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greenmenace · 2 years

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The Way Home: Chapter 1

(Feel free to ask to be tagged in the next chapter! Thank you for reading and feedback is always appreciated! I hope you enjoy! :D)

“Just me…”

The moment was so pure and hopeful, why and how did it have to end so shortly? That was the very last sentence Norman had spoken before he was enveloped into the foreboding darkness, his recollection of standing in that back room with Otto Octavius who was smiling back at him with his large brown and endearing eyes with such fondness and ambition was cut so quickly. What comfort Norman had been gratefully feeling was taken away and replaced with confusion and panic instead.

It had felt as though he had blacked out, like he had promptly collapsed onto the floor from exhaustion. But he hadn’t at all. That was further from the truth. The intimidating blackness in his vision lasted like a brief flash from a camera, as if he had closed his eyes for the night. And then before Norman knew it, he was harshly falling down in an unknown location right upon his knees. His sight was overwhelmed with vivid colours of oranges and yellows that popped into existence, and the warm stuffy air of the room had immediately vanished and was replaced with the cold air of the early morning. The sounds of functioning machinery busy with constructing cures had gone and Norman could quickly hear the heavy breathing coming from himself.

What the hell just happened?

His head was pounding violently, more painful than a normal headache he’d usually receive after a long day at Oscorp or after those tiresome board meetings. And his ears were slightly ringing with an echo of an ominous cackle belonging to none other than the Goblin. He could barely feel a stinging sensation from his neck as well. Norman’s foggy eyes slowly focused on the being that stood before him. The person was not Otto, but Peter. The Peter Parker who belonged in this universe that was not Norman’s own.

Norman squinted his eyes as his vision finally focused upon Peter’s young face, his face that was partly covered with violent cuts across his dirty and red face.

The left side of Peter’s cheek was streaked with a horrid mark of purple and red and his eye on that side was painfully bloodshot unlike his other eye. Norman was shocked by the sudden sight. Why was Peter so brutally injured?

Who had hurt him and created such a violent sight upon the boy’s face?

“Peter.”

Norman managed to finally respond with an overwhelming amount of concern for the other. It was only then when he had noticed the expression of pure defeat yet anguish upon Peter’s face, his eyes were glossy with anger and hurt as he also breathed with weighty breaths. His shaking hands were closed into clenched fists like he was prepared for another intense battle.

But, what happened?

Peter was excited yet a little bit nervous when Norman had last seen him, he was beaming with confidence and that young awkward teenager energy of course. But now, he didn’t seem to be that same Peter that Norman had briefly known for hours. He didn’t seem to be the same person who once was so determined to change the fate of his opponents.

Norman was then quickly fearing the worst, his stomach began churning with nausea and fright. No. The Goblin couldn’t have taken control. This wasn’t happening. Norman had held up his guard high, he had firmly promised himself that he wouldn’t allow the Goblin to do what he pleased anymore. His eyes steadily widened with horror as his brows creased with an intense expression of realisation and panic upon his face.

And then he noticed a blurry person on his left, he looked down only to see Peter laying on the ground upon his back, His Peter. The Peter he was introduced to by Harry. The Peter Parker that belonged to his universe.

Only he was older, he was no longer that same remarkably intelligent teenager who wore glasses. He had grown up. And he was looking up at Norman with almost a relieved expression, however Norman paid no attention to that as he was alerted and shocked to see Peter holding his currently bleeding side with pain.

No…

No, no no…

Oh god, the Goblin couldn’t have…

Norman’s heavy breathing only increased with more horrified and panicked breaths as he turned his eyes back towards the other Peter who still stared with that look of fury and loss upon his battered face. Norman could already feel his eyes beginning to sting with salty tears as his throat became tighter with emotion. Everything that was once confusing had instantly become clear, and it petrified him.

“...What have I done?”

Norman had already known the answer after he had asked and he knew Peter wouldn’t answer him. He knew Peter wouldn’t because of what had happened, because of whatever the Goblin had done. The Goblin had taken over once again before the cure was complete, and it was extremely likely that he had caused chaos and had possibly killed more innocents. There was yet more blood upon his hands.

But whose blood were they? Peter’s? What if it were Otto’s? It didn’t help that Norman recognized that he was wearing the Goblin armour, though parts of the glider and other unidentifiable pieces were welded and attached upon him. His purple hoodie was tattered and hung around his neck, almost like a cloak belonging to the Grim Reaper.

He heard another person enter the scene and their quick footsteps running towards the Peter that was on the ground, but Norman couldn’t focus on anything anymore.

He didn’t want to.

He turned his eyes to the metallic ground, briefly noticing the broken glider nearby, further evidence that the Goblin was the one that caused all of this havoc which brought more dread flooding into Norman’s gut.

Norman’s eyes stung with the familiar salt of tears and he could feel a horrid burning sensation beginning to ache through his bones and skin. What had the Goblin caused for this universe’s Peter to stare at Norman with that expression upon his face? For Peter to look like he’d suffered so much? Not to mention the cuts upon his face, the Goblin had definitely done that. The Goblin had made Norman harm Peter, he’d harmed Peter in so many brutal ways. And now almost certainly Peter hated Norman.

Norman had recognized part of that same expression before, only it was upon Otto’s face years ago when Norman had tried stealing his life’s work from him, for betraying him and destroying their everlasting friendship. But back then, Otto hadn’t looked like he had lost something important. Like somebody close to him.

Did the Goblin kill…?

There was a violent and sudden cracking sound in the air and Norman looked up, wincing from the burning pain in his neck as he peered up into the brightening sky. One by one emerged cracks full of vivid colours that resembled galaxies in some form, and there seemed to be glowing figures of white fading into existence like ghosts! Pieces of the sky outlined with striking purple slowly floated with the opening of each gigantic crack. The unbelievable sight did not seem real, but at the same time it did! Norman couldn’t trust what he was seeing before his eyes, however it was very much real as he noticed this universe’s Peter swiftly swinging off to the top of the statue of liberty.

Norman’s eyes darted to an extremely familiar figure down below at the bottom of the statue, it was Otto who had just finished climbing down with his actuators and helping a cured Max Dillon to the ground. And a couple seconds later after checking Max was okay and assessing the chaotic situation in the sky, Otto’s eyes finally landed upon him.

Norman could see him offering a grateful and relieved smile towards him, but Norman couldn’t be able to smile back. Not after everything that the Goblin had caused, he was most likely responsible for the insane cracks exploding into the sky anyway. Instead, Norman had felt a tear from his left eye begin to trickle down his face, and he had to grit his teeth together to push back the burning sob in his throat.

His hands began to tremble, and Norman returned back to staring at the ground.

His cure was nearly in his grasp, but the Goblin had taken it away from him so suddenly with a maniacal cackle.

How did he manage to gain control so easily? Norman had put up a great fight against him for the longest hours he had done, but all that effort was for absolutely nothing. The Goblin had killed people again and it was all Norman’s fault. But why on earth did Peter cure him?

Why did Peter save him?

Norman had found himself being plunged into those thoughts for god knows how long, his legs were numb and his chest was tight with horror and guilt that continued to rise.

Before he knew it, his vision was once again filled with a bright light but it was not the same as when he regained control. The glowing light began to slowly engulf his entire body like a soft flame, but he felt no burning except from the growing ache in his bones. Norman knew this was the moment he was being returned to his universe. Perhaps he was going to be met with the blades of the Goblin glider being painfully impaled into his body. Perhaps he was going to live another day, however he found the first thought highly desirable.

Norman closed his eyes shut as he gazed down at the floor, and felt the glow completely consume him whole.

He could sense that he was moving into a different location that was not at the bottom of the most famous landmark in America, everything was becoming darker and colder.

The mild warmth of the morning sun had disappeared. And then there was a breeze that was becoming stronger, growing into a wind. He then felt weightless like there was no gravity, like he was floating in space. It somehow felt comforting, but that didn’t last long.

Norman was falling.

And he was falling so incredibly fast! He opened his eyes and saw that he was descending down towards an abandoned building that looked extremely decrepit and at least a century old. He screamed and flailed his arms around. His body flew and twirled downwards with no control like a pinwheel. Norman had absolutely no idea what to do as he ended up crashing through an already cracked window, he yelled out from a sharp pain from his chest though he couldn’t identify what that was as his plummet continued.

Through the shattered window, Norman’s back hit the broken wooden boards of a partly destroyed floor and shortly cascaded down hard upon the dirty and nature infested ground below. His body flipped onto his back, side and stomach again and again like an endless brutal cycle. Pieces and individual parts of his already damaged armour popped off onto the dusty trail behind him as his body quickly rolled and ceased into a stone bricked wall.

Norman’s head was dazed and his head was hurting even harder, his ears ringing once more as he shut his eyes tightly. His body felt as though it was set alight, his bones were burning. He sucked in a sharp raspy breath through his teeth and grit them together tight, pressing his gloved fingers into his palms as he struggled to turn his body over to lay on top of his stomach instead of his back. He pressed his trembling palms against the floor and attempted to lift himself onto his knees again.

But as soon as he lifted his stomach off the ground, a horrid flash of pain coursed through his body, through the bones in his legs and spine and he promptly collapsed back onto the floor with a excruciating yell. Standing up was not going to be an option, Norman decided.

So instead, he once again connected his teeth together and pushed himself upwards with his hands. He rapidly rolled onto his side and before the pain and fire in his limbs could force him back to the floor, he conjured up as much strength as he could to push himself onto a sitting position so that he could rest his back up against the wall.

