21 /// just call me lass /// audhd so please communicate if any issues /// writer and future neurosurgeon /// Asks: Open /// Requests: Closed (for now)
Welcome to the Garden. You can call me Lass. I'd love to chat, and requests are open. Though, keep in mind, I'm only one person and I'm currently working on other stories as well as going through school. Writing takes time.
My Kofi
Guidlines
DO NOT, I repeat DO NOT feed ANY of my works to AI. AI is bullshit, and I don't want it anywhere near my works.
I do not write smut. This may change in the future, but for now, full on sex scenes and this like that won't be written on my blog. I will write mature scenes, but I just don't have the confidence for smut; it's not up my alley.
the shame of making a connection irl and them being like omg can i have your insta??? snapchat????? and having to be like sorry i live in a gap between two tree roots youre just going to have to normal text me like some kind of animal
Just a silly little drabble since I'm not gonna have time for a proper fic this week! Also the banner for this is taking me out lmao SYLUS 😭😭😭
Bad Hair Day
(or, 'literally the best day ever!!' ~ Luke and Kieran)
Sylus x gn!Reader, 650 words.
“Did it hurt, Sylus?”
“When I fell from heaven?”
“When you got struck by lightning.”
Sylus frowns. You snap a picture as he looks up from a data pad, mid-peruse of the news. He’s only mildly perturbed, mind you, not outright confused; the distinction has always been sacred. Confusion implies he’s in the dark, and—morning affairs in digital fine-print before him— Sylus is never, ever, in the dark about anything.
“Lightning, sweetie?” he fishes idly. “I’ll bite. You… felt a spark when you looked at me, hm? There’s electricity in the air?”
You rest your chin in your hand. “Why’re you so convinced I’m making a pass at you?”
“Every word from your mouth is a pass at me, kitten. I’ve learned to live with it.”
“He says, in a whorish silk robe.”
He tuts as he sips at his coffee. “It’s sophisticated.”
Is it sophisticated? “It’s halfway down your shoulder, Sylus.”
With a flicker of a sideways glance, he regards the wine-red silk bunched precariously at the top of his arm. Silk that slips another few centimetres when he shrugs. “Oops.”
Your lips are a thin line as you raise your own mug up to them, making Sylus chuckle. It’s a rich, self-indulgent sound— so hedonistic, so pleased with itself. Silently, you press a few quick buttons on your phone, then thrust it towards him:
The picture you’d taken.
Sylus’s chuckle cuts out like someone has gripped his throat and squeezed.
In the image and in life, his hair is a mess: points jutting out every imaginable angle. It looks deliberate— fixed with gel, spray, or perhaps a spontaneous desire to be a talking point at breakfast— but his eyes are sharp with curiosity as he pats at his head. Is his hair really—? Yes, he can feel it under his hand.
Now that’s confusion, soft-bellied and exposed. You don’t know when you’ll have this chance again, so you take the shots you can, rapid-fire, no mercy:
“You look like you fell asleep in a washing machine. Like you were practicing alchemy, and it blew up in your face. Ooh, ooh! You look like a toilet brush that’s been used to scrub seven million toilets.”
Sylus hums as he pokes a hair tuft. “How… colourful.”
“Seriously, Sy. I know you’re a deep sleeper, but you’d think something was nesting in there, the way that—”
You gasp.
A little preoccupied, Sylus misses the ember. By the time he gazes up, sensing warmth and danger, it’s too late to stamp on it. He tries, anyway. “No. No. Kitten? No.”
…
“Hold still, Sylus!”
Mephisto wobbles on Sylus’s head, hunkering down for stability with a chirp.
“Take your time, sweetie,” Sylus grimaces, claws in his scalp as you take so many more pictures than necessary.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m almost done… try, uh… try to look really grumpy, yeah? Like you wanna kill me. Can you do that, Sy?”
He can’t, actually. He might be bleeding, ridiculed, but there’s light in his eyes as he watches you laugh and fuss over the composition of his downfall. When you say something about the rule of thirds, you catch his lip quirking; he’s trying not to smile.
You lower your phone, grinning. “Okay. I’ve got it.”
Sylus lifts Mephisto from his head— plonking him down on the kitchen counter, then finally, finally, tending to his hair. He mumbles as he smooths it back down, guiding silver-white curls with his fingers: “The things I do for you, kitten. Just make sure the twins don’t see it, hm? I couldn’t care less what they think, but the headaches, oh, they’d never let me hear the end of—”
Across Onychinus’s base, someone shrieks with laughter. Sylus flinches.
You glance up from your phone, where your group chat with Luke and Kieran is open. “Hmm? Say that again, Sy, sorry, I missed it.”
However, I refuse to talk to someone who cannot keep his silly antics. This someone pledged to me and swore his devotion that he wouldn't bother me while I'm cleaning. Yet here he is, using his Evol to push the cup farther into the shelf, making it hard for me to reach it.
I'm in my luteal phase and I can feel my blood boiling. I shot him a glare, hoping it would bore a hole to him.
“Need some help?” he confidently leans on the doorframe as if he's done nothing wrong.
The audacity of this man.
I'm mad. Really, really mad.
I said nothing, then proceeded to fetch a stepstool to reach that freaking mug. It was covered in dust, so I washed it in the sink. The cold water touches my hands, calming down my nerves and forgetting my roiling emotions momentarily. However, they became agitated again once I sense Sylus' footsteps approaching. I flick my wet hand, spraying him some soapy water. Then I set the mug on the rack, letting it dry.
“You went overboard this time, Qin Che. So don't talk to me.” I said in a stern tone, not even sparing him a glance as I walked past him.
The color from Sylus' face drains upon realizing what he had done. He usually enjoys bantering with you, especially when he gives you courage. However, with that coldness, he instantly knew it's a different kind of anger. He crossed the line this time. He didn't hesitate to follow you to the lounge area, and immediately kneeled before you.
“Kitten–”
“Are you done making me a plaything?” You said while gazing at your nails, an act to avoid Sylus’ gaze.
“Sweetie, look at me.”
“Am I a clown to you?” Your voice trembled slightly. “Does making me look stupid fun snd entertaining?”
“Sweetie…”
“You–” You bit your lips before you could say anything hurtful. You release a heavy sigh instead.
“I understand why you're angry,” Sylus' knuckles brush against your knees as if he's testing the waters, to see if he can initiate a physical contact. You gulp, hesitating whether you'd welcome him or not. Nevertheless, you didn't budge. Still, you're avoiding his gaze, afraid that he'd see right through you. The corner of your eyes are already stinging.
“You are not a clown, an entertainment, nor my plaything. I have overstepped it this time. I am really, really sorry.”
As soon as he finishes his sentence, you couldn't hold back any longer–you wrap your arms around him and your tears come flowing. Sylus was taken aback for a bit, then embraced you back.
“Ow,” Sylus groaned as you lightly smacked his broad back and pinched him.
“Payback…” You sniffled.
“Am I forgiven?”
“Yes, but I'm sleeping in the guest room.”
Sylus' heart sank again; he really overdid it this time and it will take a long time (depending on your mood) to regain your trust again…
synopsis: turns out, commanding an army of shadows is way easier than handling a workplace crush.
sung jinwoo x female!reader (oneshot)
wc: 3.9k
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the world was ending.
or at least it felt that way to the general public, but sung jinwoo was mostly just annoyed that he couldn’t remember the last time he had a decent meal that didn’t come out of a plastic foil wrapper.
clearing an s-rank dungeon wasn’t supposed to be a stroll through a scenic park, obviously. the ground was still damp with dark and viscous blood that definitely didn't belong to anything human, and the air carried that suffocating scent of rotting mana that made normal hunters vomit on their boots.
jinwoo didn't vomit as he was far past the point of having a normal human reaction to horrific imagery, but he did let out an exhausted groan that vibrated deep in his chest.
around him, the shadows of his resurrected soldiers flickered against the jagged cavern walls, waiting for their master's command to retreat back into his shadow.
igris stood perfectly upright, the picture perfect of chivalrous loyalty.
while beru was doing something that suspiciously looked like he's vibrating with murderous enthusiasm in the corner.
"get back," jinwoo muttered, his voice raspy from hours of shouting commands and breathing in dust.
with a silent and almost fluid like sink, the massive army vanished into his shadow, leaving him completely alone in the center of the cleared gate.
the dungeon boss—which was a grotesque, multi-limbed monstrosity that had threatened to flatten three blocks of seoul was now reduced to a neat pile of magical stones and a corpse.
the system's blue holographic screens floated in front of his face, chiming in cheerfully.
[you have leveled up!]
[you have gained the title...]
"shut up," he muttered, waving a hand to dismiss the notifications.
power ups were great, sure.
becoming a literal god of death before he reached his thirties was a decent career trajectory, but the system forgot to mention that the cost for all this ridiculous power was his sanity.
his schedule had been so utterly hectic over the last three days that he hadn't even had the chance to eat a proper breakfast or use the bathroom in peace before the hunters association dragged him to the gate.
he was running on pure mana and spite at this point. his body was feeling the absolute limits of exhaustion.
sure, he can just drink a potion to regain strength. but nothing beats the good ole eight hours of sleep. and proper food of course.
stepping out of the gate’s fading vortex, he didn't even bother waiting for woo jin-chul or the inevitable crowd of frantic reporters who were currently scrambling to set up their cameras down the street.
he just pulled his black hoodie lower over his face and shoved his hands deep into his pockets before letting his feet take him wherever they wanted to go.
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tonight, the streets around the dungeon perimeter were eerily quiet, slicked with a thin layer of freezing rain.
his head hung low as he sighed, feeling the weight of whatever absurd global responsibility and burden the world had decided to shove onto his shoulders getting heavier and heavier with each step.
he was just a guy.
a very strong guy who could command an army of the dead, yes, but still just a guy who wanted a sandwich. or a piece of bread. or literally anything that didn't taste like ash or iron or blood.
after walking for what felt like miles through the gloomy streets, his boots suddenly clicked to a halt on the pavement.
he froze in his tracks.
right ahead, nestled between a dreary looking convenience store and a dark and shuttered real estate office, was a very obnoxiously bright light illuminating the entire sidewalk.
it was a warm but almost aggressive golden glow that looked out of place in this neighborhood.
jinwoo blinked, his eyes adapting to the sudden brightness. the exterior of the place let out this strangely welcoming, cozy aura which is practically begging cold and miserable pedestrians to look inside.
his eyes flickered upward to the neatly painted wooden sign that read, ppang bakery.
almost instantly, his stomach let out a grumble that echoed against the empty buildings.
he moved closer, his nose catched the buttery and faint scent of yeast and sugar that was somehow escaping through the vents. through the large glass window, he could see delightful rows of wooden trays stacked high with pastries.
glossy cream buns, braided breads, twisted donuts dusted with sugar, and soft loaves that looked like clouds.
jinwoo looked closely at the counter. there was nobody serving as of the moment. the little space behind the cash register was totally empty.
where was the staff?
he stared for another three seconds. oh well, he thought, if it comes down to it, he'd just take a few pastries himself and leave a generous pile of high denomination cash on the counter.
the hunters association paid him more money than he knew what to do with anyway, so he could probably buy the whole building if someone challenged him on it. (he would)
he marched forward, his heavy leather boots making a dull thud against the welcome mat, and pushed the door open. the little brass bell above the frame gave a chime.
as soon as his left foot stepped inside the heated room, something—no, someone—suddenly popped out from the other side of the counter, rising from the floor like an energetic jack-in-the-box.
sung jinwoo deadpanned.
"welcome to ppang bakery!"
as soon as jinwoo looked up to properly look at the cashier's face, his entire body locked up. his shadows flared for a microsecond beneath his boots before he forced them down with every willpower he has remaining.
what the hell were you doing here?
his brain completely short-circuited. his vocal cords felt instantly entangled with one another, tighter than the webs of an arachnid dungeon boss.
of course he knew her.
he knew that specific tilt of the head, the way her hair caught the light of the shop, and that incredibly bright but slightly tired expression.
but he couldn't exactly say the same for her.
[reader] was currently holding a plastic tray in one hand and a pair of metal tongs in the other, blinking at the massive and intimidating and brooding man who had just entered her shop.
she probably didn't recognize him at all, and honestly, why would she?
the last time she’d seen him, he was half her size, covered in cheap convenience store bought bandages and limping so badly he could barely stand straight.
but now he was over six feet tall with broad shoulders, radiating an aura that made wild animals run for their lives and dressed in expensive black designer gear.
but the shock of seeing her didn't stop his heart from beating rapidly against his ribs like a drum.
jinwoo opened his mouth, his lips parting slightly, but he literally couldn't find the ability to form a single coherent word.
the world's strongest hunter was currently being held hostage by a girl with a pastry tray.
"is there anything you'd like to order?" [reader] asked, her smile remaining unhurried, completely oblivious to the cataclysm happening internally inside his chest.
realizing he was staring like a total creep, jinwoo immediately switched his plans of just grabbing random items.
his hand shook slightly (a detail that would have horrified the other s-rank hunters who watched him slice through monsters without a single tremor) as he lifted his left arm and pointed blindly toward a random bread sitting in the far, dusty corner of the display case.
it was an old-school and slightly deflated soboro-ppang. [1]
a crumble bun that looked like it had been sitting there all day because nobody under the age of sixty actually bought them anymore.
he held up a single, black-gloved finger.
as if on cue, [reader] understood it instantly. "alright. one crumble bun to go."
she reached down with her tongs, deftly picking up the lonely pastry and sliding it into a small white paper bag.
jinwoo took the bag and paid with a bill that was far too large for a single piece of cheap bread before bolting out into the cold night air without waiting for his change.
as his boots hit the wet pavement, his chest heaved.
he looked down at the paper bag in his hands, the warmth of the fresh pastry seeping through the thin paper against his gloves.
the streetlights flickered above him.
the tip of his ears visibly turned red.
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back then, he was the "world's weakest hunter." every single raid was a gamble with his survival, and more often than not, he came back with nothing but a handful of low-grade magic stones that barely covered his mother's hospital bills and a body covered in agonizing bruises.
the other hunters treated him like a joke. a meat shield, a burden, a useless extra who only existed to make their ranks look better.
he remembered sitting on a rusty park bench near the old association building, his hands shaking from cold and blood loss, staring at his torn sneakers.
he’d been so hungry that his stomach felt like it was eating itself, but he hadn't had a single won to his name after buying potions.
but then, a shadow had fallen over him.
he flinched, expecting another hunter coming to mock him or tell him to clear out of the way.
but instead, a gentle and warm hand had extended into his blurry line of sight. held between two fingers was a neatly wrapped piece of bread.
"you alright, kid?" a voice had called out.
it was [reader]. (don't ask why he knew your name)
she’d been wearing a mismatched winter coat, her cheeks flushed pink from the biting wind, looking at him not with the disgust or pity he was so used to, but with kindness he didn't know if he deserves.
she didn't know he was a hunter, she just saw a miserable teenager who looked like he was about to fall apart.
she’d shoved the bread into his hands, gave him a cheerful pat on the shoulder and told him to eat before he froze to death.
to her, it was probably just a random act of charity on a random tuesday.
but to jinwoo, it was the only thing that had kept him from quitting entirely.
standing under the dim streetlight, the shadow monarch let out a breathy laugh that turned into a cloud of vapor in the cold air.
...i haven't forgotten you, he thought, his fingers tightening slightly around the paper bag. i thought i moved on from you. but truth to be told, i spent every waking moment thinking about you. i thought i'll eventually forget about you as time ticks, but the pain in my chest only grew stronger.
he honestly believed that as time ticked forward and his power grew to these absurd, god-like levels, those old human attachments would just fade away into the background.
he thought he’d eventually forget the small face of a girl from his human days as the system rewrote his body.
but the strange and aching pain in his chest only grew stronger every time he remembered that park bench.
he looked back at the glowing yellow sign of the bakery in the distance.
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the next afternoon, the sung family’s new mansion, which was a sprawling, ridiculously expensive piece of modern architecture situated in one of the most exclusive districts in seoul, was relatively quiet. (save for the sound of sung jinah's sneakers squeaking against the polished marble floors)
jinwoo stood in front of the massive, floor to length mirror in the main hallway.
he had been standing there for fifteen minutes.
he adjusted the collar of his black jacket. then he unadjusted it. then he ran a hand through his dark hair, checking if the strands fell exactly the way he wanted them to.
he smoothed down the front of a plain grey shirt that he’d spent ten minutes choosing from his closet. (an unprecedented event, considering his entire wardrobe consisted of identical black hoodies and dark cargo pants)
sung jinah walked into the hallway carrying a glass of juice, her eyes instantly landing on her brother’s bizarre behavior.
she stopped dead in her tracks, her brow furrowing as she watched the literal savior of humanity check his side profile in the glass.
"are you going on a date or something?" jinah asked, her voice dripping with immediate skepticism.
jinwoo didn't even turn around. his eyes remained fixed on his reflection as he tilted his chin slightly to the left.
then, for a split second, his usually cold and terrifyingly sharp expression softened.
his lips curved into an uncharacteristically gentle smile.
"better," jinwoo responded.
jinah physically recoiled, her face twisting into an expression of profound horror. she actually held her juice glass further away from him.
"blegh! what is with you?" she shrieked, looking baffled. "what is that face? why are you smiling like that? it looks creepy on you, stop it!"
jinwoo’s expression instantly snapped back to his default deadpan, his eyes cutting to his sister with his usual blunt. "it's my handsome face."
"it is not a handsome face! you look like you’ve been possessed by a low level romantic comedy monster," jinah countered, crossing her arms and stepping closer to inspect him. "seriously, are you really meeting a woman? is that why you're wearing a shirt that doesn't have a zipper from the hunters association?"
"there's some food i left on the fridge. i'm off," jinwoo said, completely ignoring her questions.
before jinah could throw her slippers at him or demand more details, the shadows around his boots lengthened, wrapping around his ankles like liquid ink. with a swift movement, he stepped back into the darkness as he vanished from the hallway.
"hey! get back here and answer me!" jinah yelled at the empty space before stamping her foot.
she muttered, "gross."
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meanwhile, in a completely different part of seoul, the national news network was currently experiencing a minor existential crisis over the country's strongest hunter.
the wide holographic television screen inside the hunters association headquarters was playing a viral video clip on a continuous loop.
the footage, captured by a grainy smartphone camera from across a street, showed hunter sung jinwoo.
the ruthless and savage hunter who had recently slaughtered an entire army of giants without breaking a sweat, was standing perfectly, politely in line at a tiny bakery.
he looked gigantic compared to the elderly women waiting in front of him, his head nearly touching the low doorframe, but he was holding his little paper bag with the exact same care one might use to handle a fragile s-rank artifact.
"and in recent hunter news," the anchorwoman on screen announced, her expression a mix of professional gravity and amusement, "national level hunter sung jinwoo has been spotted frequenting a small local establishment in the district every single night at exactly nine-fifty evening. citizens have noted that despite his cool and savage personality on the battlefield, his dedication to support local small businesses has been deeply endearing to the citizens of the public..."
inside the main office, chief woo jin-chul was currently massaging his temples so hard his knuckles were turning white.
around him, three different high ranking monitors were furiously typing away on their laptops, surrounded by stacks of satellite maps and mana detection reports.
"have we checked the lines beneath the bakery?" jin-chul asked, his voice sounding incredibly hollow. "is there any trace of a hidden dungeon gate or a high concentration mana vein under the flour storage?"
"sir, we’ve run three separate magical scans on the property," a monitor replied, sweating profusely under his glasses. "there is absolutely zero magical activity. it is just an ordinary bakery that specializes in traditional sweet buns and milk bread. the owner is a sixty year old grandmother who has no awakening history whatsoever."
jin-chul let out aragged sigh, his fingers sliding down to pinch the bridge of his nose. "then why... why does hunter sung jinwoo go there every single night after clearing high-rank gates? does he suspect an infiltration? is he using it as a tactical base of operations that we don't understand?"
"we don't know, chief! but the public loves it! sales for crumble buns have gone up by four hundred percent citywide because people think it's part of an s-rank training diet!"
"..."
jin-chul stared at the screen, where the video showed jinwoo carefully walking out of the shop with his small paper bag.
hunter sung jinwoo... just what kind of grand strategy are you planning in that bakery?
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back at ppang bakery, the grand strategy was currently involving two part-time college students peering through the small circular glass window of the kitchen door while whispering furiously.
"i'm telling you, it's him!" the first coworker, danielle, whispered, her fingers gripping the edge of the wooden doorframe. "look at the shoulders! look at the way the light reflects off his jacket! that's the sung! jin! woo! standing by the red bean display, in the flesh!"
[reader] let out a soft laugh, her hands busy wiping down the marble counter with a damp cloth. "guys, stop staring through the glass, you're going to smudge it. and besides, he’s just a customer. you ought to be more professional."
"a customer who could flatten the city with his pinky finger!" the other coworker, haerin, joined in, her eyes wide as she elbowed [reader] in the ribs.
