#yandere Astarion Ancunin

[lady-ashfade]

Tantrum

Slight!Yan!Astarion x Reader!

In this he doesn’t like to leave readers side at all and HATES being told he can’t come along for the adventure. Astarion is also more of a whiny and clingy yandere in this.

Warnings: I have not played the game yet, this is not canon, whiny and clingy astarion, slightly possessive, me just having fun making him being a babygurl 🌸

Astarion love to be the center of attention in everything, his light always shined through like everywhere was his stage. But he needed to be yours, he only cared to have you think of only him. He was known to go big for just a ounce of your affection, he craved it more then blood. But this time it was different. He was throwing a tantrum all because you had told him to stay back.

“Please. Oh please.” On his knees he took your legs into his arms, looking up at you with pleading eyes. “I promise to be good,” his thick accent rang through your ears. “I wouldn’t get upset anymore.” His head rested on your stomach now as he held you tight.

It was hard to keep a balance when he wouldn’t let you move a inch, “Astarion.” You groan and place your hand on his white locks. “I need to go. Today I need to do somethings and I know you’ll get displeased if you’re there.” He whimpered and huffed. He was so different when he got clingy, most of the time he was so dominant and teasing.

“But i wouldn’t.” He looked up at you with a smile that showed his teeth, “Promise, darling.” You knew he was just putting on a face and voice to trick you. Or maybe he even he believed it himself, but you knew he couldn’t.

You look down and tilt your head, moving your hand down to his cheek and he welcomed the touch. “No, sorry.” He glared harshly at you. You didn’t care, he wasn’t coming with you today. “How about, when I get back we can cause our own trouble.” That seems to catch his attention and he hummed in thought.

“Fine.” He let you go and pushed himself away from you, a slight pout on his lips. “But you’re mine until I let you go.” Crossing his arms and putting his weight onto one foot. You chuckled and moved forward to kiss his cheek, “Of course.”

“I can’t believe I let you get away with these things, you should be thankful.” He licked his lips and looked over at you. You gave him a look “Ever so thankful.” Astarion didn’t care if it was sarcasm, he took what he could get.

[moonselune]

∘₊✧─✧ 𝕎𝕖𝕝𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕄𝕖𝕤𝕤 ✧─✧₊∘

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✰ FIC MASTERLISTS ✰ [needs updating]

⋆.˚✰ Minthara ⋆.˚✰

ᯓ✦ Lae'zel ᯓ✦

⋆✮⋆.˚Karlach ⋆✮⋆.˚:

₊˚.⋆☾ Shadowheart ₊˚.⋆☾:

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆Jaheira⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

✶⋆.˚ Gale ✶⋆.˚:

☾⋆⁺ Halsin ☾⋆⁺:

ִ ࣪𖤐⋆.˚ Astarion ࣪ 𖤐⋆.˚ :

⁺₊✧ Wyll ⁺₊✧:

★⋆. ࿐࿔ Rolan ★⋆. ࿐࿔ :

⊹₊⋆Raphael ⊹₊⋆:

✦. ── Dark BG3 Masterlist ── .✦

✰ ART MASTERLIST ✰

ִ ࣪𖤐Karlach's Big Dayִ ࣪𖤐

ִ ࣪𖤐Karlach's Big Day Pt 2ִ ࣪𖤐

ִ ࣪𖤐Gale x Drow!tav ִ ࣪𖤐

ִ ࣪𖤐Druid!Tav x Karlachִ ࣪𖤐

[random-introverted-blog]

Come Home To Me [Ascended!Astarion x F!Reader]

The 10MB limit will be the death of me

Intended Audience: Mature [May ratings never stop you]

Who be smoochin?: Astarion x F!Reader

The Bit: You leave Astarion, save the day and go back to your hometown to live happily ever after with your family. Good thing he's not your crazy jealous ex. Otherwise who knows what he'd do when he found you? Happily minding your own business? oh, perish the thought, darling. Oh, and some time later you accidentally die without permission. He is not a happy camper about any of this. He may or may not raze your town and kill your family in the process...

Warnings/Advisories: It's Ascended!Astarion, guys. Come on. Still need me to explain? Fine. *Unfurls the world's longest scroll* Expect yandere elements, forced vampirism [yes...], intentional manipulation to cause Stockholm Syndrome. Emotional abuse by proxy, possessive behavior *pauses to shimmy more of the scroll into view* "you have a sister and she kinda a thirsty ho but we don't judge you go queen". And violence. Of the graphic variety. "I would have given you a dog, but he'd have probably killed the dog". Everything is (literally) on fire. And death. Lots of it. ANGST. Bad ending? Depends on what you consider bad. If you like obsessive yandere vampire boys then it's probably a good ending for you.

Words, all the words (count) : 4,001 baebeee

And away, we... GO

ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The last thing you said to him about it was in reply to his hurtful comments.

"Well, that's fine with me. My home isn't with you, anyway."

It had been some time since you defeated the Absolute and your quiet little hamlet had remained such since your triumphant return. Hardly a thing had changed, not the Wilks farmstead, not the general store, not even that old and tipping wooden signpost. Few of your companions knew of the place you called home. He had never asked; you had never told, and it seems it was a blessing you hadn't. The last thing you wanted was for him to stroll into town and go out of his way to remind you how happy he was without you.

Which definitely seemed like a thing he would do.

As if he didn't have better things to do.

Thankfully, it sounds like he has. Such an opportunity to take Baldur's Gate by the throat was one only a fool would pass up. And Astarion Ancunín was certainly no fool. In no time, he had charmed and maneuvered himself to the top of the food-chain. By means of persuasion, intimidation... and a tactic of his you're intimately familiar with.

Seduction.

Oh, the rumors of who he has or hasn't slept with. Was it necessary to get where he was now? No. It was a display of power now. Dominance. He could have anything and anyone he wanted, anyone he deemed worth his whim, and there wasn't a damn thing anyone could do to stop it. And clearly, he didn't want you.

It stung a little. You had genuinely fallen in love with the man he used to be. But that was the keyword, wasn't it? He used to be. The man he had become now was a stranger. The warmth that once resided in his eyes had been replaced by a chilling, calculating gaze. Gods, why didn't he just listen to you? He didn't need the ritual. He was already more than enough...

With a shake of your head, you stepped out the front door of your small, two floor cottage and made the brief journey to your parents' house. A smile curled your lips when you saw your older sister waiting for you outside "Y/N, you're late!" She scolds with a laugh, throwing her arms around you.

A roll of your eyes and you returned her hug. "An adventurer is never late. They arrive always when they intend to."

"Sounds like a fancy way of admitting you're always late to me." Your brother remarks gruffly. Your mother not far behind. "You sure your time as a big hero didn't go to your head?" He adds with a raise of his eyebrow.

You move away from your sister and embrace your mother first, then your brother. "I kind of had other things in my head then, brother dearest," you remind them with a small laugh.

Your mother lightly smacked your brother's large arm and narrowed her eyes. "Don't drive her away with that attitude of yours, unless you want her to return to adventuring!" She scolds with a playful glint in her gaze.

A sigh escaped your lips. It had been five long years since you've taken up your old gear and hit the road. Part of you missed it. But you'd never admit that to her. She was just so glad to have you home, you couldn't bear to take that from her. Not after your father had passed while you were out saving the world.

"Come now, my starlings, I've got your sister's favorite on the stove for lunch," she cooed and herded the three of you inside. And like every time you come over, you spend your time regaling them of your journey and heroics. Of your friends' camaraderie around the campfire. From Wyll's many dances with Karlach, Shadowhearts' best snarky comebacks, Gale's incredible displays of powerful magic and Lae'zel's discipline, her culture and brutal efficiency.

And every time, you noticed the look your brother would give. Initially, you thought it was protectiveness. No matter how much you tried to downplay it, your family was acutely aware of the gravity of your situation back then. Perhaps your brother was merely thinking how many times they came so close to losing you, without them realizing it.

Maybe it was partly true, but it certainly was not the only reason. "Sister, I'm sorry but I must ask..." He began, gently clearing his throat as he leaned back in his chair, across the table from you. "I was in the Gate not too long ago and heard... things. That you never seem to mention yourself..."

Despite your efforts to wrack your brain, you come up blank and draw your brows together. You cast a glance at your sister beside you and your mother, beside your brother. They don't seem as confused as you... "Lord Ancunín, was he not a companion of yours? They say he is also a Hero of Baldur's Gate."

"Yes." You answer sharply, also leaning back in your chair. "And you heard he and I were involved, I take it? That's what this is about?" You were getting defensive. You knew it, but you couldn't stop it. Even now, the damned elf was a sore spot for you.

The man your brother was, he never backed down or cowed away from anything, hardly ever you and only consistently your mother. He dipped his chin and held your glare. "Did he hurt you?" He asked, his words blunt but his tone low.

You chuckle dryly, and your gaze immediately flicks towards the door. "What does it matter? It was five years ago. Astarion and I were in love, yes, love. And then he took a path I couldn't follow in good conscience. So we did what we had to, then went our separate ways."

He paused, considering your response. Your sister was practically biting her nails in an effort to silence all the questions she had for you about your evidently dramatic love life. Your mother gave you the worst look of them all.

Pity.

"If it is as you say, little sister. Then I can only commend you for remembering your worth. From what I gather, he is not a man worthy of your attention," he says with a stiff nod.

A weak smile tugs at the corner of your lips. "He was. Once..."

"So what was he like? Was he as charming and beautiful as they say he is in person?" Your sister gushes as soon as she deems there's an opening in the conversation.

You hold up a hand to stop your brother and mother from scolding her. Somehow she's older than you, if only by two years. "Yes, and yes. Even after we broke up, I found him painfully gorgeous. His voice was like velvet, he was smart and witty and knew just what to say..." now that the cat was out of the bag, so to speak, you decided to indulge your sister's silly fascination about your ex. If just for today.

Afterward, the three of you, as always, did the remaining housework for your mother. A gesture of gratitude for everything she had done for you all as children, and still into adulthood. Life without your father had noticeably taken its toll, hence why your siblings had moved back home. None of them had outside obligations, and you were still trying to settle down from your adventuring days and really needed the quiet.

On your way out the door, intent on your cottage for the evening, your mother touched your arm. "Before I forget, starling!" she says, reaching for the small table next to the door, "this came here, addressed to you."

She extends her hand, offering you a letter adorned with a peculiar and ornate wax seal. You turn it over once or twice in your hand before smiling and thanking her. Odd. The only ones who wrote to you were Shadowheart and Gale and not only did they know to send your letters to your home, but they didn't use wax seals either. Not even Gale.

No one else knew where your hometown was. Even fewer that you returned here after your party disbanded. So who else could have sent it? That is clearly your name above the seal. It was not a mistake on the courier's part. But then, that was the only way this made much sense. Who could have found, cared enough to write and send a letter to you after all this time? To the wrong house, to boot?

It was a persistent question that nagged at you, making the walk home feel longer than usual. Paying only mild attention to the eerie stillness in the cool night air.

You set it down on your kitchen table to turn on the lanterns around your cottage, illuminating the room with a soft, golden glow before you decide to open it at last. The letter revealed its contents - or lack thereof, as you unfolded it and saw only two lines in the center of the parchment.

Playtime is over, pet.

It's time for you to come home.

For a moment, and only a moment, your brows draw together. And when it clicks in your mind, you toss the letter on the table as if it's poisoned, or worse, Him and you paced restlessly in front of your table. Fixated on the parchment, as if it might attack you when you least expect it. What could he possibly want now? Half a decade later, you've moved on. Hadn't he? How many others had he taken to his bed since you went your separate ways? Couldn't he have busied himself with them instead? Out of all those partners, a plethora of variety, you were sure, not a one of them had held his attention for at least a decade? And why, by all the gods above and below, did he send it to your mother's house? Such a careless mistake was unlike him. If he had gone through all this effort to find you, surely he had to at least know where you actually lived in town.

Your heart sunk as the thought crossed your mind.

It wasn't a mistake. He doesn't just know where you live...

A scream rang out, snapping your eyes to the door. More shrieks followed, and you darted to the window. Faces ran frantically down and up the road, smoke billowed into night sky, dusted with stars, from closer to the village center. You clenched your teeth, giving yourself a moment to seethe with anger before rushing upstairs to the chest at the foot of your bed. Did you have time to equip your armor? Most likely, not. Best to take your weapons. The sooner you're outside, the better.

Prepared as you were ever going to be, you dashed down the stairs and shouldered your front door open. The raiders were already in front of your house. You recognized the hauntingly pale, lifeless face of Gregory, the barman, in the claws of a half elf. His sharp red eyes weredistant as he gorges on his meal, mouth latched tight to Gregory's neck.

"Another!" cheered a nasally voice behind you. Two spawn leaped down from the thatch roof of your home. Quickly closing in. The human woman continued, "Ohh, I can taste this one already! How delicious! Perhaps I should save some for Master—"

"Don't be foolish!" hissed the half elf, tossing the drained body aside. "Master said our reward was a feast, and I intend to feast!" He lunged, fangs glistening with fresh blood in the dim light. Experience traveling with at least one vampire had prepared you for the tactic, and you stepped out of the way with ease.

It was the halfling that seemed the only one not mad with bloodlust. "B-but Master said... there was one we couldn't..." she stammered, eyeing you almost with recognition.

But the other two ignored her and threw themselves at you again.

Despite the boredom that consumed your life over the past few years, you were unwavering in your commitment to staying in shape and proficient in combat. You sparred regularly with the local guards, who were more than happy to help. They learned a few things in turn, after all, from the Hero of Baldur's Gate. So staying almost two steps ahead of these stumbling corpses was a breeze, almost comically easy for you.

Until your eyes caught sight of a burning home, the heat of the flames could be felt from where you stand. Your mother's burning home... As everything else melted away, a numbness washed over your limbs and your heart settled into stillness. Just as you were about to cry out, a blade mercilessly penetrated your back, twisting with a force that seemed intent on separating your torso from your hip. The taste of blood coated your tongue, while an indescribable agony consumed your every nerve. Fangs as sharp as razors mercilessly sunk into your neck, accompanied by the loud, insatiable slurping sounds that invaded your ears.

Except for one last sound before your world began to fade. "No! You worthless wastes of flesh, what are you doing!?" roared from somewhere distant, rapidly getting closer.

The grip on your body relented, and you crumpled to the ground. Above you, a familiar, curly white-haired, fangs and all ascendant vampire lord. His face was almost feral. Hoisting the human by the throat with one hand, her feet kicking in the air. "I gave you an entire village of fools to feed on, a vivid description of the one woman who was off-fucking-limits...!"

A serene anger washed over his face, causing a shiver to run down your spine, as he sealed his lips and glared at her with an icy stare. "You will wait, on your knees, until I am ready to thoroughly enjoy goring your body with my bare hands."

Her voice strained, she barely managed to gasp out "Master...!" before he mercilessly flung her aside, treating her with the indifference one would show to a discarded toy. The moment her body hit the ground, it rigidly rolled and moved until it settled on its knees in place. Silent sobs wracked her body, and tears streamed down her face, leaving her cheeks damp.

In an instant, his eyes landed on your unfocused one, coughing blood. You knew you were dying. But it wasn't as sad, or even as painful as you expected. "You spiteful son of a bitch..." you hissed, spitting blood from your mouth. He opened his to reply, but you wouldn't let him. You were going to enjoy this... You panted, wheezing the last of your energy into your last twist into his heart. "I damn you, Astarion... I damn you to the Hells. I damn you to misery..." Quoting the man that you knew haunted him still.

You take the clenching of his jaw and his balled fists to your grave with delight as your eyes fall closed, and you breathe your last.

You finally find peace, a gentle presence that settles within your soul. It was a peace so pure, so profound, that it felt almost otherworldly. There was a weightlessness in the air, as if burdens had been lifted and freedom embraced. Your eyes are drawn to the path ahead, its surface adorned with pristine, pearly white stones. Your brother stood at the end, ready to greet you. There stood your father and mother, beckoning you with open arms. And your heart swells with an untameable warmth as you start down toward them.

A cold, deathly grip catches the back of your neck, sending a sudden jolt of fear through your body. Pain squeezed you with an intensity you had never felt before. Your mouth opens, but not even a whimper escapes you as you're forcefully dragged back, kicking and flailing.

With a heavy gasp, your heart pounds in your chest as you lurch forward. Or at least you start before cold, familiar hands grab hold of you, pulling you into his arms. "Now, now, darling, just relax..." Astarion sighs in your ear, his voice thick with... relief?

You died... you were free of this... of him. "I was... going home..." you whimper, unable to fully choke back the sob, not even sure how he managed to forcefully bring you back.

"You are already home, pet."

In your frantic attempt to escape, you notice that the sights, sounds, and smells are completely different - you're no longer in your village, but a large, opulent bedchamber. Lavish furniture and ornaments of gold, silver, so many you quickly lose count. The gentle, rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock provided a comforting background noise. A luxorious silk gown, likely worth a kings ransom, has replaced your weathered tunic and trousers you knew you were wearing before. The softest linens you've ever felt in your life gently caress your bare legs.

His hand petting your head snaps you back from your observations. "Why the face?" Astarion murmurs, "did you truly think death would keep you from me? Little love, I can take anything I want. Even from the jaws of death itself." He briefly looks away as he giggles that short, airy sound that used to melt your heart. "Or did you think your heroic brother would, what, break my nail before I ripped out his throat?"

It's enough you try to wrench yourself from his arms again, stopping short of beating your fists against his stupid, fancy white and blue doublet. "You spiteful bastard..." you repeat from your memory as he keeps you held against him with little effort. "I was there with them, my family—"

"Hush, darling, you're not being reasonable," Astarion mutters, his fingers on your back drawing shapes and patterns that you reluctantly admit still soothed you. "I let them have you long enough. I let you play house in that backwater, and now it is time for you to take your place at my side. You were fated to be mine, and mine, you will always be." He explained, as if he was making perfect sense and stating the obvious.

You scoffed, trying again to leverage your hands on the bed, or his lap to put any amount of distance between you and him. "So dying and forcing me back, all reasonable?"

