Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
A/N: Thank you all for being so patient! This has been sitting in my drafts half-done for a looong time. Hope you enjoy! Xx
Rating: M (18+ minors DNI)
CW: Pregnancy
Word count: 2,347
Characters: soft!ascended!Astarion x fem!au!Tav
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The agony that coursed through cold veins was not unfounded. Astarion watched on with helpless eyes as you lay in bed, your condition only worsening through the days that had passed. Skin that had previously whispered the touch of light seemed much paler than it had before this sickness befell you. Hadn’t it? Yes, he was certain of it. Deep bags kissed under your eyes like bruises of a cruel fate, hair once silken to the touch had become brittle and flat. An emaciated picture of what you had been just days prior lay curled on the bed. If Astarion hadn’t known better, he would assume you hadn’t moved at all from your position since climbing into that bed after returning from the boutique. He had been the one to force you to bathe and stroll through the garden; of course you’d moved. The pain hung deep in his stomach but he refused to let it take him prey. What you were experiencing was far worse than any discomfort he may be feeling.
Three days.
It had only been three days, yet it felt like an eternity. It felt as if he had borne witness to your undoing in such a mercilessly short amount of time. A sadistic reminder of how fragile mortals were. Of how fragile his flower was. How barbarous the outcome; Astarion finally felt so deeply for a being other than himself, only to have it ripped away from tightly grasped hands. He had restrained the urge to maim and destroy you, allowed his love for you to flourish in its haste, yet had still proved to be your inevitable downfall. The wretched thing dwelled in your womb. The disgust ebbed and flowed deep in his gut. All the while he knew the culprit of your condition; he wouldn’t dare utter a word until it had been confirmed. An unspoken battle; should he be forthright with the circumstance? No doubt you would wish to brave the godsforsaken gestation, your longing for motherhood had been made abundantly clear. Stubbornness had been one of the many traits that had made Astarion’s unbeating heart grow fonder of you; in this plight, it very well may be your undoing.
From Astarion’s peripheral, a chambermaid enters the room, awaiting permission to address him. He nods silently in approval, eyes never leaving your debilitated form. “Master, he is here. Shall I see him here?”
His eyes falter from you to glance at the thrall. “You may. Clear the halls on your way out. I expect not a single interruption from anyone while he works. I trust you’ll let the others know of the agonizing centuries to follow if my request is disobeyed.” Though his voice was firm, there was a hint of fear masked beneath the threats. Fear of what fate awaits his lover, fear of what has yet to come, fear of the unknown.
“Yes, master.” She agreed before swiftly seeing her way out. There were no games when it came to Astarion and she did not wish to be in his line of fire if the matter at hand didn’t resolve to his liking.
Astarion steps up to the bed, stroking disheveled pieces of hair from your sunken face. “He is here, my treasure.” Soft words were met with a weak nod, eyes shut in an attempt to stop the spinning you felt in your head. An unwelcome thought made its way into his mind, which he hastily pushed down as far as he could. A corpse you began to resemble.
A tall lanky man makes his entrance. Dressed in a robe that looked centuries too old, wiry hair wisped from the sides of a misshapen ignoble hat, and shoes that seemed to be worn through the soles. He looked every bit a beggar who Astarion would pay no mind to under typical circumstances. Magic radiated in powerful lulls from the stranger, an aura of importance despite his unseemly appearance. “Sir Ancunin, a pleasure.” The man regards him nasally, though his eyes are fixed on you. They seemed to scatter over your frail body in assessment. “May I?”
Edvund Luoguarde. Every piece of unbiased literature regarding dhampirs Astarion had managed to scrounge up had been written by the man in front of him. Not a stone was left unturned in search of the scholar; all the while he had been holed up in a makeshift home on the edge of Rivington. The notoriety Edvund possessed had not affected his simple way of life. It was something Astarion might have found humor in if he had come across the strange man under different conditions. The man slinks towards the bed once Astarion approves, lips pursed as he looms over your unmoving figure.
“Poor child, barely hanging by a thread.” Edvund muses out loud. While there is empathy in his words, the firmness spoke to the weight they held. Astarion eyes his hand cautiously as it comes to hover over your midsection. “I will need her on her back.” He states. “Are you able to move, dear?”
Your eyes open barely a sliver in response. You open your mouth to respond but your voice is lost to the dry ache in your throat and on your tongue. Looking to Astarion in a silent bid for help, he obliges by carefully moving your body into position.
