 1 - Yin

Kid searches for a weapon, and finds something unexpected.

WC: ~6k

A/N: first of all, please read the tags on A03 before starting!!! There are some very very heavy themes in this fic! Second: this used to be a third person POV, so the first few chapters are low key riddled with typos/grammar issues. I am aware of them and I have a fix ready to go, but due to ny health I haven't had a chance to update on a pc. Please just ignore the mistakes thank you, you should only find them in the first 3 or 4 chapters I think?

Update: 9/9/24 - first 2 chapters have been corrected, so it should be more readable now!

To say the least, Kid was fucking pissed off. He'd spent months gathering intel on a weapon, tracking its movements between marine bases, researching each new location it was held at and following close behind so he could take it for himself, only for it to be moved again whenever he got close. Months of chasing, months of disappointment after disappointment as the weapon moved just as he was about to catch up to it. All his intel told him the weapon should be here. He punched the concrete wall of the marine armory with his metal arm in anger, blasting straight through the cement. His men had been swift in making their way through the marine base, but the armory held nothing but standard issue guns and blades, along with a few crates of cannon balls.

To top it all off, after months of the weapon being moved between smaller, easy to invade marine bases, this one was massive, covering the entire spring island. The base housed several thousand marines easily, along with hundreds more in training. It was a hub for all of the surrounding islands, heavily fortified and well defended, the Kid Pirates had already been here for hours to make it this far. His crew was strong, as to be expected when the captain and first mate are both supernovas, but fighting that many marines was tedious. He usually wouldn't have bothered with making trouble for himself here, the risk for a base this size was never usually worth the reward, but the weapon was supposed to be here. He had finally caught up to it, and he was more than sick of chasing his tail trying to catch it. He was going to get the weapon today, no more cat and mouse. At this rate though it would take all day to clear out the marines and search the rest of the island, and there was no guarantee it would even be here. The longer they spent here, the more he felt like his intel was wrong. He made a mental note to return to the last island and kill the weasel who sent him here, it was starting to feel like a trap.

He'd first heard of the weapon a little over four months ago, overheard in a conversation between a small, not-worth-the-effort-to-fuck-with crew in a shitty tavern on some sad shitty winter island the log pose had forced them to stay on for five miserable days. A weapon with ties to Vegapunk, capable of swift, targeted attacks, at both long and short range. But at the same time, also capable of large scale, mass casualty attacks that could clear hundreds of men in one swift motion. It immediately piqued his interest - a strong, versatile weapon to further his goal of becoming King of the Pirates. It tickled his curiosity, he wanted to know what made this weapon tick, maybe even pull it apart to figure out the mechanisms and duplicate it.

He didn't know much else about the weapon, except that it used something to do with shockwaves. Or vibrations, or something. The intel was unclear. All he knew was he wanted the weapon, and tracking it had become somewhat of an unhealthy obsession. If anyone on the crew had anything to say about the matter, he couldn't care less. He had to have the weapon, he deserved it. And it was supposed to be here. Other than that, all he knew was the weapon's codename: Project Yin.

He let out an angry growl as he turned to leave the armory. It had to be on this base somewhere, he just had to figure out where. Followed closely by his first mate, Killer, he moved back through the crowds of marines that continued to fight his men. He barely took notice of them as he moved to the next building in the complex, letting Killer cut down anyone who dared to approach and knocking down marines that stood in his way with his metal arm like they were nothing more than annoying bugs.

The next building they came to seemed to be some sort of main office complex. Maybe the weapon was held in the safe in the Commodore's office or some shit, at the very least he could find the cunt and torture the information out of him. The way this day was going, he was itching for some good old fashion torturing. He broke down the door with a heavy kick, letting it slam to the floor and walking over it, his heavy boots leaving bloodied footprints on the fallen door, which creaked as it threatened to break under his weight.

The first room he entered seemed like some sort of basic office setup, with desks arranged around the space in neat formations, papers and file folders and various stationary items arranged in tidy, disciplined setups over most of the desks. The walls of the room were lined with filing cabinets and bookcases, broken up by the occasional pot plant or commercial sized printer. The back wall had a sturdy looking door with a keypad-style lock. Experience told Kid that behind it was likely either something valuable, or some sort of holding cells. Either way he would find out.

He used his devil fruit to rip the heavy metal door from its hinges, directing it away from him and breaking apart several desks as it crashed through them. He stomped through the room, followed by Killer who's light footsteps were barely audible. To Kid's annoyance, it was in fact a holding cell. He let out a huff, and turned to continue his search elsewhere, pulling drawers randomly from desks and emptying their contents on the floor, when his first mate pressed a hand to his chest, stopping him.

“Someone is in there,” he told Kid, his striped mask turned in the direction of the holding cell, “I'm sensing a strong haki, and someone else as well. Strong one might be the commodore”

Kid grumbled but took heed, he knew Killer's instincts were always reliable, and his observation haki was exceptional, it was worth a quick look at least. He turned back to the cells with an annoyed sigh and made his way inside.

At first glance it was empty. A cold, dark cell with typical iron bars to his left, and a plain looking desk, for assumedly whoever was keeping watch over the prisoners, to his right. A small light hung above the desk, barely lighting the space with an orange glow. Killer strolled past him to the desk, moving behind it with swift movements and bending down. Kid heard a yelp as Killer pulled up a man by his uniform collar who'd been hiding behind the desk. ‘Tsk, fucking coward’

He had to laugh, looking at the man. Judging by his cowardice he had assumed the marine was some poor desk jockey grunt, out of his depth against actual enemies, but to Kid's amusement the coward's uniform revealed him to be the Commodore himself. The Captain gave Killer a sly smirk and a nod, and Killer quickly pinned the pathetic marine to the wall, the curved blade from one of his wrist gauntlets pressed to the man's throat. A thin line of blood dribbled down his neck as the blade pressed into it, breaking the skin with precise pressure to add to the intimidation.

Kid approached the man with his usual cocky demeanor, his smirk quickly replaced by a frown as he remembered why he was here. Fed up with the runaround, he wanted answers now.

“Where's the weapon,” he growled, “we know it's here, tell me where it is and we'll make your death quick. Hold off on the info, or lie to us, and my friend here will peel your skin inch by inch and feed it to you till you're nothing but bare muscle, then he'll really start to have fun with you”

“Don't you fucking dare,” a cold voice came from the dark cell behind him.

Kid's head whipped in its direction, rage bubbling quickly as he absorbed the clear disrespect. Without hesitation he ripped open the bars of the cell with his devil fruit, racing inside and grabbing the human within with his metal arm. He closed his fist around their neck, holding them up by it and letting them dangle.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” He spat at the thin, tall woman in his grasp who stared back at him with cold eyes.

“I said, don't you fucking dare,” you replied with little emotion, “are you deaf or just fucking stupid?”

He slammed you against the back wall of the cell, holding you high against it so your feet dangled well above the floor. The faint light from above the desk revealed your messy purple hair that fell to your waist, your unhealthy complexion, scattered with small lilac freckles, and your dirty, torn, marine uniform that hung off your thin frame. Your hands hung limply in front of you, bound by seastone cuffs, the style that had no chain between each cuff. Under them were raw wounds from the constant rubbing of stone against skin.

“And why the fuck would I listen to a slut like you?” He laughed, tightening his grip on your neck, careful to leave just enough space for you to reply.

“Because that's my kill,” you replied nonchalantly, wheezing slightly, but acting like the metal hand around your neck was nothing more than a pretty necklace. You'd had worse. “I'm going to kill that rapist bastard myself, let me out of these cuffs or I'll fucking kill you too”

Kid didn't think for one second that this lanky, feeble looking woman in front of him could even scratch him, but his brow raised in curiosity, his metal hand loosening its grip on your neck ever so slightly

“This pig raped you?” He asked, his flesh hand pointing at the commodore. Kid was a murderer, the worst kind of blood thirsty savage, but he didn't fuck with rapists. That was sick, even by his standards.

“Every fucking chance he got,” your voice was laced with absolute venom. His hold on your neck retracted immediately as his rage quickly redirected back to the commodore, and he let you fall back to your feet. You wobbled a little as you regained your balance, but didn't even attempt to rub at the bruises that were quickly forming on your neck, your piercing eyes locked on to the marine who had caused you years of suffering.

“Let me out of these cuffs,” you asked flatly. Usually Kid wouldn't tolerate being ordered around, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. How the fuck could this skinny bitch possibly kill a commodore? He'd probably kill you first, but at least it'd be entertaining.

“Please don't,” the commodore begged, “please just kill me yourself, please for the love of the everything, please, I'll tell you everything I know, don't let her near me”

Now Kid was really curious, and he shared a look with Killer. His striped mask hid his expression, but he knew his friend well enough to know that under the mask was likely an intrigue that matched his own.

“The keys are in the desk drawer,” you stated with a strained voice, trying to move the situation along. You were eager to get started and it seemed like these pirates were going to give you what you wanted. You recognized them from their wanted posters, though given their reputation you were surprised at the captain's reaction to your rape allegations.

Kid flashed another brief look at you, then strolled to the desk, pulling open the drawer and retrieving a set of keys. He returned to you and opened the cuffs, his eyes scanning you carefully, while your eyes never left the commodore, who was shaking in fear now.

Before the cuffs even hit the ground, your eyes changed from [e/c] to a strange, unnatural pink-gray. There was no longer a defined iris or pupils to your eyes, only pink-grey sclera. A quiet trickling sound came as the commodore pissed himself, and Kid laughed in amusement. What the fuck was this skinny little girl going to do to him? He gave Killer a nod as he walked out of the cell, and Killer grabbed the marine by the back of his neck. He dragged the man to the cell, throwing him in front of you and standing back with Kid to observe with equal curiosity.