There was yet another blaze of agony from the sudden movement, to which Norman slammed the back of his head against the wall and held back the urge to yell out from his raw throat.

Norman took the time to investigate the pain that was still radiating from his body and looked down upon his armour that wasn’t in pieces on the ground before him, and the sight instantly sent him feeling incredibly nauseous. There, penetrating the weakest spots of the Goblin armour around the ribs were multiple shards of glass that stuck out like knives. Small streaks of blood emerging from the wounds trickled down over the green suit, even reaching the military belt across his waist. Norman was about to attempt to pull out one of the glass shards, but then he felt something warm slowly fall above his upper lip. Quickly moving a gloved finger under his nose, he looked to see blood upon his fingertips.

His nose was bleeding. And he could taste it in his mouth too. The bottom of his lip was badly cut and busted. And Norman could feel that there were other wounds upon his face too.

Norman dropped his hand back down, perhaps this was best. He was alone, probably bleeding to death by himself. He was able to crawl out of here, however he decided against that idea. The Goblin had made him slaughter so many innocent people and was likely to have ruined the other Peter’s life judging from the way he stared at Norman.

This was what Norman deserved for being responsible for the creation of that monster that took away countless innocents, and he would be more than content to stay here and bleed out however long that would take.

And so, Norman closed his eyes and allowed his head to lean down slightly as he patiently awaited for whatever was going to come for him next. Forcing back the quiet sob that made its way up his throat. If the Goblin had been here before he and Norman was suddenly transported to another universe, then Spider-Man wasn’t that far away.

The antiserum probably didn’t rid Norman of the Goblin’s presence anyway, the Goblin would take control any second now.

He didn’t smile back.

Norman’s face was filled with such horror and regret, Otto had never seen him like that before. Not even when they were in the bathroom together back in that condo before everything quickly moved into chaos. Otto had wanted so badly to rush down to him and comfort him but he was immediately distracted by the strange galactic-like cracks that were consuming the morning sky. The entire universe seemed to be splitting apart before Otto’s very eyes!

How did it ever come to this? A few weeks ago he was simply building a fusion energy source that would provide safe and renewable power for the whole world, and now Otto was witnessing every universe beginning to collide with this one that wasn’t even his own!

This universe’s Peter seemed to be talking with the wizard that was floating at the top of the statue of liberty and they must have come to some sort of solution as Peter was swinging back down to the other two Peter Parkers that were standing near Norman.

Norman looked completely defeated, he was staring at the ground and seemed to be consumed in whatever thoughts he had running in his head. He looked lost in his own mind. He didn't look up or talk to the three, not even a glance in their direction.

Otto had known about the Green Goblin’s existence since that first chaotic attack on the Oscorp Unity Parade. Norman always had an interest in collecting bizarre and unique masks, and Otto had seen the blueprints of the glider when he used to work late nights with Norman. He had read in the newspapers that Oscorp was in a bad spot, nearly losing their contract with Quest Aerospace. It was more than easy for Otto to figure out the real identity of the man behind that horrible green mask. And the Goblin’s reign of terror ceasing right after when Norman Osborn was pronounced deceased in his penthouse? The newspapers further confirmed his dreadful theory.

He couldn’t believe Norman was capable of such brutality when he had come to the realisation of that, and he was right to not believe it.

Otto had never crossed the path of the Goblin as he had distanced himself far from Norman, but back inside the condo was their first proper meeting. He could never be prepared to see the harsh and cold look that invaded the face belonging to Norman so quickly.

The glint of malice in the man’s eyes.

Norman's mouth stretched into an unnatural grin that seemed so cruel and repulsive from the cheeky and heartwarming one that Otto was used to gladly seeing.

But what had feared Otto and made him sick to the stomach was because he had not noticed the switch occur. He could have been talking to the Goblin who was pretending to be Norman and Otto didn’t even realise it. He had known the other for decades and he didn’t notice that his lifelong friend had completely vanished.

Had the Goblin been in the bathroom with Otto instead of Norman during that emotional moment of forgiveness? When they were constructing the cures together? When did the switch happen?

Alerted to the same crackling sounds in the sky, Otto looked up to see that the large fractures of each universes colliding were slowly being fixed with golden glows of yellow and white. Pieces of the sky were moving back into place. And that same gleaming energy was beginning to slowly surround Otto and the actuators moving with curiosity behind him. Was this it then? Was he finally being returned home? Out of the corner of his eye, Max Dillon had disappeared with that same bright light.

It must be then.

Otto couldn’t help but take a quick glance towards Norman who still remained motionless and sat on his knees upon the ground. He mentally prayed to himself that Norman would be coming with Otto back to their universe. Otto didn’t want this to be the very last time he would see him, for his last look upon Norman who looked at a loss for everything. To look so regretful and full of pain. He didn’t deserve that.

Otto looked upon the sky as the golden glow finally consumed him.

And then he found that he was falling right into a river with a yell. This was not what he had expected at all! The weight of the actuators instantly pulled him down below the surface as his own arms tried to swim upwards. His head popped up to the surface and he took a panicked and desperate gasp of air as everything weighed him down like a heavy rock.

The actuators joined in with Otto’s panic as they tried to push themselves to the surface like Otto’s arms were flailing to do, but the intense weight was too overbearing and Otto was slowly being sunken further and further away from the surface of the water. His vision was black, he couldn’t see anything to grab onto in the water and the possibility of drowning was becoming greater with each second. The arms were weighing him down even though they were desperate to save him, their claws desperately searching for something solid as they all flailed around.

He couldn’t die like this! Not by drowning!

Somehow, one of the actuators finally had grabbed onto something, a tilted surface that was loose like dirt or sand but they firmly dug their claws into whatever it was. And they were swiftly pulling him through the water, pushing up to the surface. Otto’s lungs were burning for oxygen, and the moment his head broke out from the water he greedily sucked in as much air as he could. Otto coughed violently, spluttering and spitting out the horrid taste of murky river water from his mouth.

The arms continued to pull him upwards on the bank of the river, the weight threatening to pull him back into the water. His boots finally caught the surface of the slope and Otto assisted with the actuators that pulled him away from the river. His gloved hands clutched the ground, crawling away from the water with heavy breaths. Water trickled as individual droplets that fell from the bottom of his now extremely weighty coat.

Finally away from the threat of drowning, Otto collapsed onto his stomach and sighed with relief. The actuators hovered over him, chirping with concern and trying to take a look at Otto’s face as he regained his steady breathing once more.

“Don’t worry, I’m okay.” He reassured them with a thankful sigh.

They chattered to one another, and Otto could sense that they too were extremely glad to be out of the watery danger nearby. His clothing was completely soaked and he had lost his glasses, and he was beginning to grow colder with each second but he couldn’t care about that at the moment.

He had just nearly drowned!

Otto wiped at his lips with a gloved hand, the taste of the river staining the inside of his mouth as he spat at the ground. His stomach churned with nausea as he kept the coughs back in his throat. The curls of Otto’s hair stuck still to his forehead. His body had already begun shivering from the uncomfortable coldness.

Well. Otto hadn’t anticipated being teleported into a river. But he supposed that he should have seen that coming. He had been building the reactor in an abandoned warehouse in the middle of a river. But where the hell did it go? The warehouse was gone too, except from a few lonesome wooden beams sticking out from where it used to be. It had been quickly collapsing when Otto was last inside. So whatever remained of the building was probably at the bottom of the river.

What of the reactor itself? If the warehouse was gone, then the fusion reactor might have possibly dissipated in the river. His fate had changed then!

“And you, Doc Ock. You drown in the river with your machine.”

Flint Marko’s words had been trapped inside Otto’s head from the moment he had spoken them, they used to be so haunting hours ago. However it looked like Otto and his actuators wouldn’t be joining his machine in the murky watery depths after all. Otto pushed himself off from his stomach with a groan, he could already feel the edge of exhaustion beginning to rise. How long had it been since the last time he had slept?

Otto sat himself on his knees, rubbing his gloved hand across his damp and dirtied face as he took the moment to examine his surroundings. It was no longer the dawn of a new morning in the sky, rather it seemed to be the middle of the night. Beautiful glittering stars scattered high above the grey and misty clouds in the sky and the air was unfortunately chilly. It didn’t help in the slightest that Otto was drenched from the river and was becoming more and more colder by the minute.

The area he was sat in seemed to be for industrial use as there were cranes along with a small harbour stationed at the other side of the river. Otto nearly did not notice nor catch the sight of somebody swiftly moving in the air towards his direction, but when he did, Otto’s chocolate brown eyes widened with surprise across his features. The figure was dressed in a bright blur of red and blue, and was swinging across the rooftops. The actuators perked and looked up to the direction of which Otto was facing. Their claws also opened with interest as the person shortly landed upon the bank of the river.

Otto could see the alarm upon Peter’s face, but it had definitely softened once he realised that the scientist was in fact breathing and was alive. It wasn’t Peter from the other universe, but it was the same Peter that Otto was very familiar with. The one from Dr. Connors class.

“Otto!” Peter exclaimed, rushing down to the shore where Otto was currently lifting himself up onto his feet with the arms aiding him. Otto noticed that he stumbled slightly. “Are you alright?”

Otto offered a relieved smile, brushing off his knees in a terrible attempt to rid the crumbs of dirt and tiny pebbles. “I’m okay, Peter. Just catching my breath. I landed in the river.”

Peter nodded, removing his mask from his head in one quick pull. Revealing a very grateful smile upon the boy’s — wait no man’s face. Otto still couldn’t get used to the fact that prior to being transported, Peter had just been a kid. A kid with a young face a few days ago. And Peter was now in his forties like decades had instantly passed before Otto’s very eyes!

