#but I don’t have any new astarion to post lately

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2020 vs 2024

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Unraveling Plan Meet Immeasurable Insecurity (Astarion x GN!Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Rating: Teen

Summary: Tav tries their damnedest to propose, only to be rebuffed by Astarion at every single turn.

Tags: Astarion POV - alternating w/Rogue!Tav, POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Spawn Astarion, Post-Canon, Marriage Proposal, Mild Hurt/Comfort, insecurities

A/N: based on a request from a kind anon on Tumblr– "Would you ever consider writing a one-shot where Tav tries to propose to Astarion but keeps failing multiple times. But Tav doesn’t give up and raises the stakes higher and higher. Astarion will completely remain oblivious because he still has some self esteem issues (why would anyone want to marry him?) and is really confused why Tav is acting nervous around him."

I ended up taking it in a slightly different direction (based on the man’s self esteem issues as you pointed out, anon). Set an undetermined amount of years post BG3, post saving Karlach from Zariel, post-Lae’zel finishing the githyanki uprising so the gang's all here. I hope the kind anon still enjoys it!

Word count: ~5.6k

Astarion first has an inkling that something is the matter when you sneak away from him.

Odd, he thinks, watching your retreating back. Usually they invite me along for this sort of skulking about.

But he understands, better than most, what a bit of privacy could afford someone who hasn’t had any in so long. So he watches you leave, pretending all the while that he hasn’t noticed a thing. Best not embarrass them, of course.

He brushes off the incident as an anomaly– after all, you continue to be your usual self upon your return. Neither of you speak of your absence, and you seem rather pleased with yourself, so he is pleased for you.

The next time he notices something is off he grows a tad more worried.

This time you don’t disappear, but you do spend a concerning amount of time staring at his hands, expression pensive.

“Darling,” he starts. He quickly tucks his hands under the Elfsong table that you both sit at and leans forward. “What are you doing?”

You blanch at the question– an uncharacteristic reaction to be sure. “Oh,” you sound startled, as if you’ve been caught doing something quite naughty. “Nothing at all. Just wondering if you’d done anything new with your nails? They look… nice.”

It’s a lie, that much is clear to Astarion. But it’s not typical that you lie so poorly. And why should you lie? No matter, you look flustered and gods does he love it when you look flustered– it happens so rarely that he feels the need to truly relish it. “Don’t they?” he asks, flourishing his hands in front of you now. “How did you know? I dipped them in an essence of ooze to thoroughly moisturize them.”

“Really?” Your bewilderment almost brings a laugh out of him.

“Gods no, my dear,” he says, reaching out from under the table and for your hands. “You seem quite out of sorts. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you dismiss, staunchly avoiding eye contact with him.

Odd, he thinks again. Where is their usual daring now?

He’s forced to dismiss the thought as you flag down a waitress, ordering yourselves another bottle of wine.

Astarion becomes genuinely concerned when you return home late one night.

The two of you have grown comfortable together in your house, just on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate, in a cozy corner of Rivington. The location allows you to continue your work with the guild, gives him plentiful access to any criminals that needed exsanguinating, and your former companions are never far.

It does mean that you will sometimes stay late in the city, working well into the sunlight hours– but you also know to send him a message on the days you stay out late. Otherwise your poor, beautiful vampire will waste away in worry.

“Where in the nine hells are they?” Astarion curses aloud on this particular dawning day. He’d tried sending a message to you, only to receive nothing back. He’d sent another to Shadowheart, again to silence. He considers trying someone less responsible like Karlach, when you finally burst through the front door.

“Oh! Astarion,” you say, surprise plain on your face. As if he wouldn’t be here, in your shared home no less, waiting for your arrival. “What are you still doing up?”

He watches you silently for a moment as you tuck something behind your back, straighten out uncomfortably. Then, with all of the annoyance he can muster, he rolls his eyes at you. “It’s lovely to see you too, my dear. It’s not as if I was worrying my gorgeous head off at the thought of you dead in some rank Baldurian gutter.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, shuffling around the room in a rather suspicious manner. “I lost track of time. I figured you would go to bed without me.”

Astarion can’t remember the last time he went to bed without at least knowing where you were. Even if he could, he suspects he really would rather not. “Darling, you know I need my warm-blooded lover by my side to enter my reverie. Besides, what could have possibly taken you so long?”

You hesitate, and something tugs at Astarion’s insides. He feels a sudden sense of fear, a dread that he may regret asking you this question. 

What if you’re upset at him, and this was your way to maintain space? What if you’ve finally, rationally taken a look at your situation and determined that no, you’d really rather not love a monster like himself? Or worse, what if you’d found someone else, someone who could bask in the daylight alongside you? Gods, the idea sends his undead heart plummeting.

Just as you’re about to open your mouth to answer, he rescinds his question, “Nevermind. I don’t want to know. I merely wanted to make sure you were alive. You’re looking as sprightly as ever, so I shall head to bed.”

He doesn’t wait for your response, heading to bed in a dramatic swirl and even more sensational thoughts. 

He’s right, he knows it to his core. You’ve found someone else, someone who can give you the life he never could. More than anything he wishes he had the courage to confront you, especially as all of your odd behavior clicks into place.

They snuck off to find a lover.

They were staring at my hands in the hopes that they were someone else’s.

They stayed out late to relish in another’s company.

They’re aloof because they’re leaving me and it’s all a matter of time.

It’s as plain as day. How could he have been so very, very blind?

__

You had concocted a nice, simple plan.

It involved a ring, a smattering of your closest friends, and a particularly prickly vampire. Ideally, the plan ended with the vampire agreeing to marry you.

Gods. The idea thrills you as much as it scares you: you are actually going to propose to Astarion.

After years together, you and Astarion are practically already married. This is merely a formality in your mind. But of course, for a man like Astarion, it's a formality that means only the utmost effort must be put in.

But, as it always goes in your life, your nice, simple fell apart.

The problem you're finding is that, after weeks of preparation and secretive planning, the man is being oddly distant. Distant and dismissive. It's almost as if he knows something is afoot, and he's utterly determined to make sure it doesn't happen.

Five times now he has thwarted your attempts at a proposal.

"Astarion," you had started the first time. "Would you like to take a walk in the park with me tonight?”

The look he’d given you was equal parts wary and panicked. So much so that you thought maybe you’d misspoken. But his response was measured enough. “No, thank you, darling. I’m afraid I’m quite spent today.” He gave you a yawn to illustrate his point, and you dropped the subject for the night.

You had had to send a message to Shadowheart to call off the trail of poisonous flowers that your friends were laying out for your stroll.

The next time, you had tried being a bit more casual in your attempt.

“Would you enjoy a day at the spa, Astarion?”

Again, he gave you a look that confused you. Frightened face, hackles raised– his only response was, “Why, darling, do I look that ghastly to you?”

“You know that’s not what I–”

“No matter,” he’d waved you off. “I am afraid I’m busy today.”

You’d sent a message to Karlach, telling her that the reservation of Baldur’s Gate’s spa was no longer needed.

The third time, you’d called in some more magical help.

“Astarion, what do you say to a moonlit picnic atop the roof of the Elfsong? We haven’t had one in a while.”

Appalled– utterly and truly aghast is the only way to describe the face he’d made. The words that followed didn't make you feel better either. “And why would we do that again after such a long while?”

Your stomach had roiled, worry settling in at his tone. “I thought it would be a chance to reminisce together.” Your tone stayed light, your smile just as friendly.

“It’s far too cold to bother with reminiscing,” he’d said, glowering at you. Looking at the hard set of his jaw, this is when you’d begun to worry that you’d done something to upset him.

“Is everything alright?” you’d asked, reaching out for his arm.

“It’s fine,” he’d replied, curtly, retreating from your grasp. “I just don’t want to be colder than I already am.”

You’d sent a message to Gale, instructing him to call off the magical skywriting over the Elfsong.

For your fourth attempt, you knew you needed someone with a slightly more forceful personality– and to perhaps lean a little less romantic.

“Astarion,” you’d begun, inflecting your tone with just the right amount of panic. “Lae’zel’s found a flock of mephits along the beach of Wyrm’s Crossing. She needs our help.”

“Mephits?” he’d asked, looking at you cautiously. “In Wyrm’s Crossing?”

“Yes,” you’d replied, nodding hurriedly. “We need to go now.”

He’d clicked his tongue at you and shaken his head. “As if Lae’zel couldn’t crush them all with a single swing. Seems to me like she’s grown lazy after all of her heroics.”

“Astarion,” you’d chided. “You know she will incredibly cross at us if she finds out you declined to help.”

“I’ll survive,” he’d said, returning to the book on his lap, hands turning paler than usual in a tense vice grip. “Probably.”

After, you’d sent a message to Lae’zel, instructing her to do as she pleased with the stash of fireworks on the beach.

The fifth time you’d grown genuinely, truly worried that something was wrong with Astarion because, by the gods, the man had refused to commit crime with you.

After so many failed attempts, you’d figured that you needed to go back to the roots of your relationship– to a simpler time when petty theft gave you some time alone together.

“I heard a rumor through the guild,” you’d said offhandedly over dinner. “A newly minted noble in the Upper City has quite the horde of wealth and very little security. What do you say that we pay them a visit, perhaps ‘relieve’ them of some of their wealth?”

Astarion had faltered, clearly tempted by your offer. But after nearly two weeks of avoiding going anywhere with you, he didn’t outright agree either. “And why would you need me for this particular job?”

The question had taken you aback. You’d never needed a reason to invite him along for crime of all things. It made you near certain that he knew what you were up to and that something about it was distasteful to him. Sweet hells, it made you nervous. “I, erm… well, I could use an extra pair of hands to carry it all, I suppose?”

“I could lend you my pack then,” he’d said, narrowing his eyes at you.

Why is he trying to avoid me? Have his feelings changed? you’d thought in fear. Aloud, you’d only doubled down. “Well, the company might be nice. And you know that your lockpicking is, somehow, better than mine.”

“I thought you said security was sparse,” he’d countered.

“Sparse doesn’t mean nonexistent.”

“Not much of a challenge then, is it?”

You had wanted to scream into the astral plane. Wanted to flip the table over his pretty pale face. Wanted to tell him, ‘You know what, I didn’t want to marry such a stubborn vampire anyway!’ – but you did none of those things. Because you love this man and, even when he’s being difficult, you do want to marry him.

So you had gritted your teeth and said, “Very well then. I shall borrow your pack.”

You’d sent a message to Wyll later to call off his father’s help with the upper city guards.

For your sixth attempt, you decide you first need to reconvene with your council– also known as your former companions. 

When you’d first met with them at the start of this whole ordeal, you’d snuck away from Astarion. It made you feel a bit guilty, sneaking around, hiding things from him, but the entire proposal was meant to be a fun surprise– one you are starting to suspect is a misguided effort. 

You profess as much aloud now that you’re meeting up with the five of them again, seated around the table in Jaheira’s kitchen. “Maybe there is no sixth attempt. Maybe I’ve overestimated the love between us.”

“Don’t say that,” Wyll says, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, squeezing softly in reassurance. “Your love is strong. And together we will find a way to make this proposal work.”

You smile up at the man, one always so willing to believe in the power of a good love story. You’re almost sorry to be disappointing him– and the smut peddlers. Really, you’re sorry to be disappointing all of your friends. Each of your companions had been eager to help you in your endeavor, in their own ways, of course.

Gale had congratulated you prematurely at first, misunderstanding your Sending spell. But when you’d clarified, asked him for his help, he’d only been incredibly enthused, arriving the very next day, offering all manner of suggestions.

Karlach, for her part, was only ever excited, practically bouncing off the walls that two of her best mates may potentially tie the knot. At the low, low price of allowing her to be your person of honor, she was entirely at your disposal.

Lae’zel had been confused initially. In her mind, you were already committed to a life together. What was the purpose of this… proposal? Of marriage? But when you’d explained to her a bit, she’d been curious– and excited at the potential of catching Astarion off guard.

Shadowheart had seemed surprised when you’d asked. You weren’t already married? Alas, she’d gotten the plot of one of the many bawdy novels about you confused with real life. No matter, she was happy to help.

And, well, Wyll– when he returned from Avernus he’d been disappointed that you weren’t at the very least engaged yet. It was no shock or awe to him when you visited him for help. In fact, he had only given you a wry smile and said, “I knew you would be the one to cave.”

As for Jaheira, well, she was allowing you to use her house as a headquarters, but had proclaimed early, “Invite me to the wedding and I shall be there, but until then– well, this is for you lot to figure out.”

And gods were you having trouble figuring it out.

“I don’t know, Wyll. I’m worried Astarion may never revert back to normal at this rate,” you say, shaking your head.

“Was he ever normal?” Shadowheart asks with a soft snort. “Besides, he can be awfully dense at times, you may just need to ask him outright.”

“There is not a single realm in which Astarion says yes to a simple proposal,” you say, brows furrowing. “You know he’d want something flashy.”

Gale raises a finger sagely before countering, “Well, my friend, sometimes what we want and what we need are two different things. I’m inclined to agree that you may just need to pop the question.”

“What if…” you trail off, your worries from the past weeks bogging down your thoughts. Somehow, despite everything you’ve been through, this seems to be your toughest challenge yet. “Do you think he knows what I’m doing and is simply too afraid to reject me?” you ask the group, turning to each of them with pleading eyes. You’re honestly not sure you can take his rejection, especially after the last five rebuffs.

“Not a chance in the hells,” Karlach answers. “I think he’s being a right idiot, actually. And if he knew what was happening, he may even say yes before you can so much as get the question out.”

“Really?” Your mood lightens a bit, her harsh words slashing through the hardened doubts that have settled over your heart. 

“Is it any surprise to us that Astarion is incapable of seeing the truth before him?” Lae’zel says, rolling her eyes. “Such sharp skills, yet completely dull in the face of our efforts.”

“Again, we may just need a softer touch,” Shadowheart suggests, tilting her head at you.

You’re not sure what a softer touch might be, and, from the silence that follows, neither are any of your companions.

Your resident wizard is the first to break the silence. “I could always create a simulacra–”

“Gale,” Wyll interjects, politely. “I’m afraid I don’t think that’s much softer.”

“Right,” Gale says, leaning back in his seat.

Another long moment of silence and you’re truly starting to feel defeated. You hang your head a bit, thoughts filled with the image of a certain beautiful, pale elf’s mouth curling at you in distaste, forming a pronounced ‘no.’

“Soldier,” Karlach starts. You look up to see her smirking at you. “If he won’t willingly join you anywhere. I think we both know what you need to do.”

–

They are going to sink the final nail in the metaphorical coffin.

For nearly two weeks now, Astarion has successfully avoided his lover’s attempts to get together in a public space– likely what they saw was the best, most civil way to dispose of him. But, foolish as it is to cling to something like a withered love, Astarion doesn’t want this relationship to end.

Perhaps, if I can do this for long enough, they will change their mind, he thinks. Gods, that sounds pathetic, even for him.

Astarion was running out of excuses, and, worse yet, running out of willpower. What is the use in fighting the inevitable? he thinks, as he walks down the streets of Baldur’s Gate. It’s a moonlit night, and he’s on the prowl for a criminal to bite– he needs something, anything to distract him from his woes.

He turns the corner, on high alert.

Then again, a more selfish part of him counters. Why shouldn't you fight for your love? They were the first good thing to ever happen to you in this damned world.

That’s when he spots them– the-first-good-thing-to-ever-happen-to-him is hiding behind a bush directly before him, facing another alleyway. There are very few reasons that they would be out at this time of night, in the middle of this particular street of Baldur’s Gate. While they could be on a mission for the guild, he had last seen them at home, reading by the fire. It’s clear that they followed him, are waiting to ambush him.

Is this it? he thinks, eyes narrowing. His chest hurts, more than ought to be possible given his lack of beating heart. Is this how desperate they are to be rid of me? May as well go out with flair, I suppose…

Astarion sneaks forward, careful to remain outside of your field of view. He settles behind you in the darkness of the bush, watching you as you look out for him. Despite the ache in his heart, the clenching of his stomach, he can’t help but think of how lovely you look under the moonlight– of how lucky he has been to have had you.

If this truly is it, he thinks. I can’t wallow or cry. I shall hold my head high and consider myself fortunate to have met them. To have loved them. At least, he hopes he’s capable of such a performance. Because right now, quietly crouched next to you, he wants nothing more than to pull you into his arms, to beg you to reconsider.

But no. He refuses to look pathetic– not after the life he has lived.

So, after waiting with you for a few minutes, he leans forward into your personal space and asks, “Darling, what are you doing?”

Astarion is ready for your instincts to kick in, so when your knife is drawn in a flash and you’re lunging for him, he’s easily dodging backward, holding his hands up in peace. “Now, now darling, I thought we were past the knives at throats.”

“Astarion?” you ask, startled. “Sweet hells, you haven’t snuck up on me like that in years.”

“Yes, well,” he says, avoiding your eyes now. He’s surprised by how much gazing into them has weakened his composure already. “You also haven’t looked so utterly distracted by your own thoughts in years either.”

“What are you doing here?” you ask, ignoring his words. “I thought…”

Yes, dear, what did you think? he wants to ask, to catch you in the act with a cruel moment of revelation, to hurt you as much as you’re about to hurt him. But when he brings his eyes back to yours, he knows he can’t do that. While he’s still capable of maiming, killing, all manner of atrocities– he cannot hurt you. So he only says, “I was out hunting and I saw you hiding in a bush. What are you doing here?”

“I–” you falter, seemingly torn. Perhaps you’re having second thoughts. Perhaps this is his chance to keep you from breaking his cold, crumbling heart.

“Do you need assistance, dear?” he asks, ready and willing to show how much he would do for you. Anything, honestly, if it means you’ll stay by his side.

“Gods, I keep mucking this all up,” you mutter, head hanging in uncharacteristic defeat. “Maybe Shadowheart was right.”

What did that damned cleric do now? Is she the one you’re leaving him for? He’s about to make a reflexive, snide comment about her veritable barnyard of animals, but stops when he sees you sheath your blade. When you wipe a hand over your face in frustration.

Oh. You’re miserable. You wouldn’t look like this normally. You would never be this nervous, this stressed to see him– not unless his very presence had turned toxic. “I should go, shouldn’t I?” he asks, throat tight.

“No!” you say, reaching out a hand to keep him from leaving. Your grip is tight, painful in its panic, but he doesn’t complain. How could he when you look like this? 

More than anything, he wants this worry that lines your face to fade, the jittery movement of your hands to abate. So maybe it’s up to him to spark the beginning of the end… “Did you… have something you wanted to tell me?” he asks, swallowing down the fear that threatens to overwhelm him.

“I…” you gulp, bringing your second hand to join the first, loosening your grip. You raise your head, and he sees the tumult in your gaze. At the very least, you must care about him somewhat to stress yourself this much. “Astarion, please don’t be upset.”

How could he not? But, somehow, he manages a sad smile at you anyway. “As if I could ever be upset with you, my love.”

Then you drop to a knee in front of him.

– 

“Astarion,” you say, voice shaking a bit with nerves. “I had wanted this to be something lovely. Something meaningful. But… I guess you love ruining plans, don’t you?”

“What,” he breathes out, confusion plain on his face. His red eyes dart between yours, as if trying to process a sudden, large shift. You suppose it would be a shift in your relationship, even if you were practically married already. If he even decided to say yes.

You release his arm with one hand, reaching into your side pouch for the small square box that’s waiting for you. Fingers less dexterous than usual, you fumble over clutching it, opening it single handedly. You’re not used to looking this foolish, and you can feel a heat over your cheeks, an anxious shake to your movements.

But before too long the box is open, a shining platinum band resting inside.

It looks like everything you’d hoped for in the moment– its inlaid red rubies catch the moonlight just beautifully. You’d spent weeks agonizing, wondering if you had picked the right one, imagining what it might look like were it to be placed on his perfect pale finger. Here and now, with this man standing before you, you know it would look exquisite.

“Astarion,” you start again, courage returning to you with that knowledge, some of the words you’d prepared coming back to your mind. “These past years together have been the best years of my life. You’re my best friend, my dual blade, and I love you more than I can even say. I don’t know what our future holds, but I would consider myself lucky to walk towards it with you at my side. So…” You pull the ring from the box, holding it up to the man you love with a smile. “Would you, Astarion Ancunín, do me the honor of marrying me?”

Astarion Ancunín, despite years of quick quips and sultry words, seems to be frozen in place, unable to speak.

You’re used to these moments, when he needs to process, but you’re not used to them when you’re on one knee, waiting for a response. “Astarion?” you hazard.

“You’re…” he says, face slack, mouth barely moving. “You’re proposing to me?”

It’s not a no, but it’s certainly not the reaction you’d be hoping for. “Erm, yes. Is that… distasteful to you?” You can feel your hand recoil somewhat, your smile slip.

His expression remains blank, lips slightly agape as he continues to take in the scene before him. “You– you don’t have a new lover? You’re not planning to leave me?”

“What?” Now it’s your turn to be flabbergasted. “Astarion, what are you talking about?”

The sigh that leaves him then could collapse a small house. “Sweet hells,” he says, face and body relaxing. “I thought… I thought that you were acting odd, like– like–”

“Like I was trying to surprise you with the magnificent proposal you deserve?” you respond, suddenly understanding his behavior and growing a smidge annoyed. “Like I didn’t want to propose to you behind some damned bushes?”

Astarion looks around, as if just now realizing where you are, what is happening. “Yes, now that you mention it, like that.”

You want to be upset, but then the man above you laughs. It’s light, breathy, and utterly relieved. “You were really worried, weren’t you?”

“Oh my sweet love, I was about ready to jump into an Oubliette,” he says, shaking his head ruefully.

“You thought I would leave you, just like that?” you ask, brows furrowing in concern. Maybe you should have just proposed in your living room.

“I wouldn’t blame you,” he says, looking down at you with a tinge of sadness in his smile. “I doubt that this was the life you were looking for, darling. As a matter of fact, are you… sure about this?” He eyes the ring in your hand, all but forgotten in his confusion.