The marine scampered backwards, pressing his back against the wall as you smiled cruelly at him, twitching ever so slightly. You raised a hand slowly, leveling it in front of you like you were reaching out. The commodore spilled out a slew of apologies, begging for forgiveness and his life. It occured to Kid suddenly that you might actually kill him.

“Wait, fuck, don't kill him yet,” he interrupted, “we need to know where the weapon is”

“I can show you where,” you replied, a toothy grin on your face as you approached the commodore.

“I'm not talking about some piss poor gun,” he grumbled, “I'm looking for something more importa-”

“Yin,” you cut him off, “I'll show you where she is”

Kid almost killed you himself right there and then for interrupting him again, but he was startled at the same time by the fact that you obviously knew the weapon he was here for. Clearly you were more useful to him than the commodore. You turned your head slowly to look at him, and you could tell by the way his heart beat faster that the look in your unnaturally coloured eyes unnerved him to say the least. They were lifeless, yet somehow glazed over with a look he recognized as bloodlust.

“Alright,” he relented, just wanting those creepy eyes to stop staring at him, “go ahead then.”

You gave him a grin that sent a shiver down his spine, and much to Kid's dismay you maintained eye contact with him as the commodore began to scream. The scream quickly turned to shrill, blood curdling shrieks, and Kid broke the harrowing eye contact to look at the marine. You hadn't touched him, but he was red and sweating. His skin was blistering like he was boiling alive, and his hair began to shed from his scalp and fall to the floor in clumps. All of a sudden the redness faded, and his skin became pale and clammy as his lips turned blue and he began to shiver violently. Then red again. Then blue.

You began to laugh. If anyone were to hear it out of context, they would describe it as playful, pure joy. The laugh of an innocent girl playing in a field of bright wildflowers on a temperate spring day. You were enjoying yourself more than someone just taking petty revenge, it was clear to the pirates that you were a little more than fucked up in the head and entirely mercilessly as the marine writhed and screamed in pain. Kid swore he felt his dick twitch looking at you, a woman that mirrored his own fucked up bloodlust.

“Alright,” he interjected, before his dick could get any further, “we don't have all day, get it over with”

You flashed him a sweet smile and winked at him. “Here comes the big finish!” you laughed, “he always loves when I make him blow his load!”

The marine's head began to vibrate to the point of looking blurry to the naked eye, and with one last scream his skull burst open, sending blood, brains, and bone fragments flying in a horrific display of gory confetti. Kid braced an arm over his face to protect himself, but when he put it back down he found unexpectedly that he was clean. Some kind of invisible wall stood between him, and the now headless body that was slumping to the floor, blood spurting from the severed arteries as his heart made its last few feeble pumps. The strange wall released, and the pink mist that had adhered to it fell to the floor with a splash, forming a perfect semicircle around the body. You twitched and laughed maniacally at the sight, it had been so long since you'd had this much fun, and Kid looked at Killer with astonishment. ‘What the fuck kind of devil fruit did this girl have?’ they both thought to themselves.

After several minutes of manic laughter as the pirates stood in shocked silence, you finally settled yourself, wiping your tears of joy from your eyes and picking the seastone cuffs back up. You didn't put them on, just held them. It had the effect of making your eyes return back to the natural colour they had previously been, much to Kid's relief.

“Follow me,” you finally broke the silence, pracing past them with a near skip in your step and out of the room like nothing had even happened. The pirates followed you quietly, trying to process what they'd seen. They'd done some pretty fucked up shit before, but they'd never seen a woman act like that. Both of them were sporting half hard dicks at this point, but neither would admit it. Kid had already made the decision in his mind to offer you a ride to the next island, in the hopes he would get a chance to see what this ruthless, feral woman would look like speared on his dick. You may have been practically skin and bones, and had barely anything in the way of tits or ass right now, but the pure psychopathic energy radiating off you was enough for him to want to fuck you. Nothing quite like the thrill of a woman who could kill you in an instant to keep things fresh in the bedroom, he always did like a challenge.

They followed you back through the office, to a set of stairs on the left of the room. You'd been at this particular base for a few weeks now, often pulled to the commodore's office so he could have his fun with you, so you knew the layout well. At the top of the stairs was a smaller, private office with a single large, ornate desk. A large leather chair sat behind it, with two smaller wooden chairs to match the desk in front. You let the cuffs fall to the floor as you approached a painting of a quaint landscape on the wall, climbing up onto a small filing cabinet in front of it and ripping the painting from its hooks. You threw it to the floor with no regard, revealing the safe that had been hidden behind it. You'd seen it before when the commodore had used its contents to taunt you, he had a similar set up at every base he'd dragged you to, he was a man of habit. You pressed your hand to the cold metal, and the pirates heard it vibrate along with the sound of pins falling into place as you unlocked it with your fruit. You opened the door with a strained grunt, it was clear that physically you were quite weak. The starvation hadn't helped, but you'd never been very strong.

“There you are baby!” you squeaked, reaching for something in the safe and pulling out a puffy yellow and teal jacket. You quickly slipped it on, hugging yourself with a gleeful sigh and enjoying the familiar warmth and weight of the long loved jacket.

“Oi, quit fucking around,” Kid growled, “we're not here to play dress up, where's the fucking weapon”

“Yeah yeah,” you grumbled, continuing to rummage in the safe, “I'm working on it. Ah huh! There it is!”

You turned away from the safe, sitting on the cabinet with your legs hanging over the side towards them, and slid a helmet on to your head. It was almost like a set of large, white, over-ear headphones, with a shiny, clear visor stretching over the entire front, from just past your nose to the apex of your head where it met the band of the ‘headphones’. The ears of the headphones were rounded and trimmed in a periwinkle blue, with some sort of small antenna extending up from the left ear. You fiddled with the rounded parts of the ears, revealing that the outer segments were actually dials of some sort, and the visor suddenly tinted to a deep purple. You let out a contented sigh and relaxed, leaning against the wall behind you.

“That's it?” Kid huffed, “a fucking mask? Where's the fucking weapon, this is your last warning to quit fucking me around”

“No, you fucking idiot, the mask isn't the weapon,” you grumbled, “you're looking at her”

Kid was silent. He didn't at all understand what you were trying to say, and was about to absolutely smash this insolent woman into the wall till she was nothing but a thin layer of red paint. Killer shook his head in disappointment at his idiot captain, quickly connecting the dots.

“Yin, I presume,” he said gruffly.

“That's my name, don't wear it out,” you smiled. Of course, it wasn't your real name, but you'd been called Yin for so long that nobody even remembered what your real name was at this point, including yourself. It was the codename you had been given as a weapon, and to the marines that was all you were, so they never bothered with your real name.

“I don't understand,” Kid mumbled, his eyes flicking between you and his first mate. He felt like he was being left out of a joke, and was moments away from raging.

“I'm the weapon, dumbass,” you said, annoyed now. You looked at Killer, pointing at Kid with a boney finger, “is he always this stupid?”

Killer gave an amused huff in reply, and Kid scowled at him.

“Sorry but I'm finding it very hard to believe that some skinny little marine whore I just found in a prison cell is an army destroying weapon” Kid grumbled, crossing his arms.

You sighed and slid off the cabinet, pulling a few more seemingly confiscated personal items from the safe and tucking them into your jacket pockets. You strapped a gaudy lilac leather holster to your thigh and slid a dagger into it, before strolling across the room to a set of french doors that led to a small balcony. You opened them and stretched, enjoying your first taste of fresh air in weeks.

“Come see for yourself then,” you cooed, beckoning to him with a single finger in a ‘come hither' motion, leaning against the doorframe in a seductive manner with one foot raised against it. Kid grumbled and followed you out to the balcony. Once the two pirates were outside with you, you quickly scanned the battle ensuing below and pointed at a large mass of marines that were holding back, waiting nervously to jump in as the Kid pirates took down those that had come before.

“Any of your men over there?” you asked Kid, “I can show you the ‘army destroying’ move I'm known best for, but it doesn't discriminate” you explained, making mock quote marks with your fingers.

Kid glanced below the balcony at his men. All the ones he cared about were close to the building below them, if a few henchmen were out where you'd pointed it'd be no love lost. He gave a grunt and nod of approval.

“Alright then, see you on the battlefield I assume,” you replied, pausing for a moment as you remembered your current, less than ideal physical state, “it's not going to be as big as normal, and I'm only going to be able to manage the one burst so it'll be all manual labor after that” you explained, patting the dagger on your thigh, “they've been starving me pretty good so I'm a bit fucked up at the moment, but I think you'll be impressed anyway.”

Without another word you hopped up onto the balcony railing with one graceful jump, gave the men each a playful wink, and with a silent prayer that you were even still capable of moon stepping that far, you began towards the location you had pointed out, gaining height as you moved with impressive speed. It was hard work, given your state, but you managed it, fighting against the strong ache in your long-dormant leg muscles. As you approached the area you began shooting directly upwards, and when you felt you had gained the height you wanted, you paused, moon stepping in an even rhythm to hover in place and looking back at the balcony. Kid and Killer were watching you intently, and you gave a little wave and smile, then made one especially strong jump.

You flipped yourself midair, moon stepping upside down as you hit the apex of the flip, using the downwards force along with gravity to propel yourself towards the ground. You flipped back upright as you shot towards the ground, one leg extended and straight as the other bent up.

“METEOR WAVE!” you yelled moments before you made contact with the ground, adrenaline pumping as you unleashed your signature move for the first time in years.

