Alternate timeline for TFBU where Astarion goes to the underdark with the other vampire spawns? He still leaves the group permanently after you kill Cazador without giving him the chance to choose to do it himself, but he never actually comes back.
He spends decadesāmaybe even a century in the underdark while you spend the rest of your days with that day haunting your dreams. You never pick up your lyre again, you eventually stop coming back to the house to your other companions at all, and you become a ghost of the city. While everyone moves on, you're just numbly existing in a time that only freezes for you.
But you still make sure to visit Astarionās grave every few days. You don't know how you managed to find it, but you'd recognize the name carved into the headstone anywhere. And every day you leave flowers, and itās the most you can do to cope with the unresolved feelings heās left behind.
He spends years with the other spawn, mending his relationship with some of them but finds himself constantly thinking back on the day he left you. The day he nearly killed you. He's not sure how long it takes, but eventually, after so many years, he begins to understand. Living without Cazadorās dreadful presence makes him realize that perhaps power wasn't what he needed alongāhe only wanted to be free to live. This, of course, makes him realize how much in the wrong he was for reacting that way toward you, and he finally ventures back into the city.
But when he gets there, you're no longer there.
Too much time has passed. Too much of which he hadn't even noticed, because the sun doesn't rise in the underdark.
He finds his own grave where thereās a pile of dead flowers surrounding all parts of it. And despite how old it is, his tombstone is far cleaner than he remembers it, as if someone was taking care of it until recently. Carefully. Lovingly.
Then, he sees it. And he cannot deny how his stomach drops.
Your own headstone, on the opposite side of the graveyard.
Yours, is stuffed in the way corner, where nobody but the ones who actively search for it would ever notice its presence. It lies under a tree, and he doesn't have the heart to even read the years etched into stone, because he fears knowing how much time he wasted in just being able to understand you. To understand you'd done what you thought to be best for him.
He places a hand on the top of the stone. You feel cold now. No longer can he feel the warmth of your skin, see the gleam of your eyes, hold your soft hand against his face. No longer can he do what he came here to do, if you'd pity him enough to allow it. Instead, all he can do is stare at a stone with your name on it.
This is not you. You are not here anymore.
He rather wishes he'd just died the day of the ritual in Cazadorās plans. He would've died knowing how your warmth felt, but nowāall he has is the memories of someone he threw away.
If thereās truly any merciful god left in this world, he's sure they'd kill him now.
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summary. āThe damage youāve done to my stomach is plenty. Thank you, darling,ā he frowns. āAnd if I may: It isnāt completely fair to place all the blame on me, is it? I mightāve been intoxicated, but I wasnāt deranged enough to miss the way you kissed me back. Aggressively, might I add?ā
You roll your eyes. āI was trying to bite your lip off.ā
āI would believe you if you hadnāt made such teasing sounds when I bit back.ā
warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks, suggestive content!!!! (new warning hehe)
pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader
parts. TFBU masterlist
a/n. actual????? communication????? after 45k words?!?!?!?!?!? or is it...this chapter is literally them being loser teenagers i love them
To you, his touch is like a drug.
His breath, cool against your hot skin, presses against the shell of your ear as something dangerously close to a whine escapes your lips. You can feel him grin as he lowers his head and places a long kiss on your collarbone. His slender hands slide up your back, grinding you even closer than you already are as he mouths at every nook and cranny of your body. Itās almost like he wants to consume you whole. To drink you until all thatās left is a shuddering mess, your body still begging for his own.
White curls tickle your chin as the strings on your shirt finally come undone. His tongue brushes against the peak of your bare breast, and your eyes meet him in a lust-clouded haze, lips pursed as you swear you could reach your peak just by the way he looks at you. Itās so intimate, so vulnerable, so pleasurable that your eyes half close when the palm of his hand smooths against your clothed core.
He stills, lifting his head to kiss his way up to your neck again. As much as you want to beg him to resume what heās been doing, he doesnāt let you. Instead, his fingers bring your face to his.
āDonāt hide from me.ā
You shudder. You think you know plenty with how flushed your face is, but he doesnāt seem to care. He lowers back down your chest, grinning as he lays his cheek on your skin teasingly.
āIf you look away, Iāll stop, my love.ā
āAre you insane? Of course, heās staying here!ā
You lurch up from your pillow as the earth-shattering reality of the morning sun blares you awake. Cheeks burning, you rub at the bags under your eyes, humiliated in the face of nobody but yourself, as you hear more voices from downstairs. None of which even try to keep it quiet. You stare down at your legs, lips pursed.
Only still half-awake, you can practically feel his hands on your waist.
Curses. What are you? A prepubescent teen?
With a loud groan, you force yourself onto your feet. Considering how your dreams will only add to your stress, you might as well.
āOh, thank gods youāre here. Tell him weāre not taking Astarion with us to the celebration, will you?ā Shadowheart hisses as you descend the stairs, still half asleep. āOur wizard seems to have gotten the wrong idea about the leech upstairs.ā
You swear Laeāzel snorts.
āIt was only a suggestion. I wasnāt sure if weād want to leave him alone hereā¦isnāt that merely an invitation for him to run away?ā Gale rubs his temple with his thumb, clearly exhausted.
Youāre fully aware of Astarionās nightly escapes into the city, but you donāt tell them that. Itās better not to cause a panic.
Shadowheart shrugs. āWeāll tie him to the counter. Hells, we can just lock him into the basement.ā
Gale sighs. āHeās not a dog.ā
āHe acts like it,ā Laeāzel grumbles, sinking her teeth into an apple.
āWe could ask the Duke to spare some of his soldiers for the night. Make them keep watch while weāre at the party,ā Shadowheart offers. āAnything to keep that dirtbag here instead of there. Isnāt that right, Tav?ā
Galeās eyes meet with yours. Thereās a sort of expectancy in them that makes you squirm in your shoes as they bore straight into your soul as if heās aware of your deepest secrets. There are bags under his eyes, surely from having to balance Astarionās less-than-likable presence with all his other responsibilities in rebuilding the city. A part of you feels guilty for the work youāve dropped on him, but both parties know itās for the best.
Itās been made glaringly obvious that you and Astarion shouldnāt be anywhere around one another. Itās only a recipe destined to end in a yelling match orā¦
Your cheeks flare. Last night was a mistake. It wonāt happen again.