You proffer it again, raising your hand a bit higher this time. “The only life I’m looking for is the one with you in it, Astarion. I am quite sure.”

His scarlet eyes dart between yours questioningly, and you merely stare back, staunch in your words and intent. “Even if I’m a fool that forced your hand– left you kneeling in the dirt?”

“We’ve done worse things on dirt, Astarion,” you say, smiling widening at the memory of the first time he’d told you he loved you. “If you’d like me to get out of the dirt though, you could answer my question: Would you marry me?”

__

Once more, he looks between your eyes, this time his are wide, open– daring to believe that his darkest fears are just that. Fears. Ones that you would vanquish without a second thought. How could he have been so blind to that. Moisture pools at the corner of his eyes at the realization.

So he drops to his knees, reaching for your face with his hands. In a single movement, he’s pulled you toward him, captured your lips with his with an undeniable longing. A longing to hold you in his hands for as long as he is able. A longing to taste your lips on his, each and every day. A longing to never be without you, to be yours until death do you part.

You respond to his kiss in kind, lips pressing against him with your own pent up longing. He distantly hears the ring’s box fall to the floor, feels your hand brush past his ear to clutch his hair. You kiss him like he’s the answer to every question you’ve ever had and he feels a small tear run down his face as his eyes squeeze tightly shut.

Gods he would never tire of kissing you.

I ought to respond, he thinks in the back of his head, as he moves his lips against yours.

Is this not response enough? he argues, not wanting to break apart from you, for even a moment.

No, it wouldn’t do to have any confusion, not after the past two weeks.

So, before he can forget himself, he pulls back from you, far enough to look into your eyes. “That was a ‘yes’ in case that wasn’t evident.”

You laugh, short and breathless. “Oh good,” you say, leaning back further and bringing up the ring between you. “Then may I?”

Astarion removes his left hand from your face, holds it out to you with a large, gleeful smile. “You may.”

You slip the ring onto his finger. It fits well, matches his eyes, looks positively sumptuous– as always, you know him too well. “It’s stunning,” he says, angling it one way then another.

“I’m glad you like it,” you say, smiling at the sight. “And that you didn’t catch me when I tried to sneak it past you.”

The vampire laughs, shaking his head free of his own silly thoughts. “I smashed your plans into tiny little pieces, didn’t I?”

You don’t say yes, but the look on your face is evidence enough. “I’ll tell you all about what you missed out on later. For now, we should, erm, go get our friends.”

“Go get our friends?” he asks, wondering what in the hells they have to do with all of this.

“Yes,” you say, planting a kiss on his hand before moving to get up. “They’re all in place for another one of these ill fated plans.”

“Ah,” he says, following you up. Then, realizing what you’ve said, he looks at you with concern. “Just what were you in this bush for?”

To your credit, you look abashed. But your words do nothing to lessen his concern. “Seeing as you were refusing to come with me, well, anywhere, we had to pivot our strategy.”

“Darling,” he starts, his tone a deceptive sweetness. “Whatever does that mean?”

“It was Karlach’s plan,” you say, as a means of explanation.

“Oh good. I’m sure whatever it was was perfectly sane then.”

Scratching at the back of your neck, you finally admit the plan, “I was going to give them a signal when you passed. Gale was going to make an illusory double of me getting kidnapped by the rest of them in disguise, then hopefully you would take chase to go save me, they would lose you just as you got to the Elfsong where I would be waiting…”

Astarion looks at you sharply, his mouth a disapproving line. “Really?”

“In retrospect, I can see the flaws in the plan,” you say, palms open. “But in my defense, I was getting desperate. Either way, we ought to go get them. Karlach seemed just about ready to explode from hiding that long.”

“Fine,” he says reluctantly. “This is what we get for having such imbeciles for friends.”

“Funny,” you start, holding out a hand to him. “They said the same about you.”

He takes your hand with an exaggerated eye roll, but can’t help the smile that comes over his face at the feeling of your fingers twining with his. “It’s a shame you had to resort to them for help.”

“I really needed it. You know, I have killed more people than I can count, but you have been my most challenging mark by far,” you say, dramatically as you begin to walk down the alleyway.

“Worse than the giant, world-ending brain?”

“Oh yes.”

The two of you walk in silence for a few steps before Astarion feels compelled to say one last thing before reaching your friends. “Darling, I truly am sorry I ruined all of your plans, but I must ask: Please don’t try to surprise me like this again.”

The expression on your face deflates a little, and you say, “I thought you would like something grand?”

He brings your hand up to his lips for a soft, reassuring peck. “Normally, yes. But, I love you so very much. I’m afraid it clouds my usually impeccable judgment.”

You don’t comment on his judgment, instead focusing on his proclamation of love. “I love you too. So, hopefully, there isn’t a second proposal.”

“One can only hope,” Astarion says with a laugh. “And, if there is, perhaps it’s my turn to do the proposing?”

“Love, if you surprise me, I may kill you,” you say, plainly.

“A risk I’ve always been willing to take, my dear,” the man replies, pulling on your hand. “Now, come. I think I can spot Wyll’s peeking eye from here.”

Hand-in-hand, the two of you walk toward your waiting friends, ready to tell them the good news.

It wasn’t the grand proposal you had envisioned. Nor was it even a particularly romantic one. But, somehow, it was still perfect, still loving, still the beautiful new beginning to the rest of your lives together.

[anacdoce]

New Beginnings

Chapter 1 - New Year's Eve

The beautiful screenshot above is from @iizven, and I'm so in love with it!

Pairing: Astarion x you (f!reader, implied sorcerer with no magic anymore)

Rating: T

Word count: 6.4k

Warnings: post game events; fluff; Astarion is trying his best; a bit of angst to spice it all; sequel of "I wish" and so Astarion is mortal again.

Summary: After your recovery you decide it's time to move on and follow Astarion's plans. Neverwinter awaits you, as does the end of the year that is almost upon you.

Will this new beginning go as expected?

a/n: I confess, it was not my intention to make a sequel from my first fic "I wish", but a dear friend of mine, inception me with some ideas, and here I am, sharing on the last day of the year the continuation of a story that is very special to me.

As a thank you, I gift this small sequel to @iizven, not only because she is responsible for it, but because she has been a true friend, giving me the support and motivation to keep writing.

This is for you, my dear. Hope you like it. <3 (a late Christmas gift if you want).

To wrap up my ramblings, I just wanted to mention that what was originally meant to be a short one-shot ended up being much longer than I anticipated. As a result, I decided to split it into two parts.

Now please, enjoy it.

Happy New Year to everyone!! ❤️

Next chapter

Read on oa3

The end of the year draws near, and you’re preparing to leave Waterdeep to reach Neverwinter before that. 

It’s been a few weeks since you had Shadowheart’s blessing for your departure. Your wounds have healed, your body is mended and nothing holds you in Waterdeep anymore. There is no hope to recover your lost magic, so everything that could be done has been done. And despite Gale’s continuous pleading, you feel it’s time to leave. Not that you’re uncomfortable or anything, nothing like that, because there is no better host than Gale—he really makes you feel at home—but you know Astarion is waiting. He never tells you he wants to leave, always placing your well-being above all else, but since you heard from Shadowheart’s mouth that you no longer need her by your side as a cleric and that you are released from her hands, he started to gather things—making your packs, collecting maps and goods for your future journeys together. And you don’t want to delay that any longer, because the more you wait to leave, the more he’s growing impatient.

And finally, that day has come.

“Are you sure you want to travel at this time of the year? The winter in the north can be harsh.” Gale tries once more to convince you not to leave while he’s helping you to put your backpack on.

“It’s not that bad in Neverwinter. You know that, wizard.” Astarion replies with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

“Well… I know, but…” Gale mumbles, clearly unwilling to give up his fight. “But it can be very windy!”

“It’s fine Gale. We’ll be alright.” You try to reassure him for what feels like the tenth time on that day.

“Oh, Darling, he’s not really worried about me.” Astarion remarks dryly.

Gale snorts, darting Astarion with a deep and hurted glare. “That’s not true. You know that.” 

Astarion clicks his tongue and turns to fetch his cloak, and Gale seizes the opportunity to get closer to you, holding your arm, and lowering his voice just for you to hear. “Stay until the Wintershield celebrations. At least until then. You would make me very happy if we could celebrate the start of the new year together.” 

“I know you would… But, and after that? You would ask me to stay until the end of winter. And after that, until the snow has melted, and after that until the flowers have bloomed…” You state as he shakes his head in denial. 

“No. I promise. I won’t ask you that.” Gale insists.

“It’s fine Gale, it’s time to leave.” You smile at him, staring into his eyes trying to make him realise that you’re ready to move forward with your life. You need this.

“But… your magic? I haven't given up on that yet.” He nervously adds. His eyes, restless replying to your stare.

“Let it go Gale. I’m fine. I have accepted it. You should too.” You place your hand over his, holding it affectionately. 

It’s not entirely true, you think about it everyday, because you miss it… desperately. But there is nothing you can do about it, and there is no point to dwell on that any further.

“Never.” His face, serious.

Shadowheart approaches, pulling Gale gently to her side. “Alright, that’s enough. This is not a goodbye, is it? We’ll see each other again, shortly. I’m sure of it.” And Astarion huffs from behind you, displeased. Shadowheart ignores him and continues, “I’ll stay in Waterdeep a while longer, and we can celebrate the new year together.” She places her arm over Gale’s shoulder, making him smile at her gesture.

“We’ll keep in touch. And it’s like Shadowheart has said, we’ll be together in no time.” 

“Yes, yes, that’s all very touching.” Astarion interjects with an exaggerated sigh. “Now, shall we go?” 

You nod. It’s time.

Hugging them both, you remember the last months together. They meant so much to you. They're truly your friends, and you’ll miss them dearly. “Thank you for everything.” You mutter. “No words are enough to express my gratitude for both of you. I will never forget everything you have done for us.” You squeeze them against you.

“Oh shut up…” You swear you can hear Shadowheart sob. “You’re going to make me cry.” And she releases you breathing deeply, trying to control her emotions.

Gale, on the other hand, holds you tighter. “Please, take care of yourselves. I’ll always be here if you need me.” He presses a soft kiss to your cheek before stepping back.

Astarion approaches you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Have you said all your goodbyes, my love?” He whispers in your ear.

You glare at him and smile, your vision beginning to blur as tears gather in your water line. 

They wave their hands at you, and Astarion does the same, almost awkwardly, wanting to go unnoticed. Then he holds your hand firmly and waits for you to take the lead on the first steps of your new adventures together. 

After a big deep breath, you turn around and step forward, moving away from your friends. A few tears escape your eyes despite your best efforts to hold them back. After all, many things happened in the previous months, and if you’re here today it's because of them.

“Sweetie, are you alright?” Astarion asks, concern flickering across his face. “We can stay if you want…”

“No, I don’t want that.” You bring his hand to your mouth and kiss it. “What I want is right here by my side.” You smile at him tenderly.

“I promised to make you the happiest woman who ever lived. And I intend to. I will fulfill my promise, Love.” His words spelled with confidence. 

“Oh, my Star, but you already do.” And nothing in this world is more true than that.

You intertwine your fingers on his, brushing your thumb on the back of his hand, and you proceed your path, leaving behind the sweet and sour memories of the past months of your life.

—

Together, you decide to travel along the road near the coast, taking the shorter route to Neverwinter. You feel more and more excited with the idea of traveling around Faerun with Astarion, the more distant you are from Waterdeep. You need something like this. You both do.

When he was gathering all the things for your journey, Astarion packed a book about Neverwinter—filled with maps of the city, its traditions and costumes, and some important history facts. Each night, as you settle to rest, you read a bit of it, and you finally start to understand the fascination Astarion has with this particular city. You can’t wait to arrive there.

In the meantime, you’re enjoying each and every day of this new adventure together. You missed those days, alone with him. Only the two of you, as friends, as lovers. Never was he so tender with you, something you thought it wasn’t possible. Maybe the events of the past few months left their marks, because… well, let's just say that your near-death experience is something still very present in his mind. There are nights that you catch him hovering over you trying to hear your heartbeat, to make sure you’re alive while you’re sleeping. You can’t blame him. You would do the same… He still worries about you, and you’re sure he always will, as you will with him. 

For some time now, he has been trying to teach you how to use a dagger, because now that you don’t have your magic anymore you have to use something else to defend yourself, but you’re a menace with it. He tries to conceal his despair when he teaches you a simple move with the blade, but you can see behind his twitching eyes that the frustration is there. So one day, you suggest trying a bow instead—perhaps you can learn it more easily, which he promptly agrees to. And how joyful he is when he sees that at last you found something you can learn and be good at it. Since then, he has been more relaxed and less alert with everything around you, because now you can defend yourself. But despite all that, in each archery lesson he always ends up confessing: “Even so, I would prefer if you knew how to properly use a dagger…” To which you always retort, “And I would prefer if you acknowledged you’re not a vampire anymore and stopped playing with your knives so recklessly like you do every day…” Because honestly, Astarion’s mortality has given you new worries to care about. This elf is like a wild child on the loose, and sometimes you’re almost sure he forgets he’s not a vampire anymore… and Gods! How your heart wants to jump out from your mouth… Things he always did and never were an issue to you, like playing with his daggers, now gives you shivers all over your body. Your husband enjoys the thrill of danger, a trait you’ll have to learn to deal with, because that will not change. Not now, not ever. 

On one stormy evening, you find shelter in a cave somewhere in the Sword Mountains. After setting up camp, you grab your Neverwinter book again, and curl up in Astarion’s lap on his bedroll, as he drinks a hot cup of tea. You read it for a while, gently cradled by his free hand on your head, brushing strands of your hair with his delicate fingers, and every now and then his hand strays to your neck, stroking the scars, the scars he gifted you some time ago. He often touches them, sometimes without even realising it, sometimes longing for the taste of your blood in his mouth, and sometimes because he needs the reassurance that you’re not going anywhere, that you love him, and that you chose to spend the rest of your life with him. Even after all you have done he still doubts himself… and you believe that will never really change either.

And now he’s doing exactly that—caressing the two dots his not anymore sharp fangs left in your skin, in what seems to be a lifetime ago… 

Discreetly you look upwards, to his face, trying to examine his expression. “Is everything alright, Star?” You inquire, not sure of what’s happening inside his mind.

“Oh, yes. Everything is perfect, Darling.” He flees, as his hand, retreating to your hair.

“Are you sure? You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” You insist, leaving his lap to sit beside him.

Astarion smiles, and you sense some gloom on it. “I know.” He answers. Then, he spreads his legs open, reaches for your hand and pulls you closer. “Come here, my love.” He snuggles you against his chest, wrapping his arms around your tummy. “Now tell me… what did you learn about Neverwinter today?” And he rests his chin against your shoulder, tilting his head towards the book in your hand.

Flipping the book open, indulging him, you clear your throat dramatically before speaking. “So, today I learned about the Feast of Lanterns.” And you try to give your voice a mysterious flourish to intrigue him.

“Uuuh, the Feast of Lanterns? What is that?” He asks, tickling your belly at the same time.

Giggling, you try to escape his tickles, and when he stops you bring the book closer to his face. “It’s a celebration of the New Year. See?” You explain, pointing to an illustration of the city illuminated by lanterns. “Everyone makes a lantern, every living soul in Neverwinter makes a lantern. And on the evening of the new year, they light them, filling the city with a warm glow and making wishes for the year ahead.” 

Astarion pulls back from you, frowning, one finger waving in the air in front of your nose. “No, no! You promised!”

“What?!” You query, confused.

“You’re forbidden to make wishes, remember?” 

“Oh, come on! Are you serious about this?” You exclaim, incredulous. 

“Of course!” Then he leaps over you, making you tumble onto his bedroll, his perfect warm body over yours. “You can’t wish for anything else in this life. I was the last wish you could spell with your soft silky lips.” He purrs into your ear.

“Is that so?” You chuckle, running your hands down his back, until you reach his shirt waistband, pulling it slightly over just so you can touch his bare skin.

“And since your last wish was fulfilled—because I’m here, very, much, alive—no more wishes for you, Love.” His nose, caressing your cheek, slowly reaching to your lips. “But…”

“But?...” You gasp, feeling his breath invading your senses.

“But…” A soft kiss. “You could always…” Another kiss. “Just ask.” And another.

Your hands slide back to his shoulder plates, but this time inside his shirt. “So, I can’t make a wish, but I can ask for something. Is that it?” You try to nibble his lip, but he leans his head backwards just in time to evade your attempt. 

“Correct.” He confirms, his voice like velvet, while he unbuttons your shirt, cupping your breast contained in your bra with his hand next, making you arch your back in response to his touch. “As long as I am what you'll ask for, my love.” 

“Oh, my shining star…” You hold him tight against you, murmuring, “You will always be everything I’ll ask for.” 

His eyes glitter, reflecting the light of the candles nearby, staring into yours. “Promise?”

“I promise.” One of your hands leaves his back to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. 

He keeps just staring at you for a while longer, probably absorbing everything you just said. And from one moment to the next his expression changes, and he’s no longer bearing his soft and reverent beautiful smile, reserved to you when he’s lost in his love for you. That smile turns into a mischievous one, and you know he’s plotting for something. “Well, I could always open an exception.” His voice, provocative.

“An exception? To what, I may ask?” You play his game.

An open, victorious smile, spreading in his lips. “Yes. I will let you wish for only one more thing, at this precise moment.”

“Oh, how generous of you!” You lead your hand into your chest, feigning surprise.

“Darling, you know I can be a very generous man.” He purrs. “Now, if you want, and I know you do want to, I’ll let you wish for a kiss. A warm and breathtaking kiss from the most perfect elf you have ever met.” His tone, turning into a seductive one. “But be careful.” He warns. “You have to formulate this wish very wisely, or the elf may flee and you’ll be miserable, wondering forever how the most unforgettable kiss of your life would have been.”

Such a bastard. You think for yourself, letting out a giggle at his smugness. “Gods… I can’t let that happen. I would be heartbroken… I can’t let this perfect elf escape. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.” 

“I thought so, Sweetheart.” His two fingers, running across your chest to your right shoulder, tucking aside the strap of your bra.

“Alright. Lets see…” You stray your eyes from his, looking at the ceiling of the cave, pretending that you’re thinking, while he starts to trail small kisses on your shoulder all the way up to your neck. “This is very… hard… indeed…” You confess, your body reacting to him, butterflies invading your stomach. Even after all this time, this man is still capable of making you feel like a teenager waiting for your first kiss.

“Very hard, Love.” He teases you, pressing his body against yours. “Now tell me your wish.” He demands.

“I wish…” You start, moaning in the middle of it, feeling his tongue on your ear. “I wish to be kissed by the most perfect, beautiful elf that have ever walked on this earth. I wish to be kissed by the one and only owner of my heart.” You pause, holding his chin and making him look at you, painfully interrupting his magical ministrations on your ear. “I wish to be kissed by you, Astarion. Right. Now.” 

“Very good, my dear. I think I can make that happen.” He blows the candles near you, letting the cave be only illuminated by the dim light of the almost extinguished campfire a few steps ahead from you. Then he closes his face to yours, muttering into your lips. “Let's make this wish come true.” He whispers, claiming your lips.

And he wasn’t lying, he never lies to you. He gives you the most perfect kiss ever. Like he always does in each kiss he gifts you with. 

It doesn’t matter how loud the thunders roar outside, it doesn’t matter how strong the rain falls, or how cold the wind blows… in reality nothing matters when you’re lost in his arms, when your bodies are entangled like one, celebrating the love that unites you. Everything else vanishes… It’s just you and him. And you really wish it will always be like that.  

—

A week later, you arrive at Neverwinter, a stunning city in the north, divided in two by the Neverwinter River and now painted in white by the snow that began falling some days before. It’s a really impressive city, facing the Sea of Swords. It brims with energy—very lively but not chaotic like Baldur’s Gate, and very well organized. There are merchants in every corner, showcasing the most exquisite jewels you have ever seen, because these folk are masters in the craftsmanship of jewelry and glass. Their gardens are a marvel too, with their flowers blooming every year round, coloring the beautiful streets of the city.    

Nothing feels out of place here, and despite all the torments the city has endured, it stands resilient, rebuilt time and again with an indomitable spirit. Perhaps it’s the hardiness of these people, of the people from the north, used to surviving harsh winters, that has shaped Neverwinter into one of the most prosperous cities in Faerun. And you’re really impressed by it, as is Astarion. You can see how mesmerized he is, how his eyes glitter, especially when you pass through the jewels merchants… 

“Darling, look at that!” He points to a silver tiara adorned with emeralds and diamonds. A very impressive piece of jewelry. “I would love to see it in your head, my love.” 

“It’s way too expensive, Astarion. And I do prefer the crown of flowers you usually make for me… that is too much.” You try to dissuade him, seeing how enchanted he is already.

“But it would be perfect for you to wear tonight. You would look like a queen, can you imagine?” He leans closer to you, lowering his voice. “And no one said that we should pay for it.” He winks, smirking.

You open your mouth to protest, but before you can utter a word, the merchant approaches you, all charm and good manners. “Ah, I see you liked it.” The man gestures towards the tiara. “You have good taste. It’s one of our most intricate works, and it would look stunning on you, miss.” 

“Yes, it would.” Astarion agrees, stepping behind the man and making gestures with his hand pointing to his pocket, trying to provoke you.

With your eyes wide open you keep glaring at him, shaking your head discreetly. “Thank you, sir. It really is mesmerizing.” You say with a polite smile. “But I’m afraid it’s a bit too extravagant for my taste.” 

“Now, now, my sweet. You should try it at least.” Astarion insists, and you know that by now he’s just trying to annoy you.

“Yes, of course! Allow me.” The merchant removes the tiara from the display case and carefully places it in your head. “There. Beautiful, like a princess. Let me fetch a mirror so you can see how astounding it looks on you.” And the man hurries to the inside of the store leaving you alone outside.

“Stop it!” You huff seeing how Astarion instinctively observes his surroundings, studying a route to flee.

“It’s the perfect opportunity, Love.” He notes, still smirking.