Kid and Killer watched in amazement as wave after wave of marines screamed out in pain and fell lifeless in an increasing large circumference around you, forming a circle of corpses that grew wider and wider. The collective screaming increased in volume as the number of affected marines grew in proportion with the diameter, before it quickly died out altogether. In mere moments at least five hundred marines had been slaughtered, and now lay in piles forming a perfect circle around you, and you stood proudly in the center, laughing and waving at Kid and Killer like a kid that just made your parent's watch you go down a slide at the park. They could only imagine how large the circle would be if you were at full power, you truly were a human weapon.

A shocked silence rang out across the battle as the other participants registered the carnage. The marines, realizing what had happened, turned away from the Kid pirates to rush you, while you were already reaching for your dagger, a coy smile on your face as you prepared to engage them. You moved fast, it was clear to any onlooker that you made up for your physical weakness with speed and agility, but Kid was taking no chances with your safety given your current weakened state.

“Protect her,” was all he said to Killer, before swinging himself over the railing to join the battle. Killer sighed and activated his punishers before hopping up onto the railing and moon stepping towards your location.

Given how many enemies you had taken out, it wasn't long before the last scraps of marines were retreating to their ships and fleeing from the island. Kid gave the orders for the compound to be raided and any useful supplies and loot to be loaded onto the ship in preparation to set off. It was a well stocked base, so he was chuffed with the amount of medical supplies, food, weapons and treasure they were able to take, the ship would be filled to the brim. On top of that, he had his new weapon. The day had turned out well after all, and he was in a significantly better mood.

He looked around the battlefield, scanning the area for his new toy, and spotted you happily skipping towards him with a half eaten apple in hand, and a disgruntled looking Killer following closely behind you. He hadn't had to protect you at all, you had been more than capable of holding your own with nothing but a dagger and the last fumes of your energy. It was a strange sight, the two of you walking together. You both wore face-obscuring masks, both covered in blood with confident walks that spoke of your satisfaction after a good battle, and yet you were so different from him. You were tall by normal standards for a woman, but next to Killer, an absolute beast of a man, you were still a tiny, lanky thing, skipping along with such outward joy while his brooding frame followed close behind, devoid of visible emotion. Only your mouth was visible, and you wore a wide grin as you took another bite of your apple.

“So? Do I live up to the hype?” you giggled, taking another bite and relishing the fresh fruit. On the rare occasion you did receive food, it was usually old and stale, sometimes even moldy. A simple thing like a fresh apple was a delicacy to you.

“I don't say this often, but I'm impressed,” he admitted. He gave Killer a nod, and Killer quickly grabbed you, making you drop your apple as he restrained your arms behind your back. “Unfortunately that means you belong to me now.”

“Oh come on!” you grumbled, pouting at your dropped fruit, the bitten side now coated with dirt, “that was a really fucking good apple, you absolute dickheads. Besides, you can't just tame me like that.”

“Look at yourself,” Kid laughed in confidence, sure that you were too exhausted by now to use your devil fruit, considering you hadn't used it at all since performing the shockwave move, “Killer could snap you like a twig.”

You sighed, annoyed now. To be fair, you were exhausted, but the apple had been serving to replenish your energy, so you had a little left in your reserves, enough to defend yourself and make a point anyway. “One chance, let go, or I'll make you let go.” Killer made no effort to move, so you sighed again. “Alright then, hard way it is.”

Killer let out a sudden, deep groan and quickly released you, stumbling back a few steps and almost tripping. Even with the mask, it was clear from his exposed neck that he was bright red and flush with embarrassment.

“What the fuck did you do?” Kid yelled. He stepped towards you, metal arm raised, threatening to grab you himself in defense of his friend. You smiled sweetly back at him, your head cocked to the side in feigned innocence as you repeated on him what you'd just done to Killer.

It began as a small flutter in his abdomen, increasing to a strong spark that traveled further and further down, till it encompassed his entire dick. In mere seconds he found himself falling to his knees and letting out a deep, carnal moan as the heaviest orgasm he'd ever experienced rocked through him, and he came in his pants suddenly and without warning.

You laughed and closed the space between the two of you, sliding a finger under his chin and raising his face to look up at you as he panted. “Are you going to be a good boy now?” you cooed down at him.

Kid slapped your hand away and fell back on his ass, sitting on the dirt, his usually pale face now as red as his hair. He couldn't bring himself to look at Killer, who he realized now had similarly creamed his own pants moments ago. Kid made an annoyed huff and crossed his arms and legs like a scolded child.

“I'll take that as a yes,” you purred, “and you?” you continued, looking at Killer who was not so subtling making an attempt at hiding the wet stain on the front of his pants, shimmying the blue sash that hung around his waist till the loose ends were at his front. He grumbled and sat in the dirt next to Kid, admitting defeat. He had expected resistance, but he was used to violence, not… whatever the fuck that was. He couldn't even process it.

“Good,” you chirped, pulling another apple from the pocket of your oversized puffy jacket and sitting on air, having made a hard surface with your devil fruit the same way you'd made a wall earlier.

“The moment the commodore came hiding in the jail cos of you lot, I'd already decided I was going to join your crew,” you explained, taking a bite of the apple, “I'm sick of being a government pawn, and your crew has a reputation for being ruthless, it suits my needs. I'm not looking for some piss baby crew like the Strawhats, I like killing, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. But as you know, I'm a human weapon. I'm a hot commodity, so I'm not just about to be your bitch. I could kill you both right now before you even had the chance to react, without ever moving from this spot, and that's while I'm half starved and out of practice.” You paused to take another bite of your apple, closing your eyes and swaying happily at the juices coating your tongue, before sighing and continuing your monologue.

“You have no sway with me whatsoever, so don't even think about trying to threaten me again. That was your warning, next time I'll just kill you, I no longer have no time or tolerance for assholes, the marines have taught me a valuable lesson about that. You both have my respect, due to your reputation, but you do not have my trust. I'll come with you, I'll be your weapon, I'll follow orders like a good girl. But I will not do grunt work. I don't do chores, I kill for you, and that's it. Otherwise I'll do as I please. You'll give me my own room, you'll give me a fair share of any loot, and above all you and your men will not touch me without my permission. I expect to be treated with the same level of regard as a commander, if not - higher than a commander. Those are my terms. If you want me to be your weapon then you'll agree to them, otherwise I'm walking away.”

Kid was silent as he mulled over your conditions. He had to consider how powerful you could be at full strength, even if you were fucking irritating. Your display today had been impressive, on its own it would have been enough to carry the weight of your demands. Really you weren't asking for much, just to be a kept woman really, it wouldn't take much effort on his part to have a storage room cleared and converted for you, and otherwise instructing his crew to keep their hands to themselves. They knew his policy on rape anyway, it would be a death sentence if they touched you without your consent, either by your hand or his. As for the no chores, it would be harder to convince them that it was fair, but he hoped your impressive display today would be enough to keep them quiet.

“Fine, but you have to go through initiation just like everyone else,” he finally broke the silence.

“That's fair I guess, what do you do for it?” you had butterflies and were doing your best to not let it read on your face how fucking excited you were to get out of here, you'd honestly do whatever it took to be part of the Kid Pirates if it meant getting your freedom.

“Seven days tied to the mast, no food, minimal water. If a storm hits, or we get attacked, that's a you problem”

“Bathroom breaks?”

“Once a day, toilet only. Piss on my deck and I'll make you clean it with your tongue”

“No seastone, rope or normal chains only”

“Fine,” Kid grumbled.

“Alright then, you got yourself a deal,” you stretched out a hand to him. He stood and clamped it with his flesh hand, sealing the agreement with a smirk that mirrored your own.

“Welcome to the crew, scrawny bitch” he laughed.

“Thanks Captain,” you laughed back. A bright future was ahead of you, you could feel it.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

[bimbosanddolls]

Choose Your Own Adventure: The Dark Sorceress

You stand outside the door to the Midnight Cathedral’s throne room. Inside, you’re certain that you will find the Dark Sorceress Narcissa. The very thought of her sends a chill through your body. For years, Narcissa has tormented your kingdom. Tales of princesses being vanished away, curses placed upon entire towns and villages, and countless other terrible stories are whispered throughout the taverns and castles alike. In an attempt to finally cast the shadow of Narcissa away once and for all, a group of promising heroines were assembled and trained to become a new Order of Witch Slayers. You are the fifth Slayer to be tasked with Narcissa’s defeat; the first four having never been seen again after storming the Cathedral. You shudder as you think of your fellow Slayers before taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. You would be the one to finally end the Sorceress' reign of terror and avenge your sisters. With a renewed sense of purpose, you summon a blast of wind magic and send the heavy onyx doors flying open. Inside the throne room, your bold entrance has fallen surprisingly flat. Four veiled figures turn their heads and, though you cannot see their eyes, you can feel their gaze on you. It feels familiar but unfriendly. You’ve interrupted something and they are not pleased. You notice that they are nude; their lithe bodies in stark contrast to the sheer, black veils they wear. Between them, dressed in a long, black gown, sits the Dark Sorceress herself. Her eyes are also fixed on you, but you do not sense any concern in them. Instead, you see her blood red lips curve into a wicked smile as Narcissa stands from her throne and takes a step forward. “My my, what do we have here?” her words are heavy and sensuous. “Had I known we were expecting company, I would have dressed the girls in something a little more… appropriate.” You can feel your blood begin to boil. It’s clear she doesn’t see you as a threat. You reach for the blade at your hip but freeze when your eyes dart from the Sorceress to her attendants. A look of disbelief washes over your face, and Narcissa responds with a knowing laugh. “Oh? Did you notice your friends? Or, forgive me, were they your sisters? I never did bother to understand the structure of your little Order.” You look past her again, taking a moment to focus on each woman still kneeling by the throne. Narcissa wasn’t wrong; these were indeed the missing Slayers. Each of them is recognizable to you, yet different. The fire that previously burned in each of their eyes is now doused. Their toned bodies appear softer, and more inviting. You can’t tell whether either is the result of the Dark Sorceress’ magic but you suppose it doesn’t truly matter right now. Your mission is clear; slay the witch. Rescuing your allies would have to come later. You reach for your blade again, determined to finish this once and for all. If Narcissa is worried at all, her expression does not show it. “Oh darling,” she purrs, “do you really think that cheap piece of steel is going to do anything to me? It doesn’t need to be this way, you know. You could join me, join the others."