āWeāll keep him here. Lock him in his room like Shadowheart said,ā You finally blurt. āCan you send the invitation back with everyone whoās going? I have someone to visit in a few minutes.ā
āVery well,ā the cleric smiles, obviously pleased with your decision. Gale only frowns. āIām glad thatās settled.ā
So are you.
You hear the door of Astarionās room open upstairs and decide you shouldnāt stay any longer. After rushing goodbyes to your companions and another questioning glance from Gale, you scramble to fly out of the house, barely grabbing your bag in the process. The contents weigh more heavily than they usually do, and for good reason. Hopefully, younger vampires feed less than fully grown ones because otherwise, the squirrel you found the night before wonāt be able to satiate Berryās appetite.
Itās hard not to wonder how sheās doing for most of your day. You were initially planning to visit her last night until the unfortunate ambush Petras released onto your already sore limbs. Even now, you constantly rub at the ache of your thighs and arms. The healing potions did plenty, but they couldnāt do everything.
She must be starving, you think. You grit your teeth.
Fortunately for you, however, when you arrive at the Highberry residence, Berry seems perfectly fine. In fact, sheās helping her adopted siblings arrange decorative plants around the house, likely to liven up the place after whatās been happening the past few months. Thereās a sense of calm here that doesnāt currently exist in your own household. The scene makes a soft smile pull at your lips, which is more than welcome.
āYou didnāt visit last night,ā the young girl finally says when youāre with her by the window, far enough from the siblings to be out of earshot. She looks up at you sheepishly. āI thought you mightāve gotten attacked.ā
She picks at her fingers.
āWere you worried?ā you stifle a laugh, and she shrugs, albeit flustered. āI brought you someāprey. You must be hungry.ā
āNot really,ā she still takes the worn sack and clutches it close to her. āI went out to find food by myself.ā
At this, your eyes widen. āWhat? You left for the forest? You know that place is dangerous, Berry; itās not safe for someone as young as you.ā
āIām a spawn. Itās probably safer for me than you,ā she squints, and you canāt bring yourself to deny it.
ā...Youāre still a child,ā you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. āWhereād you learn to hunt anyway? The last time I checked, you could barely fight off a few forest animals.ā
Her face flushes red, but she huffs regardless. āThe haggard taught me.ā
āHag?...ā
āYour friend,ā Berry perches either of her arms on the windowsill, staring out at the passing civilians on the street. She whips her head to you and points at either of her fangs, opening wide. āHeās been teaching me to hunt with these.ā
āAstarion?ā you blink. āHe taught you? Willingly?ā
Itās rather hard to believe.
āNo, I had to follow him. By the time he noticed, he didnāt have much of a choice,ā she says proudly, puffing out her chest. Then she deflates again as if she just tasted something sour. āHe got two big bears last night but wouldnāt shareā¦So, I had to get my own squirrels because he told me Iād starve otherwise. That old hoot is selfish and mean.ā
Well, it certainly sounds like him.
āYou couldāve gotten hurt,ā you scold her gently.
āMaybe by him.ā
You want to say that sheās wrong and that Astarion wouldnāt hurt her, but the blasted comb flashes back in your mind, and reality sits heavy in your throat. So, instead, you bite your tongue.
āHave you found any of them yet? The other spawn?ā she pushes herself off the wall to stand straight.
āI didāif fighting them counts.ā
Her face falls and a part of you regrets even alluding to what happened last night. She begins to fidget with the sharp ends of her nails again and stares at your shoes. āThereās too many of them.ā
Youād most certainly know.
āWe have the Fist fighting for us,ā you assure her, albeit pathetically. Even in your own ears, you donāt sound entirely confident. āAnd besides, the murder count has been decreasing as of late. If we keep going at this rate, we wonāt have more than a body every two weeksāā
āIt wonāt work that way, though. Theyāll just keep coming back.ā
Were children always this perceptive?
Youāre not sure what to say.
She clenches her fists. āNot all of them are bad, you know.ā
āI know, Berry. Youāre not a bad person at all; itās just thatāā
āI meant the siblings,ā she blurts, finally meeting your eyes. āAuroraā¦she was nice. She was nothing like Petras.ā
Aurora?
Youāre suddenly leaning down to her, shoulders tense. āYouāve met the other siblings? Since when?ā
āOnly once, months ago. Petras tried to convince the others to stay here with him, but they said no,ā her brows furrow. āHe was furious that day.ā
Of course. Why didnāt you realize that earlier? Petras, Dalyria, and Leon were the only ones of the main spawn that remained in the city, and being so swept up with their antics, youād forgotten to ponder on the motivations of the others. You swallow the dry lump in your throat as realization slaps you across the face.
āSo not all of them want to go through with the ascension?ā you gasp. Berry pauses but nods slowly.Ā
Help. You could ask them for help. Surely, if they donāt want another Cazador running rampant in the city, theyād be willing to stop the ritual as a whole. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek as your mind races. Were they even aware of what Petras was up to? How many lives heād taken?
You take her hands to stop her from picking at them, giving her a reassuring squeeze. āBerry, where are the other siblings?ā
āThey told Petras they were leaving for the Underdark like they promised you.ā
Gods, bless this girl. Somehow, sheās been more helpful than any other resource youāve had the past few monthsāincluding the Duke, and your vampire spawn. Youād think she might be a blessing from the heavens if it werenāt for all the other bullshit theyāve thrown your way as of late.
āTell Cora I dropped by,ā you smile brightly. Though itās rare nowadays, you feel almost hopeful. āIāll come back in a week. Stay put until then.ā
By the time you realize how much time has passed being cooped up on your bedroom floor, the sun is already setting. You reach for a candle, flicking a match against the box before lighting a flame to illuminate the pages sprawled around you. In anyone elseās eyes, you might look nearly hysterical, but to you, it feels as if the weight of the entire city is on your shoulders again. In a way, you suppose it is. Unless you want more than just a couple dozen bodies on the city streets in a few months, that is.