"he’s been coming in here every single night for the past two weeks at exactly the same time. he doesn't even look at the menu boards, he doesn't check the daily specials, nothing! he just stands there like a giant statue and steals looks at you while you're packing his order." haerin whispers the last sentence rather teasingly.
[reader] felt a sudden warmth creep up her neck, but she quickly shook her head, tossing the cloth into the sink. "he does not look at me. he's an s-rank hunter, why would he care about a temporary worker?"
"you dummy." minji hissed, pulling [reader] toward the door to make her look. "if you ask me, i think he might have a crush on you. he only buys that stupid, dry crumble bun that nobody else touches just so he has an excuse to stand at your register for thirty seconds."
"that's ridiculous," [reader] muttered, though her chest gave a fluttery twitch.
before she could argue further, the brass bell above the main door gave its familiar chime.
"good luck!" her coworkers whisper yelled. instantly scrambling back into the kitchen like frightened mice, leaving [reader] alone behind the counter.
she straightened her apron and looked up.
sure enough, sung jinwoo stepped inside.
the heated air of the shop blew his dark bangs back slightly, revealing those very sharp and features striking eyes that usually looked like they were staring into the abyss. tonight, though, he looked slightly less intimidating. his hands were shoved deep into his pockets as he approached the register with a slow stride.
"welcome to ppang bakery," [reader] said, her voice naturally dropping into a tone she used for everyone.
jinwoo stopped on the designated floor mat.
he didn't say anything at first, his gaze fixing onto her face for a second before his eyes darted down to the corner of the display counter where the last soboro-ppang of the day was resting.
he held up a single finger.
"one crumble bun to go," [reader] repeated with a smile, already reaching for the metal tongs. "you know, if you like these so much, i could ask the baker to make a fresh batch earlier in the day so they aren't so crunchy by the time you get here."
jinwoo’s throat clicked as he swallowed. "no," he muttered, his voice surprisingly deep in the small space. "this one is fine."
[reader] hummed softly, sliding the pastry into the white paper bag.
she turned back around, holding the top of the bag with her fingers and extended it across the wooden counter. "that'll be two thousand won, please."
jinwoo reached out his left hand to take the bag.
he wasn't wearing his gloves tonight, leaving his long and pale fingers bare. as he grasped the paper, his skin accidentally brushed against the back of her hand—just a brief, momentary contact of warm skin against his rough, battle-hardened, mana-infused knuckles.
the effect was instantaneous.
the terrifying shadow monarch—the man who didn't even blink when a demon king tried to sever his head from his shoulders—instantly flushed a light pink from his collar all the way to the tips of his ears.
his fingers jerked slightly, nearly dropping the bag before he caught it with a clumsy grip that was uncharacteristic of an s-rank hunter.
[reader] blinked, startled by the sudden heat radiating from him. "oh, are you—"
"thank you," jinwoo choked out, his voice sounding about an octave higher than usual.
without waiting for his receipt, without even checking if he had handed her the right amount of cash, the man practically spun on his heel and bolted out of the glass door so fast the brass bell didn't even have time to finish its chime.
[reader] stood behind the register, her own hand tingling where their fingers had touched, her heart suddenly racing against her ribs as she watched his tall silhouette disappear down the dark street. maybe... danielle wasn't entirely crazy after all.
outside, the cold night air immediately hit jinwoo's burning face, but he didn't use his shadows to vanish right away this time. instead, his heavy boots stopped just across the narrow street, right under the dim and flickering amber glow of an old lamppost.
he exhaled a quiet cloud of white vapor into the freezing atmosphere.
through the pristine glass window of ppang bakery, he could see her perfectly.
the golden light inside the shop framed her like a painting as she began the quiet routine of closing up, sweeping the floor and wiping down the empty wooden pastry trays with unhurried movements.
slowly, jinwoo reached into the small white paper bag.
his long fingers pulled out the old-school soboro-ppang, its bumpy streusel topping shedding a few sweet crumbs onto his dark sleeve. he brought the pastry to his lips and took a bite.
the outer crust was slightly dry from sitting out all evening, exactly as a neglected crumble bun usually was, but as he chewed, the familiar texture melted with the comforting taste of sweet peanut butter and sugar.
he kept his eyes fixed on her through the glass, watching the gentle way she smiled to herself while flipping the sign on the door to closed.
and although a crumble bun was usually sweet, it tasted even sweeter when looking at her.
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[1] in korea, having an overwhelming crush means your heart is buseojida (부서지다) literally crumbling into pieces out of nervousness.
[a/n]: another os that was rotting in my drafts (ᵕ•́ -•̀)
not the anon who asked about your fandoms, but i did have the same question! if you're looking for valentine's day prompts and knowing how sweetly you write astarion, i would looove like a flash fic with him being uncharacteristically sweet one day -- just an idea. and if that doesn't stick, i'm still gnawing at the bit to see if you end up posting a heated rivalry fic 👀 ALLLLLL that to say, whatever you write, i know it'll be great! love reading your work and wishing you happy writing!
honestly, i’ll take any opportunity to write astarion (and karlach, as it turns out. i think we can all see who my favorite companions are lol)
thanks for the request, and happy valentine’s day <3
Karlach was staring at him.
Astarion had felt the weight of her gaze from the moment he finished smoothing out his bedroll, taking more time than he typically allotted to the task to ensure maximum comfort for the night ahead. He certainly deserved it, after such a grueling day of travel.
She wasn’t even being particularly subtle about it - not that subtlety was the fiery barbarian’s forte, Astarion conceded. Still, the warmth of her gaze was becoming distracting, and with a quiet huff and a clearing of his throat, the vampire spoke.
“Karlach, dear,” he hummed, smoothing out a particularly stubborn wrinkle in his bedroll. “I realize my beauty makes it nigh impossible, but it’s rude to stare.”
Karlach made a face. “I’m just surprised, Astarion,” she quipped, a teasing edge to her voice that immediately put him on edge. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Astarion’s silver brows drew together. What in the hells was she prattling on about? “Had what in me?”
“Such sweetness,” Karlach practically cooed, adopting the same expression she often wore when she cuddled that stuffed bear of hers.
Caught off guard by her answer and determined not to show it, Astarion scoffed. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Oh, come now, Astarion,” Karlach simpered, pillowing her chin in her hands. “Even you must have sensed it. You’ve been particularly… soft lately.”
Soft? Astarion glowered. “I have been anything but.”
“No, seriously!” Karlach insisted, leaning over her own bedroll to catch his eye. “You’ve been much more open lately, with everyone. Even Gale! You’ve even been nice to the little owlbear cub.”
Astarion parted his lips to deny her accusations - when had he ever been kind to Gale? - but faltered as her eyes gleamed with renewed vigor, a clawed hand rising to wave enthusiastically between them.
“And now… well, look!” Karlach gestured to the ground, drawing Astarion’s eye to the bedroll he’d just meticulously laid out.
A familiar bedroll, to be sure - one he had seen every night by the light of countless campfires - but not, he quickly came to find, his own.
It was yours.
Astarion bristled. “Merely a lapse in thinking, darling,” he explained, groping a touch more clumsily than he cared to admit for his own bedroll to lay out. His throat felt suspiciously hot. “I must be more tired than I thought.”
Karlach’s grin broadened, damn her. “Of course,” she trilled, nearly beside herself. Astarion nearly expected her to leap up and dance in her joy.
He pursed his lips. “Gloating doesn’t become you, Karlach,” he sniffed, only for her bark of laughter to coax his mouth into a smile despite himself. Hells.
“What’s so amusing?”
Astarion jumped at the sound of your voice, grateful that he had yet to feed for the night and thus had no reserves of blood left to rush to his cheeks. “Nothing at all, my love,” he crooned, smoothing his expression into a mask of impish charm as he watched you approach.
Karlach barely withheld a snort, the noise that managed to erupt from her throat reminiscent of a strangled duck. “Nothin’ at all, soldier,” she parroted, ducking her head to attend to her own bedroll and studiously avoiding your gaze.
You shot them both a suspicious glance but merely hummed, seemingly content in ignoring their strange behavior.
Astarion wasn’t surprised. Exhaustion hung about your shoulders like a shroud, your body drooping even as you approached your bedroll, as though already half-asleep. It was little wonder, after the day you’d had. Even your sojourn to the river to bathe seemed to have been a short one, traces of damp still clinging to your brow and the hollow of your throat, as though you had been too impatient to dry yourself properly.
“Oh,” you breathed once you noticed your bedroll already laid out. “Karlach, did you - ?”
“Oh, that was all Astarion,” Karlach answered innocently, ignoring the venomous look Astarion shot her.
Soft, tired eyes turned to him. “Is that so, Astarion?”
The vampire straightened. “Yes, well,” he muttered, trailing off meaningfully. He could practically feel Karlach’s smile aimed at his face.
Your lips lifted, your own smile spreading slowly - sweetly - across your face, before you ducked down to press a kiss to his mouth, fleeting but soft. “Thank you, Astarion,” you murmured gratefully, and the vampire swallowed against a sudden rush of warmth in his chest, crimson eyes gleaming as you all but collapsed onto your bedroll, mouth falling slack within moments.
Unable to help himself, the vampire’s lips curled, fondness easing over his shoulders like a warm bath. Such an insignificant gesture had mattered to you that much, he marveled, huffing in amusement as you began to snore.
Well, he supposed as he rose to his feet, sharing a bemused look with Karlach before heading into the woods in search of prey, he could certainly stand to be a little sweeter, if it earned him such a pretty prize.
There's only one bed and I'll be taking it, darling.
Note: This is the unofficial follow up to snippet #3, but can totally be read as a standalone. Are they lovers? Are they friends? Are they something worse? Who the hell knows. This is written under the pretense that the confession in the shadow cursed lands didn't happen because it's fun to explore things like that!
Divider credit: @uzmacchiato
"Harold? Howard? Hum…Humbert…"
The owlbear cub looks at you with an expression that can only be described as displeasure. You huff and scratch his chin, ignoring the grime that builds under your nails as a result. "I could call you 'Itch', you know. Then you'd be matching Scratch."
"Yes, and then they could perform tricks on the street for gold. Do you think you can teach it to stand on its hind legs and spin around?"
You turn and glare at Astarion over your shoulder. "Ha, ha."
The vampire folds his arms and looks between you and the cub. "Does it really need a name? It's not like you can put a collar on that thing."
"He," You emphasize, "Is a member of our group and deserves a name like the rest of us." You look at the cub and brush back the feathers on his head. "How about Astarion jr.? What do you think about that?"
"You wouldn't dare!" Astarion gasps.
You raise a brow at him. "Wanna bet?"
The cub chirps in delight, hopping back and forth. You chuckle and grin at Astarion, who looks the most offended you've ever seen him.
"Relax, I'll come up with something else."
Astarion glowers at the little creature. "Mongrel."
You hum. "Still sore about the treat he gave you?"
"The tre- treat?!" Astarion rounds on you, hands waving every which way in a frustrated blur. "A treat would be a fat bear, not a dead rat on my pillow!"
You cover the owlbear cub's ears and fold your lips to hold back your laughter. "Okay, but did you have to fling it across the camp?"
"Would you two stop arguing over the cub so we can make a plan?!" Shadowheart yells.
Astarion stomps off towards the others, and you can't help but giggle a little when the owlbear cub chases after him. The vampire pointedly ignores you and plants himself at Lae'zel's side, which she rolls her eyes at.
Gods forbid you tease Astarion even a little bit to get back for the months of even worse behavior on his part.
Drama queen.
You stand between Gale and Karlach, joining the huddle around a map to decide your next course of action to reach Baldur's Gate.
"We need to reach Sharess' Caress and meet with Kith'rak Voss as soon as possible." Lae'zel insists. "Anything else is a distraction."
You glance at the multiple members of your party who have good reason to be apprehensive about entering the city. "Well, it's going to be at least another day to get there and we aren't going to walk through the night, so let's find an inn first and decide what to do once we're there."
"In theory, we could use dimension-"
You elbow Gale in the side.
"Ow!"
"We walked this far, a little more won't kill us." You say, leaning in to find any kind of settlements near your location on the map.
"Sounds like the all powerful sorcerer doesn't want to use up their magic, hm?"
You ignore Astarion and place your finger over the drawing of a little building. "This is an inn, right?"
Jaheira leans in and nods. "It may be a little expensive because that's a trade route, but yes."
Your mind wanders to all the gold your group has amassed through…certain means.
Borrowed, as you prefer to call it.
"We can afford a few rooms for one night." You decide, double checking the map before you roll it up and put it away.
Karlach groans and stretches her arms long over her head. "Gods, actual beds. Sorry in advance if you have to drag me out kicking and screaming."
You smile at her. "I'm sure I'll be in the same boat."
Her tent is right next to yours, so you pair off once the group separates to start packing. "Is your shoulder still bothering you?"
You roll it a few times and sigh. "Yep. I doubt sleeping on the ground this much is helping."
After a vine back in the shadow cursed lands latched onto your arm and nearly tore the damn thing off, your shoulder has had a persistent, twinging ache. Not to mention the scar was still raw and tender and chafed under anything you wore.
You were half tempted to get someone to cut off your sleeves entirely.
Karlach starts helping you take down your tent without needing to be asked, and you shoot her a grateful smile. "Are you nervous?" She asks, wrangling with the pliable support poles holding everything together.
"I don't know." You respond honestly. "Aren't I always nervous?"
Karlach looks at you and her expression is answer enough.
"Yeah, that's what I thought. You'd think I'd get used to it at some point." You grumble. "Sharess' Caress would be a good place to start, even if it's only so Lae'zel doesn't murder me in my sleep."
"I reckon she'd do it in broad daylight."
You snort and start folding the fabric of your tent to stow away in your pack.
"You would be dead before you could register the time." Lae'zel says as she walks past, looking down her nose at you.
Oops. You forgot her tent is on Karlach's other side.
You sheepishly smile, but the little smirk on her face lets you know she's joking.
Hopefully.
It doesn't take very long for the camp to be packed and ready, considering how often you've had to get up and go on this journey. One last quick scan to double check, and your group is setting off towards Baldur's Gate.
Many hours later, Astarion is glaring at you. Again.
"Next time, use your magic!" He hisses, bumping your shoulder with his.
He was already moody from not being able to feed on you while you recovered, and it was only made ten times worse when he tripped and chipped a nail.
The horror.
You exhale slowly through your nose and keep your eyes on the inn at the top of the hill ahead of you. You want to tell him everyone is tired, but he'd just snap back that it was your fault for not using your magic to get them there.
Still, you would take him being comfortable enough to be snappy with you over trying to charm you with bad pick up lines. It took a lot of effort on your part not to laugh when he tried to tell you he loved you. Your lack of sexual experience doesn't mean you can't see through pretty words, it seems.
Gentle light washes over you as you crest the hill, and your shoulders sag in relief. Halsin, who had taken to carrying the owlbear cub some time ago, steps aside. "I'll sleep under the stars with them, if that's alright with you." He nods towards Scratch and the cub.
"Fine by me. Sleep well, you three." You say with a wave. One less room to rent, and you doubt they would let an owlbear cub inside in the first place.
The rest of your group gathers inside, leaning against various walls and tables as they finally let themselves feel the exhaustion of the trek to get here. You drag a hand down your face and take a deep breath. You wish Astarion would handle the talking like he normally does, but something tells you he's not in the mood to do you any favors.
A stern looking woman stands behind the counter, but she's still helping someone, so you take the time to observe the inn while you wait. It's not too different from any other inn you've stayed at. The room is warmed by a fire that looks like it needs to be stoked, and there's a few patrons dotted at tables, nursing ales and wines until they'll eventually hopefully make it back to their rooms.
You don't care as long as there aren't rats here.
Though, the thought of Astarion waking up to another rat in his bed has you snickering under your breath.
"Something funny, or are you off your rocker?" The inn keeper asks, leveling you with a harsh look.
You clear your throat and step up to her counter. "A bit of both."
She doesn't pity you with even an exhale from her nose.
You motion to yourself and your group. "Any room for us?"
Her gaze is scrutinizing, and you're again sure that Astarion would be handling this better than you were.
"If you put two to a room, sure. Fare is one hundred gold."
You smile and reach for your bag to retrieve the money.
"Each."
You can practically feel the disappointment from your group at your back. As you're about to use the tadpole to beg Astarion for help, the inn keeper gives you a wry smile. "Relax, I'm pulling your leg. I'll cut it down to seventy since you look like you were dragged through the mud."
You let out a long sigh, but smile right after. "You have no idea. Thank you." You put the gold on the counter, adding a little extra as a thank you for putting up your objectively questionable troupe.
After grabbing the keys and turning back to them, you find that they've already paired up.
Mostly.
Gale and Wyll, Shadowheart and Karlach, Lae'zel and Jaheira. Which leaves…
You sigh. Again.
"I'm not happy about it either, darling."
You flick his ear and hand out the keys. Before everyone parts ways, Karlach grabs your arm and whispers to you. "Want me to leave the door unlocked?"
You wave your hand. "I'll be fine, he's just hungry."
"Yeah. That's why I'm asking."
Fair point.
You wave your hand again and bid everyone goodnight before you all trudge upstairs and into your separate rooms. Astarion is first in, and you smack square into his back when he stops short in the doorway. You huff and rub your nose, glaring at the back of his head. "Why'd you stop?"
Astarion steps aside and motions to the bed. The singular bed.
Gods damn it.
The bed is big enough to fit two people in theory, but they'd have to cozy up pretty close, so that's not happening.
Other than that the room is small and plain, but, it's clean—so you don't really care. There's a single dresser under the window and a little nightstand to the right of the bed, but the room is nearly bare otherwise. There's a woven tapestry on the wall above the bed, the colors swirling and long dulled with age. It's large enough that you wonder if it was hung to cover a hole in the wall. Perhaps something to check when you have any ounce of energy.
You kick the door shut behind you and drop your pack on the ground. "You take it."
Astarion is much too happy to plant himself down and stretch out. "Wise choice."
You bite back any snark and spread your bedroll at the foot of the bed. He's hungry and probably on edge because of how close you are to Baldur's Gate. You just have to keep reminding yourself that it isn't personal.
You hope.
You end up lying face down on your bed roll for a while, too stiff and sore to move, so Astarion steps over you to duck into the washroom and get rid of all the grime from the past few days. You're nearly asleep by the time he's done and nudging you with his foot. "Your turn. You smell like death."
"You would know, wouldn't you?" You grumble, pushing yourself up with your good arm. It comes out faster than you can stop it and you expect Astarion to bite back with something worse, but he simply shrugs in agreement. You dig your night clothes out of your bag and stumble your way to the washroom, not surprised that it's as frugal as the main room.
Over the past months of travel, you or one of the other spell casters would make do with water spells and rivers to get everyone clean (to a certain degree), so you don't waste magic making the water warm. You peel off your clothes and get to cleaning them first so they have time to dry overnight. The water runs various unpleasant shades, but at least you picked up some nice soap at the Last Light, so you wouldn't be doomed to keep smelling like sweat and dirt.
Astarion likely already has his clothes drying by the window, so you decide to use the basin edge for yours once you're done with it. The faucet is old and the sharp noise it elicits makes you wince, but soon enough the basin is slowly filling with tepid water. You step in while it fills, taking a moment to check yourself over.
Your scar is especially irritated from today, and you hiss when you probe it with your fingers. Thankfully, you're otherwise fine. Your feet are tired and you're generally grimy, but you didn't get bitten by any bugs or develop any blisters, so you were more than happy with the state of you.
The basin isn't big so it takes some twisting and creative thinking to get every part of you clean, but you finally do it. The only magic you use is to roughly dry your hair until you're sure it'll finish the job while you sleep. With everything taken care of, you re-enter the bedroom and head straight for your bedroll.
Astarion is propped up with his arms behind his head, and his gaze is on the window. You peek before you lie down, and you can faintly make out the outline of the city in the distance.
Your guess was right, then.
As much as you wanted to help, you had a sneaking suspicion things would be icy with Astarion until Cazador was dead. It made sense, obviously, but it doesn't mean it didn't hurt when he was so short with you.
You hold back a sigh and fidget until you get into a position that's somewhat tolerable. You can't sleep on your back no matter how much you try, so you've taken to sleeping on your stomach with a balled up shirt as a cushion for your shoulder.
The crick neck was a pain in the ass, though.
You breathe slowly and close your eyes, trying to clear your mind so you can actually get some sleep.
You are unsuccessful.
Every time you feel yourself start to slip away, a problem on the horizon jumps to the front of your mind. Shar worshippers, Harpers, an old wizard who likes cheese, what to name the owlbear cub. Oh, and the tadpole in your brain and the impending doom it signifies.
All of it swirls in your mind before you give up with a harsh sigh. You resign to lying on your back and staring at the ceiling until you pass out or morning comes. Proper rest be damned.
You can faintly hear the crickets singing outside, and you wonder for a moment if you should go join Halsin and the animals.