She gestures back towards your sisters, "Don’t they seem happy? Does it really seem as though I’ve harmed them in any way? I know you all consider me to be some sort of ‘Dark Sorceress’ but I assure you I am a very kind and loving Mistress.” You say nothing but your eyes shoot back to the former Slayers. Could it be true? Or was this just another one of Narcissa’s evil tricks? Perhaps seeing your hesitation, she takes the opportunity to elaborate. “Think about it, dear. They took you from your families, trained you to little more than tools for their cause, and denied you the chance to make your own path. All I’ve done is offer your ‘sisters’ a choice. And now I offer you the same. You may join us and experience a life of your own, a life that the people you mean to defend have hidden from you. Or, you can fight and feel the fullest extent of my power.”

[angelatmidnight1]

A Helping Hand

A/N: This is just a self-indulgent fic I'm using as a springboard for another one. I'm in a Gale/Karlach/Astarion high right now. I'll get back to requests as soon as I can, and I hope you like the story!

Fandom- Baldur's Gate 3.

Pairing- Starts with Gale x Karlach (platonic, ler!Gale and lee!Karlach), and ends with Gale, Karlach, and Astarion (platonic, ler!Karlach, ler!Astarion, and lee!Gale).

Word Count- 2,532.

Warnings- Situated in Act 3 so potential for spoilers, also tickling and swearing.

Gale finally shows Karlach how to cast Mage Hand, another avenue of touch, and she’s thrilled by the doors it opens up. He invites her to explore touch with him and doesn’t account for her using it for more playful, nefarious reasons, like tickling. And, just when it couldn’t get any more chaotic, Astarion invites himself in on the fun, too…

“That’s it, Karlach. Try the incantation again.”

Gale spoke from behind the tiefling after he guided her hands into the right position. She was very warm to the touch, but touching her didn’t burn. Her engine was a source of curiosity for him ever since she’d joined the party way back when. But, instead of indulging that curiosity, he’d promised to show her how to cast Mage Hand. Karlach had gotten the incantation down more or less. He just had to make sure she had her hands in the right place. Magic was just as much a physical thing as a verbal one in Gale’s experience. 

Karlach rigidly held her hands in position and repeated the incantation. “Veniam Iuva Me..” Her eyes brightened when the spectral hand emerged in front of her. “I got it!”

“Excellent,” Gale smiled. “Now, with a flick of the wrist, or a thought even, the hand will do as you command. You can pick things up, throw them, push the unfortunate goblin to their death…”

Karlach wasn’t fully listening; instead, she flexed and curled her fingers, and the mage hand mirrored her. “Yeah. Woulda been nice to have one of these when I got back to the Sword Coast.” She replied. “At least I’d have been able to touch something..”

She guided the hand across the Elfsong Tavern and picked up a tankard. She brought it back over to her and took a sip of the ale, exhaling deeply. “Aw, man. A girl could get used to this..”

Gale chuckled and picked up his own glass of wine. “Learning cantrips are only the beginning of a lifelong journey with magic. Cheers to taking that first step.”

Karlach happily clinked her tankard with his glass. She took another sip, her eyes sparkling with genuine wonder and curiosity. “So, I can touch anything with this hand, right?”

“Most things,” he corrected. “The mage hand can take damage just as our own. So, you couldn’t grab, say, the blade end of a sword. But you could wield said sword as an extension of yourself. It’s very handy in that regard.”

“Gods, the puns.” Karlach snickered. “And yeah, I’ll be sure to have one of these around when we beat the Absolute’s ass. But uh, I was thinking more along the lines of being able to, you know, hold someone’s hand? Maybe caress a face or two?”

“Of course. Here, if you’d like, you can explore the mage hand’s capabilities with me.” He finished his wine and stood in front of her. He extended his own hand. “I’m more than willing to offer myself as a test subject in the pursuit of knowledge.”

“Really? That’d be awesome!” Karlach brought the hand to Gale’s, palm to palm. She interlocked her fingers and the mage hand, as well as Gale, followed suit. “Thank you, Gale.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Gale allowed Karlach to explore his hand with the spectral one, watching it stroke across his fingers. The barbarian hummed in thought and moved further up his arm. 

“So, what does this feel like?” She asked, moving the touches up to his wrist. “Doesn’t beat the real thing I suppose. But it is nice to have options.”

“Well, it’s very similar to the touch of another, minus the warmth of course.” Gale turned his palm towards the floor so she could go up his arm. “Maybe it is a lighter touch, too. Almost feather like..”

“Yeah?” When she reached his upper arm, she curled the fingers on the mage hand, gently squeezing into his skin. Gale fidgeted a little bit and exhaled through his nose. She raised a brow. “What? That doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“No, quite the opposite, actually.” He chuckled. “Bit ticklish is all.”

“Huh.” Karlach hummed again, continuing to kneading into his upper arm. She smiled. “I didn’t really pick you as the ticklish type, with you being all proper and scholarly and whatnot.”

“Y-Yehehes, well…” Gale chuckled a bit more and tugged at his arm, but the mage hand held strong. After a few more attempts, Gale managed to get his arm free. “I can say with confidence that ticklishness doesn’t have a face. Why, even the strongest warriors can be—hey!”

 Instead of going for his arms again, Karlach brought the mage hand towards his torso, prodding into his side. Gale again jumped away from the ticklish touch and giggled louder. He backpedaled and wrapped a protective arm around his torso. “Now, Karlach,” he warned. He suddenly felt a bit playful and grinned. “Choose your next actions carefully. Should you try to tickle me again, I will have no choice but to retaliate.”

He stepped further away from her, his hands glowing with magic. Karlach followed after him, snickering. 

“Oh really?” Karlach challenged, returning the grin. “Heh, I’d like to see you try!”

Somewhere else in the tavern, sitting on his bed, was Astarion. His brow was knitted together in concentration as he sewed up a split seam on a shirt. Not his shirt, but Wyll’s. Now that they were back in Baldur’s Gate, Astarion believed looking the part was a high priority. He wouldn’t stand for his companions walking around in tattered clothes. Ideally, he’d find a clothing merchant and just steal their stuff, but he was willing to pace himself. He flinched when there was a sudden roar of laughter, Karlach’s laughter, and he grumbled under his breath. Did she always have to be so damn loud?

“Karlach, can you keep it down?” He called sharply. He refused to look up from what he was doing; he was nothing if not a perfectionist when it came to sewing. “Some of us have important things to do, and I need to concentrate.”

But instead of quieting down, Karlach’s laughter only got louder. A thud accompanied this wild laughter, and Astarion’s patience waned. He got up with a heavy sigh, putting his work on his end table. Then, he followed the source of the racket. 

When he got to the next room, Karlach was prone on the floor, laughing her head off. Gale sat beside her with a smug smirk. Karlach’s mage hand was gone, and there was a purple aura emanating off of her: Gale’s variation of a Hold Person spell. Instead of completely immobilizing her, she was able to squirm around, though she didn’t get very far. The first place he squeezed was her hips, a terribly ticklish spot, and he was still kneading into them when Astarion entered the room. 

“I warned you,” Gale was saying as he skittered his fingers across her torso. He honed in on her sides, and her loud laughter calmed into not as loud giggles. “We could’ve handled this civilly, but you forced my hand!”

Karlach squealed and wrestled with Gale’s hands, but her laughter had weakened her, and she was honestly having a blast. “Fahahahaha! I-I’ll gehehehet youhuhuhu bahahack! Youhuhuhu juhuhust wahahait!” 

“Unlikely,” Gale snickered. “But I do admire your resolve.”

That’s when he summoned another mage hand and used it to poke at her ribs. Karlach’s frantic giggling mingled with snorts. Astarion fondly shook his head as he watched from afar. 

“Having fun, darlings?” Astarion soon spoke over Karlach’s laughter. He stepped further into the room. He was initially annoyed,  but Karlach’s laugh was highly contagious. He had to expend a good deal of effort not to giggle along with her. “I was wondering why Karlach was laughing so hard. I figured someone told a joke, fell on their arse maybe. But no, you’re just…tickling her. Adorable I suppose, but why?”

Gale looked up, joining the mage hand in pinching and scritching over Karlach’s ribs. She yelled and rolled from one side to the other, trying to dodge the hands. “Because I made the generous offer to teach her a spell, and she decided to turn on me,” he explained.. “I responded in turn by giving her a taste of her own medicine.” 

“So I see,” Astarion hummed. “Well, I’d tell you two to keep it down, but that’s impossible with her hyena call. Maybe you’d like a hand?”

“NAAHAHOHOHO!” Karlach protested, shrieking when Gale’s hand jumped to her armpit. She immediately brought her arms down, trapping his hand, and her laughter went up two octaves. Gale continued to wriggle his fingers along her armpit, but having her arms down didn’t make it easy for him. He sent the mage hand to wrestle with her arm to try and pull it up. Gale regarded Astarion with a quick glance, nodding. 

“I certainly won’t turn down the help—”

“Not you, Gale.” Astarion scoffed. He walked towards the duo. “Why, our poor fiery friend is in stitches, and you have the advantage of having literal magic at your fingertips. Helping you wouldn’t even begin to even the playing field..”

