#astarion has such a squishy face too

[roseyjustice]

Sometimes you gotta grab a vamp and just give em a smooch !

[invinciblerodent]

it's been a real struggle to find notebooks that I actually like, but I think I have found myself at a crossroads where I must ask myself--

am I the kind of person who would put function above form, and use the lovely, though plain notebooks from the office supply store

or am I the type to say fuck it, form over function, bitch, and order a custom-made one with a collage of my blorbo on it strictly for the meme

[lavender-romancer]

Push it Down

Astarion x GN Reader

Everyday it got worse, the longing stares interrupted when La’zel would curiously catch your eyeline always straying to Astarion. Or how you would always inextricably walk next to him regardless of the goal ahead. Shadowheart would often question if Astarion had to open “every lock we find” at your request. But you couldn't help it, being near him, with him was all you would think about

AN: Astarion brainrot is a real condition people. Lots of lovely fluff.

You're a squishy wizard

*°*°•.˜”*°•.˜”*°•.˜”*°••°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”°*

“Do you have to make your feelings so obvious that it's painful?” Shadowheart asked as you looked through some random boxes you found in what remained of moonhaven.

“Do you have to bring this up again?” You jabbed back with a smile. “I'm not ashamed of it, but I will never outright admit it.”

“Lady of Sorrows guide you, I don't know how you're able to stand with your debilitating lack of a spine.” She raised her eyebrow and you simply rolled your eyes “Here, go give these to your boy-toy.” Handing you a few thieves' tools Shadowheart walked to another side of the room and continued looting.

You scampered outside, only realising when you were in front of Astarion how desperate it must have looked to run up to him like a dog wagging its tail excitedly. He was unlocking a chest that was one in a big group La'zel and Karlach had put together for him to deal with.

“Here,” you held out the tools with a smile that was much too big for such a small token.

“Thank you, darling.” He smiled up at you. “You're looking particularly overjoyed, what's got you so energetic?”

“Uh… looting.” You never were good at lying.

“Thank the Gods you never became a politician because your inability to deceive is one of your greatest qualities.” He opened the chest he had been working on.

“I suppose. But I wish I was better at more things like that, it just makes me so nervous to not be honest.” You fidgeted with your hands.

“Well, for starters you need to be better at improvising, it is adorable to see you try and lie to anyone and fail miserably. I'm convinced you should just be completely honest and people might not believe you.” Standing up he brushed the dust off his trousers and you were now face to face. Given, a few steps apart but it still made you smile and your feet shuffle anxiously.

“The tadpole has definitely made me better at lying, you have to at least admit that.” You were practically beaming, staring at him in awe.

“Still, you carry most of your emotions in your eyes and your inability to stop smiling. You'll get there eventually my friend, probably, I mean probably not but it's very sweet that you continue to try. Anyways, we should head back to camp for the evening I am positively spent.” Astarion walked past you to pick up his backpack and you internally groaned.

It was so deeply embarrassing when you couldn't keep your emotions hidden. A problem you had usually put down to anxiousness, but realistically it was just something you had to learn to live with. You were an open book with almost no air of mystique about you. Maybe that was why Astarion seemed so utterly uninterested in seeking anything but friendship or a quick night of passion.

As you lay in your tent, you conjured a mage hand to throw books at you to try and practice your telekinesis but it was going dreadfully. Whilst your magic was growing back to it's former strength before the tadpole you were still plagued by poor reaction times to basically anything. One quite powerful throw from the conjured hand hit your arm and you yelped, sure that it would leave a bruise.

“What mischief are you up too now?” A voice suddenly asked, distracting you from the task at hand as a book hit you square in the face.

“Fuck!” You exclaimed, dismissing the mage hand and rubbing your nose.

“Are you trying to be agile again? You know how that ended up last time.” Astarion joked as he entered your tent and sat down opposite you.

A funny but painful memory entered your mind when you had tried to climb over a very small wall to surprise some goblins and had instead ended up on your back in front of them. If falling over in front of some goblins wasn't bad enough, you had also slipped in grease that was extremely easy to avoid alerting the whole horde to your party's location. The bollocking you got from La'zel after that encounter made you promise to work on your ability to not be “such a fucking Wizard” whatever that meant.

“No, surprisingly I was failing at something else.” You quipped back at him, “anyways, did you want to feed or-”

“No, well yes but, I wanted to talk to you.” He licked his lips absentmindedly and seeing the slight glint of his fangs off the light of your candle made your eyes grow wider. You never knew you'd have a thing for vampires…

“Oh! Do uhm, talk away.” You cringed at your inability to string a sentence together.