“This will do nicely. You’re doing wonderful, dear.” Edvund reassures. He places his hand on your clothed stomach, a pale blue light illuminating from his palm. His eyes bear the same blue light as he stares distantly at the wall. “Very interesting.” He murmurs after a few minutes pass, but does not remove his hand. It shifts purposefully from your sacrum up towards your ribcage. It was a brief moment of relief, as if whatever magic he yielded offered numbing to the visceral blows you had been experiencing.
Edvund removes his hand and the light in his eyes flickers in tandem. “You would be wise to rest while you can.” He pats the hand that lay lifelessly at your side. Unsure if it was a trance or from the fleeting comfort you finally had after three days of torture, you drifted away. The man turns his attention to Astarion once he’s sure you’re asleep. “A dhampir of not one, but two.” He riddles. “To be born of fruitful womb and abject seed. To shed light as great as thee.”
“What in the hells are you saying?” Astarion’s brow creased. It seemed more likely that Edvund was reciting poetry rather than providing a diagnosis.
“A dhampire of not one but two; to be born of fruitful womb, abject seed. To shed light as great as thee. Cast darkness into light, and light into lead. A union thick as thieves.” His hands move in an unfounded performance, fingers coming to lock in front of his chin once he is finished. “A prophecy greater in age than you or I.” He clarified, bringing his hands to rest on the edge of the bed. “It was foretold a pair of dhampirs would be born to a pure soul and a heinous….” He trails, eyeing Astarion before continuing. “They will materialize to our plane of existence. The gods have willed it so and so it will be.”
“Are you suggesting there are two?” Astarion’s jaw clenched as he eyes Edvund. “Remove them.”
“I cannot.” Edvund was unphased by Astarion’s aggressive demand, instead he stared him down with the same determined look in response.
“You will. This will kill her. Are you mad?”
“She will recover.” Edvund muses, looking back down at your sleeping form; no doubt the most divine rest you’ve had in your life with the help of his own magic.
Astarion steps around the foot of the bed, making his way toward the man with a fire blazing in his red eyes. Edvund glances at him, whispering a quiet incantation that seemingly relaxed every nerve in Astarion’s body. In a daze, he sits limply in the chaise at the end of the bed. He felt powerless. For the first time in his many years, he was indeed. Completely, utterly, entirely not in control.
Edvund steps in front of him, crouching until he is eye-to-eye with him. “You’ve felt this is destiny, yes? You and the girl?”
Astarion feels that blaze return, but it is quickly simmered once more. Edvund effortlessly defies his rage, pouring his own magic into keeping Astarion sedated. “Get out of my head.” Astarion murmurs, gritting his teeth uncomfortably.
Edvund proceeds; he already knew the answer to his question. “You do not want to anger the gods, Sir Ancunin. This has been foretold. Of course, nothing is stopping you from finding someone else to get the job done; I for one will have no part of it. I’d rather not deal with the wrath of any all powerful deity, let alone all of them. I suggest you heed this warning. It will not be pretty if you interfere.” He purses his lips tightly, furrowing his fluffy brows together as he speaks.
Astarion’s mind felt convoluted as the reality of the situation weighed heavy on his shoulders. This was bigger than you or him, but he refused to stand by and watch you crumble.
The air in the room hung heavy with the weight of destiny as Astarion grappled with the revelation. Edvund's cryptic warnings and the ominous prophecy left Astarion torn between the fate dictated by higher powers and the desperate need to protect you. The clash of emotions within him mirrored the conflict that unfolded in the dimly lit chamber.
Astarion's eyes, once ablaze with defiance, now flickered with uncertainty as he considered the implications. The revelation of a dual heritage, the prophecy, and the insistence on non-interference pressed upon him. Yet, the fierce love he felt for you surged as a counterforce, compelling him to challenge the preordained path.
The room bore witness to a silent struggle—one man navigating the treacherous waters of divine prophecy, the other tethered to the mortal realm by love's unyielding grip. As Edvund continued his mystical work, Astarion's internal turmoil mirrored the external tension, a tempest brewing in the shadow of fate.
In the midst of this cosmic chess game, your frail form lay suspended, caught between realms. A pawn in a game played by unseen hands, her fate intricately woven into the fabric of prophecy. The dichotomy of despair and determination etched across Astarion's face painted a poignant picture of a soul at war with itself.