“Astarion, we just arrived! Are you trying to get us arrested on our first day in Neverwinter?” You object, harshly.

“But—”

“No.” You cut him short.

Before he can argue further, the merchant returns from the shop and gives you a hand mirror. “Please, miss, take a look.” 

Reluctantly, you lift the mirror in front of your face, keeping your gaze fixed on Astarion, darting him with your sternest glare ever, while he pouts displeased.

“It’s really stunning.” You admit, finally looking at your reflection. But at the same time you take the tiara off of your head and return it to the men’s hands. “Thank you, once again. We will think about it.” 

“Of course, miss. It was my pleasure to assist you.” The merchant bows his head and takes his leave.

“Oh, you can bet we will think about it.” Astarion mutters.

You pull him to get back on the path, wrapping your arm around his. “Forget it, Love. I will survive without it.” It’s obvious by his face that he’s not going to let this go. You adore him, more than anything, but you have to admit that this obstinate side of him sometimes picks your nerves. You roll your eyes, giving yourself a deep breath. “Now, let's find an inn for us to stay. I need a bath, and we still have to find some lanterns.” You remark, proceeding forward.

“And a warm meal. I’m starving.” He adds, while peeking behind his shoulder to the store you just left.

—

You both knock on every inn door you encounter in the city, but as expected, every one of them is fully booked. No rooms, no lanterns, nothing. 

Astarion senses your growing despair as you follow a tip from the keeper of the last inn you tried. You’re getting tired, he can see by the way you drag your feet over the ground, and  you’re probably starting to believe that you won’t be celebrating any New Year’s Eve tonight. But he’s still hopeful. He knows you will find something. Won’t you?

By the end of the day, you arrive at the Driftwood Tavern, far from the city center but with a stupendous view over the sea. And fortunately they have rooms to spare. No wonder why, with those ridiculous prices for one night! He thinks to himself, not wanting to share his thoughts with you this time, sparing himself another of your infamous eye rolls followed by a snort.

The rooms are really cozy. At least that. He throws himself to the bed, kicking off his boots, and watches you undress your traveling clothes.

“I’m going to take a bath.” You announce with some weariness. “We can look for something to eat afterwards. Want to join me?”

“I would love to, my sweet. But we have to hurry, we still have to find at least one lantern for tonight.” He replies, placing his hands behind his head.

“Forget it. We arrived too late. No lanterns for us, Star…” You mutter, a hint of sadness in your tone.

Astarion raises his torso from the bed by supporting himself on his elbows to take a closer look at you. Tossing your clothes to the floor, you pass through him to the washroom, your face closed and not in the mood for jokes or funny stories. “We still have time, you know?” He tries to uplift your spirit.

But he doesn’t hear a word from you. Only the sound of your steps in the room next to him.

Getting up he reaches the door to the washroom and peeks inside just in time to see you pouring water into the tub and instinctively trying to warm it with your hands. 

“Shit!” You yell, scowling. “I can’t even warm my own water!” You kick the tub, frustrated, regretting it right after. “Ouch!” You yelp, holding one foot in the air giving tiny jumps with the other.

Astarion predicts that this will not end in a good way for you, so he tries to warn you, “Darling, please, be—”

Too late. 

You stumble on the bucket, now empty of water, and you fall to the ground. He steps towards you but stays put in the same place, as you wave a hand for him to stop. 

“Let me have my moment of misery, please.” You hiss, holding your knees and hiding your head between your naked thighs, muffling your voice.

“Love, you don’t need to be miserable—”

“Don’t!” You snap. “Just… leave me for a while.” 

And he knows too well that when you’re like this the better thing for him to do is just to let you curse all the Gods you need to recover your good mood. But he can’t help to tenderly smile watching you like that, sitting naked on the floor, infuriated. It’s obvious he won’t let you waste New Year’s Eve being sad. For him it’s a night like any other, but he knows it’s not like that for you… For you it’s a time for new beginnings, and he knows how much you need that. He will find you a godsdamn lantern and make you smile again. And maybe, on his way to find it, he can sneak into a certain store… Who can blame him for wanting to spoil the women he's deeply in love with? You will be the most beautiful and happy woman walking the streets of Neverwinter tonight. 

But before he can go on his demand, he needs to take you out of there. It’s so cold and your skin is already prickling from the chill, and he can’t have that. You’re not getting a cold because of your stubbornness. Astarion grabs a robe, hanging on a chair nearby, and walks to you, covering you with it, kneeling beside you. You lift your head from your legs, ready to protest, but he doesn’t let you. “You can sulk all you want, but you will do it on the bed, in the comfort of the warm blankets and not on this frozen floor, my love.” Without waiting for your permission, he lifts you up from the ground, holding you in his arms. As he expected, you don’t resist, you let him carry you, wrapping your freezing arms around his neck and resting your head on his shoulder. Even against your will, you find solace in his arms, and he smiles again, leading his cheek to meet the crown of your head. 

Placing you in the bed he tucks the blankets around you. “I’ll ask the innkeeper to send someone to warm the water for you. Then I’m going to get us something to eat and a bottle of wine.” He pinches your chin softly. “I’ll be back in no time.” Reaching for your forehead he presses his lips against it, murmuring. “I love you.” And he kisses you.

He basks in your small smile for a moment, and then he leaves you. He needs to hurry, there is a job that has to be done.

—

It’s already dark when Astarion leaves the inn, and there’s no living soul in the streets. Snow falls steadily, blanketing the cobblestones. It’s cold and it’s almost dinner time, so perhaps it is not that strange that he doesn’t see anyone but himself sulking the streets of Neverwinter at that time of the day. He buttons his coat all the way up to his neck, protecting his chest against the cold, and starts walking, the snow crunching with each step he takes. The tiara’s store is still far away and he doesn't have much time. 

It's an easy and simple plan. He will get in and get out from the store without any setback, preferably with a particular tiara on his pocket, a well deserved gift for the one who makes his heart flutter every day. Oh, he’s picturing in his mind how stunning you’ll be with that jewel on your head, enhancing the preciousness of the real treasure that is you. And grateful, you will be very grateful for his gift, “Astarion! You didn’t need to! But I love it! Thank you, Love!” you will say hanging your arms around his neck. Yes, he can’t wait to see you smile again. He will give you plenty of reasons to smile again tonight. And in the meanwhile he’ll look for a lantern, of course. He can’t forget about that. Maybe he can steal one too, from someone. But he can’t return to you without—

Silence.

Only the sound of the wind and the snow falling around him. And it bothers him… Why in the sweet hells is this bothering me so much? Something is odd. Well, he already pointed out all the motives for the emptiness of the streets… but still, something isn’t adding up. He may not be a vampire anymore, but he’s a rogue after all, and his instincts are still very sharp. 

Stopping in the middle of the street he looks around one more time, his eyelashes starting to become filled with the white snow, like his hair.  

Nothing.

There is nothing stepping out from the ordinary.

When he’s about to start walking again his eyes catch a movement far ahead from him. A kid crossing the street, running at a fast speed. The sound of his steps echoing for a time after he disappears from Astarion’s sight. Was he scared? 

Stepping away from the lamplights, Astarion turns his stealth mode on and walks silently in the shadows. And just a few steps before reaching the corner from where the kid appeared fleeing, Astarion stops again, hearing what appears to be the clanking of metal. Metal hitting metal. He recognizes that sound perfectly. The sound of armor.

What in the hells?

Now he needs to see what's happening. Why is he hearing like there is an army gathering around the corner?

More cautiously than before he crouches and approaches slowly. At the end of the wall he freezes, pressing himself against it, and holding his breath to let his elf ears catch all the sounds they can get. And just like he predicted, a group of men stands just around the corner.

“Remember.” He hears a man whispering. “We must stay together until we are inside the castle.”

“After that, everyone knows their role to play.” Another voice adds.  

Astarion’s heart races, adrenaline flooding his veins. He shouldn’t be there. Nothing in this smells good. What are they talking about? What castle? 

Looking into the horizon he sees the dark silhouette of the imposing Castle Never in front of him. No way… He widens his eyes. Who are they? 

He tries to listen to more of their plans but the beat of his heart is bumping in his ears, like drums beating loudly, and he seems unable to concentrate. Mortality has its downsides it seems, and he's still getting used to it. But his curiosity makes him stay a little longer, and he ventures to peer around the wall. Counting them, he says there are about twenty men there, armed to the teeth, like if they’re going into a fi—

Whistles.

Dogs barking.

More armed men marching into them. Into him. 

Fuck.

In a blink of an eye they are surrounded by guards, Neverwinter guards, probably. 

“Greycloacks!” One of them yells.

And the chaos erupts in an instant. Guards rush forward, unleashing their dogs. Swords are drawn and the clash of steel fills the air, and he has stayed long enough. It’s now time to leave.

But when he spins on his heels a guard is behind him accompanied by a growling dog, his short sword pointed at him, the cold metal of it against the skin of his precious neck.

“Easy, easy.” Astarion protests, raising his hands in the hair.

“By order of Lord Neverember you’re under arrest.” The guard sentences.

“Me?” He asks in a high-pitched tone, incredulous. “But I have done nothing yet!” He exclaims with the continuous sound of men yelling and fighting around the corner as background. 

“Kneel!” The guard commands, and the dog approaches Astarion’s legs showing him his dangerous teeth.

“Just wait a moment!” He waves his hands nervously in the air. “You’re arresting me on what charges?” Astarion tries to gain some time. There must be a way to get out of here. Mustn’t it? 

“On the charges of conspiracy and treachery against Lord Protector of Neverwinter!” 

Astarion laughs. And he laughs so hard that the guard seems to be confused, diverting the sword for a moment from his neck. “Oh, this was fun.” He catches his breath before speaking again. “Well, it seems this was all a very big misunderstanding. You see, I was just passing by. Walking down the street as a normal citizen of Neverwinter.” The clamour of the fighting is calming down, and by the protests he can hear, the so called Greycloacks are losing. “I’m just visiting, I may add. Me and my wife. Can’t wait to celebrate the New Year with you folks. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to get back.” He steps aside from the guard but almost instantly the man reacts, throwing him against the wall and the dog starts barking in anger.

“If that were true you should be with your wife right now, and not wandering the streets alone. You’re a Greycloack, gathering here to conspire against our Lord!” 

After the big commotion on the street has calmed down, people start to appear, opening the doors and windows of their houses to see what’s happening outside. 

“I’m not! I told yo—”

“I said kneel!” The guard growls, exalted, and Astarion concedes that, maybe, this time is better to oblige than to try to dissuade him. He stretches his neck to the side, trying to alleviate the pressure from the sword that is there again, remembering him of his fragile mortality, lowering himself to the ground just as the guard commanded.

“Fine!” He agrees against his will, huffing.   

Stupid son of a b—

“Astarion?” He hears a very familiar voice calling his name. He closes his eyes in the hope that when he opens them again everything was just a dream and none of this is happening. After a while he opens them, turning his head to the side, seeing the one he hoped had never left her room, standing there, staring at him with so many questions in her eyes.

“Why, hello, Darling.” It’s the only thing he can think about to say right now. Shit.

“Hello? But… What happened?” You ask, approaching him quickly.

The guard blocks your way to Astarion, extending a hand to you. “Sorry, ma’am, but this man here is under arrest for breaking the law. I ask you to not interfere.” He tilts his head upwards suggesting you to step back. “Now, move away please.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but this man is my husband! And I want to understand what’s happening!” You argue, stepping forward, defiant.

A small smile of pride tugs into Astarion’s lips, you can be a pain in the ass when you want to, he knows that too well. “See, this is my wife.” He mutters to the guard.

“Ma’am I told you to step away! This man is a Greycloack and he was caught conspiring against the Lord Neverember!” 

“A what?” One more step forward. “You’re making a mistake, he’s nothing of that sort!”

“I won’t ask you again! Backwards!” The guard yells at you, spitting in his anger.

“Sweetie, please—”

“Shut up!” The guard orders, kicking Astarion on the leg.

At that moment Astarion knows that if you still had your magic your closed fists, alongside your waist, would be sparkling with electricity right now, because your eyes are burning and twitching, and that man would be doomed. But since you no longer are able to cast your spells, the only way you have to release that growing warth is to jump to the guard and start punching him the fastest you can. “You will not beat him in my presence!” You keep punching him, giving Astarion a window of opportunity to escape. 

But when Astarion is about to get up from the ground and try to take the short sword from the guard that is clumsily trying to defend himself from you, other guards approach, stopping Astarion before he can do anything.

It takes three of them to stop your fury and to restrain you beside Astarion, your hands tied together. 

“As you were so eager to join him—there! Arrested together!” The guard scoffs. “Some nights in prison will do you good to calm your temper, you crazy woman.” 

“Hey!” Astarion scolds, frowning. No one is allowed to insult you in front of him. But the guard ignores him, moving away.

“And what about him? What is going to happen to him?” You inquire.

The guard turns once more and answers, shrugging his shoulders, “We’ll see if he’s a Greycloack or not.”

“He’s not!” You hiss.

“If he’s not he has a lot to explain. Now shut your mouths or I'll split you right now!” And with no more words the guard steps away, moving to reunite with other guards ahead from you.

Astarion hears you sigh deeply, and then you lean your head backwards, meeting his own. 

“I’m sorry, Darling… I really am. I didn’t want any of this to happen…” He apologizes. 

“Not now, Astarion. Please.” You retort, your voice laced with sadness. 

His heart shrinks with your reply, because he truly means it. He’s truly sorry. The only thing he wanted was to make you happy, to make you smile, and he failed. Miserably. 

Stupid. How could I be so stupid?   

He holds your hand, squeezing it right after, and he waits. It takes a while, and he’s starting to get worried, but finally you hold his hand back, squeezing it softly too, tranquilizing his insecure heart.

Everything will be alright. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll fix this.

Watching the guards gathering the new prisoners, he hopes that they’ll get you out of there soon, because the snow is not giving signs to stop falling in the near future and it’s getting really cold. He’s getting really cold, and you, you’re getting cold too, by the way your hands are freezing already.   

If you get sick because of me, I won’t forgive myself.

It’s enough already that he, with no right to it, had robbed you of the chance to properly celebrate New Year's Eve. 

Thank you so much for reading my story. Likes, reblogs and comments are very welcomed!

Lots of love 🖤

[easy-there-leftovers]

I See You, Darling (4)

[Astarion x reader] A little longer than usual, I hope that’s fine for all of you :,DDD I didn't want to cram too much into the post though, so the segment at the end might be continued in full detail, or maybe not! Let's see.|Word count: 2.9k.|

Content Warnings: Mentions of cooking, handling knives, blood, allusions to sex, a few ooc characters, reader being a dumbass and wahtnot.

Part 3 here!!

Masterlist here!!

A party is being held at the camp in the heroes’ honor, which greets you with a lively crowd that you’ll hopefully meet again soon. And with a gathering this large, you’re bound to garner attention. But with a constitution as poor as yours from the night before, a round of drinks is the last thing you want. 

Alternatively: A bloodless human tries to balance respectfully participating in a drinking party, while also not drinking at all. 

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

The sun rises, the warmth of its rays gently waking you in the absence of the campfire’s flames. The soft chirping of the birds greet you a good morning as your eyes slowly open, ready to greet the day as a new opportunity arises.

Is what would have happened in a more idyllic scenario. Instead, you bolt awake with a pounding headache, worse than any hangover could possibly feel like, and quickly rush to get up. By the sheer brightness of the light that burns your newly opened corneas, it is far later than when you usually wake. And breakfast still hasn’t been made. 

“Well, good morning sleepy head.” One of your companions, Gale, says as he fixes his belongings. Readying himself for the skirmish that was about to take hold later on in the day.

“I’m very  sorry for waking up late. It won’t happen again.” You bow your head low for a moment before he waves you off.

“Oh come now, we all have our off days. Besides, I think the rest would agree with me when I say what you made for us last night was more than enough to last us ‘til morning.” His statement is punctuated by the lively sounds of the others training. Ready and well rested for whatever may come.

You look around. None have seemed to mind your temporary absence, so you endeavor to double check with everyone leaving and ensure that they had a sound strategy with the necessary materials and weapons should there be a need for failsafes. You remind them of certain notes that some of them have informed you about but failed to share with the rest of the group. 

‘While goblins typically go down faster than other opponents, they have no sense of honor nor pride which gives way for them the opportunity to use more underhanded tactics. But they also aren’t very bright, so you can convince the others to let them infiltrate the camp and eradicate them from the inside out.’

As the rest disperse, finalize their plans and check their supplies, your favorite character approaches you much like he usually does every morning. Only this time, you see that he looks very pleased. A more vibrant spark in his eyes as he opens his mouth to speak.

“Thank goodness you’ve finally woken up.” He looks at you, in the same way an old friend of yours would when they’re seconds away from telling a joke. 

The look fades soon enough though as he breathes out. You wonder if it’s because the joke isn't funny anymore, or if he never had a punchline to begin with.

“You looked a little ill last night, but you’ve certainly recovered.” Recovered isn’t the word you would use to describe your current state of feeling almost half dead, but you don’t bother correcting the details.

“And you look particularly vibrant today, Astarion.” The itch of your neck intensifies as you return a pointed look at him as he frowns.

“Oh, of course! Now, don’t be so upset. I will admit that I got a little carried away, I apologize.” He pauses. The frown remains on his face for a while before it is erased with his usual expression of confidence. 

“But let’s not fall out over this.” He moves to stand closer to you, taking your hand to his as he nears it to his lips as he continues. 

“We need each other.” 

And whether its done purposefully or not, you see his fangs peek out from his mouth and a shiver courses through your body.

You slip your hand out of his own in a panic and interject. 

“I know that much already, and I trust you not to let what happened last night happen again. I also apologize for not noticing sooner and dealing with the situation better.” You hold your head down a bit to apologize but quickly meet his gaze gain. “But I do need to know what we’ll have to feed you from now on.”

The look of confusion, and perhaps even shock that was once swimming in his eyes dissipates before you can notice them when he swears upon his resolve. “No innocents, you have my word. After all, you know what I am now. I can fight with all my weapons–” He grins, allowing you a clearer view than what you had earlier. “Teeth included.”

“And if I happen to drain the occasional bandit during a fight, what's the harm? They’re just as dead.” He makes a very compelling argument, at least to your standards.

You sigh, satisfied for now. You’re confident that none of your party members would end up at the mercy of his fangs, and you’re more than sure they would be able to overpower him more than your attempts did. But the same sentiment cannot be shared for possibly important, plot driving, characters that you might meet later on.

So you propose something to strengthen your trust that the unlikely will stay the unlikely.

“Look, I’m–” You breathe in, almost as if you're trying to suck back whatever courage washed over you back in as you steeled yourself for what you were about to say next.

“I’m not against you feeding from me, but!” You punctuate the last syllable as you see his grin growing wider. “We need to discuss things beforehand. No prowling over me while waiting for me to wake up or to sink your teeth into.”

The proposal greatly delights him, as is evident in his response. “Of course! That sounds eminently reasonable. I shall wait patiently until you suggest we… dine together. But until then: no more late-night surprises. You have my word on that.” 

After that, he makes a joke about feeling ‘peckish already,’ and quickly gathers the rest of the party to leave on their adventure.

You promise them a feast when they came back as the victors that they are. What you forgot, after what felt like weeks in the real world, was the crowd that would come filtering in to celebrate their heroes’ achievements as well.

————————————

When you saw the tieflings from the grove traveling alongside your companions, you knew they had come to celebrate. And you blanched at the thought of the provisions they’d be seeking to pair with their drinking. It’s been so long since you went through this event, and you no longer recall if they even ate anything during the party.

You look at your bubbling cauldron–– a bigger one as you had anticipated a few acquaintances accompanying them–– but you wager that at least a little extra things to nibble on won’t hurt to have. You still have quite the amount of camp supplies in the trunk, but you keep it reserved for the camp’s use only. So you smile at your returning comrades and alert the others that stayed behind for your reason to leave and that they can begin eating dinner. 

While others told you it wasn’t necessary, the rest just nodded with a smile and yelled that they’d wait for you to return. You return quite too quickly though, all the while informing them why you’re keeping the communal chest in your tent as you spy the child that tried to steal and swindle the group a few days prior approaching with the rest.

They have a laugh and you quickly proceed with your plan to find at least a few consumable berries and nuts or seeds to accompany the drinks later on. 

But foraging for said consumables near dark is a choice not for the faint-hearted. You came to realize this when you heard the low grumble of a large animal, thankfully far from your form. You turn to look behind you, taking great care to do so as slowly as possible so as to not alert the mysterious creature.

In the clearing, you spot a rather dark looking bear and you feel a cold sweat begin to form on your temple. Hands, growing wet in the dangerous situation you’ve placed yourself in. This wasn’t the same as being drained to death by a vampire, that, you could at least reason with. But a wild animal? With your lack of magical prowess and lesser knowledge of connecting with nature and the wild, you would be finished if it were to follow you.

The small pouch of nuts and wild berries stayed holstered on your waist, but the bear’s eyes that were previously low on the ground are now trained on you. Almost as if it were caught doing something it wasn’t supposed to be. 

You freeze. You forgot what the basic policy was around brown or black bears and therefore couldn’t do much about your current predicament. There shouldn’t be a bear around this area, not unless they had traveled from far away, or that this bear was one of your future companions.

And while the latter isn’t impossible, you most certainly did not want to gamble your life on a possibility. So you tried to compose yourself, returned the gaze of the bear with a shaky and careful nod, and turned back to return to camp. Figuring that the amount of tidbits you gathered would have to suffice.

 When you return, the company you shared seems to be in high spirits. Some more than others. But conversation was plentiful and you smiled as the tieflings cheered for your comrades. You quickly got to work and began to chop the nuts into thinner pieces. Something you learned to make the appearance of something look more abundant than it really is.

While you were chopping away unfortunately, you nick your finger along the way and silently curse. Unfortunate, but not an unforeseeable outcome given the booming drums of the bard that plays oh so nicely with your bloodless state. You quickly, but neatly, arrange the provisions on two small platters, and position them near the larger gatherings. 