The look in his eyes turned sharp, reminiscent of the way he eyed that spawn. "Well, if you had been where you belonged, none of that would have happened, would it?" He chastised, lulling his head to one side. "I've already cast the insignificant wretch into the kennels. You are welcome to watch her suffer. Perhaps I'll grant her a blessing and allow her to kiss your feet before I peel her lips off her face... Or maybe after..." Astarion trailed off thoughtfully, his eyes up and away a moment as he considered the grotesque torture, as if casually deciding what flavor tea he'll have in the morning. "How comfortable are you with blood between your toes, my dear?"

You were experiencing such emotional turbulence that you momentarily wondered if any of this was actually happening. If he was aware, he paid no mind to it, as another wild thought captivated his mind. "And why did you not tell me you had such a deliciously submissive sister? Honestly, my love, if she can watch me kill your brother, drain your mother and still stare so eagerly at me, why can't you?"

Your heart froze, and you swallowed hard. Unwanted images of what he could have, and probably had done to your family flashed through your mind. As you stilled in his arms, he moved a hand into the air and snapped his fingers. And like a well-trained puppy, in she waltzed, wearing a black simple dress. Expressionless and silent as she stood before you. Watching you with scarlet eyes. "You know I'd never hurt you, of course. But perhaps your sweet sister can model the obedience I expect from you..."

Infinite threats, insults and visions of violence cross your mind, and like he can read them, Astarion gives you a stern, scolding look. From the corner of your eye, you catch a tear rolling down her cheek and it takes everything from you to not jump to embrace her.

Not that Astarion would let you out of his arms to do so. Fear spreads through your body, numbing your limbs and clouding your thoughts. For every outburst, act of defiance, misbehavior, denial of compliance, Astarion will ensure your sister suffers in your place...

"There you are, my treasure..." He cooes, catching a loose lock of your hair and twirling it in his fingers, pleased with whatever he sees in your eyes, "learning already... you're going to be so wonderfully obedient for me, aren't you?"

You turn your head away, down at the bed, never feeling so... small in your life. He grabs your face, fingers pressing into your cheeks as he forces your attention back to him, denying your escape. "Aren't you?" He repeats, voice firm, commanding.

Without thinking, you scowl at Astarion, noticing the frosty disappointment in his eyes. He lets out an impatient sigh, as if handling a temperamental child, and then glances behind him. "On your knees, darling, it seems your little sister needs your example already..."

She stiffly collapses to the ground like an anchor to the seafloor and Astarion groans, as if he expected a more graceful motion from her. He starts to rise from the bed and a whimper from your sister has you catching his sleeve. "I'll do it." You force out, inwardly cringing at the implication.

But that's not enough for him. "You will do what, pet?" He says lowly, lazily turning to you.

"Behave..." The word hung in the air, its bitter taste lingering on your tongue, surpassing any foulness you had ever known. Again, you try to look anywhere else, any semblance of escape you can find from this, from him.

Astarion continues to press, his fingers brushing against your cheek, coaxing you to face him, locking eyes. There was a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes, like a flickering flame. "And...?"

"And... I'll be obedient..." Your chest tightens, your lip quivering and Astarion's face lights up with a tender smile.

He resumes his position on the bed in front of you. "Oh, my love, I know you will." Astarion smirks, his arm curling around you, pulling you back into him, his lips feathering yours, teasing before connecting them in a sweet... loving kiss. Just as you remember it, his lips are like a delicate caress, and you know better now than to pull away.

Your lips sync with his in a hypnotic rhythm, and his distinct taste lingers on your tongue - a blend of red wine with a faint metallic undertone. The scent of him surrounds you, a unique blend of rosemary, bergamot, and brandy, unmistakably his. His fangs only barely graze your bottom lip as he guides you down onto your back, maneuvering himself on top of you, "because I'll have eternity to teach you..." Astarion whispers against your mouth like a promise, and you can feel him smile at his own words.

Astarion's lips travel from the corner of your mouth, they leave a trail of soft kisses along your cheek, descending to the spot beneath your ear, until they eventually reach the pulsating artery, echoing the frantic pace of your heart. One last time... "My beloved consort..." He whispers, pressing a tender kiss to your skin, teasing his fangs against your neck, as if trying to be gentle in his own way. "Welcome home..." He purrs.

Then at last, he sinks his fangs deep. Drinking slow, steady gulps. One hand taking yours, interlocking his fingers with it, the other soothingly petting your hair. And at last, as your vision blurs and darkens, your body shivering under his, you start to believe it...

Maybe he does want you after all...

Maybe he's been your home all along...

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A/N: Honestly, I could probably write this one forever, it was so much fun. The perfectionist in me already spent more time than I should've on this. Two days of neglecting my main fic on ao3? Ugh, take me to the gallows. Apologies to my partner, friends, coworkers, family, dogs... I have a sacred duty to update that sucker at least every other week.

Also, I apologize for the quality of the gif. I make a lot of my own gifs and screenshots for these and tumblr's 10mb limit is going to throttle my sanity until it dies twice over.

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

Forever, mine

Pairing: Astarion x reader.

Warnings: Dark themes, Angst, Concubine!Reader, Yandere! possessive, obsessive Astarion, Forced relationship, One-sided love, Gore, Murder, Bloodsucking, Turning. Part 1.

Summary: You should've known you'll always be his.

You sighed softly as you stared out of the window, the burning star above brought beautiful rays of sunlight into the dark bed chamber. Happy, and gleefully birds of all kinds chirped to a love song of their own.

You wonder what that was like.

To be happy and free.

You were weighed down by his arm laying on your hip as he slept so peacefully while you wallowed in self-pity and misery. Rustling of the slik sheets told you that the day would be another torture. "Good morning, my darling treasure." Astarion's smooth and elegant voice greeted you, a little tired rasp enlaced within. You turned around to face him, a practiced smile playing on your lips, "Good morning, my love." You greeted in return, swallowing down the rising venom as you called him your love, a pet name he rained hell to be called.

He will never be your love.

nevertheless, you melted as you looked into your master's crimson eyes, Love, and obsession swirled around in his iris like rippling wine as he looked into your own, his normally pristine white curls a mess, and his pale skin seemed to sparkle in the light of the sun, and the soft yet smug smile he wears, he looked like an angel. immersed by his beauty, you didn't feel his tender touch upon your forearm till he spoke "As much as I want to stay in bed, and cuddle you into my arms. We have work to do." Astarion sighed dramatically, running his fingers through his hair, and gave you a wink before sliding out the bed.

The throne room was a glorious sight, ceiling high above your head, a story painted of love, betrayal, and vengeance embosom in the round walls. Shining gold and marbled white beams run down to the smooth wooden floors. A rose gold arch separated the thrones from the rest of the ballroom, maroon with dark patterned curtains drape to the sides, showcasing the vampire Lord and you on your thrones. Astarion held none back on his. Different shades of gold, black, and red designed his large throne while yours was a bit smaller and with only colors of silver and white.

You fought back the urge to roll your eyes as another devoted follower praised and stroked Astarion's ego before moving on to her problem as others lined up behind her, waiting for their turn. Your butt began to ache as you sat for what must have been hours. Since Astarion had learned of Soren, your day started and ended with him, your old chamber was now one of the many guest rooms as your stuff was moved into your master's chamber. You rarely were able to leave his side.

It was getting harder and harder to sit still, harder to blur Astarion and his loyal subjects out. Laying your cheek on your hand you looked around, looking for anything to keep your attention until you spotted a familiar man, frantically waving at the entrance of the ballroom. Soran! You quickly looked to your right, your master was still focused on his task to notice your reaction.

You cleared your throat.

Astarion head turned slightly to you, holding his hand up, effectively silencing the blubbering woman. "Yes, my treasure?" He finally looked at you, his crimson orbs filled with happiness."I must excuse myself," you stood up and feigned a desperate look, "Nature is calling me." Astarion stared at you with an unreadable expression before he simply dismissed you with a wave of his hand and returned his attention to the woman.

As you walked down the small stairs and out of the ballroom, you grabbed Soran's arm and both of you ran down the halls, almost unable to contain the laughter bubbling in your throats. Finally, you reached the vast, colorful garden and your backs hit the grassy ground.

"You're positively insane! He could have seen you!" you laughed as Soran crawled on top of you.

"No one can keep me from you," he grinned, his teal eyes putting the sky's blue shade to shame. Everything in the world felt right when you were with him. The birds chirped a special song just for you, and the fragile breeze carried the sweet scent of the flowers around you. The light from above beamed down on Soran's back, and it seemed like a halo appeared on his head. He's an angel, and he is yours. You talked about everything and anything, time flew by before you could stop it.

"My lady!!" Lyra shouted, out of nowhere, her long blonde hair flowing behind her as she rushed to you, "My lady." She repeated after taking in a few shakily breaths, her forest greens finally looked up at you, and a glint passed through her eyes and then the look of panic settled in. "What is it, Lyra?" You spoke calmly, hoping it helped her. "Master Astarion calls for you! He wants to throw a ball and he said he aides your expertise." She said frantically, pulling you up and began to drag you away. You got one last glance at Soran as you were dragged pass the corner.

"What do you think of this, treasure?" Astarion hummed, holding up some (f/c) fabrics, his movement was nonchalant yet still elegant. You tilted your head slightly, eyeing the individual pieces, and then pointed to the darker shade of the color and he handed the satin to the seamstress. "What is this ball about?" You asked with a falsely happy smile, your arm hooked on his as you both moved on to the next set of items. "You'll simply have to wait to find out, curious little minx." He purred mischievously.

The ballroom was splendiferously decorated, with colors of (f/cs), and your master's colors involved some of the decorations. The floors were polished to perfection, and the lights made it seem like a magical dream. Your gown swept the dancefloor as you were guided and twirled along by Astarion and before you could stop it, a genuine smile graced your lips. "You look exquisite." Astarion smiled back as he twirled you once more and finished off by dipping you. The crowd that was watching applauded, the music stopped for a bit then played another song. "There is something I must ask you." He said seriously, despite his tone and intense eyes he gently moved a stray hair behind your ear.

You watched him get one knee, frozen in place, and eyes widened as he pulled a ring that must of been crafted by the hand of a god, out of his pocket. "My treasure..I haven't always been the best of lovers. I was torn by my past, clinging to the first person I loved in all my 200 years of living. I thought you could be just a replacement but you were more. You made my cold, dead heart feel alive once again. Will you marry me?" He asked, but you both know he wasn't asking, if he truly was too, he'd do it behind doors. he wanted an audience, a guarantee that you'd say yes unless you wanted to face his wrath like never before. You did the only you could do, "Yes!" You smiled and your eyes began to water as the ladies and noble clapped, some laughing heartily thinking this was all a romantic display, and your tears were of joy. How wrong they are.

The click of your heels and tge sniffling of poorly hidden tears echoed through the elongated halls of the palace as you rushed to the servant headquarters. You had to find Soran and leave this place while you could.

Something felt off when you reached his room, it was too eerie, and as you opened the door time slowed down as you took in the view before you. The furniture was knocked over and broken. Pieces of flesh, blood, and bone spread across the walls and floors, and in the middle of it was Astarion. Dripping in the crimson liquid, his pale hands dyed red and coated in ripped bits of flesh, his steamed-to-perfection garments rustled and soaked in the same red that lingered in his hair, on his face, lips, and hands.

"Ah, there she is, the woman of the hour. We were wondering when you'd show up," Astarion chuckled sinisterly, kicking the body he stood above. The mangled form turned more your way, and horror flooded your veins with ice. Soran.

"You truly figured I wouldn't know of your treacherous actions? Treasure I thought you knew me." Astarion sneered, stepping over Soran. You step back. "Astarion, please I-" You tried to find anything to say, yet words failed you because, for the first time in a while, you were terrified.

Astarion shushed you gently as he continued to back you up against the wall, "Nothing you can say will save you pet." His fingers gripped your locks and pulled your head to the side, exposing your neck. "M-master! Please, don't" you begged, one hand struggling to release your hair from his grip and the other pushing against his chest, it made no difference. "You will be mine, for eternity." His pearly fangs pierced your skin, every gulp of blood he swallowed, your life slipped away from you. Just as you gave into the darkness, a warm, iron-tasting fluid dripped into your mouth.

You never should have taken his hand.

Taglist: @horizonstride, @xxmaddhatter39xx

[lesfir]

After Lord Astarion showed himself to be a bat.. I won't hold back any longer.

[bloooodyconsort]

DARLING I WANT YOU DARLING I CRAVE YOU AND I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT YOU I DON'T INTEND TO DIE IF YOU DON'T!!

[my-horniness-is-okay]

Yandere Ascendant Astarion slowburn

I'm writing my first long fic!! It would mean a lot if somebody gave it a try! I'm very excited about it. There will be smut eventually. :)

"Discovered by hunters busy fetching their Lord's next meal, an empty headed vampire is found rotting on the side of the road amongst the wreckage of a carriage crash, disoriented and robbed of their valuables. In their perilous condition, they are brought to the luxurious estate of a mysterious Lord Ancunin, who seems cordial enough to assist this wastrel until they can regain their mind and direction again; after all, the unlikely pair are alike in their mutual condition of vampirism, something so widely scorned it can be hard to find a soul to be yourself around. Since friends can be so hard to find and enemies lurk around every corner, it's best to make the most out of what we are given, wouldn't you say?"

[sleepingdeath-light]

last updated ; 11/02/25

listed below is everything that i have written or drafted for the game ‘baldur’s gate 3’. characters are listed alphabetically and are added upon request. crossed out links means a post has been drafted but has yet to be posted.

* anyone with an ageless blog or who is under 18 will be blocked if you interact with one of my smut posts *

astarion ancunin

hcs — being in a relationship [here]

one shot — ‘the ascendant’s beloved’ (nsfw)

dame aylin & isobel thorm

yandere hcs — sharing an s/o + general [here]

dammon

hcs — being in a relationship [here]

karlach cliffgate

hcs — being in a relationship [here]

minthara

hcs — being in a relationship [here]

hcs — segmented fluff alphabet [ k ]

smut hcs — general [here]

smut hcs — segmented alphabet [o/p/t]

rolan

hcs — being in a relationship [here]

shadowheart

smut hcs — general [here]

wyll ravenguard

smut hcs — general [here]

zevlor

hcs — being in a relationship [here]

[lady-ashfade]

Baldur's Gate 3 master list

Request for this fandom: closed

*I have not play the game yet so keep that in mind while you read these works. I just have brainrot*

Rules.

Angst: Red

Fluff: Pink

Both: Orange

Comfort: purple

Yandere: Green and red.

A little bit of everything or nothing: Green

Astarion:

The Sketch Of Sin: x Artist reader.

Tantrum: Slight!Yan!Astarion.

Hidden Truth.: Autistic!Reader (Requested)

[seradyn]

Rules for Requests

I’ve had this account for about a year and have just now realized I don’t have any rules for asks/requests, so I decided to make some! 😁

Ground Rules

I’m always happy to write, but please read these before you make a request!

Do not read my writing if you are not 18+. Some of it may include things that are disturbing to some, so please be mindful of TWs.

I’m only willing to write for the fandoms I am interested in. I do not feel I could do justice to those I have no knowledge or experience with. I primarily write F!Reader x Character, but I am also happy to write ships, scenarios, etc. (see below for more details).

I am also happy to answer personal questions, though I will not give you identifying information.

What I will write:

Head cannons

Drabbles/one-shots

Scenarios/Prompts

Short stories

Ships

Cannon

AUs

Reader x Character/Cannon

Gore and violence

Sexual content, including noncon

Fluff, angst

LGBTQ+

What I will not write:

Abuse

Yandere

Your OCs (….except maybe Cahl. Iykyk 😘)

Polyships

Love triangles

Underage

Genderbending

If your ask features racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, or is in any way built around presenting hate in a positive way, I will block you. I will not tolerate your bigotry.

This is an 18+ blog, meaning I am willing to write NSFW and sensitive topics. However, this is still down to my discretion; I will decide on a case by case basis what I am comfortable writing. You’re always free to ask, but please don’t take it personally if I do not feel comfortable fulfilling your request 😊

Fandoms

This list is of all the fandoms and their characters that I’m willing to write. Please do not ask for things outside of this list, because I probably won’t want to write it. However, the list is subject to change.

The characters are listed in order from most interested to least interested, and any characters not listed I will not write for. Fandoms are in no particular order.

FFXV

Ardyn, Chocobros, Ravus, Cor, Areana, Lunafreya, Nyx

FFVII

Sephiroth, First Class SOLDIERS, Zack, Cloud, Turks, Remnants, Rufus, Vincent

The Evil Within

Ruben Victoriano/Ruvik, Sebastian Castellanos, Leslie Withers, Juli Kidman, Joseph Oda

Resident Evil Village

Karl Heisenberg

Baldur’s Gate 3

Astarion Ancunin

Love and Deepspace

Sylus, Rafayel, Xavier

I do not accept commissions, or payment for my work. I’m doing this purely for the fun of it. However, this means the turn around for requests may be longer, if I get flooded with them, have irl stuff to deal with, or am working on my own fanfics. Please be patient 💕

Everything I write will be posted to my Masterlist and AO3, unless they’re really sort.

Please do not copy or plagiarize my work. This includes for training AI.

Thank you for taking the time to read! Feel free to send me an ask/request, or just chat me up 😁😁

[random-introverted-blog]

His Star - His Queen [Longfic of Across Stars and Time] - Chapter Index

Yes, a full story, not a Part 2. There was just no way in my head I could cram all of this into a Part 2 and justify it to myself. You will get your fill of Ascended vs Spawn fighting over Tav, with plenty of plot twists.

My editing/photoshop skills are barely passable you get what you get and you don't get upset

Summary: When Ascendant Astarion intercepts you and Your Astarion on your way to murder Cazador, he steals you away to his world. Where your other self has perished, and it doesn’t take you long to see why. He makes it clear you will rule at his side, his obedient, loyal queen. And he will “train” you until you comply.

But not all is lost. Already in pursuit with the aid of a mysterious Elven man and woman, your vampire spawn was coming to the rescue. Without you, his newfound freedom from Cazador was hollow. You were more than a treasure. You were his star. And he was yours. You’d done more for him than you would likely ever realize. You saved him from himself. Now it was his turn to save you.

His Star.

His Queen.

Whichever one will you be?