The room, once a sanctuary for quiet moments and stolen glances, now bore witness to a profound struggle that transcended the mortal and the divine. It was a clash of wills, a dance of destiny, and a tableau of emotions that would shape the course of lives entwined in a tapestry woven by forces beyond mortal comprehension.
“The gods have orchestrated this all, Astarion.” Edvund loosened the invisible grip he had on Astarion, allowing a sliver of distance between them as he stood. “I’d heard of you, you know. The ruthless vampire lord.” Edvund quirks his head. He didn’t need to say it aloud as it was unspoken; love had made Astarion soft in a lot of ways. Specifically for you, but for the way you lived life as well. The way you simply loved.
For a brief moment, Astarion wondered if you would have been anything more than a meal and quick fuck without the interference of higher powers. He couldn’t dwell on the thought, though. It made him sick to think about.
Edvund's words cut through the tangled web of Astarion's conflicted thoughts. The acknowledgment of his reputation as a ruthless vampire lord served as a stark reminder of the life he led before you entered it. The juxtaposition of his past and the vulnerability that love had brought forth in him loomed over the room.
As Astarion grappled with the unsettling realization, Edvund's gaze lingered on him, a silent understanding passing between them. The enigmatic scholar seemed to grasp the intricacies of Astarion's transformation, not just as a vampire but as a being touched by the profound force of love.
“I hope you don’t mind, I’m not really in the mood for chit chat.” Astarion replied back coldly, his eyes stone as he looked at Edvund. Edvund held his hands up in a show of understanding.
“I’d better get going. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, but see to it that she rests adequately. There will be days where she feels like she can conquer the world, but she mustn’t overexert herself.” Edvund states as he walks towards the door. He leaves with a parting reassurance. “She will live. The gods are not as cruel as you would believe them to be right now.”
With that, Astarion sat alone. The air hung thick with magic and tension.
Astarion's gaze remained fixed on your slumbering form, the delicate rise and fall of your chest a comfort amidst the tumult within him. The cold, stoic exterior he had worn for centuries cracked, revealing the vulnerability that love had etched into his undead heart.
As he sat in the quiet chamber, a myriad of emotions churned within Astarion—fear, love, defiance, and an unsettling acceptance of the cosmic forces at play. The room, once a witness to stolen moments of intimacy, now bore witness to a solitary figure grappling with the intricacies of mortality and the influence of gods.
Time seemed suspended in that moment, the force of the future pressing down on Astarion. The journey ahead, fraught with uncertainties and divine machinations, loomed large. Yet, in the hushed solitude of the room, Astarion found a quiet resolve to face the impending challenges.
The vampire lord, once driven solely by self-preservation, now stood on the precipice of a destiny entwined with love and sacrifice. As the shadows deepened and the room embraced its newfound solitude, Astarion remained a sentinel, guarding not only the frail form on the bed but also the fragile threads of a fate spun by gods themselves.
Description: AU- An ambitious criminal justice major undertakes an internship at, arguably, the most noteworthy law firm in the country. Things don't go as she plans, as the title of intern to Astarion Ancunin is synonymous with personal assistant, apparently.
A/N: I've been so all over the place with what I'm working on writing-wise, but this has been deep in my drafts and I figured I'd set it loose. I was reading '30 Days' by Astarionhq on A03 and really took inspiration for my own modern twist on an Astarion/Tav love story. I linked their story above; please check it out! Also my obsession with the whole 'enemies to lovers' trope is totally not apparent, psh. There will be a lot of pining and eventual smut. I'll include content warnings in individual chapters if any apply. Enjoy!
Rating: M (18+ minors DNI)
Word count: 4,595
Characters: au!Astarion x fem!au!Tav
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Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The shrill sound prompted you to pull the heavy comforter over your head, willing away the sunbeams shining obnoxiously through your window. You groan as your hand smacks the wood of the nightstand haphazardly in a desperate attempt to stop the godawful noise coming from the alarm clock. Relief floods your senses as it finally ceases. You close your eyes and are on the precipice of sleep until realization dawns on you.
Fuck.
You had already snoozed the alarm three times prior. Meaning you were going to be royally late. With adrenaline pumping through your veins, you toss the warm blankets off you and bolt from the bed, barely glancing at the clock's LED. You could make out the emboldened numbers through your sleep-recovering eyes.
