#dark justiciar shadowheart x reader

[katyusha454]

We all know Dark Justiciar Shadowheart is a mean domme. But what if she's not always mean? Sure, most of the time she's cold and cruel and punishes you mercilessly for the slightest mistake. But even becoming the new Mother Superior isn't enough to completely eliminate her nice side. She still craves softness, she just can't let herself have it. Buy maybe, on very, very rare occasions when you've been behaving and she's in a good mood, she'll be gentle with you.

It only ever happens in the privacy of her bedchamber. She can't ever let anyone in the congregation see this weakness of hers lest they accuse her of heresy. But is it really heresy to do something you have to hide? Is not this secrecy an act of devotion in itself? That's how she justifies it to herself, anyway. And you certainly aren't going to question her; you've learned well by now to never, ever question your Lady's Chosen.

And it's not like you'd want to complain anyway. You love when she's soft, it reminds you of...something you can't quite remember, but you know it was a pleasant memory. Besides, it certainly gives you plenty of incentive to behave and always do your best during lessons.

It does have one side effect though. Sometimes when you go to bed together afterward you have strange dreams. You dream about things that never happened, people you've never met, places you've never been. You wake up in the middle of the night confused, convinced you're somewhere or someone else. This usually wakes Shadowheart up too, and she holds you close and makes soft shushing sounds until you calm down.

She asks you what's wrong and of course you tell her about your dream; you know better than to keep secrets from her. She always reassures you that everything is all right, though occasionally she sleepily mutters things under her breath like "You remembered that again? Dammit." You wonder what that means, but you don't ask her. You don't think you want to know.

She reassures you that everything's fine, you're safe, she knows these strange dreams are distressing but don't worry, we'll visit the Mirror in the morning and you'll feel better then.

[kyberphilosopher]

Tenebrous

Tenebrous/Tenebroum : shut off from the light : dark, murky. tenebrous depths... hard to understand : obscure. Word Count: 2362 NO WARNINGS Shadowhearts' mind is a weathering storm, but a storm is no match for one simple flower. A/N: Will be slowly returning to writing. I've been out of it for at least a year so my quality may not be what it used to, but I don't think it's that bad really. It's sorta proof read this time (not really)! Yayyyy.

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There are many changes in life that could be considered… unwelcome. Life in itself has a tendency to be such a complicated journey, weaving and webbing and entrapping all that it can; much like Lolth’s loyal, spindling spiders. Such arachnids, for example, shed their skin to allow for their growth. Flowers bloom up and down, all around, before they die. Even a body of water might change its height, day by day. None of these things, of course, possess a conscience. Only a human might possess that, and humans, miserably, are more often ticking time bombs than not. 

Shadowhearts' change was difficult to pinpoint. She’d shed her skin and dawned a better, holier mantle, and yet she did not shine anew. Her skin did not glimmer or reflect- only absorbed and denied. Her hair was black like loneliness, her eyes mossy shadows. The young woman, though previously punished and whipped, now rewarded with understanding. She understood how she’d come to choose the name Shadowheart for herself, and now she understood how she’d finally earned it. She was a living weapon. An envoy for The Dark Lady’s will. A Dark Justiciar. Shadowheart should’ve felt on top of the world for such a feat. 

You… well, all of you could still very clearly remember the look on Nightsong’s face when she was slain. Shock. Shock, surprise, fear. Shadowhearts' arm was heavy with muscle and willpower. There was no hesitation in her sage orbs as she brought down her Spear of Night. Then the Nightsong sang no more. 

“I did what had to be done,” the half elf had spoken about it after. “No point in fretting over it, is there?”

You watched her. Not always- not while she slept like a creep. A sneaking glance or two was all you needed. Shadowheart was a (somewhat) kind hearted, devout, and intimate woman who displayed a deep interest in bleeding something to dry as well as tenderly curing it. Few things seemed to matter as much to her as her faith- when there was a sky full of stars and constellations, an open emerald field dappled with lavender, a lost temple- she was always there, praying. Praying to her mother, who she did not know. Who she had no memory of. Who rarely answered her when Shadowheart thought up a question. Praying to the Lady of Loss. That never changed. 

You watched her. The morning light rose over the horizon, then the deep maroon leaves circling overtop the camp. Although Shadowheart had prayed this morning- early- she had not stopped. The young halfbreed sat with bent knees and clasped hands since before the sun had risen. Her peach-y pink lips muttered repeatedly to herself again and again, only pausing when she looked… pained? Or perhaps deep in thought?

She opens them. 

Your gaze turns to the gauntlets you fit around your arms. They are heavy, though not as heavy as Shadowhearts' eyes. When you glance over upon her once more, she pushes herself to her feet and then locks eyes with the ground for a long time. 

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There was much of Faerun that you had neglected to see, as you came to find out. There were lands covered in blankets of deep shadow and physical fear, bogs that would take the appearance of groves simply to trick all those who enter. There were tears in the sky that melted every night, according to Lae’zel. Astarion had described the many gothic manors and mansions that he had visited and admired. Gale of Waterdeep took no joy in restraining himself from speaking of his many accomplishments- most of which involved seeing something so beautiful, so rare- that he risked the Gods smite. 

Your boots were from Baldurs Gate, and they were not necessarily made for the mud that you trekked through. They were scratchy and tight, but the laces were coming loose. If you ever saw the city again, you swore you’d get a new pair. What an ‘if’ that was. But you were no complainer. You swallowed dryly, shouldered your bow and sword and continued onward silently. 

“Need something, friend?” a voice called from beside you. A smile creeps over your lips at the voice. 

“Do you, Astarion?” you look at the elf now walking close on your left. He’s taller than yourself- mostly due to his long and prodding neck. You supposed he used such a feature for snooping and being nosey. 

Astarion scoffs out a chuckle, before his tone turns to defeat. “Oh, you caught me. I must admit, friend, I’ve grown quite bored.”

“Look at my shoes,” you sigh. “I’d rather be bored than inadequately dressed.”

“Mmm. Yes, how unfortunate. You know, I must say I would’ve thought you smart enough to get your own well fitting shoes by now. This little adventure hasn’t exactly been…”

“I know,” you tell him. “Say, what did we do with those boots from the Underdark? The red ones, with the little black and silver designs.”

Astarion is briefly silent in thought, though it’s not him that breaks it. 

“I’ve them.”

You and your elven companion turn your heads over your shoulders. Shadowhearts' face is solemn and gaunt- nothing out of the ordinary. Still, a certain regret lingered in her deep, dark eyes. Her beauty was matched only by the background behind her, which was nothing but darkness. Hair, long and inky, fell over her shoulder lazily. 

“Ah,” Astarion smiled wide, showing off his pointy canines. “I was just wondering when you would join our conversation. So tell us, what is it you’ve done with the things?”

Shadowheart stayed silent. Her pace quickened, her own greaves and boots were metal and solid in the mud- built for it. On your right, she materialized like a dream, though she did not turn to look at you. 

“I took the boots,” Shadowheart explains matter-of-factly. “They grant the wearer intense bouts of speed and pursuit- hardly a trophy to simply leave behind. I might loan them to you… should you require them.”

You blink, trying to find your words. “Might?” you settle on. 

One step, two step, three and four. The upward hill you battle to hike reaches its peak, slanting downwards once more. From up here, you can see only a bit more than you might’ve thought. The lands your party currently crossed through were completely devoid of light and life, and so although you could confirm the sight of a large lake, you (nor any other member of the party) was able to register the important details of the environment before you. You all continued walking downhill without skipping a beat, unbothered at the thought of imminent death. 

It happens in an instant. Your armored knuckles brush against the metal of Shadowhearts' own hand. No, not a brush- a touch. It reverberates up your fingers and straight to your brain, where it’s stored deep in your memory without you even realizing it. It even produces a soft, but undeniable noise. 