Your eyes scan over Dalyriaās drawings for what seems like the millionth time. And for the millionth time, you find nothing. Since the last time you obsessed over her journal, there have been a few additions to your collection: some books on ascension, vampires, and, for some reason, a book on vampire lords.Ā
Youāre not sure you see the point in picking up this particular book, considering the spawnsā master is long dead, which means none of them can become a true vampire unless they were to ascendāthe exact scenario youāre trying to prevent. But perhaps spending an entire day at the library blossomed a newfound curiosity within you.Ā
There isnāt much in there you donāt already know from first-hand accounts Astarion would recall on the nights you couldnāt fall asleep. There are parts, however, regarding the vampire spawn they can compel that lure your attention.
āVampire spawn were the masters of stealth and charismatic cunning,ā you read mindlessly. ā...vampire spawn would seek vengeance on their creators.ā
Vengeance. Is that what it was when he tried to strangle you?
Your jaw clenches, and you feel a sort of buzzing on your lips. What an asshole.
Quickly, you shut the book with a slam as you decide that dwelling on information youāre already well accustomed to is a waste of time. Youād likely be a better source of knowledge than the book itself because of how basic its contents tend to be.
You stare at the cover, which simply illustrates a set of fangs. Cliche, you think, but itās effective.
The room suddenly feels too quiet.
Fortunately, the uncomfortably loud growling of your stomach snaps you out of your trance.
Shoving the book under your bed, you swing the door to your room open to pace to the kitchen. Hopefully, thereās some dinner left over from last nightā-worst-case scenario, you have to eat one of those days-old fruits gathered in the bowl on the counter. You donāt have much time to ponder, though, because you hear a familiar groan from downstairs as soon as you reach the top of the stairs.
āWill you please stop leaving dead animals in the cabinet? As grateful as I am that youāre feeding on them rather than our friends, it bloody reeks, Astarion!ā
Shit.
Astarion stares up at you with wide eyes on his way up to his room while you blink down at him wearily. Gale continues to mutter mindlessly about whatever trouble the spawn has caused in his sacred kitchen, but Astarion doesnāt seem to pay him any heed. You feel naked under his gaze, but you think putting on at least four more layers of clothing wouldnāt even scratch the surface of how you feel.
āGood morning,ā he blurts.
He never greets you. Not like this, anyway.
Itās not even morning.
Fortunately, he looks just as confused at his words as you do.
Searching for a response that wonāt come to you, you refer to the lamest solution. A scapegoat, if you will. āI need to walk past you.ā
Astarion immediately nods. āRight. Yes, of course.ā
He stands to one side of the narrow stairs, and you cautiously squeeze past him. Has it always been this much of a struggle to fit two people on the stairs? Itās terribly awkward as you shuffle by, holding the air in your lungs in hopes that he doesnāt recognize how uneven your breath is. Youāre sure he does, but it was worth a try anyway.
Suddenly, Gale is standing at the bottom of the stairs in front of you.
āWhere are you going? I thought you needed a healing potion for your stomach,ā he aims at Astarion with a raised brow.
The said spawn coughs. You almost choke on the air.Ā āNo, IāIām alright now.ā
āAre you sure? That bruise was pretty nasty, my friend. Letting something like that fester will surely only hinder youā¦ā
Astarion closes the door to his room. Slams, more like.
You glance at Gale pitifully, who only crosses his arms with a sigh as he turns to return to the kitchen. āHeās moodier than I was when I was going through puberty.ā
Wordlessly, you trail behind him until he resumes whatever dish heās cooking up inside a pot while you reach for an apple. Thereās a comfortable silence as you perch yourself on the counter, legs gently swinging as you chew, cringing whenever you feel a mushier part of the fruit. Gale lifts his ladle to his nose and takes a quick sniff before nodding in satisfaction. He then puts the lid over the pot.
āIāve never seen Astarion as awkward as he was earlier,ā he comments, and you cough.
āHe wasnāt that charming in the first place,ā you grumble.
āI never said he was charming. Just that he isnāt awkward.ā
āMaybe heās still drunk from last night,ā you scoff, blood boiling at the mere thought of how he acted. A strange sense of pride spreads through you, knowing you hit him hard enough to do some damage, but you still think you couldāve hit harder. All those months pent up shouldāve garnered far more strength, surely.
āOr perhaps itās from the kiss.ā
You do choke on your apple this time.
After you wheeze out whatever apple chunks were lodged in your throat, your head whips in the wizardās direction. āGale, youāā
āIt wasnāt voluntary, Iāll have you know,ā he cuts in, crossing his arms. āI just happened to leave one of my books on the couch, which I only wished to retrieve for my nightly routine of reading at least 100 pages.ā
Youāre at a loss for words. Your face deepens in color, even as you beg it not to.
āI, of course, being the most fortunate lad I am, had to walk into the room when his tongue was halfway down your throat.ā
You nearly shriek. āThere was no tongue!ā
āWell, thatās certainly a relief!ā he laughs. āI likely would have had to pry my eyes out with one of Laeāzelās swords otherwise!ā
On any other occasion, youād bite back at him, but youāre too busy drowning in your own humiliation to register half of his words. A blessing and a curse in this case.
āIt didnāt mean anything!ā you blurt, even though he never really asked. āIt wasāhe kissed me. I punched him afterward, too.ā
Gale raises a brow. āReally? It appeared to me that you were kissing back, though it might have just been the angle. Quite passionately, too, but that mightāve been the trick of the lightā¦ā
You slap your palms over your ears, praying to the gods that he shut his mouth for once in his damn life. āIt didnāt mean anything!ā
āDoes he know that?ā
āHe hates me! And heās kissed hundreds of peopleāI doubt one stupid kiss even bothers him.ā
āYes, but itās a kiss from you. His ex-lover,ā Gale shoots back. āAnd he doesnāt seem unbothered. Neither of you do.ā
āSo what?ā You know exactly what, but itās difficult to acknowledge at the moment.
āTav,ā Gale says carefully. āIf youāveāby any chanceābegun to grow accustomed to his presence againā¦and I donāt blame you at all, by the way. Iāve become rather fond myself of forcing him to listen to magic lectures that nobody else is willing to listen to; howeverā¦if itās becoming something more on your endāā
āItās not,ā your tone is more stern this time. Colder. āIt never will be.ā
āReally?ā
āDo I need to punch him again for you to believe me?ā
āThatās not quite what Iām getting at. I just witnessed the tension between the two of you, and it would be irresponsible of me as a friend if we didnāt work through what youāre feeling before things start to get out of hand.ā
You groan, throwing your hands in the air. āThere is no tension, Gale!ā
āNow now, I might not be the most experienced out of all of us in romantic affairs, but Iāve had my fair share of them. With a goddess, no less! It would be wise if you heeded my advice and discussed what the kiss meant to both of yoāā
You clap a hand over his mouth, words gritting through your teeth. āStop saying it!ā
His response comes out muffled against your palm.
