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littlejuicebox · 1 year ago

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Highharvestide Day

(Astarion x Female Reader)

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This is the fluffy twin to my other mostly-smut piece An Early Highharvestide Feast. Setting: Several in-game spoiler warnings, 4 years after BG3, "good" ending, Unascended Astarion x Cleric Reader Notes: Took a break from my WrenxAstarion fic to write this Thanksgiving-themed 2-part story. I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving surrounded by friends and loved ones and all the warmth and comfort of love and life. And as always, I love to see comments about what you liked in the story, it inspires me for other fics! And if you like my writing, please check out my passion project: WrenxAstarion. Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 3K

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You are a ball of nerves as you place the final touches on the table settings. It’s such a silly thing, you think to yourself. These people have seen you with crimson drops of blood splattered across your face and broken bones poking out of your flesh; they’ve watched you violently behead a Drow and smelled your musk after a week without a bath. And yet, here you are, meticulously straightening the cutlery, hoping to impress your merry band of misfits. Not that any of them care, and you know it, but you cannot help yourself. You want to give them the best, just like you always have.

The staff are fluttering about the dining hall, placing vases around the room according to your exacting instructions. You smile at the containers filled with blooms from your own garden, the very same arrangements you’d been working on the night prior before you were interrupted by your husband and more... strenuous activities. You’d fallen behind schedule from his distraction and had to enlist the help of the staff to finish the arrangements off earlier today, which Astarion had considered a win for his side in your ongoing fight over trying to remain humble (you) vs. taking what you deserve (him). Absently, you thought that the arrangements weren’t quite as perfect as they would have been if you’d done them yourself... but the small sacrifice had been worth it, in the end.

Astarion saunters through the heavy oak doors of your dining hall, Scratch in tow. The dog was practically your husband’s shadow, nearly glued to his thigh at all times, and as much as the vampire pretended to be annoyed, you noticed even now that his hand was absently brushing against Scratch’s ear as the pair headed toward their favorite woman in all of Faerun. He is carrying an ornately wrapped package in the crook of his arm as he meanders to your side, eyebrow cocked slightly as he examines the room. “Darling, everyone will arrive within the hour, it’s time for you to dress.”

Your eyes gloss over the tables one more time, checking for any final imperfections, before you turn to greet your husband with a kiss on his cheek. “Yes, my love… and what is that you’re holding?”

Astarion chuckles, glancing down at the bundle in his arm, feigning nonchalance. “What dear, this beautiful package? Oh… nothing, really. Just a small Highharvesthide gift for my beautiful hostess.”

He turns the package over to you with a chaste peck to your lips, and you shake your head in amusement at the rakish man. The silver-haired elf tries to hide his anticipation and anxiety by gripping softly at the scruff around Scratch’s neck, but you can feel him eyeing your face for signs of a reaction.

It’s become commonplace that Astarion brings you a present for nearly every significant occasion; spoiling you with any number of ostentatious things you wouldn't dare to purchase yourself seemed to be his love language. For your first anniversary, he’d filled the bedroom to the brim with countless rare, night blooming plants for your garden. You two had made love surrounded by a canopy of flora and the sweet aroma of flowers, and he'd asked the staff to plant all of them on the grounds the following day. It had been a beautiful gesture, and marked the start of your ongoing infatuation with your garden.

But you do know how long your husband mulls these gifts over in his head before finalizing his decision. The mere suggestion that you are not thrilled by his selection would crush Astarion's sensitive heart; he quite literally revolved his existence around you in so many ways. You are easily pleased, of course, by any gift from your spouse… but you are always sure to adamantly express the feeling to your love, less he get the wrong impression.

You place the gift on the table and unwrap it to reveal a beautiful, mulberry-colored gown. The dress is made from velvet, and the neckline drops into a sharp V. Delicate gold embroidery follows the neckline down to the center of the gown, trailing to the hem; the same pattern is echoed along the cuffs and up the sleeves of the piece. Atop the dress sits a dainty golden circlet, the metal fashioned to look like vines, tiny garnet gems positioned in a setting reminiscent of flower petals, the jewels appearing framed as the flower pistils. It’s all breathtakingly ornate, and you gasp in a mixture of surprise and delight as your fingers run along the golden thread.

“What do you think?” Astarion asks, head cocked to the side as he watches your reaction. You can sense the smidge of trepidation in his tone as he tries to hide it from you.

“It’s absolutely perfect, my love.” You turn and beam at him, watching as the subtle signs of tension ease from his jaw and eyes. “Thank you, truly. I don't think I could've envisioned a more perfect gown for tonight. I am meant to wear it tonight, aren't I, my Star?”

“Well, I was so hoping you would, my dear.” The vampire responds, all fangs and flirtations as he closes the few inches of distance between your bodies and wraps his arm around your waist, planting a smattering of featherlight kisses below your ear before whispering. “It will give me such a delectable view of your collarbone all night… and I might need the distraction when the wizard starts prattling on about Tara for the millionth time.”

You laugh and roll your eyes at your husband before grabbing his hand in yours and squeezing. “It's really a gorgeous ensemble. You've outdone yourself, once again. Now let’s go and get ready… I can hardly wait to see everyone.”

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You are dressed in your new gown and circlet, Astarion standing just behind you as you two ready yourselves by the front entrance. His doublet is a golden tone, highlighting the embroidered details in your own gown; his chest serving as your background. Even though it goes unsaid, you know the decision on his part was intentional; Astarion's keen vermillion eyes never miss a detail. You had sneakily designed something for your husband, which he’d been given as your both dressed. You knew full well that he’d had a gift planned for weeks and you would never dare to be the one empty-handed; he’d received a beautiful set of cufflinks in the shape of your initials, made from solid gold. The vampire fiddles with his gift as he waits, glancing down every so often to admire the gesture with a small smile and significant affection.

The Duke is the first to arrive, pulled in a horse drawn carriage with several guards and a beautiful half-elven woman by his side — his betrothed, Euphemia Gauthier. You curtsy to Wyll before he takes your hand and laughs. “Such formality from an old friend?”

He wraps you into a hug before moving to Astarion and clapping a friendly palm upon the man’s back. “I trust you two remember my beautiful flower, Euphemia?”

Euphemia smiles as you both turn to her and offer your greetings. You know her to be from old noble blood. She is undeniably graceful, well-spoken, and kind. By all accounts, she is Wyll’s perfect match. Her mega-watt smile turns in your direction, and she takes your hand in hers as she addresses you. “Lady Acunin, have you given further thought about my betrothed’s offer? As you know, Counsellor Atherwinde will be retiring next year, and my darling Wyll is growing anxious to have you take the spot.”

You feel Astarion’s eyes bore into you as a flush spreads across your cheeks. You hadn’t mentioned the offer to him, since you were still mulling it over in your own mind. It came with several obligations and the unfortunate need to step further into the public eye. There would be influence and the ability to advance so many of your political interests, sure. But was it worth the cost? The vampire's fingers gripped into your waist for just a moment, a silent signal to you that he would not be letting the matter rest.

You aim to say something, but Astarion cuts in, speaking towards the half-elf woman; the slightest pitch in his tone, however, lets you know every word is directed to you. “Lady Gauthier, I am sure my beautiful wife is giving the offer the upmost consideration. Who better to fill the position than the woman that saved us all from becoming mindflayers… I can’t think of a single soul more fit in all of Faerun. And I am certain that Duke Ravengard and Lady Ancunin would be aligned. It sounds like an excellent opportunity and one that would be quite difficult to pass up.”

Wyll is positively beaming at this response, practically taking Astarion’s words as a guarantee of acceptance. “Enough of this political talk for the evening. We will have many more nights to discuss… but for today, let’s enjoy the company of old friends.”

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Everyone else arrived quickly after Duke and soon-to-be Duchess Ravengard. Gale by teleportation circle, Lae’zel and Shadowheart together on horseback, Karlach carrying a barrel of cheap booze that she unceremoniously placed in the center of the dining room (to Astarion’s dismay), and Halsin on foot with a dozen children following behind him.

The event was lively and filled with an excited, jovial air. A pianist had been hired for the occasion, and the rich sounds coming from the keys mixed with the soft crackling of fireplaces added beautiful background noise to the dining room. Every sconce in the house was lit, and the various candles around the dining room, their wax colored in an array of autumnal tones, provided a beautiful, homey glow. The entire setting wrapped you and your friends in a blanket of warmth and comfort.

Night took over the manor, and the flowers inside their vases bloomed, almost as if on cue, as the food was brought about. The spectacle brought forth several compliments from your friends, lighting your heart aglow. It would have been tradition for you and your husband to sit on opposite ends of the long mahogany dining table, but you had quickly waved off that formality amongst your closest friends and instead sat on Astarion’s left. One of his hands remained clasped firmly in yours most of the night, while his other hand held a golden goblet repeatedly filled with wine. He'd dined on several chalices of animal blood earlier that day, but a plate was still placed in front of him for show. Halsin's cantankerous brood sat at another table parallel to the adults. They were creating quite a ruckus and tossing scraps at an excited Scratch, and you chuckled while thinking the beast was living possibly the best day of his life.

Karlach told of her time in Avernus, and the many efforts Dammon made to fix her engine once and for all. Astarion had helped Karlach secure another position by contract with Zariel, one where she was not actively fighting in the hells… but it still was not the perfect solution, and she was only granted a few weeks of reprieve every year. After a few more years, she would hopefully be out of the hells for good... if Dammon managed to pull through on a permanent solution so she could remain on the material plane. Something told you that Dammon was quite driven by yearning for your red friend and spent all day and all night working to turn Karlach's dream into a reality, and you prayed every day to your gods that his experiments would be a success.

Shadowheart and Lae’zel had spent much of the past four years with the cleric’s parents and traveling around the Sword Coast. The unlikely couple hinted at a possible wedding in the near future. Astarion couldn’t help but chuckle beside you at the irony of it all, a small smirk on his face as he locked eyes with you. But he held back his silver-tongue, knowing he had no right to judge, since he'd initially held a blade to the throat of his beloved.

Gale delivered a most interesting piece of information. He stated he'd pursued many tomes and scrolls and had finally come across a documented successful case of the Wish Spell not more than a month ago. He’d sought out the sorcerer named on record and found the elven man at his residence near Candlekeep. Gale did not feel he was quite prepared to perform the spell on Astarion without disastrous results, but he spoke about the sorcerer with reverence and infatuation akin to the tone he’d once taken when telling of Mystra. You didn’t press further, knowing Gale would reveal everything in his own time, but Astarion shot you a knowing glance before, somewhat surprisingly, genuinely thanking the wizard for his continued efforts and raising a glass to their continued friendship.

Halsin was proud to announce his new community was thriving. Several of the tiefling children your group had rescued were growing to be active members of the society and expanding their efforts. You were thrilled to hear that Mol had turned out to be quite the leader, and Halsin’s influence had pushed her toward benevolence. Arabella was reportedly doing quite well in her studies of the Weave, and spent her breaks with her friends. Halsin hinted at a need for further aid from the city, which both Euphemia and you implored Wyll to look into. The two of you exchanged conspiratorial glances as Wyll gave a good-natured sigh and shot a look that practically said, ‘Women, am I right?’ to a bemused Astarion from across the table. But the Duke promised Halsin with a hand to his heart that he would bring it up at the next meeting.

Astarion had spent most of the night in relative silence, apart from a chuckle or quip dotted throughout the conversation. It was clear he was happy to be in the presence of friends and listen to their exploits, and though he wasn’t particularly loquacious that evening, the soft smile that stayed plastered to his face as he drank from his goblet caused you to make a mental note to host more events within your home. He’d never acknowledge it, but his condition had the poor side effect of being a dreadfully isolating experience, and the man quite enjoyed the company of others. He claimed to need only you in his life, but you knew that was just the expression of romantic love and loyal dedication that overflowed from his heart. Perhaps it was a slant truth that he wanted to believe, despite your knowledge and understanding otherwise.

When people began their departures, everyone was fully sated and thoroughly drunk. Lae’zel and Shadowheart were the first to bid their farewells to the others and stumble drunkenly to your guest chambers. As you watched them walk away, you were all but certain they were about to commit some deplorable actions between the silken sheets you’d put out for them. Your suspicions were confirmed to be correct when the rest of you heard someone bang into the wall with a moan before several giggles and loud shushing gravitated down the hall.

Karlach heaved a heavy sigh as she stood, knowing full well that her guest room was located right next door to the couple's and lamenting the fact that she would have to listen to their incessant lovemaking all night. She had plans to go visit Dammon in the morning, and turned in shortly after Lae'zel and Shadowheart. She took her time hugging everyone around the room and placing a sloppy kiss on Astarion's cheek, intentionally and effectively ruffling his feathers. You'd always felt that, apart from you, Karlach had been the vampire's favorite campmate. The instinct was always reaffirmed every time Astarion allowed Karlach to smother him with affection and, although he acted annoyed, he always let a smile reach his eyes for a moment before slipping the perturbed mask back into place.

Wyll and Euphemia made you promise them to give an answer by the start of the New Year and you reluctantly agreed to the terms as the Duke helped his betroathed into the carriage and bid you both farewell with plans for dinner at his home in a few weeks time.

You’d become quite enamored with a sweet girl named Winifred that had joined Halsin, white wildflowers adorning her red hair. She was not but ten and already showed significant talent for healing spells, as displayed when a tiefling child pulled out a loose tooth at the children's table and began bleeding quite profusely. She gave you a hug as you bid your goodbyes to all the younglings, and you promised Halsin you would stop by within the next few weeks to show her a few more spells. He thanked you both and then called to the children, all of them following obediently behind the druid like a gaggle of ducklings behind their mother.

Gale was the last to depart, opening another portal as he turned to the two of you. “I will keep you both abreast of my progress. Watch for my scrolls. And please come to Candlekeep soon… I would like to introduce you to both to Tharren; he’s eager to meet the vampire I’m hoping to aid and our famed heroes of Baldur’s Gate.”

The wizard presses a platonic kiss to your cheek and wraps Astarion into a hug, the vampire reacting to the embrace like a cat responds to being held by their least favorite family member - stiff, awkward, but otherwise accepting. Your love even relents toward the end of the embrace and wraps his arm around Gale in response, for the first time ever, before the wizard steps away. Gale’s eyes flit between you both as he waves and disappears in a flash of blue light.

You stare at the spot where the portal just dissipated, a slight drop in your chest as you take in the absence of your friends. There is a soft moment of silence that you sit in with your husband, the first moment of quiet all night. Astarion pulls you toward him as a breeze runs across the lawn before he places a kiss in your hair. He murmurs into your ear before pressing another kiss along your cheek. “My darling, I will let you have your night… but tomorrow we will discuss Wyll’s offer, yes?”

You nod and hum in agreement, knowing you cannot outrun the conversation forever. But for tonight, all you desire is to bask in the afterglow of beautiful memories and the warmth of your husband's love. The silver-haired elf spins you and places soft kisses along your collarbone, which he’d been pointedly admiring by almost vulgarly running his eyes along your chest at every opportunity. He trails up to your neck, resting his lips for a moment on that familiar spot at the crook of it before snaking his tongue out to subtly trace over the faintly raised puncture marks.

“Now, my sweet, let’s head to our bed chambers. I’d quite like my dessert. I’ve been staring at that darling neck of yours all night and it’s taken almost all of my control to not splay you out on the dining table and take you in front of our closest friends… though I do think a fair few of them would’ve enjoyed the show. If not for the children, who knows what I might’ve done?”

The flush in your face rises, aided by the heavy amounts of wine and brandy you’d consumed that evening. Astarion makes his way up to your lips and delves his tongue into your mouth, soft at first, but with growing intensity as the kiss lengthens. Before long, your legs are wrapped around the vampire as he carries you to your bedroom, fully intent on making love to you until the sun rises and eternally thankful for his little treasure that the gods placed in his path when he least expected it.

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hellfirenacht · 1 year ago

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Wing Man Part 3

A/N: This fic is all vibes, no plot so it's hard to write lol. I have a few ideas now thanks to the wonderful @crocwork-clockodile and @hellfiredarling 💜

As usual, typos are fixed live and in post lol

Fic Summary: Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you’ll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie.

Chapter Summary: You really should be trying to flirt, but somehow you and Eddie can only ever talk about Chris Morrison.

5k words

Part 1 Part 2

Steve did not show back up for at least a half hour after he ‘went to the bathroom’. Had you not been in your current situation, you would have made fun of him for being ‘backed up’ or something along those lines.

But in all honesty, you hardly even noticed that he was gone. When Eddie dropped the puck the world had faded into a whirlwind of clacking, yelling, and pitting children against each other. With the sudden death match, Dustin had won. You had taken Mike's place, giving him a condescending pat on the head. He hadn’t been pleased about the situation, but at least it kept him from saying whatever rule-grudge that he held against Eddie.

To your surprise, Eddie had stuck around to watch the match between you and Dustin. You tried not to be too nervous as the match went on, but your freshman friend was your saving grace even as he kicked your ass.