Your eyes snap to hers, wide and alert. “Apologies, my lady,” you urge quickly. “I did not mean-”

Shadowheart stops suddenly. She stands in front of you, Astarion and Wyll wandering onward seemingly unaware- or perhaps simply uncaring. Now shorter than you at the incline, the young woman looks up at you with her piercing orbs. 

“You need not worry on it,” Shadowheart tells you, and for some reason it seems, at this moment, that she is only ever talking to you. Your lips part, looking back at her. The Justiciar’s own light green gaze is flitting between your own eyes, and you can’t help but feel yourself growing distracted off her face alone. 

The woman’s face was porcelain pale, delicate but well put together. Her cheekbones were high and soft, dappled with freckles that Shadowheart hoped no one would notice. Her lashes were generous and thick- just the same with her eyebrows. Her lips were shaped like a heart. Gods, her lips. They were tantalizing, even chapped and chewed on like now. Not even the scar cutting across her cheek and nose was enough to deter from her otherworldly beauty. How were you supposed to resist such a temptation so close by?

You cared too much for the young woman to trample in on her faith. You had traveled with Shadowheart long enough to see it was one of the few things that she cared for. Shar this and Shar that… You were no Shar. What pain could you possibly alleviate of Shadowhearts’? What void could you introduce her to? The answer was simple: none. You were no match for the Dark Justiciar, and even if you were, she would not allow you to be. 

“I apologize again, my lady,” you tell her, a firm whisper. 

Shadowhearts' eyes shift between your own for another moment longer, brief and fleeting. “You might wish for some healing, if it is to be a while before we see those boots again.” She slips a glove from her lithe hand- you catch a glimpse of the plum wound buried in the center- and says, “May I?”

You swallow dryly again. Water, your brain wishes. Instantly, your prayers are answered as saliva flushes your mouth. 

Shadowheart presses the palm of her hand to the base of your neck, where your armor leaves a sliver of your skin exposed. Her hand is cold, colder than anything you’ve ever felt. Yet, your body warms as her lips begin to chant.

You can feel the blood rush to your feet. Blisters that have lined your heels and toes and soles for weeks diminish in seconds, leaving your feet to settle more comfortably in your wear. The two sore heaps previously referred to as your legs alleviate themselves instantaneously. Even the sweat, stinking and insidious, brewing beneath your armpits slips away silently to the wind. 

Eyes could not be torn from the half elf in front of you if they were taken straight from your head. Your gaze is locked and fixed on Shadowheart, though you cannot find the words. Shall you thank her? Ask for her hand? Attempt to engage in a heart to heart conversation? No, control yourself. You bite down on your lip, hard, but with Shadowhearts’ healing hand lingering over your sternum, the blood does not stay for long. You watch her finish her prayer. 

“There,” Shadowheart looks up at you once more through her dark lashes. “You just seemed a little… parched.”

The Dark Justiciar holds your eye for a few seconds longer. Then she steps away. 

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Before Selune blessed the Earth with the light of the sun, there was nothing. Faerun, and everywhere else, was well a part of Shar’s domain of darkness. When her ethereal twin betrayed her by inventing life sustaining fire, the change was instant and could not be ignored. 

Shadowhearts story seemed the opposite. She had been close to the light once, she supposed- closer. She’d resented herself for it at the time; so, Shadowheart chose to bring herself closer to the dark. She chose to be as close as she could. She wanted to sit side by side with her mother, spear in hand, and quench her thirst on the blood of moonmaidens. Though, no such feat had come to pass. Shadowheart was not foolish. She understood it was a change that would take time to see such accomplishment. But had she not made it clear that there was no doubt? Shadowheart would slaughter a thousand nightsongs if it meant being Shar’s chosen. 

And yet, she felt more unhappy with herself than she had before. She resented herself. 

In the mornings when she’d wake early, Shar’s voice might whisper instructions in Shadowhearts’ pointed ear. 

“You are to suffer,” the low voice would guide. “To hate until you are released to loss, child.”

Shadowheart obeyed. 

In the nights when Shar’s power rose strong, her Justiciar would feel Shar’s thoughts as if her own. 

“You are to breathe in the darkness,” the low voice would guide. “To ponder on your wrongdoings until you might see clearly.”

Shadowheart obeyed. 

It was what she had wanted. But now that she was alone, Shadowheart was lonely, and not even herself was reliable for comfort any longer. 

Luckily, there is always you. 

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“Shadowheart!” you cry, lurching forward. “Wait!”

Alarmed, the cleric whips her head to yours. Shadowheart had not sensed anything more out there besides vague harm- certainly nothing close enough to warrant such urgency out of you. You need to catch up with the two boys, lest you end up hunting monster and monster hunter simultaneously. But your face shows no such concern for those things. Your eyes lower slowly from Shadowheart to the ground by her feet. 

Yes, there, beneath the greaves spattered in blood and leather soles reeking of death, was a flower. 

The thing was light, almost glowing, and a beautiful wisteria shade. It grew somewhat tall, with sharp leaves and petals like bells that only grew more midnight and lilac colored the deeper they went. Shadowheart let a small gasp slip from her lips. 

Slowly, as if you were dealing with a skittish, stray cat, you bend down into the dirt. As you pluck the flower from its stem, the smell of vanilla and musk swells the air. You stand eye level with the young woman in front of you, whose stare flits between the flower to your armor. 

“A night orchid,” you say. Shadowhearts’ favorite. “May I?”

The holy warrior looks at you sharply. 

You press it, holding her gaze with a soft and warming smile, to her palm. You can feel her heartbeat through her skin, excitedly in time with your own. Finally. 

“I…” she begins, but you turn your head to the side, waving her off. 

“It’s nothing,” you insist as you step away. “Wouldn’t want you to step on your favorite flower. I’m sure your Goddess would understand.”

Shadowhearts’ green eyes dance, though not with any emotion you’ve seen before within her. 

You smile again. “Let’s get you to Baldurs Gate.”

The young woman watches intently as you continue down the hill, clutching the purple flower tight in her hand. 

[magewisdumb]

Kisses - DJ Shadowheart HCs

A/N: I swear everytime I listen to Ghost I need to write Shadowheart it's NOT okay I'm NOT normal about this character.

CW: Spicy, aggressive kissing

Very much a biter

Cmon we all know this

LOVES to wear dark lipstick and seeing it smeared across her lover

Seeing her lover with swollen kiss bitten lips smeared with her influence gets her going

Her little marks of darkness <3333

Really wouldn't be surprised if Shadowheart worked some magic to het sharper canines to mark her lover with.

Sorry I am in a very need-to-be-marked-and-bitten mood

I also see DJ Shadowheart snapping her fingers to extinguish all the light in the room or casting darkness and keeping her lover guessing.

WAIT

Idea that's totally not related to these HCs

DJSH would get off from a cat and mouse level of chase (I've seen multiple fic writers explore this mechanic and it really works)

Except instead of the house of grief it's a forests she casts magical darkness on

All Tav can really see is glowing purple rimmed eyes in the darkness 💜

Anyways back to kiss HCs

Shadowheart definitely likes when her lover digs their fingers into her hair.

Commanding as DJ Shadowheart is... she's still very touched starved and having someone gripping onto her like that makes her feel wanted.

She gets pretty possessive with thay fact and grabs her lover roughly by the hips

A/N: I HAVE MORE IDEAS BUT IM GOING TO SAVE THEM FOR MORE NSFW HCS

[sorcerous-caress]

I’m still on about the cute pet names how do you think the various shart!version’s would react to being called my heart especially the angy shart variations like dark! And were! I wanna know how they react to the sheer softness of it.