“Flitting around like a hummingbird as always, I see.” A familiar, but not immediately recognizable voice greets you as you pass them. You turn and you see an unexpected acquaintance with a bottle in their hand and an incredibly charming grin.

“Dammon! How lucky of me to run into you.” You genuinely were elated to see him. You didn’t see much of him later on in the game, and being able to interact with him beyond the opportunities given to you was certainly nice.

“I could say the same. Though you’re as lively as you usually are.” There’s no malice in his tone, only an innocent observation, yet you feel embarrassed to have been seen scuttling about like a bug.

“I– promise I’m more organized. I just didn’t expect us to be having any guests.” He takes notice of how you push your fingers into your palms repetitively, a small action that soothes you.

“I think you’ve done more than a fine job already. The celebration is for you all, and it was us who planned to come and might’ve put your friends on the spot.” He later takes notice of the cut on your finger as well.

“Speaking of,” He gingerly grasps your hand, looking to you for permission, but you’re too confused to respond with anything he can understand. “Shouldn’t you be taking it easy for the night? You’ve done enough. And if what happened at the grove tells me anything about you, I’m sure they’ll survive even if you settle. Just for a bit.” 

He leads you nearer to the water and produces a small washcloth to clean a bit of your finger as you respond. “The grove? They did that on their own. I just um, take notes.” You sit on a fallen tree, your head still fuzzy, as you observe his crouched form. Inspecting the cut as he cleans it. 

A curious interaction. Not one that you’d expect from an non-romanceable NPC, but an interesting one nonetheless. And it would seem that someone had found it equally as interesting, if the way he scrutinizes you had anything to do about it.

He chuckles in turn. “If modesty is how you like to live, then I won’t impose.” He smiles and gets up as you continue your conversation. You don’t recall if the tiefling has ever had this much screen time, but his voice is rather lovely so you don’t complain about it.

You end up discussing quite a bit, but you focus on what can be done about your party. Specifically Karlach as you worry for the future and you’d like to have answers for her when he isn’t around during your journey. He doesn’t have much idea of what else can be done, but he does mention that he should have something by the time you meet him again in Baldur’s Gate.

You do remember that you might meet him a lot sooner, but you don’t mention it explicitly. You do, however, advise him to be extra careful around the oxen as they can be rather unpredictable this time of year.

As you continue, you notice his eyes flit up every now and then. Like something was catching his attention ever so often. You ask him about it and he actually laughs at your genuine inquiry. “It looks like I was wrong. Your friend there looks like he’d like his turn for your company.”

You turn around and you don’t immediately eye anyone looking in your direction. You were never the subtle type, so you looked around, blatantly searching for someone. It was a bit odd to see.

Your eyes do eventually train on his, but he doesn’t necessarily look like he wants to talk to you. Sure, he’s scowling away, though that’s not out of the ordinary at all. Besides, he has a bottle of something that you hope is helping him relax.

Still, perhaps Dammon saw something you didn’t so you politely thank him for his company and excuse yourself.

You greet the others that regard you as you walk past them. Declining the offers to drink and excusing yourself politely when you were asked to stay a bit. 

As you approach him, a tiefling tries to strike up a conversation with him. With a bored look, he dismisses them and turns to look at you. He takes a sip, sneers, and begins his rant now that you’re situated in front of him.

“I hate it. This is awful.” 

“The…wine?” He looks at you as if he should be mad, but a hint of amusement surfaces past the expression anyway. 

“There’s that, but I’m talking about the tieflings. We killed some goblins to save the others. The tally of lives didn’t change much. But what do I get for my hard work? A pat on the head, and vinegar for wine.” He looks down the neck of the bottle, swirling its contents before handing it out for you to take.

You look at the bottle, then him, warily. Modern alcohol is already a wonder to you, and this medieval mead could only do so much worse. Still, you take the bottle, and take a very small sip.

It’s a heavy, rich, red. Dry and sharp. You make a small sound of shock as you keep the liquid in your mouth. Offering him an awkward smile and a nod as you do.

“Ugh, see what I mean? Awful.” 

“All I want is a little fun. Is that so much to ask?” You would think that after an entire day of fighting whatever was out there he’d be tired. Apparently not. 

You sigh, ready to reprimand him and that he should just enjoy the night, but you stop when you feel his unburdened hand reach out to you. Eyes, boring into your own as he propositions you.

You’re here. Face in the grasp of a character you’ve longed to romance with what little time you’ve had away from your scholarly pursuits. Yet meeting him in strange, yet not all too unfamiliar, territory stirs uncertainty within you. Because while he doesn't have a knife at your throat like he did when your character first met him, it certainly does evoke the same sentiment.

‘To, “make me his”, is that right?’ While the idea is tempting, that statement alone can have various interpretations. And you didn’t want to hedge your bets on the one that made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

Thankfully, he releases his hold on your visage. Only the gods know how much his touch alone can influence you, and you struggle to stand upright.

“I’m– very,-- truly, sorry, but don’t you think you have the wrong person? I mean,” You gesture to yourself with both hands, a cut visible from the labor in the few hours prior to the large festivities going on.. “Uh…in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly in a position to make any um, lucrative offers.” 

 He looks at you, a familiar expression graces his face. He leans his weight on one leg, and you struggle to recognize what his body language is conveying. This is one of those instances you wished you had the dice roll mechanic of the game at your disposal. 

“Why, that hardly matters, darling. What matters is that you’re here.” He takes a sip from his bottle, the very same that he allowed you to partake from moments prior. Only this time, without the sneer at the aftertaste as he continues.

“But then again, what’s a sinner to do when faced with the very embodiment of chastity?” A smile graces his face, but it’s one that is all too perfect. As if he’s rehearsed the same song and dance enough to save him lifetimes.

“Let’s wait until things quieten down. Once the others are asleep we’ll find each other.” 

You have no idea what to expect. Well, you do, but you’re not very sure if this is necessary. You’ll just have to find a way to continue the story without having to go through with this. For now, at least. 

“We’ll see about that, Astarion.” 

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

Thank you to @rey26, @shyminnie07, @lynnloveshobi, @iggee-rose, @automnepoet, @tiannamortis, @aoirohi, @sarkara211, @jane-3043, @h3110-dar1in9, @h3ll0k1ttyl0ver333, @mimziethealien, @squichymochi, @sharabay, @furblrwurblr, @dork-of-the-universe, @thedevilssinner, @fuckalrighty, @queenofthespacesquids, @perseny, @goldenplutus, @h4nluv, @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer, @auszimbo, @maruichio, @iamsexytrash, @craig-mywifeisdead-boone, @grimissleepy, @fandomsfanman, @bitchyzombienacho, @r1kk, @ancuninstar, @izuoyarmin, @gracemisconduct, @kiinokochii, @marina-and-the-memes, and @life-is-hard-m8 for asking to be tagged!!

[oflights]

Bloodweave Inn New Year’s Prompts Day 2: Growing Old Together

written for @bloodweaveinn’s New Year’s Prompt Challenge! I rolled a 2 this time, which means my prompt was Growing Old Together. i wasn't really feeling it until a little while ago and just kind of knocked this out in 20 minutes lol. i'm a little late but oh well! it was fun.

enjoy just under 1k words of extremely sappy established bloodweave, post-cure for astarion's vampirism. 😌

“Is that a gray hair?”

Astarion’s outraged cry draws Gale out of his reading, and he looks over the top of glasses at him with a slightly distracted “Hm?”

“Look!” Astarion insists, jabbing his finger at both the mirror—where his reflection can now be found, and though it’s been nearly a year since finding Astarion’s cure, Gale still can’t help looking upon it with pride and affection—and at the top of his head. “I’m going gray, Gale.”

Gale blinks at him, then squints. Astarion huffs automatically, an instinctive response to Gale squinting and a result of the Great Glasses War of 1494 DR, which Gale had summarily lost.

Eager to draw Astarion’s attention from his squinting—gods forbid he make Gale get a thicker pair of lenses—Gale hastily says, “Astarion, your hair is already gray. What are you talking about?”

Astarion gasps. His eyes, luminous and green-gold, as pride-inducing as his reflection, go very wide.

“How dare you. My hair is white blond! It’s platinum! It’s not gray, you heathen.”

“My love,” Gale says soothingly, setting his book aside and holding out two placating arms. “Come here. Let me see it.”

Grumbling, and with one more pouting glance into the mirror, Astarion slinks over, as graceful and lithe as ever. He fits himself into Gale’s lap with fluid motions Gale could never hope to replicate, and he butts the crown of his head into Gale’s chin, not unlike a cat. Gale hides a grin over the top of his head.

“Look. It’s awful.”

Gale truly cannot see any bit of what has Astarion so upset, but he kisses the crown of his head anyway, taking off his damnable glasses with some relief. “It’s not awful,” Gale says into Astarion’s beautiful, soft hair. “It’s lovely, because it’s on you, and you are the loveliest elf I’ve ever seen.”

“Just the loveliest elf?”

“Being. Humanoid. Immortal or mortal.” At that, Gale tips Astarion’s face up by the chin, gazing down at him adoringly. “You are as gorgeous as the day I met you. Gray hairs and all.”

“Hairs, plural? Did you see another one?” Astarion scrambles to get up and go for the mirror again, but Gale draws him into a kiss first, sighing as he settles down in his lap again.

“What’s so bad about grays, anyway?” Gale asks when they break apart, smiling when Astarion, eyes closed, chases his mouth a bit. Astarion huffs, the scent of their shared dinner—some nice, bloody red steaks; Astarion still has a taste for it, and he’s as bad as Gale is about eating his vegetables—hitting Gale’s nose and making it wrinkle. “You like my grays, don’t you? You certainly admire them enough.”

As if to prove Gale’s point, Astarion’s hand goes up into Gale’s hair, sifting through what are surely more bountiful gray streaks now. Just as there are more wrinkles in his face, more pronounced crow’s feet and laughter lines, and a softer, chubbier frame as their adventure days have fallen behind them. Astarion has lavished each of these features with so much love and approval that Gale has had barely any room to ever feel self-conscious about them.

“Of course I do; your grays are beautiful,” Astarion says. “You’re aging like a fine wine, my dear, and I’m—well, I’m just aging, aren’t I?” He says it like it’s just occurred to him, a bit wondrous, and also a bit sullen.

“Of course you are, though much, much more slowly than you seem to think,” Gale says. “Slower than I am, naturally. We both know this. It’s a good thing, isn’t it? Part of your cure?”

“But I’m no distinguished professor like you; my looks are like your brains,” Astarion tells him. “I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it when I start looking like Jaheira, gods.”

“Jaheira is beautiful—oh, stop, you know what I mean,” Gale says as Astarion scowls. “And you are much, much more than your looks. Which are still beautiful.”

“You have to say that. Your opinion is biased.”

“Is my opinion not the most important, after yours?”

Astarion eyes him carefully, as if genuinely judging Gale’s sincerity. Gale tries not to huff back at him—he’d put a garlic sauce over his own steak tonight, which Astarion still doesn’t care for.

“You’re certain you’ll love me even when I look like a withered old crone?”

Gale tips his head back. “Astarion, I’ll love you until the day I die. And not to be depressing, but you must understand that I’ll be a withered old crone long before you will. I probably won’t live to see you that old.” He strokes the back of his hand over Astarion’s face, the lines that are there, and feels a bit of sweet, sad longing over that fact. He sees it reflected on Astarion’s face, in the sudden droop of his ears. “So don’t worry—I’ll be old and wrinkly and gray all over, and you’ll still be my pretty young thing.”

“Gods, you’re right,” Astarion says, aghast. He settles further into Gale’s hold, shaking his head. “We’re going to have to do something about that.”

“About what?”

“The whole thing where even though I’m cured of vampirism, you’re still going to die first. I don’t approve of that. That’s our next project. Ugliness notwithstanding��I do want to grow old with you.”

Warmth suffuses Gale at that, and he places another helpless kiss in Astarion’s beautiful, soft, and yes, gray hair.

“We’ll see what we can do,” Gale says, and he picks up his book again and starts squinting down at it, his love in one arm.

“Gale,” Astarion murmurs against his neck, breath ghosting out against the old bite scars.

“Hm?”

“Put your glasses on.”

With a laugh and a sigh, Gale complies; he supposes they both have their vanities.

[brabblesblog]

In recent weeks, I have been receiving hate anons on my ao3 fic. I have tweeted about it here and there, but have mostly ignored it. Unfortunately, today I received another, and due to the content, I feel like I have to respond. It’s been said before but it bears repeating: public accusations like these are damaging to creators, even when they are phrased passive aggressively rather than direct. 

I shall endeavor to answer these in full in this message and then I don’t plan to address this issue again. I would have preferred this to be resolved more maturely, through conversation, but as these remarks have been placed in the public sphere, and have been happening for weeks now, I am opting to reply openly. 

The concept of an A!A that could be softer was inspired by a number of A!A fanfics, particularly 'The Rogue You Were', and I have always been open about this. In fact, were you to look at chapter 1 of Whither, an acknowledgment exists. Whither’s foundation was built on this concept, and grew into 2 – going on 3 now – full longfics from there. I have never been shy about where my original inspiration came from. 

These tropes that I am now accused of copying (masquerades, Raphael-esque characters, Astarion being murderous, comic relief, and bats) are as we all know common tropes amongst the fandom and amongst vampire literature, and were not new concepts when they were used by the person claiming credit for them.

My favorite thing about fandom spaces is that they are a place to share ideas and collaborate. The person who made this accusation was someone I considered a friend: we had openly expressed to each other various instances where she and I were inspired by each other’s work. I have credited her influences; she has not credited mine. Dredging up screenshots to support this statement would be exhausting, and I hope it doesn’t become necessary. I’d much rather be working on my fic than dealing with this, and I hope this is the end of it so we can all get back to doing what we enjoy with our time.

I have as of late retreated from reading other fanfic within the fandom; mental health issues and intense impostor syndrome have rendered it impossible for me to engage in others’ writing, no matter how much I’d like to. Art, being something in the fandom that is removed from writing, is something I really enjoy seeing and delve headfirst into, but I am not at all up to date on the latest fic trends. These ideas (the masquerade, batstarion, and a more light-hearted tone) are things my editor and I have long wanted to add to the fic, but they did not fit into the plot right away. Presenting a cohesive, well-thought-out story has always been the most important thing to me, rather than chasing the latest trend. 

We are all playing the same game, writing from the same base material, often for the same characters with slightly different takes on those characters. There is no way to write for a fandom, particularly one like this, without a fair bit of overlap. I've worked hard this year to find my peace with that, and to not see others using similar plot points as copying. We are all appreciating the same masterpiece of a game, after all.

And lastly, I’d like to add that I don’t in any way condone harassing anyone, anonymously or otherwise, so please do not do so on my behalf.

Comment can be seen in this chapter, will post a screenshot if it's deleted:

[yoonkinii]

Waiting...

Based on Fluffleboo's post Warning(s): death, mentions of death, hopelessness, murder, kidnapping, grief, depressive episodes, panic attacks, throwing up, mention of attempted su!c!de. Masterlist I hope I did a good job with her idea.

Note: I did change some of the events that take place but this idea and writing was heavily based on Fluffleboo (@fluffleboo) and their brain from coming up with this. Thank you for allowing me to use your idea and to create something with it. 

Reader is female (sorry I have not mastered being able to write with no gender yet), no use of Y/N, reader is of the elf lineage (makes astarion being gone for 200 year and the reader not being dead or super old make sense) 

I should also make it known that the reader and astarion didn’t live in Baldur’s Gate at the beginning, it wouldn’t make sense if I didn’t change it so lets pretend they just lived in another major city. 

LOTS of flashbacks, I’m sorry if it gets confusing but I wanted to write it in a way where there’s backstory to everything. If you need any clarification, let me know and I’ll do my best to explain it. It sort of gives context before having a flashback tied in with the context before it leads up to the main point with no more flashbacks.

Astarion has Green eyes Pre-Vampyr Spawn. Astarion is a little OOC cause teehee. 

I did include parts of the song “Will you fall in love with me again” in here, don’t be surprised if you see them. 

She remembers the night he vanished - the way the stars burned bright, oblivious to the absence that would soon consume her. She had woken to an empty bed, the sheets cold where he should have been. At first, there was no panic, only reason. He had told her he would be late, something about unrest in the streets, disputes over the new laws he passed. 

So she simply sighed, turned over, and let sleep reclaim her. 

It wasn’t until the next evening, when the sun hung high and the space beside her remained untouched, that the panic finally set in. 

“You’re staring again.”

His voice, smooth like velvet and as warm as the morning rays slipping through the curtains hitting his skin; casting him in a warm glow as he sits against the headboard, silver framed reading glasses hanging low on his nose. 

His voice was smooth, warm like the golden light slipping through the curtains, casting his skin in a soft glow. He sat against the headboard, silver-framed reading glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose, a stack of parchment resting in his hands. 

She shifted beneath the sheets, the fabric rustling as she propped herself up on her forearms. The blanket sliding down, baring the curve of her back to the morning air. 

“Can’t help it,” she murmured, tilting her head with a smile. “You’re absolutely enchanting.”

He snorted, amusement flickering across his face as he glanced at her over the rim of his glasses. “Enchanting?” he echos, setting the papers aside on the dark wooden table beside the bed.

She moved with him, closing the space between them, her body molding against his as if drawn by an unseen force. A sigh left her lips as she rested her cheek against his shoulder, letting herself sink into the warmth of him, of the moment. 

She hummed. “Of course. You practically glow in the sun - like a feline.” 

A sudden pinch at her hip makes her squeal, laughter bubbling from her throat as she tries pushing him away, her hands pressed against his chest. He only tightened his hold, pulling her even closer, silencing her giggles with a kiss that stole the breath straight from her lungs. 

Their lips hovered, teasing, their words nothing more than whispers against the soft curve of each other’s mouths. 

“Are you calling me an enchanting feline?”

Her fingers found his hair ,carding through the silken strands, untangling the knots sleep had left behind. His eyes, green as polished emeralds, gazed at her like she had hung the stars themselves. 

“Of course not,” she said, voice softer now, reverent. She let her fingers trail down, curling at the nape of his neck. 

“You’re my enchanting husband.”

“Your husband is dead.” 

The world is muffled, nothing registers in her head as the same words echo in her head over and over again. 

The words were distant, muffled, as if spoken through water. They echoed in her mind, looping over and over, a cruel, inescapable refrain. 

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

Your husband is dead. 

She falls apart in the parlor room of her house. 

She collapses in the parlor, the weight of those words tearing her apart at the seams. 

She searched - Gods, she searched. Every alleyway, every dim-lit tavern, every shadowed corner of the city. She scoured the streets until her boots split at the seams, until her hands were caked in filth, until grief hollowed her cheeks and darkened her eyes. She pleaded with the Flaming Fist, her voice raw from desperation, begging them to look harder, to do more. 

Weeks dragged into months. And then, one day, they stopped looking. 

Bile rose in her throat, spilling onto the floor in a sickening splatter as she doubled over on the couch. The room spun, too loud, too quiet, too dull. Through blurred vision, she barely registered the subtle grimaces behind the thin veil of sympathy. 

Hands settled on her, cradling her like a wounded thing, whispering empty comforts. Hollow reassurances that everything would be alright. But how could anything be alright when everything was lost? 

The words didn’t feel real. They were an ill-fitting mask over an unbearable truth, easier to swallow than the vast, gaping unknown. Bandits. Wild Beasts. A moment of misfortune that stole him away. But there was nothing. No body. No proof. Just a verdict, wrapped in empty condolences. 

The home the had built together became a mausoleum, haunted by laughter that no longer filled its halls. Days blurred together, each one as lifeless as the last. Friends told her to grieve, to let go, to move on. 

But how could she, when there was no grave to mourn over?

She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. 

The hearth consumes the room in a comfortable warmth, the heat fighting off the chill that comes along with the night air. 

The hearth bathed the room in golden light, its warmth chasing away the lingering chill of the night. The fire crackled and popped, filling the silence with its steady rhythm, its flickering glow bright enough for her to make out the inked words on the pages of her book. 

She nestled deeper into the maroon velvet of the chaise lounge, the fabric soft against her skin. A cotton blanket draped over her frame, cocooning her in comfort. It was a quiet night, peaceful. Or at least, it had been.

The ornate wooden doors of the manor opened with a soft creak, followed by the unmistakable sound of his groan echoing through the halls - frustrated, tired. The noise grew louder as he made his way toward her, his presence a storm rolling in to disturb the calm.

She didn’t look up when he rounded the couch, didn’t shift her attention from the book in her hands even as his briefcase hit the floor with a muted thud. 

“How was work, my love? She asked, voice lilting with amusement. 

Rather than answer immediately, he slotted himself between her legs, resting his head against her lower stomach with a dramatic sigh. His groan vibrated against her skin, and she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. One hand fell from her book, fingers threading lazily through his hair. 

“I take it that it went well?”

He scoffed, shifting just enough that she could feel the eye rolls that accompanied it. 

“Oh, of course,” he drawled, “If you consider imbeciles squabbling over meaningless matters without reaching a single useful conclusion, then yes - today was absolutely splendid.”

Her shoulders bounces in silent laughter as she flipped the page. Before she could read another word, the book was plucked from her hands, stolen in one swift motion. She barely had time to protest before he spoke again. 

“Let’s go somewhere.”

She arched a brow as he propped his chin on her stomach, gazing up at her. Absentmindedly, her fingers trailed from his hair to cradle his cheek, thumb sweeping gently across his cheekbone. 

“And where exactly would we go?” 

He sighed as if the answer should have been obvious. “Anywhere.” His brow furrowed, lips pressing into a soft pout. Looking up at her through his lashes, he murmured, “Let’s just leave. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere it’s just us. I want uninterrupted time with you, away from- “ he groaned again, “gods-damned idiots.”

She hummed, feigning contemplation, “Anywhere?”

His eyes brightened, brimming with something she was sure she mirrored back at him. Love. He looked like a child promised a long-awaited treat, excitement shimmering in his gaze. 

“Anywhere,” he confirmed, nodding eagerly. 

