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bloodiedrogue · 11 months

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I'LL CRAWL HOME TO HER (14)

SUMMARY: Upon waking up, you realize just how long you've been gone for.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,257

WARNINGS: Spoilers for Act 2, so much angst (this time with comfort!), descriptions of death, probably incorrect lore about necromancers and how their powers work. :')

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, we're officially back in business baby, let's go! Sorry for the fillerish chapter. It's been so long that I kind of needed to keep things chill before the story starts up again. Hope you can forgive me??? <3 Also, thanks to @the-lady-amphitrite for letting me include their little necromancer Zamrie!

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

It’s not uncommon for you to wake up breathless. With the presence of an unknown threat mixed with your history of nightmares, there have been countless moments upon gaining consciousness over the last few months that have felt like you’re dying. Gasping for air to no avail until Astarion’s hand meets your back to soothe your stress.

At this rate, it’s practically inevitable, especially with the Absolute and all its developments. Each night you close your eyes, more often than not all you see is their hatred plaguing your thoughts, your mind forcing you to stop and stare at whatever vision it’s decided to produce. As you lie still inside your bedroll, experiencing the false depictions of whatever horrors that occur, you’re left without much choice. Forced to lay and wait for that moment you’re jolted awake, wheezing in the dark.

Despite the intensity, you know deep down it’s always temporary. A passing thought that runs through your lungs until you’re forced to reset at the sound of Astarion’s voice telling you you’re fine. That he’s here and you’re there and that regardless of the dangers that lie ahead he’ll always remain.

When you awake that day, however, gagging at the air that rushes through to the back of your throat, you can’t help but feel the weight of eternity. As you shoot upwards, desperately clawing at the base of your throat, it’s as if you’re trapped inside this unfamiliar limbo, struggling to gain a sense of self as you blink and breathe and—

“That’s it, just like that, dearie. You got it.”

The voice that cuts through the darkness is light, their careful tone hitting your ears far gentler than anything else you feel. Closing your eyes, you can hear them humming under their breath, low and slow; working to match your own as you glance around the room, unable to properly see.

“Pesi, can you get her friends, please?”

Inhaling deeply, you suddenly feel a sharp pain erupt through your chest as the stranger speaks. Targeting your left side, you feel it push through you like a knife, catching every layer of flesh as you lean forward and groan at the impact, feeling a hand grace your back.

“It’s alright, just take deep breaths, okay? Nice and slow.”

Opening your mouth, you cough and clutch your chest, allowing the painful feeling to bloom outwards, each shot of pain targeting the span of your torso before filtering out.

As it happens, you force open your eyes and glance at the blurry mess of colour in front of you. A figure doused in sunset tones —pinks and oranges with hints of purple that slowly filter through to reveal a bright-eyed tiefling smiling in your direction. Overall, her skin is doused in shades of peach and decorated with various tattooed dots that primarily sit beneath her violet eyes that scan you anxiously.

“I’m Zamrie. A friend of Gale’s,” she tells you.

In response, you go to speak but all that comes out is a plume of stinging air that rakes through your esophagus, making you cough and reach for your throat, feeling nothing but numbness at the ends of your fingers.

“It’ll feel weird for a while I’m afraid.” She offers you a sympathetic smile, gripping your shoulder as the expression across your face twists with confusion.

How does she know what it feels like?

Suddenly, she lets out a laugh, gently digging her fingers into your skin, massaging the tension that you just now notice is there. “I know, I know —you’re probably wondering how I know how you’re feeling,” she says, making your confusion only strengthen as she nudges your legs aside to make room for herself. “Rest assured though, I’ve lived and died a thousand times, so I’m basically an expert when it comes to the after effects of a good necromancy spell.”

Necromancy?

Your eyes widen —your thoughts whirling through you like a disoriented storm, crashing into the inner walls of your head. Looking around in a panic, you hear Zamrie try to pull you back in, whispering words of reassurance in between more quiet hums that only spur your anxiety.

Shoving away her hands, you attempt to slip off the bed then, your legs wobbling at their newfound position, causing you to stumble forward, landing on your hands and knees.

“Oh, shit.”

Almost immediately, the tiefling abruptly rushes to your aid, reaching for hands that only work to slap her away, prompting her brow to furrow as she watches you struggle to move. “C’mon dear, don’t be proud. Just let me help you.”

You shake your head and groan, feeling your chest begin to ache all over again —the remembrance of your reality beginning to settle as you lower your head in pain.

You died during the battle against Ketheric. Died. And as you sit there, now keeled over in pain, remembering all the horrible details of that blade pushing through your flesh —of the helplessness you felt staring into Astarion’s weary eyes as Shadowheart worked to drag him away— all you can think about is how careless you’d been. How stupid and reckless and overall selfish for thinking that you could do anything on your own like that.