Shadowheart Au's reacting to the nickname "My Heart"

[ Bg3, fluff, alternative universe, nb!reader ]

Dark Justiciar Shadowheart

It would take her by surprise, not just the petname but the sheer softness in your voice when you said it to her. After all she has put you through, she feels like she deserves nothing but pure venom from you

And yet, you're ever so gentle and sweet when you talk to her.

My heart. It's what you called her. Did you realise how much that simple name drummed on the strings of her own heart? She can never show you. You may never know the power you wield over her.

She can't afford it.

Selunite Shadowheart

"Then you're my soul" she'd reply, feeling the comforting warmth spread through her. She's truly blessed to have someone like you in her life, isn't she?

To call her something, so delicate, so precious. She is blushing as she smiles in coy embarrassment. When did she get so soft so much to get giddy as something like that?

She doesn't remember a time of her life when she got to experience anything similar. If she had to guess, she probably never did before.

Everything in this relationship is so new to her, and she gets a new pleasent surprise from you every day.

Vampire Shadowheart

"What a cold heart you have then." She'd playfully reply as she caresses your face with her fingers, cold skin contrasting against the heat on your cheeks.

She is attempting to play it cool and hide her flustration by making you the center of attention again.

Hide how much that petname affected her more because of the fact it is your own blood that runs through her veins, and you called her your heart so tenderly as if she had any right to that blood.

As if you saw her not as the parasite she saw herself as but as part of yourself, a part so precious that it deserved your blood and title of your heart. She is beyoned touched, she will remember your words forever.

Werewolf Shadowheart

She's willing to be more than your heart. She's willing to be your hands and claws, your eyes and teeth. She is willing to give you her own heart if you asked for it, she'd rip it out of her chest and present it on a silver platter for you.

The feelings and her thoughts are too intense that she doesn't get the chance to express them. Instead of a reply, you get pulled into a very intimate hug, her face between your shoulder and neck as she breathes in your scent.

"You really drive me crazy sometimes," she breathes out, eyes trained on the bite mark on your neck while she composes herself again.

Cowboy Shadowheart

The campfire burned brightly against the night sky. You could feel a steady rhythm of the fall and rise of her chest below your head. Cuddling more into her lap, you whispered the petname.

You swore you heard her heartbeat spike for a second, her arms tightening around you as she avoided looking into your eyes. Her head turned to the side whilst her hat lowered in an attempt to hide the redness creeping up her neck.

"It's almost criminal how sweet you are" She'd say, kissing the top of your head after she recollected he dignity enough to turn her head back at you.

[shadowfalllen]

Masterlist of my writing

Hi there! I'm Moonwytch on AO3, and I also write under the pseudonym Shadowfallen. I've been obsessed with BG3 ever since it came out, and I still play it often. I fell in love with Shadowheart and her character arc in ways I've never experienced before, and I've written about her more than anyone or anything else. At the moment, all of my writing revolves around her. I mostly write smut/romance with f/f pairings, and sometimes, I explore more plot-heavy themes.

Here is a list of all of my works, with a short description of what they're about:

~Selûnite Shadowheart fics~

Atop Piles of Gold

Your peaceful life in a countryside cottage gets spiced up one night when Shadowheart decides to introduce a little roleplay into your sex life.

Under the Old Apple Tree (co-written with RandomIntrovert)

It's springtime, and Tav and Shadowheart have been toiling away in the garden, but now it's time to take a break under the old apple tree. Things heat up fast.

Great Library Escapade

Sorcerer Tav can't keep their (mage) hands off Shadowheart as they visit the House of the Moon in Waterdeep.

Seed of Light

You and Shadowheart have been trying to have a baby in the cottage; this time, you have Selûne's blessings on your side. Take me like you hate me

Selûnite Tav indulges in the spider meat, becoming mega horny and distracting Shadowheart who takes matters into her own hands before Tav ruins her mission in the Gauntlet of Shar.

Before The Last Brew - on going

A mysterious new barista named Shadowheart arrives in town, turning the mundane everyday life of aspiring author Clara Whitfield upside down. (Modern Coffee Shop AU).

~Dark Justiciar Shadowheart fics~

The Old Yearning

Mother Superior Shadowheart has invited you to share a glass of wine in the cloister, but you have no idea that her feelings for you have taken a very dark and obsessive turn…

Catch Me If You Can (multichapter)

Tav and Dark Justiciar Shadowheart's favorite pastime is playing dangerous games of cat and mouse.

Seed of Darkness (co-written with RandomIntrovert)

Dark Justiciar Shadowheart comes to visit you in the dungeon, and she might have something that will make the pregnancy she has longed for a reality…

The Goddess of Silver and Shadow

The newborn goddess Shadowheart descends upon Baldur's Gate and takes it over. You are chosen as her entertainment for the evening.

In Her Dark Embrace

As the moonless night arrives, you and the rest of the Sharrans, led by Mother Superior Shadowheart, ready yourselves for a Nightfall ritual and the act of wickedness it requires.

To Defy The Gods - on going

Mother Superior Shadowheart has emptied herself of falsehoods and embraced the inevitability of loss. Almost. She can’t let go of Tav, clinging to the last flicker of light within her. But everything is fleeting in the life of a Sharran, and Shar's embrace grows ever tighter. How could she ever even dream of defying Lady Shar? And if she did, how could there be anything after?

If there’s one fic of mine I would recommend above everything else, it would be this epic redemption arc of Dark Justiciar Shadowheart. Click here to see what extra I've shared about it on tumblr.

Artwork of Shadowheart from To Defy The Gods by @cylinderarts

[random-introverted-blog]

I'm Not Dead, I'm Just Dying [New Shadowheart Oneshot]

Where do I even start with where I've been? I've had some internal family drama (half resolved) and work drama (ongoing) and a workload that is about to explode in June.

BUT

My bestie @shadowfalllen and I made a thing together awhile back. Self indulgent DJ Shadowheart. No intent to post it. Until she decided we should, and I love her, so we're doing it.

Expect it tonight [Eastern Standard Time]

Update: it's out now and here for your reading pleasure [please note the warnings before reading]

Seed of Darkness - Out Now

[It will be very dark, noncon, smutty, definitely 18+ content, mind manipulation/break, corruption, graphic all the way around... and breeding WHAT, WHAT'D I SAY?!]

[iri-2]

Rating: Major Character Death

Category: F/F

Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games)

Relationships: Shadowheart/Tav (Baldur's Gate); Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate)/You; Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate)/Reader

Characters: Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate)

Additional Tags:

Dark Justiciar Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate)

Selunite Tav (Baldur's Gate)

Religious Conflict

Blood and Injury

Hurt

Summary:

After you and Shadowheart, who becomes the new superior of the cloister, eliminate the Netherbrain, you part ways with her. However, during a mission to hunt down Selûnites, you are captured by Shar's followers. Until that moment, you had never revealed that you were a follower of Selûne.

So she's a Shar follower, so what?

She's got you, a Selûne disciple, bound to a cold metal execution pillar, isn't that what should happen?

If her doctrine demands she torture you to death, shouldn't you resign yourself to it?

You feel the small dark holes on the pillar, each of them hiding sharp steel needles, you know the methods of Sharrans. And the trigger for those needles is right by her side, even if she were to end you like this, so what?

Your crescent moon earring is roughly ripped off, tearing your earlobe, your circlet and clothes burnt to ash, your silver hair messy, drenched in your own blood, rubbing against your wounds, from your shoulder down to your entire body. You have almost nothing left, but you're still a Selûnite.

And this Shar's dark justiciar is about to execute you. Even if you love her dearly, she knows, yet now you're just a Selûnite, and she's your enemy.

"Why didn't you tell me you were a Selûnite?" the dark justiciar asks.

"Because I found out your faith," you reply.

"You could have made things less complicated, disappeared without a trace, and I'd never know you served the Moonwitch." The dark justiciar raises her spear. "Yet you still let me kill Selûne's daughter."