“Eddie’s been the leader of Hellfire for years now.” Dustin said, dropping the puck down and hitting it. “He’s always been the DM.”

“Except for Chris Morrison.” you said.

“Yeah except that guy.” Dustin nodded.

“He started the club, but I made it the merry band of bandits and misfits that it is today.” Eddie said, his hands resting against the side of the table, leaning forward. You’d only been chatting with him and Dustin for a few minutes, but you had quickly learned that Eddie was not the type to stay still for very long.

“You’re gonna get your finger smashed if you keep your hand there.” you said, glancing at how close his fingers were to the smooth surface of the rink. “You’re putting a lot of trust in geometry that this puck isn’t going to crush your hand. It’s already tried to kill me once.” You doubted that the heavy silver rings on his fingers would help at all.

Eddie looked down at his hands and pulled back, just in time for the puck to nearly hit where his fingers had been. “Shit, I didn’t even notice.”

“I notice everything.” You said, not noticing as Dustin smacked the puck at an angle that went directly into your goal. “I notice some things.”

Dustin laughed, and Eddie even grinned at the joke. With that point it was game set and match, or something like that.

“Alright, I’m going to go win some tickets now.” Dustin said, putting the clacker? Paddle? Not-Hockey Stick? Down. You still didn’t know what it was called, but luckily air hockey probably wouldn’t come up again later.

You expected Eddie to leave again, but instead he leaned back against the table, now free to let his fingers dangle without fear of being crushed.

“So you really were interested in Hellfire when you were still in school?” he asked, tilting his head over at you. That same distant and unreadable expression on his face. You really wished that you knew what he was thinking right now.

“Yeah, I saw you guys always having fun so I thought I wanted to try.” you said. “But, you know. Chris Morrison.”

“Forget about Chris Morrison.” Eddie turned towards you, standing upright and looking down at you. How did he feel so tall all of the sudden? How did he keep doing that? What magic switch was he able to turn on and off in his brain to make him go from ‘just a guy’ to ‘hey, I’m in charge here.’? “What made you have an interest in Dungeons and Dragons?”

“The dragons first, and then the dungeons.” It was the first thing that popped into your head, and you immediately realized it was maybe a little stupid and sarcastic. To be fair, you also were a little stupid and sarcastic, but with the way he was looking at you, Eddie wanted a real answer. The look on his face was actually a little funny, the way his whole face fell in annoyance.

Right, he didn’t know you. You didn’t know him. He was still trying to decide if you were some sort of friend or foe. You suspected that if Dustin hadn’t chatted with you so easily through your match with him Eddie wouldn’t have bothered talking to you more.

Maybe you should fire Steve and make Dustin your wing man instead.

He didn’t immediately leave though, which made you assume that you were being given a second chance to give him a real answer.

“Alright, I played a lot of make-believe as a kid.” you said. “Then as I got older, people stopped playing, but I wasn’t ready to be done. Then when I heard about this club where you could play make-believe again, I thought it would let me have that feeling again. I thought it’d be cool to, I don’t know, have people to play with again.”

It was a childish answer, but it was a real one. Everything in your life after middle school had been a steady monotonous stream of ‘work, home, work, school, home, school function, work, home’.

“Hellfire Club isn’t Make-Believe Club.” Eddie said, still staring you down. “Yeah, it’s a fantasy game but we take it seriously. It’s not all princesses and fairy tales.”

Actually, this guy might be getting on your nerves now.

“You’re taking my answer awful personally.” you said, straightening up under his gaze. You didn’t care how intimidating he was trying to be right now, he had pissed you off. “You asked why I wanted to play, I gave you my answer. You don’t have to like it, but there it is.”

He seemed taken aback by your bluntness. He blinked, his round eyes shifting to something else. “You’re right.” he said finally with a subtle laugh. “That was a dick thing to say. I really sounded like Chris Morrison for a second.”

“Yeah, you did.” you agreed. “You always this cynical about people?”

“Well, when you’re the town freak it comes with the title.” he shrugged.

“Does it come with a sash too? Or perhaps a crown?”

“No, unfortunately Hawkins High didn’t have that in the budget this year.”

“You should take that up with the student council.”

“Or City Hall.”

He was smiling at you now, and you hated how that smile was brighter than any of the flashing lights of the arcade. The longer you looked at him, the more attractive he got. God, you were going to kill Steve for delivering something you couldn’t have.

Eddie’s demeanor changed as you two bantered, no longer on edge now. Now that he seemed sure that you weren’t here to cause problems or were just looking to laugh at the freaks, his stance was much more relaxed. You looked him over again, taking advantage of his gaze drifting to where two other members were hunched over an arcade cabinet.

He had long wavy brown hair, and you tried to place how you could have missed that in school. Surely you would have remembered someone like him, right? It felt so much like you were missing something, but you couldn’t place where you knew him. It was going to drive you insane.

“So it looks like I’m done here.” You jumped as Steve appeared behind you. You looked over at him, your face reading with panic at the idea of him ditching out on you now. Yeah, things were going a lot better without him here, and he had not been very helpful-

Okay, maybe he didn’t need to be here to help with your attempt to flirt but you still weren’t exactly eager to be left alone.

Eddie looked between the two of you and you turned to Eddie. “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna see him off.” You said.

“Right, yeah.” Eddie nodded. He was on his guard again and you felt bad that Steve’s presence caused that.

Eddie and Steve looked at each other, a tension between the two of them. For five full seconds they just stared at each other with you in the middle, wondering what the actual fuck was going on.

That’s when Eddie threw up his hands over his hand in an imitation of horns and sputtered at Steve who was immediately taken aback. It was so out of left field, and you let out a laugh before covering your mouth and grabbing Steve and dragging him away towards the entrance.

“What was that about?” you asked as you two stepped outside. “And where the hell were you for the past half hour?”

“I was giving you space because you weren’t going to get anywhere with me around.” Steve said, looking back over his shoulder. Eddie had disappeared into the arcade with his club. “He really does live up to his nickname.”

“Nickname? You’re trying to set me up with a high schooler with a nickname?” You sighed.

“Yeah, and you were basically drooling over him the whole time you were talking so, you know, you’re welcome about that.” Steve said. “Everyone called him a freak in school so, Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson.”

“Yeah, he mentioned something about being the town freak.” you said. “Why’s he a freak exactly?”

Steve tilted his head, as if he couldn’t tell if you were joking or serious. “He runs a club called Hellfire, plays that weird game you and Dustin keep talking about, and just- look at him! With the long hair and the chains and metal patches.”

“According to you, I was looking at him.” you snorted. “So he plays games and dresses differently and has taste in music. Doesn’t make him a freak.”

“Right, I forgot you’re a total weirdo who’d be into that.”

“He was your idea!”

Steve couldn’t argue with that. All the things that he would have found off putting to him in high school now seemed to parallel and fit with someone who he now considered a close friend. He’d been wrong about a lot in the past year, maybe he’d been wrong about Eddie too.

“So are you gonna actually flirt with him when I leave or are you just gonna stand there and make small talk?” Steve asked, crossing his arms. “I introduced you two, at least tell me you’re going to put in the effort.”

You winced and glanced back to the arcade, you couldn’t see Eddie but you knew he was still in there.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Steve gawked at you. “This whole thing was your idea and you’re not even going to try?”

“Listen, Steve, I like him. I do. That’s the problem. You actually hit the nail on the head, and he is absolutely my type.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I’m not his type.” you admitted. “See, I know guys like Eddie. I’ve fallen for guys like Eddie. Funny thing about a lot of male weirdos, freaks, and outcasts, is that they still loooove themselves some popular girls. Girls like that love them because they’re trying to either fix them or piss off their parents. Freak guys don’t like weirdo girls.”

“You’re being the biggest dingus in the world and I think you’re full of shit.” Steve said bluntly. “Nice try, but you’re gonna go in there and flirt with him. Did he actually say that he was into that type?”

“Well, no but-”

“But nothing!” Steve sighed. “Listen, you’re cute, okay? I’ve seen what you look like when you’re not at work.” He gestured to your outfit. “If I took you to a party or a bar I’d be able to help you get at least six numbers by the end of the night.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “So why are you so bent out of shape about Eddie?”

“Because you’re picky, and you’re my friend.” It was a surprisingly nice sentiment. “I’m fine dating around while I figure out what I want, but you’re not the same. You need someone who is going to understand what you’re talking about, and he is the only person in Hawkins who would also bite a head off a bat.”

“You know, everyone wants to talk about how Ozzy bit the head off a bat but no one wants to talk about how that whole thing actually happened-” you started.

“Nope. Not me. Don’t tell me, tell him.” Steve cut you off. “I should be telling you that talking about biting animal heads is not the best way to flirt but he might be into it. Just promise me you’ll at least try okay?”

Steve gave you a pleading look, and you couldn’t say no. You didn’t have the heart to. He was right, you’d given up before you’d even tried. Steve went out of his way to hand pick a potential date for you, someone he never would have even bothered talking to before. You had to try.

You breathed in the cool night air deeply, holding it before exhaling slowly. “Alright, I’ll try.” you promised.

“I expect you to tell me everything tomorrow!” Steve said as he started walking towards the parking lot you found yourself following him, your body reacting to all the times you two had parked next to each other at work.

“Yeah, yeah, you get first dibs on any kiss and tell!” you shot back. “After the details you gave me from your dates, I promise I’ll be worse.”

Steve pulled you in and gave you a hug, and you squeezed him tightly in return. You never would have thought that Steve Harrington of all people would end up such a good friend, but you were glad he was there. You two said your goodbyes before he got into his car. You waited until he’d pulled safely out of the parking lot before turning back into the arcade.

Just go in there, crash the Hellfire Club meeting again, and shamelessly flirt with Eddie Munson. Three things, that’s all you needed to do.

You pushed the doors of the arcade open and walked back inside.

You wander around the arcade.

You’re alone.

Shit.

There was no sign of Eddie or any of the Hellfire Club. You were completely alone in the arcade now and there was a pang in your stomach. You had told Eddie you’d be right back, but he was gone. Maybe your comment about still wanting to play had totally fucked over your chance to talk to him more after all.

You made your way back outside, just in time to see a van peel out of the parking lot. Your eyes widened when you saw Dusting looking out the window with an apologetic look and mouthing what you assumed to be the word “Sorry”.

Eddie must have gathered up the club to go somewhere else. You wanted to be fine, you wanted to shrug it off as you had every other time you’d failed to impress a guy, but you felt disappointed. Really disappointed. Sure you’d only talked to the guy for a half hour, most of which was spent talking trash as you all played air hockey, but you’d had fun. More fun than you’d had in a while with a guy, Steve notwithstanding.

It felt like Chris Morrison all over again.

You sighed to yourself and made your way to the car. Of course the second you wanted to try you ended up alone again.

Well, that killed it for tonight. You pushed the rejection out of your mind and made your way back to your own car, thinking about how you were going to tell Steve that you’d blown your chance.

Eddie Munson didn’t know what to make of the fact that Steve Harrington of all people was at the arcade. Popular? Played sports? Someone like him didn’t hang around at the arcade, not under any normal circumstances. The only thing that made sense about him being there was that he was with a girl, one that didn’t match up with the normal type that someone like Steve should be dating.

He had planned on avoiding Steve, choosing to focus on his club rather than antagonize the former king of Hawkins high. Really, he did. But then that shrimp Henderson had made his way over to Steve and his date. The kid already talked about Steve too much as it was, always going on about how cool he was while also dodging questions about how the two had met and become friends. Eddie had long since given up on asking about it, not that he cared. Not that he was jealous that the kid he was growing to see like a little brother already had another older male friend in his life.

That wasn’t Eddie’s style.

But this was Hellfire Club, and Eddie wasn’t about to lose another member to the dark side. Dustin had been looking forward to this rare gathering of the club outside of school, more than usual actually. He’d been wearing that same shit eating grin he always did when he was about to pull some bullshit at the table. Now Eddie knew why.

This little shit was trying to introduce him to Steve. Dustin talked Steve up so much, and now he just happened to be here on a date the same time as Sidequest Day? That was too convenient. Eddie shouldn’t have been surprised that Dustin was trying to bridge his friends together, but he was.

So, when Eddie saw Dustin watching Steve and his date chatting and playing Q*bert, he could have ignored the bait. He should have ignored the bait. But then Chris Morrison’s name was mentioned, and curiosity got the best of him.

Plus how could he ever resist talking shit about Chris Morrison.

So he walked up to the group, fully prepared to make agonzing small talk with Steve for thirty seconds before dragging Henderson away to focus on the real reason he was there. It wasn’t often that everyone had the time or money to come to the arcade like this, and Eddie had been lucky enough to make a special sale that day to some senior from the art department. He didn’t often have spending money for something like the arcade. He’d prefer to go to the movies or get his supply from Rick or buy anything to maintain his guitars, or upkeep of his van. Arcade time with Hellfire was something that happened once a semester at best, with the promise of him giving out advantages during the campaign he was running.

“Henderson is right. Morrison was the biggest asshole that Hellfire has ever seen. Worst DM too.” Eddie said, glancing between Dustin with a warning glare and Steve with a weary look.

He didn’t expect you, the girl playing the cabinet, to be the one to speak up. You knew Chris? This night kept getting weirder. When Eddie turned to Steve, to ask about what he was doing at the arcade, just to appease Dustin, Steve directed his attention back to you.

That made more sense, Steve Harrington wouldn’t be at an arcade on a Saturday night unless there was a girl involved.

When you turned around to face him, he noticed the way your eyes looked him down and up quickly. That was something he was used to with most people in Hawkins. They’d size him up just so that they could try and tear down the freak. There was a look in your eyes that he couldn’t quite catch before it turned into one of... disappointment? Discomfort? Shit, it was all the same to him.

Dustin made quick introductions of everyone, and Eddie was surprised when you offered your hand so easily despite the look in your eyes. Well, at least you were polite. It hadn’t even been two minutes and Eddie was already itching to get back to spending time with his club rather than crashing whatever meeting Dustin had clearly planned here.

But he’d be polite, humor the kid for just a second. If Dustin wanted him to meet Steve, then Eddie would be the contrarian and make small talk with his date instead.

You two would have graduated the same year, had Eddie not been held back. Yeah, it was starting to come back to him. He remembered you.

And that was enough of socializing with the upper class for the night. Eddie started directing Dustin back to club activities before Steve spoke up again.

“So, my friend here actually had an interest in Hellfire Club back in the day.”

It could have been left at that, but Eddie was getting more and more irritated over this situation. He looked at you, who looked like a deer in the headlights. Of course, Dustin might have seen something in Steve but he was no different now than he was back then.

“Really?” Eddie said. “And what about our little club was so interesting to you?”

He shot a glare to Steve, but looked down at you with a frown. You’d always seemed nice at school, but he’d made that mistake before. Eddie always liked the groups that kept to themselves and didn’t whisper behind his back or cause trouble for his friends. It was a shame he had been wrong about you.

But when you answered awkwardly about asking Chris to join, there was something in the way you spoke that was genuine. Either you were a really good actress, or you were being serious about it. Eddie might have been the biggest cynic in Hawkins, but he always did have a weakness to cute girls.

The conversation fizzled out quickly, and as much as Eddie didn’t mind talking to you he still wasn’t interested in crashing your date or getting to know Steve at this time. Not when his club started going wild across the room as Lucas was scoring big at a game.

So he turned around and left the two of you alone, running off to see what the jackpot prize was that Lucas had claimed.

For about ten minutes everything went back to normal. He was in the middle of an intense racing game against Jeff, when suddenly he heard Dustin screaming for him, causing his car to spin out and lose spectacularly.

Tonight was not going well at all for Eddie Munson.

Pushing down his irritation, he could hear it in Henderson’s voice that he was about to start trouble again. Of course as he made his way over to the hockey table, there you and Steve were again. Great. Eddie was so excited to be the third wheel during his club’s meet up.

But then Steve disappeared to take a shit. Well, he didn’t say that exactly but it made Eddie feel better to think of Steve having a miserable time in the bathroom. Jealous? No. Not at all.

Maybe a little.

You didn’t seem to like that Steve had left you, and Eddie figured you were uncomfortable without your date around. Dustin only ever talked Steve up, but had never mentioned you to his knowledge.

When the puck went flying towards your face a moment later, Eddie’s eyes widened with shock as you caught it with a laugh. The way you spoke to Wheeler and Henderson was familiar, as if you’d met them before. How did they know you? You were cuter when you were laughing with his friends.

As Eddie watched the chaos of you bantering with his freshmen, his mind wandered to what you would have looked like in the darkness of the prop department wearing the Hellfire shirt. With how easily you got along with Henderson and Wheeler he was sure you would have fit in.

Damn Chris Morrison and damn Steve Harrington.

He snapped out of his thoughts when you spoke up, a glint in your eyes as you handed over the puck.