āFine, Iāll talk to him. Iāll go up to him right now and tell him how Iāll bury him alive if he tries anything again. Would that be enough to shut you up?āĀ
Gale smiles. You donāt return it.
The angry march up to Astarionās room shouldāve been enough to wake up your other companions, but it doesnāt. You knock heavily on his door, foot tapping impatiently as you glare at Gale, who stands halfway up the stairs, grinning from ear to ear in a pathetic attempt to be encouraging. It only makes you want to shrink into your shirt.
When Astarion fails to answer after multiple knocks, you decide you have no time for this. āIām coming in. Please donāt be naked.ā
The door doesnāt even have a lock. His room is empty except for the cold air that hits your cheeks. You realize that the window is swung wide open, allowing the moonlight to pour onto the wooden floors where heās left his cloak in favor of what you assume to be usual nightwear. You pull the door behind you and cautiously step into his room, eyes glazing over the rest. Itās a stark contrast from your own. Despite how much time he spends in it, there isnāt a speck of dust or an article of laundry where it shouldnāt be. His bed is neatly made, his chair pushed into his desk, and if it werenāt for his books organized on his desk, youād think nobody even lives here.
You slowly inch toward the window, running your fingertips over his books. Theyāre worn but somehow still well taken care of. You can feel how old they are, yet their pages remain perfectly intact, without a single crease on any corners.Ā
When you reach the window, you finally notice the vines growing on the sides of the building that protrude just over the window sill. You hear soft thumps from the ceiling, resembling the pace of his footsteps. Or at least, what do you think theyād sound like if he made any sounds while walking.
The asshole knows youāre here. Of course, he does.
With a wary glance at the vines, you firmly grip both hands on the roots and slowly lift yourself off the windowsill. Thankfully, the stones making up the building make for good boosters to haul you up toward the rooftop, even though your instincts suggest youād likely fall and die an unfortunate death here. Still, somehow, you manage to haul yourself onto the roof's edge with a final groan.
You slump rather unceremoniously onto the angled edge, and the slight snicker from the other occupant of the space doesnāt go unnoticed. You glare at him, and Astarion only grins, leaning back on both elbows. āShould I have lent you a hand?ā
āI can climb a wall, thanks,ā you snap, crawling to a spot that allows you to lie back and stay a generous distance away from the vampire spawn. The tiles of the roof feel cool against your skin. From only two stories up, you can see a full four streets further than you usually can from your window, where only a few people now shuffle through the city given the time of night. While you think it should be peaceful here, all you can focus on is the undead individual lying a good few feet away from you, staring up at the sky rather than the city.
āAs much as I enjoy all the colorful insults you throw at me, I was hoping for some peace tonight,ā he finally says.
āThis is my rooftop that I paid for. Iāll go where I please.ā
Astarion sighs, his eyes still gazing up at the stars. āThen to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence tonight? If itās about the dead animals, Iāve already told Gale Iād store them outside from now onāā
āLast night didnāt happen.ā
There. Itās like a weight off your chest. At least, it should feel that way.
He stops, moving to stare from the stars to you. āAnd since when could you manipulate the very essence of time?ā
āDonāt get smart with me unless you want another repeat of yesterday. Maybe Iāll knock out a fang this time,ā you hiss.
āThe damage youāve done to my stomach is plenty. Thank you, darling,ā he frowns. āAnd if I may: It isnāt completely fair to place all the blame on me, is it? I mightāve been intoxicated, but I wasnāt deranged enough to miss the way you kissed me back. Aggressively, might I add?ā
You roll your eyes. āI was trying to bite your lip off.ā
āI would believe you if you hadnāt made such teasing sounds when I bit back.ā
This boils your blood just enough for you to tear your gaze away from him and back onto the city. āJust forget it happened.ā
āMust I?ā
āYes! It was clearly a lapse of judgment!ā
āIt was,ā he affirms. From the corner of your eye, you can see him put his chin against the palm perched on his elbow, fully turning on his side to face you. āAn exciting one. I thought I knew you well enough that I could trust you would never kiss me again.ā
You glower. āI was bleeding half to deathāI was barely conscious. For all I know, I thought you mightāve been someone else.ā
You can both hear the obvious lie in the statement, but neither points it out.
āI do wish youād stop doing that,ā he mutters, staring through lidded eyes. āItās hard not to pay you any attention when you constantly smell like fresh bait. Itās like seeing an entire feast before you but being unable to have a taste.ā
āYes, because I wanted to get attacked by your brother.ā
āRight. That.ā
He stares up at the sky again. Hells, if he stares any harder, youād think his damn eyeballs would fall out. His white curls blow gently against the breeze, and from here, it appears like nighttime was really made for him. Or do all vampires just glow during the night?
āFor all it is, Iām truly sorry.ā
Your eyes resemble barrels as you turn to look at him. Heās now occupied with his handsāthose flawless hands of his that, by some miracle, don't have a single scar on them even after all the two of you have been through. Those very same hands youāve once loved and that youāve grown to hate.
āI, of all people, should know what it feels like to have someone forced upon me. And if I had any sort of control over my body at the time, I assure you what happened last night wouldnāt have happened.ā
Though itās not the main point of his apology, you find yourself focusing on the implications. He wouldāve never kissed you if he was sober. You know thisāyouāve known thisāso why youāre so preoccupied by this confession, you have no idea. Internally kicking yourself, you steel your mind to remain calm. He hates you. You hate him. Simple. You only notice, moments later, that heās still talking.
ā---and Iām aware we arenāt on good terms,ā he says, softer. āBut that doesnāt mean Iāll stoop down to the levels of the dirtbags I had to deal with for two centuries. I might have questionable morals about all else, but in that aspect, Iām unlike them.ā
Still wide and unblinking, your eyes slowly relax as you soak in his words. Itās been a while since youāve heard him so sincere (in a manner that isnāt insulting), and it feels like a breath of fresh air. For a moment, you want to deceive yourself that youād never reached Baldurās Gate. That you and your companions are still camping in the woods, and Astarion is still only learning to care for another. That he never went to Cazadorās palace, and you never needed to stop the ascension.