"You told me your lifelong dream was to be a dark justiciar, and I've supported you all along, or else we wouldn't have made it this far." The rough hemp rope binding you wears away at your wounds with every moment.

"Have you never had any murderous intentions towards me? Knowing I'm a Sharran." The dark justiciar's face is obscured by the hood, you can't discern her expression.

"When Netherbrain controlled us, killing wasn't the solution, cooperation was."

The handle of the Spear of Evening crashes heavily onto the cold ground. "You haven't answered my question, Selûnite." She once held you in her arms and affectionately called out to you with your name, but now you are just the soon to be executed Selûnite.

"Our Lady of Silver will spare me for letting a Sharran live."

"Don't mention that witch, I'm asking you, why didn't you kill me?" The spear tip presses against your throat, the chill emanating entirely from the dark justiciar.

"To shatter the grand design, I've killed many. But I've never had any intent to kill you." The Elder Brian's influence has been eradicated, the tadpole is dead, you can't read her thoughts, but you're too familiar with her, you can sense her emotions from her breath. "Shadowheart."

The Moonmaiden will forgive you, she never stopped you from falling in love with this Sharran in front of you.

"Oh, poor little Selûnite, do you think that would spare you? Does your indifferent Moonmaiden really care about you? She never takes a stance on anything, even if I killed her daughter and profaned her idol. No one will save you." The spear points at your chest.

"Then why waste time? Why not let others witness the blood of a heretic spilled in tribute to your Lady? Doesn't Shar implant commands in your ears?" You try to straighten your chest, getting closer to her spear.

The next moment the spear tip leaves you, Shadowheart rushes over, gripping your torn collar, her hood slipping down, the dark red around the pupils in her emerald eyes deepening. "I don't need a Selûnite to teach me what to do."

"I've told you, the rite of Selûne followers is to find their way to their people in the wild by showing their skills of navigation and self-reliance, as well as their determination to return to the Moonmaiden's silvery glow. I know because I've participated, and you clearly know that you have participated in this rite before." You look into her eyes, then your gaze sliding to the scar on her right cheek.

"Shut your filthy mouth, that night it was Lady Shar who saved me from wandering in the wild, not some ridiculous rite of the Moonwitch, it was darkness that saved me." She grips the upper end of the spear, placing the tip once again beside your neck. The surface of your neck has been cut, blood seeps from the new wound, flowing over your old ones.

"You've been deceived by Shar, you were once a Selûne follower, Mother Superior." The spear tip is mere millimeters away from your major artery. You prepare for death.

"Whether you're a Sharran or a Selûnite, or something else, I still love you, Shadowheart."

Blood gushes out, the Selûne’s head hangs weakly on her shoulder, every inch of her skin soaked in blood. The spear falls heavily to the ground, and its owner, kneeling before her lover, tears fall into her cold blood. The wound on her right hand that should have healed, throbs painfully. Why isn't Shar satisfied with the death of the Selûnite?

Notes:

This is my attempt at writing Shadowheart as a Sharran. In my six playthroughs of BG3, I never actually made Shadowheart a follower of Shar. In the upcoming patch 7, I plan to try this path.

[feyascorner]

7 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. “It’s too hard to see. We need to turn back.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little bit of darkness.”

You scrunch your nose at this, and he merely grins. Before you can say anything, he’s back to pacing across the dirt without a care in the world—almost too fast for your liking. “Will you at least slow down?”

“Shall I hold your hand?”

“I’d rather cut it off.”

“A pity.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 6.9k words !!! this chapter took forever but somehow i managed!! thank you so much for your kind words and patience !!! he's kind of a silly guy in the chapter so pls enjoy this peace offering as the calm before a storm

“Are you sure this is the right course of action? Letting him ascend?” Shadowheart asks as you adjust one of the logs in the campfire, watching the other companions organize their tents from afar. You stop at this, turning to face her.

“It’s what he wants,” you mumble. “I won’t stop him if he’s sure this is the right thing to do.”

You’re still getting used to her hair, which’s now as white as a sheet, but you think it looks lovely against the fire. She seems calmer than she did when she was with Shar. At peace, almost. She casts you a sidelong glance. “Can we really trust his judgment of all people? He’s—I mean, well, him.”

“I know it sounds unreasonable," you say letting yourself sit down beside her on her bedroll. “But I want him to make his own decisions. He’s spent too many years having no choice of his own, and I’d be the worst person to take it away from him again.”

“I just,” her voice softens. “Astarion’s a complicated person, and I’m sure you know better than us. It’s because he couldn’t make his own choices for so long that it makes me think he’s lost his capability to make any choices anymore. Good ones, at least.”

“I trust him.”

“Gods knows how.”

You stifle a laugh, and she sips at her wine, eyes still glazing over the camp. There’s a kind of solemnness to them that makes your stomach churn. “You seem worried.”

“Not worried, per se,” she shrugs. “I just realize that I owe a debt to you for what you did for me against my lad—I mean, Shar. And I myself almost went down that dark path of becoming a Justiciar if it weren’t for you. At the time, I thought it was the best thing for me too, like Astarion believes ascension to be what will set him free.”

You nod patiently, urging her to continue.

“I only fear he might make the wrong choice if he doesn’t have the right guidance as I did.”

The words feel hesitant on her tongue. And although they make the voice in the back of your head, telling you to convince Astarion otherwise, louder, you ignore it, opting to smile at her softly instead. “Is this you caring about our companions?”

“Heavens, no,” she snorts, but there’s a joking tone behind her voice. “But like I said…I’m indebted to you all. Astarion also aided in my personal affairs with Shar, even if he didn’t have to, and even with his incessant complaining…I suppose this is my way of paying him back.”

Your chest warms. It’s soothing to know that even without you, your other companions have enough care for your lover to offer him bits of advice; in a way, it relieves a bit of weight off your shoulders. Even the companions who claim to detest his presence have grown fond of him over the months, and you’re sure it goes both ways. It helps because even if you’re gone, you know he’ll be okay.

“I never told you formally,” she sighs. “But thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me or feel indebted. I just did what I could for you.”

“Don’t be so humble. What you’ve done for me—for all of us—is something we’ll cherish for the rest of our lives,” she takes her last swig from her wine. “But from one messed up person to another, please, be careful.”

Your wrist feels sore.

Two days. It’s been two days since the incident at the Blushing Mermaid, and still, your body seems to burn whenever you see his closed door across yours from the hall, and all you can do is rub shamefully at the healing puncture wounds on your wrist. The bandages looping around the skin do a good enough job of hiding them, but you genuinely wish you could just ask Shadowheart to heal them for you because being able to see them does little to help with the constant thoughts of the vampire muddling the clarity of your mind. 

But you’d rather not let your companions know what happened between you and the vampire on the dirtied floors of the Blushing Mermaid. You’d likely die of shame for letting him drink from you, even after your mutual agreement to specifically avoid just that. What’s worse is that you expect the worst from Lae’zel, especially after her explicit advice to do the exact opposite of what you chose to do.

You tighten the bandages again.

“Did those yourself, did you?”Alfira snorts, and you almost have half a mind to glare at her if it weren’t for the crumpled sheets of paper surrounding the legs of her chair. The ink on the discarded pages now blends into mush as they lie in the puddles forming around her—an aftermath of the recent rainy weather. You don’t tell her, though. She seems frustrated enough as it is, and you fear she might snap a string of her lute if this prolongs any longer. “How’d you get hurt anyway?”

“It’s a bug bite.”

“A rather massive bug, apparently.”