9:54
“Fuck. Fuck.” It was all that you managed as you darted around the room. In a flurry, you pull a black dress from your wardrobe. Making quick work of pulling off your pajamas, you slip it on hastily and step into your bathroom, carelessly sliding toothpaste over the bristles of your toothbrush before brushing your teeth. You pause, clamping down on the toothbrush with your teeth, bracing it as you lean down to secure the black heels to your feet that had been unceremoniously tossed aside on the bathroom floor the night before. Not typically the type to be late, of course the one time you were just so happened to be on the day that could make or break your professional career.
You push aside the self-berating for the time being as you rinse the paste from your mouth. Not having the time to shower now, you pull your long strands of hair into a high pony, carefully leaving out a few whisps of hair to frame your face. You had managed to make it out of your apartment before the clock struck ten, and hope bubbled in your chest at the thought that you may make this interview after all.
The bus you would have caught was long gone, so you jog the entire way. Juggling your purse, papers that included a resume, pages of references, and your phone to observe the time. You’re well aware of the disorganized mess you must look like as you stand in front of the receptionist’s desk. Chest heaving from the jog there, papers in disarray in your hands, the blonde woman behind the desk eyes you with a passing look of judgment, and the need to crawl into a hole and hide flits through your deflated ego. You give the woman your name, and she types it quickly and efficiently into the computer.
“I’m sorry, miss Tav.” The woman starts, “Mr. Ancunin has an eleven o’clock meeting. Your interview was scheduled for ten thirty. You’re nearly fifteen minutes late.” She looks up at you from her screen, and though she tries to appear sympathetic, the emotion is missing from her eyes. You glance at the clock above her head, stomach sinking to your toes.
10:43
“Right, yes. I completely understand. I had car troubles this morning and had to walk here; you know how crowded these sidewalks are.” You let out an awkward laugh, attempting to gain some level of relatability with the woman. She laughs wryly along with you, causing your face to visibly drop. “Listen, I-I really need this interview.” New approach: honesty. “Is there a later slot? I’d be happy to wait here all day if needed.”
“A lot of people need this interview, miss Tav.” The woman is unfazed by your pleading tone. “Unfortunately, there will be no more slots for this particular internship. The final interviews will occur later today, and Mr. Ancunin is completely booked for six months. It’s safe to say he will have come to a decision by then.”
Your shoulders drop. The sleepless nights of preparing, the references you had compiled from professors and other dignitaries alike, it didn’t matter. While, yes, you could always strive for another internship, Ancunin Associates was an elite law firm. In any case, you would have been guaranteed a job at any firm post-graduation had you completed this apprenticeship.
The woman is eyeing you expectantly, waiting rather impatiently for you to make your retreat. “Miss Tav, I will have to ask you to leave. Mr. Ancunin-“
You can barely hear her anymore as you make out the man passing through the large office. Walking with purpose past the tall, windowed walls overlooking the bustling city many floors below. His unnaturally silver hair is brushed back purposefully, leaving a few curls to swoop and fall over his forehead. Eyes that could only be described as honey pierced forward as if looking right through anyone who stood in his walking path. The finest of tailored suits adorned his figure, a figure you had no doubt was toned to the gods underneath. You recognized him from various news articles; he had been considered one of the most eligible bachelors in the country, after all.
You brush aside your musings, and adrenaline pumps through your veins. “Mr. Ancunin, my name is Tav. I had a ten-thirty interview for the open internship. I recognize I’m severely late, and I apologize, but I swear it is entirely out of character for me. Is there any possible chance I can fit into your schedule later today?”
He halts, staring at you with an indistinguishable look from across the office. You nearly regret speaking up to
him as he scrutinizes you. You can feel those golden eyes of his scanning over you, and you fight the urge to falter under it. You remain unmoving, trying to appear like you belong. His eyes are fixed on your chest for a passing moment, and the need to cover your frame burns through you.
“A bold one, hm?” His tone is teasing, though his face still holds firm. “Late and less than presentable. Does all of your clothing have those stains on them?” He gestures towards your chest, where he had previously been staring. You finally glance down and are met with a small white stain in the center of your chest. You’re sure your cheeks are flushed at this point, but instead of backing down, you shift the papers you held against your bosom, hiding the marred fabric from his eyes. You made a mental note that the next time you found yourself late to an important meeting, perhaps you should ensure toothpaste wasn’t all over you before leaving home.