 Gale’s gaze snapped back to the spawn. He halted his tickle attack, giving Karlach a break. “Now hang on, I wasn’t the one that started this.”

“But you are the one indirectly causing the noise, in a manner of speaking.” Astarion stepped with a purpose towards them. “I couldn’t even sew in peace.”

“That hardly seems fair!” Gale protested. Since he spent a lot of effort keeping Karlach in place and now had his sights on Astarion, both his concentration and his spell slots waned. That didn’t stop him from popping up from the floor and pointing a warning finger at him. “Don’t you dare, Astarion!”

Karlach  wrapped both arms around her torso as they bickered. She didn’t mind tickling in the slightest, but Gale wasn’t going to weasel his way out of her well deserved revenge. Especially when she now had a partner in crime. While she was laying on the floor, she grabbed a fistful of the end of Gale’s robe and pulled him down with her. Gale screamed and, before he knew it, Astarion was on him, too. 

“Get him!” Karlach shouted, easily tangling the wizard up in her arms. Astarion smirked and knelt beside them. He waited until she pulled his arms over his head to poke into his sides. Gale flinched and tried to lean away from the poke, but he only leaned further into Karlach’s arms.

“Nohoho no no! AhAHah! Wahahait!” Gale yelped and squirmed as Astarion continued to prod into his sides, his frantic giggles already threatening to jump to laughter. “Two against one is nohohot fahahir!”

“Who said anything about fair?” Karlach grinned and clawed her way down his forearm until she could burrow into his exposed armpits. Gale bucked and giggled harder, trying and failing to bring his arms back down. “Nope, you’re not getting out of this one, Gale.”

Astarion climbed on top of Gale’s kicking legs, fingertips fluttering into his sides with more purpose. The wizard twisted from one side to the other, but his fingers stayed on him. “You really thought I’d help you? And end up on the receiving end of Karlach’s fury?” Astarion snickered. “No, my dear. Unlike you, I know how to pick battles that I can win, haha.”

“Y-Youhuhu opportunhistic leehehehehech!” Gale squealed and curled in on himself when Karlach circled her thumbs along the outer curve of his armpits. The barbarian smirked, following the curve of his back and ending with swipes of her claws at the back of his ribs. Gale yelled and jerked forward, only to press his back into her chest when she kept scribbling. 

“Where ya goin’~?” She giggled. She let go of his arms for the moment so that she could use both hands to attack his rib cage. Gale immediately brought his arms to his sides and batted at her wrists. 

“Awahahahay frohohohom youhuhuhu!” He yelped and squeezed at her wrists when she tickled faster. “KAhahahaha! Lehehehet mehehehe gohohoho!”

In truth, Gale enjoyed tickling every now and again. It’s not something he’d go around talking about, but he definitely appreciated a good laugh. But Karlach and Astarion together were probably the most mischievous ticklers on the Sword Coast. If anything, they fed off of each other’s skills. Astarion had the dexterous fingers and teasing taunts, and Karlach had the strength and boundless energy. Together, they left Gale a laughing mess.

“Why? We’ve only just started,” Astarion teased, gently pinching the sides of his stomach. Gale jolted and belted out a laugh. Astarion did it again, earning another frantic laugh, and he grinned knowingly. Gale’s arms flailed as he tried to grab the spawn’s hands. 

“NOHOHO AHASTAHARION!” Gale wrestled with his hands, now full-on laughing. Astarion clicked his teeth as he tried to keep tickling his tummy. He gave Karlach an expectant look. 

“Ahem, little help here?” He asked, having to halt his tickle attack in favor of trying to move Gale’s hands. Karlach stopped tickling his ribs and reached over both men’s arms.

“Right, I’ve got ‘im.” She looped her larger arms around Gale and drew him back into her chest. Gale continued to squirm until his arms were trapped under hers.

“Thank you,” Astarion chuckled. He smirked at the wizard in front of him and made a big show of flexing his fingers. “Now, where were we?”

He put one hand on Gale’s tummy and Gale flinched again, nervously giggling. 

“Nohohot thehehre…” Gale jumped again and squealed when the spawn flexed his fingers. “AHAhastariohohon! Anywhehehre buhuhut thehehehre!”

“My, so sensitive..” Astarion continued to gently flex his fingers against Gale’s tummy, chuckling more at his squeals and cackles. “I’m hardly touching you. Our resident wizard is just a magical bundle of nerves, isn’t he?”

“Sure is,” Karlach grinned. “But hey, who said you’re gettin’ all of the fun?” She readjusted her hold on Gale, now using one arm to keep him against her chest. She joined Astarion in squeezing and poking into Gale’s tummy, and his loud laughter echoed throughout the tavern. 

Astarion wrapped his legs around Gale’s to not get thrown off but, even then, he almost went flying. Karlach laughed along with Gale as she alternated between the side of his stomach and just above his hip. 

“Gods, I love your laugh,” she giggled. “It’s so fuckin’ cute.” Despite her strength, even Karlach had to make sure she didn’t let go of him. Gale bucked and cackled in her hold.

“NAHAHAHAHA! DOHOHON’T TIH-AHAHA! AHAHA!” Gale struggled to get a full sentence out; he could only laugh himself silly as he leaned into Karlach’s shoulder. 

Eventually, the duo eased off of him. Karlach let go of his arms, and Astarion slowed his tickles down to gentle pokes and stroking. Gale inadvertently slid down Karlach’s lap, finally able to bat at Astarion’s hands.

“Plehehease, truhuhuce…” He gasped, sighing with relief once Astarion finally stopped. The spawn snickered.

“Alright, alright, I’ve had my fun. I’ll leave you in the capable hands of our mutual friend.” Astarion patted Gale’s stomach and climbed off of his legs. Once he was gone, Karlach pulled the wizard up into a seated position, holding him close.

“No hard feelings, right Gale?” She asked, rubbing her warm hands over his torso. Gale exhaled and shook his head. 

“Not at all. I believe we settled our score,” He replied, leaning further into her warmth. “Astarion, on the other hand…” 

[vampwritesstuff]

Edge of The Blade Chapter 1

Genre: prince!ateez x fem!assassin!reader, royalty au, non idol au, fluff, angst, slow burn, poly!teez

Word count: 1.1k

Chapter warnings: detailed depictions of gore/violence, fight scene, talk of assassination, very brief allusion to suicide, injury. Please let me know if I missed any!

Synopsis: After a series of assassination attempts on the king's sons, the kingdom is on edge. Y/n arrives at the palace as the protector no one expected, with unparalleled combat skills and a keen mind. Her arrival brings intrigue, admiration, and confusion to the princes. Each brother is drawn to her in his own way, forming unique connections that bring a new sense of unity to them all. As they work together to unravel the mystery behind the attempts on their lives, Y/n becomes both a protector and a secret weakness for the princes—making them stronger and more vulnerable than ever.

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In the heart of Erelia’s sprawling kingdom, tension simmered in the royal court. Whispers of treachery and death slipped through the court like smoke, thickening the air with feelings of dread and an impending doom. The threat was real–an unseen enemy targeting the lives of the royal family, specifically the eight princes. In an act of desperation to keep his family safe and well, King Soohan began seeking for an answer beyond his own ranks, and he could only hope that the gods would answer his prayers.

—

Y/n sat at the bar of a tavern in the capitol’s bustling square, idly sipping a mug of ale as she observed the comings and goings of drunkards and whores alike. The assassin scoffed as she watched the grimy men feel up the barmaids, hoping to get lucky for the evening and have a woman to warm their beds for the night. Typically, Y/n wouldn’t be caught dead in a tavern like this, but unfortunately it was the preferred dwelling of a target she’d been hired to kill.

Like a hawk, the woman watched the man from across the tavern. He sat at a rounded booth in the far corner, surrounded by men who all held playing cards–the same as he was holding himself. To everyone around him–drunk out of their minds– the man just had good luck in his hands, but to Y/n’s trained eye it was obvious he was counting cards and cheating.

This was the reason her client had hired her. Quite a petty reason to hire an assassin, besides, her client had the money to hire her, why would he spend more than he lost just to take out a man who wronged him? Y/n could care less, payment was payment. She didn’t know this man and he didn’t know her, it wouldn’t keep her up at night when she’d follow him to the back alley and slit his throat only to leave him to the disease infested rats as he gurgled and choked in a puddle of his own blood, without a second thought. Or perhaps an unfortunate soul would find his body before the rats could.

She had to wait a few more hours before the man finally got up to leave, taking the door that led to the back alley like usual–as she had learned from watching him closely for days prior. Waiting some time before she stood up and exited the tavern through the same back entrance as her target, slipping her mask over her mouth and nose as she did so. Normally he would be slumped over at the entry to the alley, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the cobblestone path, however that was not the case this time.

Y/n’s eyes narrowed and frowned from behind her mask as she surveyed the alley, the atmosphere shifting tangibly as she rolled out of the way from an attack above her. The sound of boots hitting the ground and a grunt from Y/n echoed in the alleyway as she looked up to face her attacker with narrowed eyes. Unexpectedly, she met the eyes of the man she was hired to kill. He had a confident smirk on his face as he kept a cautious eye on her. “I was wondering when you’d finally make your move.” His voice was deep, an accent to his annunciation that clearly wasn’t Erelian. Outside of the dimly lit tavern, Y/n could make out the man’s features better. His blonde, shoulder length hair being swept around his face from a breeze and rays of sunlight peeking through the alley highlighted the freckles on his face. 

“You knew I was following you?” Her question was skeptical, Y/n knew she was skilled enough that her targets often never saw her coming until she was in front of them with her dagger spilling their blood. “Well, of course I’d know, I was the one who hired you to kill me after all.”