You wouldāve indulged in such fantasies months ago, but now, they feel too artificial to derive joy from them. They feel too hollow. Fake. Like biting into a poisoned apple. You can sense him waiting for your response, and it takes a moment, but you manage to mumble it out. āItās fine. I did kiss you back. We were both not in our right minds. Justā¦forget it happened.ā
You donāt know how to decipher the look in his eyes, but youāve long given up on how to do it in the first place. Because every time you think you finally understand him, it turns out to be a mask or a plot to deceive you. And every time, you donāt see it coming. Itās better not to try at all because it means he has no way to lie to you in the first place.
āVery well,ā he says numbly. āIt never happened.ā
Both your heads turn to look up at the dark sky. The stars twinkle overhead, glistening in their own respectful glories. Thereās one in particular that shines the brightest, floating right beside another that dims compared to all the other stars. It seems to drag behind the brighter star like a shadow, always following but never truly acknowledged.
You pity it.
āWhy did you quit music?ā he asks suddenly. āI thought it wasā¦your passion.ā
āI canāt see the beauty in it anymore,ā you say simply.
Astarion hums. āA shame. I was rather fond of your lyre.ā
The brightest star almost appears to move again. The darker one trails right behind.
You raise your brow. āIs this where you run off to every night? To stargaze? Itās pretty, but doesnāt it get boring?ā
āItās not pretty at all, darling,ā he grins, attention never leaving the sky. āI watch every night, hoping that the dimmer star dies out before the brighter one notices itās there.ā
along the same vein as corrupt/asshole magistrate astarion before cazador, consider this: astarion meeting elf!tav during his time as a magistrate and being generally rude/snobby and totally forgetting about it as a result of two centuries of torture, until he meets tav again completely unaware that tav absolutely remembers him and is internally like āugh not THIS fucking guy againā
and then when he tries his whole āseduce & manipulateā strategy he is utterly bewildered by the fact that not only does tav have no interest in him physically, but also seems to have some personal vendetta against him that he just canāt figure out ?? so he pulls out all the stops to try and get on tavās good side ughhhh I just feel like thereās sm potential there
NO THIS IS EVEN BETTER
AND CAN YOU IMAGINE HE ONLY FIGURES OUT WHO TAV IS ONCE HEāS ACTUALLY DEEP IN SHIT AND GENUINELY LIKES THEM?? AND HES LIKE āoh shitšā
The endless pining on his end because Tav is unlike anyone he's ever met and Tav just finding him annoying would be such a funny dynamic I'm in tears
āHave i told you your eyes remind me of the shooting stars above in the nightless sky? They come once a decade, and I fear they are the only ones to come close to rivaling your-ā
āDo you ever shut up.ā
HES JUST CONSTANTLY TALKING WHILE TAV JUST GLARES AT HIM AND UGH
I like to think MUCH later on maybe in a similar situation with that drown from moon rise where someone questions Astarionās existence as a free man, Tav defends him? And heās just like āholy shit.ā he will not shut up about it for a month and just follows them around like a lost dog lmfao
Idk what this dynamic is called but it's one of my favs Ty anon
summary. In his honest opinion, the artist who drew your portrait should be fired, even if heās no expert in the arts. Your softer features are far too sharp, and your sharper features are far too soft, in what he supposes is an effort to āenhanceā your appearance, but now it just looks plain uncanny. They also forgot to take into account the scars of battle on your skin, a part of your hair that he remembers sticking out more, the sheepishness of your smile looking straight at the painter, the two puncture wounds on your neckā¦
Ah. He wonders if you still have those. The last time he saw them, theyād nearly faded. And nowadays, you make it a point to keep your neck tucked under your collar, which leaves everything to his imagination.
warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard
pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader
parts. TFBU masterlist
a/n. it's been a while! this isn't the longest of chapter but it's to kick my creative juices back into gear :) thank you sm for your patience friends <3
He knows he hasnāt returned your cloak yet. Unfortunately for you, Astarion has taken a special liking to the dull fabric.
Despite its dreary grey shade and the tears from being worn relentlessly, itās of surprisingly good quality. Itās the only reason it's survived this long, he reasons, and also why the sun can never pierce through its sewing job and burn into his own skin.
When he felt the tadpole leave him, he thought he would never see the sunlit streets of Baldurās Gate again. But this cloak of yours has brought him a new sense of freedom he hadnāt had beforeāfree of Cazador, free of an unwelcome visitor in his skull, free of the looming fear of deathā¦and most importantly, free of his fear of the sun.
Being āstuckā in your home has given him too much time. Too much aimless staring at a book heās already read four times over. Moreover, the others have become somewhat accustomed to his presence againā¦meaning some (Gale, specifically) donāt mind leaving Astarion by himself. And as much as he hates admitting it, Astarion would rather Galeās incessant lectures rather than the boring silence you leave behind at the break of dawn.
An outing or two couldnāt hurt, surely.
So he embarks. Where to, he doesnāt know. But he leaves the house, making sure to lock the door behind him when he remembers how Shadowheart had scolded you for the mistake of not doing so. Itās not that heās afraid of the cleric, of course. Heās a damn vampire, for heavenās sake. Heās only being cautious.
The cloak makes it feel as if he were in an oven, especially with the weather becoming more sunny by the day, but he canāt bring himself to care. Not when heās finally standing in the middle of a bustling street, staring unblinkingly while others rush past him, all seemingly having a place to be. A newspaper boy here, a maid there, a circus performer somewhere there. He suddenly feels surrounded by too much life, and itās not much help when he begins noticing fleeting glances in his direction. Wearing a thick winter cloak in the middle of the summer isnāt exactly common, after all.
āBaldurās Mouth? They just started printing papers again, if youād like a peek.ā
Astarion glances down at the newspaper boy with squinted eyes, and his voice sounds snarkier than intendedānot that he cares. āWho in the hells would pay two silvers for a newspaper that sucked up to Gortash just a few months ago? Does anyone really pay for this abomination?ā
The boy frowns, crossing his arms. āIf you didnāt want one, you couldāve just said so.ā
āReally? Your incessant yelling around the market says otherwise,ā Astarion snatches one of the papers, much to the boyās distaste. He eyes the front cover for a split moment before realizing the very front page has a supposed āExclusive Interview from the Hero of Baldurās Gate! Never seen before!ā
He finds himself reading.