She exhaled a quiet laugh. “I suppose we can- when we get the chance.” 

His grin was instant, sharp and boyish, his joy utterly unrestrained. Before she could say more, he pushed himself up, leaning in just enough to steal a kiss- brief but lingering, leaving her chasing the ghost of it as he pulled away. 

“It’s settled, then. I’ll handle things at work, and once it’s all arranged, we’ll go.”

Tilting her head, she watched him, bemused by the way he practically glowed with anticipation. “You make it sound as if this trip is going to be enchanting.”

He dropped to his knees before her, fingers curling around her hands with reverence, as if she were something fragile, something sacred. Her heart stuttered, warmth rushing to her cheeks. 

“Oh, it will be,” he murmured, lips curving into something sly. “As enchanting as a feline.”

She huffed an incredulous laugh, ready to tease him, only for the words to die in her throat as he lifted her hand to his lips. His mouth pressed softly against her knuckles - against the delicate band of silver circling her finger. 

His voice was barely more than a whisper, a vow spoken against her skin. 

“For you, I would do anything. Any chance I got.”

But they never got their chance. 

The carriage swayed with the uneven rhythm of the dirt road, jostling her body with every dip and rise. She barely noticed. Her fingers twisted her wedding band absently, rolling the cool metal over her skin again and again as she gazed out the window. The forest stretched endlessly beyond the glass, its foreign trees casting long shadows in the fading light. 

She had left everything behind. Sold everything she owned in pursuit of a ghost. The acceptance others poke of never came, nor did the quiet surrender that grief was meant to bring. How could she believe he was gone when there was no proof? No body, no grave - only silence. Her heart had never settled. Her future had become a weight, a chore she carried rather than a path she walked with purpose. 

So she had set out, wordlessly, determined to reclaim what had been stolen from her

Two hundred years.

Two hundred years of searching, of chasing whispers across the vast expanse of Faerûn. SHe scoured city after city, hired investigators, pleaded with mercenaries, begged the gods themselves. Each inquiry ended the same.

“Sorry. We couldn’t find anything about your husband.”

Again and again, the words repeated until they were carved in her bones, hollowing her out with every rejection. Slowly, hope had withered. And with it, her very soul. 

Then, when she had nothing left - when she had stood at the edge of a balcony, staring down the yawning abyss below - she overheard the murmured conversation of tenants beneath her. A city saved. Heroes who had risen from the darkness to pull Baldur’s Gate back from the brink. 

It was a city she had never searched, one she had long dismissed as too distant, too unlikely. But hope, weak and flickering, ignited once more. If he wasn’t there, then perhaps these so-called heroes could help. 

She had stepped away from the ledge and set out that very night. 

“We’re here. My lady.”

The driver’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. She barely acknowledged him as she stepped from the carriage, pressing the free into his hands without a word. He thanked her, but she was already walking.

Before her stood the great gates of Baldur’s Gate, scarred by battle, the remnants of war still etched into the stone. And beyond them - a sight unlike any other. 

Fae, humans, tieflings, githyanki, orcs, halflings, dragonborn, dwarfs, drow - so many walking the streets, their lives intertwining in a way that made the city feel more alive than any she had visited before. But beneath the movement, beneath the rebuilding, there was a quiet grief that settled over the people like dust. She recognized it well. 

No one spared her a second glance. Not for her sullen expression, not for the way her clothes hung from her frame, weathered by wind and rain. The rich burgundy fabric of her gown had dulled with time, its once - soft texture long since roughened by travel. But she had never cared for the stares, nor the whispered opinions of those who thought a woman should not cross the realm in such impractical clothing. 

Her dress had been tailored for survival - study linen layers beneath flowing skirts allowed for swift movement, hidden slits cut along the sides ensuring she could run, ride, fight if she needed to. A wide leather belt cinched her waist, pouches filled with coin, letters, maps, herbs, and the one thing she never parted with. 

A single, tattered parchment. 

Her fingers brushed over it through the fabric. She never unfolded it anymore - couldn’t bear to. Time had stolen most of the image, leaving only the faintest remnants behind. But his face remained. Always. Smiling down at her blurred form, forever untouched by the years that had worn her down to nothing.

A deep-hooded cloak, midnight blue and heaving with the weight of travel, draped over her shoulders, shielding her from both the elements and prying eyes. Her boots, laced to her knees, were scuffed but strong, having carried her across cobblestones, through forests, over mountains. The only ornament she still wore was the one that mattered most. 

Her wedding ring. 

Cheers and applause rang through the streets, drawing her attention. A crowd had gathered in the square, their voices an excited hum of anticipation. She approached on instinct, weaving through the bodies, catching snippets of conversation. The heroes of Baldur’s Gate. 

Then, with a flourish, the massive linen covering the crowded monument was pulled away. 

A statue stood beneath it, towering over the gathered crowd, the figures carved in stone were unfamiliar - strangers cast in heroism. But then her eyes caught a familiar curl, a detail so small yet unmistakable. 

The world shifted. 

Her breath came short, uneven, a trembling exhale past her lips as her hands fumbled for her belt. Her fingers found the parchment, carefully unfolding the delicate edges, barely breathing as she held it up beside the statue. 

Her vision blurred, darting between the image in her hands and the face carved in stone. 

It was him.

“Wow! That image looks great! Where did you get that?:

She jolted, nearly dropping the parchment at the sudden voice. Her head snapped to the side, meeting the keen, amused gaze of a tiefling woman, 

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she forced her voice to work, though it came out broken, trembling. “You…You know this man?”

She clutched the image close to her chest, as if afraid it would be taken from her.

The tiefling grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “Who doesn’t? That’s Astarion!”

A sob tore from her throat before she could stop it. 

The tiefling’s expression shifted from amusement to alarm as she stumbled back slightly, uncertain how to react. Awkwardly, she patted her shoulder, offering hesitant comfort. 

But nothing else mattered. 

It was him

It was Astarion. 

“Doesn’t this whole ordeal seem rather…unnecessary?”

Astarion’s voice dripped with amused skepticism as he stood beside her in the grand wedding hall, his arms loosely at his side. His wife-to-be arched a brow, tilting her head to look up at him, arms crossed over the intricate bodice of her gown. 

“Are you telling me that wanting a painting of this moment is pointless?”

Astarion blinked, momentarily caught off guard. His lips parted, the sharp edges of his teeth flashing as he realized his misstep. 

“No!” The word shot out of him in haste. “I just don’t see the appeal. Why capture us in paint when you can gaze upon my magnificence whenever you please?”

He puffed his chest with theatrical pride, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. 

She clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes as she playfully smacked his chest. “I want a painting to remember this day, Astarion. It’s not as though I can wear a gown like this every day.”

His gaze flickered to the silent painter, whose brush moved in steady strokes across parchment, capturing their every detail. Then, inevitably, his eyes found her again. 

She was radiant. 

The gown she wore was a masterpiece of moonlight and devotion, woven from dreams and stitched with quiet reverence. Soft ivory fabric rippled with her every movement, delicate yet unyielding - much like the woman who wore it. Silver embroidery curled along the bodice like ivy climbing an ancient trellis, glimmering under the light, a quiet tribute to the stars beneath which they had once whispered their vows. 

The sheer sleeves draped over her arms like mist rolling over the sea, tapering into fitted cuffs embroidered with ancient runes of love and protection. The skirt cascaded around her in layered waves, each panel split to allow freedom - because she was never one to be caged, not even by tradition. And beneath it all, the faintest glimpse of deep red silk peeked through every step, a secret only the wind and her beloved would see. 

Astarion’s arms slipped around her waist, drawing her closer. She turned easily in his hold, gazing up at him with an expectant look - waiting for him to redeem himself. 

His fingers trailed along the line of her spine, his voice lowering to a teasing murmur. “I wouldn’t be opposed to you wearing this every day?”

She hummed in mock consideration, her hands smoothing over his shoulders, tracing the fine fabric of his own wedding attire. “Really? And would you wear this every day?”

His coat was a study in elegance, the deep midnight hie reminiscent of a sky on the cusp of twilight. Tailored to perfection, it framed him effortlessly, the silver embroidery tracing the high collar and cuffs like constellations mapping the heavens. It was a quiet nod to the night he had first whispered his love to her beneath the stars. Beneath the coat, a dark crimson waistcoat clung to his form, the color rich yet subtle - like aged wine, like the bloom of roses, like the depth of passion he could never quite put into words. His trousers, dark as shadow, were tucked into polished leather boots, completing the look as man both regal and untamed. 

Astarion looked skyward in feigned contemplation, biting the inside of this cheek. “Even though I do look devastatingly grand,” he admitted, “I suppose it would be a terrible inconvenience for everyday wear.”

She laughed, and the sound sent a ripple of warmth through him. It was music - an immortal melody he would never tire of. 

His grin widened as he pulled her impossibly closer, reveling in the mirth between them, in the love that bound them tighter than any vow ever could.

The painter, silent and steady, allowed himself the barest of smiles as he etched the moment onto parchment - a portrait not of nobility or grandeur, but of devotion, of adoration, of a love that would endure beyond the confines of time.  

She had spent the entire day tearing through the city, asking - no, begging - for someone, anyone to tell her where she could find Astarion. But no one knew. No one even seemed certain where the other so-called heroes of Baldur’s Gate were, or if they still lingered within the city walls. 

Her heart felt heavy as if it were a stone in her chest. There was no way this was a coincidence where a man that looked just like him happened to be the hero of Baldur’s Gate. Questions flooded her mind, swallowing her head whole. Where had he been this whole time? Did he simply just leave her? Why did he never reach out to her? Was he alright? 

With every unanswered question, her heart sank deeper, heavy as a tone lodged in her chest. It couldn’t be coincidence - there was no way. A man who looked exactly like him, standing among the city’s saviors, bearing the name she had whispered a thousand times in her loneliness? It had to be him. It had to be. 

By the time night had fallen, the bustling streets had emptied, lanterns flickering along the roads in a warm glow that did little to ease the cold settling within her. The city, once alive with energy, had quieted, its liveliness slipping into shadows. And she - she felt just as empty. 

She wandered without direction, cursing the gods for filling her with hope only to rip it away once more. 

A harsh breath shuddered through her, and she pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes until she saw stars, willing the rising grief back down her throat. She needed to stop. Needed to find a place to rest. Needed- 

“I had heard a woman was looking for me all day…but to think she was so persistent she’d still be out this late into the night.”

Her entire body went rigid. The voice came from behind her, smooth, familiar, yet laced with something…different. 

Slowly, she turned, her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and lips. 

And there he was, standing before him, but it wasn’t him all the same. 

The night clung to him like an old lover, and he had dressed to match its embrace - sharp, elegant, and just dangerous enough to make it thrilling.

His coat, deep as the void between stars, fit his frame as though sculpture for him alone. The high collar framed his jawline, silver embroidery curling along the lapels and cuffs, catching in the dim glow of the lanterns. He had never cared for unnecessary fastenings, and it seemed like he still did not - the coat remained open, revealing a waistcoat of deep crimson silk, rich and smooth as spilled wine. Beneath it, his shirt was a whisper of pale linen, barely fastened at the collar, as though formality had never quite suited him. 

His sleeves were fitted, stopping just as his wrists, where rings of silver and blackened iron gleamed against his pale fingers. His trousers, dark as shadow, moved with him, fluid and effortless, allowing both grace and lethality in equal measure. They tucked neatly into polished leather boots, laced tight to his knees. 

He was still beautiful. Still striking. Still- 

Her gaze dropped to his hands.

She stopped breathing

Among the trinkets and rings, among the trophies of a life she did not know, sat a single band of silver. 

Her wedding ring. The one she had placed on his finger all those years ago. 

She swallowed hard, her voice barely more than a whisper against the night.

“Is it you?”

His ears twitched at the sound of her voice, his jaw tightening as he met her gaze, recognition flashing in his eyes. A single, sharp breath left him as he bit down hard on his lips, willing the emotions away. 

She took a step forward, hesitant but unable to stop herself. He was different now - so painfully different. His skin was pale, too pale. His eyes, once warm, were now an unnatural shade of crimson. And at his throat, the scar of two puncture wounds sat like cruel reminders of something stolen..

Yet she kept walking. Closer. Closer, until only a breath separated them, until all she had to do was lift her hand and- 

“You look different,” she murmured, her voice softer than she meant it to be. 

Astarion inhaled sharply. 

He fought the instinct to reach for her, to pull her into his arms and never let go. Fought the urge to grasp onto the one thing that had ever made him feel human. The woman who had saved him time and time again without ever knowing. 

His memories had been fragmented, buried beneath time and centuries of torment. But her - her touch, her voice, her scent, like the first breath of spring - he had never truly forgotten. Not even when everything else had slipped through his fingers like sand.

Yet now, standing before him, she looked…broken. Her clothes were tattered, her body worn with the weight of grief he knew all too well. She had searched for him. For two hundred years, she had searched. 

And what had he done?

He had let her believe he was gone.

Her hand lifted. Slowly, cautiously. He hesitated, uncertain - until, finally, he let her take it. 

The moment her fingers curled around his, she flinched.

His stomach churned.

She hadn’t expected his touch to be so cold. And gods, how that realization twisted something deep inside him.

He wanted to run. Run from his guilt, his sins, the weight of what he had become. But he had promised himself - when he finally killed his tormentor, when he freed himself - that he would stop running. 

Even if it killed him. 

“You eyes are tired,” she murmured, searching his face. “Your frame lighter. Your smile torn.”

A lump formed in his throat. 

He could hear her heartbeat, rapid and uneven, like a caged hummingbird. 

Then came the question. Soft. Fragile. 

“Is it really you, my love?

His breath hitched. His voice - gods, his voice, usually so smooth, so full of confidence - shook as he answered. 

“I am not the man you fell in love with. I am not the man you once adorned. I am not you kind and gentle husband. And I am not the love you knew before.”

He turned away from her. He couldn’t beat to see the pain in her face, the way her hope cracked like glass beneath his words. 

Shame clawed through him. Not just for the past she did not yet know, but for the time he had wasted, for never trying to find her. He had been free for months now, and not once had he tried. Perhaps, deep down, he had feared what he would find. Feared what his absence had done to her. 

A hand touched his cheek, warm against the cold.

His eyes fluttered shut. Instinctively, he leaned into her palm, the way he had so many times before. 

When he opened them again, she was smiling. Soft. Loving. 

Tears brimmed at her lashes.

“I still think you look rather enchanting,” she whispered.

A shaky scoff left him, something akin to a laugh. “As enchanting as a feline?”

She let out a broken laugh of her own, inhaling sharply. “That’s…weird. That’s something only my husband would say.”

He didn’t think. He just moved, pulling her against him, arms tightening as though she might vanish if he let go. 

She sobbed into his chest, body shaking with the force of it. He buried his face in her hair, and for the second time in centuries, he let himself cry willingly. 

She pulled back just enough to cradle his face in her hands, thumbs wiping away his silent tears. 

“I will fall in love with you over and over again,” she swore, her voice trembling. “I don’t care how, where, or when. No matter how long it’s been, you’re mine. Please…” she choked on her own breath. “Don’t tell me you’re not the same person. You’ll always be my husband. And gods, Astarion, I have been waiting for so long.”

His lips parted, but no words came. 

So he held her again. 

He had so much to tell her. So much she needed to know.

But for now, he would hold her. 

Because after waiting for two hundred years…

She had finally found him. 

[sigloverofwords]

let me wrap my teeth around the world

An Astarion x spawn!Tav fanfic

Series warnings: violence, injury, abuse, self injury, suicidal ideation, animal death, rape (past), ptsd, emotional abuse, physical abuse, mental abuse, scars, panic attacks, manipulation, transformations

Summary: You awake at the nautiloid crash, wounded and starving but free of your Master for the first time in your life. You’re determined to get as far away from Him as possible, and finally get some answers about your existence. Fortunately for you, you stumble upon another spawn. Unfortunately he doesn’t seem to want anything to do with you.

Your ability to transform into a monster quickly changes his mind, though.

Posted to AO3 first!

Author’s Note: this is a y/n-free second person slow burn hurt eventual comfort fic. Lots of heavy stuff addressed, please take care of yourself and don’t read if any of the warning subjects are triggering to you.

2k+ word chapters

Chapter 3 (prev)

Astarion points out the path to the West and you walk along in silence for most of the morning. Lost in thought, you don’t notice the way he glances over at you, eyes narrowed into crimson slits as he studies you like a collector examines a pinned and mounted bug. 

Your own mind is busy piecing together your memories of the last week. Between your multiple bouts of unconsciousness and the havoc that transformation always wrecks on your body and mind, memories of your recent past are as disconnected and fleeting as lightning strikes. Carefully you trace back your steps, starting with the forest you now walk through.

Forest, druid grove, beach, nautiloid wreck, mindflayer pod…

Your throat closes a little at the flash of memory of the pod. You had come to in a haze, blood clotted over familiar wounds, fading bruises in rings around your neck. The pod had been too warm, the air heavy and humid around you, filling your lungs like blood. You had barely had the strength to try and turn away when the mind flayer forced the tadpole into you, let alone fight back. 

The feeling of the worm wrapping its needle-like teeth around your eye and wiggling back to press into your brain, biting and ripping to make room for itself, was almost the worst thing you’d ever experienced. 

A shadow crosses your face and you startle backwards, suddenly back in the present. Your heel hits a raised tree root and your lips part in surprise, arms flying out to try and stop your fall, but it’s too late and you can feel yourself heading for the hard ground. 

Before you slam into the dirt, a hand catches your wrist and hauls you back to your feet, steadying you.

“Careful there,” Astarion drawls. “Wouldn’t want to muddy those new robes so quickly.”

He’s too close, eyes too sharp, grip too tight. Your eyes widen, chest caving in around lungs that can’t hold enough air. Before you can stop it, you imagine pushing him away and fleeing to familiar arms to be cradled by hands that drip with your own blood. It makes you freeze, and you fight an invisible battle to force that instinct far, far down. 

He isn’t your home, he hasn’t been for a long time. Don’t fucking think of him like that.

You have to clench your jaw to fight back the urge to either scream or throw up. Maybe both.

In contrast, your companion is utterly unruffled. His eyes find your wrist, slim fingers unfolding like petals to reveal the mess of your skin. You watch him carefully, so you spot the almost imperceptible twitch of his eye, the shallow swallow that makes his throat bob.

“Not the prettiest mark to be left with,” you say finally, voice frustratingly weak as you claw composure back from the war inside you.

Astarion drops your wrist suddenly, turning away.

“Looks like someone didn’t learn their lesson the first time,” he says sharply. They were words meant to sting, but you had long been impervious to biting little barbs. 

You trail after him.

“Contrary to the impression I’ve given thus far, I don’t cry easily, so you’ll have to try harder than that to earn my tears again,” you say. It’s true, before the last 24 hours, you can’t remember the last time you cried. It was as if the tadpole was stripping away layers of defenses you’ve erected over the years, a double edged sword that you weren’t entirely happy with. In most cases you’d found dead eyes and unemotional reactions serve you better than weeping and flailing, but the release you’d felt at letting yourself tear up even a little had been welcome.

Now, with the sun and fresh air around you, your wrists free of all but the memory of restraint, you are finally starting to feel more like yourself. You push the last remnants of your tainted instincts away and take a deep breath.

“So, Astarion,” you say, forging bravely forward despite the cutting look he sends you. “How long have you been turned?”

The elf turns his eyes upwards, as if beseeching a god for patience.

“Good gods, you must be new,” he says. Each patronizing word drips with condescension. “You just jumped from ‘hello, my name is’ to ‘how much do you make a year and do you think your parents really loved each other, or you?’” 

You frown, tilting your head a little in confusion.

“I’m not new.”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“Really? Could have fooled me, little monster.”

You stiffen, but the nickname isn’t imbued with any venom, so you simply scowl.

“I…haven’t been around a lot of spawn,” you confess through gritted teeth.

“Obviously. You manners are atrocious, but surely you must have picked up some form of decorum, even in Neverwinter?”

He glances over to see you glowering at him and chuckles.

“If you want to pull off the intimidating stare, darling, you’d do better in your other form.”

“Stop talking about it,” you snap, shame and guilt wrapping their hot hands around your spine and electrifying your nerves. Without thinking, you push past Astarion, stomping ahead on the path. You were starting to seriously regret your choice of traveling companion.

Of all the spawn I meet it has to be the one with a silver spoon up his arse.

You fume, throwing various profanity at him under your breath. This was going to be your plan for the foreseeable future, or at least until you got tired of scowling at the ground, but something pulls you from your anger. The familiar, sharp scent of blood teases your nose.

Your head jerks up, and your steps immediately soften. In an instant, Astarion is at your side, also moving silently. The two of you head to where the forest breaks ahead of you, slipping in and out of shadows. A quietly running river has worn a small gully in the land, but a sturdy stone bridge crosses it. The raise of the bridge blocks your sight, but you can practically see the tendrils of scent that beckon you from the other side.

“Blood,” you say quietly. Beside you, Astarion looks tense and drawn, a strange pallor to his skin.

“I smell it,” he replies. 

Surprisingly in sync, the two of you head for the bridge.

As soon as you reach the crest you can see the carnage laid out before you. Human adventurers and goblins alike lay slaughtered, their bodies abandoned where they fell, pools of blood staining the cobblestones. 

“What happened?” You wonder aloud. Astarion scoffs.

“Who cares? Let’s see if they have any valuables.”

He starts towards them, but something makes you reach out and catch his sleeve.

“Wait—”

An arrow buzzes past his nose, interrupting your warning. Then you spot them: goblins, perched in a few trees on the far bank of the river, and concealed along a crumbling wall that encircles whatever poor town they took over.

“Shit!”

Astarion backpedals quickly. The two of you run back for cover on the other side of the river, black tipped goblin arrows clattering to the stone in a hail right behind you.

When you reach the treeline you start to slow, but Astarion yells back at you.

“Keep running! Those bastards have our scent now, they won’t stop til they kill us or we kill them!”

Thus motivated, you kept running.