The corners of your lips quirk downward, and she finally sets her lute aside, careful to avoid the puddles as she props it against the side of her stool to focus on her notepad instead. Though most of its pages have now been torn out, the remaining few have scribbles of song lyrics that even you can’t decipher with how messily the ink splatters across the page. She, however, seems perfectly fine reading its contents aside from her glaringly obvious distaste for the words themselves. You raise your brow. “Can you really read that?”

“Oh, hush. Don’t insult my penmanship.”

You snicker, eyes continuing to scan the sheets of paper that had been abandoned on Dalyria’s desk at the Blushing Mermaid. It’d taken quite some time to take apart the pages plastered on the wall and to organize the mountain of doctor’s notes lying across the lair, but you’d managed to fish out something useful eventually. The journal was one that seemed especially important, filled to the brim with Dalyria’s so-called ‘research.’ 

But if the past few days have told you anything, it’s that Dalyria is a terrible note-taker.

The pages are filled with shapes. Some are curved, and others just bend and contort into odd figures that you’re sure aren’t supposed to look like letters. Each page studies a different shape on a random part of the page, leaving them scattered and difficult to decipher.

You’re starting to think this is just some odd attempt at art rather than the studies she claims to be performing.

“And? Why are you here if you’re not here to look at those lyrics I gave you?”

“I’m trying to figure out what this journal says,” you sigh, flipping another page you don’t understand. “And if you couldn’t tell, I’m rather busy trying to find the people responsible for murders around the city, so excuse me if I haven’t had the time to glance at your song.”

“I’m plenty busy myself, you know! I just got hired to sing at this fancy party for some celebration. They even said I could dress all nice for it,” she smiles proudly, and you offer her a crooked one of your own. “It’s my first serious gig—so I’m a bit nervous with how large it is…”

“How’d you land something like that before you’ve even played at children’s birthday parties?”

“Well, I’m not doing it alone, obviously,” she reasons, scratching something on her pages again. “I’m going with one of my friends. She’s a wonderful violinist, and she managed to squeeze me into the event, which I’m so grateful for…I suppose I’m just a bit worried.”

You look up from Dalyria’s notebook. “Worried? What for?”

“That my fingers will lock up, and I’ll humiliate myself,” she admits sheepishly, tucking a portion of her hair behind her sharp ear. “Lihala used to call me silly for worrying about things that haven’t happened–but I can’t help it. It’s the before-show jitters. Pesky things. It’s a bit embarrassing, really.”

Humming in acknowledgment, you look to the murky skies overhead, where dark clouds threaten to pour down for at least another few days. A shame, you think. You’ve never seen the Summers of Baldur’s Gate feel so dreary.

It’s fitting, almost, considering the state that the city is in.

The painful sound of quill scratching against paper is all you can hear now as Alfira sighs irritably again, ripping out another sheet of paper.

“It’s not embarrassing,” you finally say.

She blinks up from her notepad. “What is?”

“Being nervous. I’ve done more performances than I can count, and my hands would still get clammy in front of a big crowd,” you laugh to yourself. “But when you see how they watch you as if you’re performing sorcery with your lute, it’s like you were never anxious in the first place. The audience is what makes it bearable.”

“Gods, I hope you’re right,” she smiles fondly as you continue to reminisce in your own memories. “It’s a rather shame we never got to perform together. Not after the last time we played at the Grove–and I don’t even count that occasion with how unstable my voice was…”

“I can watch if you’d like,” you offer. “Your performance, I mean.”

Her eyes gleam with excitement, and she reaches to clasp both your hands, beaming brightly. “Will you? I’m sure if you’re there, it’ll ease my nerves, too!-”

As you shift in your seat to follow your hands, Dalyria’s notebook slips off your lap. The simple splash beneath you tells you all you need to know as your eyes shoot down to where the notebook now lies face down into a puddle, and you don’t even have to lift it to know that its pages are soaked.

But you don’t have to pick it up yourself because Alfira’s carefully holding it in an instant, her face pale as she fans her hand in a fruitless attempt to prevent the damage already done. “Dammit, I’ve done it again! I’m truly sorry…I didn’t mean for that to happen! But I’m sure if we just put it in the sunlight for a few days, it’ll–”

You gently take it from her hands, shaking your head. Perhaps it’s because you were just deep into memories you hold dear to your heart, but there isn’t an ounce of panic in your voice. “It’s fine. I wasn’t getting anywhere with this thing anyway.”

“Still…”

The pages stick together in chunks as you flip the journal towards the pages that are at least half dry. You fear they might tear off at the slightest touch, so all you can do is stare at a page you deem to be soaking up the ink from the pages behind it. Alfira groans into her hands, and before you can spare her a glance to remind her it’s alright, you spot something in the middle of the page.

“Holy shit,” you whisper so quietly she doesn’t catch it.

“I’ll grab us a wind scroll. Or maybe that’s too strong? Surely there’s some spell that can dry off books.”

“You have no idea what you’ve just done for me, Alfira,” you blurt, already halfway to stuffing the journal into your pack. She blinks up at you with weary eyes, but you quickly clamber off the stool with no time to offer an explanation. “Let me know when the performance is. I’ll be here next week as usual.”

“Don’t you want me to dry off the pages?”

“No,” you shake your head, your heart pounding. “I need to show this to the others.”

She stares at you as if you’ve grown a second head. Still, as you rush toward the stairs leading to the city streets, she calls after you.

“Don’t forget to look at the lyrics!”

“Runes? As in the ones carved into Astarion’s back?”

“I thought they were random blots of ink, but,” you raise the notebook in your hands, and the soaked pages now show the contents of the following sheets, blending to form a larger image. The placement of the shapes were not random at all, and you internally apologize for calling Dalyria a few less-than-kind words in your mind. “They’re not. They’re parts of the runes that Cazador tried to use for the ritual. There are six sets of runes in here, and each one’s slightly altered.”

“But what purpose does that serve?” Shadowheart cocks a brow, eyeing the page questionably with crossed arms. “Cazador’s dead. There’s no ascension to be done.”

“Unfortunately, just because that haunting man is gone doesn’t mean the threat of an ascension is either.” Intrigued but clearly disturbed, Gale takes the notebook and squints at what it holds. “Cazador himself never needed to be the one to execute the ascension.”

The room goes silent, leaving an uncomfortable tension in the air that keeps you from moving. You’re not sure how many seconds pass before you hear the figure who’s been awfully quiet the past half an hour mutter something under his breath from the comfy armchair beside the fireplace.

Astarion clicks his tongue, seemingly unfazed. “Ah, I see.”

The fists at your side clench tighter. The bandages feel impossibly tight all of a sudden.

“It’s for the ascension, clearly. There’s no other plausible explanation,” his eyes remain glued to the flickering flames, swirling a chalice of wine in his hand. He doesn’t sip from it, knowing that it tastes of nothing but vinegar on his undead tongue, so why he’s poured himself a glass, you don’t understand. You also can’t be bothered to ask. “Perhaps they plan to enact it. Take a piece of all that power for themselves.”

“But they can’t do the ascension,” Shadowheart frowns, turning to you. “You said there’s only six runes in there. They don’t have the last one to enact the ascension because Astarion’s with us. Cazador’s the only one who could have done it because he’s the only one who knows what each of the runes looks like. Without Astarion’s, they can’t—”

“They wanted him,” you whisper the confession, and you swear your voice nearly cracks. “They wanted Astarion. That’s why they wanted to speak with me.”

All three of your companions whip their heads to you, and you stare down at the ground. Shame burns through you, and you can practically feel the disappointment radiating off them as it dawns on you that you lied to them. You lied to your closest companions for the sake of saving yourself the embarrassment that no matter what you do, no matter what you tell yourself, your subconscious forces you to care for the bloody vampire sitting beside the fireplace. Despite the many eyes on you, you can only feel one crimson pair that bore into you like the sun beating down on a hot summer’s day.

Even now, he’s your biggest concern, and you hate yourself for it.