It was so strange, and saddening in some way.

“I thought you might. I didn’t know if you would be able to swim back with the actuators, I swung here as fast as I could as soon as I got teleported back.” That warmed Otto’s heart, Peter was really concerned for him despite Otto nearly having the city blown up by the fusion reactor along with kidnapping his poor girlfriend. Otto made a mental note in his head to apologise to her, if she was still dating or even married to Peter!

Otto opened his mouth to explain how he’d managed to swim or rather climb back to the surface, but he noticed that Peter was holding the left side of his stomach covering what could very well be blood. Otto could spot little trickles down his spider suit.

There was instant worry that had exploded in Otto’s chest as his eyes glanced to Peter’s face and to the wound. “Peter, you’re injured. What happened to your side?”

Peter blinked, as if he realised that he had forgotten something. “Oh! Uh, the Goblin did that a bit before we managed to give him the antiserum finally.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, I’ve actually been stabbed before so I’m fairly familiar with this.”

Being stabbed before was certainly not reassuring to Otto’s ears, he nearly grimaced at the thought of a sharp blade being pushed into one’s stomach. He even felt his own stomach churn slightly in response to it. Otto hadn’t been able to witness the battle between the Green Goblin and both Peters as he was preoccupied with rescuing Dillon and anyone else that nearly collapsed along with the scaffolding of the statue. Part of him was thankful that he didn’t, but the other part wished that he had gotten involved so that Peter wouldn’t end up being wounded by the Goblin.

Peter’s eyes widened with shock, after he did a brief examination of his side. It had seemed he had tried to at least fix himself up as there was a light pinkish white web stuck covering the wound, providing some sort of bandage. “Dr. Osborn! We cured him! I almost forgot, we need to find him!"

Otto’s expression quickly transformed into one of both mild worry and surprise, his eyebrows shooting to the top of his head from the realisation. Norman wasn’t with them. He was god knows where and most likely alone and probably even greatly alarmed from what happened in the other universe. The Goblin had been up to a lot of things after he took control, Norman had only regained control a few minutes before everything had been fixed and everybody had been transported back home.

A sick feeling rose as Otto recalled Flint Marko’s words once again, but not towards him…but to Norman.

“Green Goblin, impaled by the glider he flew around on.”

Oh god no…

Would it be possible that Norman could be dead right now? Right after his mind was freed from that darker half? No, Otto didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t have lost him again. Not after they had finally reunited and rekindled their long lasting friendship. At this very moment, Norman Osborn could be dead once more. Alone.

“Norman…” Otto whispered with a shake to his voice. “Peter, do you know where he could be? Flint Marko said that he was going to be impaled!”

Peter looked equally as panicked, his face seemed to even pale. He thought for the swiftest moment, and then looked up and made eye contact with Otto once more. If there was one person that certainly knew of Norman’s whereabouts at this very moment then it was definitely Peter, and Otto was already prepared to follow. Adrenaline steadily building in his body.

“I know where he is! I don’t think it’s too far from here, come on!” Peter exclaimed, to which Otto sighed with a relief that didn’t really last too long.

He nodded quickly as his actuators Harry and Larry assisted him with climbing up the river bank as fast as they could. Peter pulled his mask over his head and led the way. And together with a strong sense of urgency, they began their mission to locate and aid Norman Osborn in any way possible.

Otto silently prayed to himself again that once they had finally found Norman, he wouldn’t be a pale corpse impaled against the wall.

He would hopefully be breathing, he would be fine.

Norman wouldn’t be dead.

#;;fics #willem dafoe #alfred molina #norman osborn #green goblin #otto octavius #peter parker #ramiverse #spider man #spider man no way home #octogoblin #octoblin #otto x norman #norman x otto #here we go! i have my own no way home octogoblin aftermath fic at last!#i have so many good scenes to write i cant wait #im going to try writing chapter 2 of the titanic fic tomorrow so i hope that goes well #enjoy the first chapter!

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ragnarokhound · 5 months

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Love how your unga bunga tag is dedicated to jason todd. I get it

Alskdjsk this is not the first time I've been called out like this OTL

LISTEN. ITS NOT MY FAULT PEOPLE KEEP DRAWING HIM SO PRETTY OKAY TuT he's so babygirl and he makes me feral

#OTL #once again i am forced to confront my crimes. sorry jason i will continue to objectify you OTL OTL OTL #because heres the thing. when i first got into jaytim almost one whole year ago #i latched on HARD to tim drake as a pov character. i went 'ah. i get this goblin. i shake hands with this goblin.'#'i want this twink obliterated'#and i also went 'whatever i want tim shall have'#and while i had known OF jason todd before id never been particularly interested to learn more. like yeah ok the Edgy robin whatever #but learning? that tim? and jason? had some History? and readinf jaytim fics? oh boy. i understood. i got it #theres an insane possessive and obsessive edge to jaytim that fascinates me and now im in deep on the tim drake and jason todd rabbit hole #so yeah. i love tim dont get me wrong but i want jason carnally so he ends up being tagged unga bunga the most skcncnjdkd #and since its not possible for me to top him the tim's just gonna have to step up to the plate *slaps his ass* go get 'im tiger #slxckdksk sorry to dump about jaytim in this jason todd post but context is everything #jason todd #unga bunga #asked and answered #anonymous

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sesamestreep · 2 years

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Jyn/Cassian for 18, "squishing the other’s cheek"

cross-posted to ao3, whoops 😇✨

There aren't a lot of comforting places to spend time on a rebel base, Jyn is starting to realize. She supposes the point of military bases is not to be cozy, per se, but it's still fairly inconvenient on occasion. Her quarters are fine--better than Wobani any day--but they're designed for practicality rather than warmth, physical or emotional, and she shares them with a perfectly nice Twi'lek pilot who is almost always off on one mission or another, so they’re not really hers by any stretch of the imagination and thus lack a certain feeling of home. Even the mess hall is not a particularly welcoming place, for all she's had her fair share of nice memories there by now, sharing meals and catching up with the crew when they're all on base at the same time. Still, it's not exactly the sort of place she'd choose to spend time if it also wasn't where the food was.

She'd much prefer to be in any one of those places rather than where she is now, though. In fact, if she had to pick a least favorite spot on the entire base, she'd pick the med bay, hands down. It's bad enough on its own, with its general air of hushed crisis and the cloying, repetitive sound of medical machinery beeping and droids humming about from bed to bed checking on patients, but it is much worse now, because all she's doing is waiting, which is a thing that she hates, mostly because she is terrible at it.

The smell of bacta freaks her out pretty bad these day, after Scarif and all. It turns out you don't come out on the other side of the evisceration of a whole planet with just minor cuts and bruises. The medics did a good job with an extremely bad situation and most everyone who survived had only a few scars to show for it, but it had been touch and go for a while there, so much so that none of the original Rogue One crew had even been conscious for the Battle of Yavin, let alone fighting in it. It would be another several weeks before the first of them was released from medical observation, and several months before the last of them was. Jyn landed somewhere in the middle there, not bad all things considered, but the scent of bacta lingered on her skin for what seemed like ages and it clung to her sheets and her clothes in spite of her best efforts to remove it.

The smell of it is everywhere now, and that combined with the steady beeping of monitors nearby is driving her slowly insane, but she still can't bring herself to leave. If it were anyone else, she would. It's sentimental and frankly stupid to think that sitting by someone's bedside while they're unconscious will have any impact on their recovery, but here she sits anyway. It's not that she thinks Cassian will care if she's there when he wakes up, it's just that she wants to be there. She wants to know the moment things are going to be alright and she won't trust anything but her own eyes.

The medic she spoke to said he would be fine and, while Jyn knows the basics of first aid, she should definitely trust the medical opinion of someone with more training over her own instincts. It’s not easy, though; she's a bit of a cynic thanks to her lifetime of experience with things not working out the way she was promised they would, so she's going to stay right here until she actually sees that Cassian is fine with her own eyes. The medic hadn't seemed offended by her insistence and just gestured to a chair next to Cassian's bed before swanning away to deal with, presumably, less annoying patients. The 2-1B unit accompanying them had stuck around a little longer, to get some readings off the monitor and to inform her that he should be awake sometime in the next three hours or so before scooting off.

That had been three hours and fifteen minutes ago now, and Jyn's patience is well past worn thin. She thinks about summoning the droid back or bothering a passing medic, but there's been no change in Cassian's condition, for better or worse, so she imagines they won't see the urgency. After what she hopes is a surreptitious look around to see if anyone is paying them any attention, she decides to take matters into her own hands.

"Cassian," she whispers, and receives no response. She tries saying his name a little louder with the same disappointing result, but she doesn't dare to raise her voice any more for fear of being sent away.

With another check to make sure the coast is clear, she leans over and shakes him by the shoulder. "Cassian, come on," she hisses under her breath. No response.

She pokes her finger into his chest, once gently and then again with all her might. "Seriously, it's time to wake up," she says, and it somehow comes out gentle in spite of her impatience. It makes no difference.

Jyn bites her lip as she thinks about what to do next. She doesn’t have a lot of opportunities to just look at Cassian without interruption or self-consciousness in the normal course of their lives together. Not that they’re together, in that sense, but they work closely with one another and even on the rare occasions they’re not working, they’re still usually together in some fashion. She didn’t intend, when she’d semi-reluctantly joined the Rebellion, to build her entire life around him but it had happened regardless. In spite of all that, watching him sleep is a new experience for her and it makes her feel itchy in her own skin.