What had been a whole morning’s walk melts away under the speed of two scared spawn. Although neither of you are too much faster than a fit human, you both have more stamina, free of a beating heart to struggle to keep up with you.

Still, you know you haven’t fed in far too long, and when you finally misplace a step you can’t stop yourself from falling. Astarion isn’t there to save you this time, and you plow into the ground. Your head is swimming and you can’t feel your fingers anymore. The scent of earth and plants fills your nose, the cool dirt a welcome relief to your fear-flushed skin.

Astarion spins around when he hears you collapse.

“Oh for fucks-” he races back, but your muscles have given out, and you can do little more than loll an arm over his shoulders. You can hear the chittering of the goblins, who have given relentless chase since the bridge. Something rustles in the forest ahead too, and you could almost laugh if you weren’t delirious with hunger and over-exertion. 

Of course they got in front of us, too. Just my luck.

Then the unexpected happens.

Out of the foliage around the path bursts a party of adventurers, so mismatched and different that you couldn’t imagine them together in any other context.

At the lead is a githyanki woman, teeth bared in a snarl and sword already raised as she dashes past you and slams into the first goblin. A dark-skinned human is close on her heels, his jaw set and a glimmer in his eye. He dispatches the nearest goblin with an adroit twitch of his blade, moving to another like a dance.

A middle-aged human man skids to a stop next to you, raising his staff and chanting. As three glowing missiles fly from him to twist and wend to the charging goblins, a final figure stops beside you.

You look up into the serious, scarred face of a young woman. Her dark eyes are hard and severe.

“Come on,” she says shortly. With her help, Astarion is able to lift you and get you off the path. After making sure you’re out of the line of fire, the woman turns and dives head-first into the fray, although the other three have it mostly wrapped up by now.

The gith impales the final goblin with a satisfied nod, then withdraws her sword and flicks the dark blood from the tip.

The other human—the swordsman, not the wizard—approaches and drops to his knee before you and Astarion with a friendly smile.

“You alright?” he asks. You blink, still processing the fact that you’re not currently a goblin arrow-cushion.

“We are now,” Astarion answers for you. “That was a well-timed appearance.”

The man stands and holds out his hand. 

You reason that it’s far past time for you to get off the ground and introduce yourself, so you get to your feet. Although you’re a little more unsteady than you’d like, you manage it with minimal embarrassment, and hold out your hand.

“Tav,” you offer.

“The Blade of the Frontiers, at your service,” he says. His voice and stature is full of the heroism you had thought a thing only in story books. “Although, my friends call me Wyll.”

The girl who helped you off the road seems to roll her eyes at this.

Astarion is about to reply when he doubles over with a groan of pain. Wyll does the same, as do the others behind him. You step back in shock, barely noticing the tremors of pain in your own head. There’s a hint of something around the edges of your mind, like a dog sniffing around a closed door to try and get inside. A moment later it passes and Astarion straightens with a gasp.

“What—”

“You’ve got a tadpole too,” Wyll says. The gith seems to curse under her breath at this.

“I, well, yes,” Astarion replies. “What was that?”

“The tadpole. At least, as far as we can tell,” the other man says, stepping forward. “Gale of Waterdeep, at your service.”

And with that, it’s introductions all around. The girl who pulled you from danger is Shadowheart, a name that makes Astarion purse his lips with faux sympathy. 

“Her parents must have hated her,” he whispers to you when attention is momentarily off of you both. You give him a sharp look and a jab with your elbow that you hope communicate “try not to antagonize the people who saved our lives” but just makes him grin.

The gith is Lae’zel, and seems incredibly put out by this entire experience.

“We have now lost time and resources,” she says, every word clipped short. “Between your ridiculous demand to rescue that druid and now helping every helpless istik that crosses your path we will be ghaik before we even see the creche.”

Shadowheart scowls, annoyed, but Wyll maintains his chipper attitude.

“No loss at all, Lae’zel,” he reassures her, then turns to survey you and Astarion with a critical, but not unfriendly, eye.

“These two are under the same pressure we are.”

He addresses Astarion directly.

“We’re searching for a cure, and our best chance is the druid Halsin, who’s fallen into enemy hands. If you can fight, another blade is always welcome.”

“How can I say no to such a tempting offer?” Astarion replies lazily, then looks down slightly at you with a wicked grin.

“What do you say, dear sister? Shall we join forces with our brave rescuers?”

You give a weak smile in reply.

“As you say,” you reply.

“Fantastic!” Wyll claps his hands together. Gale surveys you both with mild concern, and Shadowheart and Lae’zel both seem unamused by the entire conversation.

“As long as they can fight,” the gith says finally, spinning on her heel and marching away. Shadowheart shrugs and follows.

“We can,” you say, stepping forward as the rest of the group starts to move. “Fight, I mean.”

Astarion rests an arm around your shoulders, the casual touch making you want to rip said arm off. You settle for glaring at him, which he easily ignores.

“I can fight,” he corrects. “My sister’s skills lie elsewhere.”

Gale brightens slightly.

“Cooking? Another hand at the fire would always be welcome.”

“Perfect,” Astarion replies smoothly on your behalf, making you sigh.

Let it be on his head, then, when they all find out you can’t cook for shit.

[tavyliasin]

Part 1 of Haarlep's Festive Party is now out!

The rest will follow in the next day or so, it's a fight to finish it because it grew so long, but I do hope you enjoy the appetiser~

Mind the tags, I have my usual beloved tropes of Haarlep's aphrodisiac shenanigans, bondage, power play, a little pain play, some devilishly delightful toys and new outfits, oh and this time? Gale is joining the party!

Smut below the cut with some samples, the full work for now is only on AO3 but I shall see about posting it here in chapters when it is completed too~ Happy holidays darlings, in whatever ways you do or do not celebrate~

-------- -------- The Fiend's Feast -------- --------

“Are you nearly ready to go?” Tav’s voice called through the thin fabric of Gale’s tent as he fussed over his outfit. “I still need a few minutes… Look, you all go on ahead without me, I can soon catch up.” He looked in the mirror again and shook his head. He felt ridiculous, and not at all prepared, but he was not going to miss another party. “I will be there, I promise you that.” Outside the tent, Tav shrugged, looking to her companions. “I feel ridiculous.” Astarion complained, lifting the hems of his revealing outfit. “I don’t know how I let the pair of you talk me into this, again. ”

Beside him, Halsin merely grinned, a firm slap to the rear causing the pale elf to leap from the floor in shock with a loud jingling of bells. “I think you look perfect, my heart. I fear it is my dignity taking the hit now.” “Hold still.” Tav stood on her tiptoes to reach up to Halsin as he bent just slightly for her, letting her adjust the large antlers fixed to his head before kissing his red-painted nose. “There. Much better.” The druid smiled, unable to hide his feelings whenever Tav lavished gentle affection towards him, even as Astarion huffed with exaggerated jealousy. “It would be much easier were I to be permitted use of my wild shape.” “That would be cheating.” Karlach gave him a gentle elbow in the ribs, her horn decorated with extra branches and shiny baubles. “We’re going to be late if we stand around talking here all night.” Wyll appeared beside her, linking arms, similar festive items adorning his own curved horns, ribbons sewn carefully through his hair. “Shall we?”

Lae’zel and Shadowheart were already walking on ahead, having some kind of heated argument that Tav and the others couldn’t hear. Karlach watched them with concern. “Maybe we should keep a closer eye on them, before someone gets hurt.” “Oh I think that is their plan, but I wouldn’t worry about anything permanent .” Astarion smirked, as he watched the realisation dawn on the tiefling’s face. 

“Well, let’s not keep the host waiting any longer. I’m curious what all this is about, anyway.” Tav smiled, entwining her fingers with those of her lovers either side of her. The memory of Haarlep’s last party was still fresh in her mind, and her body, and she couldn’t wait to find out what the rest of the night might have in store for them all. ----

“I hate you. You know that?” Raphael sneered, even as he allowed Haarlep to continue as they pleased, covering his wings with white feathers. Well, allowed was perhaps not the most accurate word as he was once more bound - quite literally - by their latest scheme. “Yes, yes, hellfire, brimstone, flay the flesh from my bones. I was hoping you might play the part a little better, Archdu- ” They paused halfway through his title, a far more wicked grin crossing their features. “ Archangel .” They finished on the last row of feathers, checking how firm the golden ropes and vicious daggers pinning his wings spread and open against the metal support were, ensuring he wouldn’t bother struggling. They floated back on a current of magic to properly admire their work, checking the book they summoned to their hand to ensure that everything was just right. Raphael was in his cambion form already, horns painted with gold with a large ornate ring suspended on fine thread between them as a glittering halo. He was dressed in a pure white robe that stopped midway down his thigh. Half of his chest was equally exposed, and his hands were bound with a thin but impressively strong golden rope in a mockery of prayer. A liberal application of golden glitter made his entire form appear to sparkle amidst the twinkling lights as he was held aloft at the top of an unreasonably large evergreen tree. Decorated soul coins hung from ribbons in the higher branches, out of reach of where most of the guests would be in the expansive hall below. The rest of the tree bore a variety of garish baubles, patterns of magical fire and dancing light cantrips being constantly cast by debtors hidden beneath the base, barely able to see from the ribbon-tied boxes they were secured inside, under strict orders not to let the decorations flicker or fade for even a moment. “Now, all you need do is sing .” Haarlep made a swift motion with their hand, their lovely little item buried deep inside Raphael suddenly coming to life and drawing out a prolonged whine from his lips. “Hmmm…you can do better.” Another motion sent the short mild shock of lightning through the pins piercing specific points up the cambion’s back, including several in the most sensitive points just above his tail and at the point his wings joined near his shoulders. This time, the noise from him hit a higher pitch. “Much better.” Haarlep smirked with satisfaction at the disappointed sigh as they left him without any stimulation again, only the feeling of what was there, the pained anticipation of never knowing when they’d next activate their little toys. “Now, you be nice up there, and you might just get your present later~” Their wings stretched in a lazy mimicry of flying as the magic carried them back to the floor. They noted the perfect view, if a guest were to stand in just the right spot beneath the tree, they would see everything . “Here. Hang that silly plant right here.” He motioned to one of the debtors who was helping decorate the hall, stringing the mistletoe on a fine thread they conjured from the high ceiling above. ---

--- Some time later

--- --- “Oh, right, mine’s last then.” She nervously teased the bow open, the paper falling away to reveal two items. The first was a dark flask, the glass itself looking like warm flames were moving within it, a thicker liquid swirling inside. “Do be careful with that now, Little Rat, do not get greedy . Just a drop or two in a drink should be more than potent enough, when you aren’t able to take it from the source.” At those words, they leaned in close tilting her chin up with a single claw and kissing her deeply, a sweeter passion to it, she might have been forgiven for thinking there was just a touch of genuine emotion. “Now, why don’t you look at the other half of your gift.” Their hand drifted down her arm, lifting her wrist as she still held the silk bag by the drawstrings. She passed the bottle of what was now rather obviously distilled aphrodisiac from the incubus themselves over to Halsin to hold for a moment as she began to pull the object from within the fabric. “This is…well, I assume it’s similar to other items you have?” “Not precisely.” They ran their own finger up the length of the decidedly phallic object, coloured deep red with familiar ridges along it. “Right now, it bears Raphael’s likeness , as you can tell. However, you can have it take the form of others, should you wish. All you need do is make a little deal with them - similar to my own, but far simpler. Just use it and kiss them while it is inside you, speaking their name whilst holding it will then transform it into their form.” “What’s the catch?” She eyed them suspiciously as they continued to caress the toy, squeezing at the tip for good measure. “When it’s in their shape, saying their name again while holding it will allow them to feel everything you do with it, much like you feel it if I take your form.” They grinned and dug a sharp nail just below the tip, and Tav once again heard that sound from above. “That…” She began, holding the toy in her hand as she had an idea form. “Haarlep.” She said once, watching the fiend’s eyes widen for a moment as they toy changed in size and shape, the hue changing to a dark tan. “So you did attune it to yourself when you made it, you cheeky devil~” Astarion winked at the incubus, watching the subtle changes in their face. “Haarlep.” Tav repeated, looking them in the eye as she took the item in her hand and began to run her own fingers up and down the length. “It is you…but not the one we know.” The incubus touched the toy quickly. “Raphael.” They uttered, in a hushed tone. “Do not think on that too much, Little Thief, some things even you should not steal.” They put the toy back in the silk bag for her, tying the string. “Something for later , you will have little need of it tonight.” ---

[ellekhen]

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 52 - Lost in the Dark

Chapter Summary: We find ourselves back at the beginning where we first found Church and Astarion at the House of Healing. Church once again confronts his feelings of guilt and loss. Much to his horror, the other half of the party falls under attack. Church breaks the news to Arabella about her parents, and realizes quite a bit more as a result.

Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav (Main); Past OC x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 272K+ words; Chapters 52/70 (Master Post)

Excerpt below:

While they wait, Church seeks out Gale, relieved to see his friend intact and well.

Or, rather, as well as he can be. Gale looks deep in thought as he stands by the river, eyeing Moonrise Towers in the distance.

“Doing alright?” Church asks him softly. The wizard turns around with a start, but smiles tightly at the tiefling.

“I would have asked you the same question,” Gale replies affably. “Karlach told me about that utterly horrifying scene you encountered within the House of Healing. That’s not something one can simply walk away from — least of all you.”

Church rubs the back of his neck, grimacing. “I’m coping. It’s not me I’m worrying about — it’s Arabella.”

Gale nods, grimly. “And you have every right to. How she survived this past week alone in the shadows… all thanks to strange magic, yes, but it still takes tremendous will not to give up entirely when alone with your thoughts.”

“I know the feeling well,” Church says dryly. 

Gale eyes him carefully. “Karlach also told me you were in a bit of a state before you all arrived on our side of town.”

“Yes, well,” Church clears his throat. “I’ve… got to be honest. When I heard — and saw — the explosion, I…” 

His voice catches unexpectedly, and Gale turns to him, taken aback with concern as the tiefling glances away with burning wet eyes.

“Gods, I thought I lost you,” Church admits softly, before sheepishly adding, “So yes. I… may have panicked a bit.”

“...oh! Whyever would you…?” Gale asks, puzzled.

“I thought it was the orb,” Church explains, gesturing vaguely at the wizard’s chest where the sigil of Netherese magic is barely visible beneath his shirt’s loosened collar. “I thought something happened and you… detonated.  

“I was… I was terrified I was too late. Again. So seeing you there, even getting wailed on by those githyanki?” he looks up to meet Gale’s eyes as he fights back the tears that he doesn’t have the strength to hide. “Gods, it’s just so good to see you just… here, you know?”

He huffs a helpless laugh and steps hesitantly forward to wrap his arms around the wizard, holding him tight.

“You…” Gale seems at a loss. “You truly were concerned for me?”

“That’s… basically what I said,” Church mumbles, still holding him. “It didn’t help that Astarion couldn’t link with your mind again, and neither could I. But like I said, I was afraid…”

Gale finally returns his embrace, resting his head down onto Church’s shoulder.

“Well, you needn’t fear,” the wizard says, clearing his throat as they finally part from each other. “That method of destruction is reserved for one thing only — the Absolute. I wouldn’t allow it to go to waste on a few zealous githyanki.”

“I mean, I didn’t think you’d do it intentionally, but I thought maybe a githyanki might’ve hurt you badly enough… to…” Church trails off, regarding Gale incredulously. “You… you still plan on doing that, then? Using the orb — yourself — to destroy wherever we find the Absolute?”

Gale smiles grimly at him and shrugs.

“Well, why not? It would all seem so straightforward,” the wizard says with forced levity. “Find whatever mausoleum that necromancer went off to, destroy the artifact, destroy Ketheric. And then we locate the heart of the Absolute and… destroy that too.”

He frowns, not meeting Church’s eyes as the tiefling ogles at him in disbelief.

“But… we don’t even know what any of that entails, right?” Church reminds him. “The mausoleum, or the artifact. Or whatever Ketheric has up his sleeve. Nor do we know what the hells this ‘heart of the Absolute’ is.”

“No, but I imagine that when we do find it, we won’t have time to ruminate on what to do next,” Gale replies evenly. “We will need to move quickly so that I may have the best advantage, and so that you all can clear out in time.”

“Oh. Gods, Gale…” Church balks. “I told you. We’ll find another way, and…”

“Well, have you found another way?” Gale snaps. “No. You have not. None of us have. I remain the one sure-fire way to destroy the Absolute. Are you telling me that I should forsake my duty to my goddess? To my friends? To…” his voice breaks, “...you?”

Church feels lightheaded. 

“There has to be another way,” he says numbly. “We just… haven’t found it.” 

Everyone you ever cared about… the voice reminds him. Doomed to die. Doomed to leave you behind too soon, because you were too slow…!

Church’s heart and mind race as his hand twitches up to reach towards his friend. “Gale. Please… I’m not… I’m not ready to lose you.”

The wizard closes his eyes and rubs the back of his neck, turning away from the tiefling. “This is bigger than you and me,” he says, and Church wonders if it’s just sheer coincidence that he’s quoting Tavi. 

“Don’t lie to yourself,” Gale scoffs. “I… know you. If it were your decision, you would give yourself up to save the world, wouldn’t you?”

Church stares after him, stricken.

“Well?” Gale demands.

“...yes,” Church whispers, defeatedly. “I would.”

Gale turns away, nodding. 

“Then do not pass judgment on me for preparing myself to do the one thing I know to be right,” he says, resigned to his fate. 

Start from the beginning!

[slothquisitor]

What Moves in the Dark: Chapter Eight

A post-campaign Baldur’s Gate 3 eldritch horror AU.

While waiting for leads to pan out, Liv and Astarion have very different means of passing the time.

Author note: a small content warning for this chapter, this chapter includes Astarion making some self-destructive decisions consistent with canon behavior. While everyone involved is definitely consenting, it is definitely not a good time for him.

Read from the beginning.

Read on AO3.

____________________________________________________________

Several days pass without word from either Astarion or Kharis, so Liv spends her evenings reading everything she can find on vampires. If she’s lucky, perhaps she’ll have some progress to show Astarion the next time she sees him. She oscillates between reading and notes and re-organizing the workroom. It’ll be undone the second Kharis returns, but for now, she has an area to do research and plenty of space to brew whatever potions and elixirs she must when stock gets low. 

There was a time when she might have been grateful for the solitude, but as the days drag on, Liv wonders if she’d perhaps protected her peace these last six months a little too well. 

Books and notes are scattered in haphazard piles she’s hastily rearranged. She shifted focus rather abruptly last night. There’s no chance that she’s going to accidentally stumble upon a cure for vampirism in the books she has access to between her and Kharis’ collections. But that was never her strength anyway. No, she thinks she can find a magical solution, a stop-gap if nothing else to give Astarion back the sun. Or at least she hopes so. 

She’s startled out of her reading by an insistent banging at the shop door. It’s late, she’s had to recast her light spell at least three or four times now. The knocking continues as she carefully enters the shop proper, inching around the counter to glance out the windows to see who is at the door. 

It’s a little embarrassing how quickly she recognizes the figure as Astarion, and even more embarrassing how incredibly happy it makes her to see that he’s here. She adjusts her sweater and smooths her hair that’s no doubt escaping from the bun she’d pulled it into in a fit of annoyance an hour ago. Then, she unlocks and opens the door. 

“Hi,” she greets him with a smile that is immediately replaced by confusion when she realizes that he’s dragging a bound and gagged man into the shop. 

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” Astarion greets her cheerily. 

“Uh…who’s this?” 

Astarion looks at the man with a frown. “Funnily enough, I didn’t get his name.”

Liv represses the urge to roll her eyes and tries again. “Why did you bring him here?”

Astarion grins as if he knows he’s annoyed her. “He’s infected. I was just about to sink my teeth into him and drain him dry when I realized he smelled just awful. So I bound him up and brought him to you.”

She’s still confused. “For treatment?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling. For interrogation.”

Liv can’t help but laugh. “What makes you think he’s going to tell me anything?”

“You’re a wizard, can’t you just read his mind?” 

Her stomach sinks. “Not as a general rule, no.” She’s never been very comfortable with the idea that she could violate someone that way, breaking into their mind. 

Astarion puts a hand on his hip. “Well, I believe rules are meant to be broken. Besides he’s a Bhaalist, and I’m turning him over to the Fist anyway. He’s as good as dead, so you might as well question him about his blood and if he has any other murder lord friends still hanging about. Call it service to the city if your moral compass needs the justification.”

It occurs to her that it should be harder to agree to this than it is, but Astarion makes a good point, and she can’t quite keep herself from a new lead. “Can I try simply asking first?” 

Astarion gives her a long-suffering look. “You can, but I don’t expect it’ll be very helpful.”

“Bring him in the back. We’ll sit him down for this,” Liv replies. 

“Oh, it’s much cleaner in here,” Astarion comments as he shoves the man into the workroom and toward a small wooden chair near the fireplace. 

Liv nods. “It’ll go back to chaos as soon as Kharis returns.” She approaches the bound and gagged man, crouching to be more on his level. “I’m going to remove your gag and ask you some questions. Your blood is infected with a disease that will likely kill you. It’s in your best interest to cooperate.”

Astarion makes a disgruntled noise behind her, but she doesn’t hesitate as she removes the gag. The Bhaalist immediately begins spitting threats and profanities at her. 

“Charming. If you don’t help me, I will get what I need from your mind anyway.”

The Bhaalist begins to laugh. “My lord Bhaal will rejoice when I slowly bleed you dry and present your heart to him.”

“That’s quite enough of that,” Astarion says, replacing the gag a little more roughly than necessary. “Will you simply read his mind now?” 

She knows the spell, of course she does, but she doesn’t like using it. She’s never been comfortable with the idea of breaking into someone’s mind, in sifting through their thoughts that way. And maybe it’s a flimsy justification, but if it helps them help others…It takes just a moment, but she casts it and suddenly she is falling down the connection to this man’s mind. 