"Would you get up here already? You're fidgeting like a kobold."
You blink. "Huh?"
"I can't sleep if you're moving all night long."
You peek over the footboard and narrow your eyes. You don't mention that technically he doesn't even need to sleep, lest he rescind his offer and kick you out instead. Your joints creak and pop when you stand, and when you look at Astarion again he's already moved to one side to make room for you.
Suspicion lingers in your chest, but the bed calls to you like a siren at sea, so you climb under the covers.
Good gods.
You feel your whole body practically melt. The mattress is old and the covers are rough, but right now you can't tell the difference between this and a fluffy cloud. You still have your wits about you, so you turn on your side and keep near the edge to give Astarion space.
You almost tear up when you realize the ache in your shoulder is already throbbing less.
"You cannot blame me for laughing if you tumble onto the floor." Astarion says, still sitting up against the headboard.
"Any closer and we'd be touching." You point out.
Astarion is quiet for a moment, then scoffs. "Most sane people would be jumping at that chance. Really—it's your loss, darling."
You turn over to face him. "It's not that I'm averse to touching you, Astarion. I don't want you to be uncomfortable."
"True, you're always draped over Karlach or Halsin." He muses, brushing past the second half of your statement.
"Karlach hasn't had any contact for ten years and Halsin is a bear half the time."
Astarion inspects his broken nail in the little light the window provides. You study his face, silver lined by the moonlight. His lips tug into a frown, and he's expertly avoiding looking at you entirely.
You reach out and place a single finger against his forearm.
"What the hells are you doing?"
"Touching you."
Astarion flicks your hand away. "Don't pity me."
You sit up and fold your arms. "Astarion."
He scowls at you and you can see his haunches are quickly raising.
"Please tell me what's going on." You ask. "You can be mad at me all day but I can't apologize if I don't know what I did wrong."
Atarion traces the seam of the blanket with his nail. "Do I disgust you?" He asks after a moment.
You're at a loss for words, only able to furrow your brows at him. "What?"
"Don't be coy, darling. You've rejected every one of my advances where others fall over themselves to even learn my name. It doesn't make any sense, does it?"
"Astarion-"
"You could have chosen any of our companions and you chose the bear? Really? The one who'd rather sit nude on a log for the rest of his life?"
"Astarion!" You cut him off. Your shoulders are raised towards your ears and your nails are digging into your arms. "What the fuck are you talking about? I'm not with Halsin, or anybody for that matter!"
Astarion narrows his eyes. "You think I haven't seen you sneak off with him at night?"
"You mean when we get honey?"
He clearly doesn't believe you. You take a deep breath to steady yourself and realize that you're going to have to finally face the music. "Astarion. I haven't slept with you or any of our companions, because I haven't slept with anyone."
At least that got his attention. He gives you a wary look. "You can't be serious."
"I will literally let you use the tadpole to see for yourself." You insist.
He blinks slowly. "Gods, you are serious. How?"
"What do you mean 'how'? It's pretty simple."
"Oh, come off it. A vision like you doesn't make it through life without at least being propositioned!"
You shrug, your hands waving uselessly in front of you while you try to explain. "Thank you for your faith in me, but I truly haven't. It just hasn't been in the cards."
Astarion taps his finger against his lips while he looks at you. "Have you pleasured yourself?"
Heat immediately licks up the back of your neck and you fumble for your pillow, smacking it firmly against his arm. "Don't ask things like that so casually!"
Astarion catches the pillow to stop the assault, and his eyes are full of mirth when he sets it down again. "Yes, yes, curiosity killed the cat." He relaxes against the headboard, all the tension melting from his posture. "I'm glad to hear it wasn't just me, then. I was worried we'd have to find an asylum for you."
"Yeah, yeah. You can make fun of me for tonight but anything later and I will shock you." You warn him, sinking back under the covers.
"Sure you will, darling." He hums.
You should have taken Karlach up on her offer.
"Don't you need beauty sleep?" You grouse, smacking the pillow into shape.
"Not as much as you do."
You glare at him after he settles down. This wasn't a finished conversation, you were sure of that. You had a hunch he took the newfound information as an out to avoid discussing what was truly bothering him, but you weren't going to push your luck tonight.
"I'm sorry I couldn't get us here faster." You say quietly. "My magic has been…acting up."
Astarion turns his head to look at you. "How so?"
You shrug, pulling the covers up to your chin. "It feels weaker. I think it might be because we're getting closer to the nether brain, or at least that's my best guess. I didn't want to risk something going wrong."
Astarion exhales through his nose, but it's not born from frustration. "You should have said something."
"I know." You admit. "I just…don't want anyone to think I'm weak."
A pale hand reaches out to brush your cheek. You raise a brow at him.
"A stray lash." He explains. "You're never allowed to tell them I said this, but no one in our group of weirdos is stupid enough to think you're weak."
You laugh a little. "Aw, you do care!"
Astarion yanks the covers over your head. "Good night!"
"Thank you." You say when you reemerge. "Oh, before I forget, have you fed on anything recently? Besides rats on your pillow."
"A deer there, a goblin there. The usual." Astarion says, grimacing at your reminder of the rat incident.
"Feed on me, then." You say simply, getting comfortable and closing your eyes.
You can't see the fond look on Astarion's face, and you're fast asleep before you can feel the ghost of his lips against your brow.
Your neck is sore when you wake up, and you know this time it isn't from sleeping on the ground.
Astarion is already up and basking in the sun like he normally does, and he turns to you with a pleased smile. "Good morning, darling."
The lack of blood was definitely part of his attitude.
"Morning." You say, stretching your limbs out. "Is anyone else up?"
"They're all being loud downstairs." Astarion says with a dismissive wave of his hand.
You squint, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, your mind still not fully awake. "What time is it?"
"Just past noon? I haven't been keeping track."
"What?!"
"Oh, relax! You aren't the only one who slept in. Apparently Shadowheart had to break into Jaheira's room to escape Karlach's snoring." Astarion says, snickering at the image.
You flop back against the bed. Okay, you could work with a late start to the day. You could still make it to Sharess' Caress in time to meet with Voss, and then work your way into the lower city-
A finger presses the spot between your brows. "I can hear your thoughts from here. At least save the planning until after breakfast."
"I can't help it."
"Try."
You grumble and stare at the ceiling again.
Hm.
Hm.
"Owlstarion…"
"I beg your pardon?"
You sit up, your face splitting into a wide grin. "I'm a genius!"
"No, no! We are not giving the mongrel that name!"
You leap out of bed to dodge his attempts to stop you, your laughter brightly ringing around the room. "It's perfect!"
"It's horrendous!" Astarion retorts.
The two of you stand still for a moment. Your cheeks nearly hurt from smiling, and Astarion is giving you a look so dirty, it would give anyone else the chills.
He lunges for you, but you're already stepping back and yanking the door open. "Karlach! I had an epiphany!"
You hear Astarion groan as you bound down the stairs. "You are the worst!"
"You love me!" You call over your shoulder, grabbing the banister to whip around the corner and find your companions.
Astarion sighs and stoops down to grab the shoes you forgot in your haste.
Astarion and Druid!Tav after the final battle with the elder brain and rebuilding move into Cazadors (now astarions) Mansion. Astarion watches in awe and utter love as the place that once held so much hate, death, and pain is transformed into a lively place of life.
Flowers, vines, succulents, fruits and vegetables are found in almost every region. The dungeon where cazador subjected his victims and spawn to hours of torture turned into a dark room to grow all different types of mushrooms and vegetables.
Most importantly however, in the cell where all of the Spawn were kept and starved, there is a garden of over 7000 Bleeding hearts (type of flower look it up). Their pretty pink petals are perfectly kept, and with some magical lamps gifted by Gale, they have no issue surviving in the dark space.
So yes, the palace may hold some dark memories, traumas that may never go away. But Cazadors hatred and pain was very quickly dampened by Astarions love and their ever bleeding heart.
***IMPORTANT! PLEASE NOTE: This is Part 2 to Part 9 (it makes sense, I promise) of my Beauty and the Bard series! Find Part 1 of this chapter here. If you'd rather read it all in one go, it's also posted to AO3.
Summary: You turned to look at him with concern. “You must have thought I was upset with you.”
Astarion laughed. “I did. I was prepared to grovel.”
“Oh, were you?” you asked, lifting a mischievous eyebrow.
The vampire caught your eye. “What is it, you cheeky thing?”
“Show me.”
Astarion blinked. “Show you-?”
You bumped your nose against his jaw. “You were prepared to grovel. So grovel.”
OR
Finally! A proper bath! With a vampire who wants nothing more than to please you!
Pairing: Astarion x f!reader
Rating: 18+
Word count: 18.7k (This particular part is 4.5k)
CW: smut, reader is new to sex, piv sex, hand job if you squint, vaginal fingering, blood drinking, boundary talks, groveling, soft Astarion, porn with feelings, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot), surprise guest
Spoilers: Spoilers for Act 3 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.)
Also posted to: AO3
Last chance to go back to Part 1 of this chapter!
a/n: So sorry for posting another tumblr two parter. I didn't realize how long it was until tumblr told me I'd yapped too much. Thank you if you made it this far! Your reward is once again smut! I hope you all enjoy :) (Thank you to @vividiana and @kermitwazowski for beta reading!)
But not before a bath!
You climbed into the tub of warm water and sank down to your ears, sighing loudly.
The Elfsong was certainly an upgrade from the Last Light Inn. For one thing, you all had your own rooms, meaning no one in your party had to sleep outside. For another, the running water allowed for the first hot bath you’d had since you’d started this journey.
You and Astarion had opted to share a room, one that opened up into the living space you shared with the others. This room had everything you needed for sleeping, bathing, and privacy, while the main room could act as a hub for planning out the next steps for your adventure. There was even space for Yenna and Grub to have their own room, though they preferred sleeping in Jaheira’s from now on.
Astarion watched you quietly from his seat by the fireplace, a book laying open on his lap.
“I can feel you watching me,” you said softly, eyes closed.
Astarion leaned forward and raised an eyebrow. “You are you, aren’t you?”
A laugh escaped your lips, blowing bubbles into the surface of the water. You sat up to make eye contact with him. “Alas, you’ve caught me once again, vile vampire!” You flopped dramatically deeper into the bath, lifting your hands up into the air as if reaching for help and failing to grasp onto anything.
“Oh, honestly, darling,” Astarion closed his book and set it down gently, coming to sit beside you instead. “Now I’m sure you’re you.” He took your flailing hand and pulled you up slightly, smiling down at you as he did so.
You scrunched your nose. “How can you be sure?”
Astarion sighed and rolled up his sleeves, placing his bare arms on the side of the tub and resting his head atop them. “My love, I think if Orin had really been caught again just now, she would have said something more cunning than ‘Alas, you’ve caught me once again, vile vampire.’” He mimicked your tone mockingly, but there was no bite behind it. He reached out and caressed your face, placing a lock of wet hair behind your ear. “And you make me laugh.”
“Funny,” you murmured into the ripples, “I didn’t hear you laugh just now.”
Astarion grinned and kissed your wrist, which he was still holding. “Tell me, darling, did they hurt you? I mean, more than when we arrived? Did they threaten you? Torture you? Gods, love, if they-”
“Hey, hey,” you said calmly, sitting up more and taking both of Astarion’s hands in your own. “I’m okay, see?” You held his hand to your chest, allowing him to feel your heart beating steadily beneath your skin. You breathed deeply for good measure. “I’m right here.”
“I know,” Astarion said, avoiding your gaze. “I know,” he repeated and squeezed your hands tighter. “Gods below, I feel like such a fool.”
“What for?” you asked.
He looked at you as if to say, “Really?”
“Okay,” you admitted, “I know what for. You think my being taken was your fault. Or, you think you should have noticed Orin was a fake sooner. Or, you think you should have found me more quickly after Orin revealed herself.”
“Yes!” Astarion exclaimed, throwing your hands down and causing a splash to hit you both in the face.
You laughed lightly. “Astarion, my love, there was nothing you or the others could have done to prevent this. If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else.”
Astarion wiped water droplets from his cheek. “Yes, it could have been that freeloading Yenna instead of you.”
You shot him a look. “You really think I would have let Orin kidnap a child?”
The vampire groaned. “Of course you wouldn’t, you’re you. Of course you made sure it was you who got taken.”
You nodded, quietly reaching for the sponge and bar of soap off to the side.
Wordlessly, Astarion took them from your hands and began to gently run the sponge over your shoulders.
“Why not Halsin?” he asked.
You snorted. “Astarion.”
“What? At least take someone who actively annoys me.”
“Don’t I actively annoy you?” you teased.
“Constantly. That should have been another clue that Orin wasn’t you.”
You craned your neck to allow Astarion better access with the sponge. “Please stop blaming yourself. This is what shapechangers do - they replace people under the noses of others.”
Astarion sniffed. “Yes, well, my nose is rather excellent and should have smelled trouble.”
You rolled your eyes affectionately and grabbed his wrist as it moved past your ear, taking it and kissing the delicate skin there. “You did everything right.”
He huffed a little, unconvinced. After a moment of quiet contemplation and a few strokes of the sponge, he asked, “Did you fight?”
“When she came?”
Astarion nodded.
“I did.” You readjusted your position to face him and Astarion retracted the sponge, placing it on the ledge of the bath. “Grub-”
“Who?”
“The cat.”
“Whose cat?”
You sighed heavily. “Yenna’s cat.”
“Oh. I was unaware it had a name. And one so… dirty? Like, from the dirt. Bug-like.”
“Not the point,” you said, bringing him back to you before he had a chance to keep talking. “Anyway, Grub came and found me-”
“The mangy thing was in our tent?”
“Astarion.”
“Sorry. Proceed, darling.”
“I could tell something was wrong, but it was too late at night and too dark and we’d just made camp, so I didn’t know where my lute was and I… I don’t know. I followed Grub thinking that maybe Yenna was having a nightmare?”
“And you didn’t wake me?” Astarion asked, insulted.
You felt your shoulders drop as you looked at him fondly. “You wanted to be awoken in the middle of the night to help someone?”
“I-” He pointed a finger at you, but quickly let it drop. “A fair point. Though if I’d known what was really going on-”
“Of course you would have helped,” you reassured. “I have no doubt. But where was I?”
“Bug.”
“Grub.”
“Whatever.”
You laughed. “I followed Grub to where we’d set up that small tent for Yenna, but there was someone else there. Orin had her back to me, but as soon as Yenna saw me, Orin realized that they weren’t alone and pulled that stupid dagger of hers on me. We struggled for a moment, but I didn’t have my lute so my spells barely did anything to stop her. She got the upper hand and told me to come quietly or she’d kill the entire camp. Luckily, I was able to break away for a minute to check on Yenna-”
Astarion tilted his head. “And tell her to be brave?”
“She told you?”
He rolled his eyes. “She could have told us far sooner.”
“I’m pretty sure Orin cast a sleep spell on her before she took me, so she probably thought the whole thing was a bad dream.”
Astarion grumbled incoherently.
You shrugged, sinking deeper into the water once more. “It’s not her fault either. Baldur’s Gate is a dangerous place. We knew that.”
Astarion groaned. “Obviously. But how were we to know that the Chosen of Bhaal would find us so quickly?”
“Exactly,” you agreed. “So stop blaming yourself.”
The rogue blew out a breath that fanned cooly across your face. He watched you quietly for a moment, then reached out to caress your face once more. “I missed you,” he said softly. “Even if I didn’t know you were gone, I think a part of me did. And gods, did I miss you.”
You lifted your hands from the water and squeezed his. “I missed you too. But I knew you’d find me.”
“I always will,” he kissed the tip of your nose.
You caught him by the cheeks and planted a kiss on his mouth. He looked stunned when you pulled back. “Join me in the bath?” you asked innocently.
He chuckled. “I see you missed more than my sparkling personality and clever wit,” he smirked, pulling off his shirt in what you were sure was record time.
“I will always miss every single part of you,” you said. “Because you’re you.”
“Gods,” he stuck out his tongue as he unbuckled his pants. “I did not miss the ooey-gooey, lovey-dovey, whatever the hell this is, talk.”
You leaned your arms on the edge of the bath and watched him intently. “Yes you did.”
“Of course I did,” he admitted far too quickly. “Now move over.”
He approached the bath, completely naked, with all the confidence in the world.
As he should.
He gingerly climbed in, taking his place behind you and wrapping his arms around your middle. You felt his already hard cock press against your ass.
“What would you like, my darling?” he whispered into your ear.
You hummed, leaning your head back onto his shoulder. “Are you hungry?”
A rumble sounded in Astarion’s chest. “Positively famished.” He dragged his teeth lovingly down your throat. “But are you sure?” he asked against your skin. “You lost quite a bit of blood earlier.”
You lifted your hand to tangle in his curls. “And my handsome vampire healed me beautifully.”
He preened beneath you. “He did, didn’t he?”
You laughed. “I can’t imagine Orin was very quick to let you drink from her.”
Astarion made a noise of disgust. “As if I’d want her blood.”
“You didn’t know it was her.”
“Still. I could tell the-you-that-wasn’t-you wasn’t feeling much like sharing an intimate moment with me.”
You turned to look at him with concern. “You must have thought I was upset with you.”
Astarion laughed. “I did. I was prepared to grovel.”
“Oh, were you?” you asked, lifting a mischievous eyebrow.
The vampire caught your eye. “What is it, you cheeky thing?”
“Show me.”
Astarion blinked. “Show you-?”
You bumped your nose against his jaw. “You were prepared to grovel. So grovel.”
Beneath the water, Astarion cock twitched.
“Darling,” he whispered again. “Whatever I’ve done to upset you, know that it wasn’t my intention.” He trailed kisses down your neck and shoulders.
“You’ll really have to make it up to me,” you sighed, curling your fingers tighter into his hair.
“Anything,” he breathed out into the shell of your ear. “Anything at all, my love. Tell me what you want.”
“You,” you said, unwrapping his hands from your waist and leading one of them to your core. “I want you inside of me.”
“Please,” he needed, taking the lead and letting his fingers find your clit. “Please let me.”
You hummed at the soft pressure he applied. “Good boy.”
“Oh,” Astarion smirked. “I like that.”
“Keep being good and I’ll keep saying it.”
“Absolutely,” Astarion purred, increasing the tempo of his fingers. “Can I-?” His fingertips ghosted past your entrance.
“Yes,” you sighed, gripping his thigh beneath the water.
Slowly, Astarion dipped a finger into your cunt, pumping it at a rhythm he knew you liked. He curled it ever so slightly and kissed your jaw when it fell open.
“I, ah, I don’t hear much groveling,” you teased.
Astarion added another finger before saying, “You are an angel sent to me from the heavens above. I did nothing to deserve you and yet you allow me to pleasure you so.”
You gasped with pleasure. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
Astarion paused his ministrations. “Roleplaying, darling.”
“Right,” you said. “Sorry. Continue.”
He looked at you for a moment, pondering.
“What?” you asked.
“Alright, darling, let’s set the boundary. If we’re going to do this, I’m going to say some things that will probably upset you.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to insult me, are you?”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course not, but groveling usually involves the grovelee proclaiming they’re unworthy and other such nonsense.”
“But-”
“But,” Astarion interrupted, “for tonight, I’m saying all these things with one goal in mind - and it’s not to make you sad, or to have you tell me something I said isn’t true - it’s to make you come. No cross examining, no letting it float around in that pretty head of yours once I’ve ravished you. Nothing of the sort. Got it?”
You nodded. “It’s just a performance.”
“Exactly, my love. Say what you wish as well, I promise I’ll let you know if something actually bothers me. Now can I continue with my goal?”
“I wish you would.”
Astarion curled his fingers which had been unmoving in your cunt but now made you squirm against him. “Excellent, darling. You feel wonderful by the way.” He kissed your temple before pulling back from you slightly. “Now, where was I?” He pulsed his fingers inside of you, as if tapping on a surface to regain his train of thought.
You mewled in response.
“What was that?”
“Angel from the heavens above,” you said shakily.
“Good girl.” He caught your eye and winked. Then his head fell to your shoulder where he trailed sloppy, open mouth kisses. “I apologize to you, my dearest, sweetest, most glorious, love. You have only ever shown me compassion and I am unworthy of your attention.”
Your breath caught in your throat. Partially to stop yourself from protesting, and partially because of how good his fingers were making you feel. “More,” you moaned.
“Of course, beautiful.” Astarion pumped his fingers harder and faster into you, making you grip the edge of the tub with a hand on either side. “Is that good?” he asked.
“Tell me how much you love me,” you bit out, grinding your cunt into his hand.
Astarion chuckled and nipped playfully at your throat.
“None of that,” you said sternly. “No drinking until you’ve pleasured me.”
At your back, you felt Astarion’s cock twitch again. Another growl rumbled in his chest. “More than anything. You are my first thought in the morning and my last thought at night. I live only to serve you and remind you what a gift and a treasure you are to me and everyone around you.”