He looks more peaceful like this, which makes sense, of course, but she still finds herself relieved he’s getting some rest untroubled by bad dreams. She doesn’t want to ruin that, but the urge to touch him in some way, just to wake him up, is still strong. She has a few vague memories of being woken up by one of her parents with a kiss on the forehead, but after dwelling on those recollections a moment, she remembers that those instances were usually followed by them telling her to pack her things because they needed to run off to some new planet in the middle of the night.

That mental association offers a pretty good reason not to kiss Cassian on the forehead right now, though she has plenty of others if she needs them. In fact, she’s had a lot of practice thinking of good reasons not to kiss him anywhere, so she abandons this idea readily and tells herself what she always does when these inconvenient feelings arise: what she has now with him and with their team is the best part of her life and she wouldn't risk complicating it for anything. The two of them, with their trust issues and their scars, could never make it work in that kind of relationship. It's better to have less than she wants than to have nothing at all.

In spite of this, she finds herself reaching out to him again. She hesitates at the last second, suddenly panicked at the idea of touching his face with even her hand. It still feels too intimate and familiar somehow for what they are to each other. Then again, she's been watching him sleep for hours now, so maybe she's past the point where she can reasonably worry about such things. She brings her hand to rest on his jaw and, before she can get used to the feeling, she jabs a finger into the soft skin below his cheekbone.

"Wake up, wake up, wake up," she whispers furiously, punctuating each command with a poke. When that does nothing, she pinches his cheek as hard as she can and then squishes the other between her fingers for good measure. She sighs when that has no effect either. After a final glance over her shoulder to see if anyone is watching, she pulls her arm back and brings her palm against his cheek in a firm slap. It's hard to tell if any of the other people in the med bay notice this, because it’s also the moment that Cassian wakes up and immediately begins coughing loudly, and suddenly she doesn’t care about anything else.

“Cassian,” she says, hands fluttering about uselessly as she tries to decide what to do with them that won’t be awkward. “Are you alright?”

“Probably not, based on our location,“ he replies, with considerable effort. He reaches up to rub his jaw. “Did you hit me?”

“What? No! You…must have dreamed that,” she says, quickly. “Do you need me to get someone? Are you in pain?”

“Not as much as I should be, I’m guessing,” Cassian says, closing his eyes as he leans back. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” Jyn asks, and he replies by miserably shaking his head. “I should really get someone to look at you, then.”

She turns to go, but even in his injured state, Cassian’s reflexes are enviably quick. He catches hold of her wrist before she can get away, and says her name, just once, very gently. She tries to swallow the emotions that try to climb up her throat at the mere sound of his voice, but she’s not exactly in the best shape right now either. She has a few minor injuries and zero hours of sleep to her name, and she just doesn’t have the power to resist him like she might have otherwise.

Cassian must sense her acquiesce, because his grip on her slackens and he sits back with a sigh. “Don’t go,” he says. “Just—I want you to tell me what happened.”

“You almost blew the entire mission, Cassian! That’s what happened!”

There were nicer ways to say that, or gentler explanations of what went down on their mission, but Jyn’s a little hurt and a lot tired, so she doesn't really have it in her to mind her manners. She also doesn’t appreciate being outmaneuvered like this, and she wants Cassian to take his damn hand off of her. She should have owned up to that slap; it was the smartest thing she’s done all day.

He has the grace to at least look ashamed of himself. “Jyn, I—”

“No. Absolutely not,” she warns him. “If you think I sat by your bed, waiting for you to wake up so that I could hear you make excuses, or try to defend yourself, you’re out of your mind. You almost certainly have a concussion, which is the only reason I’m not punching you in the face for that stunt you pulled back on Kaddak.”

Cassian groans, letting his head flop back on the pillows. “Oh, right. It’s starting to come back to me.”

“Good, because I’d love to know what you were thinking,” Jyn says, sharply. “I gave you the kriffing signal, Cassian. I told you to get out of the warehouse, and you didn’t listen!”

“I couldn’t leave without the asset, Jyn,” he says, eyes pleading with her to understand. Normally, they’d be lit up with anger at her questioning his judgement, but the circumstances he woke up in must have impressed the recklessness of his own actions on him, for once. “It would have been destroyed in the blast and then the whole mission would have been for nothing!”

“You could have died,” she shouts. “Don’t talk to me about the mission!”

Belatedly, she realizes she’s gone ahead and done the thing she was trying to avoid: capturing the attention of a medical droid. One immediately winds its way over to Cassian’s bed and begins taking his vitals diligently, effectively ending their conversation for the time being. It’s just as well, she thinks; she was starting to get emotional and that’s the last thing she needs when she’s dealing with Cassian. She needs to keep her feelings neatly stored in a box, preferably one with a padlock and maybe a deadbolt or two, when he’s around, or she’ll surely break something she can’t bear to lose. She folds her hands in front of herself and attempts to regain her composure while the droid works. The mechanical whir of its limbs moving about, extending and retracting, is oddly grounding and she closes her eyes for a brief moment while it asks Cassian some routine questions.

“I am satisfied with your recovery so far, Captain Andor,” 2-1B finally says. “I’m administering additional pain medication. You may experience some drowsiness, as a side effect. I advise you not to fight it, and to sleep if the opportunity presents itself.”

Cassian grumbles his thank you to the droid, before it swivels to address Jyn. “Guests are invited to stay at the discretion of Chief Medic Myreen. Further disruptions could result in your removal from the med bay. This is your last warning,” it says, before lurching off in the direction of another patient.

“Uh-oh, someone’s in trouble,” Cassian says, under his breath.

“Once again,” Jyn replies tersely, “you are very lucky you have a concussion right now.”

“You’re making me long for Kay’s bedside manner,” he says. “Where is my droid, anyway? Don’t tell me he couldn’t be bothered to stay.”

“You know the only thing he hates more than dealing with me is dealing with medical droids. The medbay just happened to have both,” she says, taking a moment to crack her neck. She winces at the loud pop it makes—hours of sitting in the same spot, tensed up and lightly injured is not good for the body. “I can go find him for you, if you want. Now that you’re awake, that is.”

When she looks at him again, Cassian is now staring at her, wide-eyed with…confusion? Horror? It’s not actually clear. “What?” she snaps, her defenses rising against her better judgment.

“You haven’t been here the entire time, have you?” he asks, and now it’s very clearly horror that he’s feeling.

Jyn feels her cheeks warm, and she fights the urge to snap at him again. “It hasn’t been that long,” she says, instead, looking down at her boots and scuffing them gently on the floor. “I was kidding before about K2. He would have stayed, but with you out of commission, Bodhi had to report to Draven and he wanted Kay’s help, so I offered to wait here. The droids take the ‘one guest at a time’ rule very seriously.”

“You didn’t have to wait for me to wake up, though. I would have been fine.”

“I didn’t want to miss out on the chance to be the first person to tell you what an idiot you were. If I’d let Baze or Chirrut stay, they might have gone easy on you.”

“Couldn’t have that,” Cassian says, his head drooping to the side as his eyelids briefly drift closed before he startles awake again. “You get that looked at?” He asks, in a casual way that implies he thinks there’s been no lull in their conversation.

“What?” Jyn asks.

“Your head,” Cassian replies, gesturing weakly. The pain meds must be really kicking in now, and against medical advice, he’s fighting the urge to drift off the sleep. She could set her watch by Cassian Andor’s stubborn streak, she thinks.

“My head’s fine,” she snaps, irrationally annoyed at him for caring about a minor injury when he’s literally in a hospital bed.

“No, s’not,” he protests, feebly and narrows his eyes at her. “There's a…cut.”

“It’s barely a scrape,” she lies.

The medic she spoke to said she didn’t need stitches, but that it would need to be bandaged at least, if she didn’t want bacta fluid. And she most certainly did not. By tomorrow, all her bruises will come up to the surface, but for right now, she looks a lot heartier than she feels, which is good for the purposes of this conversation. Cassian would normally be sharp enough to catch a lie that obvious, but the medication’s effects are also working in her favor. He’s doing a creditable job glaring at her despite that, though.

“I promised to see the medic on my way out,” she says, relenting.

“Okay,” Cassian says, relaxing slightly and letting his head rest back against the pillows. “I’m not gonna remember, am I?”

“Remember what?” Jyn asks, feeling panic rise inside her again. She doesn’t want to summon the droid again but she will, if she has to. If something is wrong.

“This…conversation,” he answers, with enormous effort. “Because of the pain meds.”

“Oh. I’m not sure. Maybe not.”

He reaches out for her again, this time capturing her hand instead of her wrist. He twines their fingers together and then contemplates this for a moment. Jyn’s breath catches in her throat, and she finds she couldn’t speak even if she knew what to say.

“You’ll tell me, though, right?” Cassian finally asks, after a long stretch of silence. She’d kind of hoped he had fallen asleep with his eyes open, but no such luck.

“You mean, what the droid said?” She asks, confused. “I can try to remember, but I think they—”

He shakes his head. “Not that. I don’t care about that. I want you to tell me about you.”

“About me? I don’t understand.”

“When I wake up again, you should tell me that you stayed,” he says, looking at her seriously, probably so she doesn’t blame this outburst on the medication. “I don’t want to forget that.”

“Okay,” Jyn says, even though she feels like her heart is beating loudly enough to drown out the word. “I’ll tell you. I promise.”

“Good,” Cassian says, finally allowing his eyes to drift closed. He falls asleep immediately, it seems, still holding Jyn’s hand in his own.