It is not a happy place. Blood-soaked, angry, full of religious zealotry and celebration of pain and death. She sifts through memories scarred by violence, looking for anything and everything that could be helpful. She’s aware of her voice in the room, asking questions so that memories and thoughts bob to the surface just within her grasp. She questions, looks for Guild connections and finds none, asks about other Bhaalists and finds none except those already dead and gone, only a single face of interest materializes. A meeting in a house in the Upper City….she doesn’t recognize the man, but the home is familiar to her. 

“What in the hells were you doing at Caldwell’s home?” Liv asks. But she knows that the Bhaalist doesn’t know, it hadn’t mattered to him to know. This man hadn’t been important enough to sit in the actual meeting, so that’s just another mystery. She adds it to the ever-lengthening list. 

“The Caldwells….we found the body of a Caldwell..along with an Oberon and Linnacker…their charred corpses were near the Guildhall,” Astarion says quietly. 

“Killed by Bhaalists?” she asks. 

“Besides me, they are the most dangerous thing down there.” 

Liv lets the magical connection between herself and the man unravel. “He didn’t know why they were there or even that it was the Caldwell’s. He doesn’t know where any other Bhaalists are either.”

“How utterly useless,” Astarion says with disappointment and then slams the hilt of his dagger into the back of the man’s head. He slumps forward, out cold. 

“What…why did you do that?”

“Because I didn’t desire an audience for our conversation. What else did you find while poking through his thoughts?”

“Very little beyond death and violence. He was in attendance at a meeting at the Caldwell’s home. They met with a man I didn’t recognize. Not one of the Caldwells, I’m sure of it.”

“That certainly complicates matters. The Caldwells in league with Bhaalists…”

“An infected Bhaalist,” she says. “That’s new. Doesn’t fit the pattern. Has the Guild gotten back to you yet?”

Astarion’s lips twist in disgust. “No. Which is quite rude, honestly. If I haven’t heard in another day or so, I’ll stop by myself. But when I do talk to them again, shall I bring up the Caldwell connection?”

“Certainly couldn’t hurt. Sorry, that wasn’t more helpful.”

“His mind sounded like an absolutely miserable place. I’m sorry you had to sift through it. Any word from Kharis?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet. Though, he might still be traveling. So I wouldn’t expect anything for a few more days at least.”

“What’s all this?” Astarion asks as he walks around the workbench, glancing through her notes and books. 

She had rather hoped to have something more concrete before she shared anything with him, but he’s here and she wants him to know she’s trying. “Well, I did promise to help you with your condition, didn’t I?”

Astarion looks up at her, eyes narrowed. “These are all books about spell theory and Netheril.”

She walks around the opposite side of the workbench, leaning back against the opposite counter. “I pivoted a bit. I don’t think with what research I have access to I’m going to cure vampirism outright, but you talked about how the mind flayer parasite was infused with Netherese magic and it protected you from the sun. So, what if there was a way to replicate that protection with a spell?” 

“The last people I knew who were messing with Netherese magic are either dead or only alive through the intervention of Mystra herself.”

“I’m not attempting to do Netherese magic, but rather understand what it changes about the Weave that would grant that sort of protection,” Liv explains but realizes from Astarion’s unchanged expression that he's not getting it. “Okay, think of it like this: if I ask you to draw something you might begin sketching a rough shape of the object, right? But another person might begin with guiding lines. Neither approach is wrong, but they are different techniques.”

“Alright.” He looks unconvinced. 

“Netherese magic is just another technique for accessing the Weave. The magic is the same, but the access to it is different. Perhaps using some of their technique when crafting a spell of protection could replicate the effects of the tadpole. Spellcraft is a finicky business though, but I’ve got some ideas. I’m afraid they’ll require a bit of trial and error.”

Astarion seems to be considering what she’s said. “Well, aren’t you the clever one?”

“I’m sorry, I know it’s not a cure -”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, brow furrowing in discomfort. “Don’t apologize.”

“Just trying to be a useful wizard.”

As expected, he seizes on the light comment immediately. “You are a very useful wizard, and the least annoying one I know.”

“I should put that outside the shop: Least Annoying Wizard Found Here.”

“Helps balance out the most annoyingly devout cleric of Lathander, I think,” he says with a grin. 

She can’t help but laugh. “It’s good to see you. Seems like you’ve been very successful with your contract.”

He sighs. “Marginally. It took me three days alone to track this one down in the sewers. Speaking of, it’s getting late and I should really turn him over to Devella and collect my reward.”

She buries her disappointment that he would leave so soon and tries to focus on the fact she’s glad he’s here at all. The Bhaalist is still slumped over in the chair. “I think I’ve got something to rouse him.”

“Good because I refuse to carry him to the barracks.”

The Bhaalist probably has a good three inches and at least fifty pounds on Astarion, she’d be surprised if he could carry the man all the way from here to the barracks, but she refrains from saying so. She dumps a health potion down the Bhaalist’s throat before replacing his gag and then helps both of them back to the door. 

“I’ll be back in a day or two whether I’ve heard from the Guild or not.” Astarion pauses on the street, the moonlight glinting off his curls. He turns back to her as if he’s forgotten something, and he smiles. “It’s good to see you too.”

And she hopes he can’t hear the way her heart stumbles over itself.

***

It is evening in Baldur’s Gate, and Astarion is hungry. So, It isn’t really that much different than the last two centuries of his life, except that it is. Or at least he tells himself that coming to this tavern is because he can and because he wants to and not out of some ingrained habit. He tells himself that he’s here to be surrounded by people and not because he’s hunting. Because he’s not. 

He has an iron grip on his self-control where it matters, and in this, it does. He will not be a monster. But the situation is beginning to get desperate, especially since he’d really been banking on draining that Bhaalist from a few days ago. He has a few options: simply ask Rolan or Rolan’s siblings for some blood, find a willing (or unwilling criminal) participant somewhere in the city, or go hunting for animals in some Upper City park. 

Rolan and his siblings are out because he lives in Ramazith’s tower and that’s already feeling like too much despite the fact that he fastidiously avoids them all as much as possible. Especially since they keep checking in on him in Gale’s absence. Animals are…fine, but it’s been months since he’s had to subsist on animal blood and it feels like failing to go back to it now. Which leaves finding someone else in the city. 

He’s kept an eye out for passing vagrants, but the streets have been obnoxiously safe despite Bhaalists attacking him and Liv. And he could ask Liv, of course. But he’s surprised by how little he wants to. He’s sure she’d be willing, and like Tavren would offer it willingly and without commentary or debt owed. But he wants to solve this all on his own…he doesn’t want favors or pity. So perhaps he simply should allow some of these flirtations he keeps entertaining lead somewhere. And if that somewhere means he gets fed, well, two birds one stone. 

“Evening,” a quiet voice pulls him from his thoughts. 

Astarion turns just slightly to see Percy has joined him at the crowded bar. “About damn time.” It’s been nearly a tenday. 

Percy for his part, doesn’t seem bothered by Astarion’s less-than-enthusiastic greeting. “Why don’t we grab a table,” he says, accepting his drink from the barkeep and weaving his way through the crowded room.

Astarion follows him to a quieter section of the tavern, to a dim corner where they’ll be able to speak and not risk being overheard. Percy moves through the space comfortably, he has an aura about him, something that reveals confidence without quite inviting anyone to approach. There’s a distance between him and all these people, and Astarion remembers Nine-Fingers’ jab about his Upper City manners and it all clicks into place. Percy is a noble and he carries himself like it, though he doesn’t dress or act the part in a way that would reveal it to a casual passerby. Astarion wonders just how long Percy’s been slumming it. He’d guess a very long time.

“So, did you find any connections worth sharing?” Astarion asks as they sit down. 

Percy sips from his drink and offers Astarion a grim smile. “Not as much as I’d hoped. Alfran and Moira were easy to link, of course, they knew each other. But they had no overlap with the dock worker or his mother.”

“None at all?”

“None. I need to know if any more of my people are infected. Have you found anyone else?”

“Funny you should ask, I did apprehend a Bhaalist who was also infected. Liv poked around in his head, and found that he had dealings at the Caldwells’, meeting with some man she didn’t recognize as being one of the family.”

“But it was definitely the Caldwells’?” Percy asks, eyebrows furrowing.

“She seemed quite sure.” 

“Caldwells working with Bhaalists…that is…I’ll have to look into that.”

Astarion doesn’t hide his annoyance. “So you’re telling me that you’ve spent several days on this, and you have nothing to show for it?”

Percy’s eyes flash, but that’s the only sign that Astarion’s gotten under his skin. “Believe me when I say, no one is more frustrated than I am. Especially since it means I’m inviting you back to the Guildhall to help look for more people so that we might be able to solve this before it gets out of hand.”

“Ah, more time together, how lovely.” Astarion accepts that he’s not going to be eating tonight. “Lead the way.”

Percy laughs. “Not tonight. We’re certainly not heading there from here. You draw an awful lot of attention.”

“Do I?” Astarion asks with a grin. He hadn’t noticed, in fact, he’d very much stopped trying to notice attention or flattery for a long time. In the last decade or so, he’d show up and flirt terribly and take the first idiot willing to go with him back to Cazador. Actually putting in the work to seduce anyone had gotten rather rote, it all ended the same so why would it matter anyway? At least if he didn’t try then he didn’t have to feel bad when he led them to their doom. 

Percy finishes his drink. “Enjoy your evening. I’ll be at the Guildhall tomorrow evening.”

“I’ll endeavor to look forward to it,” Astarion replies, but Percy has already stepped away from the table. In his wake, Astarion glances around the room and realizes that Percy was right, he has drawn a fair bit of attention. There’s an elven man drinking with friends over at a table across the way who keeps glancing toward him. Astarion meets his gaze, expects him to glance away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he holds the eye contact and smiles, inclining his head in clear invitation. 

And before he can think better of it, Astarion goes over. 

The man recognizes him as one of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate and asks if he really is a vampire with such sincerity that belies nothing beyond a passing curiosity. It is easy to tell himself that this man wants him because he’s a hero and maybe he does deserve a bit of worship. He did save the world after all. So when the man presses him against the wall, he lets it happen. The man’s kisses are hard, precise things that tell Astarion he hasn’t had nearly as much drink as his companions, though he can still taste the sourness of the wine on his tongue. 

Astarion has been touched with many sets of hands over the last two hundred years. It’s been a while, his longest dry spell in well…ever, but it hasn’t been enough time to banish the memories of other hands, of other nights. He remembers telling Karlach once that he wished that everyone who had ever put their hands on him would have burst into flames; she'd said that she wished they could trade. But this man’s hands are just this side of reverent, firm and strong, but never asking for more than Astarion might want to give. 

And that’s the whole reason he’s tolerated his attentions this long. His plan for this evening was never to land pressed up against the wall, the man’s thigh pressing between his legs, but it feels good to be desired. To have his flirtations returned. And he’s starving, and the man’s blood smells divine, and maybe that’s enough for tonight. Maybe hunger and desire are close enough to the same thing. 

He hasn’t been with anyone since the nautiloid, since the whole tadpole business. At first, it was because his seduction attempts had failed, and later it was because he realized he didn’t have to use his body anymore. Since Cazador’s defeat, he’s been trying to reconnect that piece of himself again, the one that felt pleasure, that enjoyed sex. And he had enjoyed it, once. There had been a time when he had looked forward to the respite of getting lost in someone else, in touches that didn’t mean bruises, in pleasure that didn’t give way to pain. He had once tried to convince himself that an eternity of sex and desire and pleasure might not be so bad despite the penance he paid in blood. It hadn’t lasted, had instead twisted and turned into disgust and shame, and he hasn’t been able to get back. 

He worries he never will. 

But this man with the quick smile and the nimble fingers and sweet blood might be good enough. So when the man pulls back, his lips kiss-bitten red, and asks, “Your place or mine?” with all the confidence Astarion used to have, Astarion gives the answer he’s never had the freedom to give. “Yours.”

He has spent the last few months entertaining attention like this in some manner or other, savoring the thrill of saying no, in leaving a tavern entirely alone. But he tells himself that it is nice to be reminded he can say yes, that he can have these moments. Later, when they’re both naked and wanting, Astarion bites into the man’s neck; the man buries his fingers in his hair and moans into Astarion’s ear. The blood is sweet and full and good. The sex after is…fine, but sated on the man’s blood, it’s harder to feel any real desire, urgency, or interest. He doesn’t want this, but he’s here and he’s said yes to enough and this isn’t forever and maybe if he just stays and plays this out he’ll find some enjoyment from it. 

This man is handsome and he keeps checking in, keeps asking what he likes or if this is good, and Astarion keeps saying yes, keeps nodding along and performing like he always has. This man is good and kind and wants Astarion to enjoy himself, and Astarion wishes he could. He has taken this man’s blood, so he feels as though he can’t leave now. He wants this to be fun . He should be able to go to a tavern and go home with someone beautiful and enjoy himself. He deserves this, and he deserves to not have Cazador take this away from him too. But his body keeps moving and he tells himself it is different from before. Astarion hasn’t led him to his death, just maybe a little one. This man will not end the night drained and trapped in Szarr palace. This man is not a victim, so Astarion can’t quite fathom why it doesn’t feel any different.

After, when the man finally falls asleep, an arm slung heavily across Astarion’s chest, Astarion feels nothing but relief. The performance is over; he can finally rest. Despite being fed, there’s a hollow feeling somewhere in his chest. He needs to be anywhere but here. He thinks he’d rather starve than do this again. So he dresses in the silence and slips into the night between the man’s breaths. He never even stirs. Astarion isn’t even sure he can remember his name; he knows he doesn’t want him to remember his. 

The only thing he’s sure of in the darkness is that he is painfully and irrevocably broken. 

***

When Astarion next visits the shop, Liv can’t help but note that he is more quiet, almost pensive, lacking some of his usual humor and theatricality. Liv tries for a joke or two as he enters the shop and earns nothing more than a few strained smiles. 

“The Guild reached out and it turns out they can’t find a connection between our three victims,” Astarion says matter-of-factly as he steps past her. 

The news is disappointing, but not surprising considering how many dead-ends they’ve found themselves facing already. “I see.”

Astarion waves the disappointment away with the back of his hand. “Oh don’t be so worried, I’m going back around later tonight to see if I can identify anyone else and give us more leads. Though my contact was very interested in the connection you made to the Caldwells.”

“Did they say anything about it?” 

Astarion shrugs. “Just that he’d look into it. Seemed to worry him though.”

“Well, that’s something at least.”

Astarion holds out a small twine-wrapped binding of papers. “I didn’t come simply to bring you disappointments. After our last conversation I reached out to my friend Gale, and he kindly supplied me with all of his notes on Netherese magic and the tadpole that he took over the course of our travels.”

He’s giving her the notes from Gale of Waterdeep? “Seriously?”

Astarion shrugs. “It sounded like it might help you help me.”

She takes the papers and undoes the twine, quickly skimming the messy, but detailed writing and diagrams. The notes are a mess, seemingly scribbled on whatever paper was nearest when the writer needed it. “This is…this is great. It should be very helpful. Thank you.” And it might be more for him than for her, but there’s something about the fact that he thought about it at all that fills up something inside her. 

“You’re very welcome, my dear,” he replies with a genuine smile that makes her heart jump. “I’m not meeting my Guild contact for another few hours, and I wondered…if I might stay here for a bit? I promise to stay out of the way of your work.”

He wants to stay…here? With her? “You’re always welcome here,” she says, unable to suppress the smile that stretches across her face. 

He follows her into the workroom, sits himself down in the chair nearest the door, and pulls out a book. Liv is tempted to ask him more questions to see what has shifted this deliberate change in their friendship, but she’s just glad he’s here, and it’s clear he’s a bit unsure about it. So she returns to her work as normally as she can, but she does glance up every now and again to look at him. More than once she’s almost sure she catches him glancing at her as well. 

“Is this really all you do with your evenings?” he asks after a quiet, but not unpleasant hour has passed. 

Liv looks up from the notes she’d been examining. “Sometimes. Why?”

“You don’t have friends or family or lovers taking up your time?” 

She smiles. “If my family wanted to spend time with me then I’d know the world really was ending.”

“Not on good terms?”

“No.”

“And friends?”

She sighs. “I have few of those these days. Truthfully, beyond Kharis I see you more often than almost anyone else.”

“That is…exceptionally sad.”

And maybe it is, but spending time with him has made her realize her own isolation and that perhaps she needs to change that, patch up friendships she’s distanced herself from. “I don’t know, you’re pretty alright.”

He looks absolutely offended. “Pretty alright? That’s all?” 

“What about you? Are you suffering from an overabundance of friends?”

He sighs. “No. Almost all of them went their separate ways after the Absolute’s defeat, and I…well, two hundred years of being a vampire lord’s obedient puppet didn’t exactly give me a predisposition for friendship.”

She wants to ask more about that, those two hundred years he’s alluded to but rarely talks about. It’s not hard to guess that whatever it was like it was nothing good, that much she knows. But she’s not sure about the rest, and she is especially unsure if she should ask if he’d welcome the chance to talk about it or hate her for the curiosity. She just wants to know everything about him – the good and the bad. 

“Do you…do you want to talk about it? I’m sorry, I’m never sure if I should ask about it or not.”

His eyes look so far away. “I don’t. Some other time, perhaps.”

“Alright.” She returns to her work then, trying to grant him space, sensing that he needs it. 

A few minutes pass before he speaks again. “Is this all there is?” he asks, voice quiet. 

“To what?” 

“To life? To freedom? Is it all just…surviving? I don’t know who I am or what I want, and I feel like I keep trying to find it… keep looking for it and just keep coming up so empty.”

It occurs to her then that Astarion is lost, and then everything about him slots into place. His waspishness any time she’s ever drawn too close to the truth of him. Arriving here of all places looking for a way to walk in the sun again, but seeming unhappy about ever asking for help at all. His willingness to go with her had less to do with her convincing him it was the right thing and more to do with the fact he had nothing better to do, no real reason to say no. His pride and happiness when he arrived one evening letting her know he had a job, a direction, a purpose. Astarion might be a hero of the city, but that doesn’t mean he has anything figured out. 

He is lost, but he came here. The realization knocks her off-balance a little, and she’s been quiet too long, Astarion’s eyes are skittering away from hers and he looks almost as if he regrets saying anything at all. “Don’t stop,” she manages. 

His brow furrows as he looks back at her. “Stop what?”

“Looking.” She says simply, and when his expression gives way to confusion, she continues. “When I came to this shop six months ago, I didn’t know who I was either. Some days I still don’t…but I think it’s important to just keep looking and trying. That’s life.”

“And what, now you’re happy and content and this shop is your calling?” he scoffs, but it’s less out of meanness and more disbelief. 

She laughs. “Oh, I don’t want to be here forever. Just until I have something worthwhile enough to submit to an academy to get the hells out of Baldur’s Gate.”

“You want to leave Baldur’s Gate? What sort of academy?” 

“A research academy, magic or otherwise. That was my plan…until I severed ties with my family and they sabotaged all my connections. Now I’ve no one to vouch for me or my abilities and no one will touch me.”

“Is that why you wanted to help me? With curing my condition?” 

She nods. “Some of it was that, yes. Some of it was the blood disease. And some of it was that you just seemed like you needed help.”

“So long as it’s not all charity, I can live with that, I suppose.”

She walks around the workbench so that she’s nearer to him, leaning back against it. “And you, what’s your plan? More contracts from the Fist?”

Astarion snaps his book shut, leaning back more heavily in the chair as he considers. “I was thinking I might strike out on my own, take a few independent contracts.”

“Ah, a bounty hunter then,” she crosses her arms. 

He gives her a single-shoulder shrug as he stands. “Sounds a bit more fitting than a morally questionable hero anyway.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think you can be whatever you decide to be,” she replies. 

He steps a bit nearer to her, and there’s still plenty of distance between them, but Liv can feel something charged in the atmosphere, something in the way he looks at her as if he’s trying to puzzle her out. She’s almost sure she wants him to. 

“You really believe that, don’t you?” Astarion asks, voice pitched low. 

She’s not sure what he seems to be looking for in her face, but whatever it is she wants to give it to him. She’s just not sure if it’s reassurance or comfort or–

“Arrived at Candlekeep. The blood’s something they’ve never seen before. They’ve attempted to identify it and it’s not from this plane. Be careful and safe,” Kharis’ voice is full and clear as if he was in the room beside her. 

She immediately steps away from Astarion so that she can concentrate, sending her own message along the connection she feels with Kharis. “Not from this plane? Where could it be from and how did it get here? I’m fine, keep me updated.”

Astarion sputters a bit. “What in the hells–”

She holds up a hand. “Quiet.” She waits for an answer for several moments, and when she gets nothing in response, she turns to Astarion. “Kharis sent me a message. He says whatever’s in the blood, it’s not from this plane.”

Disbelief and then frustration reigns on his face before he manages a joyless laugh. “Well, it couldn’t ever be simple, could it?”

[tadpole-apocalypse]

More on my post game musings:

Morgan and Astarion spend half the year in the Underdark, primarily late spring/summer, then travel to Baldur’s Gate in Autumn when the nights start getting longer to spend their winters there.

Astarion likes to be fancy, it will be hard to live that lifestyle in a dusty fortress full of undead freaks scuttling all over the walls and ceilings like spiderlings, so he’ll look forward to going back into the city every winter in his giant upper city house with blacked out windows and silk sheets and a closet of frivolous clothing.

During the trip back they also get a chance to stop and see some friends on the way. (Primarily Halsin and Shadowheart, as most of the others are not in this realm).

I don’t think they’ll end up living at the vampire fortress in the Underdark permanently. I just think Astarion would start getting nervous at having his mortal partner sleep among thousands of hungry vampires who have drained any living thing that’s crossed their territory. Also a huge portion of these residents are victims he slept with and then betrayed so I just feel like that would be really awkward and uncomfortable for him? At least as far as everyone being housemates.

And him and Petras would constantly be at each other’s throats like cats in each other’s territory and have to be separated.

I thought about them taking up residence in that one abandoned wizard tower, but I also like the idea of them staying with the Myconid colony. If myconids don’t have blood, which I would be surprised if they did, they’d probably welcome the new vampire community I would think, yeah? Since they would likely leave them alone and It would keep the Deugar at bay. And at the colony Morgan would have other mortals to hang out with, the society of brilliance guys, the dwarves, etc.