“What say you, Eddie of Hellfire?” The way you spoke to him, a hint of a laugh in your voice but not in the normal mocking way he’d hear from others at school, made him break out into an unabashed grin as he took the puck.

“Sudden death it is.”

Making small talk with you was easy, and it wasn’t long until Eddie had forgotten about Steve completely as Dustin decided to bridge the gap between the two of you. You were the assistant manager at Family Video, had helped Dustin and Mike with homework on occasion, and were a regular at the Rocky Horror Picture Show that played at the seedy theater on the outskirts of town.

Eddie was starting to like you more the more the three of you chatted. When the topic od D&D came back up, your answer had struck a chord with him.

“I wasn’t done playing.”

Those words would tumble around in the back of his mind for the rest of the evening. They had been honest, raw words. There was a weight to them that he’d carried himself for a long time. Growing up with Al Munson didn’t exactly give him the idyllic childhood that one would see in movies or tv. Play time wasn’t exactly a priority when you were just trying to fucking survive.

He’d challenged your answer, when he knew in his cynical heart that he was the same. Between Hellfire and his band, there wasn’t much else he had going for personal enjoyment. Of course there was time to hang out with his friends and the occasional odd night where he crashed at Rick’s place when his home with Wayne felt too small or cramped.

Eddie wanted to ask you what you’d play, if you ever did have a chance to join a campaign. He wondered if you enjoyed fantasy the same way he did, if you were a fighter, a spell caster, or a healer.

Then Steve showed back up.

Right, you were here with Steve on a date. A date that had way too much fiber and had probably exploded the toilet while he left you hanging for going on forty minutes now. And now Harrington decided that the date was over? Jesus, this guy didn’t know what he was missing out on. Eddie felt for you, he’d been on his share of bad dates in the past too, and bad nights that he wished were dates.

He shook the image of Paige out of his head.

You gave him a smile as you said goodbye. Well, you said you’d be back in a moment but Eddie knew that the night was over. You walked out of the Arcade with Steve, and that would be that.

Sidequest day was always short, with limited spending money between members and the machines eating quarters like candy. Soon his little sheepies were gathered around him again, talking about their winnings and who deserved to get some sort of perk for the game. It was almost unanimously decided that it would go to Lucas, after he’d nearly broken the basketball machine from how fast he had been throwing balls.

Eddie still had a bill burning a hole in his pocket, having spent more time talking to you than playing games. He had to get this weird night out of his mind, and turned towards the group, knowing that he was going to regret this.

“Whoever has any money left, pool it in I’ll take us to get pizza.” He said. This was followed by cheers and a scrambling of pulling out loose quarters, dimes, and even a five that Gareth forgot he had in his wallet. Eddie lead them all towards the parking lot, his eyes scanning the parking lot for you.

You and Steve were chatting by his car and laughing the same way that you had laughed with him before Steve pulled you into a tight hug. Maybe your date wasn’t a bust after all. Eddie didn’t know why he cared, this was only the third time you’d met. You didn’t know him.

Dustin nudged Eddie, that same smug grin on his face.

“Pretty fun night, huh, Eddie?” he said.

“Your plan didn’t work, shrimp.” Eddie said. “I know you were trying to set something up and I’m not interested.”

Dustin looked surprised, and looked like he was going to argue but a sharp glare from Eddie shut him up. Eddie never had an interest in meeting Steve, and it was clear Steve felt the same way, going so far as to ditch his date to hide in the bathroom the whole time. Eddie didn’t know what the kid saw in Harrington but Eddie was less than impressed.

“Geeze, sorry.” Dustin sighed. “I thought you two would get along.”

“You know, a little humility wouldn’t hurt you.” Eddie said before grabbing his shoulder. “Next time you decide I have to meet someone, don’t make it during Hellfire, mk?”

Dustin looked disappointed but nodded as everyone piled illegally in the back of Eddie’s van. As long as Eddie didn’t drive like a madman (a difficult feat) it would be safe enough. He’d put the seats down to haul equipment years ago, and never could get them to come back up. He could fix it if he wanted, but there was never a real reason to.

As everyone got settled, Dustin looked over at Mike with a shrug. The two of them had thought that things were going well between the two of you, but the look in Eddie’s eyes had said otherwise now.

“Maybe she just wasn’t his type?” Mike said, as the rest of the club chatted. “Eddie doesn’t really talk about those things anyway. Maybe he doesn’t even want a girlfriend.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t see the way they were talking. Even if he wasn’t into her like that, they were still getting along.” Dustin sighed and shifted to look out the window as Eddie started up the van. Everyone in the back held on for dear life as Eddie started out of the parking lot.

As they passed your car, Dustin caught your eye just as you stepped out looking dejected.

“Sorry” Dustin mouthed to you.

It had been a bust tonight, but something felt off. Why would Eddie have such a clearly good time talking to you, just to turn around and say he wasn’t interested?

Dustin made a mental note to drop into Family Video tomorrow to talk to you and Steve.

Part 4

Dividers by @strangergraphics

Tag list: @k8loo @terrormonster55 @sp1dyb0y1008 @crocwork-clockodile @ali-r3n @mxcheese @josephquinnschesthair @gagasbee @peaches-roses-sins @witchwolflea @vintagehellfire @royale1803 @cumslutforaemond @prestinalove @browneyedgirly93 @perpetualmess @thebook-hobbit @mistonk @cultish-corner @grishaversecaptivated

Comments and reblogs help me know that y'all read and enjoy it, which feeds my excitement to write!

#wing man #eddie munson x reader #nacht fic

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spnbabe67 · 1 month ago

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She Keeps Me Up

Kinktober Day 20: Uniform Kink

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Original Female Character

Warnings: Smut, PiV, Fingering, Soldier Boy

Summary: Odessa just can't resist Ben when he wears his suit

Word Count: 1775

Authors Note: Title (and fic to some extent) based off the song She Keeps Me Up by Nickleback

Fills my square "Uniform Kink" for @anyfandomgoesbingo

If you were a Supe, then you got a suit, regardless of if you were one of Vought’s shining stars, or one of the washed up C listers. Vought tailors made each one to fit like a glove, adapting to each Supe’s powers or abilities, keeping in mind their image. Decades and Decades ago when Odessa first met Ben, all arrogant and half-cocked, he rarely wore his suit around her. Their trysts had existed outside his war hero persona, so the uniform rarely made an appearance. The dark green suit now lived on a hanger in the closet in their apartment, collecting dust, except for the rare times Ben decided to pull it out either for a mission with Butcher and his merry band of misfits, or just for the hell of it.

Odessa was sitting on the counter in their apartment waiting for her cup of coffee to finish percolating when the sound of a key sliding into the lock pulled her attention from the crossword puzzle she’d been trying to finish. Ben trudged through the door, shutting it behind him as he made to walk over to her.

Odessa didn’t look up from the black and white page. “I know you weren’t about to track god knows what through this apartment on those boots of yours.”

She smirked to herself as Ben cursed, but shuffled back to the door. The sound of boots thunking to the mat beside the entrance resonated through the empty apartment. She glanced up, drinking in the sight of him prowling further into the apartment. His forest green suit was tailored to fit him like a second skin, and it really showed. There was enough slack for movement, obviously, but it did little to hide the outline of his muscular physique. Unlike that prick Homelander, there was absolutely no padding under the material, just pure American muscle. As rare a sight it was to see him all decked out in his regalia, man it did something to her. At least this time he wasn’t coming home covered in blood she’d have to wash off it later. Not that she minded it, it wouldn’t be the first time they’d gotten his suit dirty in their own way with dirt and other suspicious materials still coating him.

“The things I do for you, woman.” Ben grumbled, gesturing at where she was perched on the counter as he slung off his crimson gloves. “Are the stools broken?”

Odessa set aside the crossword, setting her legs wider as Ben came to stand between them, the rough material of his suit brushing against the insides of her bare thighs. “No.”

“Then why in the fuck are you sitting on the counter and not on a stool?”

Odessa cocked her head to the side, pursing her lips in mock contemplation. “Let’s see. Because I can?”

Ben huffed. “Woman-”

“Fine, fine.” Odessa threw up her hands, a grin plastered across her lips as she started to shimmy off the granite (or supposedly granite) countertop. “I’ll get down.”

Ben gripped her thighs over her boxers, his boxers, keeping her in place. The green in his eyes was predominant, set off by the nearly matching hue of his suit as he stared her down. “You’re already up there.” She watched as his pupils dilated as he surveyed her with purely predatory intent.

“Welcome home, my love.” Odessa purred, reaching up to grip his chin.

She leaned forward, kissing him deeply, roughly. Odessa could taste the weed and booze that was almost a constant on his tongue as she swept her own into his mouth. The grip Ben had on her thighs tightened, and if it weren’t for her own Supe durability, Odessa was sure he’d be leaving bruises. That was the one downside, or upside depending on how she looked at it. She never had to worry about covering up the hickeys or bruises, even though modern cosmetics was light years better than what they had back in the 30’s

“You know how fucking sexy you are comin’ in here wearing that suit?” Odessa purred into his mouth.

Ben made a low sound in the back of his throat as Odessa traced the contours of his suit, her finger ghosting across the eagle insignia, traced the star in the middle of his chest, trailing down along the buckles of his suit until she gripped the cool metal of his belt, pulling him closer to her.

“Oh yeah?” Ben challenged her, nipping at her lower lip. “The old uniform’s got you all hot and bothered?”

Odessa gripped his hand, peeling it from her thigh. She pulled back from his mouth as she shoved his hand down the front of her boxers, letting him feel the way she was already soaked.

“Jesus fuck.” Ben cursed, feeling his cock twitch in his uniform. “All this for me?”

Cocky son of a bitch. “No, it’s for the hot chick who lives across the hall. She came out to grab her food today wearing these tiny little shorts and a shirt so tight I could see-”

Odessa was cut off from her teasing as Ben harshly slipped two fingers into her, turning her words into a ragged moan. Her hand gripped his wrist, back arching towards him at the sudden fullness.

“Mouthy today, aren’t we?” Ben trailed kisses down her neck, his neatly trimmed beard scratchy against her skin.

Odessa chuckled lowly, eyes fluttering shut as Ben curled his fingers inside her, calloused pads tapping that one spot that had her bucking her hips. “You love it, don’t even try and deny it.”

“Yeah, and if you don’t fix that attitude I’m gonna give it something to keep it occupied.” She involuntarily clenched around his fingers at that, making Ben laugh darkly.

Odessa found her hand threading through his hair. He was gonna a haircut soon, the ends were starting to get shaggy and rough. Ben’s hand that wasn’t shoved knuckle deep in her pussy slipped under her tank top, big hands completely enveloping her breast, kneading it in time with his fingers sliding in and out of her. Her breath caught as she felt Ben lean in, dragging his tongue up the exposed column of her neck all the way from the hollow between her collarbones to the junction of her jaw and neck. Just as her toes started to curl, that euphoric feeling on the horizon, inches from spilling over her, Ben completely pulled away from her.

“Asshole.” Odessa huffed.

It was Ben’s turn to grip her chin in his hand, tipping her head back up. Even with her propped up on the counter, he still had her by a couple inches. His pupils were blown wide now, and Odessa knew it wasn’t from the drugs that were no doubt coursing through his veins if the taste of cocaine on his tongue had any indication. With their preternatural metabolisms the substance was most likely on the outs of his system.

“The only place you’re cumming is on my cock. Got it?”

Odessa leaned forward, gripping his painfully hard cock over his uniform. “Then get on with it already.” She sank her teeth into his lower lip.

It was a frenzy of Ben ripping his boxers from her lower half, Odessa pulling her shirt over her head. She undid the flap at the front of his pants, freeing his cock from its confines. Ben gripped her legs, spreading them further apart, propping one on the edge of the counter, baring her dripping pussy to him.

Odessa hissed through her teeth at the first stretch of him. He was so damn big, no matter how many times they found themselves tangled up, it was always an adjustment. She threaded her fingers back through his hair, pulling her lips back to her own as his thrusts gained speed until he set a punishing rhythm. His uniform was harsh against the soft skin on the insides of her thighs as he fucked into her roughly.

“That’s it, Dessa. Open up for me baby.” Ben sank his teeth into her shoulder, but she knew it wouldn’t leave much more than an indent against her skin.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass, urging him to go harder, faster. Ben felt so good, the scratchiness of his beard against her neck, his wandering hands that found infinite places to squeeze and knead and stroke. Odessa explored every niche and groove of his suit, fingers catching on buckles and snaps and leather straps that held the whole thing to the broad expanse of his body. Normally, she liked to feel Ben’s skin against hers, dig her nails into the golden tan skin, feel the unnatural warmth of him attributed to that nuclear core nestled in his chest. But for this, the form he cut in this suit, for this she’d make an exception.

Her clit was already extra sensitive from her ruined orgasm, so every time his hips brushed against hers, the seam of his suit rubbed up against the throbbing bud with delicious friction. Her inner walls gripped down on him, so filled with sensations it was hard to keep her thoughts straight.

“God, Dess, you’re always so tight around me.” Ben groaned into her mouth

Odessa breathed his name, a plea, a warning against the growing heat between her legs that only grew with each snap of his hips into hers. She clung to him, her fingers finding purchase on the edges of his suit as a particularly harsh thrust into her had her keening, coming hard on him. Ben cursed, his fingers curling around her sides as he wildly fucked into her until he came, a low, ragged moan falling from his lips.

Both of them panted, Odessa resting her head back against the cabinets behind her. She whimpered as Ben carefully pulled out of her, tucking himself back into his pants. He took hold of her jaw again, this time holding her softly, gently as he pressed his lips back to hers. Odessa smiled into the kiss, patting his shoulder.

“C’mon, lover. Go get cleaned up and I’ll heat you up something to eat.”

Ben’s responding grin was nothing short of feline and Odessa knew she was in for something. “I already know what I want to eat.”

Odessa didn’t have time to react as Ben grasped her hips, lifting her off the counter, slinging her over his shoulder. She yelped as his hand swatted her bare ass, but it quickly dissolved into laughter that filled their apartment as he walked them both into their bedroom down the hall.

#soldier boy x oc #soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy smut #the boys fanfiction #the boys smut #the boys amazon #the boys #kinktober 2024 #soldier boy/ben

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know-it-all-and-all · 10 months ago

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The Emergent Digital City

Summary of the Fic. By: @enby-denby

"The year is 2085, and Virtual Commuting is now a common practice for work and recreation. Dozens of companies, some as old as Intel and Apple but also up-and-comers such as C&A, now conduct 100% of their business through neural links and proxy agents, to minimize liability and maximize profitability. Depending on the level of integration and life support infrastructure, these VC systems can keep people in a digital workspace for hours, days, months or even years."

A young woman (Pomni) is pulled into a world of crime, intrigue, and overstimulating light and noise. The only thing keeping her sane (and alive) Is the cyber-assassin Ragatha, kindling something long suppressed within both of them. Together, along with a merry band of misfit criminals, they are on a mission to take down the evil corporation controlling the Digital city and gunning for their lives. If you ever wanted to read a Novelization of The Amazing Digital Circus co-authored by William Gibson in his Sprawl/Bridge trilogy era, this is the fanfic for you!

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wolfywolfy · 8 months ago

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Just a reminder that I have an ongoing fic of these two on AO3! Here's the warnings and (brand new!) summary below:

WARNINGS: blood, manipulation, sex, mentions of trauma, violence and gore in some chapters (will be stated in chapter notes), sometimes there will be angst, the idiot gets cared for

Primrose is a druid, tree-hugger, and the de facto leader of their merry little band of tadpooled misfits. She's been completely isolated from society, living alone in the woods for who knows how long, and given her naivety, Astarion figured she was raised by wolves.

Regardless, being a leader means she is a sturdy foundation for himself to latch on to, if he can manipulate her to care for him. She's prone to waxing poetics and altruistic to a fault, the perfect victim for his ministrations – so imagine his surprise when she turns out to be more complex than he gave her credit for.

Why, exactly, has she been hiding from society? Prim carries herself as if she would never do any wrong, but when provoked, she's shockingly deadly. The more time he spends with her, the more he has a suspicion that there's something dark lurking beneath the surface…. Perhaps it's time to find out.

This fic updates weekly! It starts off kind of like sequential drabbles, but has turned into a larger overarching story that I'm excited to share!! 🫶 No joke, I have 60,000+ words for this in the doc right now, I'm just forcing myself to take my time with posting it so I can be consistent lol

Link to AO3 below, feel free to comment and/or ask me any questions you might have! I hope you like it 💜

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full---ofstarlight · 3 months ago

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band au chapter 3 is live!!!

this chapter features:

the gang, well, ganging up on fenris to bully him into being nice

hawke late on rent

carver's gym bro selfie twitter pfp

anders getting roped into open mic night

background fenbela if you squint (ambiguous on purpose <3)

a tiny drip drip of anders' backstory

an incredibly sexy duet if i do say so myself

and the full fic summary:

in a modern kirkwall, hawke leads her merry band of misfits -- as in, a literal punk band -- all while they balance day jobs, pay bills, and deal with the societal unrest that grows each and every day through the streets of lowtown and darktown -- or, the kirkwall gang takes a stab at a musical career while also moonlighting as activists or, dragon age ii band au

read here!!