“I- look. I know that I am beautiful and wonderful darling, but have you been looking at me slightly differently lately?” he asked, you could almost sense that he was nervous but you weren't sure why.

“What do you mean?” You responded with your eyes fixated on your bedroll on the floor as the alarm bells rang in your head.

“With more longing behind your eyes?” You hadn't noticed that same longing in his eyes which was often present in your gaze.

“Who- I- why did you get that impression?” You fumbled through your words and began fiddling with your robe.

“Oh, I…” he trailed off and you finally looked up, sensing his dejected tone you cocked your head.

“You sound disappointed.” Your tone was soft in an attempt to stop him from running away from the conversation.

“Disappointed? Darling if I wanted you I could most certainly have you.” Having returned to his snarky sense of security you frowned.

“Is that why you seem so annoyed? Because I rejected you before?” Your mind went back to drinking red wine with him, the sour taste filling your nose all over again. It wasn't that you didn't want him, you just didn't want the first time you could spend the night with him to be clouded with alcohol and regret. Maybe it had bruised his ego but there were so many reasons to try to let your bond grow overtime.

“You think that wounded me? I have laid with thousands and I'll lay with thousands more before I am hurt by that!” He exclaimed but you could see the hurt in his eyes that he struggled to hide.

“I didn't want it to be like that. Something that you might feel like was a mistake, a drunken mishap you'd rather forget. I didn't- I don't want you to think I did it because I did not want it. Under different circumstances things would have been different for me.” Clasping your hands together you tried to reach his gaze but it was so accusatory that it was making your heart pound.

“I- I don't think I've ever been rejected as tactfully as you did.” Astarion almost laughed with a far-away look in his eyes.

“It didn't feel genuine and I couldn't allow myself to be swept up in all of it knowing that we weren't on the same page with our feelings about one another.” Smiling sadly you looked at the book that had previously hit you in the face, pushing it to the side you moved a bit closer to him. “I'm sorry that you felt like you had to do that, that night I mean. Correct me if I'm wrong, please.”

“I'm not sure how you know me so well that it's almost concerning.” His voice sounded strained as he departed from his snarky performative notes.

“You've become my favourite distraction through all of this shit we've dealt with. I really like being around you, it will be a shame when it all comes to an end when we get to Baldurs Gate.” your voice didn't show your true sadness but your eyes certainly did and Astarion could tell.

“I was hidden for so many years within those city walls, imprisoned and kept as a loyal pet before the nautiloid. A grim reality was the only way to escape the even worse life I was living and… I never thought I'd make friends let alone feel connected to someone. But you, you're thoughtful and sweet and respectful and too perceptive for your own good but so silly and honestly so bad as hiding that it's hilarious. Finding someone who understands you is a great gift and I would not like to squander it.” Astarion reached out his hand and it shook slightly as he showed his true vulnerability. You looked from his hand to his face, it was genuine and really from everything you could gather, it seemed like he was being the most honest he'd ever been with you.

“You want to stay together?” Your voice was so hopeful as your head told you that you were an idiot.

“Yes. You fool. Was that not clear. Now hold my hand so we're not both fools.” He rolled his eyes and you hurriedly held his hand. Your clamminess was immediately obvious given his hand was ridiculously cold. “God you mortals are always sweaty aren't you.” He gave you a cheeky smile and you had to laugh or you'd descend into an anxiety ridden madness.

“Do you want to stay here tonight? I would enjoy a cuddle.” You asked.

“Just a cuddle Darling?” He flirted but there was still that look behind his eyes that was there after the tiefling party. The look you had come to understand was the dogma drilled into him to seduce, sleep with and then sacrifice all his conquests. Sex wasn't the same in Astarion's head as it was in yours but you didn't mind, it wasn't important to you.

“Just a cuddle.” You smiled in a way that you hoped was supportive and whilst he looked surprised he didn't seem disappointed. “Come here,” you lay down on the pillows and invited him to chest.

Whilst tentative he rested his head on your chest and slowly placed his hand on your arm. You without warning wrapped your arms around him in a squeeze of a hug that would probably suffocate someone who wasn't already dead. But he seemed to appreciate it as he nuzzled under your chin and his body began to relax. You stayed like that for a while until you began to snore and Astarion peeled himself from your embrace. He sat up and started to read, every so often glancing down at you. How an earth had he allowed himself to fall for a Wizard?