āMister, if youāre going to read, you have to pay!ā
Though Astarion gives him a sharp glare that has the boy swallowing the lump in his throat, he relents, tossing one silver coin in his direction. Not without a click of his tongue, however, and the coin lands in the boyās palms with a plop. āItās two silvers.ā
āIām fully aware, donāt worry.ā
The Baldurās Mouth is full of cheap stories, surely paid off by its snotty writer as always, but Astarion acknowledges improvement where itās due. Gortashās death mustāve struck some sort of moral chord in the newspaper because a few of its columns are filled with mundane updates on the rebuilding of the city, even if they donāt provide as much entertainment as it surely couldāve if they stretched a few truths. He doesnāt read much into them, though, because heās soon found himself a corner in Elfsong Tavern where heās practically boring holes into the damn paper. The cover, specifically.
In his honest opinion, the artist who drew your portrait should be fired, even if heās no expert in the arts. Your softer features are far too sharp, and your sharper features are far too soft, in what he supposes is an effort to āenhanceā your appearance, but now it just looks plain uncanny. They also forgot to take into account the scars of battle on your skin, a part of your hair that he remembers sticking out more, the sheepishness of your smile looking straight at the painter, the two puncture wounds on your neckā¦
Ah. He wonders if you still have those. The last time he saw them, theyād nearly faded. And nowadays, you make it a point to keep your neck tucked under your collar, which leaves everything to his imagination.
He wonders if youāre ashamed of them as heās ashamed of the ones on his own neck.
Astarion tears his attention away from your portrait and resumes reading the actual paper.
The questions the interviewer asks are laughable, almost. Theyāre painfully boring or painfully intrusive, with nothing in between, resulting in awkward short answers or whatever filler the writer put in place of your answer. Half your words, at the very least, mustāve been altered, as they donāt sound much like you.
One question catches his eye.
āSo what does the hero of Baldurās Gate plan to do after the city is rebuilt?ā
Astarion lifts the paper closer to his face.
āāThis city is my homeā¦but I donāt think I could stay here any longer than I have to. Iāve made some precious memories here, but Iāve also made ones that Iād rather move on from. People I want to move on from. For that reason, as much as I love this city, Iād have to embark for elsewhere.āā
His eyes widen. Youāre leaving? When the hells did you decide that?Ā
āTruly a sad day for the citizens to see their beloved bard leaving. Knowing our readers must be curious as to what their next step is, we made sure to discuss more on this matter.ā
āāWhere will I go? I meanā¦I guess Iād just wander. Explore. Faerun is a vast continent. Iām sure Iāll have plenty to do. Plenty of people to meet.āā
Astarionās gaze reaches the end of the page. The rest of the sentences babble on in flowery language praising you, which he doesnāt even bother reading before shoving the newspaper into one of the pockets of your cloak. Heās not sure if he wouldāve preferred simply not reading the damn paper, but he tells himself that this is an improvement. A reason for celebration, even! Without you, he wonāt have to tiptoe around the city any longer, nor will you need to worry about having to continue a months-long argument with him.
This is exactly what the two of you need. Space. For a while. Maybe forever. He stares at the beer stains on the table. Forever sounds like a long time, even if itās only a few years to him and the rest of your life to you.
Forever sounds too long, yet not long enough.
Heās always wanted to be immortal. Even before heād grown fangs and his eyes turned red. Sure, the path he took to get hereā¦left a lot to be desired, but with Cazador gone, he supposes itās not so bad, being a vampireā-besides the whole ānot-being-able-to-see-the-sunā fiasco. Sure, he has nightmares every other night about his time spent under his master, but without him, heās essentially invincible as long as he doesnāt find a cleric who specializes in radiant magic. Sure, wine tastes like vinegar. Sure, he has to wear this suffocating cloak everywhere, but is it really so bad?
He sighs. It could be worse. He could be dead, for all he knows. Actually, dead.
Astarion stands to leave. This damn tavern is even more suffocating than his cloak, especially filled with patrons already half passed out from booze before noon. Thereās a reason why heās always preferred wine over whateverās filling their cups.
He paces toward the door, but just as heās halfway there, it swings open. And much to his horror stands a familiar cleric who nearly chucked a fork into his eye just this morning.
āShadowheart,ā the bartender smiles, ceasing his hand midway, polishing a cup. āWhat brings you here this morning?ā
She certainly wonāt miss her mark this time if she sees him out in public.
Astarion immediately turns on his heel and heads for the stairs. He practically shoves through multiple patrons in the process, but he manages to get there just as Shadowheart joins Alan at the bar, her arms looped around two large fabric bags as she greets him. Theyāre just within earshot, even as the spawn scrambles to get upstairs. āJust picking up our attire for the celebration and your tavern was on the way back. My friends and I do apologize for our inconsistent appearancesā¦ā
He doesnāt wait to hear the rest of their conversation because heās already trying the doors to each of the rooms to figure another way out of the building. Most doors are locked shut, but thereās one he tries that slides right open.
Much to his distaste, itās occupied.
He slams the door back shut just as the woman shrieks.
He peeks out the window. He could jump down, technically, but there are far too many people on the street in broad daylight to go unnoticed. And if there were to be a commotion, no doubt the damn cleric would come rushing out, thinking itās another attack. So, instead of returning downstairs, he opts for the ladder leading to the rooftop, higher up into the building.
The warm air of the summer breeze hits him like an axe to the face.
Still, he climbs out, grateful to even managed to have escaped the same room as Shadowheart. Thank the heavens. And for a moment, he thinks heās alone, until thereās another shrill voice rushing at him.
āThere you are, Tav! Iāve waited days to see you here agaiā" the tiefling stops, her smile dropping. "Youāre not Tav.ā
Way to state the obvious.
Clearly, he wants to spit back. But heās too occupied trying to figure out why she looks so familiar to do so. He merely squints at her, which some might consider rude, but she doesn't seem to mind at all. Noticing his confusion, she blinks. āWait, youāre Tavās friend!ā
Friend. He hasnāt been considered your friend in a long while.