“I guess I’m staying a bit longer,” she says, under her breath, as she settles back into her uncomfortable chair. She doesn’t know who she’s trying to fool, anyway. She never intended to leave his side.

#rebelcaptain #jyn erso #cassian andor #touch prompts #honestly i just couldn't imagine either of them doing this sincerely so i just let jyn lightly injure him with it #she's just in full goblin mode in this fic it's fine #homelywenchsociety #i've forgotten how to tag things i'm sorry #ask #firstelevens #i unironically miss when only the first five tags were searchable #i want to tag this with sortable tags for me but i don't want to clog those larger tags with my fic ykwim?#ANYWAY LOVE YALL BYE

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gerbiloftriumph · 1 year

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little fic, little fic, look at your hits!

Captive Crown, I am proud of you~.

#king's quest #kings quest #king graham #goblin appreciation blog #ch2 #my first public attempt at posting fic #my milestone attempt and still my darling #regularly scheduled gerbils begin again tomorrow

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nimblermortal · 2 years

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Fic request: The couriers’ headquarters when they hear that the Wisdom of Choharo crashed, and how Csevet Aisava, perfect candidate for the new emperor’s secretary and the courier who knows how to manage Chavar, got assigned to deliver the news to Edonomee.

#the goblin emperor #fic request #hopefully I can start tagging those consistently #anyway what I am envisioning is a oneshot the bulk of which #is the cheerful gossip of those whose lives aren't /really/ affected by this #yeah sure it's a disaster but it's also super juicy gossip that they heard first #and yes their boss's boss is changing but like. the emperor is never going to notice one of /them/#anyway this new assignment means an AIRSHIP RIDE so who gets the goods?#and Csevet in the corner Plotting and rigging the whole discussion so it can be him #and that it's not a coincidence that the courier who fetched Maia is that good #it's because Csevet is That Good and he arranged it #but I can't write this for myself because I neeeeeeed to write the ~12k I committed to #and I'm also in the middle of a lot of edits

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theskeletoninthegarden · 1 year

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The fandom's collective decision in fic to look at Beorn's cottage in the Hobbit and decide that the Company should spend a good while there is...a very good one

#the hobbit #look #between the goblin king and thorin no doubt facing the trauma of seeing his old enemy #one that evidently killed his father(?)#and the others nearly watching him die (Dwalin's reaction was particularly impactful but we were only allowed to see so much)#and dori and ori nearly falling to their deaths #oh and bilbo killing for the first time and standing up to Azog #there's so much #For the Company to show up at a cottage that's just peak cottagecore with a big bear of a man there to help #more or less begrudgingly #them recoop #it's just a place rife with fic potential

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kursed-curtain · 2 years

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Who's Afraid of a Big Bad Wolf?

Full moons and goblin caves never work out well.

A Werewedzel AU fic.

-=+=-

A curious chirrup roused Graham from his unconscious state. The lizard licked at his nose, stirring a halfhearted smile. Going back to sleep wasn't much of an option anymore, might as well stretch the crick out of his back.

Just moving to get off the bed woke up all his muscle aches - all from being forced to shift by the moon's allure. (According to a book he'd scrounged up from the castle library, the pain was preventable. Practicing shifting between forms, as well as eating a good meal before and after, could help get the body used to the sudden change.

The only thing stopping him back at the castle was everything that was packed onto his plate - the papers, the training, the meetings - and the risks that came with shifting out in the open. He wasn't ready for the cost of being found out.)

He stumbled onto all fours, staring down at the fur lining his legs. The damp, musty feeling of the whole room irritated him, with how the water seeped into his fur and crusted it over. From this perspective, the cell felt so much larger, more disorienting.

It was all so much worse with the heightened senses, the bright light, the horrid feeling in his skin. He had to lean on a wall for a minute, lest he hurl his already non-existent dinner.

His mind was still only half awake, threatening to go fully unaware and let the wolf take over - he learned over time that this was just a symptom of the curse. Often, on a good night, he gave in and let his mind rest while his body followed its wolfish instincts. Not this time. He had to stay alert - time was a precious, ever-waning factor in his plan of escape.

Then, a knock on the door. Gibberish high-pitched gurgling and another's deeper grumbling came from the other side. Did they expect him to open the door for them? He wouldn't have answered even if he could. The emerging bruises from their last "playtime" still simmered below his fur.

Eventually, they realized he wasn't going to answer the cell door and kicked it in. They clamored into the room, then stopped in their tracks at the sight of Graham. Or, perhaps, the lack of him. To them, it looked as if the king was missing, in his place was some confused wet dog sporting the king's red cloak.

The two goblins argued between themselves, probably about whether or not to pull the alarm on the missing prisoner. They decided not to, turning their attention to the wolf. Graham's growling failed to deter the goblins. Instead, it drew them closer to inspect his teeth and flick his ears like some band of unlicensed doctors. Graham pulled back, baring his teeth, shivering.

Oh well, even without the king, storytime is storytime, and the show must go on. A sort of mindset Graham wished he could admire. At the moment, probably not. Their creativity was his misery.

-=+=-

Graham yelped as they dragged him by the ear and prodded him in the behind with a spear. He made a few fruitless attempts to nip at the goblin in front of him, to let him go, only for it to snarl back. He wasn’t sure if that was meant to mock him or if goblins were meant to snarl.

Stone hallways blurred past till they reached the facade of a ramshackle cottage, surrounded by a set of rock goblins dressed in costume. Some got excited by the sight of Graham and he shied away.

One walked up to him and inspected his form, pacing a slow circle around Graham. Then it got an idea. Oh boy. Distracted by what the goblin in front of him might do, he never anticipated a second one to hurdle over his back. It threw itself forward and pulled Graham's cowl along with it. Graham tossed his head to move the hood from blocking his eyes.

The rest of the goblins glared, unimpressed ( - Though if that was aimed towards him or the troublemaker, Graham couldn't tell). One stepped forward, ranting gibberish while practically stabbing the storybook with its finger. Graham caught a glimpse of a girl in a red hood on the page.

The goblins’ dispute concluded with the book goblin shoving the story into another's hands. It marched over to Graham and, in a flourish, stole his cape off his back. At the sight, an overwhelming impulse rushed over Graham. He grabbed the hem of his cloak in his jaws. The thief pulled, probably ripping a few seams in the material. This back and forth continued, and something sparked in the corner of Graham’s mind - A challenger and a reward. A game. That must’ve been the curse talking, looking back on it. Tug-o-war was exhilarating, and he loved it.

Eventually, he broke out of it. Graham fell rearward and the goblin won the cloak. It bounced on its heels, then ran to grab a prop out of the shadows. A weaved basket, with something inside. Food? Graham wandered over and sniffed the basket. The hooded goblin slapped him down, right on the muzzle. Not like he wanted whatever was inside, anyways. It reeked of something rotten or soggy - then again he was blind to the smell of anything wet.

Graham was led over to the house facade - in reality just a painted wood panel on sticks. On the other side was a goblin sitting in bed, dressed in a raggedy bonnet and nightgown. The goblin dramatically fainted, carried off by the hands and feet by two other goblins like a man-stretcher. The bonnet was then placed onto Graham's head, tight-fitting and a bit itchy.

The goblin playing Little Red Riding Hood knocked on the door, then eagerly "entered" the "house." The goblin made a shocked sort of motion, then put a hand up to its ear. The onlookers, the audience, talked within themselves, avidly waiting. Little Red couldn't seem to remember the next part. Too bad Graham could tell them. The hooded goblin pointed to its… feet? The crowd was dumbfounded, then jumped to booing the performance.

This broke out into another argument. The Red Riding Hood goblin tossed down its hood onto the floor in a fit of frustration.

Graham took this as an opportunity to escape. Cloak fabric draped in his mouth, he made a mad dash away from the set.

-=+=-

The villagers were probably already asleep by now - if the curse was any indication that the night still lingered. It wouldn't hurt to check on them all, especially since the goblins didn't expect too much from a wolf wandering their caves.

Amaya tossed in her sleep, and it felt invasive just watching her. The thought of it humored him, that the only time he felt safe around Amaya was when she wasn't awake. There was a special sort of kinship he felt as he passed the big bad wolf sign on the way out.

The Hobblepotts huddled together, leaning against one another. Graham noticed they shivered whenever they breathed. He made a note to check on them in the morning, to manage his resources wisely. Thankfully, the curse always seemed to calm down after a full moon night. He could avoid their judgemental gaze for once.

Bramble laid in solemn slumber. Wente, however, was still awake, and caught eye of the wolf checking their cell. Wente coaxed the wolf over and gently scratched behind the wolf's ear. Graham leaned into it, his tail wagging wildly. Strangely, Wente never suspected anything from Graham's odd behaviors any other night. There was the chance that he knew already, but wasn't telling, yet that didn't fit with how Wente typically went about things. Graham could investigate that some other time, not now.

Graham curled up in bed. Settling down, he felt the phantom chills of where goblin hands had once been. Another set of light bruises - layered on top of previous, unhealed wounds. Another set of bruises for another day.

#- baby's first ch2 fic #- gobbos!#- hope yall enjoy #kings quest #fanfic #werewedzel au #goblin appreciation blog

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autistic-beshelar · 2 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Goblin Emperor Series - Katherine Addison Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cala Athmaza & Deret Beshelar, Cala Athmaza/Deret Beshelar Characters: Deret Beshelar, Cala Athmaza Additional Tags: Autistic Character, Autistic Beshelar, i will make that a tag so help me god, Pre-Slash, though you could definitely read this as platonic, and they were roommates!, local maza has curiosity to rival that of a courier's, local maza bullies local gruff autistic soldier to talk about his special interest Summary:

eitheiavan - a religious word for a calling

Cala has always liked asking questions. Beshelar has never much liked answering them.