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #dragon age fic #kirkwall crew #handers #tama writes #my fic #da2 band au #multimedia fic #char Avis hawke #Avis x Anders

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ladyolivegardenia · 1 year ago

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A Vampire Tailor? (a fashion designer writes a fluffy Tailor Astarion fic)

Rating: PG

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Tav

Word Count: 1170

Warnings/Tags: blood, a tiny little bit of blood play I guess? needles/pins (nothing graphic tho, just a prick)

Summary: Astarion loves to sew, but not for other people... until he met Tav. He remembers his mother's advice.

The picture is from the very talented Hamrikaa on instagram

Astarion hated sewing for other people. Absolutely loathed it. No one ever wanted to pay you adequately for what the work actually cost, that is unless you became so famous and reknowned as a tailor that you could afford to underpay someone else to do the work for you. There was also just something so personal about it for him- he remembered so little of his life before Cazador, but he remembered his mother's hands, showing him how to do a slip stitch or guiding his own hands to find the grainline of a fabric. For two hundred years Astarion had so little control over his life, but at least he had control over his clothes and could enjoy the small amount of power that came with being able to tailor his wardrobe to fit exactly how he preferred, and while Cazador forced him to do so many awful things, he couldn't force Astarion to sew for other people.

And then Tav crash landed into his life and for the first time... he wanted to stitch for someone else.

...it helped that Tav's clothing was a fucking mess. Sure, she had the power to cast a fireball that could take out six Sharran clerics at once, but heaven forbid she wear a dress that fit properly. In their rooms at the Elfsong Tavern, Astarion happened upon Tav trying on one of the robes their merry band of misfits looted liberated from Cazador's mansion, a sumptuous garment made from a shimmering silk crepe that flowed over Tav's curves like a lover's caress. He paused in the doorway, admiring her wearing far finer a garment than he had ever seen her don before, but frowned when he noticed how it gaped around her shoulders and winced at the delicate fabric puddled around her feet on the rough wooden floor.

"My darling, this will not do," he said, walking over to his pack to retrieve his sewing kit.

Tav turned around sharply, caught off guard. "I thought you were out hunting."

Astarion sighed, "Alas, my dear, the hunting was poor. I refuse to eat another rat, but that was just about all I could find that had four legs and wasn't some Balduran's beloved pet." He fetched a small stool from their main living quarters and set it down in front of Tav's mirror. "Up you go, love, let's do something about that dress."

"What's wrong with it?" said Tav, a smidge defensive.

"Nothing much," said Astarion, "but if you continue to drag that silk across the floor you're going to ruin it, and the fit of that bodice is a sin."

Tav snorted. "Against which god?" she asked as she acquiesced to his request and stepped onto the stool.

He crept up behind her and whispered "Me" into her ear, enjoying the shiver he felt along her back in response. He reached up and removed the belt Tav used to clumsily take in the robe at her waist, allowing the fabric to hang freely from her body. This style of garment could be adjusted in length by carefully folding it at the waist and belting it in place, but there was still too much fabric at the back of her neck. "I'm going to take this off of you," he told her, "and turn it inside out so I can fit it properly." He felt her shiver once more, but she nodded her consent and raised her arms to help Astarion get the dress off and over her shoulders.

Astarion placed a gentle kiss on her bare shoulder and enjoyed the flush he saw spread across her cheeks in the mirror. He deftly flipped the dress inside out and helped Tav back into, giving the garment a few strategic tugs to get it to hang evenly on her. He paced around her in a circle, looking the dress up and down and assessing the best way to alter it to show off his darling Tav.

"I feel a bit like a piece of meat," said Tav, "being circled by a hound."

Astarion raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you, though?" He smirked, showing just a hint of fang and she rolled her eyes at him. He stopped directly in front her and reached for the fabric at the front of the dress. He gently tugged it down, pleased to see it form a cowl neck that showed off a small tease of cleavage. "Don't move", he commanded as he circled to the back again.

Yes, the center seam up the back needed to be taken in with a dart to contour to Tav's shoulders, but that was the only alteration the dress really needed to be appropriately wearable. Astarion grabbed a few pins and pinched the center seam with his long, elegant fingers, pulling it straight out and began pinning as needed so he could see where he would need to sew the dart once Tav removed the dress.

"Please don't stab me," she said nervously.

"Oh don't tempt me," said Astarion, "it wouldn't be the first time I've made you bleed." Being careful not to actually scratch her, he playfully dragged the tip of one of his pins along Tav's neck, next to the scars of his teeth from their feedings along the road to Baldur's Gate. "Don't worry, love," he whispered into her ear. "I would hate to ruin this silk with your blood and waste your blood on this silk."

He paused as a long lost memory suddenly echoed across his mind. It was his mother, imparting to him her one of her many clever sewing tips. "I know this sounds gross, but remember Astarion, if you ever prick your finger and bleed on the fabric, a little bit of spit can remove it. Saliva contains an enzyme that breaks down blood."

Astarion recalled his younger self wrinkling his nose and asking incredulously, "who found that out???"

His mother had laughed and told him, "Perhaps a vampire tailor?"

In the present, he sighed. If only she could see him now.

But the memory did make him wonder...

"Darling," he said. "...may I try something? It may sting, but please, indulge me?"

Tav turned her head to look at him, ready to protest, but she met his gaze and something she saw there stopped her. "Ok? I guess?" she said tentatively, but she trusted Astarion and was curious about what he had in mind.

He gently pressed one of his pins into the soft skin of her shoulder, just enough to draw a speck of blood. He lightly dropped it onto the shoulder of her dress and watched the scarlet seep into the white fabric. Then he put his lips to the silk, his tongue moistening the spot with the blood stain and tasting just a hint of Tav. He pulled back and while the fabric was a little dark from the dampness of his mouth, the small dark spot of blood was no longer visible.

He chuckled softly. "Mum was right."

Perhaps vampires should be tailors.

~*~

Author's Note: The bit about saliva getting blood out of fabric is true (it's a great bridal sewing tip 😂), and I couldn't resist writing this drabble. Also reflects a lot of my own opinions about sewing for other people, but also feels very in character for Astarion. And idk there are scientists in Faerun, maybe they've discovered enzymes.

Lol I was going to write smut, but introspection happened instead. I haven't written fiction in... years tbh, but this game and this silly vampire have me in a chokehold, so why not, let's give this a go.

#astarion #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfiction #sewing #tailor!astarion

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fourraccoonsinacoat · 1 year ago

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Head Full of Ghosts

Pairing: Astarion x Dark Urge

Summary: Takes place during the events of Baldur's Gate 3 and explores the romance between Astarion and the Dark Urge, as well as the friendships and relationships she has with her companions. Plus, everyone gives shit to Gale about his cooking. Tags: Slow Burn, Angst, Pining, Humor, Violence, Friends to Lovers, Developing Friendships, Developing Romance, Spoilers for the Dark Urge and BG3 in general, Dark Urge as Original Female Character Rating: Mature (Will eventually be Explicit, just not there yet.) Current Chapter Count: 3/? Read on AO3 (Will post chapters to Tumblr, as well.) Current Word Count: 13,050

Author Notes: Hello, Tumblr! Longtime lurker, first time poster. BG3 has reignited my love for writing fanfic - I think it's legit been over seven years since I've written a fic. The dry spell has now been broken. BG3 has grabbed me by the throat and pulled me back in and damn, if I'm not enjoying the hell out of it. I've got an ongoing fic on AO3, so I figured why not officially join Tumblr and dive headfirst into the fandom? Should anyone read my silly fic, I dearly hope you enjoy it. All these characters currently live in my head rent free.

Chapter 1: Misfits

The toll house burned as Karlach whooped, exacting rage and fury on everything within the abandoned building. Her glee might have been infectious if it hadn’t been so damn dangerous.

Luckily, Eli and her merry band of misfits had gotten clear of the structure before the worst of the fires caught. They now stood in the middle of the dirt cart path that led to the toll house entryway, watching the scene unfold in front of them with the same morbid curiosity with which townsfolk might watch a public hanging.

Wyll rubbed the back of his neck, cringing slightly as the loud and unmistakable crash of something glass-made reverberated from within the inferno.

“Maybe…” he started hesitantly, then cleared his throat. “Maybe someone should stop her?”

Honestly, Wyll was too pure for their group of maladjusted headcases. Between being forcibly inducted as Emerald Grove’s newest mediator, and trying to figure out just what in the nine hells was going on with the illithid tadpoles in their brains, Eli had not had much time to get to know Wyll. Like her, he was a warlock, though he was being rather cagey about who or what his patron was. She guessed it had something to do with his contract, and it wasn’t as if she had much room to judge.

Eli couldn’t even remember who the hell her patron was. That knowledge was a gaping black hole in her ruptured memory. Sometimes, late at night, in the stifling silence when the chaos of the day had finally died down, she’d try to recall…anything. Anything about her past life beyond the images of blood, death and rot that swirled in her mind. She was never successful, and her attempts usually ended in a roiling headache. The holes in her brain were deep, dark and remained unknown.

“These days I’m trying to avoid situations that end with me burnt to ash,” Astarion’s snark brought Eli back to the here and now. “But if you’re confident in your ability to be fire retardant, then by all means,” he finished the thought by motioning towards the building with a bit of a flourish.

The building was now practically engulfed in flames so bright that it was difficult to look at. She was pretty sure she could hear the roof caving in. Eli pinched the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes, the light and sound of it all was causing her already throbbing headache to grow and fester behind her eyes.

“Stop trying to suck the joy out of things, Wyll,” Eli said, with a bit more bite than she had intended.

She couldn’t see it, but she heard the eye roll in his response. “Fine. Far be it from me to deny someone their little moments of destructive bliss.”

Eli huffed in response and felt a presence move up next to her.

“Another headache?” Shadowheart’s voice wasn’t quite concerned, but it did have a hint of guarded interest, and for Shadowheart that was just as good.

“Think I’m going on day three now,” Eli responded with a groan. She let her hand drop from her face and opened her eyes, blinking back against the influx of light.

No one spoke it out loud, but they all knew the significance of that statement. Three days ago, Eli had woke in the middle of the night to discover Alfira, a kind and gentle tiefling bard, brutalized and dead…by Eli’s own hands. The shame, guilt and confusion from that night was still a gaping and painful wound within. Alfira was a constant and haunting presence, a reminder that her mind and body were not her own. She could recall flashes of memory from that night, and she desperately wished that was not the case.

The fear in Alfira’s eyes was emblazoned upon her brain and it followed her into her dreams. She was not sleeping well, if at all. And the terror that she would once again wake up to find she’d torn open another of her companions, one of her friends…it was enough to fill her nights with nauseating dread.

“Maybe Gale can cook up a sleeping potion for you when we get back to camp,” Shadowheart suggested with more softness in her voice than Eli was used to. “I’m sure your penchant for rummaging through our wares until all hours of the morning isn’t helping things,” she chided a bit more coolly.

Eli gave her a non-committal half smile. She’d taken to perusing their camp’s growing hoard of books during her sleepless nights. Reading kept her mind busy, and off of other darker thoughts that stalked her steps.

“Given the unholy smells being extruded by Gale’s cookpot the other night, I’m not sure I’d trust him to brew a sleeping potion someone is expected to wake up from,” Astarion said cheerily, stepping up to Eli’s other side opposite Shadowheart. “Besides, there’s nothing wrong with a little extracurricular nighttime activity.”

The suggestive smirk he gave Eli caused the pit of her stomach to tighten.

“Yes, because reading is so titillating,” she deadpanned back at him. Astarion was a shameless flirt, and Eli wasn’t in a mood to deal with him while her head was splitting open from the inside out.

Astarion, however, was not dissuaded.

“Darling, it’s not my fault if you choose a boring activity.” He emphasized the word ‘boring’ and Eli knew exactly where this was going before they even got there.

He leaned in closer and she caught the faint scent of spice and rosemary that always lingered in the space where he’d been. Nine hells, why did she know that?

“You know I’m only a few tents away if you ever want to try a more stimulating activity,” he purred. A small shiver ran up her spine as she felt the breath from his words against her neck.

A derisive snort came from Eli’s other side. “Really, Astarion, were you never taught not to play with your food?” Shadowheart said with the hint of a smirk, which turned into a full grin when Eli shot her a dark glare.

Eli suddenly felt very aware of a certain spot on her neck as she looked back to Astarion, whose red eyes had been lingering there before they flicked back up to her face. She met his gaze and thought she saw something hungry flash across his expression before he looked to Shadowheart.

“Call it an appetizer,” Astarion replied in that smooth and sultry voice that danced so effortlessly from his lips. “Something to get the blood pumping before the main course.”

Eli was starting to feel something akin to what a rabbit may feel when being circled by wolves. Astarion had inched closer to her as he spoke and teased, pushing into her personal space with bravado and squaring up to her like an animal on the prowl. Eli had experienced this behavior from him before, and she hated it. Not because of any issues with personal boundaries - she didn’t even know if she had issues with personal boundaries, considering how full of holes her memory was. No, she hated it because of how her body responded. And she doubted it was the sort of response Astarion was looking for.

All of his bravado, his confidence, how sure of himself he seemed when he pressed near to her, playing his games. It triggered an anger in her she didn’t recognize. A cruel and dominating rage that wanted nothing more than to grab him by the throat and force him to his knees, demanding respect. She was no rabbit fearful of wolves, no plaything for him to tease. She’d flay him sternum to navel for his insolence.

“Stop,” Eli muttered, moreso to herself than to Astarion.

Her head was pounding as she tried to shove those unwanted and vicious thoughts back down into the unknown void of herself. She took a tentative step backwards and nearly collided with Shadowheart, who managed to step quickly out of the way. Eli felt a hand on her shoulder and reflexively flinched away, internally trying to wrest herself from the cloying vile madness that was building in her brain.

“Sorry,” Eli heard Shadowheart say.

Glancing to Shadowheart, Eli saw she had her hands raised in a conciliatory gesture. Likely, Shadowheart had reached out to try and steady Eli. The problem was, Eli didn’t trust herself when her mind went red and hazy.

She didn’t want anyone touching her in those moments. She didn’t want anyone ending up like Alfira…

“That’s enough of that,” Wyll’s strong voice held a very clear note of annoyance in it. “Leave her be and let’s get back to camp. Lest we get lost out here after the sun goes down.”

Eli appreciated the sentiment, but she almost wished Wyll had stayed silent.

“Ah, the dashing Blade of Frontiers here to save the pretty damsel from the dangerous vampire,” Astarion said, with more than a hint of contempt to his words.

Astarion and Wyll did not play nice. They reminded Eli of two dogs posturing and vying for control when they were near one another. And, unfortunately, everyone else got pissed on in the process.

Astarion continued to bait the hook, voice sickly suggestive. “Hoping she’ll offer you a place to sheath your blade tonight if you play hero?”

Eli wheeled on Astarion with a glare that only succeeded in making the elf smile wider. For all of his pompous confidence, Eli did take note of the fact that Astarion had backed off from her. At least in the physical sense. He seemed more than happy to continue his verbal assault.

“You vulgar bastard!” Wyll barked back, angrily stepping towards Astarion who was grinning like a feral cat. Wyll was taking the bait.

“Lolth’s rotten nickers!” Eli exclaimed, exasperated and over all of this. “If the two of you want to have it out, fine! Just know I’m not asking Withers to bring either of you miserable assholes back if one of you kills the other!”

The blood in her head was pounding again, pulsating painfully behind her eyes. Eli threw up her hands and turned away from the squabbling men, only to see that tiefling barbarian, Karlach, watching all of them with a grin.

“You lot seem fun as hell!” she proclaimed with a laugh as the toll house continued to blaze like an inferno behind her. “Still cool if I tag along?”

“Yeah, sure,” Eli responded. “We all seem to be in the same shithole of a boat, so if you want to grab a paddle I’m not stopping you.”

Eli smirked and Karlach’s face lit up with excitement. “That’s the spirit!”

The next few moments were a blur. Moments in which Eli felt very much like a passenger in her own body. Astarion wasn’t letting up, and from behind her Eli heard his goading voice as he continued to taunt Wyll.

“You know, Wyll, if you’re ever curious about what our dear, sweet Eli tastes like, all you have to do is ask,” Astarion’s sly words were dripping with inuendo.

Eli snapped.

She rounded on Astarion like a displacer beast loosed from hell, stepping into his personal space just as he had done to her earlier. Eli, however, was not playing games. Her head felt like it was exploding from the inside and her vision was beginning to swim. She needed to get out of here. She needed to leave before she lost control. She needed to put this flippant, disrespectful maggot in his place.

“Would you FUCK OFF with your self-aggrandizing bullshit!” she roared.