“Mr. Ancunin, ten minutes of your time is all I need. Please.” He didn’t visibly react to your pleading, and his face remained stone-cold. The silence was deafening. The only sound you could make out was the thudding of your heart against your ribcage.
“Clear my eleven o’clock.” He says simply without addressing you, looking at the blonde woman you had just spoken to. “Come.” His words were firm. He turns on his heel towards the office he had just emerged from, silently expecting you to follow. You quietly breathe a sigh of relief as you oblige. A sleek black desk with an expensive-looking chair sat behind it in the center of the room. He holds out a hand, gesturing to one of the two armchairs in front of the desk, overlooking the large windows behind his chair. You silently obey his command, crossing your legs over one another as you wait for him to speak once more.
There’s a deafening silence as he eyes you, hands folded and resting in his lap once he’s sat down across from you. Mouth opening to speak, you close it when he holds his hand out in a quiet bid for the papers you had been holding. You wordlessly hand over your resume and references, and he scans the pages with an unreadable expression. The quiet stretches, and you fidget nervously in your seat, wishing you knew what was happening in his mind.
Finally, he looks up, those golden eyes locking onto yours. "Tav, is it?" he asks, his tone revealing nothing.
"Yes, sir. And I apologize again for my tardiness. It's not a reflection of my usual professionalism." You reply, trying to maintain a professional composure.
"Hm." He murmurs, leaning back in his chair. "Your credentials are impressive, Tav. Top of your class, stellar recommendations. But I'm curious—what makes you think you can manage this apprenticeship?”
You take a moment to gather your thoughts before responding. "Mr. Ancunin, I understand punctuality is crucial, and I take full responsibility for my tardiness today. However, my dedication, work ethic, and ability to adapt under pressure make me a valuable candidate for this position. I've faced challenges in the past and have consistently proven my commitment to overcoming them. I'm not one to let a setback define my capabilities."
A white eyebrow quirks in response, a smug look on his features. “Clearly. The tired university student you are, I presume you know how to make one hell of a cup of coffee?”
“I-” You start, feeling yourself shrink under his gaze. “Yes.” You murmur, brows pulling together in confusion.
He leans back in his chair, eyes never leaving yours. There’s a hint of amusement in his honey-pooled eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “How about laundry?”
“Mr. Ancunin, no disrespect intended at all, sir-” You start.
“Astarion.” He says flatly.
“What?” Your voice catches in your throat, causing the word to shake as it leaves your lips.
“Call me Astarion.”
“Right, uh, Astarion,” You corrected. “I was hoping for an internship that would assist my legal career in flourishing. I didn’t anticipate I would be a personal assistant.” Your words trail.
Astarion clicks his tongue. “What a shame. I suppose there are many less desirable internships for you to pick from.”
Your mind races as you process the unexpected turn of events. Astarion's gaze remains fixed on you, a challenging glint in his eyes. You weigh your options, considering the potential impact on your career aspirations.
Taking a deep breath, you respond with a measured tone, "Astarion, I appreciate the opportunity to interview for this internship, and I am genuinely passionate about pursuing a legal career. However, I believe my skills and dedication would be best utilized in a legal capacity rather than as a personal assistant. I've worked diligently to excel in my academic pursuits and gain valuable experience in the legal field, and I'm eager to contribute those skills."
He tilts his head, the smirk on his face deepening. "Ambition, I like that. But you see, Tav, I value versatility. A good legal mind is undoubtedly crucial, but navigating the intricacies of the legal world often requires more than just legal acumen. It requires adaptability, resourcefulness, and an understanding of the broader aspects of the business. Consider this a test of your ability to handle the unexpected."
You take a moment to absorb his words, recognizing the challenge he's presenting. The internal debate intensifies within you — compromise for the sake of opportunity or stand firm on your premise. After a brief pause, you choose your words carefully, "I'm eager to prove my versatility and dedication to this role. If this is the path you believe will showcase my abilities, I am open to embracing the challenges it presents."
Astarion's eyes narrow slightly as if assessing the sincerity of your response. "Very well, Tav. We'll start with a trial period. Consider today's events as part of your initiation. Now, as for the legal matters, we'll get to those as the internship progresses. But for now, let's see how you handle some of the more... practical aspects of the job.”
You nod numbly, and you’re confident you look silly sitting there with your mouth slightly ajar from the whiplash of the situation at hand.