Now that was new. Her client and her target were the same person, she had never had this happen before. The revelation was shocking enough to cause Y/n to chuckle, disbelief and confusion bubbling up in her chest. “Now why would you hire an assassin to kill you? Are you that cowardly, you couldn’t do it yourself?” A beat of silence before the man in front of her lunged at her, pulling his dagger from his belt.

Y/n reacted quickly by unsheathing her own dagger and swiping at him to send him off balance, however he recovered quickly and approached again. He aimed for her side, Y/n moved with just enough time that he only cut through her shirt and grazed her side. However, this gave her a moment to see the crest that adorned the dagger, making her curse.

“The royal guard, huh? For what do I owe the pleasure of meeting someone of your rank?” She taunted as she put some distance between them, keeping her dagger up in case he decided to lunge for her again–but a follow up attack never came. She watched as he stepped back and relaxed his stance enough to show he wouldn’t attack again. “The king wishes to inquire about your services, he’s heard much about you.”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed at such information, did the king want to have someone killed? Who would the king want dead so badly that he’d hire an assassin? Y/n wasn’t allowed much time to mull it over as the guard tossed an envelope to her, glancing at the royal seal that kept the letter stamped closed.

“A formal invitation to the palace so that the king may explain his reasonings for requesting you. Think it over, you’ll be expected at the palace by the end of the week should you choose to acknowledge the contents of the letter.” The man spoke as she studied the piece of paper, she watched as the man walked out of the alley, disappearing into the crowd of the square. 

Y/n looked back down at the letter in her hands one last time before shoving it into her pocket. She’d read it later once she wasn’t in a damp, cramped alleyway. Composing herself, Y/n made her way back to the inn she had been staying at for the past week and a half.

She sat on the worn bed as she tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter, ignoring the sting of the wound on her side in favor of learning the reason for the king’s summons. There, in neat handwriting, was a request she would have never expected to see.

“What the hell.”

// Next

Taglist:

[maehwajuuuu-chu]

[Seiren • Starsilver Sparrow]

“Eula, how would you feel if I suddenly get amnesia, hm? You know like Vetur finally having enough of me and shoving me off the balcony—" “Sister, Sir Meier would have a stroke if he were listening to our conversation,” Eula briskly piped in, lowering her chipped teacup with a delicate clink before shooting an eagle-like glare at her older sister. “However, more importantly why would you suggest such wretched events? Is Vetur being bothersome, once again? I thought he had become responsible and stopped after I had made him slip on his own clothes—MMF.” The older sister groaned, plucking another biscuit from the tray and warningly held it up to the younger’s girl’s indignant glower as she menacingly munched.

“It’s only hypothetical, you funny little lemon. I’ll get a mirror - you’re all blown up like an angry pufferfish.” She tapped the biscuit against Eula’s scrunched up nose and slowly pushed it into her mouth. “Keep this up and you’ll only get porridge for the next week, you hear me?” - - -

Pain rattled through her gritted teeth as a gloved fist yanked her up by her knotted hair. Smouldering eyes of glowing coal glowered down resentfully at her behind a cracked mask, with the distant groaning curses of fallen Fatui heard in the background as they attempted to crawl out from pieces of rubble and jutting stalagmites of golden creedite.

“What the hell is this?”

She smirked, blood smudged across her battered lips. Past the shattered frame of the tavern’s window, the hilt of the scythe glinted in the flickering broken light and Adrik’s hand curled over its blade in a last futile attempt.

How bloody damn hilarious.

“Hey! What are you gawking at?” The agent jerked onto her hair, his fire-water tinged breath spewing against her face, “Damn it, are you deaf?! Listen to me, you knight fool!!”

Blunt spikes dug into her cheek as a gauntlet slammed against her face. She spat out a hoarse curse, blood spattering from her lips and she venomously fixed a glare at the bloodless grin. Knees immediately slammed to the rocky ground, as the agent dropped her to the ground. Gloved fingers reached to peel away the draped bloodied locks of hair from her face, crooked teeth stretched.

“Now, I can see my punching bag a bit more clearly.” He leered, flicking a strand of copper with deep chuckle rumbling from his throat, “Oh! Look at this blood - So young and vibrant!”

Acrid burning crawled up her throat, eyes dilated in trembling rage. She smacked away the lingering touches, letting wisps of hair tear out from her bloodied hairline.

“Get ya damn mitts out of my hair.” she hissed out, defiance sharply flashing across her glower, “And just get this over and done with, you bastard.” The agent coughed out a surprised laugh, flexing the stained brass reinforcers with eager clicks. He stepped back as he pulled the flask from his jacket and popped its lid off, swinging its contents down his mouth. He wound in his fingers into an anticipating fist while he drew it back. Bracing for the impact, she closed her eyes as she tightly held her vision in her bleeding hand.

“I’d rather die remembering the lifetime we spent together, than not recognise your face when I see you again.” - - - YIPPEEE finally was able to finish this phew. Anyways say hello to Seiren, my chaotic little limb-hogging treasure hoarder! She's one of my older guys, she's been in my brain since 2022! She's one of Rai's old friends and I can't wait to yap about her, about her wife and about her daughter, and also yap about the whole Aster's Oath. She's one of the characters who are highly important to the main storyline! (Yes I did look at the genshin treasure hoarders and went what if murderous lesbean. and yes that is how she was birthed) Ok lols I'll stop rambling, but please keep an eye out for her in future stuff! :D

-> Got the drip marketing background from @/chie_zuu on twitter!

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: Love & War Fandom: Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous Rating: M Status: Complete (19/19) Main Characters: Knight-Commander Cleo Ironbark, Queen Galfrey Supporting Characters: Yozz, Arueshalae, Woljif, Wenduag, Ember, Irahai, Nocticula, Hand of the Inheritor Ships: Knight-Commander/Queen Galfrey Additional Notes: Complicated Relationships, Angst, Rivals to Enemies to Lovers, Demon to Legend Mythic Path, Canon-Typical Themes, Minor Character Death Word Count: 72.8k Summary:

Galfrey was a queen, a paladin, an icon for all that was righteous and just in the Crusades. Cleo was a barbarian, a tiefling, a personification of demonic chaos. By all rights and logic, the two should have been at each other's throats- and often, they were. But somehow, through war and struggle and sacrifice, they ended up finding more in each other than either ever expected.

read here on ao3

Chaper 1 Below:

The first impression Queen Galfrey of Mendev formed of Cleo, warrior of the Ironbark tribe, was not a kind one.

To be completely fair, the Queen’s opinion was not wholly condemning, either. It was quite impossible for Galfrey to condemn the woman who had pulled Kenabres from the burning jaws of the demons. Every report given to the Queen repeated the same story: Cleo of Ironbark had bravely led the charge against the evil cultists and demons who threatened the city. Cleo of Ironbark had stormed the Grey Garrison and saved them all from the poison of the corrupted Wardstone. Cleo of Ironbark was a hero.

But Cleo of Ironbark was also…raucous.

“Another round!” the warrior cried, holding her tankard aloft, and the celebrating soldiers cheered along with her. The tankard was refilled without a moment’s hesitation, and after taking a long drink, Kenabres’s champion resumed her dramatic recounting of the day’s battle. Her voice carried across the tavern, rising above the din of the crowd and filling the large room with echoes of her bravado. Irabeth and Anevia sat at her side, listening to the tale with fond weariness and open amusement, respectively.

Galfrey kept to the corner of the tavern, holding her tongue and a humble mug of ale as she watched the theatrics unfold. Her retinue was waiting outside; she’d ordered them to give her fifteen minutes of peace before following her in. The guards were always so touchy about letting her out of their sight, as if she couldn’t handle herself perfectly well.

The Queen sighed at herself. That was unfair; they were merely doing their job. Under normal circumstances, she would have been content to let them do so. But a procession of guards was something that tended to be noticed, and in this instance, she’d wished to make her observations from a place of relative anonymity. She’d feared she might be noticed anyhow, but no; the people’s attention was centered solely on the sword-bearing storyteller who had already nearly drained her third serving of ale. This could only be the famous Cleo- who else would be drawing such adulation from the victorious crusaders?

Yet, she was not quite what Galfrey had expected.

For starters, Cleo was clearly not of Kenabres. Not a fact all that odd on its own, perhaps, but she was no ordinary traveler, either. She wore the furs and leather armor of the northern barbarians, and when she called out to the crowds, a Kellid accent made itself clear in her words. As if a lone tribeswoman in the middle of a Mendevian city wasn’t odd enough, the people’s new hero was also a tiefling. With skin of deep green and small horns that poked through her dark, close-shorn hair, her abyssal heritage was impossible to miss.

Even so, the notoriously suspicious Mendevians around her watched with high-spirited adulation as she spoke, her tail lashing enthusiastically behind her all the while.

“-and then,” she was saying, “just when we all thought we were well and truly fucked, I charged for the Wardstone. Minagho tried to stop me, but it was too late for her- I had my blade in my hands, and I took the biggest swing of my life, and with just one strike I shattered that corrupted chunk of stone!”

She mimed the motion of her attack, and the crowds shouted their appreciation. Their cheers brought a cocky grin to Cleo’s lips, revealing sharp-tipped teeth.

“And of course once that was taken care of, Minagho didn’t stand a chance. Shame she’s so good at running away, but there’s plenty other demons out there to slay!”

This declaration brought another round of victorious shouts, but Galfrey remained reticent. The scene so far had only served to cement her final impression of Cleo of Ironbark: that she was in possession of a concerning degree of reckless arrogance. Cleo spoke loudly and cursed often; she lauded her own daring exploits; she relished in stretching out her arms to display the scars lining her well-toned muscles to her crowd of admirers.