āArenāt you supposed to be on house arrest?ā she tilts her head. āDid you maybe make up with Tav?ā
Ah. You mustāve told her about hisāpeculiar arrangement.
āWho are you?ā
āIām Alfira. We met at the grove and Last Light Inn, didnāt we?ā she offers him a smile, which he doesnāt return. She doesnāt wait for an answer either. āI wasnāt expecting you hereā¦Did Tav send you?ā
Astarion scrunches his nose as she squints at him, hands on either of her hips as she gauges how he seems to sink further into your cloak, hesitating to kiss the sunās radiant glow. She doesnāt seem to think much of it, though, as she taps her foot impatiently. āWell?ā
āIāyes,ā is all his damn brain can spit out.
āOh,ā her face softens, and a soft small stretches across her lips. How gullible. It wasnāt even a particularly good lie. āYou shouldāve just said so. In that case, I must ask you how theyāre doingā¦I havenāt seen them in weeks. Are they well? Have they started reading up on my lyrics? Have they got a message for me? Ah, scratch those, where are they right now?ā
Hells. Heās already itching to jump off the roof.
āDoes your head ever implode with all those questions racked inside of it?ā he grumbles. āAnd Iām afraid I donāt know half the answers. Sorry to disappoint.ā
Alfiraās shoulders relax as she leans back on her heel, eyes falling to her shoes before she looks back up. ā...Well, thatās a shame. Then, what brings you here?ā
This time, heās prepared.
āSeeing the state youāre in, my appearance was warranted. They only wished for me to ensure theyāre doing well. Itās a busy time of year, you see, and they havenāt had the time to indulge yourā-outings up here.ā
āThatās good to hear.ā
An awkward silence hangs in the air like a deathtrap, and he wishes he could say somethingāanything else about what youāve been up to, but it comes up empty. Itās not like the two of you are on terms to sit down and have a chat every week over tea, but heās not sure if he knows any more about what youāre doing than this bard standing right before him. You donāt play music anymore. You donāt frequent the bars as much as you used to. You donāt do a lot of things anymore. But what do you do?
It irks him: not knowing, that is.
He only realizes moments later that the bard has been talking this entire time.
ā---and Iād really appreciate it if you could take it to them. I canāt imagine anyone else using it as well as they did,ā she reaches behind her bag perched against the stair rails, and lifts something in his direction. Heād be a fool not to recognize it anywhere. Itās a pretty thing, the lyre. Your lyre. āI donāt know how I managed to find this at the market, but I like to think itās fate. Tell them itās a gift for helping with my songs.ā
Astarion stares at the instrument. He runs the tips of his fingers against its familiar strings, taking note of indents heās all too familiar with and the chips from months running in the wild. The last time heād held it like this, it felt like it brought him closer to you. Now, it only feels like the cold dead wood it is.
āWere you looking for it?ā
āNo. Like I said, it must be fate.ā
How cheesy.
His lips quirk downward even further, if thatās even possible, as he narrows in on a multitude of new dents and cracks in the wood. The lyre is yours, without a doubt, but itās clearly seen a different level of care than what you wouldāve given it even while fighting to the death. He glares at a particular blemish, and Alfira sighs.
āItās seen better times, I know. But Iām sure theyād appreciate it even if itās not how they left it.ā
Wouldnāt you? No. He doesnāt know if youād appreciate it. Why would you? You donāt even play the damn thing anymore, much less produce any music. He contemplates just tossing the object, but the second Alfira sees the glint of hesitation in his eyes, she pounces, shaking her head.
āPlease,ā she pleads. āGive it to them.ā
His brows pinch.
And because he doesnāt want to entertain this tiefling any longer than he has to, and because heād much rather get out of the sun and no other reason, he huffs. āFine. I will.ā
The smile she gives him doesnāt prompt him to do the same.
Months prior, he could see himself in the reflection of the gloss glazing over the wood. At least, thatās what he thinks because he could see your own expressions reflecting off it when you played it in the sun. It doesnāt hold a glow anymore, much less a reflection.
The lyre weighs heavily in his hands.
āI wonāt pry,ā Alfira says. āThey never really told me what happened between the two of youā¦I respect your privacy, so I wonāt ask. But whatever it wasā¦I do hope it wonāt happen again.ā
Itās a weak one, but itās a warning. Heās had plenty of those to figure it out.
āIt wonāt,ā he mutters.Ā
Heāll be long gone before it can.
Sleep is a luxury you can't afford nowadays.
Surely, the bags under your eyes are enough of an indication if it werenāt for the sluggishness of your every step. Still, you manage to offer your guest a lopsided smile out of respect. āCan I get you something to drink?ā
āNo, Iām alright. Thank you, though,ā Yevir says, eyeing you up and down, obviously noting your disheveled state. āIs now not a good time?ā
You shake your head, straightening your back against the dining room table with a cough. āItās alright. Iām only tired. With the preparations for the celebration next week, Iām a bit overwhelmed. I was meaning to speak to you again anyway.ā
He doesnāt seem convinced, but you canāt be bothered to deny your exhaustion further.
āYouāve been busy. Iāve seen the dead spawn that they retrieved from the Blushing Mermaid.ā
Quite frankly, you feel terrible for the folk who own the place. A hag and then a horde of vampires in their basement in the span of a few months? You think itād be a sign to close the tavern down.