“Then it’s not Astarion they need,” Gale says breathlessly. “They need the marks on his back.”

“And you didn’t tell us this, why?” Shadowheart hisses. “You said they just tried to kill you!”

You blurt. “They did! They said they’d stop killing citizens if I just tossed Astarion over to them, but when I said no, they completely flipped and–”

“You declined that deal?” Lae’zel snarls, and you unwillingly flinch at the venom in her tone. “You swore, istik. You swore you wouldn't be foolish if it came down to you or him.”

The words feel like a knife to your throat.

“Well, obviously, it worked out,” you grumble, ignoring how Lae’zel’s eyes are narrowed dangerously. No doubt, she has questions of her own that she’ll demand answers to later. “If I handed him over, they would’ve had the last key to conducting the ascension.”

“You still lied to us,” Shadowheart steps toward you, but Gale quickly clears his throat.

“I know how deceived we all feel, but must we fight? What matters is the spawns can’t conduct the ascension as of now, correct?” he attempts to calm her down, but her scowl only grows deeper. “As disappointed as we all are, we must admit that keeping Astarion here is the right decision.”

“You’re too hasty, wizard,” Lae’zel snaps. “A vampire’s ascension would mean ridding of all the other spawn wreaking havoc in the city. We mustn’t throw away a chance being offered without considering it.”

Shadowheart is immediately on her feet, her eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t be an idiot–a few thousand spawn is better than a nearly impenetrable being capable of creating even more spawn. That’s asking for just as bad as we are now–maybe even worse.”

They break into a simultaneous debate, one in which two room occupants do not take part. Because even as you try to focus on what the others are saying, all you can feel is the unsettling stare of the spawn in the corner of the room, his hand still swirling the wine. You wonder if his wrist ever gets tired. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of returning his stare, but you watch him from the corner of your eye as his attention shifts to your wrist.

“Are we even sure this is what they’re planning? Do a few drawings prove that they want to go through with this ritual, again, after what it nearly did to them?” Shadowheart’s attention darts to you. “This ritual would kill them. Why in the hells would all of them agree to do it if it only means one would come out alive?”

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out in return. The hurt embedded into her expression is so glaringly apparent that it makes your chest squeeze uncomfortably, and all you can do is look away in shame. “...I don’t know.”

Her face hardens. “Do you? Or are you just lying to us again?”

Cheeks flaring, you shake your head. “I’m not lying, I swear it.”

Her eyes flicker with something you don’t recognize before they flit to your bandaged arm and then back to your eyes. She doesn’t miss how you try to move your arm behind you. A miscalculation on your part since your attempt at hiding it makes your secret that much more obvious. “Then what are those for? You’ve had them on since you returned from the Blushing Mermaid, and you refuse to let me heal you myself. Just what did you get injured from?”

The room is so silent you can hear your own heartbeat.

“I–” you stop, wavering. “There was a—”

Shadowheart clenches her jaw. “Don’t lie. Please.”

But still, no words are willing to leave your throat. 

Your companions await words from you that do not exist. Like a deer in headlights, you stand numbly, unsure what to do. Fortunately, and also unfortunately, before long, Lae’zel has had enough of waiting, and she begins to march toward you in a way that makes you step away.

“Give me your arm,” she demands. “If you cannot say, then show us.”

You can feel all the blood draining from your face as she draws closer. But even Gale cannot hinder her this time because everyone in the room knows what she’s capable of with that blade attached to her hip, and she’s not against wasting a few potions of healing if she has to barrel her way through. You brace yourself for the inevitable, teeth gritting together.

Just as she reaches for your arm, someone else snatches it away.

“I drank from them,” Astarion says as you bump slightly into his chest, eyes wide at his pale fingers wrapped around your wrist. He yanks the edge of the bandage down with his free hand and lifts it for the others to see. The two puncture wounds, where the skin that surrounds it is darker than the rest, make you feel naked under the eyes of others. It’s too vulnerable. Too mortifying.

Your heart hammers pathetically, and whether it’s from the expressions of your companions or the hand wrapped around the sensitive skin of your wrist, you’re not sure. You hope it’s not the latter.

Gale’s jaw drops. “We agreed that this was the one thing you wouldn’t do.” 

“If I hadn’t, I would’ve perished,” the vampire retorts in response, releasing his hold on your arm as it falls back to your side. The place where his hand had been tinges under your skin. “And there weren’t exactly a few boars lying around the damn city for me to feed on.”

You notice he fails to mention there had been more than enough bodies to satiate him, but you keep your mouth shut.

The hurt on Shadowheart’s face is no longer one that throbs your sympathy. Instead, she seems to burn with something you haven’t seen in ages.

Anger.

Her palm flickers with radiant light, and Astarion immediately flinches, hissing as he moves to hide his body behind yours. In your haste, you can’t think of anything to do besides stepping toward her, holding out your hands. Astarion releases a strained laugh from behind you. “Now, Shadowheart, let’s not do anything hilarious, shall we?”

“I’ll kill you,” she growls maliciously, the glow of her palm growing brighter. “Like I should have done the second you came back to ruin everything we’ve done without you.”

You cautiously approach her, focus never leaving her eyes despite the danger festering in her hands. “You shouldn’t, Shadowheart.”

She throws daggers in your direction with just her expression, and you can’t deny how helpless you feel. “Killing him would end all of this. If we buried him somewhere, they’d never find the runes. They’d never be able to follow through with the ascension, and we won’t have to deal with his pompous ass anymore.”

You hate that she’s right. You hate that even though she’s right, you can’t agree with her methods.

“I know he’s—not exactly a friend—but he was once. And I know you considered him one as well,” you insist, inching closer. The hesitance in her motions as you come too close to the radiant light is undeniable. “I don’t want you to bear the guilt of his death.”

Because as much as you’re wrapped up in a world of your own–a world where you fight to hate the man behind you–you know that your companions feel the same way. The sentiments gathered from months of sharing the same camp, months of saving one another from multiple deaths, and months of aiding one another overcome their own pasts don’t just disappear. You know what they shared. Being the most similar amongst your companions, forced under the influence of a power they did not want to be subjected to, you know they considered themselves friends, even if they never voiced it out loud.

You know that deep down, Shadowheart’s hatred for Astarion stems from her own feeling of betrayal when he tried to kill you. When he attempted to harm the only other person who guided her to a path outside of Shar.

“Trust me, I won’t feel guilty,” she finally forces out. “You’re a fool to trust him again.”

“I don’t trust him,” you reassure her, your hands finally reaching hers as they dim and eventually vanish all traces of magic. “But if he’s to die for nearly killing me, I want it to be under my hands. Don’t sully your own for my sake when you’ve just escaped all the bloodshed.”

Shadowheart’s brows soften, but her face turns cold. Thoughts seem to run through her mind like an endless train before she decides that thinking through each one is worth more than Astarion himself is worth. She inhales deeply and nods, allowing you to finally release her hands. She shoots the others one last glance before turning to retreat upstairs.

You’re left in a pitiful silence—one that nobody in the room dares to break.

An entire day is spent with you wallowing in your shame, refusing to get out of bed.

You hope this is just a terrible nightmare, but you know better. If this were a nightmare, you’d already be dead.

You only climb out of your covers when you have to change the bandages on your wrist. It’s a painful process now since you don’t even want to look at the puncture wounds anymore, but it’s better than risking it to get infected. A knock on your door makes you stand from your bed, kicking the bandage rolls under your bed. “It’s open.”

You expect Gale or even Lae’zel, but you’re met with piercing red eyes. You contemplate begging him to leave you alone because looking at him right now only conjures up the guilt that’s been eating away at you for hours now. Instead, you build that wall between the two of you again, your face hardening. “What do you want?”