Link to AO3 page here

Chapter 1 [Originally a One Shot] - Across Stars and Time

Chapter 2 (more of a prologue) - You Beckoned the Stars and they Beckoned Back

Chapter 3 - Tithes To The King

Chapter 4 - What Was / What Is / What Will Be

Chapter 5 - A Lesson in Submission

Chapter 6 ‐ Your Eyes–My Mirror

Chapter 7 - Impromptu Rendezvous

Chapter 8 - Changes

Chapter 9 - Think Twice

Chapter 10 - Hunted / A Heart of Darkness and Shadow

Chapter 11 - [Drafting/Outlining]

A friendly heads up that if you're actively reading here on Tumblr, or are from AO3 and following/checking for updates, to bookmark or save the link to this post. I use it like an order tracker and will update/edit it to keep you up to date on where progress on the next chapter is

Warnings/Advisories: Violence, a ruthless, sadistic joker level tyrant, ascended astarion will do a lot of questionable/noncon/straight up wrong things because he believes he has to "teach you" and "show you sense", references to prior suicide, references to prior SA, implied SA, suicidal ideation (did your past self leave a spare disintegrate scroll behind for you to use too?), this will be less "scary violent smack you around" Ascended Astarion and more a twisted, creepy, "cute little princess, thinking you can say no" soft yandere

Hope this lives up to the high expectations. I'm posting it now because I'm an impatient undercooked, plain with no syrup pancake

[lady-ashfade]

Hi! I've taken a gander at your writing and I LOVE it! If possible, I'd like to make a request of some hcs (or a short drabble, either is fine) of Astarion x a gender neutral, autistic!Tav? Perhaps they've spent a long time masking and have been terrified of telling him about their neurodivergence, but eventually (very nervously) tell him after some time into their relationship? I'm curious to know how he might react. I've fallen head over heels for this man and it would mean a lot to me as someone who's still working to fully embrace their autism. Thank you for your time 💜 ♾🌈

Hidden Truth

This is very short so I apologize! It’s also kinda shitty because I’ve never done much about this before

Astarion x Autistic!Reader HC’s

I do not have autism, and don’t know much about it. But how ever I have seen a lot about it because I have a lot of symptoms so I looked it up to be more in depth with this. I’m so sorry if I get things wrong💓

Warnings: Poorly written autistic people, mention of people leaving for this, short explanation, over all kinds fluffy and a bit sad. Idk.

Astarion noticed that you weren’t like the others, there was just something about you. It wasn’t anything bad you just…Are very unique. And he loved it that.

The way you looked around each cave or place you visited and found something cool. Your little face lights up and starts to squeal and shake your hands around.

He loved how you got so excited over things.

Then when you looked around for a clue of what to say, you tensed up when people cried around you. Or, saying the wrong thing at the wrong time because you didn’t read the room. But, he loved to laugh about it.

Fighting was hard when there was loud sounds and he could see you flinch each time even though you had done this many times before.

At camp he noticed how you played with your hands or things in your hands. But he hated when he’d find you in a panic and never told him what was going on.

These are some of the things he noticed even if you tried so hard to hide it.

You had visited him outside of his tent with a plan to come clean, or to tell him. You loved him and wanted him to know about you, but it was so hard. You often dreamed about him calling you a “freak” and leaving you. It always made you sick to your stomach.

“Why the look? You’d think my presence would make you smile.” He’s tease and inch closer, swaying his body.

“I um- I have something I’d like to talk to you about.” The tone in your voice made him slightly worried but he didn’t show it. Only smirking and showing you to the log in front of the fire. “Anything you’d like, darling.”

You sat down next to him and began to pour your hear out to him. Explaining that you had autism and what the entailed, his confused face made it almost laughable. But he listened to your words like you have always done with him.

Each detail he could see exactly what you were taking about having witnessed you doing so.

“And, pray tell. Have you decided to tell me now?” He saw how you panicked and his eyes went slightly wide at the wrong tone he used. “I only mean..What took you so long?”

You looked away from him and avoided eye contact as it became hard. “I was afraid you’d hate me.” Hugging yourself at the memories of many doing so. “I didn’t want you to leave me.”

His heart broke and his chest felt heavy at the thought you- His darling. Were scared to tell him. So he laughed a bit.

“Oh, how cute. There isn’t much you could do for me to leave you and especially over something you can’t control.” His hand rested onto of your thigh and he scooted closer to you. “I find your traits endearing.”

His other hands reached to cup your cheek and turn your head, he was so soft. Softer then he’d ever been before. “I- I appreciate you telling me. You’d never have to worry about telling me anything,” he leaned forward and leaned his head on yours. “It’s clear to see that you have me wrapped around your finger, and my amazing self has you around mine.” His lips turned to kiss your cheek. 

Astarion doesn’t really care about it much. He learns how to make you feel better and help when you get overstimulated easy.

But he’s very protective when you get stares for a tic or anything. Pulls out his weapon and threats them, glares or just straight up yells at them.

He’s with you when you need him. Over all astarion is supportive over it.

But he was confused for a period of time and acts differently until you tell him not to. He just wants to make his baby feel safe and understood.

[random-introverted-blog]

His Star - His Queen [Chapter 5 - A Lesson in Submission]

The first of many...

Summary: Perhaps you push your defiance a bit too far. Perhaps it would have been wiser to be more tactful with your behavior.

Perhaps this was only a matter of time.

Link to the Tumblr Chapter Index

Want the uncut/uncensored version? - Read it on AO3

Warning/Advisories: -Noncon elements - A ripped nightdress and noncon roaming hands on bare skin (He warned you in Chapter 1)

HI TUMBLR, THIS IS FOR YOU: The graphic scene was cut from this version because I'm not comfortable having an SA scene left hanging on my blog. If you want to read the GRAPHIC, UNCENSORED AND UNCUT SCENE - the link to the AO3 version is above.

-Emotional manipulation

-Forced pleasure

-Generally creepy dialogue (chapter 4 ramped up to 11)

-You fro up and have a relatively realistic response to being assaulted

-There's a party happening down there and you're fiancé isn't letting you participate

A/N: Sorry guys, I'm sure there's other people who have written and posted something like this on tumblr before but that ain't for me. But I worked like a dog to get this chapter written and edited. It's as good as I can get without tearing my hair out [Thank you, bestie for putting up with me, Astarion ain't even your mans]

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-

For the rest of the walk, you couldn't help but notice the curious stares you were catching from the servants and patrolling guards. Though the latter seemed less perplexed, the former looked between you and the Ascendant like you had two heads and noodles for hair. Worse, some of them seemed... jealous.

If you could tell there people to have some self respect, you would make a formal announcement where ever the Ascendant and his puppets make them. But at least for now, you need to try to behave.

Even the sound of the word makes your skin crawl.

When you reach the door to what you assume is Orchid Hall, a swirling darkness appears behind you before rapidly becoming a person. "Forgive the intrusion, your Almighty—"

"I said no interruptions, Ballar." Astarion bites, glaring at the tall and lanky elf man.

Ballar, hands clasped behind his back, bows his head. "I know better than to do so without reason, my Godking."

"Godking?" You echo, glaring at the Ascendant. "You're more conceited than I thought, and that's saying something."

His gaze hardens, firm. "You are still learning, it is only your first day. And I do not wish to discipline you on your first day, pet." He warns in a tone that is the farthest from your Astarion that you've heard. "An apology will suffice as suitable recompense this time." Straightening his posture and lifting his chin.

Oh, so that's a button for him. Is it because you're in front of people, or does he not like being called out on his bullshit? If he expects you to actually seek forgiveness, then you suppose the both of you are in for a surprise.

The Ascendant studies your expression and seems to realize you have no intention of indulging him. With a deep groan bordering on a growl, he looks away. "Much as I love you and your strength of will, there is a time to exert it and a time to submit to your husband-to-be. And it seems to be a lesson I will need to have with you sooner rather than later."

He turns to Malacai, his arm raised in a familiar gesture that reaches above his navel. "Take my fiancé inside and guide her along until I return." And just like that, he steps away with the tall elf, who simply acknowledges you with a respectful "Lady Ancunín" before following close behind his master.

"My lady, if I may," Malacai's mellow, velvety smooth voice says to grab your attention. For a brief moment you feel concern but whatever "lesson" he has in mind, but you let it go for now and turn to drag yourself through the doors. Precise and perfectly timed, Malacai opens and holds the door for you and flows smoothly into step behind you.

Until you come to an abrupt stop, and he immediately stops behind you.

For a moment, you're left bewildered and unsure how to interpret this. Some well armored guards in fancy armor stationed in the corners, sure. A long row of men and woman, of somewhat varying ages. None of them seem even close to their elderly years, but you also weren't very sure about how other races aged. Also, no gnomes. Or dwarfs. Halflings seemed to be the fewest in number. Elves, half-elves, tieflings, and humans made up the combined majority with some half orcs and dragonborns in between.

"Would my lady like an explanation of the task set before her?" Malacai asks beside you, his hands clasped behind his straightened back after you've had time to assess the row of people.

"Yes. Please." You nod once, not moving your eyes from the row, feeling mildly self conscious as they stare at you with half stifled confusion.

Malacai steps into your field of view but not in front of it. "Of course, my lady. His Almighty Majesty has gathered these offerings to be selected and chosen for your esteemed service. He would like you to personally choose a number of them, if it would please you."

Your eyes knit together. "Please me?" You query.

"If you deem the matter unsuitable or beneath you, His Majesty will respect your wishes and handle the matter himself."

"Now wait just a tick!" says a raised voice from the line and a quick scan of them quickly reveals a human, possibly in her mid thirties with light colored hair and wearing a broach of some kind. "I was told the sovereign himself would pick the servants, not some nobody prissy!" She glares at you, her words seemingly rallying some of the others to her cause...

The response surprises the both of you, and you're perfectly fine agreeing with them and taking your leave. Malacai is stunned, though - and anger flashes in his eyes. "You dare speak of—!"

"Yeah, who let the tramp trudge through the door?" Another woman sneers, some taking a threatening step or two in your direction.

"Look, I'm just—" But like Malacai, they're not interested in what you have to say. They want their sovereign and they're getting very loud about it.

And everything that follows occurs in a blur, leaving no time for a response. In a fit of rage, the woman flings her broach towards you. The pin connects with your cheek, piercing the skin. You instinctively flinch and reach for it, warm blood trickling down your face in a thin stream. The broach then tumbles to the floor, making a sharp clattering sound.

In an instant, the shadows swiftly converge in front of you from the dim corners of the room, swirling and twirling in a mesmerizing dance. Suddenly, they burst open, resembling a plume of smoke after an explosion. Gradually, the shadows recede, cascading like a heavy blanket, steadily taking the form of a humanoid figure, mirroring Him with its imposing stature that towered over the room and the presence of large, jagged wings. The cacophony of screams and cries emanates from the furious crowd, creating a dissonant symphony of fear.

The atmosphere was charged with tension, but as the creature surveyed the scene, it became clear that there was no genuine danger. The shadows slowly peeled back, unveiling the visage of a relatively normal, though gorgeous elf, with pale skin and a crown of curly white hair.

Unconcerned about the once angry mob, he diverts his attention to you, his grip on your chin steady as he meticulously observes every aspect of your face. He narrows his eyes and huffs through his nose upon assessing only the one scratch. With a silent command, he raises his hand, and the shadows immediately obey, darkening until his palm becomes an inky abyss. He then places it softly against your cheek.

Biting cold pierces through the air in front of you, like tiny needles pricking at your skin. The faint scent of winter frost drifts from his shadow shrouded hand, followed soon by subtle warmth as his magic seals the slight break, like a gentle caress. "Which one?" He asks no one specifically, as if searching for an answer that only the silence can provide.

Lacking any hesitation, the others shove the woman to the front, paying no mind to her feeble protests. Astarion doesn't look up right away. Instead, he slowly released his hand and carefully studied his work. The darkness slowly retreats from his palm, and he gently massages the area where the cut once was with his bare thumb.

At last he turns to the silent row of servants, and the woman in particular. "You dare to lay a finger upon the one who is destined to share my throne? How quaint." Astarion's sneer is filled with disdain, steadfastly holding his ground before you, almost protectively. The fury evident in his eyes.

The woman's face became a canvas of realization and horror as she desperately shook her head, attempting to retreat. Once more, Astarion raises his hand, and inky tendrils of shadow emerge, wrapping tightly around her and forcefully dragging her closer. "Oh no," he sneers, a malicious glint in his eyes, "you disgusting little worm, you're going nowhere." The threads coil around her, their grip tightening as she's forced to her knees before him.

Astarion's eyes meet yours as he turns to you, his hand reaching out to take yours, coaxing you to stand by his side. "Think of this as another chance for me to teach you something, darling." He steps aside, gently guiding you until you stand directly in front of her.

So she's kneeling before you.

"Now. Look upon this creature. What do you see?" The Ascendant asks, slowly circling behind the woman.

"Astarion—"

"Answer." He interjects sharply, bringing his open hand up and closing it. The woman winces as the dark strands around her constrict.

Despite your desire to save or spare the woman, make him stop or even just not take part in this, you begrudgingly accept you have to play along for now. You exhale deeply and look her over. Her eyes, red and swollen, were filled with tears that cascaded down her face and dripped off her jawline. She's sniveling, her shoulders shaking and voice quivering. Her breaths come in unsteady gasps, a sign she's teetering on the edge of a hysterical outburst.

It's a trick question. The real question is how much you really want to play his game? "I see a woman who didn't—"

"Wrong." The Ascendant scolds firmly, his reprimanding tone interrupting you as he leisurely strolls back to your side. "Before you kneels an insect. A pest. A creature fit only to serve however we desire."

"She didn't know who I was, Astarion," you argue, your voice filled with defiance. Turning to face him, a flicker of amusement dances across his face, challenging your statement. "Or rather, who you insist I am," you risked correcting, folding your arms resolutely over your chest.

A subtle change comes over Astarion as a hint of darkness flashes in Astarion's eyes, followed by a frustrated scoff. "Your denial will do you no favors, pet. Best you understand and accept your new life now and save us both the pain." There's something about the way he lowers his voice and the intensity in his eyes quells any retorts or defiance you could lash back with.

Clearly, he discerns your reaction from your facial expression and appears pleased with your compliance. He smooths his jacket and delicately grips your shoulders, redirecting you towards the woman. "Your natural inclination is to think of this creature empathetically. But you don't think twice if a fly crosses your ear one time too many." The Ascendant continues, his hands lingering on your shoulders. "Now, if the fly had been a mere nuisance, perhaps it could be ignored. But if it had bitten you? Harmed you...?"

"Please..." you mutter, your voice tinged with pleading. A sinking feeling manifests in your gut, already hating where this was going.

"Say the word, my consort." Astarion urges softly, his hands drifting to encircle his arms around your waist.

The urge in your blood knows exactly what it is being called to do. What's being offered. It would much rather your own hands be the ones tearing the wings off this insect. Gouging its pretty teary eyes from those fragile sockets. But you close your eyes, letting the world fade away as you concentrate on the calming rhythm of your breaths. Ironically, the smell of bergamot, rosemary, and the aroma of a frosty winter evening ground you. You find yourself instinctively leaning into him somewhat, seeking more of the comfort to hold the urge at bay.

When your eyes open, a tear or two rolls down your cheek, their journey ending on the dark blue sleeve of the Ascendant's tailcoat, creating small wet spots. The warmth of his breath flushes your ear as he sighs against it and he adjusts his arms to hold your back snug against his chest. "It was difficult for your old self too, the first couple of times..." He murmurs sympathetically, his lips brushing against your temple in a soft kiss. "Ballar."

At the sound of the uttered name, the tall elf materializes beside the two of you. "Very well, your Almighty Majesty." The elf nods with a respectful bow of his back before approaching the woman. His grip is firm as he clasps her arm tightly. Suddenly, a plume of dark smoke envelops them, obscuring their forms from sight. The air carries a faint, acrid scent as they vanish into the mysterious smoke, leaving you with an uneasy feeling. Whatever silent command was issued, maybe you don't want to know.

Astarion remains close to you for the rest of the... selection thing. There's an incident where one of the halfling girls tries begging you to choose her, which almost kicks off another dramatic mob, but Astarion is quick to shut it down.

Calling it uncomfortable would be an understatement. When you ask if there is a criteria or whatnot to follow, he almost literally dismisses you with a "pfft." It is only when he comprehends the seriousness of your question that he adds with a more compassionate tone, "whatever pleases you, my dear... but not all of them - there will be a wider selection after the festival."

Near the end you notice a young tiefling girl. Grey skinned with the shortest horns you'd ever seen. Astarion had indicated an interest in moving on from this, and his hand on your shoulder reminded you of it. But he didn't stop you from wandering over to her.

You recognized the look in her dark, fiery eyes. Not just desperation. Purpose. It wasn't anything you could put your finger on as you held each other's gaze. For better or worse, you were curious about what she felt so strongly about that led her here. Come to think of it, she wasn't involved in any of the earlier chaos. "What's your name?" You had asked the other ten or fewer this question as well, as you weren't fond of the idea that they'd be nameless creatures in your service.

Plus, you could tell Astarion disliked you were asking, and that was a nice incentive.

She held her head high and awkwardly held her arms behind her back. "Elowen, Lady Ancunín."

Behind you, the vampire lord let out an annoyed huff, clearly bothered by both your question and what you assumed was an improper way of addressing of you. You didn't care. "I'd welcome you if you'd like to accept the offer." You say, your attempt at a smile faltering.

Surprisingly, this is the first one you've talked to that reacts almost sympathetically. As if noticing how forced your gesture really is. Maybe even recognizing the dissonance between your genuine desires and everything that surrounds you. "It would be an honor to serve you... my lady." Elowen bows and quickly corrects herself when her eyes catch a glimpse of the vampire and Steward behind you.

"That will do for now, my sweet." Astarion's voice sounded from behind and gently tugged you away and encircled an arm around your waist. He snapped his fingers with his other hand and servants entered the room. They move with silent understanding. "Considering everything," he adds once you're near the door, "you did well."

Part of you is reminded of all his "lessons," including the one he hinted at earlier about the importance of submission. Dread finds a home in the pit of your stomach, making it heavy and uneasy. You don't really care to learn the intricacies of ruling, being his queen, or any of it. It won't matter in the end. Not when you get free of this place and return to your world, where the warmth and safety of your friends will make you feel whole again. And you will get free.

...won't you?