“Good,” you breathed. “Keep going. Tell me I’m the only one for you.”
“The only one,” Astarion echoed. “You are the only one who has ever made me feel the way you do, and I will strive every day of my life to earn the love and devotion you’ve given me, and show you the same love and devotion in return. You are my light, my sunshine, my everything.”
“Faster,” you squeezed your eyes shut, bucking into Astarion’s hand.
Astarion complied. “I’ve never wanted anyone more in the world, and I thank these blasted brain worms everyday that they brought me to you. A bloodthirsty beast like me, the lover of the kindest, silliest, most wonderful person in the realm. Please, won’t you come for me, my love? Please, it’s all I want. You’re all I want. I need it. Need it from you.”
With his coaxing words, you felt yourself spill over the edge, clamping and pulsing around Astarion’s fingers.
“Oh, thank you,” Astarion whispered in your ear. “Thank you, my love.”
“Kiss me,” you said once you’d regained your words.
“Turn for me, pet.” Astarion removed his fingers from you, then spun you in the water to face him. “Hello, darling.”
“Hi,” you smiled and leaned forward, capturing his mouth in a mix of lips and teeth.
He hummed and pulled you forward by your ass, moving you even closer so you were chest to chest, sitting on his lap. His tongue lapped into your mouth, hungry after not having tasted you for days. “Missed you,” he murmured.
“Still convinced I’m me?” you teased.
“You’re you, alright. Otherwise I wouldn’t have had to preface my groveling.”
“Very good, by the way,” you kissed the corner of his mouth.
“I’m sure I can do better,” he smirked.
You mirrored his expression. “A challenge?”
Astarion raised his eyebrows. “May I please have a drink now?”
“Oh!” you exclaimed. “Of course!” You went to position your neck, but Astarion rested a gentle hand to your shoulder and shook his head slightly.
“Make me,” he whispered, cluing you in.
“Ah,” you nodded and cleared your throat. “Seeing as how you’ve been such a good boy, making me feel so good and accomplishing your intended goal, I suppose you can have a drink.”
“Thank-”
“BUT-” you cut him off. “I’m still very displeased with you.”
He blinked at you, doing his best to make his bright red eyes seem like that of a puppy’s. “What ever for?”
You lifted your head, nose towards the ceiling, feigning upset. “I was gone a full two days and you almost drank the blood of that abhorrent shapechanger, didn’t you?”
“Darling, I didn’t actually-”
“Didn’t you?!”
“Yes!” Astarion rested his forehead on your shoulder, letting out a dramatic wail. “Oh, my love, you must believe me! She was a perfect copy! She smelled divine, and I was so hungry! Please, you must understand!”
“Oh, I understand,” you narrowed your eyes. “I’ll just have to show you what you were really missing.”
“Please,” Astarion’s voice nearly cracked. “My head shall never turn again, I swear it.”
You hummed thoughtfully, tilting your head to the side again and revealing Astarion’s previous bite marks, which were fading faster than usual, given how long it had been since his last drink. “Help me with this, would you?”
Astarion nodded and placed some lingering hair behind your ear. “Thank you, darling.” Without much pomp and circumstance, save for a kiss to the fading marks, Astarion sank his teeth into your throat and you moaned in pleasure.
Astarion moaned, too. He removed himself from you briefly to say, “My, how I’ve missed the taste of you, darling.”
“That’s right,” you said. “My blood is what you crave. Mine, and mine alone.”
“Yours,” he agreed and returned to your neck.
You readjusted yourself in the water, sitting atop Astarion’s thigh and grinding yourself into him. He whimpered at the sensation, but you weren’t done yet. One of your arms snaked between you and Astarion, before your hand wrapped itself around Astarion’s cock and gave it a gentle but firm thrust.
“Hah- oh fuck.” Astarion looked at you with a dazed expression.
“Keep going,” you insisted. “I’m sure the changeling wasn’t able to make you feel this good.”
“Never,” Astarion said, licking at the blood droplets along your collarbone.
“Good boy.” You continued pumping his length and he returned to drinking from you, albeit hesitantly. “You must be starving.”
As if to prove your point, you felt him sink his teeth in ever deeper, pulling more blood from your throat. All the while, your hands remained on his cock, and you chased another release from his thigh.
“Mmmph,” Astarion groaned.
“What’s that, darling boy?” You increased your speed on his dick.
“Ahh,” Astarion whined, pulling back. “Please.”
“Please, what?”
“Can I please be inside of you?” He was already starting to look fucked-out, drunk on the taste of your blood, and the feeling of your hands.
You were thrilled. It was a rare sight, seeing Astarion so submissive and willing. It just went to show how much he trusted and loved you. You cleared your throat and composed yourself once again.
“No touching,” you warned.
He nodded and kept completely still as you rearranged yourself again, this time to impale yourself on him.
You smiled and wiped some blood off his mouth. “Okay?” you asked quietly.
Astarion blinked before his face fell into a grin. “I’m wonderful, darling.”
“Good,” you smiled and kissed him. His arms moved to wrap around you, but you pulled back quickly. “No touching,” you reminded him.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said.
You raised an eyebrow at him, and he puckered his lips, sending an air kiss your way. Slowly, so slowly, you began to lower yourself onto him.
“Fuck,” he murmured, and you watched his hands ball into fists under the water.
“Does that feel good?” you asked, continuing to move slowly.
“Sublime, love. Thank you for letting me feel you.”
His cock was incredibly hard, a physical sign of how much he missed you. And by the gods, did it feel good to have him inside of you again.
“That’s a good vampire,” you said. “So hard, just for me?”
“All for you.”
You inhaled sharply as you felt yourself bottom out on top of him. “My blood, my body, my life. It’s yours.”
Astarion shut his eyes tightly when you started rocking into him. “What did I do to deserve all that?”
“You’re you,” you said. “And I love you.”
“I love you,” he smiled.
You kissed his jaw. “Fuck!”
“What?!”
“The groveling!”
“Right!” Astarion went to put his hands around your waist but stopped himself. “Oh, woe is me, I wish to hold my lover, but she won’t let me touch her!”
You bounced on his dick, picking up speed and feeling his hips twitch with the urge to follow after yours.
“Keep whining, old man-”
“Old man?”
“Sorry, you’re beautiful. What I meant was, keep whining, gorgeous man-”
“Better.”
“-it won’t stop me from making you feel good.” Your hand moved beneath you to fondle his balls.
“Ohhh, darling,” he practically sang, throwing his head back in ecstasy.
You kissed and licked at his throat, which he now left exposed for you. “I’m the only one who can make you feel this good,” you said, pretty sure he’d said those exact words to you at some point.
Astarion nodded aggressively. “Please, love, let me make you feel good too. I can make you feel good, can’t I?”
“My clit,” you ground your pelvis against his, “misses you.”
He lifted his head once more. “May I?”
“Please.”
Sitting up properly, he pulled you closer to him and cradled your ass in one hand, the other flying to your clit and immediately pressing circles into it.
“Oh!” you gasped, surprised at how effective his touch was immediately.
“Does that feel good?” he asked earnestly, and you nodded, biting your lip. “Please tell me I’m doing a good job.” To emphasize the point, he bucked his hips up to meet yours, making you cry out.
“Yes! You’re doing the best job!” You bushed your hands through his hair and massaged the tips of his ears as he brought you down hard on his cock. “Always so good for me, my most handsome, most powerful vampire. There is no pair that can outshine us!”
“None!” Astarion agreed, his eyes frantic and locked on yours. “Are you close, my love? Tell me you're close.”
The coil in your stomach that had slowly been building was definitely close to snapping.
“I’m close,” you kissed him hard and pulled back. “Are you?”
“Yes,” he hissed, leaning forward to bite your shoulder with his blunt front teeth.
“What do you need?” you asked, your voice wavering.
“Allow me to make you come again.”
“I-” you almost attempted to argue, but the mounting orgasm mixed with the recent blood loss took away your will to fight. “Okay.”
Astarion smirked. “Thank you.” His eyes never left yours as his fingers picked up speed on your clit. He bit his lip, one of his fangs peaking out as he concentrated all his attention on making you come again.
“That’s… good…” you sighed, melting into his touch and finally letting go. “Oh, Astarion!”
“Yes, love,” he squeezed your ass. “Just like…that…” he threw his head back again and you felt him spill within you. “Let me… hold you… please.”
You bent forward into his chest and felt his arms wrap around you as you both came down from your highs.
He kissed the top of your head. “Now that. Was very good.”
“You think?” You asked, smiling up at him.
“Of course, darling-”
Suddenly, the door to your room was thrown open and Yenna rushed in.
You and Astarion yelped loudly and Astarion held you tighter, making sure only your back was showing.
“YENNA!” he roared.
“Do NOT make a baby right now!” she exclaimed.
“What?!” you laughed in disbelief.
“The baby will be taken and it’ll be my fault again!”
“What the devils are you talking about?” Astarion shrieked.
Jaheira appeared in the doorway next.
“Oh, by all means,” Astarion rolled his eyes.
“Well cubs,” Kaheira hid a smile behind her hand, “make loud love next to our room, the youngling is bound to ask questions.”
“You gave her the talk?” you asked, trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. You could feel how red your face must be.
“Please,” Yenna said, stepping forward, but Jaheira held her back. “Trust me. Being a kid in Baldur’s Gate right now is not easy. Orin’ll be back to steal the babe since she couldn’t get me!”
Jaheira looked down at Yenna. “Sex isn’t always about child making, cub.”
“It’s not?”
“Can you PLEASE have this conversation SOMEWHERE ELSE?!” Astarion made to stand up, but you gripped him tighter, keeping him in place.
“What’s going-”
“OUT!” Astarion shouted again and the door slammed behind Yenna and Jaheira.
You snickered against Astarion’s chest. “Who was that?”
Astarion eyed you as he caught his breath. “No clue honestly. Could have been any one of the heathens.”
You laughed loudly, now unable to stop yourself.
Astarion, for his part, attempted to hold back but eventually joined in, sticking his face in your hair.
“She could have stopped Yenna,” you said, referring to Jaheira.
Astarion giggled. “She absolutely could have, the hag.”
“At least now we know how thin the walls are.” You shifted out of his arms and went to stand, but he held your wrist.
“Stay,” he said.
You smiled at him. “In the tepid water?”
The vampire thought for a moment before scooping you into his arms.
“Careful!” you squealed.
He set you down outside the tub and you picked up a towel, wrapping yourself up and handing the other one to him.
“Sleep with me?” you asked, reaching out your hand.
He took your hand in his and led you to the bed. “Darling, there is nothing I’d like more.”
~~~
Your chest rose and fell calmly as you slept beside the vampire.
Astarion laid awake, watching you and caressing your arm.
Outside, Baldur’s Gate slept.
Or at least, most of the population was.
He knew his siblings must be out there.
Lurking. Hunting. Murdering.
Looking for him.
Instinctively, he drew you closer to him.
Eventually, he would have to face Cazador.
Eventually, this adventure would come to an end.
But at least he had you.
Tomorrow, he thought to himself.
Tomorrow he would ask you to stay with him forever.
***IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ: IT HAPPENED AGAIN! I wrote something that Tumblr deemed to be too long, so I've split it into two posts. It's the same drill as Cheeks All Flushed and About to Strike: The smut is in the other part if you'd rather skip the silliness and dive into the good stuff. Part 2 is here and also linked down below. SORRY ABOUT THAT! It IS all in one place on AO3 if you'd prefer that!
Summary: Astarion looked at you, clapping his hands to try and lift your spirits. “Oh good, puns! Because clowns aren’t enough of a horror already.”
“I’ll say,” you agreed.
“No, love,” he turned to face you, “you’re supposed to disagree with me! You love terrible jokes!”
“Like hells I do,” you scowled, crossing your arms. “Jokes are supposed to make you laugh.”
“Jokes like these usually do,” Karlach agreed.
“Guess I’m just not in the mood today,” you shrugged.
Karlach exchanged a look with Astarion as if to say, “what’s with her?” Astarion made a face in return, wordlessly responding, “that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
OR
You've been acting weird since arriving in Rivington... and Astarion is going to get to the bottom of it.
Pairing: Astarion x f!reader
Rating: 18+
Word count: 18.7k (This particular part is 14.3k)
CW: ACT THREE START, lots of brushed over plot points from Act 2, Orin the Red, several mentions of blood, the cult is full of idiots, Bhaal doesn't fight fair, go fish, clowns, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot), bath time
Spoilers: Spoilers for Act 3 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.)
Also posted to: AO3
FAIR WARNING: This is PART 9 in my series, "Beauty and the Bard." Find the masterlist here.
a/n: HERE IT IS FOLKS!!! After over a year of not posting, part 9 is finally here!! A lot has happened in life since I posted part 8, but I'm thrilled to get a new chapter into your hands and hope that it was worth the wait! I went into this one wanting to make it angsty like Worth the Peril, but it took on a mind of its own and since I'm me, it turned out much sillier than anything in-game. It's a lot of fun and I can't wait to hear what you think! I have ideas in my head for a part 10, idk how long it will take me, but I hope you guys stick around for that too! For now, ENJOY PART 9!! (Thank you so much to @vividiana for beta reading and polishing this baby up, and another thank you to my forever beta @kermitwazowski! Love you guys!)
Taglist: Moved to the comment section, since tumblr hates sharing fun with friends - please let me know if you'd like to be added to the list!
You were acting………weird.
And not your usual, endearing brand of weird.
No, something was definitely off. And Astarion couldn’t put his finger on it.
Ever since your romp in the Temple of Shar - a temple that turned out to be a lot more significant to your journey than either of you had originally thought, apologies to Shadowheart - the two of you had been closer than ever.
“Fangs is in love!” Karlach had lovingly pulled you two into a humongous hug immediately after Dammon had cooled her engine.
“Put me DOWN!” Astarion had all but shouted, causing a few Harpers in the area to turn and stare. “You’re going to squeeze me to death!”
You laughed, reaching your hand out to interlace your fingers with his. “You’ve died in worse ways, my love.”
“Yes, yes, will you ever let me be dramatic for the sake of it?” he asked, his face full of nothing but affection.
“This is disgusting," Lae’zel had rolled her eyes and walked off to compare sword sizes with a shaking Harper.
“I, for one, am pleased to see our rogue vampire’s heart thawing from the devotion of our fearless leader,” Gale grinned.
Shadowheart crossed her arms. “Yes, but next time, do try not to anger the goddess of pain and suffering whom I’ve pledged my life to.”
Astarion tsked. “Next time, pledge your life to a goddess of giggles and fun times.”
“That sounds rather pleasant, actually,” Wyll chuckled.
You nodded in agreement, kissing Astarion on the cheek for good measure.
When you pulled away, your eyes conveyed to him all the love and admiration you could muster without saying a word. I love you. I will never leave you. You are my everything.
He’d sighed happily and squeezed your hand, following you and the others into the Last Light Inn.
That was about three weeks ago.
In the time since, you’d managed to navigate the Shadow-Cursed Lands while saving every worthless soul who bothered to beg for help: a spooky young boy, another spooky young boy whose portal into another realm was a lot more trouble than it was worth, and the spunky young Arabella, who, Astarion had to admit, had drawn one of the shortest straws he’d ever come across when she lost her parents while stuck in a land shrouded in darkness and far from home. He’d been happy to see Withers take her under his wing, and Astarion would occasionally sneak the girl berries when he’d come back from his nightly hunts - the ones that didn’t involve your delicious throat.
In the weeks your party spent traversing the bitter cold and oppressing darkness, Astarion’s love for you did nothing but grow. He’d watched as you affectionately held Arabella’s hand on particularly hard nights. Wrapped his arm around your waist as you walked along precarious, gnarled bridges. Even made heart eyes at you as you drank Ketheric Throm’s disgusting “son” under the table.
He’d made love to you slowly and with intense passion on the night you’d allowed him to make his own choice in front of the vile blood trader at Moonrise. Her blood had reeked of foul magic and it only served to make him crave yours more. He’d taken you over and over that night, thanking you in words and kisses and ecstasy filled thrusts from his hips.
Together with your companions, you’d managed to free the Night Song, defeat Ketheric Thorm, and bring light back to the Shadowlands after ages spent in darkness.
Not too shabby for a band of misfits thrown together by a couple of brainworms.
Now, however, Astarion could sense something was off.
Your hand was cold in his when he grabbed it while following closely behind Wyll and Karlach through the dirt roads of Rivington, headed for Baldur’s Gate.
“Are you alright, darling?” he asked lowly, not wanting to draw the attention of your traveling companions.
“What?” you asked sharply, pulling your hand from his and wrapping your arms around yourself.
“Is something the matter?” Astarion asked, stepping in front of you and forcing you to halt. “If I did something-”
“Oh please,” you rolled your eyes, though the usual affection in the gesture was gone. “It’s nothing, dearest. Sometimes I merely want to be left alone.”
“Right,” Astarion said quietly as you resumed walking to keep up with the others.
Had he upset you somehow? You were never this cold unless he’d been an ass to you, and he could usually keep track of when he’d done something to warrant your ire. But this sudden shift in mood felt completely out of the ordinary.
Last night when he’d tried to cradle you in his arms to sleep, you’d rolled out of his reach and stared up at the top of the tent. When he’d gone to kiss you this morning, you’d turned your head to receive a kiss on the cheek. And when he asked you how you’d slept, you’d called Yenna, your newest ward at camp, a whiney brat who’d kept you up all night with her incessant chattering to her cat.
This wasn’t like you at all.
And Astarion was going to get to the bottom of it.
A colorful sign drew his attention as he caught up with you.
Oh, he was going to regret this.
“Darling,” he said in his sultriest tone, “you won’t believe what I’ve just seen.”
“If it was that dead rat in the road a few meters back, I already saw it,” Karlach said over her shoulder.
“Yuck,” Astarion scowled. “I’ve had enough rats for a lifetime, thank you very much.”
Wyll chuckled. “And what is it that you saw, Astarion?”
The vampire took a deep breath, preparing for your inevitable overreaction and excitement. “Oh nothing, just an advertisement for a traveling circus.”
“Are you shitting me?!” Karlach halted in her tracks and beamed back at Astarion. “I’ve always wanted to go to a circus!”
“You’ve never been?” Wyll asked.
“No, never got the chance before Gortash sold me to Zariel.”
“Well, we must rectify that!” Wyll grinned. “I always enjoyed the circus as a young boy in the Gate.”
“Ugh,” you sighed. “Aren’t we supposed to be getting more supplies while the others set up camp?”
“Oh, come on, Soldier!” Karlach exclaimed. “You love entertainment! This’ll be a fun reward for defeating Ketheric!”
You shrugged and Astarion couldn’t help but notice your heartrate pick up at the mention of Ketheric’s name.
“They might even have face paint!” Karlach clasped her hands together and set off in the direction Astarion pointed out.
“Wait for us, Karlach!” Wyll laughed and jogged after the tiefling.
“We don’t have to go,” Astarion said, watching your reaction closely.
You sighed heavily and plastered a smile to your face. “No, that sounds like a lovely idea. Let’s go.” You took his hand rather loosely and followed after Karlach and Wyll.
Upon reaching the entrance, Wyll read the circus’ advertisement aloud. “The Circus of the Last Days has returned.”
“Spooky,” Karlach laughed.
“See dryads, djinn, and Dribbles the clown, back with a new act.”
“Hear that, darling?” Astarion said, squeezing your hand. “They even have a wretched clown.”
“So?” you asked.
“‘So?!’” Karlach asked, exasperated. “Aren’t you the queen of joking around? Clowns are practically your family!”
You pursed your lips and narrowed your eyes. “If you say so.”
An elf with sweptback red hair and a brightly colored green tunic stepped forward as your party approached. “Hello, hello and welcome to the Circus of the Last Days - the finest extraplanar circus there is!”
Wyll laughed. “I’ve never heard of an extraplanar circus.”
The elf smiled. “We travel from plane to plane, thrilling all blessed to see us! From tempestuous djinni to belligerent redcaps - you’ll find them all here.”
Karlach squeaked in excitement, shaking your shoulder roughly. You stepped to the side, removing yourself from her touch.
“But enough of this,” the elf continued, “this circus is a place of joy and distraction! So come inside and forget your worries.”
“Gladly,” Karlach said, stepping forward towards the gated entrance.
“One moment, dear patron,” the elf held out an arm to stop Karlach in her tracks. “Benji just has to check if you’re a vicious murderer.”
“Benji?” Astarion asked.
Suddenly, a blood-covered ghoul wearing a green and yellow jester’s collar stepped out from behind another patron.
“Gods below!” Astarion exclaimed, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards him.
“Relax,” you hissed, “it’s just a lovely, er, I mean, disgusting ghoul.”
“Exactly!” Astarion said, looking at you in disbelief.
The ghoul inhaled deeply. “Huh?!” He inhaled again. And again. “Brain juice smells like PISS and IRON. NO. LIKE.”