Gritting your teeth, you feel the numbness in your fingers slowly begin to subside the longer you kneel, granting you the opportunity to ball your hands into fists before pressing them angrily into the floorboards. Groaning loudly, you then punch the wood with what little energy you have, feeling your eyes begin to well up at the thought of your friends. At the thought of them potentially following in your footsteps into a world where everything meets nothing. Where every existing thing about you ceases all at once, leaving nothing but a shell for those to mourn.

Releasing a shaky breath, you stare at the floor beneath you, praying that nobody did. That instead, they managed to succeed despite your failure and that they’re already on their way to Baldur’s Gate.

“Where…wha—“

“Shhh, it’s okay. Everything’s okay, yeah? You’re alright.”

Grunting in frustration, you shake your head and look at Zamrie, feeling the tears begin to spill as you glance at her face, noting the stress that graces her features before the shock of loud voices erupts through the doorway, prompting her brows to raise before she turns her head.

Following her gaze, you look up to see everyone huddled at the doorway, staring with varied looks that upstart your tears, realizing how worried they must have been. How angry and betrayed they must have felt watching you do something so painfully stupid.

As you sit there, glancing at each of their faces, you can’t help but feel your heart break at such a realization. Taking in Karlach’s glassy eyes and Gale’s expression of pure relief —all of it quickly becomes too much to bear, forcing your head to drop again, allowing the threat of tears to overtake you.

All at once, the awareness of their love becomes apparent then, causing you to sob until all you can feel is the presence of arms and hands —bodies of all shapes and sizes wrapping around your frame like a warm blanket on a cold winter night.

All of them envelope you differently. While Shadowheart and Gale press themselves firmly against your back, Lae’zel’s hands are reluctant yet firm from a distance, taking refuge on your elbow with tight fingers, while Wyll and Karlach have completely pushed themselves into either crook of your neck, wrapping their arms around to pull you close.

Feeling the warmth of their skin and the heaviness of their breath, you can’t help but give in to the fearful thoughts that plague your mind. The way they hold you close, bracing for an impact you all but knew was bound to come, you let the stress of the last few months overtake you, reaching for whatever body you can find so that you can dig your fingers into the fabric of their clothes.

Immediately, the worn leather of whoever you're touching reminds you of war —of all the battles you faced thus far, struggling to maintain that same momentum you first started with. Running your fingers along the wear and tear, you feel a weight inside your stomach begin to swell, its unfamiliar heaviness making your face scrunch in discomfort, realizing this might be it. Having died and come back, there’s no way you could possibly keep going, right? After revival, you’re too weak to keep up —too broken and frail. A newly inhabited shell, replacing something that used to be much stronger.

At this rate, you’d only hold everyone back. Either that or make another big mistake that could cost more lives and obliviously that’s not an option. Not after how far you’ve gotten. Not after risking so much with what little you have.

“I can’t believe we’re hugging right now.”

Unsurprisingly, it’s Karlach who speaks first. Her voice quiet against the crook of your neck sends a chill up your spine like any other, causing you to let out a shaky laugh.

You can’t believe it either.

“She’s a bit out of sorts still,” Zamrie says then, forcing your eyes to glance up at her smiling face. “She’ll need to rest for a few more days. The process of revival is pretty taxing on the body. Considering you’re essentially reconnecting a detached soul to an already decaying body, you’re lucky you managed to preserve her as well as you did.”

As she pauses to let out a laugh, the majority of your friends sort of look around in discomfort, listening as Zamrie continues her long-winded spiel about the process of revival. All in too great of detail.

Almost immediately, it makes you a bit sick, listening to the grotesque ways your body was essentially put back together at the hands of her and Withers, forcing you to close your eyes as your head begins to spin. You realize then that you should probably lie down again. Considering there’s more than likely a rough road to recovery ahead of you, you assume most of your time spent over the next few days will be in bed, drifting between sleep alongside Astarion’s—

Feeling a sudden panic rise through your chest, you look around to see him nowhere, causing your mind to slip further out of control, resulting in you pushing and pulling —desperate movements taking over your body as you work to distance yourself from the hold that currently binds you. Sensing your stress, the group quickly distances themselves in response, a handful of nervous and reluctant stares watching as you plant one hand against the floor to steady yourself while the other moves to your throat.

“Wh— where—“

You cough violently as the previous ache in your throat rips right through, interrupting your words in the form of a distorted wheeze.

As it happens, you can’t help but think of the worst possible outcome regarding his absence. Imagining his lifeless body somewhere all alone, trapped beneath the rubble of an aftermath of battle, all you can see is his flesh. Pale skin stained with crimson, all torn apart to reveal the inner parts of himself. Amongst the rubble, you envision tendons splitting between broken bones —a lifeless face ripped with wild red eyes so empty compared to the life they once held. Tightly shutting your eyes, you imagine shattered fangs and cut-up lips left open in preparation for a dying breath you never got the chance to try and fix.