Astarion Taglist:

@anukulee

[altacctforastarion]

Ohh, you allow requests! And they're open! Which i learn just after I've had an Astarion x reader idea!

Okay, so how about Astarion x reader, where the reader is a bit like Xie Lian, if you know him? Basically, reader has been really poor for a long time and has learned to make do with the bare necessities. They find a decrepit, molding hut and are like "yay! Shelter! :D". They're more than willing to eat old and sometimes even rotting food and take all the food along that they can. And they're just always optimistic and see the positive in everything. Rotting food is still food and a decrepit hut, is still a roof over ones head.

And Astarion is just appalled because yeah, he's been rather poor too recently (for like the last 200 years), but poverty is no excuse to willingly do things like that!

This is such a fun idea, thank you for requesting @lotus-ignis !!

Warnings: mentions of living in poverty, kinda food scarcity ish but I tried to keep this one from being too angsty.

I think in act 1 he would be kind about it, just to make sure you’d still protect him, but in late act 2 after moonrise and 3 I think he would be gentle and understanding since he’s also done plenty of gross things just to get by. I set this in act 1 for the actual disgust element he’d have towards your behavior.

This one might have ended up a little out of character whoops

Enjoy!

“Astarion! I found something!” You yell, and he follows the sound of your voice as best he can over the pouring rain. The two of you had gone scouting east while a few others went in different directions, but the rain had come on suddenly, and you’d split up to look for shelter.

He jogs to where he thinks you are and sees you staring at this absolute shit shack of a house, molding and falling apart, and with a sigh he starts to head in, as it’s the best shelter either of you have found and the rain is weighing him down.

“Isn’t it great? We should tell the group to come here and stay tonight!” You yell over the rain as you follow him inside.

He starts to laugh, but he looks at you and sees you’re serious, looking around the house with wonder. He notices a huge hole in the back of the house, flooding the molding floor with water, and while he bites back his remarks his face is full of disgust, and he’s lucky you aren’t looking at him. Instead you open a basket, and pull out some rotting apples, brown and squishy in your hand, and he watches as you put them in your pack.

“Darling, that’s rotten. You just put rotten apples in your pack.” Disgust is now in his voice as well as all over his face, he’s absolutely terrified of what you eat when no one is around to see it.

“Well yes, but it’s still food, it’s not that bad, really.” You say, turning to look at him, and you notice his bitter expression for the first time, your smile dropping. “But that’s ok, no one else has to eat it, I will. No worries.”

“No, no no. No one is eating that, take it out if your pack.” He’s not about to let anyone eat that, not that he really cares but it’s truly pathetic. “I’ve been desperate, you know what I had to do while I was a slave, but we aren’t desperate. This horrid, decrepit building is something we are only dealing with because of the rain. If it was a nice, sunny day we’d still be scouting.”

“But it’s food, and this is a house. We need those things, a house is better than the little area in the forest, isn’t it?”

“That’s not food anymore, and this place isn’t a house, it’s a monstrosity.”

“Well maybe some people couldn’t afford nice things than this and made it just fine.”

He’s surprised by the agitation in your tone, you’re not someone he’s seen angry, usually calm and happy and marveling at any and everything- oh. You marvel at everything because you come from nothing. The squeeze on his undead heart is also surprising. Why should he care? He’s had it bad too.

But he does care, nice goody two shoes people are rich assholes who just want more fame and glory. Right?

“I apologize, I wasn’t trying to offend you.” He says, gently, as he follows you around while you loot the place.

You ignore him, stashing away more rotten goods, and you towards the back of the house near where the hole is, looking for more goods. He cautiously follows, not excited to go closer to that hole or the rather large puddle on the floor. There’s a horrible crack sound and on instinct he grabs you and pulls you toward him, moving both of you as the floor you were just standing on caves in. He doesn’t let you go right away, afraid you’ll try to salvage that too.

“Darling, let’s sit and wait out the rain over there, hopefully the floor doesn’t give out.” He leads you, an arm around your shoulders, to the floor by the door and you both sit.

“Maybe this isn’t a great shelter for the group.” You say, finally coming to terms with the fact that how you’ve lived before can’t always be sustainable.

“No, but I’m sure we can find something. Maybe we can even find a moldy house, to suit your tastes.” He tries to joke, to lighten the mood a bit, but you send him a look that makes his smile drop. “Look, I understand you’re used to places like this and food like what you put in your bag, but I’m not sure clinging to that now is a good idea. We have many ways to get food, and we have plenty of people to find a safe place to stay that’s not literally falling apart.”