Eli was up in Astarion’s face now, all venom and rage as she tried to maintain enough control to keep herself from driving a dagger through his eye like the monster inside of her was demanding.

“I’ve let you feed on me ONE time, and that has been the extent of any nightly activities between us,” she growled, locking eyes with the vampire spawn.

Astarion was a few inches taller than her, but in this moment it didn’t matter. They had all seen Eli fight. They’d witnessed the absolute carnage and power that she was capable of, and while most of that ability came from whatever deal she’d made with her patron, they had all sensed something else beyond her skill as a warlock. Something foul and brutal and violent that she seemed desperate to keep restrained.

That thing was leaking out now. Pressing at the barricades in her mind wrestling to break free. It wanted blood and gore and anguish. It wanted out.

“So, keep your pathetic attention-whoring charade in check or I’m going to lock you in a coffin and burry you so fucking deep even the worms won’t be able to find you!” Eli snarled, eyes glittering with a mania that indicated she was far from joking.

Eli didn’t know the chord she’d struck in Astarion – she didn’t even know if he had chords to be struck. She didn’t know how her words wrenched unbidden memories to the surface of his mind, like puss oozing from an infected wound. She didn’t know the torments inflicted upon him. Didn’t know that her words caused his chest to tighten with anxiety as unwanted recollections flashed in his mind. Days, months, years trapped in lonely confinement at the whim of his abuser. Locked away and starved because he said something displeasing or because he begged to be spared the agony of having his scars cut open once again because his master was bored and wanted to play.

Astarion had gone very still in the face of Eli’s wrath. And as the haze of anger in her mind dissipated and the realization of what she’d just said crashed down upon her, her eyes went wide and she took a quick step back. Her head was a mess and she felt like she was coming up out of a dream and seizing control of herself once more.

Shadowheart, Wyll and Karlach stood by, staring with a mix of shock and morbid curiosity. They were not going to get involved, but they damn sure were going to watch this disaster play out.

“I…uh…” Eli stuttered as she pulled herself back from the brink.

Her movements felt lethargic and wrong, as if she were a step removed from the actions her body was taking. But she kept hold of her mental steering wheel and willed herself to maintain control.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Astarion,” she lifted her gaze, wanting to meet his eyes so she could explain and apologize again.

But Astarion wasn’t looking at her. At least, not at her face. His eyes were fixated on the collar of the burgundy undershirt she wore below her chest armor. His expression fluctuated somewhere between grim detachment and smoldering hatred, crimson eyes glassy and distant.

Eli felt an unnerving sensation of being looked through.

“Astarion?” she questioned, voice softer and tinged with an edge of worry.

She took a tentative step forward and raised a hand towards him. Had he been struck with an incantation? A curse? Maybe Shadowheart or Wyll had cast something as a means of intervention?

Eli was about to turn and ask them when Astarion flinched back from her outstretched hand as if she’d struck him. His eyes snapped to hers and burned with a hostility she’d never seen from him, not even during the famously vehement rows he and Gale would get into over Gale’s cooking (the arguments usually ended with Gale shouting, “You aren’t even going to eat any of it, anyway!” and storming off in a dither).

“Don’t,” Astarion snarled through clenched teeth and a tight jaw. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

Icy loathing dripped off his every word and Eli suddenly recognized the defensive posture he’d put himself in, leaning back and away from her with hands ready to go for a weapon or even swing at her should she move closer. He reminded her of an animal trapped in a corner, baring its fangs at something…

At something dangerous. At something intent on hurting them.

Shit. Had her outburst really been that bad? Had he really thought she was going to attack him?

A pang stabbed through her stomach as she realized…of course he had. Because of what she’d done to Alfira. She’d already proven she was capable of brutalizing the people around her, no matter how innocent they were. They thought she was dangerous. Astarion, a godsdamn vampire who’d crept up on her in the middle of the night, thought she was dangerous.

She needed to get herself under control. This wasn’t a sustainable lifestyle. At least not for the people around her…

“Astarion, I’m really fucking sorry,” she backed away from him, giving him space and bringing her hands back to her sides. “I’m not even entirely sure what happened. Things got…hazy. I’m really sorry.”

It was a piss poor excuse, and an even worse apology. She knew. And it seemed he agreed.

“You can choke on your apology,” Astarion snapped as he shoved past her. “If the tadpole turns you tonight, it wouldn’t be too soon.”

The sheer venom of his words stung as painfully as if he’d stabbed her right there on the spot. She opened her mouth to reply, but could think of nothing worthwhile to say. So she snapped it closed and watched him walk off down the path that led back to camp.

Well, some fantastic leader she was turning out to be. She already didn’t understand why anyone thought she, with her magnitude of memory loss and murder happy tendencies, was the ideal candidate for a position of authority. She was awful at this shit!

Eli had spent a lot of time combing through her fractured psyche, trying to piece together any semblance of facts about who she was. In all that self-reflection, she’d concluded there were two things she was really good at. Killing people and drinking.

Fuck, what she wouldn’t give to be doing either one of those things right now instead of this.

She turned a miserable expression on her remaining companions. “Is it too late to go back to the mind flayer ship and just surrender?”

Wyll laughed and sided up to her, clapping a hand on her shoulder and trying to be reassuring.

“I’m sure he’ll get over it,” he said. Then, with a somewhat darker smirk, “And if he doesn’t, we’ll just stake him. Luckily for us, our benevolent illithid captors saw fit to crash us in the middle of a forest. Trees everywhere.”

Wyll grinned while Eli just gave him a deadpan stare. He wasn’t helping. Maybe he wasn’t too pure for their little group, after all. Maybe he was just as much of a dumbass as the rest of them.

Eli looked to Shadowheart, who simply rolled her eyes before glancing after Astarion as he continued to walk further and further from the party.

“I bet he just needs some time to cool down,” Shadowheart mused. “Men can be irrationally dramatic when they put their minds to it.”

The grin on Wyll’s face fell as Shadowheart started to follow Astarion down the path. Eli trailed after her, glancing to Karlach in the hopes of making some sort of conversation to distract herself from all the pain and noise in her head.

“I’m just happy to be here,” Karlach laughed.

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mostlyvoid-partiallyflowers · 2 months ago

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Would love some Andreil rodeo AU - @jtl-fics

WIP Wednesday 9/18/24 | Andreil Rodeo au

Hey Ash!! Nice to see you over here! I'm happy to provide a lil' bit of rodeo wip for the soul <3

Kevin moves to stand next to Andrew, as usual, propping his elbows on the upper rungs of the barrier. “His name’s Neil Josten.”

Andrew glances over, pulls another breath of smoke into his lungs and waits for Kevin to continue.

“He’s one of the best bronc riders I’ve ever seen. He’s unpracticed, but with some time he could be great.” Kevin goes quiet as Neil mounts his bronc, holding position as they all wait for the buzzer to go off and the gate to release.

With a loud buzz and the bang of the gate, Neil’s horse breaks loose of the tight space, kicking and bucking, trying to send him flying across the arena. Neil holds on, leaning into each movement of the horse, holding tight to the rope and throwing his other arm back with each buck. He holds on until one strong buck loosens his grip and he flings himself onto one of the pick-up men’s horses. Andrew watches Kevin out of the corner of his eye. Kevin’s eyes never leave Neil’s form, watching and dissecting each movement, counting the seconds before Neil lets go. Andrew knows a threat when he sees one and Neil Josten is the worst threat he’s seen since joining Wymack’s band of merry misfits. He could ruin everything.

#aftg #all for the game #andreil #andreil rodeo au #ember writes #wip wednesday #thanks for the ask!#sorry this is late #i tend to marinate on the asks for a few days and end up posting late #andrew minyard #neil josten

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kyathedino · 6 months ago

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Hey there kiddos, do yall like witherburn after school news? Then boy, do I have eighteen fanfictions for you! (I'm not advertising the The Nut Job one)

That's right, I've gotten *that* desperate. So first up we have 'You Go Queen!' By Kyathedino on ao3, which is a oneshot fic depicting lesbian romance between Tina Young and Scarlett Johnson, written I'd have to say probably before episode three.

Next up is the second work of my series, which inspired the name of WBASN EP 15, 'i couldn't utter my love when it counted (but I'm singing like a bird about it now)' by Kyathedino on Ao3. It's about a possible scenario of if Aria Sanders had been Birdie, and the Reporter's reaction to her going missing.

Then comes the first work, which is not how it happened chronologically but whatever, 'what's the softest way to say (you took away my friend, my buddy)' by Kyathedino on ao3 (you may begin to see a pattern here) which is a scenario in which Christie Lamar was a member of the merry band of misfits, and how they would cope with her disappearance. Possibly receiving a sequel soon.

Then comes the third work in the series, which is 'and i know it's all so shallow (but a shallow cut still stings)' by Kyathedino on ao3, which follows a brief stint in romance between Amelia Farrow-Garcia and April Calloway.

Then comes Jonathan Landry's ep of MAHTM, 'i don't want the world to see me (cause I don't think that they'd understand)' by Kyathedino on Ao3 (okay I'll stop that now yall get it) which is about Jonathan befriending Mr. Pickler's cat Sasha and growing closer to the man himself, causing very much angst when Jon goes missing and nobody is willing to believe the older man when he says that the teen was worth looking for.

After that is my shortest fic to date, titled 'try to follow your light (but it's nighttime)', which is about Dyce calling the reporter's phone thinking that he was calling his mother, and her having to go help him when he was injured (non romantic)

Then comes another Jon ep of MAHTM, titled 'Either Way, It Ends (And All Things End)', which is about Mikinzie Mishra, the girl with the community garden, creating it and telling dyce it's true purpose (to give Jon a place to come home to)

Then comes '2gether 4ever (literally)' which is a crack fic of hunter/dyce, occurring when dyce glues their hands together.

Then there's 'a minute from home (but i feel so far from it)', a fix about Hunter being trans and it not being accepted by his family, as well as the sheriff being extremely creepy, and the expectations that were put upon him and the unsafety he felt (can you tell I'm projecting? I'm projecting)

After that comes 'Rumor Has It', which is Birdie trying to determine the Reporter's identity for sport and accidentally falling in love on the way.

Ignoring the Forbidden one, next up is 'I think my body (is falling in pieces)', which is both Chloe and Evelyn's episode of MAHTM, about the two meeting after Chloe's death of sorts

Following that is another crack hunter/dyce fic, that being 'you have stolen my heart (oh-yeah!)', in which the two of them have a karaoke, somewhat k-pop date with a kid's karaoke machine

Then comes 'Not a lot (just forever)' which is Tina's ep of MAHTM, where Scarlett mourns her in a slightly homosexually-undertoned way, because she no longer had competition to push her into being better.

'i just wanna be a part of your family' is another ep of MAHTM for Tina, which is a scenario in which she was friend's with the reporter as a kid and the reporter has to deal with not having her there anymore.

Then comes my probably most fucked up one, 'when justice is gone (there's always force)', which is about Hunter Clark being a vampire and pretty much psychologically torturing his victims when they start coming back as ghosts, eventually falling in love with one of em. Still in the works, two chapters so far.

Following that is 'lovely, dark, and deep' which is about the Appalachian forest swallowing up Hunter, who used to play in it, year by year, and slowly taking away his ability to exist elsewhere as he grew older.

Then comes 'we deserve a soft epilogue, my love' which is a tma crossover where Jon join the old ladies on Ms. Newberry's porch in knitting and gossiping, and finds true, unconditional happiness in Witherburn as his Somewhere Else.

Finally, 'The Archival Interns' by Kyathedino and Fandom_Compass on ao3. My first collab, and another tma wbasn crossover, this time where The Reporter, Birdie, and Dyce go to intern at the Magnus Archives over the summer.

Aaaaaaaand that's about it. Jesus, I have a lot. And quite a few more yet in production. Either way, prettiest please try em out, and thank you for reading this far lol. God, I need a life.

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littlejuicebox · 1 year ago

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I just want to stay in that lavender haze.

Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character/Ranger AKA AstarionxWren Rating/Warnings: PG maybe 13?/ Act 1 Spoilers / Nudity / Sexual Tension / Gore / Angst / Anxiety / Cursing / Lae'zel being kind of a butthole Chapter number: Nine Word count: 3.9K Masterlist: Click here. Song inspiration: "Lavender Haze" - Taylor Swift Notes: I know only a few people read this series religiously but thank you! Wren and Astarion are my little lovely goobers and I'm glad at least one person loves them as much as I do. And I know my other work gets more attention, but this is my favorite storyline and I plan to continue writing it. That being said, if you do actually enjoy their story… I truly appreciate the comments on this fic and that’s what inspires me to keep writing them even though they don’t get as much traffic.

-----

After terminating the last few goblins, everyone recollected themselves outside of the dilapidated temple. A few healing potions were drunk, a couple of incantations were murmured and then the group turned to Wren with an expectant look, waiting for her next directive.

The half-elf woman never actually wanted to be a leader. But more than once, she’d had the damned role thrust upon her. It was becoming annoyingly, and unfortunately, apparent that this time would be no different. What was it about her that made everyone trust her judgement; why did they let her make the calls? Hadn’t Shadowheart been doing a fine job… couldn’t she just… keep doing it?

The tired little bird sighed, running her bloodied, callused hands through a mess of gut-splattered brunette hair as she looked towards the sky, quickly gauging the time. It was early evening by now. The last few rays of sunlight were glimmering upon the horizon as that soft blend of rose and orange began to melt into a deeper, star-speckled blue. The merry band of misfits had to accomplish two things at once by nightfall… so unfortunately, they would have to split up.

Wren rubbed at the jagged lightning bolt burns sneaking out from underneath her bracers; it hurt like hells. Her eyes glossed over the group as she took a deep, exhausted breath, and then muttered, “Well... I’m sure Halsin needs to get to Emerald Grove as soon as possible. Some of us should go with him and the others should swing by the bog to pack up camp and bring it all back to the Grove. We'll have to head out from there once we've all had some time to recover. Astarion and I will go with Halsin, the rest of you can pack up camp and then meet up with us.”

Lae’zel made it clear she disapproved of this call with a hissed, “Tchk! Why do we have to do all the grunt work, while you and your favorite vampire princess get the easier route.”

Astarion almost leapt forward to snap at insufferable woman, quite displeased with being called a princess. Before he could, Wren’s mouth hardened into a thin line at the challenge, and she quickly stepped closer to the Githyanki, tone dropped into an irritated hiss.

“You’ve been given more people than we have, Lae’zel. The Grove needed Halsin back yesterday, and Astarion is skilled at both downing and evading enemies… whatever we may happen to need along the way. The Archdruid can surely handle himself. As for the rest of you… Well, sorry to be the one to say it and to burst your little bubbles, but none of you aren’t quite as versatile as the two of us, and you all need one another to cover your weak spots. It isn't favoritism, it's pragmatism.

And as for me? I had my brain invaded and nearly fell to my death today… so no, I’m not interested in packing up camp and playing inventory manager right now. If that’s such a problem for you, Lae'zel, and you’re questioning my judgement, then leave my shit there for all I care. I have all I need in my pack... Or should I remind you, I'm not the one that insists on hauling a stone wheel all around Faerun when a simple whetstone would suffice?"

Wren and Lae'zel were roughly the same height; she stood nose to nose with the fighter, her two-toned eyes boring into angry reptilian ones. Gods, Wren was growing so tired of this. If no one else wanted to be the one to make the calls, then why was there always someone questioning her judgement?

“Oi, no worries, mate! I’ll take care of yours and Fangs’ stuff.” Karlach cut in, stepping between the two women, quick to try and ease the group tension. “Go on and we’ll meet you — the Grove has to be in an absolute state by now, what with Kagha and all her antics.”

Lae'zel spat at the ground and then spun away from Wren, and the two groups went their separate ways in silence.

-----

The short journey to Emerald Grove was a mostly quiet one. Astarion felt too mentally worn from all the revelations of the day to play the loquacious, flirtatious rake. Wren, on the other hand, felt absolutely shredded around the edges of both her psyche and her body.

The Druid and the ranger had a brief conversation about her father, but it soon became clear it wasn’t a subject Wren wanted to discuss for too long. She would trail off or become distracted during the conversation, her mind entirely elsewhere. Halsin graciously took the hint and let silence fall among the trio, chalking everything up to the exhaustion of such a tedious and gore filled day.

At the gates of Emerald Grove, many of the tieflings and a few of the druids welcomed the Archdruid with a chorus of ecstatic cheers. All three beings were ushered in with a smattering of hugs, thanks, and congratulations, which Wren numbly accepted and Astarion willingly played into. Halsin soon interrupted the small welcoming party and rushed to interrupt the ritual of thorns, unleashing a scary and very bear-like chastisement to all the participants. His thundering voice drew the attention of everyone in the grove, and Wren took the opportunity to quickly peel away from the scene.