He’s never come to you willingly before. Not unless you were positively drenched in blood, and he had no choice but to follow his instincts for what he hopes to be a meal other than stale boar blood. Much less approached you in your own room.

Astarion lifts the empty glass bottle in his hand. “A charming welcome, as usual, I see.”

“You just had a full supply yesterday,” you say, brows furrowing. “I checked it myself.”

“Clearly, now I don’t,” he shrugs, and when you shoot him an intense glare, he frowns. “You can’t possibly blame me. I haven’t exerted myself as I did at that dirty tavern since the last time I had that damn parasite swimming around my head. So, unless you decide to offer yourself to me, again…”

You think he’s genuinely lost his mind. “Right now? Seriously? After what just happened yesterday, you want to ask me for blood?”

“Just a suggestion, darling. Otherwise, we always have the other option, as boring as it is.”

Perhaps you should just toss him to Lae’zel and call it a day.

Groaning in exasperation, you march past him, slapping a cloak into his chest. “There’s 15 minutes to sunset.”

He laughs, but it only makes your face turn sour.

The forest isn’t far off from the main square of Rivington. And by the time you reach it, the sun has long gone down, and you watch as Astarion takes off the hood of his cloak, breathing deeply in the moon's bask. And as he glances back at you, you don’t bother trying to walk side by side, remaining on guard and surveying his every move from three steps behind. He comments on it even though you think he doesn’t care for what you do. “I don’t bite, you know.”

“You’re not funny.” He snorts at your deadpan and continues into the deeper parts of the forest.

The entire time, your eyes remained glued to the backs of his heels, palms growing increasingly clammy as you become surrounded by nothing but the soft ambiance of the woods. His steps are as silent as they’ve always been, and it feels like following a ghost into the darkest parts of the forest. It’s becoming hard to see more than a few feet in front of you, and if your training with Lae’zel has taught you anything, you know that you don’t want to be at a disadvantage—especially when the other party is a bloody vampire.

You halt in your tracks. He does, too, turning to shoot you a questioning look. “What is it?”

“It’s too hard to see. We need to turn back.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little bit of darkness.”

You scrunch your nose at this, and he merely grins. Before you can say anything, he’s back to pacing across the dirt without a care in the world—almost too fast for your liking. “Will you at least slow down?”

“Shall I hold your hand?”

“I’d rather cut it off.”

“A pity.”

You curse his long legs as the forest becomes darker and darker, even as each time you think it can’t possibly get worse than this. You swear his steps become quicker, and a part of you wonders if this is where he attempts to run away and whether you should cast a sleep spell before he succeeds. But the most rational part of you reminds yourself that he’s had plenty of chances to escape. Hells, he could do it even now, considering how much more easily his eyes adjust to the darkness than you.

“Astarion, I swear to the Gods above, if you don’t stop walking so quickly…”

This time, you don’t get an answer.

Suspicions rising, you break into a jog and then into a gradual sprint. Every time you think you finally caught up to him, a branch whips into your face, and you barely manage to swat it away before it manages to cut your skin. You call his name a few times to no avail, and you genuinely begin to ponder if you should’ve brought your scroll for daylight.

Finally, you stumble through a tall berry bush into what you assume to be another branch.

And rather than more darkness, you’re met with a clearing. It’s only a few long strides in width and a couple more in length, but here, it doesn’t seem like nighttime at all. The moon peers down at you in all its glory, and you think this might’ve been Selune’s pocket of the forest if she were here. You blink wide when a speck of light—a firefly—flies barely past your face. And suddenly, you’re surrounded by light rising from the green grass beneath you in fragile wings. 

The tightness in your chest dissipates, if only for a moment.

Only once you’ve taken in the vast difference of your surroundings just a few moments prior do you see Astarion pulling off the clasp of his cloak. He tosses it to you, and it lands on your face before you yank it away with a scowl. “You could have just handed it to me–”

“Stay here,” he says. “I’ll return when I’ve finished hunting.”

You gawk at him. “I’m not going to let you just leave.”

“I’ve proven myself plenty,” he scoffs. “If I remember correctly, you would’ve likely perished were I not there at that tavern a few days ago. And I must remind you that I do have quite the memory. If I planned on betraying you, I would’ve done it then—at a more fashionable time.”

You don’t have much of a rebuttal to that.

While you could bring up the dozens of other times he’s made questionable decisions pertaining to his loyalty, the soothing bath under the moon’s gaze seems to calm you down. So, instead of fighting the internal urge to continue your petty quips, you drop the cloak beneath you. He cocks a brow, surely expecting more of a protest, but you just swallow your pride, plopping down on the grass with a huff. “If you don’t return in 30 minutes, I’m coming to find you.”

“40 minutes,” he tries. “30 minutes isn’t nearly enough time for anything fun.”

You scowl. “20 minutes.”

Astarion smiles wickedly just enough for his fangs to peek beneath his top lip. “Very well. I’ll expect you no later than that.”

And like a predator fading into his natural environment, he vanishes into the darkness.

Time passes slowly when all you can do is pick at pieces of grass. As beautiful as the clearing is, it’s a bit too soothing—enough to make you doze off as you lean against the trunk of a tree. Though you attempt to keep your eyes open, reminding yourself you have a responsibility to uphold, you haven’t had this sense of relaxation in ages. Especially now, in your home with an atmosphere thicker than the butter you use on your bread. It’s almost like a spell as you feel your heavy eyelids droop helplessly.

You pray you don’t dream tonight. Not when you know all you’ll think of is the betrayal you inflicted on your companions.

A rustle of leaves snaps you back awake.

And when you look up, you see two blood-red eyes staring down at you from the branches of the tree opposite of yours.

They look exactly like the spawn in the alleyway, practically a month ago now. The same ones that haunt your nightmares and the same ones that morph into your ex-lover in the ones you despise the most. And while you can’t see their face, you don’t need much more than that to break into action.

Immediately, you’re snatching the cloak and sprinting back into the forest's darkness. You don’t care about the branches flinging themselves at you anymore because you can barely breathe even without worrying about them. Twigs and thin branches flail across your cheeks as you practically barrel through the woods, your legs feeling like they could give up if you were ever to stop running. With only the cloak in one hand and a dagger in the other, you don’t even attempt to fight whoever this person is upfront–you learned your lesson well the last time you tried. So, instead, your boots crunch against whatever plants are being crushed beneath you as you frantically run from the creature chasing you.

The worst part is you can still hear leaves rustling behind you.

Your lungs hurt. Your head hurts. Everything hurts, and yet you cannot stop. You hope the forest itself swallows you whole at this point, especially as you hear the movements getting closer and closer.

Tripping over a particularly large root, you fall through a bush, bracing for impact as you curse everyone you can think of for your luck. But rather than your shoulder crashing into a pile of dirt and twigs, you plant face-first into what feels like…cloth?

“Eager little thing, aren’t you? If you wanted to touch me, you could have just asked,” Astarion teases and you instantly tear yourself away, pushing your palms against his chest with wide eyes. And as much as you hate to admit it, a flood of relief hits you. And as much as it shouldn’t, meeting his gaze makes you able to breathe again.

Gods, what is wrong with you?

“There’s something chasing me,” you say hurriedly, pointing in the direction behind you. “I think it’s another spawn, I saw his eyes–”

His face stills when you practically jump at the bushes moving in ways the wind cannot will it to. Your arm flies to push him in front of you in case something were to leap out, and while you’re sure he’d complain dramatically about this gesture on any other occasion, he’s too busy worrying about what lies behind the bush. His hand shoots to what you assume to be that blasted comb he takes everywhere while you grip your knife, and you hear both your breaths hitch when something lunges out of the shrub.

It’s a small, puny squirrel.

Astarion doesn’t even try to stifle the laugh that escapes him as he throws his head back.