Astarion leans back, seemingly satisfied with your response. He gestures for you to follow him once again as he stands, leading you through a maze of offices and hallways in the prestigious law firm. As you walk beside him, you can't help but feel a mixture of anxiety and determination. This internship might not be unfolding as you envisioned, but you're determined to prove yourself in whatever capacity necessary.
The two of you eventually arrive at what appears to be a spacious lounge area, complete with an elegant coffee machine. It's clear that Astarion's definition of versatility extends beyond legal matters.
"Now, Tav," he begins, "We'll start with a simple task. Make me a cup of coffee."
You nod, moving towards the coffee machine. While you might be more accustomed to preparing legal briefs, you're not one to shy away from a challenge. As you navigate the machine's buttons, you glance over at Astarion, who has taken a seat in the lounge area.
The machine whirs to life, and you focus on measuring the coffee grounds and water precisely. A sense of determination fuels your movements. Astarion watches you intently, his unreadable expression giving away little.
Once the cup is filled with the scorching liquid, you reach for the creamer and halt your movements as he speaks again. “Black.” You turn to hand him the mug, seemingly awaiting his approval as he sips from the cup. You fidget with your hands in front of you, eyeing him with the same scrutiny he had watched you with earlier in your encounter.
He does not note on the coffee you had readied for him; instead, he is fishing into his pocket. He pulls out a set of keys, handing them to you. “You are aware of the apartments on Oleander, correct?”
Taking the keys into your hands, you gaze down at them in confusion. Of course, you knew that only the most affluent resided in them. There was a sinking suspicion of where this was going deep in your gut.
“Mine is the penthouse at the very top. You will do my laundry and clean it until it is sparkling. Understood?”
There was a new feeling sated into your bones. Anger. Not to mention the fact that he expected you to go into his home when he was not present. “I don’t feel this arrangement would be very professional.” You fire back, trying to hide the malice dripping in your tone. He was toying with you.
Astarion’s eyes still held that teasing gleam as he spoke. “That’s undoubtedly alright. We have many other candidates coming in later today. I’m sure one of them would be up to the task.”
You close your eyes briefly, taking in a large breath of air in order to keep yourself calm. You open them once more, smiling wryly down at him. “I’d be happy to.” You mutter through gritted teeth.
“Brilliant.” Astarion states, standing from his seated position. He sets the mug down on an end table. “Oh, and do try to improve on your coffee-making abilities. That was rather lackluster.”
How the fuck do you mess up black coffee?
There was no doubt left in your mind about what he was doing. You needed this internship, though, and you were prepared to go to questionable lengths to secure it. “Of course.” You deadpanned, no amusement left on your face. What an arrogant bastard.
“You can keep that set.” Astarion gestured to the keys in your hand. “I expect you’ll be done before I return home. I’ll see you back here tomorrow morning.” The smirk never left his smug face as he spoke. He departs the room, surely to whatever big meeting is next on his agenda. Perhaps to terrorize someone else. You’re left standing there, dumbfounded at how wrong this entire day seemed to be going.
As Astarion strides away, leaving you with the keys and the absurd task ahead, a maelstrom of thoughts swirls through your mind. You glance down at the keys in your hand, a symbolic link to the penthouse on Oleander that you are now responsible for. The weight of the situation settles on your shoulders, mixing with the frustration and determination that courses through your veins.
Taking a deep breath, you gather your composure. This might not be the internship you envisioned, but it's an opportunity nonetheless. You remind yourself of the stakes, the prestige of Ancunin Associates, and the potential doors this internship could open. Swallowing your pride, you decide to tackle the tasks ahead with a professional mindset. Even if he was not.
–
You hadn’t anticipated spending your day cleaning some corporate asshole’s million-dollar penthouse, yet here you were. No doubt, he had to have staff for this. So why was it being made your problem? The penthouse wasn’t anything that you weren’t expecting. It looked like it had been taken straight out of a catalog, and it seemed to be missing any warmth. There was nothing hung on the stark white walls, aside from small discreet security cameras tucked into the corners. You wondered briefly if he was watching you and decided he had to be. You were a complete stranger he had sent into his home by yourself. You mutter an expletive quietly, toeing off your heels by the front door. A few dishes are in the sink, and you figure that to be the best place to start.