“Oh come on!” Karlach groaned. “That’s not our fault!”
The elf furrowed his brows. “That’s a first. Usually I’d allow you in, but in these times I can take no chances.” He crossed his arms and raised his chin. “Move along. No circus for you.”
The ghoul continued sniffing, his nostrils flaring when they landed on you. He inhaled deeply and screamed. “BLOOD!” he wailed, delighted. “TASTY BLOOD! SO DELICIOUS!” The ghoul laughed maniacally, throwing his head back and causing a few curious patrons to turn and walk the other direction.
“That’s odd,” Wyll chuckled, clearly uneasy, “you’d think the beast would say such a thing about Astarion.”
“Curious,” Astarion agreed, too distracted to argue. He watched your mouth twitch upwards at the corner, your eyes never leaving Benji’s laughing form.
“Off with you, now,” the circus employee repeated, thrusting his arms forward and shooing your little party away.
“Hold on,” you said, your voice stern.
The elf raised an eyebrow.
You brushed past Astarion and got a little too close to the man blocking your path. You leaned forward and brought your mouth to his ear. “I will make you smell of dead meat. Move.”
You’d intended to keep your voice down, but Astarion’s keen sense of hearing caught every word. A chill ran down his spine.
Something was deeply wrong.
The elf at the entrance went pale. “U-uh…” he stuttered, “f-forgive me!” He looked around at you and your party as you stepped back to resume your spot at Astarion’s side. “I must have, eh, misspoken!”
“No worries, mate!” Karlach beamed, bouncing from foot to foot as she sensed your luck changing.
“Welcome to the Circus of the Last Days!” The elf’s voice pitched upwards in a false showing of joy, masking a discomfort that was obvious to Astarion. “Have fun! And be sure to catch the star of our show, Dribbles the Clown!”
The elf and Benji stepped aside, making way for the four of you to pass through the gates and into the circus beyond.
“Hear that, Soldier?” Karlach nudged your side excitedly. “A clown! We should see if he’s half as fun as you are.”
“Highly doubtful,” Wyll grinned, looking around the grounds and taking in the different sights. He pointed to a tent straight ahead. “Look, Karlach! Face paint!”
“WHERE?!” Karlach shouted before sprinting ahead and chatting with a carnie wrapped in bandages.
“I’ll get her,” Wyll laughed. “Meet you both at the clown’s show?”
“I guess,” you said, looking around uncomfortably at the different tents and patrons.
“See you then!” Wyll said, jogging to catch up with Karlach.
Astarion watched you carefully. “Alright, darling?”
“Hmm?” you hummed, half-listening.
Astarion narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Ugh,” you groaned. “Nothing is wrong,” you said, turning to Astarion and plastering a fake smile on your face. “Just tired.”
“We can go back to camp,” Astarion suggested. “It’s been a long few days of travel.”
“Very thoughtful of you, dear, but I’m fine. Really.”
Astarion was far from convinced, but knew better than to push you with so many strangers around. He’d learned you preferred private conversations when something was bothering you. It appeared he would have to wait until you were ready to talk.
As the two of you walked through the booths, a familiar song made Astarion’s ear perk up.
“Hear that, darling?” he asked, grabbing your hand and making you flinch ever so slightly.
“I don’t hear much of anything except shouting children and obnoxious carnies,” you tilted your head, attempting to listen for whatever Astarion had in mind.
“No, my love. It’s Bard Dance.”
Not far off, a group of circus-goers was gathered around a band of performers, each playing a part of the song you played so often around camp.
“So?” you asked.
“So?!” Astarion asked incredulously. “You’ve got a lute on your back and play that song nearly as much as you talk! Don’t you want to join them?”
“Since when do you care for music?” You narrowed your eyes at the vampire.
“Since the love of my life finds it so endearing,” he said, meeting your eyes and refusing to look away.
You sniffed and looked down your nose at him. “‘Love,’ you say?”
“Yes,” Astarion crossed his arms. “It was kind of a big deal for me when I confessed that to you. Don’t you remember?”
“Of course I do,” you answered a little too quickly. “Who could forget something that…” you searched your mind for the right word. “Romantic,” you settled on, sounding insincere.
You walked ahead, leaving Astarion to watch you go. He shook his head, bringing himself back into the present and swiftly caught up with you.
The two of you continued on, meandering in silence, barring an interaction with a stone mephit whose wife nearly insisted on sculpting Astarion’s naked form.
“Maybe next time,” he declined gently.
“Who would want something like that?” you asked quietly as you departed.
Astarion smirked. “Don’t want a stone depiction of me in all my naked glory, beloved? Not even on those lonely nights where I’m torn away with other responsibilities?”
You scowled quickly before relaxing your features, but Astarion clocked it regardless. “Maybe at the next circus.”
Astarion sighed. “Not even going to point out that I don’t have other responsibilities?”
“I don’t need to know what you’re up to all the time,” you said, examining trinkets on a table watched closely by a kobold in a top hat.
“Oh, oh!” The kobold said joyously upon seeing your interest in his wares. “Hungry little hobgoblin. Want a treato?”
You looked down at the kobold, crossing your arms. “Cute.”
“I has lots of treatos!” The kobold continued. “And magics. And junks I finds.”
Astarion held up a snowglobe depicting Neverwinter, then quickly shoved it back onto the table when the bottom popped off, making it look like he’d never touched it in the first place.
“Don’t worry,” the kobold said, gesturing to his treasures, “I only takes junks from dead people. I is nice.”
“Darling,” Astarion said, touching your shoulder lightly, “I think I hear the clown’s show up ahead. We should meet back up with Karlach and Wyll.”
“How often do you loot corpses?” you asked the kobold with genuine interest.
His tail wagged excitedly. “Oh, lots of times! The beasts ate a kiddo the other day-”
“Exciting,” you breathed.
“-and I got some good stuffs.” He looked pleased with himself before adding, “Uh, I… I mean… Circus is safe, do not a-worry. Yes.”
“I’m sure it is,” you grinned, looking at Astarion over your shoulder. “Guess we better see the clown or whatever.” You started walking in the direction of unmistakable clown-ish music.
“Don’t sound too excited,” Astarion muttered, following after you.
You barely batted an eye as you passed cages full of Displacer Beasts and some sort of large lizard.
“Care to look at the animals, darling?” Astarion asked, pausing to watch the agitated Displacer Beast prowl around her cage.
“And smell their disgusting droppings? I’ll pass,” you held your nose, walking by their cages quickly and into the crowd of people gathered around the stage where a clown and a dog were playing catch.
“Soldier!” Karlach called, waving you and Astarion over to her. Her face was freshly painted to look like a red and black harlequin, and in her arms was a large wheel of cheese.
“Hungry?” Astarion asked, lifting a brow.
Karlach pointed at the wheel. “Oh, this? This is Wyll.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Karlach laughed. “Oh, it was hilarious, Fangs! Wyll pissed off a Djinn for claiming that his Wheel of Fortune or whatever was rigged! Bloody thing was, of course, but the Djinn got so mad, he turned Wyll into a snack.” She leaned forward conspiratorially, “As if he wasn’t already, am I right?”
When neither of you laughed, her face fell. “Yeesh, tough crowd. Wyll should be fine, thanks for asking.” She turned to watch the clown on stage, clearly annoyed that neither of you seemed as excited as she was about Wyll’s misfortune. “If he doesn’t turn back soon, I’m sure our resident wizard will have a cure.”
“Shame,” you said. “It’s nice having a fraction of peace for once.”
“Ouch,” Karlach said quietly, not looking at you. “A Wyll of cheese! Come on, guys!”
Astarion ignored her and turned to you. “Darling,” his tone went harsh as he attempted to confront your attitude. It was then that the clown on stage raised his voice and addressed the crowd.
“Buddy the dog is my very best friend!” he bellowed, grinning. “Do you know why?”
“Why?” A patron shouted back, pleased to be included in the performance.
“Because with him,” the clown started, “anything is paw-sible! Wa-hey!"
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Oh gods.”
Astarion looked at you, clapping his hands to try and lift your spirits. “Oh good, puns! Because clowns aren’t enough of a horror already.”
“I’ll say,” you agreed.
“No, love,” he turned to face you, “you’re supposed to disagree with me! You love terrible jokes!”
“Like hells I do,” you scowled, crossing your arms. “Jokes are supposed to make you laugh.”
“Jokes like these usually do,” Karlach agreed.
“Guess I’m just not in the mood today,” you shrugged.
Karlach exchanged a look with Astarion as if to say “what’s with her?” Astarion made a face in return, wordlessly responding with, “that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
“Did you hear,” Dribbles, Astarion remembered, continued, “about the scarecrow who lost a fight?”
“Ugh,” you groaned, a little too loudly. “What a corny joke.”
Before you could answer, Dribbles addressed the crowd yet again. “Thank you to the loudmouth for volunteering for my next trick!”
Astarion and Karlach turned to look at you. You stared, unblinking, at the clown.
“Now,” he said, holding a hand up to his brow to scan the crowd, “where, oh, where are you?” His voice lowered before his eyes fell directly upon you.
You gave the clown a flirtatious wave, making Astarion furrow his brow and look between you and Dribbles.
“Sorry, darling, do you know the clown?”
“Oh, hardly,” you said, patting Astarion’s arm. “You see one clown, you’ve seen them all.”
“You,” Dribbles pointed at you. “My special assistant. Come on up.” He motioned for you to join him on stage.
You turned your body ever so slightly to Astarion, your eyes never leaving Dribbles’. “You love the spotlight, don’t you, Astarion? Here’s your big chance.”
“What?!” Astarion exclaimed, shocked you would suggest such a thing. “No,” he huffed, “don’t you dare. This isn’t funny.”
“Ooof,” Dribbles doubled over, dramatically clutching at his chest, “my heart! Your enthusiasm is… too much!”
“Aw, get up there Fangs!” Karlach clapped Astarion on the shoulder, causing him to scoot forward towards the stage.
“Now, up, up - double sharp!” Dribbles exclaimed. “Or poor Buddy will think you don’t like him.” Dribbles gestured to the snarling dog while shooting Astarion a false pout.
“Go on, Astarion,” you drawled, daring him to deny you this.
“Will this make you happy, darling?” he asked, voice low.
“The happiest,” you nearly hissed.
Astarion furrowed his brow again, then schooled his features into one of his charming smiles. “Of course,” he shouted to the crowd at large,” “what fun!” Before he stepped forward to approach the stage, he leaned back and muttered to you, “I’m going to fucking kill you.”
“I’d like to see you try… lover,” you whispered back, sending another chill down Astarion’s spine. He looked at you for a moment before Karlach pushed him forward again.
“Go on, then!” she said, hoisting Wyll-cheese higher into her arms.
“I’m going!” Astarion said, taking his sweet time on his way to the stage. Meanwhile, fellow circus-goers clapped and cheered for the brave volunteer.
“Now,” Dribbles said once Astarion stood stiffly next to him in front of the crowd, “you’re very special. As special as can be! Does anyone know why?”
“Why?” shouted a little girl in the front row.
“You’re special, my friend, because I have a message - just for you!”
“Uh huh,” Astarion looked from you in the crowd to Dribbles on stage. He placed his hands on his hips. “And what would that be?”
Dribbles smirked and leaned in close. “Praise the Absolute.”
Before Astarion had time to understand what was going on, the dog charged him, tackling him to the ground.
From the crowd, you let out a wicked laugh that you quickly covered with your hand.
“Astarion!” Karlach yelled, setting Wyll-cheese down and rushing the stage. “Come on, Soldier!”
“Right behind you!” you shouted, your voice panicked, but your physical movement did not match your tone. You walked casually towards the stage, weaving leisurely through the crowd of screaming patrons.
“Unhand me, you mangy beast!” Astarion sliced his daggers through the torso of the dog, sending him rearing back and allowing the rogue to get back on his feet.
“So eager to bleed?” Dribbles taunted, flashing his own morningstar at Astarion.
“Not particularly, no,” Astarion said, retrieving his daggers out of the dog and licking the blood from the blades. “I’d much rather see you bleed.”
“Save some violence for me!” Karlach yelled, bringing her warhammer down on Dribbles from behind and causing him to wail out in pain.
Dribbles growled, sounding anything but human. “How dare you make a mockery of my show!”
“You brought me on stage and attacked me!” Astarion shouted, his voice squeaking in disbelief. Here he was, trying to cheer up the love of his life from the weirdest mood he’d ever witnessed, and now he was being attacked by a killer clown!
“Soldier, where are you?!” Karlach called out, looking for you in the crowd as she missed hitting Dribbles again.
“Right here!” you said, joining the fray and taking your lute from your back, holding it like a club.
“DON’T!” Astarion bellowed. “You promised not to break this one!”
“Did I?” You held the pink-tinted lute at arm’s length and observed it. “I suppose it is rather pretty.” Regardless, you resumed holding it like a club. “Pity.”
You reared back to hit Dribbles with a devastating blow, but Karlach caught the instrument and wrenched it away from you.
“What is with you?” she asked, tossing the lute across the stage where it came to a stop just at the edge of the structure.
“Fine,” you hissed. “Teeth and claws it is.”
Astarion dodged a blow from the clown and could have sworn he saw your nails elongate on command. Blinking, he sidestepped Buddy and sank a dagger into his back. “Darling!” he yelled above the roar of circus goers screaming. “Is there something you’re not telling us?!”
With a wild look on your face, you slashed at Dribbles’ face, causing him to shriek in pain, and revealing white skin beneath. “What a wretched excuse you are,” you said to the clown.
“‘Excuse?’” Karlach echoed, slamming her warhammer into the dog as it ran at her, Astarion’s dagger still protruding from his back.
Astarion, meanwhile, was staring at Dribbles’ face, which had peeled back to reveal a monster beneath, before slowly morphing back.
“Shapechanger,” Astarion breathed. He roared in rage, charging you and pulling his discarded dagger from Buddy’s back. He tackled you to the ground, holding both daggers to your throat.
You smirked up at him.
“WHO ARE YOU?!” His daggers pressed into your skin threateningly.
“Astarion!” Karlach shouted, swinging her axe at Dribbles again, who dodged her attack and instead hit her brutally with his cartoonishly large hammer. She fell to the ground in pain.
“Astarion!” you mocked Karlach, your voice evolving into a dark laugh that Astarion had never heard from you.
“Enough,” Astarion dug his daggers deeper, drawing blood. As soon as the scent hit the air, he knew with certainty this wasn’t you. “Where is she?” he seethed.
“My love, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you smiled sweetly, blinking your eyes at him.
“You are NOT my bard,” he dug his knees into “your” hips.
“Ouch, lover, you wound me.”
“Somebody want to tell me what’s going on?” Karlach shouted, throwing Buddy off the stage, where he attempted to get up, but fell back onto the ground unceremoniously.
“Buddy!” Dribbles shouted.
“Train. Your. DOG!” Karlach yelled, hitting her axe once more into Dribbles who fell to the ground and didn’t get back up. She blew hair out of her face before joining Astarion over your prone body. “What’s up with Soldier?”
“This isn’t her,” Astarion growled. “I won’t ask again,” he addressed the you that wasn’t you, “tell me where she is!”
“Aw,” the shapechanger cooed, tilting what still appeared to be your head to the side, causing Astarion’s dagger to press deeper into your throat and draw more blood, but the monster didn’t seem to mind. “This is really quite pathetic.”
Suddenly, the changeling’s neck snapped and Karlach shrieked. Astarion remained completely still, staring in disbelief.
Before either of them could mourn whatever just happened, “your” neck snapped back into place and the shapechanger’s body transformed into one Astarion had seen once before in the Shadow-Cursed Lands.
Pale white skin. Paler eyes. Armor as red as blood.
This was one of the Dead Three’s chosen.
Karlach jumped back. “Oh, what the FUCK?!”
The woman laughed. “Hello,” she said nonchalantly.
Astarion leaned forward, baring his teeth.
Orin, Astarion recalled, tsked. “Put those fangs away, boy.”
He snarled in retaliation.
“Your lover is perfectly fine. I’ve made sure of it.”
Karlach went to pull her axe out of Dribbles’ back and shrieked. Dribbles was no longer Dribbles, but instead a long, white corpse.
“Pity, that,” Orin said as Karlach removed her axe and instead brought it over Orin’s head. “I thought Dribbles would have been more difficult for you lot. But he made for a hell of a distraction, I suppose.”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” Karlach growled, "you're the one pinned to the ground.”
Orin laughed. “I’m allowing you to pin me to the ground.” Suddenly her hand twitched, twisting a ring on her finger. She disappeared momentarily, only to appear standing a few feet away down the stage.
Astarion scrambled to his feet, throwing a dagger at Orin, who disappeared and reappeared a few feet off.
“Come now,” she smiled. “Let’s talk.”
“Unless you’re going to tell us where Soldier is, you can fuck right off,” Karlach raised her axe menacingly.
“Oh,” Orin raised her eyebrows excitedly, “I like you! I bet you’re incredibly powerful.”
Karlach took a step back. “I-”
“Big biceps… a killer backhand… one could really enjoy their time in your body,” Orin reached slowly towards Karlach’s forearm, but Astarion pulled the tiefling out of her way. They couldn’t risk whatever shapeshifting magic Orin had prepped without consulting Gale or Jaheira first. For all Astarion knew, a single touch could render someone’s likeness as Orin’s newest transformation.
“Stay back,” Astarion warned, brandishing his blades and baring his fangs.
Orin tsked and brought a hand to her chin, shaking her head sadly. “That’s not very nice. When I’ve treated your friend like a guest of honor in my home at the Temple of Bhaal.”
Astarion lunged forward with a shout, drawing blood from Orin’s cheek with his dagger.
“Naughty, naughty," Orin smirked, licking the viscous liquid from her own face. “I can make her pay for that.”
“Don’t!” Karlach exclaimed, grabbing Astarion by both biceps and pulling him back. “Let’s be smart about this, Fangs.”
“She has the bard!” he spat in response.
“And we’ll get her back,” Karlach said through gritted teeth, “but we have to play this bitch’s game.”
Orin giggled, clearly enjoying this sidebar.
“Fine,” Astarion growled, wrenching his arms free. “What do you want?”
Orin pouted in faux innocence. “What do I want? This has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the Murder Lord’s demands.”
“And what would those be?” Karlach asked, trying to hide the frustration in her voice.
Orin placed her hands on her hips, her long braid swaying behind her back. “Truth is, your bard is quite the prize. The leader of your little… band of misfits. The one responsible for returning light to the Shadow-Cursed Lands. But the Murder Lord demands an even better offering. Something new, sticky sweet and delicious. He wants you.”
“Me?” Astarion asked.
“All of you,” Orin said giddily. “Ketheric’s killers! Turned the corpse-lover to carrion when you took his Netherstone.”
Astarion and Karlach narrowed their eyes, remembering the stone you now kept hidden away in your tent. Hopefully Orin didn’t have her hands on it.
The shapeshifter continued, “Oh, but he was a dull kill. No blood to spill, no guts to rip - a desecrated husk, all dust and hollow.” Her voice grew sultry as she said, “You must be sharpened before you set your edge against my skin.”
“In your dreams, lady,” Karlach huffed.
“And it looks like I got lucky,” Astarion smirked, nodding to the cut on her cheek he’d left there moments earlier.
“A mistake that shall not be repeated,” Orin chuckled. “If you wish for me to return your bard to you, I ask not but for a simple exchange.”
“‘Simple,’ doesn’t seem likely to be in your vocabulary,” Astarion rolled his eyes.
“Bring me the tyrant Gortash’s Netherstone.”
Karlach visibly recoiled at the name. “And why should we do that?”
“If I were to bring the Murder Lord the Crown of Karsus,” Orin began to giggle uncontrollably, “then I shall be my father’s favorite once and for all and rule by his side forevermore.”
“Sounds bad,” Karlach stated flatly.
“Oh, but think of it!” Orin exclaimed. “Once you bring me the other stones, we shall slice and shred each other! The survivor claims the stones. What’s left of the other is Bhaal’s.”
“You’re insane,” Astarion growled again, his patience wearing thin.
Orin scowled at him. “Agree, and I will bring my assassins to heel. They watch you always, longing to spray the crimson from your veins.”
“Or?” Astarion’s hands twitched around his daggers.
“Refuse,” Orin said, “and you’ll learn what happens to those who defy Bhaal’s doctrine. So will your friend.”
Astarion’s eyes grew dark with untapped rage. “So help me gods, lay a hand on her and I will make your beloved God of Murder look like a saint.”
Orin tsked again. “Silly, silly little slaughter hound. My assassins will not let you. If you hunt me, then they hunt you. The Murder Lord will not be denied. Neither will I.” She winked just as Astarion lunged for her, and she disappeared into the afternoon haze.
Standing a few feet off was Wyll, noticeably less cheese shaped.
“What was that?”