________________

Day in, day out, it was almost the same. Sometimes he'd tutor you himself, other times it was Malacai. There had been a considerable focus on etiquette and presenting oneself, which you could only assume had to do with this festival you had heard so much talk about.

They assured you that your confinement to this wing of the palace was not permanent. Once your engagement to the godking had been announced, there would be less need to hide you away. But for now, the Ascendant wanted your presence kept quiet.

You had seen little of the servants you picked several days ago. Malacai said they were undergoing a strict training regimen in preparing to serve a ruling sovereign.

An endless parade of seamstresses and shoemakers had trotted their way through the doors of the southwest wing. You weren't one to be dolled up or wear silly dresses to begin with, and this just deepened the feeling. But the Ascendant wanted you in a special outfit for the engagement and you were still beholden to what he wanted.

Not for long, you told yourself every day. This would not be your forever.

The seamstresses and shoemakers worked tirelessly and with no complaint at how difficult you made their lives, though the Ascendant had sat in a few times and tried to encourage you to be less resistant to some suggestions, though he was more involved in the design of your dress for the festival.

As for your interactions with him? They were surprisingly tame. At most, he would hug you. Press a sweet, lingering kiss to your cheek or peck your lips. Maybe at one point he kissed your neck, and his hands wandered. But never for long and never too far. Just enough, you were certain it was on his mind.

If you felt uncomfortable or instinctive recoiled, he wouldn't stop you from drawing away. He would smile a little, as if to say "you just need time" and that would be that.

You hadn't even slept in the same bed yet. He went to the royal bedchamber, and you tucked yourself into yours. It was a nightly routine for him to visit you before bed. Occasionally, your exchanges were filled with playful banter, but at other times, they took a confrontational turn or revolved around his plans for you. And he would always kiss you goodnight. Never on the lips. Like a fragile little princess.

"May I offer you more reading material, my beloved?" He asks upon entering your room, noticing you in your nightgown, an open book propped up on your knees.

To your surprise, he was there, and a part of you couldn't help but be taken aback. "Tomorrow is the big day. I thought you'd be too busy tonight." You comment with curiosity and reach for the glass of water on your bedside table.

The Ascendant huffs a soft laugh, the sound escaping like a gentle breeze. "Not too busy for you, no," he stated, a smile evident in his voice.

You sip your water, taking him in. Simple clothes. He seldom wears them, not even at this hour. It brings to mind his old camp clothes, though they appear less tattered. His black shirt clung tightly to his body, accentuating the contours of his sculpted chest. He wore dark brown pants so tight that they seemed to be painted on, leaving little room for comfort. As you set down your glass, the gentle tapping of rain against the window fills the room, setting the ideal mood for reading. "The bookcase in here is paltry to begin with."

He pauses, and the silence hangs heavy in the room, reverberating off the walls. Out of the corner of your eye, you glimpse his focused gaze, carefully assessing the size of the small bookcase. The scent of aged paper and polished wood lingers in the air, adding to the ambiance. "Hmm," he muses, his voice carrying a hint of intrigue. "Agreed. Would you like me to remedy it?" His question hangs in the air as he redirects his gaze back to you, waiting for your response.

It catches you off guard, although it shouldn't. "I want nothing from you." You mutter quietly, not interested in a verbal confrontation at this hour. "Unless it's letting me go home." Absentmindedly turning the page of your book, you caught a whiff of the musty scent of old pages.

It comes as no surprise that the suggestion causes the Ascendant to bristle with indignation. "You are home, pet." His firm reply echoes exactly as you anticipated.

He reaches across and effortlessly plucks the book from your grip, flinging it to the other end of the bed. Without missing a beat, his hand tenderly moves to hold your face. "Perhaps it's time you've learnt what home feels like." His voice dipped low and sultry, sending a shiver down your spine, as if velvet caressed your ears.

Unable to think clearly, your mind is consumed by confusion as you struggle to understand his intentions. Searching his crimson eyes for a hint of the intent behind his words.

It dawns on you a second too late and your body becomes rigid and dread crashes over you like a tidal wave. "Lay back and hold still."

Right from the start, you find yourself wrestling against his orders, determined to regain control of your body. In the blink of an eye, he's on the bed, asserting his control as he positions himself on top of you, straddling your legs and keeping them trapped beneath him.

The overwhelming task of regaining control of your limbs leaves no space in your mind for insults. With a gentle yet firm grip, he tears your gown open, his lips finding their way to your jawline, leaving a trail of sweet kisses and teasing bites. Lowering his mouth along your neck, he senses the rapid throb of your pulse, a reflection of your panic. "Your scent is even more alluring than your other self," he whispers against your skin, his fangs appearing much sharper than your Astarion's, delicately grazing over your pulse. "I've waited over a century for you, my love... To find you..."

Before you have time to process any of what he just said, the ordinarily sharp, frigid piercing feeling now just feels like two tiny daggers of ice melting deep into your neck. But then the sharp sting of his fangs gives way, and you're left with a strangely soothing sensation that defies explanation. A calming tingle that dances across your senses and defies logic. It leaves you gasping for air, but the soothing caress of his hand in your hair seems to be an attempt to reassure you as he drinks deeply. Meanwhile, you begin to wiggle your toes, feeling a tingling sensation as you strive for control over your legs.

With a contented groan, he indulges in one last sip from you before withdrawing and gently lapping at your weeping wound until it ceases to yield any more to his palate. The scent of your blood lingers, mingling with the heady aroma of bergamot and rosemary and frost, his increasingly familiar presence all creating a bewildering blend to your senses. "Exquisite... Even better, I could scarcely believe it a possibility." The Ascendant muses quietly as his hands explore the curves and contours of your vulnerable body, tracing every line and curve with a mix of curiosity and desire.

He hastily grabs his shirt, yanking it over his head as impatience fuels his movements. He swiftly pulls off his pants in two motions. Just then, you feel a tingling sensation as your right leg awakens, granting you unrestricted movement.

You jab your foot at his chest, and you can feel the strength and power in his grip as he effortlessly catches it. With a firm yet gentle grip, his hand closes around your ankle, arching an eyebrow in intrigue and amusement. "Impressive..." The Ascendant remarks. "I may need to use stronger charms on you already."

As his words resonated in the air, he appeared to be contemplating them aloud, while his fingertips traced the smooth surface of the gold and silver band that snugly encircled your ankle, emphasizing the sense of captivity within this elegant prison. You question if his attention on it is to underscore your status as his possession or if he's simply delighting in the knowledge that you belong to him.

Until you find a way out of here. You have to find a way out...

Releasing your foot, he deftly flicks his wrist, conjuring a shadowy tether that extends from the shackle and secures itself to the bedpost.

"Don't fight this, my treasure." The Ascendant murmurs. With a slow, deliberate movement, he delicately hooks his knee under your left leg, guiding your body to open itself wider to him, causing a shiver to cascade through your body. "Once you experience how pleasurable submission to me can be, you'll hardly fathom you resisted me at all." His words, laced with a velvety purr, penetrate your senses, capturing your attention completely.

The moment your hands regain their freedom, they shoot forward, eager to rake your nails across his bare chest. Yet, his reflexes outmatch yours as he quickly seizes your wrists, forcefully pinning them beside your head. "The Astarion I know and love values consent above all else." You finally hiss behind your teeth, hating the way your voice wavers. "He didn't need to force me down like this..."

"And he will never make you feel the way I can," smirks the Ascendant, his voice oozing with confidence and a seductive undertone.

"Now relax, little love..." Your senses ignite as a rigid, pulsating sensation grazes over your sensitive nub...

And he teaches you a lesson you won't be so merciful to forget...

______________________

You nuzzle closer to the warmth rather than open your eyes, encouraged by the soothing touch of fingers in your hair. Gods, you could lay here forever. When was the last time you slept this well? With...

The thought dies off, and you tentatively peel your eyes open. Dread sits in your stomach as you realize your position. Practically laying on top of a naked Ascendant. "Good morning, darling." He purrs, his fingers gently tangling in your hair, before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "I've had a warm bathe prepared, ready for you to immerse your beautifully bare skin whenever you desire."

As you move, you realize just how sorely your body aches. There's a dull pain between your legs and your cheeks flush faintly remembering how... immense he felt last night. Mercifully, he pretends not to notice as you fall limp against him. An around you didn't realize was around your back tightens some as you press closer, his hand and fingers stroking gentle patterns on the smooth expanse of your skin. "You said something last night," your voice hoarse and dry as you speak, "about waiting over a century." Turning your head on his sculpted chest to meet his scarlet eyes.

Behind his lips, a subtle hum escapes, reminiscent of soft laughter, as he tilts his head to one side. "Well, your other self didn't abandon me yesterday." He murmurs, petting your hair. "Finding you, acquiring the means to reach you, to bring you here. It didn't all happen in an evening." Something about his choice of words unsettles you. More than just finding out the Other You died one hundred and fifty years ago.

His fingers lifting your chin, guiding your lips to his. You don't fight it; you know better. Not now. Not when you're naked in the same bed as him. Vulnerable... "As much as I'd like to remain here, savoring the morning of our first lovemaking with you, there is much to be done before the festival tonight."

"That's what you think it was?" The words fall off your tongue before you can think better of them.

The Ascendant pulls back just enough to see both your eyes clearly, almost searching them. "What else could it be?" The words soft, warm. Like a wolf in sheep's clothing. You don't fail to note the serrated teeth laced along them. He's daring you to challenge him...

Silence is your only answer. And that seems enough to satisfy Astarion's quiet annoyance with you.

He presses a tender, lingering kiss to your lips and you reciprocate despite the knot it creates in your gut. Only risking to remember your Astarion after he's pulled away and carefully guided you off of him to slip out from the covers and leave the bed. Curiously, he wanders over to an armoire you've never touched and when he opens it you see tailcoats, doublets, jackets, dressy shirts with ruffled sleeves and collars... He's been keeping a spare change of clothes in your room the whole time. "I'm going to bathe separately, otherwise nothing will get done..." The Ascendant explains to your unspoken confusion. With that, he dresses himself, regards you with a brief smile and leaves the room.

Just like that, you're alone with yourself. Nearly overwhelmed with a deep loathing for your own flesh. Every fibre of your being recoils in disgust. The repulsion extends beyond the surface, rooted deep within your very core. The weight of despair anchors you to the bed, but a desperate urgency propels you towards the shower, disregarding the searing ache between your legs.

Frantically, your hands vigorously scrub at your body, the harsh friction against your skin amplifying the turmoil in your stomach. The memories of last night assault your mind relentlessly, like a relentless storm. The room feels suffocating, the air thick with the scent of regret and desperation. How could you have surrendered so easily? Disappointment settles upon you, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth as you reflect on your lack of determination. Does your Astarion mean nothing to you? Doubt seeps into your thoughts, questioning your own abilities, your own worth. Is it because deep down, unknown to you, you fear you can't escape on your own?

Will he even want you back after this? Gods, it's like you barely put up a fight against the bastard. All he had to do was climb on top of you and...

Abruptly, you jerk your head over the side of the bath, the sensation of nausea overwhelming you as your stomach empties, contents spilling onto the pristine white tile.

Then you allowed yourself to go completely slack, feeling the edge dig into your ribs you as you fell onto it. Warm tears cascaded down your cheeks, blending with the fluid pooling on the floor.

The first sob wracks your body not long after...

__________

Whatever happened to a good pair of pants? Whose idea was it that all the fancy ladies should wear dresses most of the time? And why in the hells are you considered a fancy lady? You never wanted to be such a thing. A nice, quiet ocean side home was probably the closest to "fancy" you'd ever choose for yourself.

But that's the keyword, isn't it? You didn't choose this for yourself...

Soft hands touch yours, causing you to retract your hand swiftly. "Leave my nails out of this." You hiss at whichever servant girl made the attempt on your fingers.

Through an instinctive wince at the comb in your hair, your eyes catch the sight of dark and fiery eyes as the tiefling kneels beside you. "Forgive me, Lady Ancunín. I promise I will only tidy them up." She smiles, and it almost feels comforting. True to her word, she simply files them down to a clean, round shape. Cleaning the dirt from underneath. She was one of the few servants from the ones you chose in the room with you. Astarion chose the others with precision, carefully assigning them the duty of taking care of you and making sure you were prepared for the evening. And as they incessantly fussed over, brushed, and prodded you, they were steadily making you want to gouge your eyes out in frustration.

However, this tiefling and the one or two others you picked that were here with you carried themselves differently, and it wasn't just because they were untrained. As they tended to you, you were fairly certain that Malacai's critical observations of their work had nothing to do with it.

"Elowen, isn't it?" You ask, free from Astarion's constant shadow to treat these poor girls like people. As you speak, a gentle breeze brushes your skin from the open window, carrying with it the scent of blooming flowers. The knowledge of your time spent with Malacai reassures you he wasn't one who would readily report you for such minor infractions.

Meeting your gaze, the tiefling's eyes held a subtle surprise. At a loss for words, she quickly recovered and graced you with yet another lovely smile. "Thank you." The words are sincere from your heart.

Something passes fleetingly across her face, and even in that momentary glimpse, you recognize what it is.

Understanding. How wonderful it feels to be seen as a person.

Not long afterward, the servants finish your hair - and you can feel the weightless, silky strands falling into place with gentle waves. The custom designed, elegant blue dress, with its delicate silver swirls and leaf embroidery on the shoulders and collar, fell just short of your ankles, exuding an air of grace.

Deep brown ankle-high shoes, crafted with precision, expertly concealed the shackle from prying eyes. Although you couldn't discern their exact material, their undeniable comfort put a smile on your face. These shoes were the only item you took the time to specify to the shoemaker, and they certainly didn't disappoint. Honestly, you did like these.

To your relief, Astarion did not insist that the seamstress design a low neckline for the gown. It revealed only the slightest tease of your cleavage. Sure, it was because he wanted to be the only one who delighted in the view of your body, visually and... otherwise. But even that you were thankful for somewhat. Anything to escape the feeling of being a prized possession on exhibition.

A feeling that intensifies as you follow Malacai through the door to exit the wing of the palace you've been imprisoned in. You thought the stares in there were bad, but this was even worse. And shameless. Whispers, like delicate feathers, brush against your ears. Carrying snippets of conversations, questioning your identity, as you pass by servants and what you assumed were guests as your personal steward escorted you through unfamiliar halls. The walls themselves emanate a feeling of grandeur tinged with a touch of uneasiness. The cool marble floors beneath your feet seem to magnify the restlessness in the atmosphere.

Two towering guards, adorned in gleaming silver armor, stand resolutely on either side of a magnificent pair of double doors. Painted in pristine white and adorned with intricate gold trim. As you and Malacai draw near, the guards gracefully swing the doors open, revealing a grand entrance, their movement accompanied by a faint creaking sound. A rush of cool air, tinged with a hint of polished brass, mahogany and fresh baked goods, greets you as you step into the grand foyer beyond. However, amidst their dutiful actions, the guards' piercing gazes linger on you, filled with a mix of curiosity and intrigue.

Suddenly, you're amidst a throng of people, the sounds of chatter and footsteps filling the air, with Malacai constantly by your side, ushering you towards a grand-looking dais or platform. The Ascendant, dressed in a white ensemble with subtle blue undertones to complement your dress, stands with regal poise before you, their tailcoat embellished with ornate golden clasps and perfectly tailored dress pants. Overlooking his guests. He exudes an ethereal charm, radiating a sense of divinity , his very being demanding reverence and awe from all who have the privilege to lay eyes on him.

Observing your approach, he instinctively takes two steps down and extends his hand towards you. The touch of his hand sends a warm sensation through your palm as he tenderly interlocks your fingers and gently draws you towards him, a playful smile on his lips. "Beautiful as always, my treasure." The Ascendant croons.

Your body tenses up as you catch sight of the two thrones behind him, trying to resist the urge to shudder.

"All silence for the Godking's address!" A thunderous voice demands, echoing with power and authority, resonating through the grand hall. The sheer force of it makes your heart skip a beat, but you steel yourself, resisting the temptation to flinch or recoil.

All eyes obediently fixate on the Ascendant as commanded, but yours cannot help but wander from face to face. Equally curious about you as servants were in the halls. Still, this is your first time being exposed to others outside of the palace staff and Ascendant, and despite feeling petrified by the sudden spotlight, you refuse to lose sight of what truly matters. Gathering and understanding what you can of this nightmarish realm you're trapped in.

First you note the tables spread throughout the grand hall with glasses, plates, pitchers, and kegs. The next thing she noticed were the enormous, intricately designed doors, swung open wide to reveal the sprawling entrance hall of the palace.

"Don't worry," he reassures, his voice resonating with authority, the rich aroma of festival spiced wine and delicacies filling the air. "I only require a moment of your time before you can all return to indulging in the festivities." As he scanned the crowd, his eyes revealed his lack of concern, not bothering to commit any of the faces to memory.

"As you all are aware, this past century has proven trying on us. The loss of our cherished, beloved queen was felt all across the sword coast." Your feet itch to run, bolt down the steps, off the dais, through the doors and into the streets. Anywhere has to be better than here. "As you all are aware, this past century has proven trying on us. The profound loss of our cherished, beloved queen was felt deeply across the sword coast." Your restless feet itch to run, to bolt down the grand steps, off the elevated dais, through the ornate doors and into the bustling streets. The anticipation of escape lingers, whispering that anywhere would be preferable to remaining in this stifling place.

The presence of Malacai and the armored guards at the bottom of the dais, reminiscent of royal armor, created a sense of foreboding, emphasizing the how you wouldn't get very far. Your escape would be halted before it even began. "Many have offered themselves before me. Believing they could hold themselves worthy of her throne. Of her place at my side. Yet they all fell embarrassingly short. Women, men, dragonborns, devils... None could compare to my Queen-Consort."

You don't want to be here. You don't want to hear this. Childish as it sounds, you want to plug your fingers in your ears. Or better yet, wake up from this nightmare.

"Nobility of Baldur's Gate! Assembly of highborn men and women, venerable lords, and esteemed ladies of the realm!" The spacious hall reverberates with the resounding voice of the Ascendant, their words echoing with a sense of divine authority. Your gaze wanders and lands upon a procession of musicians, their elegant garments mirroring the grandeur of a royal court. In their grips, they hold instruments of music—trumpets that gleam like polished gold, reflecting the splendor of the occasion, and others of fine make—poised to announce the forthcoming proclamation. Your expression transforms, an eyebrow raising in a silent display of inquiry. Sure, he mentioned this, but you can't recall him explicitly confirming it with you.