He does anyway.

#:>#my first tge fic!#it is just a drabble #the goblin emperor #deret beshelar #cala athmaza #me an the bestie are starting an rp and this is like... a pre-rp scene i guess #there will be more undoubtedly #we might make the rp into fics and stuff we'll see how it goes #but anyway yes. besh is autistic and i love him #and cala is my favourite magical girl and he is so good #side note this might be the least fucked up fic i've ever written1

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feyascorner · 4 months

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until I come back alive

summary. in which you come back injured from a particularly unlucky battle, and Astarion realizes his feigned affections for you are not feigned at all.

warnings. angst, fluff, Astarion being bad at feelings

pairing. Astarion x GN!reader

a/n. this is super long omg ALSO TYSM for the love on my previous fic! It was my first post so I didn’t realize more than like two ppl would see it!! Kind of scary but also I can write more astarion so oh well 🙏

“The way they look at you is different from the way they look at us.”

Astarion raises a brow at this, glancing at Karlach who adjusts a log in the campfire paying no heed to the flickering flames brushing against her skin. She smiles to herself, genuinely, and he questions if she’s finally gone mad.

“So have you said the big ‘L’ word yet?” she asks excitedly, turning to him with a big grin. He shifts away from her, the increasing heat radiating off her body but she doesn’t seem to care, too busy staring at him expectantly.

“The what?”

“You know! The ‘L’ word,” she says the last part in a hushed whisper, as if it’d be a sin for anyone else to hear. Occasionally it baffles him how childish she can be, though he’d never voice these concerns out loud considering she could snap his poor body in half if she really wanted.

He also knows that she’s more emotionally capable in how she approaches these relationships (though one could argue it’s just innocence)—in ways he’s lost over the past 200 years. Though, he makes an effort to shove these thoughts to the deepest corners of his brain for the sake of his own sanity.

“If you’re speaking of ‘love,’” He emphasizes it with a strange accent. “No. I have not. Nor have they.”

She appears puzzled. “Why not?”

He sighs irritably, bringing a hand to adjust the cuffs on his hand. “Must everything be put bluntly? So glaringly obvious?”

“You love each other, don’t you?”

At this, he falters, just the slightest before plastering his usual grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Love is a wide spectrum, dear. Tav and I are whatever they want us to be.”

A late night partner would be the most positive thing he could refer you to. A fling, an amusement, or whatever words people described the arrangement between the two of you as, he didn’t care for it. He’d given himself to you, and you to him—-physically, at least, and you’d seem more than content with it. In return, he received protection, which was a sufficient payment in return for his hushed words of affection and kisses. A fair trade, he deemed.

Sure, he could’ve chosen anyone else in the camp. But he’d seen the way your eyes lit up at the sight of him, surely dazed at his flirtatious tendencies. You’d been an easy target. A survival tool.

And yes, maybe he’d played with your innocent feelings, but could you really blame him? He’d given you the nights of your life, for something so simple in return. It was a transaction.

Karlach waves a dismissive hand which brings him back to the present, propping herself on her arm behind her. “Life’s too short for that bullshit. Either you love someone or you don’t.”

“Fortunately for me, I have all of eternity,” he snorts. “Unless I were to suddenly lose the unwanted visitor inside my head and step into the sunlight, I’ll be here to watch the world fall and rise a dozen times over I’m afraid.”

“But they don’t,” Karlach frowns. “Tav doesn’t have eternity.”

He ignores the way his jaw clenches. He’s afraid, he thinks, of losing the freedom he’s just gained.

“Did you call me?”

Both the vampire and tiefling turn to your voice, where you stand blankly with an armful of logs clutched to your waist. Karlach opens her mouth to respond, but Astarion is faster.

“Nothing, darling. Just answering a few curious questions from Karlach here.”

“Oh,” you blink at him, shrugging before setting the logs beside the fireplace. “Well, Gale, Shadowheart, and I are going to the village across the forest tomorrow morning to check on the goblins appearing there recently. Won’t be back till noon so don’t wait up.”

“Don’t worry,” Karlach laughs. “I’ll keep the camp in order while you’re gone. If Astarion tries to bite Lae’zel, though, his fate’s inevitable.”

He rolls his eyes, opting to stand from his spot and take your hand. “Come along, darling. Any longer near this damned fireplace and my skin may melt.”

You nod with a smile, waving at Karlach before you follow him into his tent without a word of protest.

Easy, he thinks. Too easy.

He soon finds himself staring up at you from his place, laying his head on your lap as you read through a few scrolls you found throughout the day. He clicks his tongue and you look down, offering that sickeningly sweet smile again. “What’s wrong?”

“You have the most handsome person in this camp on your bloody lap and you want to read?”

You snicker at this, setting the scroll down beside you. “What do you suggest I do? Worship the very eyelashes on your face?”

“My body deserves much more praise than just the eyelashes.”

“Hm…” you pretend to be in thought. “That mole on your face is very obvious too.”

He gasps, immediately shooting upward as he grabs at his own face. “Tell me you’re lying.”

Your laughter rings throughout the tent, airy as you pull his hand away from his face. “I’m kidding, mostly.”

He stares at you as you recollect yourself, finding himself gazing at you far longer than he’d like to admit. Quickly, he adjusts, fiddling with the hand mirror he always keeps under his pillow as he watches you through it. “Karlach spoke of something ridiculous today. She said you were in love with me.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” he rolls his eyes. “That woman lives in a fairy tale I tell you. How she went through 10 years in Avernus is beyond me.”

There’s slight hesitance in your voice, and if he’d not learned your body language early on in your arrangement, he wouldn’t have even noticed it. “Astarion, have you ever been in love?”

He pauses at this, meeting your eyes head on now. There’s a heavier thickness in the air between the short distance between the two of you, and he immediately gauges what you want him to say. A lie readies itself at the tip of his tongue, his gaze searching yours for whatever fantasy that lives behind them.

Instead, your expression is blank. He finds nothing.

“No.” He’s not sure why he responded honestly, but it’s too late to take it back. “Have you?”

You look to the side. “I’m not sure anymore.”

“Anymore?” He shifts his head when you turn your chin further away, avoiding confrontation. “Has someone captured your impenetrable heart as of late? How intriguing—do tell.”

His teasing tone drops when you don’t smile at his usual antics. He’s not stupid—far from it. He knows you’ve begun to fall for him. It’s an obvious result from the 200 years of instinctive flirting he has tucked away in what remains of his soul, and it’s what he intended. What he needed.

The more enraptured you are, the longer he has protection.

He gently tilts your chin toward him, his fang visible through the grin that stretches across his face. “Tell me, pet, do you love me?”

Your eyes drop to his lips. “Do you want me to?”

A bunny caught in the fangs of a fox. It would be so easy to indulge—to go as far as to make you nothing but a puppet he toys with for his own personal gains. He can sense the way your finger twitches, itching to lace them with his own, and the crueler side of him forces his hand to stay put.

He wordlessly leans toward you, his lips grazing against the side of your neck. You shiver at the touch and he smiles wickedly to himself, drinking in the gasp that escapes you when he tilts your neck to the other side, where he usually drinks.

He doesn’t even have to ask. “Just—be gentle. Please.”

“Of course.” He unhinges his jaw, ready to plunge the knives of his teeth into where the sweet liquid gold rushes to your face, his shoulders finally relaxing when—

“I love you,” you whisper under your breath.

He stops.

Though unsure why, he freezes. Completely and utterly freezes.

“Astarion?”

He pulls away slowly, staring at you for a long moment before offering another smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You look exhausted, my dear. I think that’s enough for tonight.”

“But you didn’t even feed?”

“I can handle myself, darling, as much as I appreciate your worries,” he stands and holds the flap of the tent open, practically a silent demand for you to leave.

He should be ecstatic. Gleaming with joy from being offered a drop of your blood, but instead, he feels knots forming in his stomach. And the longer he watches you, the worst they seem the get.

Hurt flashes across your face and he ignores the sudden tightness in his chest.

“Okay, well,” you say, stepping out hesitantly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, my dear.”

And as he lies wide awake in the middle of the night with nothing to accompany him but his own thoughts, he finds that all of them are overruled by his endless need for warmth. Not just anyone’s but the one he’s become accustomed to the past few months. No matter how much he curls up in his bedroll, all he can feel is the chill of his own body.

And he hates it more than he expected.

——

By the time he awakens, you’re long gone.

He’s rather productive. Taking walks, gathering supplies, catching up on his reading, he refuses to sit and lie around as the others await for you and your companions to return from the goblin village.

He even entertains sitting through one of Karlach’s dances, which somehow ends up being more entertaining than he’d imagined. While she didn’t fall flat on her face (which he admittedly looked forward to), it burnt through time regardless.

The peace is broken when he hears footsteps rushing toward the camp. He’s memorized everyone’s intervals when sprinting or pacing, so he’s quick to identify Gale and Shadowheart. He listens keenly for your own footsteps.

There are no third pair of footsteps at all.

Shadowheart stumbles into the camp, in a panic compared to her usual self, as she points toward a spot on the ground and snaps at Gale to put something down.

He only sees when she moves out of the way that this something, is rather someone.

You’re writhing in pain, eyes shut in an unconsciousness that’s surely preferable to what you’re feeling. You’re sweating, groaning in your sleep and everyone is immediately rushing to you.