~~~
The flames in the fireplace of the Elfsong’s suite popped leisurely, not at all aware that Astarion’s world was crumbling around him. The vampire stared at the fiery tendrils, unblinking, ready to burst into flames himself. On a whim, he reached for a potted plant nearby and thrust its contents into the fire, extinguishing the heat source and plunging most of the space into darkness.
Lae’zel shrieked in frustration. “Why have you done that?”
“Astarion,” Shadowheart sighed, casting an easy Dancing Lights, “you have to calm down.”
Her words infuriated him. “You know what I think?” he asked, not giving anyone the courtesy of waiting for an answer. “I think we need to find the fucking Temple of Bhaal and save-” his voice caught in his throat, and he cleared it behind his hand before swatting at one of Shadowheart’s lights.
“Patience, cub,” Jaheira said, approaching the fireplace slowly and casting Druidcraft, reigniting the fire within. “I have my finest Harpers gathering intel about its location.”
“No offense, Jeheira,” Astarion said, brushing past her, “but I don’t trust anyone to rescue her except myself.” After a beat, “And maybe Lae’zel.”
Lae’zel let out a huff of agreement and returned to polishing her breastplate.
“According to these tomes,” Gale said from the table, multiple old books spread open before him, “Bhaal’s Temple should be located somewhere beneath the city. Though it seems no one has ever lived to tell the tale. Fitting.”
“You mean, in the sewers?” Wyll asked, peering over Gale’s shoulder.
Astarion grabbed his daggers off the table and headed for the door.
Halsin blocked his path, puffing out his chest to make himself look larger. “Careful,” he warned.
Astarion crouched, ready to attack. “Move, Halsin.”
“Astarion,” came Karlach’s voice from behind them.
“Don’t, Astarion, me!” He stood up taller, turning to address the group. “It would seem that I’m the only one in a rush to do something here!”
“Don’t say that,” Shadowheart stood up quickly, a scowl plastered on her face. “We are all worried about her. And we’re trying to form a solid plan to rescue her. But you must also remember that she can hold her own against tough opponents.”
Astarion slumped a bit. “While I have no doubt that she can handle herself, Orin’s whole thing is-” he waved his hands through the air, as if trying to think of a tactful way to put things, “-murder! I’m sure she has methods of torture, the likes of which none of us can even imagine.” Quieter, he added: “Not even me.”
“She’s alive and well, Astarion,” Wyll said gently. “Orin wants something from us, she won’t dispose of her biggest bargaining chip on a whim.”
Astarion brushed a hand through his hair, exasperated. “You didn’t see the look in Orin’s eyes! She wants a battle to the death! What does she care if the bard lives, if she has a death wish anyway?!”
“Calm yourself, Astarion,” Jaheira soothed. “We will find her.”
“Wrong,” Astarion said, turning to leave again. “I will find her.”
“No,” Halsin said, blocking the vampire’s path again.
“Must you be so large?!” Astarion whined, knocking his forehead into Halsin’s chest.
“Come on, Fangs,” Karlach said, approaching Astarion slowly with her hands up in surrender, “we’ve had a particularly long day, why don’t we rest a bit?”
“Karlach’s right,” Gale agreed. “Orin can’t expect us to retrieve Gortash’s Netherstone in the course of one afternoon. I’m sure our friend is perfectly fine for the night. You, Karlach, and Wyll should rest, and the rest of us will work tirelessly to form a plan.”
Halsin nodded, placing his hands on Astarion’s shoulders and making him flinch. “You may rest well, knowing that we are here to help.”
“This is ridiculous,” Astarion crossed his arms. “How can you expect me to rest when the love of my life is out there being tortured?”
“Um… hi,” Yenna spoke up from her place near the fire. Astarion jumped, forgetting she was even there. “If it helps, the nice bard told me to be brave.”
The party stared at her for a moment.
“What do you mean?” Astarion asked after a moment.
“Well, there was one night where I thought I was having a nightmare… but now I'm not so sure.”
Lae’zel sighed. “And what is it that you dreamt about, whelp?”
“Um… we were at the Rivington camp, and there was a very spooky lady looming over my bed.”
“How spooky are we talking?” Karlach asked, crossing her arms.
Yenna stared down at her clasped hands. “She um… had white eyes and white hair and a red dress.”
“Orin,” Wyll nodded, receiving hums of agreement from the others.
“And you didn’t tell us any of this?!” Astarion nearly spat, moving to approach Yenna, but Halsin held him back.
“She thought it was a dream, Astarion,” Jaheira reminded him. She turned back to Yenna. “Tell us more,” she gestured with her hands for Yenna to continue.
“The spooky lady told me not to make a sound, but Grub hissed and suddenly the bard was there, telling the spooky lady to leave me alone. Then, um, the spooky lady got even more spooky and said that the nice bard would be an even better prize. They um, kinda fought a little, before a bunch of hooded guys came and grabbed the bard.”
“WHAT?!” Astarion bellowed.
“Hush,” Jaheira scolded.
“And then the nice bard lady told me to be brave and that everything would be okay.”
“AND?!” Astarion pulled against Halsin, trying to break free from his grasp.
“And then the spooky lady said something weird and I immediately fell back asleep. But when I woke up, the nice bard was still at camp, so I thought it was just a dream.”
“She must have already impersonated our friend,” Gale hypothesized.
“How long ago was this?” Jaheira asked gently.
Yenna bent down to pet Grub, who weaved between her legs. “Um… maybe two nights ago?”
The party breathed a collective sigh of relief.
“Oh thank gods,” Karlach said.
“I’m sure she’s holding her own as we speak,” Shadowheart said.
Astarion looked around in disbelief. “Do you hear yourselves? She’s been gone for two days and you’re relieved? Where’s your sense of panic?”
“In the grand scheme of things, two days gives us a pretty clear path to follow,” Halsin offered. “Any longer and we might lose the trail.”
“She’s still been gone for two whole days and none of us noticed!” Astarion stared at him frantically. “I didn’t notice.”
“Any of us could have made that mistake,” Wyll said.
“Well yes, of course you lot would have, but I’m me!” Astarion successfully shoved his way out of Halsin’s grasp. “I’m leaving.”
“And going where?” Shadowheart snapped.
“What do you care?” Astarion snapped, gathering his belongings from the bed he claimed.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Lae’zel rolled her eyes.
“ME?!” Astarion scoffed loudly. “How can you all just SIT HERE and let Orin get away with this?!”
The others fell silent and exchanged looks.
“I’m going to find her. You can either come with me, or stay here on your asses and continue to be incredibly unhelpful.”
“I’m sorry,” Yenna said quietly. “I should have said something sooner.”
“Not your fault, cub,” Jaheira placed her hand comfortingly on the child’s shoulder before rising and turning to face Astarion. “You’re going to the sewers.”
It wasn’t a question.
Astarion adjusted a buckle on his armor without looking back at her. “I’m well acquainted with that part of the city, yes.”
Jeheira sighed deeply and placed her hands on her hips. “Fine.”
Astarion narrowed his eyes. “‘Fine,’ what?”
“Go save the bard.”
The vampire puffed up with pride. “I will. But I don’t need your permission.”
Jaheira rolled her eyes then turned to the others. “Who’s going with him?”
Astarion scoffed. “This is not a babysitting mission, no one better get in my way.”
Karlach immediately stepped forward. “I’m in.”
“You’ll be in need of my sword,” Lae’zel nodded. “With me attached to it.”
“Got any three’s?” Fustian asked, rearranging the cards in her hands.
Hivune observed his own deck. “Naw,” he shook his head. “Go fish.”
You chuckled. “Big mistake, Fustian. Got any three’s?”
“How do you keep doing that?!” Death’s Head of Bhaal looked at you in wonder and handed you the card.
“Remember to listen to your opponent,” you said, taking the card and setting it down with your other matches.
“Genius,” Fustian nodded.
You angled your body towards Hivune. “Got any sevens?”
“Fish!” Hivune said, pleased with himself.
You sighed, slumping forward in defeat. “Mind passing me a card?” You attempted to extend your hand forward, but they remained chained to the dais you currently found yourself on.
It hadn’t taken long upon arrival in the Temple of Bhaal to figure out that these chains, whatever they were made of, not only inhibited your movements, but somehow prevented you from using your magic. After briefly fiddling with the metal and admitting to yourself that you were not strong enough to rip what appeared to be iron chains out of a marble dais, you recalibrated your plans.
After Orin and her goons had taken you from the camp in Rivington, she’d been flitting in and out of the temple briefly every now and then, threatening your life multiple times and insisting that you had no hope of surviving. She’d even done so once or twice while wearing your face, in an effort to show off her brilliant imitation of you. You’d cower in fear, shed a tear for good measure, and then turn up the charm on your captors once she left again, a sly smirk upon her lips.
“Yeah, there’s no way they think that’s me,” you’d assured yourself, positive that Orin would fail at her sad attempt at impersonating you.
Although now it had been nearly two full days.
Sure, it had been almost laughably easy to win over the two guards assigned to watch you, Fustian and Hivune, with a bit of music and merriment, but they were more afraid of Orin than you were, and talking them into letting you go had been futile. Especially since the big boss was the literal God of Murder. So you couldn’t really blame them.
But, had your friends really not noticed your absence? Or sudden interest in all things bloody?
You’d like to think you were more whimsical than that.
A little less psychotic, hopefully.
One thing you knew for sure was that Astarion would sense something was off. Orin would slip up - respond incorrectly to an inside joke, refuse a kiss, attack Astarion if he attempted to suck her blood…
That would probably be hilarious.
Or incredibly hot, once Astarion realized it wasn’t you and craved spilling blood.
In a vengeful way.
Not a sexy way.
Although…
FOCUS!
Fustian adjusted her posture, startled. “She’s on her way.”
Hivune stood, throwing his hand of cards across the floor and shoving what was left of the draw pile into his mouth.
“What-” you started, but suddenly Orin burst into the room in a cloud of red ash.
A Reaper of Bhaal from the level above the dais raised his voice and began to announce: “Her most vile excellency, the blood wench of the Gate, harbinger of death, mutilation and despair, daughter of shadows and violence, soaked in misery-”
“ENOUGH!” Orin roared, her face the angriest you’d ever seen it.
And she was headed right for you.
“You!” Her hot breath fanned out across your face.
“Hello,” you smiled, not sure how to react.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why must you be so…”
“Loud?” Fustian supplied.
“Weak?!” Another Reaper from the top of the stairs called.
He spat the crumpled playing cards out of his mouth.
“New form of torture we’re working on,” Fustian explained.
Hivune cleared his throat. “I said, ‘Kind of pleasant once you get to know her?’”
There was a beat of silence before he sighed and said “I’ll see myself off to the blood pits.”
“Yeah, off to the blood pits with you,” Fustian nodded.
“Make sure you really inhale the blood,” Orin said, turning back to you as Hivune gave a thumbs up.
Orin lowered her voice, bringing her face close to yours and really examining you for what felt like the first time. “Why are you so damned… silly?”
You blinked. “What?”
Orin threw her hands up in the air. “I mean! I’m a bloody Changling! Disguising myself is what I do best! And yet!” She paced around the dais, exasperated. “And yet, your little band of misfits sniffed me out practically overnight! And I know you can’t use magic with those shackles on, so there’s no way you could have sent them a warning, which means that I…” she inhaled shakily, pausing and turning to look at you, defeated. “...failed.”
Fustian stepped forward. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, my lady, you’re a wonderful impersonator. Why, it took me a whole month to figure out you’d killed and overtaken me own mum last Feast of the Moon.”
“Some of my finest work,” Orin sighed wistfully. “Unfortunately, this one,” she pointed at you over her shoulder, “seems to have charmed those pathetic freaks, despite only having known them for a short time. One of them even claims to love her.” Orin stuck out her tongue in disgust.
You felt your cheeks grow warm at her vague mention of Astarion. Imagining him declaring his love for you to the Chosen of the God of Murder was one of the sweeter things you could think of him doing to the Chosen of the God of Murder.
Orin went on. “Vicious? I can do. Indifferent? Tragic? Normal? All personalities I can mimic to perfection. But, goofy? Childish? Seriously, do you have a thing for clowns or something?”
“Why?” you asked, perking up. “Was there a clown?”
Orin waved a noncommittal hand through the air. “The circus is in town and one of my assassins blew his cover as their clown.”
“YOU GUYS WENT-” You cleared your throat. “A circus, you say?”
“This is what I’m talking about!” Orin pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re a freak.”
You scoffed. “You pledged your life to the God of Murder!”
“I don’t like your friends!”
“I don’t like your temple!”
“You…… look like you did local theater performances growing up!”
You gasped. “So do you!”
“ENOUGH!” Orin bellowed again.
“My lady,” Fustian said, holding up her index finger to try and get the Chosen of Bhaal’s attention. “If- If I may, when were you found out?”
Orin groaned and looked up at the sculpture of Bhaal’s head that loomed over the temple. “A few hours ago.”
You furrowed your brow. “So… where were you all this time?”
“Murdering,” Orin said flatly, shaking out her hair, which you now noticed was covered in flecks of blood. Not that that was anything new. “Helps me to calm down.”
Your heart picked up its pace. “Who did you murder?”
Orin rolled her eyes. “Relax, child. None of your motley crew. I need them to retrieve Gortash’s Netherstone for me. Instead, I murdered a few horse trainers at that blasted circus. They were whipping the poor dears.” When you stared at her for a moment, she crossed her arms. “Oh, please. I may be insane, but I’m not a total monster. Except for, of course, when I am.” She lifted the back of her hand to her mouth and laughed wildly.
“Your blood-soaked excellency,” a Reaper descended the stairs from above, gathering the skirts of his robes in a dainty fashion, “I fear we don’t have long before those heathens locate the Temple in search of our captive.”
“Pish posh,” Orin said dismissively. “I gave them clear instructions to steal Gortash’s Netherstone before they attempted anything foolish. Otherwise my assassins will be hot on their heels.”
“That’s just it, milady,” the Reaper said, “I’ve been informed by our assassins that multiple humanoids have been discovered lurking around the sewers.” He looked around like he was listening to someone speaking in his ear. “Along with a mud wizard.”
Orin looked to you, and you shook your head. “Not one of ours.” You thought for a moment, then amended: “Yeah, no, they wouldn’t add someone new without me. I don’t think. Unless Gale is trying something new.”
“No,” the Reaper clarified, “this guy is apparently doing his own thing.”
“Oh,” you said, raising your eyebrows, “well, there you go.”
Orin groaned loudly. “So they want a fight, do they? Can’t go letting them trounce around my sewers without any consequences.”
From out of thin air, she conjured her spindly red dagger holding her own Netherstone.
And plunged it into your side.
~~~~~
Astarion scuttled through the shadows, avoiding torchlight and remaining light on his feet as he bounded between upturned slabs of stone littering the path ahead. He held up his hand, motioning for the others to halt abruptly.
“Ilmater’s arse,” Karlach whisper-shouted, nearly barreling into the vampire. “There’s gotta be a better signal than that, I swear I’ve still got mud in my eyes.”
“Chk,” Lae’zel shook her head, “we’ve been traveling aimlessly for what has surely been hours.”
After Jaheira and Halsin had agreed to stay behind at the Elfsong, partially to look after Yenna, and partially to intercept Orin if she decided to infiltrate camp again, Astarion, Karlach, Gale, Shadowheart, Wyll, and Lae’zel had prepped themselves for an encounter with a very bloodthirsty, very insane shapeshifter. Astarion had led them all to a manhole hidden away in a secluded alley and ushered them deep into the sewers, accompanied by what little intel the Harpers could provide before the party set off on their mission.
“Patience,” Wyll said softly, “I trust Astarion’s sense of direction down here.”
“Yes,” Shadowheard said, a lilt of sarcasm in her voice, “why are you so well acquainted with the sewers, Astarion?”
Astarion rolled his eyes, just as Gale piped up. “I’m not so sure how well acquainted he actually is, given that he led us right into the clutches of a… mud wizard?”
“I bet you were clamoring to join that tract of study at Blackstaff, eh, Gale?” Wyll elbowed the wizard, who had been covered in a comical amount of mud, rendering his signature purple a grainy, murky brown.
“Ha,” Gale said humorlessly. “Not quite.”
“Would you all shut up?” Astarion hissed, looking over his shoulder at all of them. “I am perfectly capable of tracking down the bard,” he said, lifting his chin pompously. “There are always ruffians sneaking around down here. Be happy it was mud this time instead of acid.”
“Have experience with that?” Karlach asked with a smirk.
Astarion shuttered. “Unfortunately my time under Cazador’s control led to a lot of less than desirable encounters in these sewers.”
Shadowheart looked at him sympathetically before asking, “And you somehow never stumbled across the Temple of Bhaal?”
“Listen,” Astarion sighed, “when you smell an indecent amount of foul blood in the sewers, you make it a point to avoid that area.”
Lae’zel raised a brow. “But blood is one of your favorite liquids.”
“True,” Astarion nodded, “but as someone who was taught to get the job done without argument, it didn’t leave much room for investigation. Especially when it seemed like more trouble than simply keeping your head down.”
“What a sad life you have led,” Lae’zel said, sounding the most empathetic anyone had ever heard her. Which wasn’t saying much.
“Ugh,” Astarion groaned. “Yes, boo hoo, it’s all very tragic, but the point is that I do know my way around and am pretty sure the temple is just up ahead.”
“How sure?” Gale asked flatly, making it a point to brush some dried mud from his robes.
Astarion rolled his eyes again and cautiously stepped out into a clearing up ahead. He halted almost immediately upon seeing a sigil painted in blood on the floor, very obviously in tribute to Bhaal. He looked to his right and saw a large door sandwiched between two hanging brassieres. He cocked his hip to the side and turned back to the group, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. “Well, well, well. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a Temple to Bhaal.”
“How can you be sure?” Lae’zel asked.
“Um? Hellooooo?” Astarion gestured grandly towards the sigil on the floor and two corpses hanging overhead. “What’s the alternative? A subterranean flower shop?”
“Oh, that would be nice!” Karlach mused.
Gale cautiously approached the door, a hand positioned under his chin, deep in thought. He reached out a hand and pushed.
Nothing.
“Bugger,” he muttered. “Thought that might work.”
“Doorbell, maybe?” Karlach offered. Shadowheart tilted her head to the side in question. “I dunno! Maybe they get deliveries.”
“Two corpses, coming right up,” Wyll joked, gesturing to the hanging corpse above. He and Karlach descended into giggles.
“Be serious,” Astarion scoffed, approaching the door and removing Thieves’ Tools from his pack.
“Be serious,” Karlach mimicked.
Astarion paused and turned to her, a threat of murder in his gaze.
Karlach held up her hands. “Just trying to keep things light while Soldier isn’t around.”
“Yes, well…” Astarion didn’t bother finishing the thought and instead returned his attention to inspecting the door for any sort of locking mechanism. Apart from the jagged crack running down the front of the door signifying how it opened, there didn’t appear to be any way to open it, besides maybe brute strength.
As his hands approached the door, a sudden rush of ancient voices filled his mind. He looked back up at the door to see if anything had changed. If he had to guess, the voices’ whispers seemed to signify that the door was ripe with old, deathly magic.
But it just looked like a big dumb stone door to him.
Normally, he’d take his time - search for traps, perhaps find a hidden switch in an adjacent chamber, make someone else do the work… but this time, it was you behind the door.
And nothing was going to keep him from getting to you.
Abruptly, he stuck his tools into the crack of the stone and began to fiddle with the tiny opening.
“Pardon me,” the door said, somewhat aghast. “You shall not enter like that.”
“A-apologies,” Astarion sputtered. He had not expected the door to speak, let alone protest.
The door cleared her throat, if that was even possible. “New vessels brimming with blood darken Bhaal’s door - to baptise his dais most holy.”
“You all can hear that, right?” Astarion asked over his shoulder, but kept his eyes on the door.
“Yes,” the others answered unanimously.
“Good.”
“Do you have proof of your faith to our lord?” The door asked.
Lae’zel narrowed her eyes. “How can we prove ourselves?”
“You must bear proof of the Dread Lord’s favor… or pay His toll in blood.”
Astarion banged his fist on the door. “Great, we have to kill ourselves.”
Shadowheart huffed out a laugh. “We do not have to kill ourselves, Astarion.”
“Yes, the door is merely testing us,” Gale nodded. “If everyone was required to kill themselves, Bhaal wouldn’t have any followers. So let’s think for a moment.”
Wyll’s eyes fell on the corpses hanging over the bloody sigil. “Oh, I see,” he muttered.
“What?” Astarion perked up.
Wyll walked forward and crouched down, observing the sigil more closely. “Working as the Blade has led me down some interesting roads with interesting people.” He looked around at the group. “Current company included.”
“Thanks,” Karlach swished her tail gleefully.
“Anyway, I’ve seen a sigil like this before when facing followers of Bhaal. It craves blood.”
“We all crave blood,” Astarion copied Wyll’s tone. “Some of us more than others. But what good will that do? And what kind of blood?”