"On this, the dawn of The Festival of Gratitude," he proclaims with a voice imbued with the gravity of his high station, summoning from all present a silent veneration that arrested the air itself. It was incredible the power he seemingly held over the masses... It frightened you. "May you find yourselves gratified by the announcement and esteemed company of my betrothed! My queen-to-be, in her resplendent grace!"

His arm enveloped your waist, drawing you in snugly against his side as the trumpets sounded. The touch is electric, sending a shiver down your spine, as you sense the power of his command and the depth of his devotion in his gaze.

And like that, the moment you've been dreading is upon you. Officially and formally engaged to this pale imitation of the man you love. The enormous throne room reverberated with the sound of cheers and applause, as all eyes turned to study you - some filled with surprise, others with intrigue, and some a mix of both.

Their Queen-to-be.

The Ascendant flashes a short wave and a nod before he turns to you. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" he said as he pulled you into a tight embrace, both arms encircling your waist now. "It's unfortunate we couldn't find the time for a brief speech from you as well. But there will be ample opportunities for that later," he continued. Again, he's talking at you. Your input seemed neither expected nor desired.

Frankly, you may be too shocked to offer any. Every day you wake up and tell yourself this isn't your new normal. Mastering all these ridiculous, fanciful manners and etiquette, learning how to conduct yourself as a "sovereign" doesn't matter. Because you're not staying here. You're going to get out. Find your Astarion, bury yourself in his comforting arms, and never let go again.

But every day, it feels less like a dream and more like an inescapable reality. The idea of escape seemed impossibly far away, like a distant star in the night sky. Your star... Your Astarion. Just the memory alone was enough to make your chest ache, as if it had been crushed into countless pieces. Between last night... and your formal engagement to the Vampire Ascendant, the monster wearing Astarion's face,

The feeling of hopelessness seeped in, dampening your once fiery desire for freedom.

His lips meet yours in a slow and gentle kiss, exuding tenderness and a faint sense of longing as your lips reciprocate mechanically. Not to say his kisses aren't intoxicating, but he wasn't your Astarion, and he'd never be...

When he pulls away, his hand on your back guides to toward the back of the dais...

To the thrones.

Trying to resist, you dig your feet in, but he effortlessly and subtly directs you towards the one on your left.

With a delighted smile that betrays a hint of determination, his grasp on your hand is gentle yet stern, coaxing you downwards. You struggle against it, but he eventually overpowers your resistance, and he manages to firmly seat you on the wretched thing that's haunted your nightmares. Reluctantly, you find yourself settled onto the grandiose throne, the velvet cushion enveloping you.

You feel your ankle snap to the base of the extravagant seat, a sickening sensation that you've grown accustomed to. Seated on the throne that has given you sleepless nights, he gazes at you with admiration. His smile hasn't left his face once. A contented grin played on his lips, evidence of his satisfaction with how well his plans for you were progressing.

The Ascendant lets out a soft, satisfied sigh as he settles onto his grand throne, the rich velvet cushions embracing his body. Beside you, the throne's extravagant carvings mesmerize your eyes with their intricate details, a testament to the majesty of his power. His strong arms rest leisurely on the throne's armrests, providing a sense of power and dominance. As he reaches out and gently clasps his hand around yours, you feel a warmth spreading through your fingertips, a tender connection formed. His thumb caresses the back of your hand, creating a delicate, soothing sensation that tingles across your skin.

And then you sit there. Together on a pair of overly fancy golden and velvet seats. Watching everyone else have some semblance of fun without you. A few guests cast their gaze up toward the two of you. The Ascendant and you find a sort of comfortable silence, observing the goings on of this festival together. You take note that his thumb finds interest with your ring finger, tracing it with his own digits. "Perhaps we can treat ourselves to this foolishness tomorrow, if you'd like," he suggests, his words laced with thoughtfulness, though he avoids meeting your eyes.

You struggle in vain to free your foot, feeling the frustration building with each futile attempt. Chained to the throne through invisible magic. "Behave yourself or we won't go at all." The Ascendant scolds quietly, indicating he saw your fruitless attempt to escape. You release a reluctant groan and recline in your seat, your free hand restlessly twiddling in your lap.

With little else to do, you try to study the variety of faces in the crowded throne room. Maybe you'll ask the Ascendant for a book if he's going to confine you to this stupid, overdone chair. The bustling crowd fades into the background as your heart races upon seeing those familiar crimson eyes. Do you dare trust yourself? Are you already teetering on the edge of madness, consumed by desperation? Would you even want him to see you like this? After what happened last night...?

The more you observe, the more you find yourself accepting the penetrating gaze of those eyes and the man behind them.

Gods above... Your Astarion...

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-

A/N: We're probably jumping back to him next chapter, guys. It's actually been a kinda long time In-Story since we've seen him and Aric.

Once again, I thank everyone for their support and enjoyment of this little adventure of ours and I can't wait to share the rest with you. It's mindblowing to me and I'm still not over it.

[random-introverted-blog]

Across Stars and Time [Ascended!Astarion x F!Reader]

Spawn vs Ascended oh my gawd

Edit: Due to incredibly popular demand on AO3 (again) this story has been converted to a full story called His Star - His Queen. It's being cross posted between here and AO3

Read His Star - His Queen on AO3

Read His Star - His Queen on Tumblr

Intended Audience: Mature [Merely a suggestion, like speed limits, right?]

Who be smoochin?: Astarion x F!Reader

The Bit: At long last, Astarion will be free of his master and you will be his most enthusiastic cheerleader as he ends Cazador, once and for all. So you think until you find an Imposter Astarion that waits in the center of the room for you. Cazador tortured and dying at his feet. And your Astarion, to his horror, faces the true cost of his ascension. You.

Warnings/Advisories: ANGST, no happy ending (though it ends on a brighter/hopeful note), major character death (not either Astarion, that would be too easy on both of them), references of past SA, references of suicide, a reference of sucidal ideation, violence, injuries, yandere doing yandere things, obsessive and possessive behavior, your boyfriend is getting the shit kicked out of him, your "husband" who is the same man from another universe is kicking the shit out of himself, "HERE COMES ASCENDANT ASTARION WITH THE STEEL CHAIR FROM THE TOP ROPE", is it time magic or jumping across realities, "SPAWN ASTARION WITH THE SUPLEX"

Words, all the word (count): a whopping 5,390

Writing art and breaking hearts in 3...2...1

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"Save it for when I'm standing over Cazador's bloody corpse." Astarion had said when he stopped you from kissing him today.

And that was fine, sure, you really wanted to, but you could understand he was not in the head-space to be affectionate with you. It didn't change how he felt, or how you felt, so what did it matter? You could wait your whole life for his kisses and embraces and still die happy, so long as it was a life shared with him. There was nothing you wanted more than Astarion, baggage and all. No matter how unsure and self conscious he was about what he believed he lacked or couldn't give you. You crossed your fingers that it would be enough he would decide against completing the ritual. It would change him, that you knew without a doubt. And you were nervous it wouldn't be a change for the better.

You loved him for him, as much as you were afraid to use those exact words, and you had seen plenty of times what immense power does to people... your heart clenched thinking of that happening to him.

Nights nuzzled into his chest, legs tangled together, fingers in your hair. The safest and warmest you've ever felt was being in his cold arms. These were some of your best memories in the few you still held from your past life. And you made sure he knew he didn't even need to do any of that, the cuddles and kisses, to have your love. It was unconditional. It always would be.

You couldn't wait to stand with him as he finally ended this chapter of his life and turned the page, and his eyes toward a brighter future. Hopefully, if he wished it... it would include you.

But something was wrong. There wasn't a single servant to be seen in the whole place. You found the signet ring left on the floor in front of the sealed door and Astarion chalked it all up to Cazador paving the way for his "homecoming party". It didn't sit right with you, and you had tried to express as much to him but it just made him snap at you. After all, he spent two hundred years as a slave to the vampire lord. Who were you to question what he did and didn't know?

After that, you had kept your mouth shut. It hurt, but you had already forgiven his bad mood. You understood he was going through a lot, anxiety eating him from the inside out. So you kept your thoughts to yourself and did your best to keep your perceptive eyes peeled for any clues. Your gut instinct was right. When you found the elevator to the crypt, you had silently hoped it would ease your own troubled thoughts, your paranoia, but truth be told; it made it worse.

You looked among your companions to gauge if they perhaps felt the same. As rare as it was to see them all together on a mission, Astarion had earned their friendship just as much as you had, and not a one turned down the chance to deliver a long overdue beat down on Cazador Szarr.

But the only thing you registered on their faces was a determination for violence. Glad as you were, you were just as eager, of course, but that did little to soothe your nerves. It wasn't uncertainty, like Astarion's, much as he tried to mask it. No, something felt... changed. Unbalanced. Your tadpole, maybe? No, it was quiet as a babe. Your urges? No, your bhaalspawn blood, despite feeling a mite antsy, was relatively subdued.

As you crossed the crypt on the way toward the two large, ancient doors, a voice called out to Astarion. He stopped, glanced at you and turned slowly toward the cell. Expression impassive but footsteps cautious, until his eyes widened. "Sebastian??" He gasped, taking one step back.

"What are you doing out here?" The spawn asked, clinging to the bars. "You're supposed to be in there!" The man jabbed a finger toward the door.

Drawing your brows together, you glanced at the doors behind you, and you started to drift toward it. Screams caught your ears from within. Muffled, but sharper as you moved closer. A hand on your shoulder, and you found Gale, Halsin and Shadowheart at your back while Astarion was distracted with the spawn. Tempted as you were to stay, he seemed to be really distraught. Something was undeniably wrong now. Why were they so convinced he had already come through here?

Those screams were unlike anything you had ever heard, sounds of terror and agony that sent shivers down your spine. You had heard and seen a lot in your travels, you all had. But nothing quite like the sounds coming from beyond these doors.

Halsin took the lead and pushed the doors open, you close behind, Shadowheart and Gale took the rear behind you.

You were startled when the doors slammed shut behind Shadowheart, and the four of you looked among yourselves, searching for an answer for the other. When all you received were questioning stares, your eyes wandered to the center of the chamber and you descended the long stone staircase. Lining the platform, hovering above red sigils, were Astarion's siblings. Veils of darkness covered their faces, whatever it was doing, the source of their twisted symphony for relief.

Dead center of the platform, a figure in top-grade studded leather armor hunched over someone on their hands and knees. Hands visibly trembling against the floor, drenched in sweat.

As if sensing your presence, the figure tossed something from their right hand, a blade skidding across the floor, their now free hand raised in the air and snapped their long fingers. Instant silence fell over the ritual chamber. "Ah, there you are..." a voice greeted in a low, familiar purr. "I've been waiting..." they continued, slowly straightening to full height, presenting you the equally... hauntingly familiar white curly haired back of their head. "Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you." Looking over their shoulder before at last, turning to face you. "Waiting... to have you."

"What kind of sick magic is this? An identity spell?" Gale questioned, as confused and audibly disturbed as the rest of you. Bewildered at this seemingly perfect copy of Astarion. No... something was off. You just couldn't put your finger on it. It wasn't anything on a physical level, as far as you could tell. He wasn't wearing the same armor, though. Like you noted earlier, this was top grade studded leather armor, dyed a midnight black and dark red. Yours was wearing the set of Spidersilk armor you had pried from the dead drow woman back at the Emerald Grove.

"Cazador, if you think hiding behind his face is going to stop me from peeling yours from your bones, allow me to let you down now." You glared, readying your weapon and assuming your stance. The others followed your lead, as always.

But the Mimic chuckled, a soft, airy sound too like Astarion for it to be a mimic. "He won't be able to answer you, my dear" they chuckled, tone filled with amusement. "He's long swallowed his own tongue." You watched the deep crimson cloak sway behind them as they circled around the trembling man, turning him over their black boot. The man fell onto his back, and you assumed the dark-haired elven man, face swollen, bloody and almost too distorted to be recognized as a face, was all that remained of Cazador.

He gasped and wheezed, and the mimic used their foot to force Cazador's head up to face you, providing you a better look. Sure as they said, there was no tongue... or fangs, either. Only two gaps in the top row of teeth where they should be.

Unceremoniously, they dropped his head to the floor, and you realize the mimic hasn't actually taken their eyes off you since they circled around Cazador. "I am a man of considerable patience, but even I grew bored idling about, waiting for him to bring you to me, my treasure."

"A shapeshifter." You blurted out as the thought crossed your mind. "Really, an imposter of my lover? I'm almost flattered, dear sister" a mocking grin splitting your lips, hand tight around your weapon, magic crackling at your fingertips, waiting to be unleashed should they make a move against you.

The imposter raised their eyebrows before meeting your grin with their own. "No, darling. I'm more Me than that... creature you've been putting up with."

"What in the nine hells are you then?" you bite impatiently, tired of this back and forth. Something was wrong. Horribly wrong. That you couldn't figure it out was wearing on you.

Behind you, the doors burst open, but neither of you looked away from your standoff to see. Footsteps rushing down the stairs, "y/n!" Astarion called after you, coming to an audible skidding stop at the scene before him.

"I'm the man you love, pet." The Imposter responded, as if the rest of your team didn't just rush in, as if the real Astarion wasn't joining your side, daggers drawn. "I'm the man who in another life you denied, using a disintegrate scroll on yourself to reject everything I gave you. The man who has crossed the stars and time itself to return you to his side." They took a step toward you but you held your ground, ignoring every impulse to turn heel and bolt the other way as they partly lifted their hands from their side. "I am High Lord Astarion Ancunín. Vampire Ascendant." Smirking from ear to ear in a way that was undeniably Astarion. From the glance you spare at your Astarion, he seemed just as stunned, confused... worried.

Still, you searched him for it: deception, doubt, a half truth, anything and your heart sunk further, the more you found to only prove his point. To your horror, this was Astarion. Somehow, as he said, crossed the barriers of your realities to be here.

Ascendant... This is what Astarion would become if he completed the ritual.

You searched his eyes, for what you couldn't say for sure, something to reject this, reject him. Something that would wake you from this nightmare. His eyes were cold, dark with malice, lacking any of the warmth you felt when you stared into your Astarion's, they were commanding, all-consuming.

Your body stiffened, rigid. You couldn't look away.

"There..." The Ascendant sighs, almost dreamily, "come here to me, my treasure..." Extending his arms wide, inviting you into them, and you feel every muscle in your body acting on its own.

Panic nearly takes your senses. "No, I can't..." you force the words out before your throat tightens and your tongue stills.

But that's all he needs to hear to understand. Astarion's arm wraps around your waist as your feet move, pulling you into his arms instead. With a mind of its own, your body thrashes and squirms against him as if desperately trying to heed the Ascendants' command, but he doesn't let go. "Easy, darling, I've got you..." He murmurs in your ear, not unlike the nights he's comforted you, tied up and writhing on your bedroll. "I won't let him... I won't..." you detect the softest of tremors in his voice while you struggle to regain control of your limbs.

Behind you, you listen to your friends scrambling to form a protective line between both of you and the Ascendant. "I don't know what damnable creature you are," Wyll says from somewhere in the line, "but I know my friend Astarion, and that's enough reason for me to drive my blade through your putrid heart."

"What you are is an abomination." Halsin speaks right after him, "part of understanding and appreciating the artistry of life is understanding the role death plays in nature's beauty. But frankly... I cannot imagine any reason for your existence." He concludes with a harsh glare at the Ascendant.

Who merely lifts an eyebrow. "How imbecilic." He says impassively, glancing among your six friends. Suddenly his eyes glow and mist red, and with a wave of his hand the very shadows at their backs surge to life.

Halsin's shadow is upon him with a viciousness you've only seen in rabid animals, shredding him to ribbons before he even turns to face the monster.

Lae'zel holds her own well enough before hers takes her to the ground. Though it seems grim, she appears to be regaining the upper hand quickly.

Gale whips around and reaches to grab Wyll and cast Dimension Door, but his own shadow counterspells him and blasts him with a ray of frost so hard it sends him hurtling through the air.

The Ascendant watches the wizard sail past him with a barely suppressed humor to his features. "Oh, dear..." He mutters just loud enough to be heard, "not going quite the way you expected, is it?" He mutters, raising his hand to examine his nails. Only appearing mildly interested in the chaos unfolding in front of him.

Wyll dispatches his shadow, only to watch Karlach overwhelmed by hers, and he shouts in horror. Barely reaching her in time to block the downswing aimed for her chest.

"And how about you druid—Oh, dear..." he gasps, a feigned expression of shock flitting across his face, moving that same hand to his mouth, a wicked smile barely concealed behind his splayed fingers. You shiver at the sadistic delight dancing shamelessly in his eyes while he gawks at the sight of Halsin, savaged and lifeless, face down in a pool of his own blood. "You always had that coming, you dimwitted oaf. The first time too..." He huffs, straightening his posture and holding his head up as he leers down at the body with blatant disdain. "And you know what they say about your own worst enemy...." As he glances among your friends, one by one struggling and fending for themselves.

Astarion tugs at your arm when your body stills against his. "We need to go, now!" he hurries, dragging you behind him.

He reaches the bottom of the stairs before you pull your arm free. "We're just going to leave them?!" you ask incredulously, raising your voice, gesturing and looking behind you.

Shadowheart thoroughly thrashes her dark copy with impressive efficiency, diverting her energy now to the Ascendant. The familiar chant falls from her lips as she begins to cast Turn Undead. Vanishing in a blur of crimson mist, he reappears in front of her, and she successfully gets the spell off a mere second later.

But he stood there, unfazed. Flashing a wicked grin, he confidently takes hold of Shadowhearts' hands, lifting them up and then abruptly wrenching them in opposing directions, sending an uneasy wave through your body. She cries out in agony, and the Ascendant allows her to collapse to her knees before he callously brushes her aside with his boot, treating her as though she were nothing more than a worn-out toy.

Astarion takes your arm again, returning your attention to him and desperate urgency flashes over his features. "You don't understand. I know what he wants, and I won't let him—"

Just as he turns around for the stairs, a flash of red mist. "Tut-tut." The Ascendant scolds, clearly unimpressed, scowling at Astarion as the very shadows of the room gather around his hands.