His face would’ve gone pale, if it weren’t for the fact that he was already as ghostly as a sheet.

“What happened,” Lae’zel demands in place of him, and he opts to mindlessly push Gale to the side, who doesn’t say a word from the expression on Astarion’s face. He doesn’t know what he looks like, but from Gale’s reaction, it’s better he never know.

“Damned poison arrows,” Shadowheart hisses. “I’m completely out of magic for today. I need to make an antidote by hand before their condition gets any worse than it already is.”

Astarion brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheek. The creases between your brows soften for the slightest moment before they’re back again.

Lae’zel and Shadowheart are arguing again—something about how one thing would’ve happened if another thing hadn’t. He’s not even sure what they’re arguing about, but in an instant, rage flickers in his chest.

“Do something!” He snaps, suddenly making the camp go quiet. “Or are you just going to stand there and watch them die?”

He suddenly feels a hand grab his, and his eyes shoot down to see your own. Even in your sleep, you reach out to him. Even in the deepest part of slumber, you search for him. It makes him feel like the shittiest and luckiest person alive, especially as the your hurt expression from last night flashes in his mind.

“Help them,” the words spill out against his will, his tone breaking down into something more desperate. “Do something. For God’s sake, anything.”

In the moment, he doesn’t care about protection. He doesn’t give a shit about any of that because the second he’d seen you in genuine pain, it was all he needed to completely forget about the stupid reasons why he approached you in the first place.

All he cared about was your life.

Everyone glances at one another knowingly, but even Lae’zel doesn’t break the silence. Shadowheart spares him a furrowed glare before rushing to gather the antidote.

You only awake hours later. Certainly during the middle of the night, to the ceiling of a tent that’s certainly not your own. You slowly urge yourself to sit up, a pounding headache ringing in your skull, but your worries about it vanish when you hear his voice.

“Quite the nap, darling.”

You snap around to see him on the other side of the tent, albeit only a few feet away from how crunched it is. Fascinating, he thinks, that even with your disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes, he finds you more beautiful than before. “What happened?”

“You nearly died.”

“…how?”

“Poison,” he’s fiddling with his dagger, refusing to look at you. He can’t. In fear of what he might say. “Caused a reasonable panic too. Seems like our companions have grown more attached to you than anyone’s expected.”

You purse your lips, and he quickly mortifies at the exceeding need to part them with his own. You don’t seem to notice. “You too?”

“I was certainly worried our esteemed leader may kick the bucket earlier than anticipated, yes.”

“No, I mean,” you scrunch your eyes sheepishly, and he thinks it’s adorable. Gods he must be going insane. “Have you…grown attached?”

He raises a brow. “You just woke up from a life threatening experience and that’s what piques your interest?”

Your cheeks turn a shade darker. He wants to touch them. “I just…I was worried all day. About us. I got too distracted and of course, that’s on me, but one of the goblins took advantage and—“

He wants to climb into a coffin, guilt eating away at what remains of his organs. But when you fidget with the ends of his bedroll blanket, he can’t tell if his stomach is churning from shame or something else.

You stop, close your mouth, then open it again. “When I passed out, I was just thinking about how I would hate for us to part like that. I didn’t want last night to be our last moment.”

“No,” he says firmly. “While you’d been asleep, I’ve had quite some time to think, darling. And more time to wallow in my self pity for being stuck with an actual weirdo. I mean, do you hear yourself? Worrying about such a stupid encounter while on your deathbed? You should’ve been cursing me with all the strength you had left if you were going to think about me of all people!”

You smile a bit, and he grits his teeth at the way his throat goes dry. “I’m just glad.”

“For getting poisoned?”

“No,” you roll your eyes. “I’m glad I didn’t scare you off by telling you I loved you. I was afraid we wouldn’t talk like this anymore.”

His body wills him to freeze up again. To push you away, and to force the fantasy that his feelings towards you were nothing but manipulative. That you were nothing but a way to survive to him. But no, he couldn’t stand such cowardice any longer. Not after nearly losing you.

You offer him a pathetic laugh. “I don’t expect you to say it back, nor for you to feel the same way. I just—felt like you needed to know. It doesn’t change anything between us I hope. It just felt wrong to keep it to myself any longer and the way you reacted just made me regret it so much-“

He wraps his palm in front of your mouth, his other hand pulling you closer to his side in an instant. With your faces inches apart, he sighs irritably. “As much as I’d like to keep hearing your voice, I can’t stand its contents any longer I’m afraid.”

He lowers his hand, staring straight at your wide eyes as he narrows his own. “I do. Like you, I mean. A lot more than I’d like to admit, quite frankly.”

You blink as if you’re staring at a miracle.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mumbles with a scoff. “I’ve had these feelings for a while now, I just didn’t wish to face them. When you said that to me yesterday, I just didn’t know how to respond, and for that, I am sorry. But losing you—I’m not sure what I would have done, but it’s certainly not a pretty sight.”

Your eyes soften and he’s certain he can lose himself within them for years. “I’ve never heard you sound so—sincere.”

He raises your knuckles to his lips, keeping them close even as he speaks. “I approached you out of necessity, I’ll admit. But it seems you’ve grown on me in a way I haven’t experienced since I’ve turned into a spawn. What you are to me—it’s difficult to describe.” He pauses. “Sometimes, I can still feel my heart beating with you.”

As your fingers brush against the side of his face, he swears he can feel it again. He almost feels warm, maybe even safe. And he’s sick and tired of denying himself of your embrace when death is around every corner.

You’re soon curled up into his chest, with his chin atop of your head. He’s not sure how much time passes—maybe hours, or even days as he continues to observe your face, committing each and every detail to his memory. And when your breathing steadies, falling into deep slumber, he finally has the courage to whisper the words against your hair.

“I love you.”

#astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #light angst #angst with a happy ending #fluff #comfort #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #astarion

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thebigbiwolf · 7 months

Text

Spittle - Part 1/2

Summary: The chocolate seems innocent enough - if you look past the Infernal writing on the wrapper, and with so few pleasures in the wilderness, you all but jump at the chance to sneak yourself a small treat.

Unbeknownst to you, the bar is infused with succubus spittle. Just one square is rumored to contain enough potency to send a mortal into the throes of ecstasy.

This is what happens when you eat half the bar.

Fic Tags: Sex Pollen (kinda), aphrodisiacs, succubus magic, a bit of dom!Astarion, unprotected piv, overstimulation, he talks you through it (iykyk), more tags will be added later.

Fic Warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Dubcon (if you squint), Language, No use of Y/N, magical influence

Read on AO3: Here

A/N: Remember the dead spider? I remember the dead spider. Anyways, the reception I've been getting on Starvin', Darlin' has me wanting to thank everyone with a one-shot. This got away from me so I went ahead and split it into two parts.

I've never written anything like this and it was significantly more difficult than a multi-chapter fic. I hope everything comes across the way its supposed to! And a huge thank you to my beta @imaginarydromedary for...you know... encouraging me to post this, despite everything.

From what you could tell, there wasn’t much to the apothecary.

As you push open the dilapidated doors, your first thought is to search for supplies - anything that could help if things went south on your way to the goblin camp.

Dried herbs hang from the rafters beneath a thin veil of cobwebs, filling your lungs with a pungent clash of scents. Empty bottles lined the shelves along the wall, caked in several months worth of dust. Large chunks of the building were missing where stone met splintered wood, some areas almost entirely overtaken by greenery.

You step over broken shards of pottery, scanning over the floor and countertops for something - anything that may be of use, but to your disappointment, it seems like the shop was entirely ransacked long before your arrival.

You sigh deeply, knowing you’ll likely never hear the end of this from your companions. It was your idea to search the village. You were the one who suggested taking out the goblin scouts, exerting everyones’ energy, and now you’re afraid you’ll have very little to show for it.

You catch a glint of gold, an object reflecting the sun's rays beneath a pile of rubble. You kneel down to brush away the surrounding debris, thankful for even the smallest promise of coin before your hands catch on… some sort of serrated edge?

You pull at it, and it easily comes loose. It's a thin, rectangular block, just barely larger than the length of your hand. You wipe away some of the dirt with your sleeve, revealing an intricately designed foil wrapping underneath.

As you speculate what this might be, you hear footsteps approaching from behind, light and familiar. You turn to face the elf with a smirk.

“You’re supposed to be the stealthy one.” You chide at him, playfully, “Or has my blood put a little skip in your step?”

Astarion scoffs. “I’ve been here the entire time, watching you fumble around in the dirt.”

Crimson eyes study you, then the object you’re holding. He places his hands on his hips, head cocked to the side with a raised brow. “Is that what you’ve dragged us all the way here for?”

“First of all,” you waggle a finger at him, “You’re especially grumpy when you’re tired. I’ll have to make a note to prioritize your beauty rest. Second, I haven’t finished looking around, but check this out.”

You hand the bar to him as you stand. The cool skin of his fingers brush against your own, and you’re irritated with the way your heart skips at the brief contact. Why did the one man you found attractive in your camp have to be such a primadonna? And such a huge pain in the ass?

Astarion’s eyes scan over the textured paper with suspicion, angling it towards the light to get a better look. The golden wrapping is stamped with an image of red lips On the back, letters twist and curve in a language you don't recognize, following a single circular pattern where they meet in the center. You’ve never seen anything like this, neither in your travels, nor within the city walls of Baldur’s Gate.

“Where did you find this?”

You shrug, then point to the pile next to you. “It was buried right there.”

He silently stares at the foil, mouth pursed, until your patience begins to wear thin.