Suddenly behind your eye, you can feel your tadpole wiggling violently. Rushing from one end to the other, its presence quickly wreaks havoc on your skull, forcing a groan to escape your lips, realizing someone’s there. That there’s a voice calling out to you, telling you it’s okay —that everything's fine and he’s safe, so please stop crying.

Focusing on the voice, you hear Shadowheart’s tone eventually begin to push through, prompting your tear-stained eyes to drift to her, catching a soft smile. It’s subtle, as most of her outward emotions are, but regardless it speaks volumes. Reassuring you in a way that makes you smile back, mentally thanking her again and again until there’s a set of footsteps at the doorway.

“What the hell are you all—“

His words are dripping in confusion. Rattling through your system like an echo of waves, the mere thought of it pulls you forward, forcing your body to crawl closer, watching the way his eyes glaze over once he catches sight of your crumpled frame.

As soon as he notices, he promptly pushes past all the bodies that separate you, breathing so hard that when he inevitably drops to his knees in front of you, clawing at the fabric of your tunic to pull you into his chest, you can feel it shaking. Rising and falling through the stress of his unbound anxiety, showing you just how much he missed you. How much he longed for your presence however long you were gone.

Feeling him shiver against you, you immediately break, crying harder than you ever have before. Allowing the catharsis of your shared embrace to fill up the room with desperate sobs that leave both of you breathless.

Gripping the base of his shoulder blades, you then maneuver your body until you’re completely wrapped around him, sitting on his lap, tugging at tufts of hair as you push your fingers through his curls.

“Star…”

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay,” he speaks with disbelief, clutching you tight. As if the fear of this all being a dream has led him to believe that if you part somehow you’ll disappear entirely.

Nodding against him, you press a gentle kiss to the side of his neck before pressing your forehead into the same spot, feeling him shift.

“When did you wake?”

You open your mouth to speak before swallowing hard, opting to use your Illithid. Not long ago. Where were you?

Getting supplies. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. Zamrie said—

Before he can finish his thought your hands are on his face, fingers splayed out to cup the delicate angles as you press your lips to his, feeling how cold they are. How the temperature bites against your own, forcing you to work for the heat you long for in the form of languid licks and nips that have you dizzy all over again.

Hearing the background sound of footsteps followed by the shutting of a door, you can’t help but grin through the movement of Astarion’s mouth pushing open your own, realizing then that you’re alone. That for the first time in ages it’s just you and him and both of you safe from whatever evils lurk beyond the exit.

“I’m still…very much…mad at you,” he eventually says, groaning between the kisses you steal through his frustrated tone —no longer caring if your behaviour bites you in the ass later.

That’s fair.

He snorts as he places a hand on the back of your neck, placing one last kiss to the edge of your mouth before pulling away, looking at you with narrowed eyes. “I can’t believe you left me with those idiots. Do you know how boring they are? I swear, the minute we arrived in Baldur’s it was like—“

You roughly tug at the collar of his shirt to get his attention, widening your eyes. Wait, we’re in Baldur’s?

In response, he immediately huffs. “Gods, of course nobody told you. They were probably too busy hugging you to death all over again,” he says. “I swear, it’s been nothing but chaos since you left. Karlach’s been crying for weeks. Shadowheart and Lae’zel have been at each other’s —ow!”

You narrow your eyes and pinch his cheek. Astarion, what the hell happened?

For a moment he just sits there, watching you with those angered eyes that make your chest tighten and your stomach flip, remembering then that none of it matters anyway. That for now, despite the lingering curiosity of it all festering at the back of your mind, wondering how long it’s been and how everyone’s truly fared, you don’t care. So long as everyone’s alive and well and the progress you’ve worked so hard to push through is still on track, all you care about is him.

Are you okay?

Even with his unwavering resilience, you know deep down that he hasn’t come up the other side unscathed. That regardless of what he might say in replacement of the truth, there’s something uneasy hidden beneath the surface. You can see it in his eyes. In the way they drop almost immediately at your words, his expression shifting from anger to confusion to a mix of something foreign you can’t quite place.

Opening his mouth, you see the quiver of his lips. The wobbling motion of uncertainty before he suppresses his thoughts, swallowing hard at the presence of fear to say, “I’m fine. Now that you’re here.”

Frowning then, you trail your thumb across his cheek, tracing the peaks and valleys of his flesh, skimming thoughtful patterns across the expanse of his face, eventually winding up at his lips. Thumbing the lower one, you press your own together and look at him with tired eyes, surveying the age of a man who’s so obviously been pushed to his limits.

Yes, but are you okay?

He isn’t. Not in the slightest. And you can tell because the moment you ask he’s crumbling all over again, clutching your frame —pulling you in with far too much effort for someone who claims such nonchalance.