“It would be incredibly convenient if vampire blood was required,” Lae’zel offered, annoyed.
“I-” Astarion shut his mouth and pouted.
“It’s the key,” Wyll continued. He took out his crossbow and aimed it at one of the corpses hanging above. “And the kind of blood doesn’t matter. No sacrifice needed on our part.”
With that, Wyll released a bolt, hitting the corpse and causing some blood to spray on the sigil, along with the group as a whole.
“Ugh, really?” Gale groaned, wiping blood droplets from his face.
“Welcome, merciless killers,” the door said, immediately opening without delay. “Walk in blood.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘merciless,’” Wyll muttered. “These guys were already dead.”
“Aw, take the compliment,” Shadowheart teased, playfully punching his arm.
“Out of my way!” Astarion exclaimed, pushing past the others and running through the open door. He halted immediately when he came upon a rundown merchant stand. To his left, a path ran down deeper into what appeared to be a ruined city.
“No,” he muttered. “No, no, no!”
“What is it?” Shadowheart asked, jogging after him.
Astarion picked up a stone and threw it down the path angrily. “She’s not here!”
“‘Not here?’” Lae’zel growled, surveying the area.
“This is certainly unlike any temple I’ve been in,” Gale remarked, beginning to walk down the path, past rotting corpses and towards the city.
“That’s because this isn’t a temple,” Shadowheart confirmed.
“Oh, is it not?!” Astarion asked, his tone biting.
“Ease up, Fangs,” Karlach said, stepping in front of the vampire. “We’ll find her. She’s probably further-”
“She should be here,” he nearly whined, but the party could tell that it was a thinly veiled attempt at hiding a breakdown.
“She’s here,” Gale assured.
Wyll nodded. “Orin doesn’t realize who she’s messing with.”
“A mistake that will soon be rectified,” La’ezel lunged into a fighting stance.
“And think of all the fuckers you’ll get to drain dry on your way to her,” Karlach bared her own fangs, suddenly looking rather terrifying.
“Let’s keep going,” Shadowheart said gently, nodding her head for them to keep moving forward. “Does anyone need more healing? This could get very ugly, very quickly.”
Astarion tried his hardest to mask a wayward sniffle with a cough. “You all are willing to murder for me… just so that I can have the chance to lead a happy life with my beloved?”
Lae’zel wrinkled her nose. “Definitely not.”
“You forget how much we love Soldier,” Karlach said, clapping Astarion on the back. “But we like you too.” She winked.
“Up for debate,” Gale teased.
“Yes, well…” Astarion brushed his hands through his hair before smoothly unsheathing his daggers. “Prove yourselves useful in this and I may admit to liking you too.” His lips quirked up in a slanted smile before he tilted his nose up and sniffed the air. “Oh gods, her blood!” He took off down the path ahead of everyone else.
“What about her blood?” Wyll called, sprinting after him as he weaved around a corner.
They found him crumpled against a stone, an arrow in his shoulder. He motioned for them to stop where they were - at the top of a large staircase.
“Remember those assassins Orin warned us about?” he asked.
The party nodded.
“Found them.” He pointed to where shadowy, cloaked assassins lay hidden atop buildings, waiting for the party to make a move.
“Ready, everyone?” Shadowheart whispered after sending a healing spell Astarion’s way.
They all nodded, readying their words and weapons.
“GO!”
~~~~~
“So, wait, you don’t have any twos?” Orin looked at the cards in her hand, then over at Fustian.
“Uh… sorry, no, milady.”
“BLAST IT ALL,” Orin screeched, throwing the cards across the stone floor.
“Good game,” Fustian said, hurrying to retrieve the scattered deck and placing it neatly on the dais next to where you were crumpled over in agony. “How are you holding up?” she whispered to you.
“Been better,” you groaned. Your shackled hands clutched tightly over the wound Orin had inflicted with her dagger. Luckily, while painful, the injury didn’t seem fatal. Sure, she was insane and hellbent on murdering, but Orin knew her way around a body, carefully avoiding stabbing you somewhere vital. In a weird way, she was upholding her side of the bargain - not killing you until your friends showed up for a proper fight to the death.
“Any idea where my friends are?” you asked as quietly as possible.
Fustian shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything new to report. Last I heard, our assassins were preparing an attack.”
You exhaled through your nose and looked up at the skeletal carving of Bhaal overlooking the temple. “Good luck,” you murmured sarcastically, hoping the god was listening.
“That was a while ago, now,” Fustian added.
“Silence,” Orin rubbed her temples, pacing back and forth. “No fraternizing with the prisoner.”
“One thousand apologies, Your Bloodiness,” Fustian bowed deeply. “I was simply trying to instill fear and despair in her.”
“Good on you,” Orin nodded. She looked at you. “Scared?”
“Horrified,” you coughed.
Orin smirked, amused. “Don’t cough too hard, pest, lest you hurt yourself more. And we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?” She approached you, twirling her knife, still dripping with your blood.
“Noted,” you said, your eyes drifting up to where there seemed to be some commotion from the level above.
A familiar voice rang out. “It’s a perfectly legitimate architectural feature!”
You stiffened, recognizing Gale’s voice instantly. You couldn’t imagine what he was talking about, but there was no doubting his distinct timbre.
The only question was, could this be one of Orin’s shapeshifters? Perhaps they’d just returned from tearing your friends to shreds and had now taken over your wizard as some sort of practical joke. Or, perhaps Gale had been taken prisoner and was now fighting with the devotees about Bhaal’s sense of architecture. Or, and more likely, he was arguing with one of your companions who’d intentionally pushed his buttons.
Regardless of what was actually happening, you took a deep inhale.
“Oh, woe is me!” you said loudly, hoping your friends were truly here and would follow the sound of your voice. “Here I am, HELPLESS! And at the whim of Orin, the wretched, vile, bloodiest Chosen of Bhaal!”
Orin preened. “You are rather helpless, aren’t you? Who would have thought one little stab wound would garner such pathetic terror from you-”
“WHAT?!” shouted Astarion, though he was nowhere to be seen.
You and Orin watched as the comical banging of metal against metal and people falling down on the level above gave way to your vampire at the top of the stairs with steam pouring out of his ears. His eyes immediately fell on you and he launched himself down the stairs, pushing Reapers and Bhaal Devotees off the platform and out of his way as he went.
“Astarion, wait!” Shadowheart called, before realizing she was too late and sighing heavily. The others caught up and followed after Astarion. “We could have formed a plan first,” Shadowheart said, drawing Selûne's Spear of Night from behind her back and using it to keep the remaining Reapers at a distance.
Orin growled and approached the dais where you still lay crumpled. When she saw the slight smile on your face at the approaching vampire, she withdrew her dagger and brandished it in front of your face. “Hush, hush. I hear footsteps trip-trapping on the Murder Lord’s stones.”
“I’m not trying to be quiet about it!” Astarion fumed, rushing to your side.
“Back!” Orin shouted, pointing the dagger at your throat.
Astarion scowled and stepped back carefully.
Orin returned to her speech. “You refused the Murder Lord’s command, and came crawling into his sanctum with the tyrant unpulped.”
“Gross,” Karlach murmured. “Believe me, we’ll get to that, if I have any say in it.”
Orin’s eyes remained trained on Astarion, whose own focus was zeroed in entirely on you.
“Aw,” she cooed, “did you think you could protect? Did you think you could save?”
“How dare you lay a finger on her,” Astarion spat. “I’ll kill you.”
Orin laughed. “That is good news, as only the blade can offer salvation.” With that, she pressed the dagger to your throat.
You let out a tiny gasp as a single drop of blood ran down your neck.
“Wait!” Astarion exclaimed.
Orin looked at him expectantly.
Astarion floundered for a second before saying, “You said Bhaal wanted us to fight. Surely he’ll reject this offering.” He gestured to you as if you weren’t the most important thing in his world.
Orin removed the blade from your throat, causing you to inhale sharply. She got up and approached Astarion slowly. “You do not lie, underling. It is all of your blood I am destined to spill.” She looked around to your companions, all of whom were preparing for whatever move she made next. “Your death spits will stain these walls, little lambs.”
“Careful,” Wyll said, drawing his rapier and pointing it at the shapechanger.
Orin tsked. “Your murders should have been exquisite. A crypt-born effigy to greet Bhaal’s bleeding dawn. And now it will be nothing.”
“My lady…” Fustian said, taking a step back hesitantly, realizing Orin was about to do something reckless.
“Be ready for anything,” Lae’zel said, bending her knees and swinging her greatsword in front of her.
Orin chuckled. “Come to me, father.”
Suddenly, the same bloody sigil your companions had seen at the entrance to the undercity appeared beneath her feet, creating a circle of death that glowed ominously.
“Set my flesh to your unholy purpose.”
The ground shook as Orin curled into herself, clutching her head and screaming before exploding in a cloud of blood. Standing in her place was a giant horned creature with jagged teeth and tusks, multiple limbs and a whipping tail.
Gale’s eyes followed the creature upwards to where it stood, about eight feet tall on its hind legs. “That’s not good.”
“Oh goodie, a nightmare creature beyond our comprehension, how original.” Astarion clapped his hands together sarcastically.
“That nightmare creature is the shapeshifter,” Lae’zel said, looking around as Reapers began to surround the party from every side.
“Yes,” Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose, “we all saw that.”
Karlach laughed darkly and grabbed her halberd. “Let’s kill her.”
“You’ll have to go through us first,” one of the Reapers surrounding the area threatened.
Karlach shrugged. “Fine.” She threw her halberd, landing it directly in the side of the Reaper’s head, killing him instantly.
As a result, all hell broke loose. Your friends ran at the Reapers and Orin, casting spells and swinging their weapons, while your enemies did the same.
Astarion, meanwhile, approached your side again. The monster that was Orin surged forward and blocked his path.
Green magic shot from Wyll’s direction, accompanied by a low chant of “Dolor.” Orin went flying backwards, allowing Astarion to approach you again. He looked over his shoulder and gave Wyll a grateful look.
“Help her,” Wyll said, nodding towards you. “We can handle this.”
Astarion turned back to you. “Hello, darling.”
You smiled weakly. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
“With you bleeding out and in dire need of rescue? I’d have to agree. Though you do smell divine.”
You laughed softly. “I’m not bleeding out. It’s barely a scratch.”
“Let me see,” Astarion said, reaching for where your hands were clutching your side.
You curled in on yourself more, attempting to hide the severity of the wound.
“Let me see, love,” he repeated. “I want to help.”
Cautiously, you removed your hands, doing your best not to wince.
“I saw that,” Astarion said, taking your hands in his and kissing your knuckles. “This won’t do either,” he said, waving one of your hands back and forth, causing the shackles around your wrists to clank and rattle.
“Magic-proof,” you shrugged.
“Bastards.” Astarion slipped his bag from his shoulders and began to rummage through its contents.
You craned your neck to see what he was looking for, and chuckled at the sight of how stuffed his bag was. “And you told me my bag was a mess.”
“I know where everything is,” he smirked, throwing your own words from so long ago back at you.
“Dork,” you muttered.
“I’ll leave you here,” he threatened half-heartedly.
“No you won’t.”
“Never,” he surged forward and kissed your forehead before returning to his bag and pulling out a scroll. “Can you sit up for me, darling?”
You nodded and pulled yourself up with a bit of strain. Astarion helped to guide you as you went.
“Good girl,” he said softly, winking at you and shifting his gaze to the blood covering your armor.
“I have bandages,” Fustian appeared from nowhere and flaunted a few cotton pads in Astarion’s face.
“BACK OFF!” Astarion bellowed, ripping a dagger out of its sheath and pointing it at the Death’s Head of Bhaal.
“Astarion!” you tried to hold him back, but your shackled hands prevented you from grasping him fully. Regardless, you felt his tension ease minutely and he paused before striking a killing blow. “This is Fustian. She’s been very kind to me.”
Astarion looked from you to Fustian. He sniffed and looked down his nose at her. “If she’s been so kind, care to tell me why you were stabbed?”
“Oh, I didn’t stab her,” Fustian clarified. “That would be Our Lady of Crimson.” She nodded her head over to where Orin currently had Lea’zel in her giant claw, but Lae’zel quickly freed her greatsword and swung it down into Orin’s hideous maw. The Slayer shrieked and Lae’zel whooped in victory, rolling backwards after being released and coming to stand back to back with Karlach.
“Uh huh,” Astarion lifted an eyebrow. “And you just let her bleed?”
Fustian laughed a little. “Blood is kind of our whole thing.”
Astarion gave you a look as if to say “understandable.”
“It’s a great honor to bleed via the blade of Orin the Red.”
The vampire hummed, unimpressed. “I’m going to make her stop bleeding now.” He turned to you and unfurled the scroll still in his hand.
“I have-”
“Bandages, I know.” Astarion turned to Fustian with a fake smile that scrunched his features. “I can handle this. Now, off with you. Ta ta.” He waved his hand towards the fray, motioning for Fustian to leave, and turned back to you.
You eyed Fustian and nodded minutely to let her know you’d be okay.
She nodded in return and ran towards the stairs to the second level, narrowly avoiding a Fireball thrown by Gale that knocked a gaggle of Reapers off the side of the marble platform and into the endless abyss below.
Astarion snapped his fingers in front of your face, adding a whistle for good measure. “Eyes on me, love.” His own eyes locked on yours, his expression open and vulnerable, as if seeing you for the first time in ages.
You felt your cheeks heat under the attention.
“I’ve missed those eyes,” he said, almost dreamily.
You smiled softly and reached for him, but the moment was ruined when your shackles limited your range of motion.
“Right,” Astarion said. “Let me heal you, and then I’ll free you.”
“Has my handsome rogue gone soft?” you teased. “You do healing magic now?”
Astarion smirked. “I am rather incredible, aren’t I?” He kissed your nose and turned towards the scroll. His voice took on an echoing quality when he said, “te curo,” and aqua healing magic transferred from his fingertips to the cut in your side.
Immediately, your breathing improved and the dull ache of the wound disappeared completely.
You sighed and slumped forward, a relieved smile on your face. “That’s much better, thank you.”
Astarion smiled back and kissed you feverishly all over your face and mouth. “Stop,” he said between kisses, “scaring. Me. My heart. Can’t take it!” He pulled back and chuckled at the mussed state of your hair.
You blew a few strands out of your face, making him laugh more. “A little help?” You asked, holding out your wrists.
“Oh, yes!” Astarion rummaged through his backpack again.
“Not sure a spell will work,” you informed as he searched. “These things are cutting off my magic, so I’m not entirely sure a scroll will help here.”
“Pft,” Astarion scoffed. “Since when have I needed magic to pick a lock?” Triumphantly, he held up a fresh set of Thieves’ Tools.
You rolled your eyes playfully before shouting: “WATCH OUT!”
Orin, looking incredibly bloodied thanks to the work of your companions, was charging right at you. Astarion stood and met the creature’s impact with two stabs of his daggers. Orin shrieked in pain, stumbling backwards and falling down.
The temple went silent as the Chosen of Bhaal laid still on the ground.
Your companions looked on with bated breath.
Suddenly, the effigy depicting the skull of Bhall adorning one of the walls of the Temple glowed to life. It let out a deathly scream, bathing Orin in a red light.
You and your friends groaned in annoyance as the Slayer rose to her feet, seemingly refreshed.
“Bullshit!” Karlach yelled.
Gale leaned against his staff. “I’ve been hitting her with everything I’ve got!”
Lae’zel growled. “We all have!”
Shadowheart pivoted on her feet. “Just a little more, everyone!”
“Aye,” Wyll agreed. “To Avernus, where she belongs!”
You and Astarion watched, transfixed, as your party charged Orin and her remaining Reapers.
“Anyway,” Astarion said flatly, turning back to you. “Ready to be freed, my love?”
“Extremely,” you sighed and placed your hands on your lap to give Astarion the easiest angle to pick the lock.
He set to work, fiddling with the Thieves’ Tools and narrowing his eyes in concentration.
“So,” you said quietly, ignoring the sounds of the battle raging around you, “how long did it take you to realize something was off?”
“I knew immediately,” Astarion said, leaning his head forward to listen for the click of the lock.
You laughed. “Somehow, I don’t believe that.”
Astarion humphed and looked up at you briefly. “I truly wish I could say that I instantly knew something was off, but Orin is annoyingly good at what she does. It took until we were battling a clown that I knew for sure you’d been taken from me.”
You smiled sadly at him. You couldn’t blame him for falling for Orin’s tricks - she’d spent a lifetime honing her craft as a shapeshifting she-demon. You weren’t positive you’d be able to tell the difference if roles were reversed. You were just glad he eventually figured it out.
“Truthfully,” the vampire continued, “I could sense something was off when you, or, er, she, wouldn’t let me hold her while she slept.”
You scoffed. “Sleeping with another woman?”
“Ha ha,” Astarion laughed humorlessly. “It wasn’t my choice, I assure you. Blast this thing!” He removed the Thieves’ Tools from the lock and readjusted his hands to get a better angle. “Honestly, darling, I thought I’d annoyed you somehow and that you were simply giving me the cold shoulder.”
You laughed again. “Why would you think that? Did you do something to deserve my ire?”
“Hells if I knew!” Astarion said, a smile overtaking his features. “I’m a magnificent bastard, as I’ve said. I can’t keep track of all the idiocy that leaves my mouth.”
“So you admit you’re an idiot.”
“I do not and that was not what our discussion was about - got it!”
With a melodic click, the shackles popped open, freeing you completely.
“Come here, my love,” Astarion gathered you in his arms and hugged you tightly to him, placing a kiss on your temple. “How poorly did they treat you?”
You nuzzled your nose into his neck, breathing in his sophisticated scent that you missed so much. “It wasn’t too bad. I taught a few goons how to play Go Fish.”
Astarion pulled back to give you a questioning look. When you didn’t shy away from his inspection, he laughed heartily. “Only you would somehow find a way to have fun while being held captive by a death cult.”
You grinned at him and shrugged. “I love to confuse the opponent.”
“I think you’re just too kind for your own good.”
“I can be mean!”
An unimpressed look. “You can be mean?”
“I can be so mean!”
“Darling, while I have always admired your spunk, I don’t think anyone here would classify your particular brand of… whatever you are, as ‘mean.’”
“You’re just jealous of how easily I can win people over.”
“I am not.”
“You are!”
“Dearest, if I wanted more people to like me, I would have ditched our group of weirdos long ago.”
“Which reminds me; you guys went to the circus without me?”
Astarion bent forward, placing his head on your shoulder and groaning in defeat. “Please don’t make me go back once we’re out of here.”
“No, no, I would never,” you said, badly hiding the fact that you were absolutely planning to make him take you back once you were out of here.
A bolt of red magic shot past the two of you, reminding you both that you were still very much in the middle of a battle.
You held your hands to your heart. “A gift? My my, you shouldn’t have.”
“Relax,” he rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing new.”
From below the dais, Astarion conjured your lute.
You lit up instantly, taking the instrument and strumming a cheery tune. A bolt of lightning shot out of it and knocked out a nearby Reaper.
“How I’ve missed you,” you sighed, rubbing your cheek against its neck.
“Wow,” Astarion said, standing and holding out a hand to help you up. “I don’t think you’ve told me that at all today. Even when I so heroically came to save you.”
“Thank you, I missed you, and I love you,” you surged up onto your toes to kiss his cheek.
“Better,” he said.
“Wanna see me be mean?” You fiddled with tuning your lute.
“Always.”
“Excellent,” you snarled, planting your feet and strumming a haunting melody.
Behind Orin, a purple glowing glyph appeared on the floor.
With a nod to you, Shadowheart thrust her spear forward, causing the Once-Orin-Creature to falter and step backwards, her foot crossing into the glyph.
A sudden, deafening crack split the air as lightning and thunder struck from above, ripping a piercing screech from Orin’s throat and sending the few remaining Reapers off the platform, never to be seen again.
“There she is,” Astarion wrapped his arm around your waist. “My, you’re strong.” His hand squeezed your hip and he looked at you fondly.
“Later,” you smirked, bumping your hip into his. “She’s still standing.”
“Oh, what the fuck?” Shocked, Astarion turned to look at the Slayer, who was hobbling over to slash at Shadowheart. “Do wonders never cease?” he remarked.
Karlach groaned. “Why would you say that?”
The effigy of Bhaal glowed to life again, surrounding Orin in a red light. When it dissipated, she seemed ready to fight once more.
“Astarion!” Lae’zel shouted, swinging her sword in anger.
“How was that my fault?!” Astarion shouted back.
Wyll lunged towards Orin and pushed her backwards with a green streak of Eldritch Blast. “You can’t just say ‘do wonders never cease’ when battling a foe. It invites them to prove you wrong.”
“Especially when you ask A GOD OF MURDER,” Gale swiped a hand through his hair and gestured to the Bhaal skull in the wall.
“Haven’t you read any book?” you asked over your shoulder as you ran forward to join the fight properly.
“Et tu, darling?” Astarion reached for his daggers and followed after you. “I merely asked a question!”