“But it’s still food, and this is still a house.” You protest, even though the only reason you aren’t soaking wet and injured in the dark, dirty place under the house is because Astarion saved you.

He still looks disgusted, but he nods, “Sure. How about this kind of thing is a last resort and not a great find? Because to get out the rain, this is a great find, but unless you’re starving and out of options those rotten things you put in your pack are not great finds”

You realize he’s trying to meet you in the middle, and you reluctantly nod.

When he sees you take a bite out of a rotting apple later he just looks away, old habits die hard after all.

—

Alternate version in headcanon format:

- He’d noticed your little quirks shortly after joining your group, how you’d find something that was clearly awful and take it with you anyways. At first he thought maybe you’d poison someone with the rotten food you’d acquired, but he was thoroughly appalled when he saw you eating it. He stayed quiet, just watching you then.

-But one day you come back with a rotting basket full of trash and he tells you that you’re insane. And you just shrug and remind him he doesn’t need to eat food so he doesn’t have to like it. He lets it go again, but he does start to pick up good food that he finds (previously he didn’t, he didn’t get to eat it after all, and if no one was looting well enough to find what he had then that was their own mistake when they went hungry that night). He just wants to see what you’ll go for first if you have options. You pick the rotting food everytime.

-He hates it. He’s lived centuries with nothing, he had no choice but to do what he did just to survive, and you have options, yet you choose the absolute wrong option everytime.

-I think you’d lead the group to this awful, depressing and perpetually dark place and say you found the perfect spot for the group to camp and he would just lose it.

-“What the fuck? This is the place you spoke so highly of? What is wrong with you?”

-And you tell him nothing is wrong with making the most of things. He hates that too, and he tells you you’re wrong. That this place is straight from the hells and no one is entering it. He tells you he’s had to do awful things to live, as most have, but there is absolutely no excuse to move the group into this monstrosity instead of looking for a better place or just sleeping on the ground.

-You’re angry. This is all you’ve ever known, places like this are from the gods, not the hells. It’s free and easy and no one will bother you here. You tell him as much.

-He’d be kinder after that. A bit of sympathy, a lot of anger as he tends to look down on people who in anyway remind him of his time as a slave, and absolute disgust.

-He starts to get rid of the rotten food when you’re not looking, as much as he can whenever he can. If he spots it first while the group is looting he hides it where you won’t see it or hits it with a fire bolt.

-Sometimes he gets brave and takes things from your hands, or even asks you for them just to throw them as far away as he can.

-when you find another hideous place to stay he tells you he’ll burn it to the ground while you all sleep, and he says it with a grin, but there’s too many teeth, too much of an edge in his voice. So you don’t stay there that night.

-When you grow closer, he starts to hold your hand, and you think it’s sweet but he’s only doing it to easily tug you away from whatever disaster you’ve found yourself excited about.

-Eventually you tell him about your past, about how you used to live, and he’s nice about it but he tells you that that’s in the past and you’re never fucking living like that again.

[ginavampina]

Your Astarion&Darcy illustrations are SO CUTE! I wonder...does Darcy takes after mommy or after daddy regarding the personality?

Ahh thank you! I love them both very much 😭

D’arcy is very mischievous but overall a very happy lil lad. In terms of his personality I think he has a lot about him that could be traits from either parent, though when he’s younger I imagine he takes after Astarion’s fun/mischievous nature more.

I like to imagine D’arcy has the temperament of a kitten. Playful but is also a keen (but clumsy) hunter. He is as chaotic as you would expect a baby dhampir to be 😭 He rarely sleeps in his own bed and will often “hunt” his parents whilst they sleep which consists of him wriggling his way onto their bed and pouncing on Astarion’s face. The gum bite attack usually follows. For a time I imagined they swaddled him and tied him to their canopy bed so he was hanging upside down like a bat and he slept soundly. D’arcy’s infamous sleeping arrangement was what initially inspired the coffin piece I did for the three of them too!

Thank you all for the D’arcy love. He’s a squishy lil boy and he’s just so precious at this stage of his life. Well, actually, D’arcy is always precious. If you want an idea of what he’s like when he’s older — think of someone like Zagreus from Hades Game. Their personalities line up quite well!

(Also sorry to everyone who thought D’arcy was a girl 😂😭)

Please enjoy a lil bonus of this cleaner coffin lineart update!