Your tone remains grim. āWere any of them the woman you were looking for?ā
He shakes his head, and a breath of relief escapes your lips. āNo, sheāsā¦I still havenāt found her.ā
And maybe itās the fatigue getting to your head, but your mouth moves before you can stop it. āYou would think sheād try to meet someone she was so close to.ā
Itās insensitive, and you wouldnāt blame him if he promptly stood to leave, but all he does is hang his head, dragging his hands over his face. He doesnāt seem like heās gotten much rest recently, either. āTrust me, Iāve been wondering that for weeks now.ā
āAnd have you come up with anything?ā
āNo. None. Zero. All I get are nightmares that I might get to one of my patrol shifts, and Iāll find her dead body lying on the ground somewhere,ā he groans. āWell, deader body.ā
āMaybe sheās afraid.ā
āOf what? Me? Who in the hells would be afraid of me? Certainly not her, I must assure you. Sheās always been stubborn, and sheās far more determined than myself, believe it or not.ā
āNot you, but of herself. Vampire thirst surely canāt be so easy to control, and letās be honestā¦ā you point at your own neck, and the place where two puncture wounds should be on your wrist burns. āYouāre practically a blood pot being offered to her.ā
He frowns. āIs it so hard to control their thirst? I will admit that I donāt know much about vampire spawn aside from the obviousā¦ā
You half snicker to yourself, almost in disbelief. āBelieve me, theyāre beasts when theyāre ravenous.ā
āBeasts?ā
āDo you blame them? To them, blood is essentially liquid gold,ā you shrug. āIt tastes nothing like actual blood on their tongue. Sure, it might be a bit adjacent to drinking iron, but if they get their hands on prey, they really likeā¦it tastes sweet to them. Would you deny a treat if you spent decades cooped up inside a dungeon cell, starving?"
Yevirās face pales.
āSee?ā
His brows furrow as you sigh into your chair. āIāve done my own share of research, but books seem to overexaggerate things most of the timeā¦Can I ask how you know so much about them? Even if I manage to find her, Iād want to find some way to make her new life more tolerableā¦itās not much, but itās the least I could do.ā
You blink.
Shit. Youāve said too much.
What are you supposed to say? You dated a vampire? Let him ravage you on the forest floor and spent months in his tent? That you kissed him just weeks prior, and heās living just beside your own room? That he told you what your blood does to him, and reveal the bite marks on your skin?
You stand, your chair legs scraping against the ground.
āI have a book you might like. Let me grab it for you. And some tea, maybe,ā you smile almost too widely. Fortunately for you, Yevir only nods.
āIād appreciate it.ā
You essentially grab whatever vampire-related book you have shoved under your bed and rush back downstairs to the kitchen. There isnāt much to learn from the thing with how much you already know, but youāre sure it must contain something that he might consider helpful. You know how horrible it felt to be kept in the dark about vampirism, even more so when you realized just how terrible the relationship between master and spawn tended to beā¦so a small push certainly wouldnāt hurt. Especially with Yevir's own problems with his beloved spawn. This is how you reassure yourself as you pour whatever tea Galeās left on the stove into a cup.
If you were in Astarionās shoes, youād think becoming a spawn would have been the worst turning point of your life. And for a while, you thought heād felt the same. A part of you thinks he does. But in the time youāve spent with him and the stories heās told you sparingly of his life before Cazador, your gut tells you differently. Especially when heās drenched in the blood of your enemies, holding the immortality heās long wished for with a sickening smile stretching on his lips. Guilt pools in your stomach for even bringing up the thought, but you canāt deny it, either.
You wonder if it hadnāt been for Cazadorās leash tying him down, he wouldāve turned out differently. More twisted. That he wouldāve indulged in the most corrupt parts of him as a magistrate. That maybe he wouldnāt have learned the value of a life. That he wouldāve become more alike to himāthe man he wouldāve become if heād ascended.
That small voice in your head is what stopped the ascension, for you feared he would lose everything heād gained in his time as a spawn, no matter how trivial he believed it to be.
You hear the front door opening and snap out of your self-tangent. No use dwelling on it now. Whatās done is done. No matter how strange the situation between you and the spawn is now, youād rather have this than what couldāve happened if you hadnāt listened to your gut. You remain firm, no matter how much he hates you for it.
You pour Shadowheart an extra cup.
But as you step back into the living space, you realize the occupant doesnāt drink tea at all.
Astarion stands in the middle of the room, eyes wide as he stares at your guest with an undeniably bloody sack clutched in one hand. His large, red eyes seem glued to the ones of your guest, who stares back even more appalled as he takes one look at Astarionās pale skin, the shade of his eyes, and the very bloody bag containing what you assume to be his dinner.
You drop the two cups onto the ground, tea splashing against your feet.
āYouāIs heāā Yevir stumbles over his words, yet his instincts as a guard have him reaching for his weapon. āHeāsāā
Astarion sneers, though his expression strains as Yevirās hand reaches his sword. āNow, letās not do anything that could ruin the wonderfully tasteful furniture in here...ā
The Fist snaps his head in your direction. āHeās a spawā!ā
The back of a sword hilt hits the side of his head with an audible āthud,ā and heās out like a light.
You stare at the unconscious body slouched over your dining table for a brief moment in utter shock before you gawk at the culprit. Of course. Laeāzel huffs, awfully pleased for someone who just caused a concussion to an innocent man. āYour soldiers are such children.ā
Astarion barks a laugh, though it sounds more of a mix of disbelief and amusement.
You wish you could go one day in this house without another headache to add to the growing list.
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hello friends! This weekās chapter will be a bit late than usual (I tried finishing it up last night but knocked out š) so hereās a lengthier crumb instead! enjoy awkward astarion what a loser (loving)
Someone get Gale three barrels of wine this guy needs a break š
random facts about TFBU because i donāt feel like writing at the moment!
1. instead of a bard, tav was originally supposed to be a cleric of selune! hence why thereās so much talk about the moon and selune herself in the earlier chapters hehe. i thought about swapping out the writing but i thought it fit pretty well anyway so i kept it in :)
2. one of the many OG ideas for this fic was an ascendant astarion fic (surprise!!!) the original plan was that tav tries to stop the ascension but fails to do so and astarion manages to ascend. since tav tried to stop him they automatically assume one another to be enemies now. and the entire fic would just consist of tav trying to get away from him in everyday life while he pulls the strings. if they try to get a job? he manipulates it so tav has to work close with him. tav gets a new house to rent? he buys it and becomes the landlord. that sort of thing
3. though heās not the best TFBU!astarion does know how to play the lyre a bit! tav taught them when they were together
4. i think itās mentioned in some of the earlier chapters but tfbu!gale already has his orb fixed. but shadowheart escaped shar at the sacrifice of her parents, which adds to why sheās so protective over tav! tav is practically the only person she has left :(
5. tfbu!astarion cannot swim
6. more on number 5 he says in game he doesnāt know if he can swim anymore so i just found this funny and made it real in my head
7. tfbu!astarion brings the comb everywhere he goes
8. tfbu!gale knows basically everything that happens in the house. he just keeps his mouth shut just to keep the peace