Pressing his digits roughly into your flesh, it’s as if he’s changed completely. What once was a man of constant mischief —a man with unlimited lies and tricks up his sleeve to hide the truest version of himself— has now become too honest. Too candid in the way he presents himself as he clutches onto your frame, acting as if you’re the last sliver of light in a forever-darkened sky.

It breaks your heart almost instantly, feeling the tremors of his body releasing all the pent-up anger and betrayal —all the sadness of a passing he was ill-prepared to handle. Fisting the fabric that rests against his back, you grant him access to your neck without hesitation, feeling him burrow inside, whispering all the thoughts he couldn’t say when both of you were separate and alone.

Inside your mind, you can feel the pain of his Illithid showing you a memory. A flash of magic mixed with a broken man’s cry filtering through closed lips. Unlike anything you’ve ever heard, it punctures your ears like a needle, painfully pushing through until it’s all but cut off without warning revealing the face of your last dying breath before everything goes black.

“We tried to save you sooner,” he whispers, placing a kiss to your neck, then to the fabric that rests against your shoulder. “But every moment between then and now was spent fighting those bastards.”

You place a hand on his hair, gently running your fingers through before repeating the process, hearing him breathe.

“We’d only just arrived this morning, I swear.”

You smile then, pressing a kiss to his head, telling him that it’s okay. That he’s okay and you’re okay, repeating the words over and over until you can feel his body begin to loosen at the seams, granting you both a moment of relief before he tells you he loves you and you do the same.

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#i'll crawl home to her #a lover’s folly #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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hijinxinprogress · 1 month

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Coffee addict Never sleeps Tim drake ❌

Solving cases in his sleep off 87 energy drinks Tim Drake ✅

The coffee addict never sleeps perpetually tired Tim Drake thing is a widely accepted headcanon however that was elementary school tim but after he stayed up for a week straight subsisting entirely on coffee to decipher the bat weekly patrol schedule and how it aligns with rogue attacks/Arkham breakouts, he crashed then when he woke up it was fucking wednesday so he missed his chance to commemorate his discovery with pictures of Robin and he decided that shit would never happen again and made himself an ‘efficient’ sleep schedule so he could run around doing fuck shit, add to his robin shrine, and stay on honor roll bc he was even more pissed to see the gotham gazette had pictures of Robin with an on site interview credited to Vicki Vale (listen bowl cut tim had a one sided beef with vicki vale that included tim judging who gets better pics of the bats but she isn’t even aware that she’s competing with a whole ass child 😭 he’s sitting at the table with a mug of orange juice and looks at the newspaper snorts and goes ‘fucking amateur I could do better’)

Regularly unsupervised tiny businessman in training Tim ‘Ten hours of uninterrupted sleep?? That’s so inefficient not to mention fucking stupid’ Drake is so pissed he missed getting shots of Robin dropkicking a rogue from 6 six stories up (for absolutely no reason dick just thinks it’s fun) that he just takes at least 3 hour naps every eight hours 😭 he refuses to spend almost half a day sleeping ‘for no reason when he could be doing something productive’

And he still does this as a bat but it’s just easier to tell if he didn’t take his nap bc he has less than zero impulse control and he’s just fucking done with everything like the gcpd is terrified bc tim’s saying shit like ‘This guys a fucking moron, I could’ve done this in half the time without killing anyone fucking loser doesn’t he know if you keep them alive you can prolong the torture?’ and ‘you’re like all hysterical and for what 🤨 ‘you blew up 83% of Bristol waah’ stfu and fucking rebuild it?? It’s only rich mfs that live there, it’s just a matter of them opening their fucking wallets’ once a new recruit made the mistake of asking if robin had adult supervision regularly and Tim responded with ‘well if you’re gonna snitch to cps like a little bitch then yeah’ and that cop did snitch so tim fucking doxxed him

Yj has just accepted that sometimes they will find tim in an air vent, on the roof, in one of their closets, or something just fucking knocked out then an alarm will go off and he’ll just get up like nothing happened but for the first couple of months they were probably concerned bc ‘I’ve never seen you sleep?? wtf are you on man’ and Tim’s confused bc ‘I slept next to you this morning wdym??’ and that’s how yj discovers tim sleeps with his eyes open

But one of the worst things about Tim’s ‘time efficient sleep schedule’ nonsense is that it fucking works he’s one of the most well rested and coherent bats even after back to back Arkham breakouts however the absolute worst thing about his sleep schedule is the likelihood of going into the cave and seeing tim staring in a daze but wide eyed yet somehow never blinking at the batcomputer with 57 tabs open on top of being unresponsive and thinking he has a fucking concussion or he’s been replaced but he’s just doing case work while muttering nonsense in his fucking sleep for some reason