Galfrey was hardly unaccustomed to such personality. The thrill of victory could go to any soldier’s head, especially when aided by ale and applause. But she had been hoping for something more substantial from the savior of the city, and to find behavior which bordered upon unseemly was…disappointing.

Across the room, Cleo let out a loud laugh and leapt to her feet, very nearly tripping over her chair in the process. She teetered over Anevia, leaned down, and- inexplicably- blew a kiss onto the small charm in Anevia’s hands. They both laughed again at the action, even as Irabeth swatted at her wife’s shoulder in half-hearted chastisement.

In spite of herself, Galfrey felt her lips pull reluctantly into a smile. Her judgments were harsh; revelry could certainly be permitted in times like this. This was a celebration, after all, and here she was sulking in the corner and thinking dour thoughts. It must be the endless war meetings taking their toll, fixing her into this permanently somber state. After so many decades, it was growing increasingly difficult to escape such a mindset, especially when she’d spent the majority of the march to Kenabres half-expecting to find nothing but a funeral pyre.

Instead, she’d found a city in the throes of exhilarating victory. Such a state was infinitely preferable, and the leader who’d made it possible had more than earned herself a carefree night.

With that thought in mind, Galfrey threw back a swig of ale and strode forward to join her subjects at their table. Her fifteen minutes of peace were almost up, and it was time to make her presence known. Better to make a jovial introduction, she decided, rather than be a weight upon the soldiers’ high spirits.

The reactions her reveal garnered were much what Galfrey expected: Irabeth snapped to immediate attention, the nearby soldiers backed away to a respectful distance, and even Anevia straightened her posture and pushed her drink away.

But not Cleo. Cleo just watched, dark eyes giving away nothing as she granted the Queen a lazy smile. “Have I had too much to drink, or are you really who I think you are?”

“That depends a good deal on who you think I am, doesn’t it?” Galfrey countered evenly. She kept her voice lighthearted, welcoming, and held out her hand in a simple greeting. “Galfrey, of Mendev.”

Cleo regarded the offered gesture for a moment, her gaze sliding from Galfrey’s hand to meet her eyes. The edges of her smile grew more pronounced. “I see the rumors were not exaggerated. Pleasure to make your royal acquaintance.” Without breaking her stare, Cleo wrapped her calloused fingers around Galfrey’s, and she brought Galfrey’s hand to her lips.

The kiss she laid on Galfrey’s skin was short, but her eyes stayed fixed on the Queen- testing her, Galfrey realized. Pressing to see how quickly Galfrey would pull away.

Indignation surged through Galfrey’s veins, but she had decades of practice in disguising her annoyances.  She did not pull away, nor did she flinch under that taunting gaze; she waited until Cleo’s touch retreated, and only then did she withdraw her hand.

“Thank you for the compliment,” she said stiffly, and Cleo chuckled.

“Didn’t say what the rumors were, did I? But you are quite welcome, your royal highness. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

The words were simply dripping with mockery, and Galfrey almost changed her mind right then and there. The mission she’d meant to bequeath upon the hero of Kenabres required some modicum of respect and discipline, and she could just as easily enlist any of her current generals who actually displayed those qualities.

Except…none of those generals, in all their years of service, had accomplished anything like the feat this woman already performed. If even half of what Cleo claimed was true, she should be dead ten times over. That meant that this woman was either a braggart lying through her teeth…or she truly possessed the type of power the Crusades so desperately needed.

It was a risk, to gamble on the latter option in such a way. But the war had been locked in a stalemate for far too long. Perhaps a certain amount of risk was warranted.

And besides, Galfrey reminded herself, Cleo was currently deep in her cups. In all likelihood, she would wake in the morning somewhat sheepish and ready to approach their arrangement with a bit more propriety.

“The Queen graces me with her presence, I see.”

Galfrey stifled a sigh as she entered the Cleo’s tent. Outside, troops bustled in preparation for the march to Drezen, their shouts and orders mingling with the familiar clang of plated armor. The soldiers had been all too eager to accept the hero of Kenabres as their new Knight-Commander- much more eager than Cleo was to actually act the part. The obstinate woman lounged at her table of maps, not even rising to her feet as she greeted Galfrey with her usual taunt.

This was a worthy gamble, the Queen reminded herself. This inexplicable hostility was a small price to pay, if her newly-appointed Knight-Commander truly had a chance at cracking Drezen.

“Indeed. This mission is a matter of great importance, Commander,” Galfrey said, happy to hear that her voice came out smooth, betraying none of her frustrations. She allowed the weight of her authority to creep in on that last word, hoping to emphasize the importance of the title. “Reclaiming Drezen would be an unimaginable boon to the Crusades…as I have told you. The people believe in you. You have ignited their courage, and their hope. It is these virtues which will bring us to victory.”

“You can ease off the speeches in here, you know. Save us both the time,” Cleo drawled, not bothering to lift her attention away from the maps spread out before her.

Galfrey scowled and moved closer, setting her hands firmly over the maps and papers covering the table. “We are all putting our trust in you. This is not something I say lightly, and I cannot leave without knowing that we have an understanding.”

For the first time, Galfrey’s words actually seemed to have an effect on Cleo; her lazy smile disappeared, and her dark eyes narrowed as she studied the Queen standing before her. She even rose from her seat so as to meet Galfrey eye-to-eye across the narrow table. She shucked off her fur cloak as she stood, revealing broad shoulders laced with scars and decorated with geometric tattoos which wound around the back of her neck.

“And where will you be,” Cleo asked, steady and sharp, “while we charge off fearlessly to victory?”

Galfrey arched an eyebrow, surprised, but it seemed an honest question. “I shall be preparing the defenses at Nerosyan and its sister cities, and planning the future of the Fifth Crusade. Does this satisfy your curiosity, Commander?”

Cleo gave an undignified snort, a look of self-satisfaction flashing across her face. “Should’ve known.”

“Do you have something to say?” Galfrey demanded harshly. Such a rebuke would have shaken any of her courtiers or generals. Even now, knowing Cleo as she did, she half-expected the other woman to step back at the sound of her cutting displeasure.

But of course the Commander did not such thing. She actually leaned closer, eyes flashing, as she hissed, “Just that what you mean to say is that you’ll be watching the battle from the rear, safe and hidden away in some cushy palace while your soldiers bloody the battlefield. Can’t say I’m surprised. I’m sure a throne room is much more amenable to your sensibilities than a war camp.”

Her sensibilities? Galfrey’s jaw clenched. This feckless stranger hadn’t the faintest idea what she was speaking of- what did she know of the battles Galfrey had seen, the blood she herself had spilled in the name of Iomedae? She knew nothing, and Galfrey owed her no explanation for any of it.

“I have already overlooked many instances of insubordination, Commander,” Galfrey said, her voice low. “Do not test me further.”

The warning was a serious one, and perhaps Cleo sensed it. She paused, her face still close, searching the Queen’s expression for- well, Galfrey still wasn’t quite sure. But at last, she let out a quiet breath and turned away.

“It’s only insubordination if you’re the one in charge,” she said, almost conversationally. “From where I sit, you’re not the one doing the leading on this particular mission. If you’ve really got the mettle, march on Drezen with us. You’ve been making all your speeches about how pivotal this mission is for your Crusade. So prove it.”

A few seconds passed in which Galfrey could not form a response. Cleo made no secret of her disdain for the Queen’s presence- why would she make this offer now? Cleo tilted her chin, boldly staring down Galfrey as she waited for an answer.

“It has been a very long time,” Galfrey said slowly, archly, with as much authority as she could muster, “since anyone has dared to speak to me in such a manner. I must ask, what is it you are hoping to accomplish?”

Cleo shrugged. “Believe it or not, I’m not actually trying to offend. I don’t know you well enough to know whether I want to offend you or not. And that’s the point. Where I’m from, we don’t give respect based on fancy titles. We respect the people who’ve earned it.” She paused, her eyes roving over Galfrey’s polished armor. “Whatever you believe about me, I do want to win this war. But I also like to know the people I’m fighting with.”

“On that, at least, we can agree.” Galfrey frowned as she found herself seriously considering the offer- no, the challenge. That was what this brash, impetuous tiefling had thrown at her feet. A challenge.

“Very well,” Galfrey said. “We march together.”

A grin crossed Cleo’s face, catching Galfrey by surprise yet again. “Looking forward to it.” She laughed, and the grin widened to show off her pointed teeth. “We’re gonna make those demons wish they never crawled out of their mothers’ hellholes.”

When Galfrey left the tent, she told herself this was a sound decision, made for sound reasons. The advance would benefit from her presence, and this way she could keep an eye on her new unpredictable Commander. All her reasons were all true, which made them all that much easier to believe.

But a small part of her whispered that the truth of it was…it had been so long since someone had truly challenged her. Maybe she just wanted to see what would come of it, and of this unprecedented Knight-Commander.

Gods above, Galfrey thought, shaking her head at herself as the thoughts rattled through her mind. What have I just unleashed upon the world?

[cosmereplay]

Day 4: Doomed by the narrative

Rated Teen, Veil & Tyn, RoW spoilers

“Where am I?” Veil asked. One minute, she'd been asking Shallan if she had done well, and the next, she'd found herself fading…and now, she was at a darkeyes tavern?

She stepped forward tentatively, looking around. The other people seemed…indistinct, except for one person sitting at the bar who looked deeply familiar, despite the fact that Veil had never met her. 

They could never have met, because it was the woman whose manner, fashion, and history Veil had stolen whole cloth.

The woman glanced down and to the side, tilting her ear towards Veil as if she could hear Veil’s thoughts.

“You gonna come join me, Veil?” Tyn asked. “Always room for one more in the Tranquilline Halls.”