Reacting faster than your vampire, you swiftly shove yourself between the two Astarions, acting on instinct.

Pain ripples through you unlike anything you've felt before, like a hammer of fire and ice that makes your blood boil and freeze all at once. The blast launches you back into Astarion hard enough to send you hurtling through the air, past Gale casting another spell.

Your body slams into the unforgiving coldness of the stone platform, causing a sharp intake of breath and a loud grunt of pain involuntarily slips past your lips. The force of the impact propels you into a chaotic, disorienting tumble, your cheek scraping the rough texture of the floor as you skid to a halt.

Despite the pain on your face, you dug deep and pushed on your arms, your body trembling slightly as you managed to roll onto your back. Vision hazy and unfocused. What in the sweet hells kind of magic was that?

Where's...?

Straining your eyes, you see Gale rushing toward you before ominous black chains materialized from the floor and curled around his arms and legs, forcefully dragging him to his knees. Instinctively reaching for the wizard but your thoughts and concerns quickly shift elsewhere at the sound of your name. Tilting your head backwards, your heart almost settles at the sight of your pale elf scrambling to his feet toward you, "Astarion!" you call back, mustering your strength again in an attempt to get back on your feet.

And as quickly as you felt some sense of relief at the sight of him, your heart sinks violently at the tendril, the whip of dark magic that coils tightly around his body and flings him backward, away from you. With his rogueish reflexes, he quickly gathers his feet under him and lunges for his attacker. Fiercely, you struggle to your knees, desperate to help him.

The Ascendant effortlessly extends his arm, gathering at his legs, "even vermin must kneel before a god," he sneers, snapping his arm back to his side, sending a grunting, growling Astarion down with it, knees slamming to the ground. A fury to his stride "you were always worthless, sniveling..." raising his boot and pressing it harshly onto your vampire's shoulder, "groveling." Pushing him harshly down onto his hands.

Lightning flies from behind you, a quick glance reveals Gale had managed to get the spell off, and the Ascendant winces at the unexpected attack, stumbling off of Astarion. Who doesn't waste the opportunity and tackles his full weight into him. It doesn't do more than throw the Ascendant somewhat off balance as the two wrestle for the upper hand. "Bluster all you want, but I see what you really are! A lost, empty, miserable creature! Trying to fill a hole in your heart that all the power in the world will never sate!" Astarion snarls with his fangs on full display.

With a shove, the Ascendant puts distance between him and Astarion. His eyes glow red again and he grabs Astarion by the throat, lifting him into the air like a rag-doll. A familiar hand touches your shoulder and you're about to turn and thank Gale when the Ascendant's head snaps in your direction. The chains, which never fully released Gale, tighten around his arms and legs but begin to pull slowly in opposite directions. Then he opens his hand, his palm flat and level with the ground. Darkness swirling from the room and around his fingers like moths to a flame, and he steadily curls them back into his hand as it simmers a soft, red glow.

Blobs of shadow ooze from the floor and take the shape of monsters, soldiers, ghouls... One dozen, then two. Far more than you know your friends and you can fend off on your own. "Wait!" You shout before you can fully think of why you're doing so, rising to your feet at last, despite the way your legs ache and demand you don't.

Eerily, it all comes to a stop. All of it. And though the Ascendant pauses a long while, even he flings Astarion carelessly behind him before he slowly turns to you. "Apologies, my treasure... I got carried away." He says calmly, watching you cautiously circle around him.

You hesitantly look around the room. From Cazador's body, to Halsin's mangled and brutalized and the six spawn still muzzled with dark magic... "why are you doing all this?" is all you can ask in a barely audible whisper.

"You." He answers, so simple yet with such reverence. "For you, for us, I have dominated this city, compelled it to kneel before you, reduced it to little more than your personal footstool for your amusement." His eyes were distant with fond memories, and evidently clueless to the horror in your eyes. "I made you my queen, and I sat you beside me on a throne befitting of one, one that embodied your grace and beauty." You watched his eyes gaze upward, still deep in his recollections.

"The sight of you seated beside me never failed to make my heart swell with pride and fill me with contentment, like a melody playing in my soul." The words tumbling out, as if he'd been holding them in for centuries, bringing a hand to rest flat against the chest of his armor, over his heart.

"Hundreds of servants who kissed the ground you blessed with your every step as you tread the halls of our palace... and still, you rejected me." The Ascendant growls, taking a step toward you that has you quickly reeling backward, away from him. "After everything I taught you, all the delights of obedience, slow as you were to learn them... Countless nights spent coaxing your body to submission to me with nothing but pleasure. And you. Still—"

"No wonder I fucking killed myself." You spat, cutting him off before he could make you vomit... gods, how your stomach churned... "By the hells," you muttered, a look of disgust on your face. "What made you think I'd ever want that? The Astarion I know, my Astarion, would never... He knows me. Sees me." Gesturing behind you, and on cue, you felt his hand brush yours. "Did you?" The words sounding like a soft plea on behalf of your Other Self. A life, by what he described, you loathed.

The Ascendant regards you, his face impassive and impossible to read and all you could hope - pray for, was that your words were getting through. Even if he may not be your Astarion, it still pained you to see him like this. Amazed you he didn't look any different in the physical sense...

But then you watched his piercing scarlet eyes swirl back, full of malice, the twisted obsession of a love now corrupted, a chilling fury smoldering in his gaze as it consumed you. Commanding.

He grinned as your limbs once again went rigid. "Yes. I do." Casually raising his hand, this time you can only helplessly watch as another burst of foul magic slams into Astarion behind you, "now be a good girl, stop struggling and come to me."

In an instant, you berated yourself for your own stupidity to fall for this again, as your body stiffly, though slowly, moved forward. Behind you, chaos erupted as the creatures summoned by the Ascendant swarmed upon your friends. To your relief, you hear them fighting, possibly even holding them off, but that just meant you were on your own against... this.

Straining with all your will, you tore your gaze away from his eyes and fixated on the center of his chest. Though it had no effect on the command already imposed on your unwilling body, it felt less forceful. You grimaced, wriggling your fingers as you fought to regain any semblance of control from him. You never told Astarion you love him, you have to tell him, and you need to beat this if you ever want to...

With a fierce growl, your arms at last heed your demands, allowing you to swiftly reach for the dagger holstered at your side. However, you misjudged the distance between you two and realize too late you're within his grasp, and he quickly seizes your wrists, forcefully pulling you towards him. "Gods, I've missed you, my love..." The Ascendant's warm breath caressed your ear, his grip strong and possessive. Tight and suffocating.

Warm... He's...

With precision, he extends his hand towards your face, gently leading it to meet his own. The moment your lips touch, a searing heat spreads through your body, intensified by the graze of his fangs against your lip. As if anticipating your resistance, his other hand swiftly clasps the back of your head, holding you in place. Preventing any thought you may have had about breaking away before he's done.

It freezes you at first. The similarity, yet stark difference, of his lips hits you like a sudden gust of wind. It's a complete contrast to the cold you've grown accustomed to and sincerely enjoy from your Astarion.

How similar, but utterly different, his lips are. They radiate warmth, as do his hands and breath. It's a complete contrast to the cold you've grown accustomed to and sincerely enjoy from your Astarion. The smell of the Ascendant, rosemary and bergamot, differs from yours, though, with his comes a tinge of a frosty winter evening. Against every sense in your mind, screaming at you to stop him, fight this, your heart races with a sickening blend of fear and want.

Still, you fought, barely resisting the intense urge to kiss him back. This wasn't your Astarion. Yours was... calling out to you, and you could barely hear him. Could barely hear anything other than the Ascendants' breaths and mouth moving on yours, as if tempting you to sync with the kiss before he silently gives up and barely separates from you. "Come with me, my dark consort." He practically purrs, his lips brushing yours. "Faerûn waits eagerly for the return of its queen..."

The realization dawns on you, and your gut clenches in anticipation of what is about to unfold. You make one final, desperate attempt to wrench yourself free. Sights and sounds beyond the Ascendant return to you. Prying your arms free, you push against his chest.

Gods above, you don't want to live the nightmare he just described for yourself.

He sighs at your struggling and tsk's, "it seems I truly will have to teach you, and your body, all over again... And here I was hoping I could have the chain removed from the bottom of your throne..." murmuring softly, words dripping with disappointment, like the steady fall of rain.

Did your other self have a spare scroll handy...?

You writhe in his arms, twisting away in your attempt to untangle yourself from his grasp and slip down to the floor, knowing that attacking him with your hands will be useless and unable to grab your dagger in this position. You focus all your energy on trying to escape.

Across the floor, your eyes meet Astarion's. Your Astarion. Fighting viciously through wave after wave of monsters, unable to make any ground toward you. A shared desperation in your eyes, even as a sinister red glow slowly surrounds you. You never told him... you need to tell him...

Damn this. Damn him. "I love you, Astarion." You choke back the sob threatening to spill out, praying to whatever god is listening that he at least hears you say it.

For better or worse, his eyes gloss, "I'll find you, my love, I swear..."

Red swirls blind you.

And you're gone.

‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐

The moment you disappear, so does the small horde of creatures. Astarion shakily crosses the floor until he reaches the spot where they stood. Where He took you.

He collapses.

And he screams.

Screams until his throat is raw. Screams ugly, heart wrenching sobs that stung the ears like knives, with the power to move even the most callous heart with pity.

Today was supposed to be the start of his new life. One he dreamed of for two centuries, that he would share with you. Cazador lay dead beside him, so it was still possible, but what use was this freedom when he felt emptier than he's ever felt in his entire existence, living and undead? While within reach, it offered no solace. He would be alone. Again.

Astarion swore he would find you, but how would he? Would he have to ascend? Seize that power and ascend as well? Could Shadowheart bring back Cazador, just to use and spend him, so that Astarion could save you?

The way he... the Ascendant looked at you... It was vile. Utterly devoted to you, yet possessed by obsession. A gnarled, grotesque, and barely recognizable idea of his own love for you. The things he would do to force you to... love him. While wearing his face.

The terror that if he ascended here and now, that he could become that bastard...

Not even the tadpole, the Absolute mattered to him anymore. Not when he faced life without you, the only person to see him, to love him... For him.

He truly meant it. Not everyone had a heart like you. No one was like you. He would never find another love like what he feels for you.

Why didn't he just kiss you this morning when he had the chance...?

An odd, dense mist formed in front of him, and Astarion reluctantly watched it. Hells, the last thing he needs is... whatever this is.

"This simply cannot be permitted." Said a soft-spoken voice as an elven woman emerged from within. Her eyes scanning over the scene. She wore a light grey robe and a symbol around her neck shaped like a golden, dawning sun with five half crescents like spokes of a wheel. Her hair was long and bright, eyes a pale blue.

She knelt in front of Astarion, her fingers brushing what he is only now seeing. Dark, simmering runes that form a circle around where He stood, where He took you. "Are you keen to uphold your promise?" She asked without looking up at him.

Astarion blinked, but he refused to hesitate. "If you have a way to help me save her, talk quickly." He replies impatiently.

The woman slowly rose to her feet and Astarion, though his knees trembled slightly, rose to join her. "Save may be too strong a word. Her suffering is inevitable now, and it will be plentiful in supply." A small frown flickered across her features. If she noticed the anguish that those words caused him, she paid no mind. "But we may yet return her here, where she belongs. Where she's needed." She says calmly. "But it cannot be so without you."

"What part of 'talk quickly' do you not understand? Are they not words you comprehend? Tell me what you need and I'll do it."

"Patience, little vampling." The woman soothes, unperturbed by his temper. "This timeline must sleep before her disappearance can affect it. In turn, your parasite will sleep, just as hers has already." She explains patiently, as another figure, a small Elven man with a journal and quill in hand, emerges from the mist and joins her side. He kneels down and begins studying the runes, drawing them on the parchment. "It will not be simple or easy. The Ascendants' power has risen to heights we haven't seen in other timelines. But he cannot continue his rise unchallenged." She continues with a small shake of her head.

Astarion moved to take a step toward her, only for the man to catch his foot gently, holding it back from covering one of the runes. "Tell me what you need from me, and I will give it." He says back firmly, a growl edging his tone.

The woman nodded. "Come with me. We have much to discuss." She gestures slowly with one hand behind her, toward the mist.

He's about to start toward it with little hesitation, before he stops and looks back. Karlach kneeling beside Halsin's mangled remains, Wyll's hand on her shoulder. Gale and Lae'zel were on either side of Shadowheart, who was nursing her broken hands.

She gives a nod, committed to this just as much as he was. "Get her back. And thrash the bastard for me." The cleric encourages with a weary but determined smile.

With a nod and a silent promise, he turns back to the woman and now the man, their presence looming at the edge of the mist, and he strides resolutely forward to enter it alongside them.

"I love you, Astarion." His heart shattering all over again remembering the tremble in your voice.

Astarion swore he would find you.

And this time he would say it back.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

A/N: Sorry, I just didn't have the heart to end it on a note of "oh no Spawn Astarion is just fucked now I guess".

This had been an idea on and off, but was inspired to go for it when I saw it prompted during my regular tumblr scroll. I have written, and rewritten and written it again, over and over, and this is the culmination of endless suffering. So... Thanks for reading this far! Hope you liked it!

EDIT: this is intended as a one-shot. There is no planned continuation. The ending is written to provide an alternate, a sense of hope, if you, the reader is unhappy with the "bad end". You can decide for yourself if Astarion is successful at finding you, if he survives a second confrontation, the consequences of it all, etc.

Of course, I have plenty of ideas for how I'd continue it but I have no serious interest to at the moment. I might write it privately for myself if I do, but it depends how much people care about this.

[bloooodyconsort]

Astarion: "Holy shit, my dark consort is so pretty"

[random-introverted-blog]

His Star - His Queen [Chapter 8 - Changes]

Who you are - Who you're not - Who are you?

Summary: From parents one week, to a jeweler and a business meeting the next, the Ascendant has been very busy. And you've done your best to play the part of a reluctantly behaved consort.

But for how long before the lines blur?

Link to the Tumblr Chapter Index

Warnings/Advisories: Blood, a reference to violence, the Ascendant is very creepy again, possessive behavior, implied SA throughout, emotional and psychological manipulation.

A/N: This took a million years because I kept adding to it. There's a lot that's going to be happening soon. If we were on a rollercoaster together, we're nearing the crest of the high-drop. Thank you everyone for your patience. Please enjoy and forgive the sweat and blood all over the place. I edited as much as I could but there's so much I'll probably be making post-upload edits for awhile.

Chapter is 8,516 words.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-

You find a twisted comfort in the warmth of the blood on your hands, as it decorates your arms like a piece of art and adorns the lovely little dress of various pastel colors you had been dolled up in all day.

It doesn't change that you don't remember what happened. One moment, you stood there with this peculiar, yet charming, elderly couple. Conversing with them, as they understood they were not your real parents. But they held onto the hope that you could still be a family together.

You weren't sure if you felt guilty for never telling them outright the truth of your parentage, or for the haunting screams that echoed in remnants of memory in your mind from the savagery inflicted on them in the name of your father.

Savagery that you can't remember.

But is splattered across your arms and across the room.

At some point, it seems you had attempted to infuse your glass of water with the taste of the woman's bloody finger, only to lose interest and abandon the finger in the glass. And the red, very dead eyes of the man seemed to pierce into your unwavering stare, forever frozen in a state of terror.

They were so happy to see you. So sweet. And in return for their boundless affection, you unleashed an unfathomable storm of brutality. The echoes of violence reverberated in your skull, drowning out the once rich sounds of laughter. The scent of blood and fear hung heavy in the air, mingling with the lingering aroma of freshly baked cookies that the mother had brought with her, along with a story of how she commandeered the palace kitchen. It was astonishing that his spawn hadn't erupted into a chaotic frenzy yet. You had no doubt they were the parents of the other you. You were willing to play along, at least for their sake...

"Oh dear. Now just look at this mess..." scolded a familiar voice behind you, by the door, though the tone was more amused than annoyed. His footsteps creating a soft thud as he approached then appeared beside you. "Is everything alright, my love? What happened?" he asked, worry lacing his words. Crouching down, he met your height, his hand brushing against your arm, grounding you in the chaos - with genuine concern etched on his face. From the corner of your eyes you caught his noting the pool of scarlet blood your knees have been bathing in, seeping into his expensive dark wood floorboards.

His fingers delicately pushed aside the blood-streaked strands of hair from your face, somewhat sticky with blood. "Did they hurt you?" Astarion presses, but his tone remains gentle.

You shake your head; the motion accentuated by the soft rustle of your hair brushing against the surface of your shoulders. Wrapping your arms around yourself. "I... No, but..." you pause, the words catching in your throat. Astarion's gaze meets yours, his eyes searching for answers. "Astarion, I don't have parents..." The words leave your lips softly, like a whisper carried by the wind. "Not like you know them." You take a deep breath, the coolness filling your lungs, as if it could somehow ease the weight on your shoulders. Despite your desire for him to know as little about you as possible, this is a secret that can no longer be kept safely. If you ever could.

Astarion studies you, his brow quirks in curiosity. Yet he refrains from mocking or making a witty comment at your expense. "Care to elaborate on that for me, pet?" With a gentle touch, he reached for your arms and guides you to your feet.

Whispering with a tremble that betrays your inner turmoil, the kind that's drowned out by the beat of your own heart thundering in your ears. "I... I'm a Bhaalspawn..." The words taste like a secret - heavy and dangerous, surrendered to the silence between you and meant for his ears alone.

Despite his composed demeanor, you can't help but notice the subtle tensing of his body, a slight stiffness that betrays his reaction to your words. A faint scent of tension lingering in the air, like the crackling of electricity before a storm. "I see," the silence punctuated only by his murmured response, his voice carrying a contemplative tone.

To your utter surprise, he pulls you, your body caked in sticky crimson blood, into his arms. His once immaculate red and black suit becomes stained with the dark, viscous liquid. His embrace tightens around your waist, constricting like a vice. "My apologies, darling. I should have weighed the differences between you and her more carefully." He croons, his voice low and velvety.

Rather than attempt to push him away, sneer, bite, hiss... You simply let your shoulders relax and your eyes gently shut. Like a warm blanket on a crisp autumn morning, his scent embraced you, equal parts familiar and entirely different. You shouldn't be doing this. What would your Star think...?