[talesofthedm]

Shopping Trip (Pt. 1)

I want to write that one ballroom scene we never got because it's on my mind and that starts with a shopping trip, because we need fancy outfits before pissing off Gortash at his own event.

Not finished (hence part 1)

Contains spoilers for Act 3, and some references to Act 1 and 2

No i have not proofread this (or edited it)

Summary: Figaro the facemaker has had a very eventful past five minutes and he does not handle it well.

Word count: 1.6k (its short)

CW: Blood. Much blood. No combat, but it's the aftermath of one. Mentions of murder, cults, Astarion being a flirt for like 1 line.

Excerpt:

“No, that— just let me.” Astarion slung off his pack. “Gale, hold this.” The elf began rummaging through it, shoving bits and bobs in the wizard’s direction before he could even respond. Random blades, a balled-up piece of cloth that was more rag than shirt at this point, a sack of something inexplicably squishy, a severed head— “I think we forgot to deliver Nere.” There was a certain disinterest in Shadowheart’s voice that left Figaro somehow more concerned. “We can just mail him.” He tossed the severed head towards Karlach, taking pity on the poor wizard before the mountain of books and bits and useless knickknacks toppled over onto the floor. “That courier service owes us for getting rid of his cat problem.”

Freya dragged herself up from the floor, a deep gash along her side that certainly cut through deep muscles if not straight to the bone. The fire of her hair was nothing more than a ruddy brown with how much blood was caked through it. She pulled a large purse from her pack and slammed it onto the polished counter, leaving bloody handprints and a dripping trail. “How much for a rush job?”

Under normal circumstances, Figaro would scream at her and her friends for ruining his nice countertops, toss them out onto the street, and threaten to call the guards if they ever stepped foot in his shop again.

The twisted bodies lying on his polished hardwood floors reminded him that these were not, in fact, normal circumstances. He was trying not to stare at them, their bat-like faces and needle-like fangs lying beside the now charred corpse of a dwarf. If he hadn’t sipped the wine himself, if he hadn’t been forced to watch helplessly as the red dwarf unfurled his supply of saws and scalpels, if he hadn’t watched as the elf in front threw her body between Figaro and his would-be murderer with his own eyes, he would have never recognized the body as anything but an over-the-top decoration meant to scare children.

His extremities were still cold, buzzing in that sort of way it did when he would lean on his hand for too long while drawing new designs. No matter how he shook or massaged them, it would take years to get feeling back in the tips of his fingers.

But the elf woman in front of him only confirmed what he initially thought about her when she have blindly dived between him and the scalpel with her one question: this woman was mad. Completely, utterly, mad. Bleeding out on his floor, surrounded by a pile of bodies. He wasn’t sure what blood was hers or its or his or the dwarf’s or her companion’s.

To be honest, he wasn’t even sure if he still had a shopfront. What wasn’t burned to cinders was frozen solid, what wasn’t frozen solid was water and blood-logged, what wasn’t water and blood-logged was charred beyond repair. They were all mad, slinging spells left right and center as if this was some kind of fighting pit and not his entire livelihood.

What was strangest to him, though, was the woman kneeling in prayer. It was natural, he supposed, to try to find solace after such a harrowing event. But she wore armor the same as the rest of them, she brandished weapons more fearsome than that of the giant red tiefling beside her. She had flung around one of the changelings between her and her green companion with no more effort than one would play ping-pong! What could she be praying for?!

And then came the wash of light that emanated from her, cool and soothing both in color and feel. There was nothing on him to physically heal, but he watched as Freya stood straighter, her side stitching itself together as if nothing was ever wrong in the first place.

Astarion wiped his blades on the sides of hid armor, the bright red of the cloth doing absolutely nothing to hide it. He stepped over to Freya, taking her chin in his hand and pulling her to him before licking the layers of blood from her cheek. “You need a bath,” he responded to the non-question. She wasn’t even phased, accepting it with no more attention that an owner would give a pet.

They were all mad.

Freya reached up and removed a glove so she could tap the counter with the edge of her nail, directing the tailor back to the coin pouch. “Tonight. Archduke’s celebratory-coronation-whatever-it-is ball. How much?” He must have been paralyzed again. Yes, that was it. Someone had shoved a bottle of paralytic in his mouth and he couldn’t remember it. Why else would he be standing there, mouth gaping as pathetically as a caught fish. She reached up and closed it for him.

“I think we broke him,” Wyll whispered.

The simple statement was enough to snap him out of it, however. “There’s seven of you!” They all looked around, as if counting to confirm the statement, before nodding as if he was the fool. “You’re all insane!”