Astarion’s eyes followed Wren as she headed towards where they’d rescued that Tiefling kid from the Harpies weeks ago. This was his chance; the other campmates weren’t around to stick their noses into his business. The vampire thought for a moment that he might try and use his body to lure information from her like a Harpy used their voice to lure tiefling children… and he quickly made his peace with that possibility. Whatever the method, the rogue had to act now, without the risk of outside interruptions. He had to pry some information out of Wren tonight.

The pale elf quickly trailed down the remaining stone steps while the other druids had their heads bowed, listening to Halsin's booming lecture. Silent steps led him around the curved pathway, down to the water bank. He thought he’d see Wren rinsing her hands and face, ridding them of filth or taking a small moment of silence to stargaze or smoke from that pilfered pipe. He truly didn’t expect to see a panicked little bird, tearing wildly her own armor, trying to rip it off. He stared dumbly at the wide-eyed and panting ranger, watching as she appeared to be in the middle of a battle with… well, herself.

Wren’s eyes snapped to Astarion, where he was frozen mid step, scarlet eyes assessing her hysterical movements. Suddenly, she called out in something between a strangled scream and a sob, shaking hands now pulling desperately at her chest plate, “Take it off! Take it off! Please!”

She fell to her knees, half in the sand, half in the water. Her hands ripped at the leather straps of her armor as she heaved. She sounded as if the weight of her armor were crushing her; she sounded as if she couldn't breathe.

Of course, she could breathe… she was speaking, after all. Astarion didn’t know what else to do but answer her pleading voice. So he moved forward, deft hands quickly unsnapping buckles and ripping leather pauldrons from the ranger’s shoulders. She gasped in relief, and without a word, nimble fingers moved down to snap off her chest plate and then quickly loosened the laces of her bracers.

His brow furrowed as he watched Wren’s face, still caked in goblin guts, with thin rivulets of tears streaming from her two-toned eyes. She clumsily slid her bracers off and threw them down into the sand. Wren was still heaving as she sank down into the earth and then suddenly, she was sobbing, her entire body shaking with the force of her cries.

Gods. This absolutely hadn’t been the plan; Astarion was, once again, totally out of his depth here. How did he keep getting caught in these ridiculous situations with her? None of this ever ran on any script he'd ever prepared for himself.

The rogue ran a stressed hand through his hair before he took a deep breath and kneeled beside her, placing his cold hands on either of her shoulders. “Darling, listen to me! Shut up, right now. Stop this instant or else the entire grove is going to be here staring at you in a few minutes and unless I’m horribly mistaken, you don’t want that. Wren, come on, that's enough!”

The ranger wasn’t listening; to be fair, Astarion couldn’t be sure she heard him in her current state. She was still crying -- well, wailing, really -- and the look in her eyes seemed a million miles away. He recognized that look, that feeling. It made his gut churn. The vampire began to panic; she needed to quiet down before this all became an even bigger spectacle, or worse, someone accused him of causing her pain.

“Darling! Wren! For gods sakes—“ The rogue snapped his eyes shut and plunged forward in a last-ditch effort. He smashed his always-cold lips into her always-warm ones, swallowing her insufferable cries, digging so tightly into her shoulders as if he were hoping to pull her out of her own mind with brute force.

They stayed frozen like this for several beats; time almost felt like it ground to a halt. Astarion could hear the half-elf woman’s heart thudding erratically in her chest and then, miraculously, slow itself to a steadier thrum. The vampire opened his eyes and pulled away to see the little bird staring dumbly at him, her perpetually berry-stained lips swollen from the crushing force of his mouth on hers. Wren blinked rapidly, but remained silent, before carefully lifting her hand out of the water and brushing it against her own lips.

“Apologies, darling, but I didn’t know what else to do. Now let’s get cleaned up and then we can chat about whatever is going on in that pretty but absolutely twisted head of yours.” Astarion murmured, quite ruffled, but still lifting himself to his feet and then holding out a hand to help the little bird up, as well.

The half-elf woman had apparently fallen selectively mute, but she nodded her head and followed the vampire as he dragged her back toward the grove circle.

He was still mad at her. Furious, really. He didn’t have all the words to explain why, but he felt she’d somehow been misleading or hiding things from him all along. But then again, hadn’t he been doing the same in so many ways? If he weren't outright lying, which he definitely had more than once, then wasn't he also concealing aspects of himself… just like she had? But somehow, despite the clear hypocrisy Astarion was aware of and chose to ignore, it still felt like a betrayal to him. And yet, even though she absolutely infuriated him… the way she looked in her panic plucked at his heartstrings and compelled him, beyond his better judgement, to comfort her.

Gods this was supposed to be easy. A nice, simple plan. But it grew increasingly complicated by the minute.

-----

Halsin kindly allowed Astarion and Wren access to his bedchamber. The bear of a man often preferred to bathe in the natural water source on the edge of the Grove, but he conveniently kept a tub for soaking within his personal chambers, more for his own rare moments of enjoyment.

“Thank the gods that the druid isn’t totally removed from society.” Astarion mumbled, after Halsin helped to fill the massive wooden tub with heated water and then politely saw himself out. He was about to have a lengthy conversation with Kagha… surely, they would hear the results later.

Wren hadn't uttered a single word, but she watched as the vampire moved around her, plucking jars from the shelf by the tub and sniffing them. Finally, he settled on one, and poured some of the milky contents into the tub, causing the water inside to turn a clouded haze of pale purple. Then, he spun to the little bird and clapped his hands in his signature, impatient chop-chop. “Well, come on then, darling. In you go."

Wren sat blinking at him, unmoving. Astarion scoffed and rolled his eyes, briskly moving toward the archer. “Little bird, surely you aren’t going to turn down the first real bath you’ve had in weeks and the only one you’ll get for who knows how long. Now enough of this. Arms up.”

The half-elf sighed and followed Astarion's order with heavy limbs. The vampire stripped her of everything besides her underwear and then tugged her with a bit of force, over to the tub. The rogue couldn’t help but admire the sinewy ripples of her back, and the freckles along her collarbone as he watched Wren remove her smallclothes and sink into the opaque tub of water.

The little bird closed her eyes and sighed as the comforting smell of lavender began to swirl around her. Wren allowed herself the smallest moment of bliss as she inhaled the relaxing tendrils of scented steam, but then she felt Astarion’s leg slipping into the bath with her and snapped her eyes open to stare at the silver-haired elf.

The man cocked an eyebrow as he assessed Wren’s wide, shocked eyes from where he faced her, now sunk chest deep in water, sitting on the opposite side of the tub. He huffed and leaned back in the bath as his long arms crossed resolutely.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re suddenly a prude now, little bird. This bath is more than big enough for the two of us, thanks to the behemoth it belongs to, and we’ve already seen one another completely nude and in the throes of ecstasy. So, if you think I’m going to pass up the only luxurious bath I might get in weeks, just because you’re naked and in a sour mood, you’re dead wrong.”

Wren chuckled; Astarion smirked in response at the first sign of her potentially improving mood. And then the ranger gave a good-natured eye roll before she shifted over just enough to make a bit of room for the rogue’s legs. But still, she didn’t speak.

The vampire occupied himself with dunking a sponge in water and wiping the grime off his own body. After that, he grabbed a small wooden cup off the bath tray and rinsed his hair; pale hands moved to scrub more of that milky liquid through his blood-flecked silver strands. Astarion closed his eyes and carefully rinsed again, inhaling the floral aroma and ensuring he felt no more suds remaining in his precious curled locks.

When the rogue’s lids fluttered open, the little bird had already moved to scrubbing her own body with a sponge. With his eyes closed, Astarion didn't see that she'd been staring at him, admiring his little smile and the way his hair looked weighed down by the water.

Wren flicked her gaze toward the vampire and sighed; her mouth opened as if she were about to speak, but then she sighed and shut it again. A few more minutes of silence passed, in which both beings simply welcomed the heat as it eased the soreness of overtired muscles.

Eventually, the ranger broke the silence, her voice still raw and scratchy from the earlier episode at the shoreline. The pale elf's eyes were closed as he lounged in the tub, but quickly snapped open when his pointed ears picked up her quiet, shaking voice.

“There are many pathways to and from the Underdark throughout Faerun. Kol was out with his friends, exploring one of those pathways. Unfortunately, they’d picked one that led to a cavern full of Phase Spiders… not unlike the one we encountered down that well.

We were out hunting when we heard their screams and went to investigate. By the time we downed the spiders, Kol was the only one alive… but barely.”

Astarion passed the cup to Wren as she spoke, and a few more seconds of silence passed as she rinsed and scrubbed her own hair with the lavender-scented solution. The elf watched from hooded, relaxed eyes as the water ran down the woman’s neck, languidly flowing down to that little spot at the crook where two faint pinpricks blended into a smattering of freckles, before finally trickling to where her breasts hid under the clouded tub of water.

“My father and the other elders wanted to leave Kol there to die… simply let nature take its course. But a few of the younger generation, including myself, begged them for mercy and they relented. Kol spent a week with us before he was well enough to go on his way and return to the Underdark. But he didn’t want to go. Life isn’t exactly great for male Drows in Menzoberranzan, especially not a second son, despite the Baenre name. So, he left a coded note in the cavern in case any of his other friends hoping to escape came looking for him... and then he was one of us.

Father considered Kol dead weight… he was softer, an artist… he would often draw me pictures of squirrels or other creatures. He was about average with a blade and terrible with a bow… but he was talented in other ways and surprisingly kind. I’d never met a man with a gentle, soft-hearted nature quite like him. And he pulled a softness out of myself that I’d shoved down and all but forgotten when my aunt brought me to my dad.

My father never wanted to be a parent, he remained unwed and unattached for that very reason, but I was an unexpected consequence of his actions and well… suffice to say I didn’t always have the most tender upbringing. Neither did Kol, but he honored his own nature despite that.

Anyway, my dad wanted me to marry Zahara, my first love… or one of the other warriors. His priority was to guarantee my safety and status within the clan. Either Zahara or I were going to be the next elder when one of the clan members passed… so it was the most pragmatic decision. But I was uninterested; so was she… we’d had our fun, but the romantic love just never stuck between us.

Against my father’s wishes, I snuck away with Kol... more than once. We sometimes journeyed down into the Underdark, and he showed me around very briefly. I suppose you've never been, but it’s beautiful down there, truly. We would never venture close to the city; he didn’t want to risk being caught… turning from Lolth is unthinkable and unacceptable in their culture. But I know he missed the beauty of the Underdark… he drew it all the time.

Father eventually relented and gave his blessing for Kol and me to be married. He knew I would leave and marry Kol on my own, settle down in some small hamlet or within a city, if it ever came down to it. So, we were married one beautiful autumn day, and we spent five years as husband and wife until his own kin found him.

They tracked us for days, waiting for the right opportunity. Kol was ambushed; they found him alone by the river near where we’d made camp. He was drawing, practically defenseless apart from a small dagger. I had been hunting not far away with the youngling group I’d been placed in charge of. I ran to the screams, but he was already gone when I got to him... Minthara was among them, she escaped… but one of her siblings and a two of her cousins were less lucky, in the end.”

Wren blinked away tears that were just beginning to form in her eyes as her voice cracked. She inhaled a shuttering breath through wobbling lips. Astarion watched the little lip scar that he was absolutely obsessed with as it trembled and fought back the urge to move forward and envelop it in a kiss.

The little bird dunked her lithe hands under the water and brought them back up to her face, wiping at the final specks of blood still stuck to her forehead and cheeks. She missed the spot near her eye, and Astarion leaned himself forward, lifting his hand to gently rub at the stubborn stain with his thumb. His eyebrows furrowed as he struggled to process all the information. And then, he stuck his foot in his mouth.

“So… when you said you downed two of house Baenre… it turns out you didn’t actually mean your own husband.” He murmured, his hand lingering a beat too long on her cheek.

“No! What?!” Wren snapped, her own eyebrows crinkling together as she pushed Astarion's hand away from her face.

Astarion rolled his eyes and huffed, leaning back again on his side of the tub. Part of him wanted to back off, but the more insolent and hurt part decided to double down. “Look, you've been quite mysterious about all this, and one can’t help but assume things, trying to make sense of it all. You’re hard to read!”

“Have you ever considered I’m not here like a book to be read?” The little bird snapped, suddenly lifting herself out of the bath. Streams of water trickled from her dark hair down her naked, freckled body. Astarion averted his gaze, suddenly quite aware he'd made another misstep and unwilling to piss Wren off further with his wandering eyes.

She climbed from the tub and snatched a towel from the shelf, wrapping it around herself before crouching and rustling through her bag. Then Wren quickly pulled her chemise from the sack and threw it over her head. When she turned and looked at Astarion, the expression on her face was a heartbreaking mixture of disappointment and sadness. She heaved a heavy, burdened sigh as she slipped her camp shoes on and shoved everything into her bag before grabbing it by one tattered strap.

“Astarion…” His name on her lips simultaneously sounded like a song and a slap, “If you’d ever bothered to actually ask me about myself… I would’ve told you the truth. I would’ve told you anything you wanted to know… if you’d just asked. I felt it, that night you pried into my mind, after the first time we kissed, you know. Why do you think you saw primarily nature scenes? That Wood Elf you kept seeing? It was a nightmare… not a memory.”

And then she walked out of the room, leaving Astarion alone and staring up at the ceiling. The vampire ran his hand through his hair and then groaned, dunking himself under the water’s lavender-scented, hazy surface. He closed his eyes, effectively cutting his senses off to the outside world. For a while, Astarion considered staying like this forever… he didn’t need to breathe, after all. Perhaps he could just hide in the tub, senses numb, all alone. Nobody would miss him or come looking for him here… that much was certain.

But soon the bath water started to grow cold, his fingers began to prune, and the rogue’s discomfort forced him to break through to the surface — and to reality — once again. He stood and shook his head, spraying scented droplets around the room before gathering his own towel and wrapping it around his waist. Astarion sighed and sat down on a bench, pinching his nose bridge as he wondered what in the hells he should do now. His body was clean, but his mind still felt riddled with debris.

Perhaps it hadn’t been Wren weaving a messy web around him… perhaps he’d been the one doing it to himself all along.

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masterangst · 8 months ago

Text

Yay I did it. Since people were in the majority (and I never meant to make the poll so long) here is chapter 1 of my post game long fic for Tumblr

Chapter summary: Astarion needs to make it in time to meet his friends. So he travels to Waterdeep to pick up a friend along the way. Traveling isn't very fun for a vampire, though.

Warnings: none

Words: 2650

Chapter 1: Welcome to Waterdeep

Sometimes Astarion wonders what sleeping would be like. To waste away hours of the night, or day, cradled by sweet dreams. Time spent not worrying or plagued by existence.

If he was able to sleep like normal mortals, other than elves, he would have spent less time being bored. Not that hunting down a notorious robber of merchants wasn't fun. That was quite so. Their blood was even more fun to indulge in. Then the small celebration he hosted for himself to gain the shallow praise of strangers he helped...was also very fun.

But it's when the chase stops and the party ends that his mind wanders right back to his main source of worry.

Axel.

His beloved hunter.

Astarion kicks off his boots by the inn door and throws his belongings on the bed; one he won't even use. He flings himself into the chair by the fire and groans.

It's been a month since the reunion with their fellow travel mates. The merry band of misfit weirdos who stopped an army of mind flayers and helped kill Cazador. Got to see that camp with brand new eyes.

If someone had told Astarion, nearly a year prior, that Cazador would be dead. He'd be an unlikely hero. Find someone who he'd love and cherish more than anything, and find friends he would never admit to caring for. He doesn't know. He'd probably laugh and lure them to Cazador for dangling a bone in front of a starving dog. It’s hard to imagine how he’d react. He barely knew what to do the moment he opened his eyes and the sun blinded him the day he landed.

At the reunion, everyone besides Lae'zel, Karlach, and Wyll, agreed to meet up again for the Moon and Spirit Festival on the northern end of the Sword Coast in Neverwinter. It was perfect. Shadowheart discovers her loyalty to her new goddess, and it takes place at night so Astarion won't have to worry about the sun. And it gives them all a chance to reunite once again just a little over two months later.

That's the problem. It's been over a month. This Moon and Spirit Festival was just a little under a month away and Astarion would have to leave this cozy inn he found for himself just to make it in time on foot.

Normally that wouldn't be a problem, but Axel is still gone. The man had left nearly two weeks prior.

“I swear. I will only be a fortnight. If I'm any longer, I promise you,” Axel cups Astarion’s hands and feather kisses them, “I will reunite with you at the festival.”

A sinking feeling tugged inside Astarion. He trusted Axel, but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel like the man was hiding something from him. His tongue itched to pester Axel for more information on where he was going, but he knew it was hopeless. Axel would never reveal it to him. That made the sinking feeling turn to poison ready to be spit out.

Axel seemed to sense Astarion's frustrations and leaned to cradle Astarion’s head against his own. “I love you. I promise you I will return.”

It's been a fortnight…yet no Axel.

Vile thoughts rip Astarion's chest open. What if he abandoned you? That sinister voice asked himself.