But you can't think. Your arms ache and your hands pulsate, likely from the repetitive actions of brutally bludgeoning the lovely couple into a mangled pulp resembling a tomato soup. Your wicked heart rejoices in the kills, feeling a dark and twisted satisfaction, a sickening feeling that emanates from deep within your chest. A profound self-hatred arises for harboring a sense of fulfillment that you realize has quietly found its home within you.

Astarion's arms tighten, his touch firm yet gentle. The sound of his steady heartbeat fills your ears as he pulls you nearer to his chest. "You're discontented with your blood," he murmurs the words, a statement rather than a question. "I'll explore what can be done, though I suspect I may have an answer already." Determination fills his voice, slender fingers threading through your hair.

"Ensure that dinner is served in my bedchamber this evening." Astarion commands, his piercing gaze sweeps over the bustling crowd of servants and guards at the door.

A half-elf servant's eyes dart nervously as he observes him. "But the guests--"

"Serve them in the dining hall as planned. Ballar will excuse our absence, and I will handle the rest in the morning," he snaps, his impatience palpable as he gazes down at you. His eyes emit a soft glow that is strangely captivating rather than terrifying. He replies impatiently as he looks down at you, eyes glowing red but soft and not all-consuming. Simultaneously, the shadows lurking in the corners of the room begin to slither towards you, their movements silent yet eerily mesmerizing. Gradually, they envelop both of you, plunging you into an abyss of darkness.

It's a strange feeling, like a gentle and chilly breeze that dances across your skin.

Then the shadows recede and you, still standing in his arms, find yourself transported to a room that dwarfs the familiar confines of your own. If opulence could be a room, this would be it.

A gentle, feather-light kiss lands on the crown of your head, sending a shiver down your spine as your attention shifts to Astarion. "I will draw a warm bath for you," he murmurs, his voice a gentle serenade that caresses your ears. "Feel free to explore the bedchamber to your heart's desire. We'll be sharing it in time, after all." With those simple words, he releases you from his warm embrace, and you watch as he gracefully glides behind you, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. Your eyes trace his every movement until he disappears behind a simple wooden door.

Though choosing to ignore his reasons, you take him up on his offer - kicking your bloody shoes off and allowing your bare feet to tread the warm, burgundy carpet throughout the space. The centerpiece of the room is the large, fourposter bed. Framed in mahogany and adorned with intricate reliefs depicting events in history... is that... the netherbrain?

Of course, only the finest silks and velvets, deep shades of red and purple, adorn the bed. Above, a canopy of rich, embroidered fabric drapes down, adding to the sense of regal splendor.

On one side of the room a large bay window, framed with heavy velvet curtains in royal blue and embroidered gold, overlooks the bustling city and distant sparkle of stars flitting above the Sword Coast. A plush window seat, adorned with soft cushions, inviting you to take a seat to relax and think, or perhaps finish the book you've been enjoying the past few nights.

The walls are artworks and tapestries, some magical and depicting wondrous scenes, others more mundane in comparison. With some of these concealed by ominous dark sheets. Between them, shelves, cabinets, dressers of dark wood you presume hold treasures or the like.

A grand fireplace dominates the other wall, its mantle exquisitely carved, a show of incredible craftsmanship. It's fire alight and casting a warm glow over the room. Nearby, an elegant writing desk equipped with fine parchment, inks and quills, very well used by your estimation, and framed by two wall sconces. The room is bathed in a soft, warm glow from the lights of the crystal chandeliers and wall sconces, creating an enchanting and regal atmosphere.

The creaking of the door beside the fireplace catches your attention and you're greeted by the sight of a shirtless Astarion, hand extended and beckoning you. "Come, love, it's ready." He says, smiling warmly when you accept and cross the room toward him.

He takes your hand and walks with you into the room, steamed slightly from the warm water and guiding you around the large marble bathtub to a shelf lined with various scented oils and soaps. "I believe we have the vanilla and amber oil you've taken to using lately, if that is what you'd like tonight." Astarion offers in a calming rumble of his chest as he steps behind you. His fingertips graze your skin as he unbuttons the dress for you, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Normally, you would smack his hands at the mere thought of him undressing you. But you're so... tired. And drained... and all you want is to clean off the blood caked on your skin.

So you simply pluck one oil after the other off the shelf, examine the selection with some mild interest while Astarion does most of the work taking the dress off you until you need to lift your arms or legs to get it off completely. In the end you settle on a cinnamon and honey scent, one he acknowledges with a silent nod and subtle smile.

It dawns on you, as he turns away with the oil, that he intends to join you in the bath... right as you realize he's as naked as you are. He returns and replaces it on the shelf before retrieving a bar of soap next.

He guides with a hand on the small of your back to the tub and eases you both into the warm water.

Just like that, you find yourself naked and immersed in a hot bath with a twisted version of Astarion, a tyrant of a ruler over... is it just Baldur's Gate or the entire Sword Coast? And to your surprise, he makes no move to touch you like that. Instead, he focuses on helping you wash in a somewhat comfortable silence.

Even as he washes the blood from your hair and face, his hands remain appropriate. He asks a few questions about your urge but nothing beyond the standard array of curious ones to better understand it - as well as what memories you do have of your life.

Then he asks you the burning question. "Did you enjoy your meeting with the cockroach today, my pet?" The Ascendant calmly asks as he sets the soap aside.

He chuckles at your tense reaction, brushing his fingers through your wet hair. "Of course I would know, darling. It wasn't much of a reach." As his arm snakes around your waist, slowly dragging you into him.

"And you're not...?" you cautiously inquire, anticipating his reaction, whether it be anger or irritation.

"It doesn't concern me." Astarion answered, his voice carrying an air of nonchalance, "he can try all he likes, but no matter what he does, his efforts will never be enough to steal you away from me."

His choice of words had you contorting in his grasp, twisting to meet his gaze. "Remind me who stole me first?" You bite and narrow your gaze at him.

Astarion's piercing scarlet eyes, shimmering with an unexpected tenderness, meet yours, locking in an intense gaze. As his hand, radiating warmth, delicately caresses yours beneath the soothing embrace of the fragrant bathwater, the soft sound of water gently lapping against the sides of the tub creates a serene ambiance. Leaning closer, his presence alone almost whispers lovingly to yours, "One day," he murmurs, his voice caressing your ears and easing your worries despite your reluctance to part with them, "everything will become clear to you, my love."

You want to say it was him who started what happens first... but deep down; you lack certainty. All you know is what follows. Your lips meld with his, the taste somewhat of metal and fine wine. The sound of your heart pounding in your ears intertwines with that of your shared breaths between kisses. As his hands trace the curves of your hips, a gentle tug brings you onto his lap, his arousal grazing against your thigh as you settle. Your hands find their place on his chiseled chest, feeling the sculpted muscles beneath your fingertips.

In the depths of your thoughts, faint whispers echoes in the recesses of your mind, begging you to stop this. Growing louder and more frantic as his hands guide you into a tantalizing grind on his thigh. But it's the soft, intimate sounds that escape your parted lips as you press them against his, filled with longing and anticipation, that abruptly shatter your daydream, causing your hands to instinctively push against him.

One of his hands holds firmly holds you close to his body, while the other hand playfully teases one of your breasts, his fingers tracing delicate patterns that make your skin tingle with anticipation. When his lips withdraw from yours, a path of soft kisses awakens your yearning, as his breath, filled with warmth, delicately sweeps across your neck. Every touch, every nibble, creates a captivating blend of anticipation and desire that floods your senses. You can feel the gentle graze of his fangs, a delicate reminder of his primal nature, as he tenderly kisses and nibbles with his teeth. The friction of your instinctive grinding against his firm thigh creates a captivating sensation that is gradually consuming you. Just as you begin to comprehend the severity of the moment, he confidently lifts your hips, leaving you helpless to resist the pull of desire...

____________________________________________________________________

Well... at least this time you're not waking up naked with him. Like you do most nights as of the last nine days.

As you wake up, you find yourself nestled against his strong, muscular body. Soft morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the room. Your cheek rests against his chest, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin. His arm draped over you, while his fingertips delicately trace patterns along your back. Their touch seeping through the fabric of your nightgown and sending a soothing sensation through your body. The faint ache in your muscles reminds you of the passionate evening you shared with him, lingering memories of him between your legs while you sat on the edge of his writing desk. However, the soreness is much milder compared to the first time. Perhaps it's the result of spending the past tenday in his constant, inseparable presence.

Sensing you're awake, his other hand gently weaves through your hair, nails tenderly caressing your scalp. "Good morning, beautiful," his voice reverberates in his chest, rumbling against your ear. You sense he doesn't expect or require a response from you, allowing you to bask in the moment's serenity. Succumbing to the blissful sensation of his fingers caressing your scalp, you let your eyelids flutter closed, prolonging the quiet embrace of comfort and ease.

Once more, guilt gnaws at you for succumbing so easily to the Ascendants' advances. Even though he forcefully brought you to climax in the hallway yesterday, pinning you against the wall, you were able to resist him for a longer time than how quickly you've given in to his embrace just now.

But you can feel something shifting in you, something wrong. Try as you might to fight it, ignore it, deny it, you're reaching the point of reluctantly admitting you are powerless to it. But that doesn't mean you're close to giving up. Once you can slip away from the Ascendant's side long enough, you can approach Elowen about using the sending stone to communicate your progress. Maybe even an update from the resistance on the "extra help" they promised you'd receive soon.

During your brief moments alone, you convinced her it was best for her to hold on to it. Malacai and Astarion were already constant shadows watching your every move. Yet every so often, he includes another "steward" to your company. But you've played the role of warily agreeable "consort" since the night he learned of your bhaalspawn blood.

Astarion continuously parades in one wedding planner after the other, and you reluctantly comply... kind of. Each time you suggest leaving the palace, it predictably spirals into an argument. But perhaps if you can persuade him to allow you to leave with the stewards trailing behind, he might become more inclined to acquiesce.

Until then, you have spent most of your days learning your own body language and manipulating it in a large, public setting to wordlessly communicate that you are, somehow, a superior breed of creature. You haven't been a fast learner, to put it mildly, but Malacai and Astarion were far from discouraged.

Gently opening your eyes and lifting your head, you meet his eyes, watching you. "What is it to be today? More dress design arguments? Wine tasting? Or simply soak in the warm embrace of sunlight?" You ask, a playful tone in your voice. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, a contented purr escaping his lips. "Mm, that last one is rather appealing," he admits, his voice filled with a lazy anticipation. "Especially if you're included."

"Do I have a choice?"

The slip of your tongue cleaves through the silence like a sharpened sword through a goblin. A storm begins to brew behind his eyes as they gently open, his previously serene facade breaking away like a cliff-face succumbing to the relentless sea. Silence slithers into the void left by your words, taut and thickening the air akin to that of a dense fog. "Obedience is a matter of choice, darling. It can be as easy or as arduous as you decide. And we've gone over a few times already how pleasurable it can be," he responds, his voice low and resonant.

As you rise, disentangling yourself from his body, he props himself up on his hands. "We have little on our agenda today, save for a jeweler whom I had Cirrus summon, and I have a meeting later in the evening. So if bathing in the sun after breakfast is on offer, I'm all pointy ears."

"Where? That indoor courtyard across from my room?" You ask curiously, tilting your head.

"No," he says with a disdainful tone, his face contorting in disgust as he visibly pictures the place in his mind. "That place is a ghastly eyesore." The words carry a hint of mockery as he sneers. "Perhaps, with your personal touch, you can breathe life into the space, hmm?" His smile emerges, accompanied by the sound of a gentle chuckle. Leaning in closer, he plants a soft, affectionate kiss on your cheek, leaving a lingering warmth. With that, he gracefully rises from the bed and heads towards his wardrobe.

The sight of pants, neatly folded and hanging in the closet, makes your heart sink. The varied colors and textures evoke a sense of longing within you. Oh, how much you miss the feeling of slipping into them, the smooth fabric against your skin. "Can I please wear pants again?" you ask, your voice tinged with yearning, unable to fight the pout that tugs at your face.

Astarion glances over his shoulder, the soft rustle of fabric filling the air as he effortlessly slips into his clothes. Today, his attire is elegantly understated, with tailored, dark grey pants that hug his legs and a sky blue shirt that accentuates his refined features. The ends of the sleeves and the collar are delicately ruffled, adding a touch of whimsy to his ensemble. "Darling," he replies, his voice gentle yet persuasive, "it's simply not fitting for a woman of your esteemed position." He turns to face you, his gaze filled with a captivating blend of sincerity and allure.

"But I'm the future wife of a godking, no? Who can say besides us what falls within and below my status?" This is possibly the first time you are using this nonsense for your benefit.

With a playful chuckle, he raises his eyebrows and surrenders by holding his hands up, saying, "As my lady wishes, so shall it be." As you open the wardrobe, he glances at the array of exquisite gowns, some purchased and others uniquely designed for you. "I'll have a tailor and seamstress called upon next, then. But will you consider that on some occasions it is better for you to wear one of these instead?" Arching an eyebrow, a subtle plea to you.

"Fine, as long as I at least get to wear pants consistently around the palace in private."

"That sounds eminently reasonable to me, pet." Astarion smiles, passing by you with a kiss to your head, leaving you to pick out a dress for the day.

Once the matter is settled, you follow closely behind him, your footsteps muffled by the plush carpeting as he leads you out of the lavishly adorned bedchamber and into the expansive hallways. As you walk, the scent of polished mahogany and the delicate fragrance of freshly cut roses fills the air, creating a harmonious blend of richness and beauty. Servants scurry about, their hurried footsteps echoing on the gleaming parquet floors.

Your eyes catch a group of them, their brows furrowed with effort, struggling to lift a massive ornate frame, shrouded in a pristine white silk sheet, off the wall. Their stifled grunts intermingle with the gentle rustling of the fabric. It's not the first time you've witnessed such a scene, but this time, you decide to halt your steps and observe. Curiosity piqued, you inquire, "Overhauling the decor, Astarion?"

He too takes notice of the scene. There is a flicker in his eyes, a fleeting moment of something indescribable that vanishes before you can fully comprehend it. "Something like that," he mutters, his gaze lingering on the servants for a moment before he turns to face you, a warm smile playing on his lips. Offering you his arm, silently telling you it's time to move on.

Despite the strong urge to ignore and walk past him, you reluctantly give in and hook your arm around his, feeling a mix of annoyance, resignation and a sense of begrudging obligation. And the two of you continue on your way to breakfast uneventfully.

__________________________________________________

Although smaller than expected, you'll agree that this balcony, adorned with delicate flowers, where he has had you lounging, has a pleasant charm to it. As you reluctantly let yourself unwind, you nestle beside him, feeling the softness of the plush bench, with its velvet upholstery, contrast his firm body. The gentle breeze caresses your skin. As you gaze upon the bustling harbor, the vibrant colors of the boats and the glimmering water paint a picturesque scene before you. The melodic songs of birds in the distance and the muted chatter of the city below blended together, creating a comforting lullaby.

He made sure you ate enough to satisfy your hunger, and now you feel your breakfast sitting in your stomach like a rock.

Your eyes peel away from the view to admire the vampire lord... god... His eyes, closed in peaceful contentment, reveal his trust in your presence. With his head slightly tilted toward the blue sky, he savors every ray of the sun, his face bathed in warm golden light. The vibrant hues of his pale skin, illuminated by the sunlight, create a captivating contrast. The scent of him enveloped you: bergamot, rosemary, and frost, intermingled with the crisp morning air. You're not sure how long it's been since he ascended, though he once mentioned that the previous you had passed away a century and a half ago. No matter how much time has passed since he secured his ability to walk in the sun, he still clearly adores basking in it.

The sight of him, so vulnerable and yet so strong, almost fills your heart with a comforting warmth for him. "Why do you need me if you have all this at your fingertips?" Your voice remains hushed, careful not to disturb the restful mood. Absentmindedly finding your hand on his chest, gently caressing it through the fabric of his shirt.

His warm hand settles gently over yours, the tips of his fingers lightly brushing against your skin. As his captivating crimson eyes open, he gazes up at the vast expanse of the sky, fluffy white clouds drift lazily across the vibrant blue canvas. "All of this power, all of these riches, they are meaningless without you by my side. If it weren't for the hope of being reunited with her, I would have simply scorched Toril, reducing everything, even the stars above, to mere ashes that would cascade upon my skin."

You feel a slight twitch in your ears, and your brows furrow in confusion. "I'm not her, Astarion," you say, your voice carrying a soothing tone and preemptively comforting. "Just as you are not mine." You hope to harness the tender atmosphere around you, using it to comfort him and create a productive conversation.

Unexpectedly, a gentle smile spreads across his face and you can feel his arm slide around your waist, securing you in his embrace. "I know."

Suddenly, the peaceful moment is shattered when the double doors leading into the morning room swing open. A dwarven man in a tailored suit, with a hunched back and a noticeably small stature - even for his race, eagerly approaches as you both sit up.

"Ah, his Almighty Majesty, Godking Ancunín and his betrothed! An extraordinary honor to be in your exalted presence!" He exclaims and bows his head with a wide smile, his thin silver hair glistening in the sunlight.

Two servants and Malacai stand outside the doors. "I am Eldon Greybeard, of the illustrious house Greybeard! Humbly and graciously at your service!" he introduces himself. His voice projects confidence and carries a hint of excitement.

Beside Eldon, three young ladies stand, their faces flushed with exertion. They struggle to balance the weight of the large, cumbersome trunks in their delicate hands. Beads of sweat form on their brows as they try to maintain composure. Eldon's quick movement startles one of the girls, her wide eyes reflecting surprise and relief as he yanks a trunk from her delicate grasp.

Deciding to take that as your cue, you separate yourself from Astarion, who stands up from the bench with you. Effortlessly commanding the shadows lurking in the corners of the balcony, where the sunlight cannot reach. With a mesmerizing control over the darkness, he simply pivots the bench to face the doors. In a tender gesture, he takes your hand and interlocks your fingers, while the dwarf pops the latch to the trunk and flips it open, revealing its contents.

Proudly, the man spins the polished mahogany case around with a gentle creak to display its contents. Bracelets, glimmering in an array of colors and designs, catch the light, their intricate make and materials captivate the eye. The subtle scent of polished gems, worn leather and delicate metal. The Ascendant vampire, his crimson eyes locked with yours, as he guides you both to walk around and sit on the bench. Returning his gaze to the dwarf, his voice cut through the air with a dismissive tone. "We've no interest in these."