Freya’s response was to place another equally fat pouch beside the first. Figaro stared, dumbstruck. “I—I’ll see what I have on hand that can be fitted… Do you all know your measurements?” They all just stared blankly. Even Wyll, who had had almost monthly trips to this very shop as a youth, no longer knew the answer. Between his years banished and how unfamiliar his new body was, it was a mystery to him.

“Seriously?” Astarion threw his head back, groaning. “How do you all not know something so basic?!”

“I am one and a half blade’s long.”

“That’s not a measurement!”

“It is among the Gith. I can also provide it in arrows, if that is any easier.”

“No, that— just let me.” Astarion slung off his pack. “Gale, hold this.” The elf began rummaging through it, shoving bits and bobs in the wizard’s direction before he could even respond. Random blades, a balled-up piece of cloth that was more rag than shirt at this point, a sack of something inexplicably squishy, a severed head—

“I think we forgot to deliver Nere.” There was a certain disinterest in Shadowheart’s voice that left Figaro somehow more concerned.

“We can just mail him.” He tossed the severed head towards Karlach, taking pity on the poor wizard before the mountain of books and bits and useless knickknacks toppled over onto the floor. “That courier service owes us for getting rid of his cat problem.”

“Tressym. And her name is Tara!”

“She is cute, has a general air about her that says ‘I’m better than you’, and eats pigeons. That’s a cat.”

“So, you’re a cat?” Freya poked.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, dear, but we have more pressing matters at hand— hold this.” Astarion pulled a rather strange dagger from his pack, the blade like blown sea glass and the unmistakable iconography of Baahl expertly crafted into the ferrule. He placed it directly into Gale’s open hand.

“Is that the dagger? I told you I wasn’t touching the damn murder weapon!”

“I would never make sure your fingerprints are all over a weapon used to kill one of the most beloved priests in the city.” Next came out of the bag were the torn-up letters, the strands of delicate strands of beads, and the shining rings. A single one of them could buy out Figaro’s entire shop—no wonder the woman had thrown down bags of coin like nothing.

Finally, the white-haired elf gave a silent cheer. “Gale, buddy, put that stuff away for me, will you?” He stacked the now empty pack atop the giant pile in Gale’s arms and reached over the counter and handed a folded-up piece of paper to Figaro. “You’re going to want to double check the breast—”

“Why in the nine hells do you have everyone’s measurements?!” Wyll yelled.

“What do you mean breast?!” Shadowheart yelled at the same time.

“I’m not sure if I should be impressed or holding you at knifepoint,” Lae’zel added.

Astarion threw up his hands in defense. “We were in the Shadowlands, you all sleep like rocks, there was nothing to hunt, and I was bored. What did you expect me to do?”

“Read a book!” Wyll called to the heavens. “Like a normal person!”

“Not touch me in my sleep?!”

“You saw my collection,” Astarion waved to the now shrinking pile of books in Gale’s hands, each one meticulously being stowed away with the ghostly blue mage hand he had summoned. “I finished those in, like, one night. And I would never do that!”

“Without permission,” Freya added.

“Without permission!” he agreed. “Plus, it makes it easier to patch everyone’s clothes if I know what it is I am supposed to be patching.”

Figaro continued to stand, watching the odd collection of people bicker over something he considered so mundane.  His sister (the golden child) was a tailor, his father (the bastard) was a tailor, and he (the rightful heir) was a tailor. He'd guess inseams and shoulder width at a glance when he was bored, and he assumed the elf in front of him could do the same.

“So, what, you were just randomly guessing at the size of my thighs while we were killing Myrkul?”

Figaro waved in their general direction, the last of his sanity snapping at the way it was said so bluntly, before pointing at each one individually. You’re all insane! You’re insane,” Freya. “You’re insane,” Karlach. “You’re insane,” Gale. “You’re especially insane—”

“I’m a vampire.” Astarion smiled, flashing the poor tailor his blood-stained fangs in the process. Figaro crumpled under his own weight, eyes rolling back in his head as he hit the ground with a thunk.

“Now look what you did,” Shadowheart scolded. “Now we have to wait.”

“We could always try his sister.”

“You,” she jabbed a finger in his chest. “Nearly tried to kill a man in there. I doubt she’d want us anywhere near that place again.”

“He was annoying me! It is not my fault Freya kept talking to him!”

“He was funny,” Freya retorted. “Mostly because he annoyed you.” Astarion just stood, pointing at Freya like a child placing blame.