As you tackle the dishes, the silence of the penthouse is only broken by the occasional distant hum of city life far below. The gleaming surfaces and pristine environment reflect the meticulous nature of the man who owns this place. You can't shake the feeling that every move you make is being observed by Astarion himself or by the unassuming security cameras.
While you scrub away at the plates, your mind replays the unusual turn of events. How did a promising legal internship morph into a personal assistant role with a side of housekeeping duties? The anger you felt towards the man came back in full force. You were well aware that you were being taken advantage of, but the need to prove yourself to Astarion gnawed at you either way.
Think of the years of schooling, Tav. Of who you plan to be after graduation. You silently reminded yourself.
As you navigate the unfamiliar kitchen, you spot a sleek tablet on the countertop. It seems to control various aspects of the penthouse – lights, temperature, and security. You make a mental note to familiarize yourself with it, realizing that understanding the intricacies of Astarion's living space might become essential.
The pristine silence is suddenly interrupted by the chime of an incoming message on the tablet. You approach it cautiously, noting Astarion's name on the notification. With a sense of trepidation, you open the message.
"Ensure you clean the living room thoroughly. I'll be hosting a small gathering there tonight. Impress me."
His words are concise, leaving you with a sense of urgency. The mundane task of washing dishes has evolved into preparing a high-profile space for an event you weren't aware of until now. A twinge of frustration simmers beneath the surface, but you push it aside, noting that you had only a few hours before the sun began to set.
You move from the kitchen to the living room, carefully dusting surfaces and arranging furniture to meet an unspoken standard of perfection. The penthouse, already immaculate, undergoes another level of scrutiny under your watchful eyes. You can't help but feel a sense of absurdity, thinking that a legal intern's day would involve ensuring the alignment of decorative pillows and the spotless shine of a glass coffee table.
As the day progresses, you are caught between bouts of irritation and determination. The controlled environment of Ancunin Associates has given way to the uncharted territory of Astarion's penthouse. The duality of your responsibilities — legal intern and personal assistant — blurs lines, leaving you grappling with the unexpected.
Stumbling into Astarion’s bedroom, you narrow your eyes at the scene before you. It was a change from who you had come to anticipate him as. Clothes were tossed carelessly to the ground, and upon further inspection, you were under the impression that one of these shirts could pay two months of your rent. You huff, gathering the misplaced clothes into your arms and setting them aside to be washed. You made quick work of putting his bed together, fluffing pillows, and tidying the sheets and blankets.
Stepping into the bathroom adjoined to the bedroom, you prepare to toss out the small trash bin. Your eyes narrow, and you make a sound of disgust at the sight. Two used condoms were the only contents.
There’s no way in hell I’m touching that.
You grumble as you step back out of the bathroom, flicking the light off in your wake. You would settle on simply putting Astarion’s clothes in the washer and heading out. Surely he wouldn’t expect anything more of you? You had already spent hours here.
However, as you return to the living room, the notification chime on the tablet draws your attention again. Another message from Astarion, and the words cut through your plans this time.
"Make sure you check the bedroom and bathroom. Attention to detail is crucial. I trust you won't disappoint."
Your frustration spikes, but you suppress it, realizing that your choices in this matter are limited. Taking a deep breath, you return to the bathroom. You need this apprenticeship, Tav.
You gather the courage to dispose of the used condoms, not allowing yourself to dwell on the
contents of them. The situation's absurdity is not lost on you – an intern scrubbing someone else's bathroom, particularly a man of Astarion's means. You felt as if you were living in a movie.
The sun begins its descent, casting a warm glow through the expansive windows of the penthouse. Your eyes sweep the living room, confirming that it meets the standards Astarion expects for his gathering. Despite the challenging nature of the day, a slight sense of accomplishment settles within you. You may not have expected to play the role of a personal assistant, but you've embraced the challenge and proven your ability to adapt.
As you prepare to leave, the tablet chimes again, signaling a final message from Astarion.
"Lock up behind yourself. Be ready for a full day tomorrow. We have much to discuss."
The weight of the day lingers as you walk home. The anger festers in your chest, though you try not to indulge it. This couldn’t have been the first time Astarion has taken advantage of having a desperate college student under his thumb. You can’t help but think the people who had deemed this to be one of the best internships for criminal justice are full of shit. You grumble in distaste, your feet feeling as if they’re on fire from the miles you were walking back to your shithole apartment on the south side of town, ten miles from Astarion’s penthouse. At this rate, you had been walking for an hour and a half, yet you were only halfway there.