“Well, can you read it or not?”

His nose scrunches. “Of course I can’t read it. It’s written in Infernal.”

That’s… odd. Why would an ordinary apothecary sell goods made by devils? Or, worse, for devils. Unless, of course, it was some sort of marketing trick, perhaps a play on the phrase ‘sinfully sweet’, or some other cringeworthy branding.

You take it back, turning it over in your hands before tearing at the corner of the wrapping. It's sectioned into dark, rich squares, and smells indisputably like chocolate.

“It looks like candy.”

“An excellent observation.” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now, can we go? We’ve spent more than enough time here already.”

You roll your eyes and stuff it into your bag, setting off for camp, vampire in tow.

–

During dinner, you decide not to tell the others about what you found, knowing Astarion’s likely already forgotten the event. You set down your empty plate, thanking Gale for tonight’s meal. He smiles at you and bids you goodnight as you excuse yourself to your tent.

You pick up your rucksack, thinking fondly of the dessert that awaits you inside. Having lived at the beck and call of your companions for weeks on end, you can’t help but smile at the idea of selfishly indulging in a small treat like this.

You tear open the rest of the wrapping and snap off one of the squares, immediately popping one into your mouth. It melts - buttery in texture, with a smokey, slightly bitter flavor. You can’t remember the last time you’ve eaten something so rich. Maybe weeks of the same rations have made you easier to impress, but this felt especially notable.

As you break off a second piece, a strange tingling sensation begins to spread across your lips - a pleasant buzzing that starts at your neck and spreads down through your chest.

Strange, but not entirely unwelcome. You’ve heard of such inebriating chocolates, ones laced with alcohol or species of flowers that numb one’s senses for a short while. All harmless, of course, and you don’t have watch tonight. You may as well enjoy yourself. If worst comes to worst, Shadowheart is just outside with an assortment of spells and potions. Always better to ask for forgiveness.

It only takes you minutes to finish half the bar. You set the rest next to your bedroll for later and turn to blow out your candles, enjoying the lingering physical effects of the chocolate. Your skin feels flushed and delightfully warm as you settle down for the night.

When sleep finally takes you, it's dreamless, at first. Your consciousness sways, floating in an empty abyss, until colors begin to bleed onto the blank canvas of your mind.

A trickle of red morphs into the shape of familiar eyes, piercing you with their intensity..

Droplets of white spatter over a dark background, diffusing, blending into whisps. They curl and twist before settling into soft, coiffed fibers.

Hair , you recognize immediately, his hair . His eyes.

Astarion.

His image fully takes form, as if it had been waiting for you to make the connection before entirely revealing itself.

He reaches out and seizes you, grabbing painfully at your hips as you crash into his body, hands exploring you - tight, possessive, squeezing at every inch of exposed skin before settling on the curve of your ass. He digs into your flesh with the blunt edge of his nails.

His lips press hot, wet kisses to your throat, mouthing just below the ear, before dragging his tongue along your nape and sucking, hard . You whine at the pressure, eliciting a grin from the elf, so characteristically pleased with the pathetic little noise he’s managed to pull from you.

“You thought sleeping would allow you to escape this - to escape me , unscathed?” He growls against your skin, his voice almost unrecognizable - as if it’s layered beneath a lighter, somehow more arrogant, feminine one.

“No, no, no. Wake up, darling. You’re in for a very long night.”

–

You startle awake, gasping - loud, labored breaths struggling to make use of the unbearably thin air. The edges of your tent bleed in and out of focus, spinning at a nauseating pace as you attempt to recollect yourself.

You wipe at the sweat collecting on your brow, the muscles of your arm heavy and aching, and find that your skin is absolutely drenched.

Hot. Why is everything so hot?

It's as if you're being cooked alive beneath your blankets, strangled beneath the furs. You throw them off; normally soft to the touch, the fibers now only worsen the prickling beneath your skin.

Could this be some sort of illness? A fever?

No, this doesn’t make sense. Everything feels off.

Fleeting thoughts of Astarion cross your mind - quick flashes of a sinful smile that was not his own.

It didn’t quite match the one you’d silently come to admire, and now that you think of it, the hunger in his gaze was much too intense for the reserved elf.

His hands, his mouth, the way he touched you -

Your abdomen cramps, bringing your thoughts to a screeching halt.

A stabbing, visceral pain; a knife plunging into your organs. It overwhelms you, forces your body to curl into itself. You hold your pelvis, grunting, and grasp at your sheets. Tears sting the corner of your eyes.

This is - well, you have no idea what this is.

You can’t think past the pounding in your head, the throbbing in your midsection. You're compulsively twisting, writhing, begging the gods for some sort of reprieve, but it's then when you make the most mortifying discovery of the night.

You’re soaked .

N ot just your smallclothes, which may have been understandable given your strange dreams, but through your damned pants. Not even the sheets were spared.

“What in the hells…?”

You run your fingers over yourself, only intending to confirm the horrifying reality of your situation - that this is not, in fact, some sick, perverted nightmare, but the lightest touch sets off every nerve.

You wail at the sensation: one massive wave of bliss giving way to several small jolts of pain.

Pleasure to the point of agony.

The shock of the sudden orgasm courses from your sex through every limb, clenching and releasing pitiful, warm slick. It leaks freely out of you into your already thoroughly ruined underwear.

Your heart pounds. You stay like that for what feels like a lifetime, toes curled, limbs twitching, waiting for your body to settle.

After a minute or so, your breathing evens, and the thick haze surrounding your thoughts begins to lift just slightly, along with the suffocating heat.

But something within you knows this isn’t the end - knows this isn’t enough . A desperation lurks beneath the surface that you can’t quite name. It screams at you. You need more.

‘Aw…’ A familiar, feminine voice prods at your mind. You quickly recognize her, the woman from your dreams who wore Astarion’s image.

‘All alone, are we? Empty and needing to be filled? Doesn’t that hurt?’

It does. It aches unlike anything you’ve ever known. The lingering buzz of your orgasm just barely quells the worsening cramps, and they’re beginning to rear their ugly head again not minutes later.

You choke out a sob. “Wh- why are you doing this? What do you want?”

Sharp, wicked laughter fills your head, echoing off the walls of your skull. ‘I’m not doing anything, dear. Just enjoying the show.’ She hisses, ‘I told you, it’s going to be a very long night.’

You must be hallucinating. This fever - whatever this is, is simply cauterizing your senses, or possibly interacting with the tadpole? But the tadpole doesn’t speak, not like this. Never so clearly. Not with words.

Think, please. There has to be a reason this -

“Is everything alright?” Shadowheart raps on the canvas of your tent. “I heard a yelp. Are you hurt?”

Shit.

‘Ooh, this one might do!’ You feel an unwelcome… eagerness flood you.

No. No. Absolutely not.

You try not to panic.

Under no circumstances should she or anyone else come in here.

The best strategy may be to ignore her - pretend you’re still sleeping. It seems like a good plan, but before you have a chance to follow through with it, another sharp contraction hits. This one is somehow even worse than the ones before.

You pull your sheets up to your mouth to stifle your whine, but the half elf’s ears are sharper than most. “I’m coming in.”

She opens the flap to your tent and gasps when she sees you there - skin flushed pink, doubled over and covered in sweat.

“Gods, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” Her hand reaches out towards you.

Without thinking, you swat it away with your own. Your skin tingles at the contact, and the essence of a smile crosses over the threshold into your mind. The intruder giggles with satisfaction.

“Don’t,” you plead, “Don’t touch me.”

She scans over you, taking in your humiliating state. Her face twists with concern. “I need to know if you’re feverish. Please. You look awful.”

‘Well, I think you look delectable.’

You groan.

At this point, you know it’s no use fighting this thing on your own. You go back and forth on whether you want to tell her the whole truth, about the voice in your head and its influence on your body, but the idea mortifies you into silence.

Regardless, a cleric is likely your best chance of fixing this literal mess, so you nod, close your eyes, and brace yourself.

Shadowheart’s palm meets your forehead. It’s somehow worse than you anticipated. Even the simple, chaste touch sends you reeling, as if her soft hands are caressing your entire body. Flashes of heat wash over you, burning your skin, threatening to pull you back under another wave of ecstasy.

It’s too much. You try your hardest to suppress a moan, but the muffled sound manages to escape from between your tightened lips, pitiful and broken.

The disembodied voice squeals with delight.

She quickly retracts her hand, clearing her throat. “Apologies. I can confirm your temperature is… elevated, but the rest…” She shakes her head. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

You want to scream, cry - anything to release your frustration, but you keep your mouth shut, not wanting to risk making any more unsavory noises.

“I believe I can give you some relief by treating the fever, but I’ll have to consult the others on the rest. This doesn’t look like any ordinary sickness.”

Consult the others? No. Gods, no. Nobody can know about this. Is she mad?

You intend to protest, beg her not to share this with anyone, tell her whatever death awaits you on the other side of this would be preferable, but she’s speaking an incantation before you have the chance.

A bright, green aura envelopes you, cooling your skin and ever so slightly easing the cramps. With the pain dulled, it's as though you can finally think again.

You want to laugh. This situation is so utterly ridiculous that you’d find it hilarious, were it anyone else, but with the modicum of relief comes exhaustion - eyelids heavy, vision blurring with weariness.

“Get some rest. We’ll figure this out.”

Her reassuring words are the last thing you hear before you’re overcome by darkness.

#bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion x you #baldur's gate 3 #astarion acunin #posting this was like pulling teeth im gonna disappear for a while #my fics #spittle

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