Eldon's eyes flit between the bracelets then you and forces a small chuckle. "Yes, of course, my apologies." Then he carefully closes the trunk and sets it aside. With a simple point at the other girl, she sets down the one she's carrying, and he swiftly opens it for you while Astarion releases your hand to slide his arm around your shoulders.

Arranged meticulously in orderly compartments, a multitude of rings sparkle and shimmer under the golden sunlight. "Judging by the ring size your messenger provided, each of these rings should fit the queen's finger flawlessly," Eldon proclaims with a hint of pride. A confident grin spreads across his face, as if reflecting the sparkle of the rings themselves.

While you were indifferent to viewing the selection from where the trunk sat on the ground, the vampire lord effortlessly beckoned one of his servants with a mere flick of his hand. Obediently, the servant grasped the trunk and positioned it before you both. The sight of the servant's pale, trembling hands gripping the trunk contrasted with the dark, weathered wood. The subtle creaking sound of the trunk being hoisted tickled the air. Allowing you to see every detail of each ring clearly and with ease.

You're half expecting him to pick one for you, but he remains eerily silent. His eyes glide over the options, examining them intently, but his hands remain motionless, refusing to reach out and touch any of them. "Astarion?" you inquire, curiosity tinged with a hint of confusion.

He meets your gaze, his piercing red eyes locking onto yours offer a blend of amusement and affection, and shakes his head slowly. "It's your ring, my treasure." The sound of his voice is soothing, melodious in your ear. With a gentle smile playing on his lips, he whispers, "Pick one, pick two, pick them all if it pleases you." His hand, warm and comforting, caresses your shoulder, sending a shiver down your spine.

Awkwardly, you find yourself gazing back and forth, your eyes tracing the intricate details of each ring. Part of you still yearns for that black band, adorned with scattered silver and blue gems. The memory of it tugs at your heartstrings. But you know deep down that you could never tarnish the purity of that memory by wearing it as your engagement ring to him.

Chuckling, an impish glint dances in your eyes as you delicately raise the cool, smooth silver band, feeling its weight between your fingertips. The silver gleams in the light, captivating your attention, even though you typically have no interest in jewelry without practical or magical value. As you gaze at the ring, a hint of amusement tugs at the corners of your lips, finding it a tad on the nose to wear when you're engaged to a vampire lord, yet undeniably adorable.

"Really, darling?" With a playful tone, Astarion inquires, his voice laced with feigned annoyance as he gazes at the ring you're holding up, allowing him to see the intricate design—a round ruby, nestled within the claws of a bat. Its eyes, adorned with two smaller rubies, seem to shimmer with a mischievous gleam.

Refusing to look away, your eyes hold on to his as he playfully rolls his own in a mock display of exasperation. The sound of his chuckle sends a shiver down your spine, a delightful sensation that lingers, much as you hate to admit it. Finally, unable to resist, he takes the ring from your outstretched hand, examining every intricate detail for himself.

As he carefully scrutinizes the ring, the balcony becomes alive with a hushed energy. The air carries a palpable sense of anticipation, entwined with the delicate fragrance of roses in a nearby vase. Your heart dances with a blend of exhilaration and jitters while you anxiously await his final decision.

Astarion gently places the ring back into your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. With a slight nod, he signals for Eldon to continue showcasing his collection. As the dwarf busies himself, his back turned to you, a tall Elven man gracefully emerges from the shadowed corner of the balcony. You couldn't help but notice the way he stood, hands clasped behind his back, and the lingering scent of a peculiar scent that seemed to permeate the surroundings. "My sincerest apologies, my revered Godking," he says, his voice filled with deference. "I humbly request a moment of your undivided attention."

A look of irritation crossed the Ascendant's face as he rolled his eyes. "By the hells, Ballar," he muttered, his anger evident in his tone.

"It is regarding a certain pest problem."

His arm stiffens around your shoulders, causing a slight discomfort. An uneasy silence settles over the atmosphere. Then, following a tense pause, he starts to rise from his seat, his movements betraying his restlessness. Just as he starts to rise, you reach out and gently grasp his arm, bringing him to a sudden stop. "You know what, Astarion," you say, your voice wavering with hesitation and uncertainty, "I think I'd prefer some time alone to gather my thoughts. About what you said this morning, and moments earlier." You suggest, a silent plea echoing in your heart, hoping he understands the turmoil within you.

Reluctantly, he nods in agreement with an unenthusiastic expression. "Just" his subdued acquiescence barely audible amidst the stillness "don't stray for too long, pet." A hint of caution lacing his words,

Feeling relieved, you hand the ring back to him and gracefully get up. The soft rustle of your clothes mixes with the faint murmur of voices drifting up from the bustling city below. The fragrance of blooming flowers that adorn the nearby flowerbeds dances in the air, mingling with the crisp, refreshing breeze that caresses against your skin.

Excusing yourself from the ornate balcony, you feel a sense of liberation washing over you. Malacai moves to join you, but with a subtle wave of your hand, you motion for him to remain behind. Finally alone, you relish in the silence, craving the chance to collect your thoughts amidst the cacophony of emotions that swirl within you.

Unconcerned with Astarions' instructions, you meander purposelessly through the palace, your footsteps echoing through its grand halls, the intricate tapestries and glistening chandeliers catching your eye. Echoing through the wooden floor in the halls, the soft sounds of distant footsteps create a soothing environment.

As you walk, you can't help but flex your right ankle from time to time, checking the tightness of the shackle. Sure enough, it's still there. Honestly, what a surprise - surely it would have slid down your ankle and freed you already.

Your sarcasm, thankfully, hasn't diminished at all.

What else could it possibly be used for, you wonder? Preventing you from leaving without permission is a likely bet. But It can't just be a means of forcing you to remain seated.

Gods above, you wish you could explain the shackle in the scant messages you've been able to get through the sending stone. Its full utility remained elusive, yes, but you could sense it would pose a formidable obstacle to whatever plan your Star had devised to get you out of here.

You're not sure how exactly, but you find yourself in the alchemist's office if the myriad of variety of plants were your first guess, their leaves reaching out towards the sunlight that streamed through the dusty windows. Empty glass bottles glint in the soft light, lining the shelves in the office. The workbench is a chaotic mess, with scattered papers and spilled substances. A distinct earthy aroma, with undertones of herbs and potions, wafted through the air. Your fingertips brush against the rough surface of the tables as you navigate further into the room, a sense of curiosity guiding your steps.

One plant catches your eye that you don't believe you've ever seen before. A large, worn tome sits adjacent to it, left open with a stunning rendition drawn on the right page, while the left page refers to it as the Slumberthorn vine. The text explains that these despite its deceptively soft appearance; the leaves are razor sharp and laced with a powerful toxin that can swiftly induce sleep in even the strongest, heaviest of humanoids.

You ponder the idea of the toxin entering the bloodstream, but the text clarifies that the toxin's potency is such that it works directly on the skin. Skillful distillation of the toxin can yield a powerful anesthetic, but the process requires expertise. The idea sparks a faint curiosity, but you quickly dismiss it. You never cared much for poison or the like, even in the depths of your stunted memory.

Why let a poison have all the fun your hands could have?

A memory comes to mind from your first day here. When that woman threw the broach, narrowly missing your face and leaving a small, shallow cut on your cheek. How quickly the Ascendant materialized in the room. Perhaps it was the distinct fragrance of your blood that permeated the air, reaching him from a considerable distance. Or maybe...

You lowered your gaze to your ankle, fixating on the shimmering silver and gold hues of the small band that smoothly encircled your skin. It had become all too familiar, the constant, subtle, gentle weight of it pressing against you, that you couldn't escape. If he possesses some kind of magical connection to the band, enabling him to track your every move, this experiment might just be worth a try. Escaping from the confines of the palace was your only chance at freedom. Perhaps this... precarious experiment would prove worthwhile in the end.

Undoubtedly one of the most foolish choices you could make, and that's saying a lot. With a careless gesture, you grab the book, shutting it with a resounding thud. Without purpose or direction, you fling it nonchalantly over your shoulder; the book flying through the room before landing elsewhere with a soft thump. And before doubt can creep in or hesitation can take hold, you gingerly press your finger against the leaf, feeling its soft and smooth surface. Instantly, you feel the minuscule razor-sharp barbs beneath your fingertip, poised to pierce your skin, yet you keep your hand steady.

Instinctively, you pull your hand back as the room abruptly plunges into darkness, leaving you disoriented. The world around you begins to spin, causing a whirlwind of blurred images. Struggling to maintain your balance, you take a cautious step back, the faint echo of your racing heartbeat fills your ears. Suddenly, a wave of weakness engulfs your body, causing your leg to buckle beneath you before giving out. With a desperate attempt to stay upright, your other leg follows suit, and you're vaguely aware of falling onto your side.

You shift onto your side, nestled in his frigid arms, glimpsing your vampire lover behind you in the bed. The dimly lit bedroom in the elfsong tavern envelops you both, shadows dancing on the walls. A symphony of scents dances through the air. The lingering scent of aged wood and a subtle hint of candle wax, which mingles harmoniously with the soothing aroma of bergamot, rosemary, and a gentle whisper of aged brandy that is unmistakably him.

You aren't surprised when his sharp red eyes lock with yours, a silent understanding passing between you. The blankets wrap around both of you, cocooning you in their comforting embrace. Your legs intertwine with his, creating an intimate tangle beneath the covers. With tenderness, you lift your hand, feeling the coolness of his cheek as your touch meets his pale skin. "We'll get through this, my love..." you whisper, your voice a gentle melody in the quiet night.

His eyes flutter closed as your fingertips gently glide over his chiseled, smooth chest, accompanied by the soft sound of his contented sigh. "I know, my star..." he murmurs, his words barely audible, the sound blending with the gentle rhythm of your breathing. His eyes, filled with unwavering resolve, find yours once more, a silent promise reflected within their depths... and...

Suddenly, your body jolts forward, disoriented as you awaken. The cold, hard floor beneath you goes unnoticed in the initial moments, your vision still blurred. As you struggle to regain your senses, a distinct aroma of musty old books and damp earth fills the air. Gradually, as the dimly lit room gradually comes into focus, your groggy mind registers the presence of the vampire ascendant kneeling beside you, his hands firmly gripping your shoulders, shaking you awake. Through the haze, you hear their gasp, a combination of concern and surprise. "Hells, Tav, what's gotten into you?" their voice echoes in your ears as they pull your dazed body into their strong, crushing embrace.

You refuse to let on the dream you had, though you risk playing it over and over again in your mind. If you had to choose between living every day of the rest of your life with this... mockery of the man you love. Or relive that night before Cazador over and over with the real Astarion...

Well... at least you answered one question.

...Slumberthorn vine toxin doesn't need to break skin to be effective.

____________________________________________________________________________

"Remember, you are merely an observer..." He reminds you for the millionth time and deliberately ignores as your eyes roll again, though you do motion to him that your lips are sealed.

Upon returning to the balcony with him, the jeweler was dismissed until a more suitable time. But you weren't in any mood to play the obedient "consort" any longer, and you adamantly refused to put on the ring, which, of course, ignited yet another heated argument.

Needless to say, you were itching for the day to conclude. Why did you even need an engagement ring when everyone knew by now who you were? More like what you were.

You both enter the sitting room without acknowledging the two guards standing watch outside, their presence nothing more than an afterthought. But you still freeze in place when you step through the doors and enter. Astarion teases - his mischievous voice fills the air and sends a thrill down your spine as he playfully remarks, "It's not the first time the staff have cleaned viscera, my sweet." You stand there, completely awestruck by the sight in front of you. The room, once a gruesome mess, now gleams with pristine cleanliness, not a trace of blood or severed fingers left behind.

Your eyes were so fixated on the transformation that you failed to notice the presence of two figures standing near the couch and table, their dark robes flowing and white masks concealing their identities. As you take in the familiar attire, memories flood your mind, reminding you of a certain friend and the House of Grief.

You glance at Astarion and realize he is purposefully keeping you behind him. Though you sense no danger, it's as if he's merely sending a message. "And what news do my kingdom's resident Sharrans bring? Progress on the Unamina?" He inquires as he slowly crosses the room, with you close behind.

One of them locks their arms behind their back. "Indeed. The mother superior herself departed some time ago in search of the necessary components and sent word of her success. Now all that remains is a suitable location." They spoke confidently, their partner extending their gloved hand and offering a wooden case for protecting a scroll.

Astarion's eyes light with an expression you can't read and don't like. His grin proudly displaying his fangs as he, a tad too quickly, accepts the scroll case into his hands. "Wonderful! And what of her return? How soon should I have the carpet rolled out?" He chuckled, tucking the case under his arm closest to you. This wooden case was far from ordinary; it possessed an air of magic, with its shimmering, decorative adornments. Somehow sinister and foreboding in nature...

"Soon. Two days, perhaps three." The other replied, clasping their hands in front of them. "It was far from simple to procure the scroll. The Nightsinger will expect adequate repayment from you, Godking Ancunín, for utilizing her faithful in such a way."

"It is only because of my grace that her church thrives in my kingdom. The least she could do was loan me her toys for this little treasure hunt of mine." He mutters, rapidly losing interest in the Sharrans as he lifts and studies the scroll case in the chandelier's light above his head.

You could feel their eyes studying you from behind their creepy white masks, if only for a moment. "The Mo—"

Astarion tightly tucks the case under his arm again, his piercing glare locks onto the pair. "Tell her," he commands, his voice commanding yet smooth, "to come straight to the palace upon her arrival. I'll ensure preparations are made that she receives a worthy welcome." He gracefully pivots on his feet, the sound of his expensive shoes clicking against the polished wooden floor. "Our business here is concluded," he declares with authority. "Please see yourselves out." With a snap of his fingers, the two guards outside stride inside, seemingly already aware of their orders.

Like you have all day, you shadow Astarion, but not before you steal a quick glance over your shoulder at the two Sharrans. Of course, you have a myriad of questions. What were they doing finding... whatever that scroll is? Why would the Sharrans and the Ascendant work together at all? Could Viconia still be alive and in charge of the Baldur's Gate cloister? Did your alternate self help this world's Shadowheart kill that bitch?

Shadowheart... you miss her terribly. You miss all of your companions, but you formed a deep bond with the cleric.

It's been a century and a half since the other you died, so who knows how long it's been since the Absolute crisis. You vaguely recall that Halsin has also passed in this world, but you can't remember how exactly you know that. Unless Wyll and Gale found means of prolonging their human lifespans, they've likely passed on. Same for Karlach and her engine, and Lae'zel - assuming your favorite Gith didn't return to the Astral Plane. Shadowheart was about fifty years old when you met her. On average, half-elves can live for about a hundred and fifty to two hundred years. If, and it's a significant if, she's still alive, she would be in the twilight years of her life. Assuming assassins or the like haven't taken her out.

Gods, this is so depressing...

The sound of the door closing echoes in the room, snapping you back to the present moment. You realize you're back in Astarion's bedchamber. Where you've been sleeping since the night he learned of your urges.

He carefully placed the case on a dresser that was pressed against the wall, creating a soft thump. He fumbled through his pants pocket to retrieve the small box and extended the ring toward you. You turn away, arms crossed, and he lets out a deep, exasperated sigh. "What do I need to do to sway you into wearing it?" Astarion asks, vexed by your behavior.

Nothing. There is absolutely no chance that I will ever wear it - is what you want to say. That you picked one out at all means nothing. It was just a cute ring...

Frustration boils within you, leading you to flail your arms aimlessly for a brief moment as you grapple with your inner turmoil. What you want to say and what would make sense are in opposition. "You... you never even took the time to propose to me properly!" you scoff, glancing away and tightly crossing your arms once more.

"Properly?" He inquires, his tone laced with bewilderment rather than frustration, as he cocks an eyebrow.

"Yes... Unless you consider forcefully taking me against my will as your bizarre idea of a romantic gesture..." You have absolutely no clue what is coming out of your mouth. Why are you acting like this?

Astarion's eyes twinkled with amusement as his lips curled into a smile filled with... happiness, then carefully placed the ring on the dresser next to the scroll case. "Very well. Perhaps I'll organize something of that nature while you're away tomorrow."

Now it's your turn to be puzzled. He can't possibly mean what you think he means... "Apart from your momentary lapse of judgement today, I have been pleased to see improvements in your behavior, and I am inclined to recognize and reward your growth. We can go over the particulars after you've rested." He explains with a calm and patient demeanor, taking measured steps towards you. Shrugging off his shirt and tossing it carelessly to the floor.

His feather-light touch delicately brushes against your cheek, sending a tingling sensation through your skin. His slender fingers leisurely trace a path downwards, their gentle caress leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. Eventually, they settle beneath your chin, cradling it affectionately. Tenderly, he lifts it slowly, bringing your lips closer to his, the minuscule distance between you teasingly suspended.

"You wouldn't dare run from your home - would you, my queen?" he murmurs, his voice a velvety purr that resonates deeply within you. You shiver at his words... the accusation they carry. Toying with you, he continues. "That would be very foolish, wouldn't it, pet? You are mine. Completely and unequivocally. There is not a rock in all of Toril you could hide under that I would not find you, darling." His voice is dripping with a honeyed sweetness that conceals an underlying threat.

Then he closes the miniscule distance between your lips. Sealing his words with a gentle, sweet kiss. Amidst the tender exchange, you manage to blurt out, "What's in the case?" Each word escapes between the fleeting kisses.

Astarion's lips curl into a smug smile, their warmth grazing against yours, creating a soft and lingering touch, accompanied by the faint sound of his satisfied sigh that tickles your senses. With a delicate gesture, his fingers caress your skin, gently tucking a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. An arm encircles your waist, creating a tender embrace that simultaneously holds a hint of possessiveness. As he pulls you against him, you can feel the strength in his touch, both gentle and forceful and it sends a shiver down your spine. Then, he whispers, his voice laced with determination, promising, "The means to ensure nothing can ever take you from me."

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-

Batstarion ring? Sad dream? A potential way to cure your bhaalspawn-ery? Sharrans? Mysterious scrolls?

A lot to chew on this chapter.

…So previous Tav was NOT a Dark Urge… Hm.