Astarion shot to his feet, so quickly that the chair he sat on knocked over. He shook his head and began to pace.

Axel wouldn't abandon him. Why wouldn't he? Have you seen yourself? Very funny. Everyone would leave you if they truly knew every detail of your past. They would leave you in a heartbeat if they saw the real you.

No! Axel hasn't. Astarion has cut himself open more than once to let the darkness ooze out in front of him, yet the man stayed.

Till now.

Astarion scowls and lodges his claws in the bedpost. What is he going to do? He made a promise to the others, yet should he leave here before Axel shows up? What if he comes back tomorrow or the next and Astarion is gone?

He did say he would meet him at the festival.

Astarion sighs. He guesses he'll just have to trust his lover on this.

He falls back on the bed and pouts up at the ceiling. It's not like you need him.

True. But it doesn't mean he doesn't still long for him.

~~~

Astarion gave it one more day. He forced some bandits outside of town to hand over their money before ripping into them for an added bonus. It got him through the night, but the day was approaching fast. It isn't the easiest thing, traveling during the day as a vampire. It means he can only get so far during travel than others.

His solution was stuffing himself in a box on the back of a wagon. Not the most elegant, and quite frankly something he loathes, but it's better than walking the whole way. The man he offered money to doesn’t have a covered wagon, so a makeshift coffin is the closest he’ll get.

He couldn't wait for Axel any longer. If he had, he'd be way too late for the second reunion. The man promised him he'd be there, so it was Astarion’s turn to put his faith in him.

The box, or rather, the crate was far too small. Astarion felt like a contortionist being locked away. Utterly humiliating. Only comfort Astarion finds, is that the others aren’t here to witness this. The wagon coach didn't seem to be bothered by it, which Astarion took as a good sign. Or maybe a concerning one? Just not on his behalf. If Astarion was the man, he would question why someone preferred to “sleep” this way, but each their own.

Each step of the horse carried through to the crate, bumping it and rattling it like a doll. Unfortunately, it was growing closer to the new year, so winter had dominated Faerûn. Meaning the sun provided no warmth to seep into the crate. For a vampire, the cold is not much of a problem, but Astarion’s skin still longs for the heat. A tragedy he must endure.

Thankfully, a trance helped pass some of the time and allowed him to feel refreshed enough to waste the rest of the sun away. The moment the cool air of night drifted into his homemade coffin he burst forth with a dramatic flair. Much like a true vampire would from their healing sleep. He moved up to the front of the wagon for the rest of the night, taking over the reins when the man was tired and needed his sleep.

It was quite busy along the roads. Refugees from all over are now returning to their homelands, or heading to other major cities if their homes were destroyed. Their blood pounded in their veins like sweet nectar, the scent filling the air like a bouquet of metallic flowers. The Hunger inside him grew from a whisper to a banshee's scream in seconds.

The beast is not a stranger to Astarion. No, he's as intimate with the Hunger as he has been with a thousand other victims, only this intimacy is rooted deep within like a root of a tree.

A group of refugees crowded the road, slowing down Astarion’s cart. The nice pace he created was now a slow trot through the maze of heat, noise, and pounding.

A little girl, sweet and innocent, the very mocking of Astarion's nature, skipped alongside the wagon. She smiled, oblivious to the growing thirst inside him. The scent of her warm blood dominated the aroma of the air, tempting and tormenting him in equal measure.

Astarion clenched the reins till it bore holes in his skin as the struggle within him intensified. The child's laugh echoed a fragile melody that grounded him away from the predatory whispers from the Hunger. How easy it would be to snap her neck. He would not. He's better than some depraved beast. He’s spent almost a year sustaining on the foul and the wicked, only using Axel when Axel offered himself over. It has kept him sustained.

But never satisfied. The Hunger would never be satisfied.

Astarion snapped the reins and pushed forward, caring not if the refugees or travelers moved out of the way (thankfully they did). He’d feed on his host, but unfortunately, he needs the man to be his guide during the day, and being away from any type of settlement lowers his access to criminals, so animals it is tonight. No bother. There is plenty of fauna frolicking amongst the trees. The blood of a fawn and its mother already called for him within the woods.

The hunt and his return to the cart went completely unnoticed by his sleeping guide. The Hunger thankfully remained silent the rest of the way.

This cycle repeated for five nights and four days till he arrived in Waterdeep. Even though this is his first time in this city, he’s heard more than plenty from Gale to make up for his lack of experience.

Waterdeep from beyond the gates of the city is just as impressive as Baldur’s Gate. Towering walls and watchtowers line the city just as Baldur's Gate has. Looming spires and intricate architecture adorn the skyline, casting impressive shadows onto the road outside the walls. Astarion and his host enter through the check gate together and distant sounds of the city become more distinct – the hum of bustling markets, the distant clatter of hooves on cobblestone, and the increasing sounds of chatter.

“Guards are a bit more scary looking for the River Gate.” Astarion’s wagon friend grumbles.

Astarion figures this is a good chance to get more information. “Is that what this entrance is called?” He gestures towards the approaching gate.

The man gives a quick huff that Astarion takes as a yes. How simple-minded his friend seems to be. Partly how I got this far.

“Care to elaborate, or must I spell it out for you?” Astarion rests his chin in the palm of his hand, crossing his legs with the slightest of pouts.

“Oh, right,” the man shifts his fisher hat, “you said you were new to these parts. I reckon this might be a tad overwhelming, eh?”

Astarion shakes his head. “Not in the slightest.”

“Ah well, the River Gate’s the entrance for the Trades Ward. That's where my family and me’s got a shop. You're welcome to stop by anytime by the way. My wife makes a killer veggie stew.”

Astarion hides his eye roll by turning his head. “Yes. I most certainly will think about it. Would you perhaps know the name: Gale Dekarios?”

The man scratches under his hat once more. “I don't reckon I have. It’s such a big city, it's easy to lose count of people. A friend of yours?”

Astarion leans back. “Something of the like.” Then a piece of information comes back to him. “He’s a wizard, a professor actually. For Blackstaff Academy. Don’t imagine you’ve heard of it?”

A puzzled look plagues the simple man’s features, then the look of sudden surprise. “Oh yes! That’s the Blackstaff tower over on Swords Street. A bit eerie if you ask me, but I suppose it's a fitting place for wizards.” That was enough for Astarion. He’d try there first. That’s if the bumbling idiot hasn’t already taken off for the festival.

One more question. “Where is this Sword’s Street?”

“Home of The Lady Dreaming. North in the Castle Ward. Look for the sleeping lady.”

Astarion grimaces slightly then smirks. “Am I to ask every sleeping beauty I come across or is there a special one I should be watching out for?”

Astarion’s sarcasm goes unnoticed as the man laughs. “Oh, why she’s the lady in the garden. She’s a massive statue that looks over the city from her slumber. Least that’s what legend tells. I believe the tower might be before the lady though.”

Astarion supposes that's enough for now. He fears that if he asks any more questions the man’s brain might erupt from the amount of thoughts flowing in.

Astarion's crimson eyes flicker with a tinge of curiosity, his gaze momentarily tracing the details etched into the ancient stone of the gate as they finally enter the city. The city's lights paint a kaleidoscope of colors, reflecting off the polished armor of passing guards and the gem-laden stalls of merchants preparing to close shop. Astarion's eyes gleam as he observes the diverse array of inhabitants, from noble figures in regal attire to the more discreet denizens of the night. All of it is so familiar to him, even the subtle taste of salt from the sea breeze.

The Trades Ward is far more buzzing with life than The Lower City of Baldur’s Gate. The street that flows through the heart of it all is more compact and a better reflection of the Upper City than the Lower City. A part of it feels like home to him. The noise is like a war drum, the senses being overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of things to look at and smell. It's a far cry from the almost torpid nature of life on the outside. City life never sleeps. Not in a city known for its splendor and wealth. Every person looking for their next meal, or next sale, or the next person to warm their bed. Every need can be fulfilled in the city.

Asatrion smiles up at castles and towers and turns over to point it out to… His smile warps into a scowl. Disappointment didn’t begin to describe what he felt. He hated his travel companion at that moment. Hated him for who he was not. Hated himself for letting reality slip from him. He had grown so accustomed to having Axel there by his side that the sudden loss felt jarring. No quip or witty banter. No indulgence in Astarion’s antics. Just silence and a stranger. It made that longing in him grow stronger.

Astarion hops off the first moment he can, tossing his friend the coin pouch he promised, and slips away through the crowd. He moves with fluid grace, capable of navigating the city streets with ease. Might be new streets, but if you can navigate one big city, you can navigate any of them.

The sun would be upon the city in a few hours. Just enough time for Astarion to find a place to shelter himself for the day. In a city this populated, it won’t be hard to find an inn or two.

Astarion passes by one he recognizes as a pleasure house by the smell of it. It doesn't interest him, instead, he makes his way farther north and finds a tavern that catches his interest. This one must be on the edge of the Trades Ward, as the markets grow more sparse and the patrons grow more lavish.

The sign above reads “Ghost Sword”.

It's not the most popular tavern, which for him might be a good idea. Back in the day, he would have only gone to the most upheld and most occupied estate. Easier to find a target. Nowadays, without any pressure to lure anyone back, he has the luxury of choosing a place for more than its guests. Once a novel concept.

Instead, he chooses this one for its silk-covered cushions. Meaning they must have silk sheets. He would kill to lay in a silk bed instead of a wooden box.

A throat clears from behind him. Astarion shrugs it off, thinking it is another random noise, and takes the key to his room. Then it happens again.

Astarion scans the room till his eyes land on a familiar sight. A projection of the very man he was looking for.

Gale.

#astarion #gale dekarios #baldur’s gate 3 #astarion bg3 #bg3 gale #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 tav #shadowheart #fanfic #post game #astarion x male tav

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greyias · 2 years ago

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I wish you would write a fic where... Theron somehow amasses a following of actual, physical porn bots droids and shenanigans ensue

I saw this prompt come in and devolved into a fit of heinous cackling. How, oh how could I resist trying to render our collective Tumblr nightmare into fictional text form?

Context: While not required reading, this is technically a sequel to this stunning crackfic, authored so long ago. If you need a refresher on the Medical Droid Love Triangle Saga, follow this link. Or this one, which is the real villain origin story of this fic. Or don't, you're already cursed if you click beyond the read more of this post.

With special thanks to @grumpyhedgehog, @sandwyrm, @storyknitter, @kitsonpaws, and @andveryginger for providing me with ideas, cursed pornbot summaries, and many cursed HoloNet websites that should never exist. You are not required to read any of this.

Technically rated T, but in reality rated N for Nobody, because no one should have to read this. I'm packing my bags, as my ride to superhell just came. Enjoy.

It had started as such a normal day -- if you could indeed have called any day on Odessen “normal”. What with the galaxy always being at the brink of some disaster or another, and their merry little band of misfits being led by the galaxy’s most notorious do-gooder, Theron’s schedule and to-do list had a tendency to get derailed on almost a daily basis.

This, however, was not how that usually happened.

He’d paused, mid-step, finger still hovering over his datapad, mid-entry as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, slowly dawning horror washing over him. His head turned slowly, like one of those doomed characters in a horror holofilm to look at the droid he’d just passed.

It was one of the new ones that had come in on a recent shipment. So new in fact, that there was still a fleet of them in the middle of being unpacked in the Logistics Wing. Shining, tall and blue, its highly polished quadranium head pivoted to look back at him.

“What,” Theron swallowed, willing his voice to sound even and not give in to the creeping dread, “what did you say?”

“Theron Shan,” the droid repeated helpfully, “is a master lover.”

“Oh no.” The words slipped out of their own accord.

“Just a moment, sir,” the droid continued, seemingly oblivious to the human’s distress, “I’m not quite done with your evaluation yet. Let’s see, where were we?”

“No no no no.”

The round flattened dome that served as its head tilted to one side, beady orange eyes sweeping over Theron from head to toe, before resuming its cheery, if horrifying report. “Subject is an exemplary specimen. In good cardiovascular health, above average muscle tone. Tall, well-built, and very clean...”

“Um,” Theron stammered. “I’m...” Flattered? Taken? Leaving? Wait--yes, that last one. “Going now!”

He didn’t give the cursed machine any more time to continue ogling him, instead taking off down the hall at a very brisk walk that nearly bordered on a jog. His mind raced at he beat a hasty retreat, trying to understand what was happening. It had been over a year since the The Incident, dubbed by some as the “Sexy Spy Virus”, and others by much more crude names, where a little harmless reprogramming had taken on a life of its own. Theron had been meticulous in his coding of the antivirus, wanting to ensure that the entire debacle would be forgotten. There was simply no way that it could crop back in on its own.

“Theron,” the brisk accented tone of one Lana Beniko burst in over his comm, “why did a droid just feel the need to inform me that they found rust on its insides during its last tune-up?”

“I don’t know,” Theron insisted, but his words were almost drowned out by a metallic clanking echoing down the corridor.

He threw a look over his shoulder, and to his horror, saw that his robotic admirer had decided to give chase.

“I’m going to have to call you back,” he quickly said into the comm as the droid picked up speed from a walk to an all out gallop.

“Theron,” she sounded both concerned and exasperated, which, considering Lana, was about par the course, “what’s going on?”

“Save me!” He shouted as he took off a dead sprint.

In his many years in the field, Theron had been threatened, sure. Shot at? Many times. He’d been drugged. Tortured. Stabbed through the gut with a lightsaber pike and lived to tell the tale. He’d run into Sith, Revanites, bounty hunters, thugs, fanatics and cultists alike. He’d been in more firefights than he could remember, and more covert ops than he cared to. He’d even been accused of being a traitor (although that was kind of the point at the time).

None of that compared right now to being chased down by a droid yelling at top volume claiming he was the best lover it had ever seen.

And this time, he was pretty sure it wasn’t actually his fault.

He rounded the corner from the corridor leading from the Logistics Wing, passing by the Commander’s (and at this point, his) Quarters. HK-55 and Z0-0M straightened to their full height at his arrival. Oh thank the Force, allies.

“Salutations: Agent Shan, you are looking quite spry today.”

“What?” he panted as he approached.

“Yes, Agent Shan, don’t believe what anyone else is saying!” Zeeyo exclaimed, throwing her arms into the air. “Your undercarriage doesn’t look rusty at all!”

Mind sharp as a tack, Theron realized the implications of this just in time, and dodged to the side, ducking and rolling as the assassin-turned-bodyguard droid lunged forward to trap him in a bear hug. Not pausing to even catch his breath, as soon as his feet hit the ground he propelled himself forward and further down the hall.

“Frustration: I only wish to profess my admiration for you, Agent Shan!”

“Nope nope nope nope!” Desperation was starting to tinge the edges of his words now.

The metallic clanking intensified as more droids behind him joined in the chase, all of their vocabulators joining in unison to tell him in one way, or another, that he was in fact, the pinnacle of sexual prowess.

Theron couldn’t run forever, despite whatever their programming was forcing them to say, his stamina would give out before the lustftul droids’ power supplies. As the corridor zigged and twisted, he saw an opening in the form of a door sliding open. Without hesitation he dove in, shoving the individual there, thankfully made of flesh and bone, aside as he slammed the door controls.

The door slid securely shut just as the thunderous clanking filled the corridor beyond, their lustful words of appreciation and encouragement nearly drowned out by the racket. Theron hadn’t bothered to look or count, but he was pretty sure that the number had risen from three in the scant moments it had taken Theron to dart from one corridor to the next.

He held up a hand to his lips as he turned to thank the person who had unwittingly provided his temporary salvation. The words of gratitude died on his lips, as he realized exactly who’s room he had sought refuge in.

For a moment, Theron truly considered surrendering himself to the lusty droid mob.

Draike Highwind’s face was caught somewhere between confusion and amusement, but the latter was winning out as he started to decipher individual phrases drifting in from the corridor. A dark brow arched higher, lips twitching with undisguised mirth as the stupid blue droid that had started this whole mess yelled once again about Theron being a master lover.

More seconds passed, the ruckus quieting down, before silence descended once more, and it was finally safe to speak.

“So,” Draike drew out the word, somehow lacing it with more innuendo than all of the malfunctioning droids combined, “what ya been doing, Shan?”

“Nothing!” he insisted, voice still hushed just in case one of the droids could somehow hear.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.” His brother-in-law’s smirk widened into an almost feral grin, eyebrows waggling. “Sounds like you’ve been getting... busy.”

One of the greatest mysteries in the galaxy was how one man could make anything sound that dirty. “I was minding my own business!”

“Oh, I bet you were.”

“You’re having way too much fun with this.”

“I mean...” If looks could kill, the pilot would have melted on the spot. Unfortunately for Theron, Draike was apparently immune to that sort of thing. “How often do I get the chance?”

“Did you do this?”