Also, I think it’d be neat if Astarion furthered his interest in Necromancy. He’s already got 4 little guys that are loyal to him from the book of Thay, he deserves more undead servants.

Brainstorming some post-game stuff. I think I have settled on Morgan and Astarion spending part of the year in the Underdark, and the rest in Baldur’s Gate.

While they’re making preparations for their first trip down there, Morgan asks Jaheira to manage the lawyers she hired to handle selling Cazador’s estate after it was gutted, since it will likely take months to do. Astarion teases her for using the famous folk hero Jaheira as her personal assistant. “Love that for you, darling!”

But this way when they come back, they’ll have a sizable amount of money to get a place settled in the upper city somewhere after it’s rebuilt.

Since Astarion is legally considered dead, all the money will go to Morgan’s account. Which she frets over but Astarion doesn’t care, even when she says they could get him a fake identity, and he’s like, no need for that, like he’s totally willing to let Morgan be his sugar mommy.

But she insists “ No! You need your own money! What if we break up?” These are all normal precautions to her.

And he’s so upset by this because it’s his first relationship and he hasn’t developed his communication for this kind of talk very well yet, and also he is not mortal and tends to think of things in terms of eternity? And is also prone to dramatics.

“Why would you break up with me? Have I wronged you in some fashion???”

“I’m just trying to look out for you-“

“By tearing my heart right out of my chest?! Use a stake next time, my sweet, it’s far less painful.”

It’s like their first real “fight” as a couple and he is so hurt until she reassures him she has no intention of leaving and that it was merely a hypothetical, and that these are normal things that happen in relationships. I think these sorts of moments will happen more as the terrifying reality of him truly being free to do what he wants starts to settle in.

[anacdoce]

New beginnings Chapter 2 - A Promise

The screenshot above is from @iizven, who kindly gave me permission to use it.

Pairing: Astarion x you (f!reader, implied sorcerer with no magic anymore)

Rating: T

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: post game events; fluff; Astarion is trying his best; a bit of angst to spice it all; sequel of "I wish" and so Astarion is mortal again.

Summary: Unintentionally, Astarion ruined your plans for the New Year's Eve. Will he be able to make it up to you?

a/n: This story continues to have a special place in my heart, and I'm very glad I was able to give it more from me. And who knows what tomorrow can bring us? 😏

Again, happy New Year to everyone!

Lots of love! ❤️

Previous chapter

Read on oa3

A few hours later, you are thrown into a prison cell to spend the night and who knows for how long more. 

Once the guards move away from the dungeon, you start to frantically examine everything in the cell, searching for some weak spots for you to escape. After a while you finally move your attention to Astarion again, who is patiently waiting for it, sitting on the only bench present in that cold, disgusting cell. And he just knows what you’re going to ask him next. One more hole for him to bury himself. One more disappointment…

“Well, what are you waiting for? Why are you not trying to pick the lock of the cell’s door?” 

Astarion sighs deeply, clearing his throat next. “I don’t have any lockpicking tools with me, Darling.” His voice, very low.

“What?” You frown, trying to understand what he just answered you.

“I don’t have any lockpicking tools. I left them in my backpack… at the inn.” He admits, embarrassed.

“You what?” The exasperation showing in your face. “But you always carry some with you! Always!”

“Well, apparently not today.” He replies, a little bit more harsher than he intended.

You show him a very displeased and angry grimace. And you have all the right to it. It’s nothing like him, he’s always prepared. But… lately he’s been finding himself a little more… relaxed. You make him feel like that… you offer him a perfect life at your side, and he sometimes lets his guard down, because it feels good to be able to just savor the life at your side, his and your new life. 

Walking to the railings of the cell, you grip them and stand there for a while, staring out into the dim corridor of the dungeon. After some time, a frustrated voice escapes your mouth. “If only I could get us out of here…” You raise one trembling hand to the level of your eyes, contemplating it. “I can’t do anything… Not even a simple dimension door to save us from this mess. I’m useless…” 

Oh, no… He won’t allow you to say things like that. “Please, Love, that’s not true. And you know it.” He lifts from the bench and takes an hesitant step toward you.

“I don’t! I feel empty! All I feel is this numbness in my fingers, making me remember everyday what I lost!” Your cruel words, hitting his heart without mercy. All because of him.

He stays in the same place, frozen, glued to the ground, blinking repeatedly, his eyes staring into the void, while you wave a hand to the side, dismissively while retreating to a corner of the cell to curl into yourself, looking at the small window on that cubicle you’re trapped in, watching the snow fall. 

Is he not enough? Apparently not. How could he have ever thought he would be? 

Astarion lowers his head, defeated. His hurting beating heart, remembering him that this is all because of it. This is all because you sacrificed everything to give him the blessing of a mortal life. But he’s starting to believe that maybe this is not a blessing after all. He knew this day would come… 

Turning to you, he glares at your trembling body, huddled against the bitter cold of the ground. He never saw you like that. Not even when you faced the Elder Brain were you like that. Not even then, when the odds were not in your favor you let the fear consume you. You never let your determination falter, your strength, your willingness to fight. He learned so much with you… and even so, here you are, broken.

And that hurts him way more than your cold words.

If only I could give you your magic back…

But he can’t. Can’t he? 

Slowly, he takes off his coat and approaches you, wrapping the warm fabric from his body around your shoulders. And when he’s about to leave you alone again, you hold him by his ankle. 

“Please stay.” You plead, your voice, failing. “I’m so sorry, Astarion… I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” And instantly he crumbles at your side nestling around your arms.

“Shh, my dear. I understand. No need to apologize.” He tries to comfort you.

“No! I was mean… and you don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve any of this…” You sob against his shoulder, your fingernails digging into his back, grasping his shirt tightly. 

He doesn’t respond to you. You don’t need any answer. Instead he let you cry, just like you let him countless times in the past, and still do, when his mind insists on playing tricks on him. And you’re always there for him, as he is for you. Always.

A wave of affection invades him, and he needs you even closer to him. Crossing his legs, he lifts you from the ground and places you on his lap, your head on his chest, offering you the comforting sound of his heart, like you do for him when he needs it the most. And he embraces you, like he never wants to let you go again, cradling you gently.

“I’ve been on edge lately…” You admit, after a while, your voice steadier. “Ever since we left Waterdeep, to be more precise.”

Replaying your last weeks in his mind he remembers that you definitely have been more grumpier than ever, so it makes sense. “Do you want to return to Waterdeep?” Astarion asks. He doesn't want to go. He just wants to be with you for a while, he just wants to enjoy your life together again, to savor his freedom, his true freedom from his curse… he just wants to live everything that life has to offer, with you. But if that is what you want, what you need, he will not hesitate to give some steps back and return to Waterdeep.

“No, I don’t want it.” You lift your head looking for his eyes. “I swear. I just want… you. I want us to live our lives, to go on our adventures together like we planned to. And that’s why I’ve been like this, because I’m not what I used to be. I feel fragile, I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing, I feel like I can’t help you when you need me.” He sees your lips trembling, the sorrow is real and your suffering is his. If he could take all that from you he would. He would carry all of your wounds alone, just to spare you from that shadow over your shoulders.

You once told him that you would do anything for him. And you did, and you do. But what you don’t know is what he’s capable of doing for you…

Is it possible for him to love you more than he did the day before? Because he does. 

“You? Fragile? Do you even know what you’re talking about? You’re the most fearless woman I have ever met.” His hand, cupping your face, caressing your soft wet skin.

“I’m not…” You try to hide your face in his chest again but he doesn’t concede it to you.

“My love, some months ago you were fighting for your life, tied to a bed, unconscious for weeks, because you chose me above yourself. You, my brave beautiful woman, chose to give me life even if that meant taking yours away. It was your choice. Yours. I didn’t want it, I didn’t ask for it, because I was so afraid of losing you, as I still am. I was a coward because I was so scared. But you weren’t. Because you’re not fragile. You’re the most courageous woman I have ever known.” A single tear rolls down your cheek, and he catches it with his lips, kissing you. He then presses his forehead against yours, muttering, “I really understand how frustrating it must be… your magic, part of your identity, is gone, and you feel lost. But please, let me help you to find your way again. Let me take care of you as you have always cared for me. Let me amend this tragic New Year’s Eve…” 

You let out a small laugh, making his lips curve into a smile. “It’s really tragic, Astarion…” You look around the cell, catching the sounds of people in the street celebrating. “No but, really… I was silly to think that celebrating it properly would bring me some comfort. The whole story of getting a lantern and asking for things for the new year to come… I thought I could get some closure. As if anything like that would make me feel better…” And you rest your head against his shoulder.

Placing a hand on your head, caressing your hair, he closes his eyes, swaying his head to the side to meet yours. “You’re not silly… I mean, you are. But there is nothing silly about that, Sweetheart. And if I wasn’t so eager to please you, to make your night unforgettable, we wouldn’t be here and you could have had all that… I ruined it, and I’m sorry.”

“Well, it sure is unforgettable, Star.” And you giggle again. “But nothing is ruined. Because in the middle of all that I understood that it doesn’t matter how I spend the last night of the year. As long as all the new years to come I can be at your side, holding your hand, nestling in your lap when I need the most, as I’m doing right now. As long as I’m with you, nothing, and I mean, nothing else matters.” 

How can he possibly feel anything but love for you? You, who constantly remind him that he has the most precious thing in the whole world. You really don’t need any jewels. No tiara could match your true beauty, and he was a fool to think otherwise. But he learned his lesson. There are more important things to worry about. There are more important things to be done. He knows that now.

Again, he holds you close, softly inhaling your scent, and making secret wishes for the new year to come. And you stay like that, lost in time, wrapped in each other’s arms, while he feels your breathing getting steadier and getting deeper as the time goes by. 

The screams of joy, the sounds of happy laughter from outside are fading, and the celebrations have ended. The New Year has already started. 

But the most urgent matter is still to be resolved. How in the hells are we going to get out of here? 

The more he thinks about it, the more he feels his body getting heavier, his mind wanting to shut down. Well, I can think about that in the morning. It’s not like I’ll have anything else to do… 

Snuggling into you, he closes his eyes ready to begin his trance, when suddenly, an idea sparks in his mind. He straightens up against the wall instantly and stares at you, peacefully sleeping in his arms. It’s a crime to wake you up. He knows you need to rest, but… this is the perfect time to escape. 

“Love.” He whispers, gently shaking your shoulder, but you don’t move. “I’m sorry, my dear.” He murmurs again, shaking you more firmly this time. 

“Hmm? What is it?” You stir, opening your eyes, confused.

“Sorry, Darling, but we need to get out of here.” 

“Yes… all right.” You rub your eyes, yawning. “But… you told me you don’t have any lockpicking tools.” You mumble.

“Well, I don’t. But you have. Or at least, a sort of…” Astarion glares at you, smirking, while you frown at him.

You lean back, narrowing your eyes at him suspiciously. “What are you talking about?” 

“Your bra. Give me your bra.” He requests, his hand extended.

“My bra?” You shout incredulously. “Now it’s not the time, Astarion!”

“No, no! Not that.” He chuckles, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t mind taking a bite of you. But no, I actually need your bra.” And he keeps his hand in front of your face, waiting.

Reluctantly and mumbling, you pull your arms out of your sleeves, and after some struggle under your shirt you finally deliver the bra to Astarion. As soon as he grabs it, he starts fidgeting with it, finding what he was looking for. You shift off his lap, sitting beside him, watching him, while he wrestles with that torture instrument. He lost count of how many times he asked you to not use it… such perfect breasts deserve to be free all the time, and he really doesn't appreciate seeing you with all those fancy lingeries. Because… truth be told, he doesn’t have time to appreciate it. When you take off your clothes he just wants to see your bare skin, your beautiful naked body waiting for him. And that thing just gets in the way… but he’s glad you were using it right now.

Finally, he finds a weak spot on the fabric, but before proceeding he turns to you. “Can I destroy it?” He asks, raising one eyebrow.

“It’s one of my bests… Is it really necessary?” You look at that devilish piece of clothing with so much pity in your eyes making him roll his own eyes.

“Yes, Darling. It’s an utmost necessity. Believe me.” He places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it.

Resigned, you nod, and with no more delay he returns his attention to the bra. Lets force it here. The sound of stitches breaking. Then he manipulates it a little more, forcing again in the same spot. And here it is! 

“The wire!” You exclaim, widening your eyes.

“Exactly!” And he gazes at it like it is the most precious jewel he ever saw, he gazes at it like he did at the tiara some hours ago.

After that, everything happens smoothly. Astarion works on the door lock with the wire, and with no surprises, and no difficulty, he opens it in a blink of an eye. Holding your hand, he leads you through the dungeon corridor in silence and with no setbacks you reach outside. The guards, as he predicted, are slumped against walls or sprawled on the floor sleeping profoundly with their bottles of wine laying next to them, empty. A perfect night to escape from a prison, because everyone celebrates the New Year, don’t they? 

At least almost everyone. Astarion really didn’t care for it before, it was a night like all the others, one more night to cross off on his lost eternity. Not anymore. Discreetly he gazes at you, walking by his side, following his lead, and in that moment he decides that from that day onwards he will celebrate all the New Years to come.

Outside, after the snowfall from the night, everything is painted white, the streets are silent and the sky is clear, starting to brighten with the sun that is almost rising. What a perfect day to begin a new year. And instantly he looks everywhere, searching for something. He must, and he will give you the most unforgettable first day of the year. With no effort he finds what he needs a few steps ahead from him, half hidden in the snow. Astarion strides towards it, crouching beside it, brushing the snow from the mysterious object.

“What are you doing, Love?” You inquire, curiously.

“I’m just giving you the opportunity to make your wish, my sweet.” And he lifts a lantern from the ground, still covered with some snow.

You open your mouth, surprised. “My wish? But I can’t make any more wishes…” Your voice, trembling with emotion.  

My silly little girl. 

Smiling softly, he leans to you and kisses your forehead, tenderly. “Come, Darling. The sun is almost rising.” 

With you by his side, like always, he runs through the snowy streets, with one destiny in mind. And he reaches it just in time. Near the docks, there is a small beach he had spotted when you arrived. The perfect place to watch the sun rise.

When you arrive there, he leads you near the water, and sets aside his boots, and you do the same, still puzzled, not knowing what he’s doing, but nonetheless trusting him, making his heart swell with affection. 

Facing the horizon, the ruthless sea from the north is strangely calm at that moment, and he can see the sun starting to appear. The sun… for so long he was robbed from his warmth, and now he’s there, waiting for it, waiting for you to make a wish.

Lifting the lantern in the air he stares at you. “Make your wish, Sweetheart.” He whispers tenderly.

“But the lantern has no light on it, Star.” You say.

At that moment the sun rises from behind the sea, its shining rays passing through the glass of the lantern, making all the drops of water from the melted snow shine, reflecting its light, making it glow like a starlit sky. “Not anymore, my love.” He smiles, softly.

A tear rolls down your cheek, as you look from him to the lantern. He knows that if he was still able to hear your heart he would be hearing it sprinting like a wild horse, making his own heart want to run after along. 

“I wish never to wish for anything else.” You finally confess your wish to the lantern as you place a hand above it, making Astarion look at you puzzled. Then you fill your chest with air, straightening your shoulders, resolution spread on your face. You smile, and you proceed, “Everything I truly wished for I already have. I don’t need anything else. And that is my final wish.” You run your hand through his hair, entangling your fingers in the strands of his hair, caressing his head. 

Is this really happening? Am I truly all you wish for? 

He keeps staring at you, fascinated, questioning himself over and over how someone like him can be so lucky, his racing mind bringing him back all the memories where you told him countless times that your love for him is way more valuable than anything else.

“And you? Don’t you have any wish for the new year to come?” You interrupt his thoughts.

Returning to the present, he chuckles at your question. “Oh, Darling, but I already asked for my wish, while I was holding my most precious light in my arms during the night.” He pinches your nose, gently. And how beautiful you are with your cheeks all flushed, gazing at him with your shining eyes. “But since you insist…” 

Holding the lantern with both hands he opens it, bringing it closer to his mouth afterwards. “I wish…” He whispers to the inside of the glassy lantern.

When he’s done, he closes it again, trapping inside his wish. 

“Now, let's give our wishes to the sea, Darling.” Astarion holds your hand again, walking to the water.

“Why? There’s no need, Star… There is nothing about that in the tradition.” You say, following him.

“I know. But I want the sea to carry away my wish, to take it to wherever it needs to go to be fulfilled.” He places the lantern in the water. “If it’s not on this land, then in another. I don’t care where. I just want to know where to go. And I will know. And I will have my wish granted.”

Wrapping his arm around your back he brings you close to him, resting his head above yours, while you both watch the lantern, fogged by his breath, fogged with his wish, float in the water, drifting away slowly from you.

“What did you wish for, Astarion?” You ask, after a while.

I wished to give you back all you have lost. I wished to do for you, what you did for me. I wished to give you everything from me. And I will do it. I will make it happen.

I promise.

“Now, now… you have to wait and see, Darling.” 

You turn to him, hanging your both arms around his neck, kissing him with your soft lips. “Happy New Year, my shining star.” You murmur. 

Embracing you, he nestles his treasure around his arms, replying to you with a full smile on his face. “Happy New Year, my love.” And he mutters again, his eyes fixed on the horizon, “Happy New Year.”

Thank you so much for reading my story. Likes, reblogs and comments are very welcomed!

Lots of love 🖤

[i-keepmyideals]

Why…are you so angry about my little hehe-haha, not to be taken so seriously post? Name calling and all is quite unnecessary. It could have just been left as a “agree to disagree, have a nice day,” situation. You didn’t have to say anything to me at all. “Peak comedy” was the irony of seeing the two post practically back to back when both are at complete opposites of the spectrum, not your opinion.

Like, dude, bro, I don’t know you and you don’t know me, so why do you think you do? I lack the ability to understand complex characters? Some of my favorite characters in media are the villains, the anti-heroes, the side characters because they’re complex. Don’t know if you’re an anime watcher or not, but my pfp is Dabi from My Hero Academia, a very complex character. Loki is among one of my favorite characters in general because of how complex he and his story is. I could go on about Miguel O’Hara in Across the Spider-Verse and how he isn’t a villain and is tragically misunderstood by a lot of people who saw the movie, or Jason Todd, or Gojo and Toji in Jujutsu Kaisen, Levi in Attack on Titan, Zhongli in Genshin Impact and so many other characters. I do this to my friends pretty frequently.

My second favorite character in the franchise is Scorpion/Hanzo Hisashi, now Kuai Liang, which…is gonna take a lot of getting used to tbh. He’s gotta be just as complex as Bi-Han is. There’s a lot to understand about his story and character.

Astarion from BG3 and all of his actually morally grey and sometimes worse little gremlin ways is all I can think of as of late. But I don’t understand complex characters, mkaaaayyyyy.

I didn’t add my little post to yours because I just didn’t see the need to? No, I’m certainly not old enough to have played a vast majority of the MK games, doesn’t mean I’m not an enjoyer and don’t watch videos about the lore from people who know far more than I do. That’s why I didn’t reference any other game, just this one specifically and what it offers. As someone else replied, the game is a touch inconsistent. Largely, Bi-Han is a dick in this game. He has his own motives and wants, totally fine good for him, they just really don’t lay anywhere near morally good lol

And seeing as how MK1 is a complete reboot, he seems quite irredeemable, or at least has some very low lows. In this game, he’s a pretty shit son for letting his father die and then lying about it to his brothers. In this game, he’s pretty shit for siding with Shang Tsung even if he feels trapped by Liu Kang and wanted more freedom. In this game, he’s a pretty shit brother for threatening to kill his younger brother’s wife to his face. Did he show concern about Kuai Liang and Tomas’ safety when infiltrating the fortress? Of course, they are his family. He can show concern and remorse. I don’t think that’s off limits to characters I see as somewhat evil or at least super shitty. I also don’t think he’d change his actions if he had the chance. He has his vision for the Lin Kuei and that goes against what his father believed and what his brothers believe.

The timeline has reset; everything else means nothing now. Fujin said Noob was born as a good person? Past tense, for starters, and that was MK11. That timeline doesn’t exist anymore. Kuai Liang trying to find a way to turn Bi-Han good again in his MK11 ending? Means he wasn’t good and, again, that timeline is gone. You say Armageddon isn’t the canon timeline. Full stop right there. It ain’t canon. He can be good in it, sure, but that’s not the main timeline. That’s like saying Smoke is a cyborg. Sure, he was, but he isn’t now. That’s not canon anymore. This is a new man - this is a new Bi-Han, and again, I made it pretty clear I was only talking about his actions in MK1, so I really didn’t ask about the other games.

You misunderstood what I meant when I said peak comedy, which I can say is my fault and could have worded it slightly differently. But then you go and say I hit rock bottom, essentially say I’m a coward, brain dead, I’m immature…somehow, and lack the capability to understand complex characters? I’m assuming you’re older than me judging by your little “dig” in the tags. That’s all a touch immature but go off

Slight MK1 story spoilers involving the Lin Kuei

Peak comedy is me scrolling through tumblr’s version of my fyp and seeing someone say Bi-Han in MK1 isn’t a one dimensional character. Which is true, he’s very complex. He feels like he is being controlled by Liu Kang. He has to answer to him to a certain extent. He probably felt the same about his father, the former grandmaster of the Lin Kuei. Shang Tsung offered him more leadership, free to do essentially whatever he wants. Which isn’t true because, be real, it’s Shang Tsung and even he answers to someone else. But then saying he was right with siding with Shang Tsung and that he isn’t evil. Then two posts later, I see this

His younger brother telling him to stay away from his wife and Bai-Han just going like “lol bffr do you know who I am?” Like, mans confessed to letting their father die just so he can take over, sides with Shang Tsung, is okay with the idea of Shang Tsung wiping out millions of lives, and then threatens to kill his brother’s wife. And we all know his threats are just promises he’s waiting to cash in.

But yeah, he totally isn’t evil