“You’re not even Vorin,” Veil chuckled as she sat beside her, her confusion drowned in the sheer excitement of meeting the mentor she’d never actually met. “Am I dead?” she asked, as Tyn gestured to the barkeep for a round of Horneater White. “How do you know me?”

Tyn offered a cheers. “First, to the woman who finally killed me,” she said with an easy smile. She didn’t seem to have taken it too badly.

“To Shallan Davar.” They clinked glasses, and Veil drank her small cup in one go. It didn’t even burn going down. It just warmed her belly, leaving her feeling as indistinct as the rest of the tavern looked. She shook her head, as if to shake off the fuzziness. 

“What a woman. I had no idea what I was getting into when I met her.” Tyn smiled again, looking Veil up and down. “She really liked the outfit, huh?”

“She liked a lot about you,” Veil said, and spun her empty glass on the bartop at what looked like an impossible angle. The trick was simply to do it confidently. “Because of you, I could do what she felt she couldn’t do. I had the skills she didn’t have, or didn’t want to have. Because of you, I was free in a way she thought she couldn’t be.”

Tyn narrowed her eyes. “She even took my advice about blending in as a darkeyes. I like that. You know, I’ve been watching ever since she ran me through with that storming Blade.”

The idea that she’d been watching them brought up some acutely embarrassing memories, and Veil winced. “Even in Kholinar?”

Tyn laughed, loudly and freely. “Yeah. You two were a piece of work out there. Nah, I'm remembering that cursed place with the beads.”

“Shadesmar?”

“Yeah. And your time at the tower city. You earned that hat and coat, girl, the way you can flip those cards. The way you can talk yourself out of trouble. You earned your reputation. You were based on me, Veil, but you grew out of me. You did things I was never capable of. Putting someone else first. Loving someone. Protecting them. After a while, I realized I was rooting for you. I want you to know that. You were…” She wiped her eye. “Storms, you’re the closest thing I ever had to a daughter. I…”

“You don’t have to say it.” Veil’s breath caught between embarrassment and longing.

“No, don’t you see?” Tyn said. “That’s why I’m still here, hanging on. I have to say it. I was a conwoman all my life. This is my last chance to say something honest in this Heralds-forsaken life.”

Tyn reached out, taking Veil’s freehand in her uncovered safehand. She had stayed behind for her. For Veil. The touch was intimate in a way Veil had never known, and it moved her deeply. 

“You did good, kid.” She squeezed Veil’s hand, and Veil squeezed back, treasuring the warmth of it. She reimagined those same worst moments knowing that Tyn, her never-mentor, had been cheering her on. Her throat swelled with emotion, and she could feel her eyes watering. 

She looked up to find Tyn’s eyes were also sparkling with barely-suppressed emotion. They both quickly looked away, wiping their eyes in a symmetrical series of motions.

Veil ordered the next round, and lifted her cup. “To learning from the best.”

“If I’d been the best I wouldn’t have gotten stabbed by a seventeen-year-old,” Tyn laughed.

Veil grinned. “Fine. To the woman I tried to become.”

The older woman lifted her cup. “And to the woman you actually became.”

They clinked their cups, then drank. Veil felt this one hit harder. She started to feel a bit dizzy, disoriented. The tavern around them started to swirl and fade. “I am dead, aren’t I?” she said, half in awe. The air seemed to sparkle with an electric energy.

“No, just me. It’s my time now,” Tyn said. She had stood, and she leaned back against the bar casually, looking upwards as the scene faded into a soft, warm light. “Go back to Shallan, kid. Things’ll be different, sure, but that’s life, and you’ve got a lot more living to do.”

The light brightened until Veil couldn’t see Tyn anymore. “Goodbye,” she whispered, as finally, she felt herself floating in the back of Shallan’s mind again. She stepped forward, feeling her former consciousness fade and change into a bright new awareness.

She had done well.

"Yes," Shallan whispered. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

[daitranscripts]

Trespasser Credits Dialogue

All This Shit is Weird

Trespasser Masterpost

—

Cassandra: What is this? A new book? “All This Shit is Weird.” Oh, Varric. That is a terrible title. What are you even thinking?

Cassandra: “The sky churned like a roiling sea on a dark and stormy night, centered on a gaping hole that led to the ass-end of nowhere. A hole that spit up many things that day: comets, demons… and a whole lot of trouble.” (Gasps.) It’s about the Inquisition!

Cassandra: “The din of the tavern cut the silence like it owed the Carta money. In the middle, in her element, Red Jenny. She looked me up and down—mostly down. ‘Not playing, weirdy,’ she said, gesturing with, and dismissively eating, a sandwich. ‘Don’t write that. Seriously, piss up a rope.’ Sera made the subtext text, which suited me fine.”

Cassandra: “The court enchanter swirled into the room like a drop of beautiful poison spreading in a wine glass. She sized me up with a glance. ‘I’m so glad you made it, my dear,’ she said, ‘I am Madame de Fer, the most terrifying person you shall ever meet.’”

Cassandra: “Leliana enfolded Alphonse in an embrace as warm as a serpent’s kiss. ‘I always knew I could count on your support.’ The count did not feel the bite of her poisoned dart until it was too late. ‘Even if it requires… your death.’”

Cassandra: “Drops of rain glistened on the griffon medallion grasped tightly in Blackwall’s hand. ‘The Silverite Wings of Valor. They mean nothing.’ He flung the medal to the cold and uncaring ground. ‘You don’t know what I’ve done! You. Don’t. Know. Me.’” (Sighs.) So romantic.

Cassandra: “Cole moved like a shadow that also moved like a knife, a shadow wearing a hat where dreams came to die. ‘It’s a riddle,’ he whispered. ‘A cold riddle that gnaws at your mind, but you’ll feel better when it’s gone.’” That… makes as much sense as anything Cole says.

Cassandra: “‘Do you place your Herald above the law, Ambassador?’ ‘Whose law, my lady?’ Josephine’s eyes glittered like angry opals. ‘The law destroyed by rebellion? By civil war? By poor fiscal management? We are the law!’”

Cassandra: “We left our mark on Adamant, but the dust hadn’t settled… and neither had Harding. ‘I can offer you a drink, if I catch your meaning.’ ‘If you’d caught my meaning, you’d have offered a double.’” What is even happening here?

Cassandra: “The Iron Bull was a great slab of muscle with horns that could hang a tapestry. One eye scanned for threats, while the other hid behind an eye patch like a Chantry sister’s old sins. ‘Come on,’ he barked, not looking back as he entered. ‘The dancer with the great rack comes on in five.’” That is… spot-on, actually.

Cassandra: “The commander had the look of a templar who had seen the worst of humanity, yet still had the time to style his hair. ‘This isn’t just a war,’ he said, his gaze steely like a dull blade. ‘It’s the only war.’” Cullen! That’s Cullen!

Cassandra: “The mage wore a class of handsome sneer cultivated by a thousand years of Tevinter elitism. ‘The name’s Dorian,’ he glared. ‘D-O-R-I-A-N. Spell it right, you marble-headed lump, or it’s… toad time.’” A toad? That’s hardly credible.

Cassandra: “The bald elf spun, mage staff crackling like the city after a good man’s murder. ‘You’re crazy!’ the red templar cried in terror. Moonlight glinted off ears like the knives you never see coming. ‘Better to fade out than burn away.’” Ugh. Varric.

Cassandra: Wait, where am I? I don’t… oh, here it is. “The Seeker clutched at my vest, her tears as desperate as they were pitiful. ‘Varric, I was wrong about everything,’ she sobbed. ‘Could you find it in your noble heart to forgive me?’” That dwarf, he… he… He put me in the book! (Giggles.) I’m in the book! I am reading the shit out of this.

[multi-lefaiye]

here's a silly storyteller saturday one. top five eden hotboy moments. interpret this however you wish......

happy storyteller smonday!!!! i am answering this. not late at all, fuck you, i'm exactly on time /silly

anyway. i choose to interpret this as iconic eden moments, to me. for now, i'm just gonna do campaign eden, rather than bg3/sunbringer's song eden, bc i am so sleepy <3

before i do. tagging the eden fanclub (silly): @invaderskoodge @skitzo-kero @anexor @vacantgodling @chaieyestea

@astral-runic @paradoxspir1t @moonflowerrss @void-botanist @drawnecromancy

@kk7-rbs (if any of y'all don't wanna be tagged in these specifically just lmk)

Top Five Campaign-Specific Eden Hot-Boy Moments, in no particular order

In a sailing competition/race, he used his eldritch blasts to blast holes through another team's sails, slowing them down dramatically and helping his team to pull ahead. As he did, he made eye contact with the captain (who'd recently embarrassed Eden in front of everyone), winked, and saluted as they sailed away.

Upon finding a riddle with instructions for a binding ritual, Eden managed to deduce that the ritual required a sacrifice of blood, flesh, bone, and spirit. He decided to take it very, very literally, using a blade to cut off part of his tail and break off part of his horn. (This is why one of his horns has a crack in it, and why he has a scar on his tail! Both grew back, but the scars remain.)

When helping his friend associate Hyndrol with the same ritual, he decided not to waste time explaining it to her and instead asked her, "Which of your fingers are you least attached to?" Fully prepared to cut it off for her if she wasn't going to immediately do so herself.

One time he allowed a monster to bite down *hard* on his arm and fuck him up, entirely so he could then use Hellish Rebuke to burn the shit out of it, because he was cornered and pretty much out of options.

Feeling a bit pissy with the rest of the party, Eden decided to go make a new associate and struck up a conversation with the surliest, angstiest-looking bitch with the WORST vibes he could find at the local tavern, determined to convince him to join Eden for the day. And it worked, and now he and James are besties.