“Me?” Draike let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Stars, I wish I could have thought of something this good! These are memories I will cherish forever.”

Theron massaged the bridge of his nose. “I hate my life.”

“I mean, I’m not really into droids,” Draike went on, either not knowing (or more likely caring) about his brother-in-law’s predicament, “flesh is more my kind of thing. But you know, if you and the little lady need to spice things up by bringing in a little metal--”

“Please stop. I’m begging you!”

“Begging, eh? So you’re saying you’re more into--“

“Forget it, I’m taking my chances with the sex-crazed machines roaming the halls.” His palm hovered over the door sensors.

“Theron, wait!” There was enough urgency in Draike’s voice to give him pause. “It’s dangerous out there, take this.”

At first, he was honestly afraid to look, expecting to be offered something like a condom or some other bad joke, but was surprised to see the other man holding out a stealth generator.

“To escape your fans.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“I know. I’m a genius.”

“I didn’t say that.” He quickly nabbed the stealth generator before Draike could change his mind and frowned at the initials carved in the side in Aurabesh. “Is this even yours?”

“Eh, close enough.”

Whatever, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Theron would deal with those potential repercussions later. He flicked on the power to the stealth generator which let out a low, almost inaudible hum as a burst of life engulfed his form. He closed his eyes against the sudden burst of brightness, and when he opened them again, dark spots of the light pattern danced in his vision for a few seconds. He blinked a few more times before they faded away.

He waved an arm experimentally in front of his face, and only felt the slight movement of air. Draike didn’t seem to react at all, and that was probably good enough.

“Thanks,” he said, palming the sensor to the door.

Draike rolled his eyes and ambled out into the corridor, looking around with the air of a man all too used to hiding from those looking for him. Theron watched as he raised a hand to a very slowly moving GNK power droid.

“How’s it hanging?”

“GONK!”

“Oh yeah? You don’t say! I think I saw him head that way.” Draike pointed in the direction leading to cantina. “Just between you and me, I heard he’s sweet on that droid who’s a comfort enthusiast.”

“GONK! GONK! GONK!”

Still hidden underneath the stealth field, Theron had to bite down the urge to make any noise of frustration and just turned an invisible, irritated gaze at the other man’s back. As if sensing Theron’s irritation, Draike just grinned wider.

“Yeah, you know how those spy types are. Always toying with droids’ hearts. You could do better than him.”

“GONK!”

“Oh, you spicy droid! Yeah, trundle off that way, big guy. I’m sure you’ll catch him!”

With a loud clanking, the GNK droid began his slow and steady journey towards the cantina. As the echoes finally faded, Draike casually stretched, pointing towards the direction of the War Room.

Theron skulked on by, but not before giving his brother-in-law a well deserved whop upside the head. The stealth field flickered momentarily on the physical contact before shimmering back into place.

“It’d serve you right to get caught by doing that,” Draike sniffed indignantly, “after all I’ve done to help you.”

“When all of this is over--”

“Hush now,” Draike waved at the air in front of him. “You have bigger problems to deal with. Meanwhile, I will be heading to the cantina. And definitely won’t be live-streaming any brawls breaking out over the Master Lover breaking droid hearts everywhere.”

Theron snorted out an annoyed breath, and checked his urge to trip Draike as he sauntered off, hands jammed into his pockets as he whistled a jaunty tune. Like the purloined stealth generator, he’d have to worry about slicing and corrupting any servers containing evidence of this mess after he figured out how to stop whatever this was from spreading any further.

The upside to this whole unfortunate side encounter, was that the stealth generator made it possible for him to quietly creep around any droids he passed in the corridor. Most seemed to be making a hasty exit for the cantina, almost as if word had spread of Drake’s false rumor about his and C2-N2’s torrid love affair and every heartbroken circuit was flocking in that direction now.

And when he thought about it like that, when exactly had this become his life? Oh, right. Like fifteen minutes ago. Or however long this nightmare had started. Time had sort of lost meaning, if he were being honest.

He managed to make it to the war room, undetected and unmolested, and quietly snuck his way towards the irritable blonde Sith, holding her head in her hands as if she were battling the world’s strongest migraine. As Theron approached the Sith, he could hear her muttering under her breath in frustration. He hesitated for a moment before clearing his throat, causing her to jerk her head up in surprise.

“Who’s there?”

“Quiet,” Theron hissed. “They might hear you.”

“Oh, for Sith’s sake,” she exhaled, “where in the blazes have you been?”

“Hiding,” he whispered urgently. “These droids have all gone haywire!”

“And who’s fault is that, I wonder.”

“Not me,” he insisted, “not this time!”

“Right,” she said sardonically, “and I suppose that’s why there isn’t a reality holoseries entitled ‘Programmed for Love’ currently being live-streamed in the cantina for the entire HoloNet to see.”

“Damn it, Draike!” Theron cursed. “I thought he was joking about that.”

“Of course. How did I not see that coming?” she muttered.

“I’ll slice in and scrub all of the servers after we figure out this... this... whatever this is?”

“Your insecurities laid bare in binary?” she suggested, oh so helpfully.

“Why did I come to you for help again?”

“Because--”

It was at that point, that a probe droid, currently speeding its way towards the cantina, happened to take notice of Lana talking to thin air, and veered off its intended trajectory, heading straight for Theron’s position near the back of the war room. If the loud alarms and flashing lights were any indication, it had been able to see through his stealth generator.

Wait... those weren’t alarm proximities it was flashing. As Theron watched its rapid approach, he couldn’t help but stare at it in dumb fascination, brow furrowing as he tried to make out the images it was projecting. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost say it was a bizarre mixture of Aurabesh and hologlyphs.

He squinted, just able to make out: “DX-98 🤖🔥 Analytical Scanner 💋🙏 Okara Droid Factory 🔍🌌💕 Exobiology Research 🥵🍑 Top HoloFans 0.7%!”

Before he had a chance to process any of that, the droid was already upon him, pincher arms spreading wide to snap him up for some purpose far beyond its original programming. He only had milliseconds to react before the droid reached him, when an explosive force sent the droid flying backwards harmlessly, and had Theron landing ungracefully on his tailbone. The stealth field fizzled out with a pop on his impact with the ground.

A familiar figure landed between him and the droid, twin blue scarves billowing behind her dramatically, blonde ponytail swaying with the motion of her movement. A small frown of concentration bunched her forehead as his wife threw a concerned look in his direction.

“You requested rescue?” Grey asked.

“Ah, my knight in shining armor has arrived,” he quipped back.

“I am not wearing my armor.” The frown of concentration morphed into one of confusion.

“I--never mind.” He pushed himself to his feet, dusting off his hands. “Thank you for the timely intervention.”

She graced him with a hint of a smile and a bob of her head in acknowledgment. “Any time.”

“As touching as all of this is,” Lana broke in sourly, “it still doesn’t solve our larger problem.”

“Yeah,” Theron rubbed the back of his neck, “you’re not wrong. It sounds like this has spread across the entire base?”

“It appears that way,” Lana said tightly. “You know, you assured me that all of this had been taken care of the last time we dealt with this issue.”

“Hey now,” he bit back, “I’m a man of my word!”

She snorted at that. “Tell that to the Umbaran Transit Authority.”

“How are you still mad about that?”

“You tazed me!”

“Focus,” Grey said, eyeing the stunned probe droid warily. “If memory serves me correct, you had a program you deployed to revert the programming of the droids the last time this happened.”

“Yes, that’s what doesn’t make sense.” He watched as the holoprojectors on the downed probe droid flickered, hologlyphs flashing rapidly in the War Room’s dim light. “I programmed it to eliminate all trace of the offending code. The only way it could be reappearing now is if someone took one of the infected droids offline before I deployed...”

Lana arrived at the same conclusion right about the time that Theron did, picking up the thought. “I seem to recall a certain someone requesting you replicate your work for less-than-legal purposes.”

Theron angrily punched the button on his comm as he growled, “Gault!”

The Devaronian’s voice came back immediately, almost a little too suave. “Theron! What a surprise to hear your dulcet tones requesting my presence.”

“Gault,” Lana managed to keep some measure of calm, “are you responsible for this current situation?”

“What situation is that?” he asked far too innocently, even as a distant call of a droid’s clanking nearly drowned out it’s loud declaration of the presence of rust on one Theron Shan’s “bolt”. There was a moment of silence before he continued. “Oh! You mean the lustful droids currently running amok on the base?”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Lana said dryly. “My original question stands.”

“I am shocked, shocked and scandalized that my name would be the first to come to mind! Might I remind you, it was one Miss Djannis who requested you create her a Shan Sexbot.”

“Yeah,” Kaliyo jumped in on the comms, clearly annoyed, the sound of metallic brawling nearly drowning out her voice, “I wanted it for hilarious crimes! Not whatever the fuck this is!”

“Gault,” a third voice, Hylo Visz, cut in. From the background noise, it seemed she was in the same location as Kaliyo. “I swear, if you don’t help us figure out how to stop this, when you’re not looking I’ll cut off your--”

“Okay, okay, geez!” He interrupted before his significant other could finish whatever that threat was. “Fine, it was me! I deactivated a droid before Theron uploaded his program.”

“Of course.” Lana rolled her eyes upwards, as if asking the Force for patience.

“In my defense,” Gault continued, “originally it was just to shut the stupid thing up! But then Kaliyo came up with that brilliant idea for the Shan Sexbot Distraction, and I thought, why not hold on to this beauty in case it came in handy for a con?”

The sound of Theron smacking his forehead in frustration echoed throughout the War Room.

“So you know, just had a fun idea come to me the other day, so I extracted the original programming and altered a few things, and tried to put it into a new droid for my plan.”

“Did that droid happen to be a blue medical monstrosity?” Theron was actively massaging his temples at this point.

“I will have you know,” Gault said, “that BL-U3 is a consummate professional. You would be lucky to have him perform a medical exam on you!”

“Yeah, that was definitely his intent,” Theron shot back. “Purely professional and not lecherous at all! Which was not in any of my code.”

“Hey, I never claimed to be very talented when it came to software programming. I may have made a mistake or two when altering your code.”

“May have?!”

“How was I supposed to know that the remnants of the Gemini Frequency code in our systems was going to work after the entire Eternal Fleet had gone offline and deploy your software STD to the entire network? Sue me!”

“I’m considering it!”

Before the mostly pointless argument could escalate any further, the sounds of metallic clanking from above, roughly from the location of the cantina, began to grow closer, the cacophony increasing in volume, until it sounded like it was coming in all directions.

“That is not a good sign,” Grey’s mutter was nearly lost to the noise.

“Hey,” Drake’s annoyed voice cut in over the comm, “my livestream is now officially ruined! I hope you’re all happy!”

“I’m afraid to even ask why,” Theron said.

“Oh, it seems all of my extremely eligible and single contestants heard your voice over the comms and abandoned challenging Seetoo Enntoo to unarmed droid combat for the right to court you, and are now all headed in your direction.”

“Oops.”

“Worry not Agent Shan,” the unusually warbly vocabulator of C2-N2 came over the comms, “I will not rest until I alone can provide you with the ultimate in comfort!”

“We should probably get a different housekeeping droid after this is all over,” he told his wife.

That seemed a lesser concern to Grey, as she had shifted into Alliance Commander mode, and was currently on the comms, shouting for every available member of the Force Enclave to get to the War Room as fast as possible to help hold off the incoming army of lustful droids.

Yeah, come to think of it, that was probably more important.

“We must use nonlethal force,” she stressed, giving a particularly severe look to Lana when she said that, getting a simple nonplussed shrug in return, “as we only need to hold the droids at bay until we can come up with a solution. They are not to blame for what’s happening.”

Theron begged to differ, but she was probably right in this case. The cost of repairing or replacing an entire base full of droids would be astronomical.

As Force users began to stream in and take up position around the room, the sound of wheels racing along the metal plating caught Theron's attention, and he looked over to see a familiar silver T7-series astromech racing into the room. He tensed up instinctively at the sight of a droid, as anyone would have in his situation.

“Teeseven!” Grey called out with a smile, clearly not as wary or droidshy.

The little astromech let out a friendly whistle and series of chirps in binary, that roughly translated to: “T7-01 = Safe! // Been off network entire morning!”

“Oh, what a relief,” she breathed, “I would have hated for you to be infected with this too!”

He let out another series of beeps: “T7-01 = still in possession of original antivirus code. // Can tweak it and upload to servers = Save the day?”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Theron muttered.

“T7 = not scared!”

Grey’s expression melted into one of admiration and pride. “Teeseven, that’s incredibly brave -- but are you sure? Theron’s right, it could be very dangerous.”

“T7 = Jedi + Theron’s friend. // Helping > Risk!”

She looked at him and he returned the gaze with a small nod, realizing there wasn’t much in the way of choice. It was either that or let the droids overrun them. And then whatever happened when one of them actually got their hands on on Theron -- a prospect he wasn’t really that thrilled to explore right now.

“Fine,” he said tersely, “let’s do this!”

The two of them rushed over to the center console in the room, Theron pulling out his slicer spike as Teeseven plugged his scomplink arm into the main network terminal. The rest of their reinforcements from the Force Enclave arrived just in time and formed a ring around the two slicers. They managed to erect a large Force barrier just as the metallic clanging and clatter grew to a roar, announcing the arrival of the lecherous horde.

Near the front of the mob, Z0-0M threw up her arms in glee and excitement as she jumped to try and catch sight of her beloved. “There you are Agent Shan! You left before we could finish our conversation -- you were saying something about oxidation?”

“Interjection: Do not listen to this hussy, Theron! You and I will make sweet explosions together!”

Theron valiantly tuned them out as he took in a feed of the original antivirus code that Teeseven shared with him. Yes, this all looked correct. Unfortunately, he was going to need get a look to see how Gault had mutilated his beautiful original coding to know how to alter it.

Teeseven was two steps ahead of him, and a stream of code flashed across the HUD in his ocular implants. He watched in horror as he saw the butchery with his own two eyes.

“Gault, where the hell did you get this code?” he asked over the comms incredulously. “HornHub?”

“Excuse you, I only frequent the classiest places on the galactic communications grid, like HoloHump!” The growl of Gault’s name from a very angry Mirialan smuggler had him quickly adding. “You know, I’m just going to shut up and let you concentrate on what you’re doing.”

Teeseven, ever the valiant worker, ignored the conversation completely, and was hard at work running diagnostics on the altered code and the best way to modify the antivirus to address it. Theron watched the stream of letters and numbers fly across the HUD at lightning speed.

The little guy was good at what he did. He let out a flurry of beeps and whistles as almost the last piece of this very lurid puzzle started to fall into place. The little droid seemed to almost be singing along with the code as he wrote it, like a mechanical maestro conducting an orchestra. They were close, so close and--

The next whistle Teeseven let out was not his normal, cheerful way of communication, much lower in timbre and more seductive.

No.

Teeseven whirled his flat head around until his visual sensor faced Theron, and let out another wolf whistle, his holoprojector lighting up to proudly display: T7-01 🤖👀🔍 Observant 👁️🔭 Scanner 🔍🏞️ Tython 🌄👏 215 🍒♎ Repairing 👅🙈 Top HoloFans 3.6%

“What was that?” Grey shouted to be heard over the droids catcalling.

“No no no no,” Theron muttered, “we’re so close! Don’t do this to me, little buddy!”

“What happened to my precious baby boy?” Grey demanded, sweat trickling down the side of her face as she struggled to maintain the Force barrier.

Beyond the barrier, the rest of the porndroid army followed suit with Teeseven, all either wildly projecting their own series of hologlyphs and random facts about themselves and their planets of origins, while others struck disturbingly seductive poses, and a scant few demanded that “ShanDaddy” start a holocall with them in private.

With no time and no recourse left, Theron dove back into the system, yanking Teeseven’s unfinished code as he was nearly overwhelmed with lewd images and thirsty hologlyphs, struggling to finish and upload the code as the volume in the War Room rose to a crescendo just as the Force users’ began to fall, one after the other, their barrier weakening by the moment.

The overwhelming cacophony of hologlyphs, lewd poses, and robotic come-ons that had filled the War Room suddenly disappeared. All eyes turned to the droids as almost in unison, as they all powered down—a sign that their malware had been neutralized. Theron slumped back in relief, his work finally done.

Grey, Lana, and the others let out a long sigh of relief, the tension leaving their bodies in a rush.

“Thank the Force,” Grey murmured, sinking down to the ground. “I do not think I could have held that barrier much longer.”

Theron nodded, feeling a similar sense of exhaustion. He leaned back against the console, closing his eyes but was unable to banish the mentally scarring series of images that were probably permanently burned into his retinas.

“Remind me,” he said faintly, “to obliterate HoloHump’s servers. Once I’m done murdering Gault.”

“You act as if there will be anything left after I find him,” Lana said darkly.

“Remember everyone,” Grey spoke in her best and most official Alliance Commander voice, “murder is bad and frowned upon in the Official Alliance Employee Handbook.”

“Query: Why are we all in the War Room?” HK-55 asked as he came back online. “And more importantly, why is that blue meddroid manipulating its medical instruments into a heart shape, as if expressing affection towards the Commander?”

100 notes · View notes