“Annoying someone is not a reason to try to stab them.”

“Then what the hell have we been doing for the past month?!”

“I agree with the elf. That man would have been killed day one of training for simply speaking.”

[ellekhen]

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 92 - Live With Me

Chapter Summary: Karlach takes Church to meet her parents. Church visits Mayrina. Astarion makes it clear that he has had enough of Church's martyr complex.

Pairing: Astarion x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 494K+ words; Chapters 92/95 (Master Post)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51849265/chapters/160455223

Excerpt below:

Karlach leads Church over to a set of graves in the shade of a willow tree. The same willow tree, Church notes, and with a certain other headstone nearby… 

But right now isn’t about him. Or Astarion.

Right now, he watches as his dear friend crouches down to examine another weathered headstone. 

“‘Here lie Pluck and Caerlach Cliffgate,’” she reads with a rueful smile. “My parents. Hi mum. Hi dad.”

With a soft grunt, she arranges herself into a seat upon the ground. 

“Sorry I haven’t visited,” Karlach mumbles sheepishly. “I’ve been… away.

She brightens up, “But I’m back now! And I brought a friend.”

She tugs Church down into a seat beside her.

“Meet Church,” she says warmly. “He’s been my best friend through thick and thin. He’s a little squishy, but…” she winks at the warlock’s affronted face. “...he’s saved my life, and, well… I’ve saved his. I think I’ll keep him, if that’s alright.”

Church smiles shakily at her, slipping his hand into hers and squeezing briefly. Karlach smiles back, but her eyes well up with tears as she turns back to the grave.

“I miss you… so much,” her voice breaks. “But I’m happy! And getting up to some really important shit. Maybe you can see for yourselves… I dunno.” 

She peters off, uncertainly. 

“You’re with me here, anyway,” she murmurs, pressing a hand against her own glowing, infernal heart. “Taters.”

Church continues to sit for a moment of silence beside her, before he ventures —

“‘Taters?’”

Karlach chuckles. “Meant ‘I love you’ in the Cliffgate household. I can’t even remember how it started anymore. Lost family lore. There was a lot of silly nonsense in my house. My mates used to say we had our own personal language.” 

She looks over at him with a wry smile. “I guess I’m the last remaining speaker.”

Church leans his head to rest against her warm shoulder.

“Tell me something about them?” he asks her softly.

“Like what?”

“Anything,” Church murmurs. “Were they tieflings like…”

…a mother and father who didn’t exist, in their cozy city home. Welcoming their son back after being away for so long. As if they knew him all his life. As if they had been real, and not just the imagination of a lonely shadow stuck trapped inside a lonelier boy…

“...like us?” he finishes.

“Sure were,” Karlach smiles fondly. “People always used to say I looked like my dad when I was little. He was red like me. But now that I’m all grown, I dunno…” she tugs at her hair. “...maybe it’s wishful thinking, but when I look in the mirror now, even beneath all the scars, tattoos, and flames I see my mum more than anything.” She shrugs. “We weren’t highborns or anything. We didn’t have portraits done of us as proof. I just have a feeling. And, well… Fytz said something like it too.

“I remember my dad sneezed real loud,” she giggles. “Mum used to complain about it. But he couldn’t help it; he was allergic to cats and she kept bringing them around. Eventually we kept one, but then she had babies, and then we had our hands full. Literally. We named them…”

She frowns, thinking.

“...damn, I can’t remember,” she sighs. “Wait — one was… ‘Rosie,’ or something? But it was short for…” she huffs a laugh, “...Rosemary! That’s it! And then there was Timmy — which is what I called him instead of ‘Thyme.’ And Clove, and Pepper, and…!”

Church grins as his friend happily recalls sweeter, simpler days. He imagines a young tiefling girl playing with and petting the kittens just as she does now with Scratch, Little Brother… even Us, once she warmed up to the odd intellect devourer.

As Karlach tells Church more about her parents and childhood, the conversation shifts to more solemn, contemplative topics about faith and death. In the serene setting of the graveyard, it feels fitting.

Karlach sighs after a while. “It’s nice to see the dead resting here, isn’t it? I suppose these are the lucky ones.” She looks around, frowning. “Damn, where’s that flower seller? She’s usually set up in that corner back there…”

While she grumbles, Church crawls over to a familiar patch of wildflowers. He smiles to see the pale, star-shaped blooms popping from the ground — petals now closed to the sunlight.

“What were their favorite colors?” he calls over to Karlach. She returns with a low chuckle.