“Not a bright one,” Shadowheart muttered.
“Alright, enough jabs at Astarion, I’m sure he’s incredibly frazzled after the day he’s had.” You strummed another haunting tune, making Orin fly sideways as you hit her with a high level Shatter spell.
Karlach laughed and plunged her warhammer into Orin’s shoulder. “Says the one who’s been captured for the last two days.”
“Yes, but Astarion is sensitive,” you said in a secretive tone, fully intending for Astarion to hear.
He took the bait. “Hey!”
You looked at him with a smile and reached to squeeze his hand. “Let’s finish this.”
He observed your expression, taking in your features and a smile that was actually yours. He smiled back.
“Let’s.”
Without a word, Astarion threw one of his daggers, landing it squarely in Orin’s eye. She cried out in pain and staggered towards him.
“Ignis,” Shadowheart shouted, sending a Firebolt into her back. Orin recoiled and changed directions, shifting towards the cleric.
“Don’t think so!” Karlach jumped atop the creature to remove her warhammer and slammed it back into her. Orin screamed and violently shook Karlach from her body, sending the tiefling flying towards the edge of the platform.
Gale’s voice boomed before she could fall, “Non fit injura!” Feathery wisps surrounded Karlach, as Feather Fall overtook her body.
“Thanks Gale!” she called out, hoisting herself from the edge of the platform and back onto solid ground. “I owe you one.”
Gale nodded and turned back to Orin. Before he could utter another spell, however, the slayer grabbed him and ripped her nails through his torso before tossing him aside.
“GALE!” you ran to him, quickly strumming a Cure Wounds.
“Hta'zith!” screeched Lae’zel, who landed a blow to Orin’s skull with her greatsword. “Try that again,” she growled to the creature, “I dare you.”
Orin screamed in a half blinded rage, pushing you all back with the force of the sound. She jumped forward, landing on top of Wyll, who wasn’t able to dodge her massive form.
“Get off of him!” Karlach threw herself against Orin, wrenching her warhammer free again, and using it this time to cleave one of Orin’s four arms from her body. Blood splattered against Wyll’s face, but the action left him unharmed and able to escape.
“Stand back, all,” Gale said through gritted teeth as you helped him sit up.
Your companions took the hint and ran for the edges of the platform.
“Arde!” he shouted. A fireball manifested from above and landed directly on Orin who shrieked loudly in agonizing pain.
But when the smoke cleared, she was still standing.
Albeit crispier.
“What in the-?” Astarion asked, dumbfounded.
Lured by his voice, Orin turned and charged towards the vampire.
“No!” you fumbled with your lute, but couldn’t form a proper fret with your fingers covered in blood from the battle.
Before the Slayer could reach him, Astarion threw another dagger, landing it in Orin’s other eye. The creature screamed, sounding almost human, and crouched forward, laying her claws on the stone floor.
You scrambled to your feet, helping Gale up as you went. His wounds were healed, but he still seemed somewhat out of it.
“Is that it?” he asked.
“Stay back!” Shadowheart warned, noticing Orin crawling towards you.
“Die, damn you!” Lae’zel hit her with her sword.
A thwack! from Karlach’s hammer.
A slash! from Wyll’s dark magic.
A hiss! from Shadowheart’s.
A bonk! From Gale’s staff.
Despite it all, Orin still crawled towards you.
Astarion joined your side.
“Pitiful, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Rest now,” you said to Orin, finding the correct position for your hand on your lute’s neck. With a final strum and another high level Shatter, Orin ceased her movement, and a quiet fell over the temple. Her body dissolved into nothing more than blood and bone.
You’d robbed another god of his Chosen.
“Good riddance,” Astarion scoffed, bending to pick up his daggers that now clattered to the floor.
“Soldier!” Karlach yelled, running over and wrapping you in her arms. The others joined, with Lae’zel and Astarion standing a little ways off.
“Thank the gods you’re okay,” Shadowheart sighed.
“Me?” you asked after Karlach released you. “You guys look terrible!”
“Thank you,” said Astarion.
“I can’t imagine how exhausted you all must be. How many people did you fight to find me?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Wyll smiled.
Gale nodded. “What’s important is that you’re safe, and relatively unharmed.”
“I felled thirty-seven foes on our way to you and just now,” Lae’zel stated.
“Nicely done!” you raised your eyebrows and Lae’zel preened.
“But I should very much like a bath,” she added.
“Great idea,” Shadowheart agreed, pointedly wiping blood from her shoulder.
“A bath sounds heavenly,” you said. “Were you able to find another camp near water while I was gone?”
Astarion laughed loudly. “Oh, my love, you’ll be happy to know that we’ve found another camp with walls. This time with running water.”
“Oh thank gods,” you said, taking his hand and heading towards the stairs to exit.
But as you went to climb the steps back to the upper level of the temple, you caught the frightened and tentative looks of remaining Bhaal worshippers who hadn’t fled during the battle.
“What should we do about them?” Karlach asked quietly.
Your eyes scanned the crowd and landed on Fustian. She gave you a slight nod.
You nodded back.
“I think they’ll be okay,” you said.
Astarion groaned and rested his forehead on your shoulder. “It doesn’t matter if they’ll be okay, darling, will leaving them here cause trouble for us later?”
You smiled up at Fustian. “I don’t think so.”
Bhaal worshippers moved out of your way as you and your companions began climbing the stairs.
“You don’t think so?” Astarion continued.
“We’ve got bigger problems than a scattered Temple of Bhaal,” Shadowheart said, nodding to a worshipper who stepped aside.
“Like Gortash,” Karlach growled.
“And Karsus,” Gale added.
“And a certain vampire lord,” you said quietly, squeezing Astarion’s hand.
His entire body tensed, but the warm look you gave him instantly put him at ease.
“Alright then,” he said devilishly. “Let’s go hurt someone.”
pulled out from a private auction to discuss eoncore trades with onychinus, valko was not prepared to meet the infamous sylus with two toddlers clinging to his pant legs.
they’d done dealings before, and are on relatively good terms— the standard being: having had no major war between their factions and men— but he cannot still understand the inner workings of his business partner.
because when sylus leaves the room to answer a phone call, he wonders why in this planet would he leave his two children, vulnerable and defenseless, alone with a stranger.
valko worries for the children’s safety. especially this one named lucian, who balances himself on the edge of the seat’s headrest.
“you’ll fall.” he states, because it is a fact.
“no, won’t.” the sharply dressed little one replies just as assuredly. his new suit squeaks and threads strain under the unusual movements.
the other one, identical in features but not in behavior, sits on the very seat just below his brother. if lucian falls, lucian-two will be squished.
he is used to this, he tells himself.
watching pups in the pack play rough never bothered him, as it is a natural part of growth. essential for development. necessary for success. he used to believe that other children would benefit from the way a wolf is raised.
and yet, here he is at the edge of his seat— nails digging into the poor armrests as lucian wavers and wobbles on the beam, threatening the false sense of safety of his twin, who would not speak to him, and most definitely would not appreciate him moving him.
ready to leap and catch, should a wrong step emerge victorious.
even if he were to fall, valko should think not to worry.
as these ones smell different.
milk, blueberries, sweet cereal and cream. but beneath, fire and smoke, a distant field, a buried memory.
surely, they would be like their father. formidable, indestructible. too large to touch, too mythical to fathom.
the twin blinks sleepily at him. still refusing to speak. head lolling forward, out of his control.
surely…
“ah!” lucian’s foot slips. valko lurches.
lucian is snatched from his momentary free fall, and cradled into safe arms.
valko’s tongue knows no cage. “told you.”
lucian’s knows no manners, but sticks his tongue out at him cheekily. “bleh!”
valko tilts his head. amused.
“woosian,” finally, his twin speaks. peeking over the edge of the armrest to look at them. “be nice.”
“am nice!” lucian protests. in support valko grins and tickles his belly.
“he is.”
the little one gasps when he is acknowledged and bends his head back down to hide away.
“come on, little hatchling, i don’t bite.” valko says, placing lucian on his shoulder and leaning over to kyros slowly. “my name is valko.”
he places a finger on the upholstery, an olive branch.
the little one shifts on his knees and stares at the bejeweled hand— big, strong but not unsettling. slowly, he emerges and places his own fingers around it and shakes. “i kee-wo.”
“keewo?” valko’s chest blooms at the first sign of trust. something ancient and instinctive stirring in him that tells him now he must protect.
“no, kee-wo!”
“kee-ro?” valko tries again.
confirmation never comes.
“why have eews?” kyros asks instead. now having broken the wall, he begins to quickly forget he was even shy in the first place. he hovers his hands over his own head, where he sees the faint glow of phantom ears on this stranger’s head. “vakoo, why have eews?”
“you can see them?” he should worry. but he smiles broadly, fangs glimmering in delight. he made sure to use most of his active efforts to hide his true form when in public. and up until this point, he believed that he had a pretty good talent at looking unremarkable.
“ee-yors?” lucian scrambles in his arms, climbing a sturdy shoulder to get a closer look. “where, ee-yors?”
“mhm,” kyros stands on the chair now. he swishes his hips in a cute wiggle to visualize, “and taiw— wish wish.”
“like fox?!” lucian climbs and crawls over his new friend as if he were magnetic.
“hey!” valko yelps when the little ones circle him. one inspecting his tail closely while the other desperately tries to find it. “slow down! careful!”
he pauses his shuffling to watch kyros sniffing him. so… wolf-like and yet not.
intrigued, he asks. “what do you got?”
kyros sniffs the air in small snorts— like he’s congested but taking everything in still. “woofy.”
valko’s eyes widen at the simple conclusion. brows pinching, he thinks: these children are definitely different.
“ah! gotcha!” lucian squeals when he finally spots the faint glimmer of his tail. in an instant, the once hatchling transforms into a kitten, chasing a tail that refuses to be caught.
valko, contrary to the look on his face, revels in the discovery of other creatures that lurk in the dark. and that these very creatures, so different and yet so similar, can also thrive in the light.
he doesn’t know of the little ones’ evols, nor does he understand how they can see him as he truly is.
but the longer lucian lingers and scrambles to catch his tail or pet his ears— the more kyros sinks into the comfort of his presence and beams at the joy of his interactions; glows with a golden mist that brings clarity to illusion— the more certain small horns and wings begin to take form in their silhouettes.
and he understands now, that their father never left them defenseless in the first place.
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ pairing: sylus x sentimental!reader | tags + warnings: no y/n, light angst, fluff, you cry cause you love him, gn!reader, mentions of death, anniversary date, drabble | wc: 986
sylus didn't mean to make you cry.
he really didn't.
but he should've known better. should've known that his sweet, sentimental girlfriend would be extra sensitive the night of your anniversary. and that his passing thought, which was terribly bittersweet, should not have been shared aloud.
the two of you are perched near the edge of a cliff. you are sitting on a blanket sylus had luke and kieran prepare, huddled into his side like you're trying to extract his warmth.
the sun sets gently over the horizon, and when you look over, sylus' face is painted in the softest golden glow.
a gentle breeze passes by. sylus, with his arm around your figure, pulls you closer.
you hide a smile and snuggle deeper into his side.
"this is perfect."
the words slip from you before you give them a second thought. because despite waking up to a pile of gifts and a freshly made breakfast, despite sylus planning an entire day revisiting places important to the two of you, and despite the loving adoration that lingers in his gaze every time he regards you today, you think you would trade it all away if you could bottle this very moment and keep it forever.
sylus traces his hand up and down your arm. you feel the rise and fall of his chest as your head presses against it.
you look up at him. his eyes are pointed toward the sunset, and you observe the softness on his face, one that only exists when met with your presence.
sylus is beautiful. you wonder if he regards this moment as highly as you do. if he is also trying to immortalize what has not passed.
sensing your curiosity, his red eyes glance down.
and god, he would never admit it, but the way you're looking up at him nearly makes him sink into the ground. he is, perhaps, one of the most dangerous men in the world. but even sylus is rendered helpless when at your mercy.
some combination of your bright eyes and the flush of this proximity overtakes him. the fact that the two of you have spent so many hours celebrating each other. the hope of having an entire lifetime to bask in.
"what are you thinking about?" you ask him. because you are curious, what with the way his eyes search yours as if looking for something. a promise maybe. a forever.
"how many sunsets do you think we have left together?"
the calm haze that was overtaking you suddenly dissipates. he continues, "every sunset we see is one closer to our last."
sylus says this like fact. like he is merely commenting on the angle of the sun or the clouds in the sky, "so, how many do you think?"
you blink. he keeps looking down at you, and you can tell he's genuinely asking. the redness of his eyes stare straight into your soul.
it isn't that you've never considered this. but to hear sylus say it? to verbalize that one day, in the distant or not-so-distant future, that what the two of you have might be severed by- well, by death?
you can't even imagine it. you don't want to, but brief scenes flash through your head regardless.
you, reaching across the bed only to find it cold and empty.
you, tending to your own injuries without a hand to hold or a voice of worry.
you, clutching at his clothing trying to preserve remnants of his scent, one that fades even when he is gone for a few days.
and then you imagine it the other way.
sylus, returning home to silence.
sylus, becoming careless in battle, without a face to fight for.
sylus, falling victim to every destructive tendency he tries his best to stop.
these brief figments of imagination are all it takes for the tears to start rolling down your cheeks.
sylus' expression quickly contorts to worry as he brings his hands up to wipe them away.
"why are you crying, kitten?"
his brows furrow as if he actually doesn't understand the magnitude of the question he just asked.
"i don't want you to die," you say. and then you bury your face fully in his chest, undoubtedly leaving a newly formed tear-stain.
at this, he only lets out an amused scoff. you can feel the air leave his chest, "i'm not going to die, sweetie."
your words are muffled as you speak into his chest. you can't look at him now because you'll only cry more, "but you just said this might be our last sunset together."
"you're twisting my words. i was being..." he pauses to think about his choice of word, "reflective."
"you were being sad."
of course sylus doesn't want his sweet girl crying, but the pout in your voice is almost too cute for him to bear. he brings his hand up to rub your back and comfort you.
"i would never die on you," he says, voice soft with sincerity. he shifts back so he can cup your face in his hands. then he forces you to look into his eyes. and in his own, morbid way, "i'll make sure you die first, so you don't have to live a moment without me."
this almost makes you laugh.
you sniffle, "but what about you when i die? i don't want you to be sad."
the corner of his lip quirks upward. he presses his forehead against yours. your breaths intertwine themselves, and he holds you like he is taking in every sensation of the moment. memorizing the way you exist by his side.
"i'll be happy i was there for you until the very end."
sylus is devoted to you with all his being, and his words bring a comfort you didn't know you needed.
but despite it being his best effort to soothe you, they also bring more tears.
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ author's note: tell me why i almost cried writing this. shoutout to my sylus plushie that was sitting on my desk while i wrote this.
you've been having regular "outings" with sylus, thinking it was nothing more than two friends hanging out with each other. what you don't realize is that sylus treats these outings as something else entirely..
tags: fluff, pre-relationship sylus mc, FINALLY BETA READ everyone clap for me plz
wc: 1.3k
a/n: another small sylus fic before i head to bed 😛 i lowk dk where i was going with the ending but atleast i got it done.. right..? also this ones for u sena 😎
you were currently choosing an outfit to wear for your trip with sylus, trying to decide if this is a "bring jacket just incase it's super cold" night or "wear a sweater so you're covered just incase it's already cold" night.
he's been stealing your time every chance at a free night you get for the past few weeks, taking you out to fancy restaurants, bringing you over to his house for wine tasting, and the occasional joyrides on his motorcycle. out of linkon, of course.
you never really thought much of it, it was nice to take a break from work and just relax with him. and he was the one to always ask you out, who were you to refuse? plus, he always pays for everything (even after insisting you can pay for yourself), so it was nice on your wallet.
tonight, he said he wanted to take you out stargazing. he didn't say to bring anything, but to prepare for the weather being a bit chilly, hence your current predicament. you settled on your sweater, it was warm enough to protect you from the cold night air while still being comfortable enough to not make you feel stuffy.
just as you finished putting on your outfit, you get a text from sylus telling you that he arrived at your apartment. you quickly grab your keys and your motorcycle helmet before rushing downstairs to see him in his signature fit whenever he drives his motorcycle, the black leather pants with his black leather jacket that has the red and white accents on the sleeves.
the light from his phone illuminated his face as he looked up and greeted you with the smirk he always wore.
"don't you look cozy," he says.
"i interpreted your dress code as being comfortable. so here i am, comfortable." you explain to him, already putting on your helmet. you tap on the seat of his bike, signaling for him to get on.
he chuckles. "so impatient," but he gets on anyway, revving up the engine before letting you sit behind him. you wrap your arms around his torso tight and he sets off.
you drive for a good 30 minutes or so, just outside of the city. when you arrive, you don't recognize the area. he stops on the foot of a hill and kills the engine, before getting off the bike. he takes of his helmet before taking off yours and setting them both on the hand clutches. he then offers you a hand to hop off, which you take. strangely, he doesn't pull his hand from yours, so you don't retract it either. he leads you up the hill, where on top is a small picnic set up, red and white checkered blanket laid on the ground with a variety of your favorite foods on it. it's surprising how no insects or ants have gotten to it yet.
"it's so.."
"what sweetie? cute?" sylus asks with a raised eyebrow.
"..unexpected. who knew the infamous onychinus leader knew how to set up such a domestic view?" you tease, swinging your interlocked arms back and forth while looking up at him with a cheeky smile.
he smiles back, pulling you towards the picnic before settling down on the blanket and letting you sit beside him. "well, it would be rude of me to not know the preferences of the one i asked out, would it not?"
you hum. "i guess that's true. i guess i was just under the impression we were only gonna look up at the sky and point out constellations. didn't expect a whole night picnic with it." you lie down, bringing your legs up to bend your knees with your feet on the grass and your hands behind your head. you stare up at the sky, all the stars are visible from here since you were so far out from the city where the city lights couldn't block the view. it really was a perfect stargazing spot.
you feel the body next to you also lie down. you can vaguely see from your peripheral that he's basically in the same position as you, only one of his legs is propped up on the other and he only has one arm behind his head while the other rests on his stomach.
"i would only prepare the best for my date of course, no more no less." he says casually.
wait.
was this a date?
it's not like you haven't pondered on it before. regular nightly outings with a man who pays for you 99% of the time? that's basically a date.
but then again, it's not like he's explicitly asked you out on a formal date before. or hinted (you think) at anything but platonic feelings towards you. even if it did hurt a little because, what normal man does this platonically?
you brushed those thoughts and feelings aside however. sylus was a man who took what he wanted whenever he wanted. he was always direct in his approaches, business and non-business wise. so if he never asked you out, it was safer to assume your hang outs were platonic at best.
you turn to look at him to see him already looking at you, his red eyes piercing your own.
"sylus, is this a date?"
you see his eyes widen a fraction for just a split second.
he bursts out laughing, rich and loud and full of joy. he's practically glowing and clutching his stomach from laughing so hard.
"hey! im seriously asking!" you sit up to look down at him, frowning at the man. his eyes are filled with tears of laughter and you can't help but smile. once he ceases his laughing fit, he looks at you with a soft look.
"sweetie, have you just realized?"
"realized what?"
he sits up now too, his head a fraction above yours making you now look up. he's smiling at you fondly, brushing stray hairs from your face before caressing your cheek with the palm of his hand, the warmth of it bringing you a sense of comfort.
"i've been courting you for weeks now."
"..you have??"
he snickers at you. "count how many people i casually take out for dinners and pay for all of them. how many people have i taken into my home just to taste expensive wine with me? how many people do you think i just take a drive for out on my motorcycle just for fun?"
you open your mouth. then close it.
"okay to be fair, you never explicitly asked me on a date. or said any of those were dates for that matter." you argue before he suddenly kisses you. you squeak in surprise, but return the kiss nonetheless. when he pulls back, he huffs another laugh.
"i guess that's my mistake then, sweetie." he wraps his arms around you, then pulls you down to lie on top of him.
"will you let me make it up to you?"
"oh? how would you do that?"
"hmm.." he looks up at the sky and pretends to think. "maybe by properly asking if i can court you now."
"…"
"may i be your boyfriend?"
its your turn to huff a laugh, and you playfully smack his chest before giving him another kiss, a softer one.
"was that so hard to ask me?"
"to be fair sweetie, you also agreed to the dates, so i assumed you knew what they were."
"well i guess we're both just stupid then."
he smiles, and allows you to pull back just enough to look up at the sky.
you spend the rest of the night cuddling and chatting, finding comfort within each other. sure the both of you were kind of oblivious, but atleast you got together!
at some point you fall asleep in his arms, he watches you sleep with a smile, allowing himself to be selfish for a little bit with you. he kisses your forehead, whispering sweet nothings before gazing at the stars, he wishes upon every one of them that you continue to choose him in every life, in every universe. even if you both might not realize you have already been destined for each other in the first place.
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