You lean down, slipping the high heels off of your burning feet and cradle them in your arms.
The cool night air hits your face as you continue your journey, heels in hand. The events of the day play over and over in your mind, and the determination to prove yourself mingles with the frustration of the unconventional tasks assigned to you. As you approach your apartment building, a mix of exhaustion and frustration boils deep in your chest.
Opening the door to your modest apartment, you let out a heavy sigh. The contrast between Astarion's penthouse and your own space is stark, but a sense of resilience fuels your spirit. You toss the heels you had been holding aside and head straight to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Disheveled hair, tired eyes, but an unmistakable fire within them.
“Finally home?” A voice rings out, and you see Shadowheart leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, dangling two empty glasses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. “I figured we could celebrate.” You sigh, leaning against the bathroom sink and turning to face her. She raises her eyebrows, wiggling the bottle in a way that wordlessly says, ‘you know you want to’. You did, but your knees felt weak under your weight and your calves burned to the hells.
“I’m not even sure if there is anything to celebrate.” You snort in response, shooting her an apologetic look. She finally takes note of just how tired you truly looked, and her shoulders slumped.
“You didn’t get it? I just assumed since you were gone all day.” Shadowheart furrows her brows. “What happened?”
“No, I did get it. I think.” You huff, pursing your lips into a thin line. “Though it’s not at all what I expected.”
Shadowheart sits on the edge of your bed, listening as you fill her in on the day's events. The arrogance of the one and only Astarion Ancunin. “So he has you cleaning his house? I mean, truthfully, the coffee thing isn’t totally unheard of. But his used condoms?” She makes a sound of distaste deep in her throat, screwing her face up to match her tone of disgust.
“I’m a mess, Shadow.” You mutter, retreating from the bathroom in a fresh change of pajamas. The thought of spending a second more cleaning up his messes filled you with dread and, after knowing Astarion for only a day, you knew with full certainty that your distaste for the man would only grow.
“Was he as hot as the tabloids make him look?” She asks teasingly.
“Really?” You mutter, accepting the now-filled glass as you sit back into the pillows on your bed.
“What?” Shadowheart chuckles. “I’m just saying it may be more manageable if you’ve got eye candy to look at while you spend your days doing his laundry.” Her tone was teasing, though you knew there was a hint of truth in her tone.
The groan that left your lips was exasperated, bringing the wine glass to your lips and accepting the bitterly sweet liquid as it rolled over your tongue.
As you sip the wine, a mix of exhaustion and frustration settles within you. Shadowheart's attempt to lighten the mood brings a small smile to your face, but the reality of the situation looms large. The taste of the wine is a welcome reprieve, a momentary escape from the days to come with Astarion Ancunin ordering you about.
Nevertheless, the conversation with Shadowheart provides a brief respite. “He looks like a god if I’m being honest.” You finally admit with a slight chuckle. “Like he’s been cut straight from stone. He just so happens to be the biggest asshole I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing.”
You finish your glass and return it to her, smiling gratefully as she takes it. “You just so happen to be the toughest girl I know. It’s, what, a six-month internship? Just keep your eyes on the prize, Tav.” She reassures before letting out a yawn of her own. “That being said, I’ve got to be up early myself. I’ll make sure you’re actually awake before I leave.” Shadowheart says pointedly.
Once she leaves, you relax into your duvet, eyes closing as relaxation settles into your bones for the first time since you’d sprung out of bed that morning. No, nothing had gone particularly how you had hoped. Shadowheart’s words stoked the burning fire of ambition inside of you, and you felt eternally grateful to call her your friend.
Astarion walking into the fight with Cazador, skin glowy and moisturized, recently fed off of thinking blood, hair freshly curly girl-routined, surrounded by friends who love him whether he likes it or not (one of them on fire... several of the others in possession of at least 2 different "disentigrate that old man" spells), dressed to the nines in the finest clothes the world has to offer, pockets jangling with the 30k gold and the copious amounts of jewelry we have given him throughout the journey, chapstick: on, four ghouls he summoned with his newly acquired Necromancy of Thay knowledge b-boying along beside of him, big wet kiss mark on his forehead: fuck you!
Cazador, with 2 bucks and cobwebs in his bank account, no steeze, no friends, no real plan of attack except the 8 dudes he found on craigslist, and yet all the audacity in the world: I got this... He has NOTHING ON ME!!!