“Meant to be, I suppose,” she grins. “Blue for my mum. Dad liked yellow.”

She joins Church in plucking a couple more blooms from the flower patch.

“Forget-me-nots,” she sighs happily. “These used to grow in our window box…”

She places the little bundle of flowers before the grave. With an uncertain look upon her face, she clasps her hands together in silent prayer. To whom, Church doesn’t inquire.

While she prays, Church quietly lays the last flower upon a certain grave nearby. 

“Who’s that?” Karlach asks curiously, lowering her hands. 

Church gives her a small, secret smile. 

“See for yourself,” he shrugs. 

His friend crouches down before the stone, squinting at its engravings. Her eyes widen, her lips parting in surprise. 

“No way,” she breathes. “All this time… this was here?” She huffs. “I’ve been here since I was a kid. Walked by that very stone. Gods…” She looks up at Church. “Did you know?”

“Not until he showed me,” Church explains. “The day after the ritual.”

“Right,” Karlach nods, tracing her fingers down the stone. She smiles at the new, clumsily-etched date. “You two were gone that whole night, I swear.”

She frowns at the ground beneath her. “He climbed out of here two centuries ago, but the dirt still seems a bit turned up here. Wonder why no one—?”

She stops upon noticing Church’s purple blush rising upon his determinedly neutral face. 

“…oh,” Karlach says, gingerly standing up and stepping away from the grave. 

“‘Oh’ what?” Church says, voice strained in mortification. 

“You two couldn’t wait five minutes before being absolute freaks, couldn’t you?” she teases. “And in front of my parents?”

“Karlach I didn’t know!” Church protests into his hand. “Tell no one.”

“Oh I’m telling everyone.”

“Karlach!”

“Fine!” Karlach chuckles. “If only to keep Astarion’s grave private.”

“Exactly. Thank you,” Church grins at her. He wraps his arms around her waist into a hug. “Taters.”

Karlach snorts, burying her face into his hair and nuzzling his horns. 

“Taters.”

[dragonologist-phd]

#5, 23, 27, 37 of the BG3 asks for Naia?

thank you!

5. Do you remember the first humanoid enemy your Character killed? Was it the first person they’ve ever killed, in your opinion? Would they have been bothered by it?

Let's see, that would be...the looters in the ruins on the beach, if I remember right. I cleared out that area before even getting to the grove, so that would've been the first non-mindflayer fight for her

I don't think it would have been her first kill- her first time killing someone directly, maybe, but she doesn't really split hairs on the difference. She'd made a living for a while selling herbs and potions, and she definitely sold poisons as well. She knew what her poisons would be used for, and she did it anyway- she doesn't see it as all that different from killing someone in battle.

All in all, it didn't affect her that much; she tried to resolve things peacefully, they attacked first, she was justified in fighting back, and honestly, she had much more important things to worry about at the time than the ethics of killing in self-defense

23. What are your Character’s thoughts on the dream visitor?

She was...conflicted. She definitely didn't trust them at all at first, but over time they did start to seem a little more trustworthy. Still, they always seemed too perfect- too beautiful, too patient, too cajoling- and Naia is too cynical to take something like that at face value.

It was after they saved her and Lae'zel at the creche that she finally started coming around to the idea that they really did want to help, though she never did take their advice on consuming the tadpoles. She values her independence and the sanctity of her own mind way too much to ever take that leap of faith.

27. Who ended up in your Character’s most used party?

I don't think Shadowheart has ever left my party in Naia's playthrough lol. I love her, and so does Naia! (Plus Naia is squishy, she needs a healer with her at all times. especially in Act 1.)

Her other constant was Karlach, whom I also love. Naia is a little more awkward around Karlach- she doesn't always know how to meet Karlach's energy- but she admires her a lot, and it's always useful to have someone around who can actually pass an athletics check.

The last party slot varies depending on the quest, but those two were pretty constant!

37. Did your Character find the Necromancy of Thay? How are they handling it / planning to handle it?

She did and of course she read that thing right away! Her initial reaction was really just being psyched at finally getting some actual, peer-reviewed necromancy theory, seeing as her practice up to that point was almost all self-taught.

It all worked out pretty well, too- she breezed through the checks in reading the first section and got that nice Forbidden Knowledge buff. There's still a lot she couldn't read yet, of course, but she kept the book close at hand in anticipation of unlocking the rest.

(She did piss off Astarion by taking it for herself, but...come on. There was no prying that thing out of her hands.)

BG3 Act 1 Asks