“I swear there was something following me!” you hiss, slapping his arm while the squirrel scurries away back to wherever it came from. He doesn’t stop, having little care about how your face flushes with embarrassment, and instead seems to revel in it. The bastard is enjoying this.

You wish you could throw the damn squirrel at his head.

“Oh, yes, I do believe there was,” he’s barely fazed while you continue glaring daggers at him. “I’m impressed you survived an encounter with such a terrifying foe, my dear.”

“It was definitely following me...” your voice trails off, and the bloodlust that had overwhelmed your lungs is fading away, leaving nothing but the sound of Astarion and his annoyingly loud laughter. 

He stops when there’s a shrill scream from across the forest. One that wails in what is unmistakenly of excruciating pain.

The two of you slowly turn to one another, and a knowing gleam flashes behind his eyes.

“Darling, the smart decision here would be to leave–”

But you’re already rushing toward whoever this victim is, forcing him to groan loudly and trail after you, snatching up your cloak from the ground in the process. You feel him close behind as you practically fly through the forest, with little care of how exhausted you were just moments before as the screams of pain seem to fuel your determination to lend aid. 

Astarion, although displeased, only grumbles as he continues to follow your lead. “Is it necessary to be heroic now of all times? In a dark forest where there’s sure to be animals twice our size?”

You ignore him.

A leaf slaps into your face as you finally reach what’s now been reduced to soft sobs. And you’re not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t someone you knew.

“Berry?” you blink at the small girl, who you’re sure can barely even see you with how teary her eyes are. She watches you wearily before she gasps in recognition, and it’s then that you realize that her arm is bleeding.

“Tav!”

“You’re hurt,” you’re kneeling beside her in an instant, assessing her wounds as you reach to dig around your pockets in hopes of any medical supplies you might’ve left in there. “Did something attack you?”

“Yes,” she winces as you lift her arm to inspect it closer. “I’m not sure what it was, but it came out of nowhere, and they—-they tried to bite me.”

A lump forms in your throat. As twisted as it is, you're relieved you weren't actually imagining what you saw earlier. “Did you see if they had fangs? Did they look like a regular person?”

“I think so,” she replies in a hushed voice, wiping her tears. “I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do when it–”

A hand grabs her by the back of her cloak, yanking her in the air with her legs dangling helplessly as Astarion holds her just high enough to render attempts to kick at him useless. “I’d normally entertain tasteless tricks like this, but I’m in a less than forgiving mood, I’m afraid. You’ve cut into the time I have to fill my own stomach.”

You gasp, jumping to your feet. “Astarion, what the actual hells are you doing?”

“Trust me, you’ll thank me later, darling,” he sneers at the girl, hissing at him aimlessly. “Show them, you little imp.”

Having no idea what’s going on, you decide the best thing to do is de-escalate whatever misunderstanding he’s had about the poor girl tied to his hand. “You’ll hurt her. Just let her go and explain what’s going on.”

“Show them,” he pronounces each word harshly, glaring at Berry. 

And finally, she tries to bite at his hand. This prompts her to unhinge her jaw just enough for you to see the glint of sharp teeth. Ones that do not certainly belong to an innocent orphan.

Were you always this unlucky, or was the past month just a living hell for you?

“See what I mean? You can offer your thanks to me later, darling,” Astarion smiles proudly, and if you knew him any less than you did, you’d think he’s psychotic for smiling like that in this situation. But then, again, maybe he is. “How you seem to attract so many of us is beyond me, but I believe we should refrain from keeping this one alive.”

Your jaw drops. As much as you feel appalled that the innocent girl you’ve been soothing over the death of her adoptive father for the past few weeks turned out to be one of the very creatures that nearly took your life (on multiple occasions), you can’t fathom the idea of just ridding of her. She’s still a kid—at least, to the naked eye. “Are you insane? No, we’re not killing her!”

“Gods, please don’t tell me you’ll try and make this brat see sense. She’s practically feral! Look at her!” he grits through his teeth, waving his free hand to the girl in question, who’s too busy trying to snap her teeth at him. “This thing doesn’t deserve your sympathy right now.”

Berry manages to catch the tip of his finger in her teeth, and Astarion lets out a string of curses as he drops her to the dirt. It doesn’t even take another second for her to lunge toward you, fangs bared and claws ready to sink into your flesh. You barely manage to swerve out of the way, her sharp nail grazing past your cheek.

“Berry, just listen to me! I don’t want to hurt you!” you practically yell, but she only stumbles on the ground a moment before rushing at you again. You reach for your dagger, fearing you may have to use it on a child until she’s snatched into the air again.

This time, Astarion hangs her by the cloak onto a tree branch, where she screams and grasps at the air, practically throwing a tantrum.

You gawk in utter disbelief; too many things are happening simultaneously.

And Astarion doesn’t help as he slips out the damn comb again, grinning from ear to ear. You notice that this time, he seems to have taken the time to sharpen the tips of the teeth, which nearly look akin to a row of needles. 

He holds the comb in Berry’s direction. “Well? Shall I do the honors?”

As you watch him threaten a child who also happens to be a vampire, you ponder that maybe you should have just handed him over to Dalyria when you had the chance.

Tags:@ayselluna@littleenglishfangirl@bg3obsessedsideblog@iwillpissyourpants@cyberpr1m3@ukeia-uchiha@snowlotr@road-riot@spacekidnova@madislayyy@lordfishflakes@nicalysm@djarinsway@tinystarfishgalaxy@brainz00@hopeful-n-sad@ohdeerieme@madisban@chrismarium@chonkercatto@fanfic-share@bitterrenegade@sleepyred1703@miskouly@ravenswritingroom@iamlowkeycrying@deezus-roy@spiritraves@mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc@whisperingwillowxox@bdudette@misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @deezus-roy @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @marina-and-the-memes @kiwi-mansanas @woosaaghh @cminr @everybodystaycalm @divineknightmare @bangtanbecks @carolinelec @bitterbeanren @aelieknox Please let me know if I didn't add you to the list or if you'd like to be added! I needed to redo the entire taglist because it wasn't functioning, so please let me know if I missed you :)

[2plottwist]

Don't Trust Strange Magic Portals

Summary: After completing the Gauntlet of Shar, you and your companions prepare to return to camp. However, Gale opts for a shortcut through the Weave using portals. A magical mishap occurs, leaving you and Astarion to navigate through multiple portals in search of the one that leads back to camp.

Pairing: Astarion x Female!reader

Warnings: None, just a funny little story

Word Count: 2k

Author: Kenna:)

A/N: The word "portal" will become non-existent to you after reading this story. I'm sorry, but I couldn't get this funny little story out of my head.

Your muscles screamed at you as your body whipped around, bringing your blade down on another Dark Justiciar. The sound of the metal hitting the hard floor was a satisfying clink that rang through your ears. As you scanned the room, you waited for another opponent to charge against you. Finding that the coast was clear, your back finally slumped, your long sword hitting the floor in that familiar clink. 

“Well,” Gale’s voice pipes up from beside you, “That was a riveting experience!” 

You look up at him, you tired eyes hating the fact that he’s still optimistic and happy after our battle. “We almost died!” The whining voice of Astarion shouts across the room. 

“Yes, but we learned something.” Gale smiles, pointing a dirt covered finger to the air. 

You sheath your sword, stretching your sore arms into the air, “And what did we learn, exactly? Other than the fact that Astarion can’t hit anyone with an arrow even from high ground.” 

“Hey!” He whined again in offense. 

“We learned that we work fantastic as a team!” Gale’s chirping voice grates against your battle worn ears. 

You roll your eyes meeting Astarion’s, his expression matching yours. As you wipe the blood off your skin, your eyes move to Shadowheart, kneeling in the middle of the small room. Her shoulders shake as stares at the rubble covered floor. 

“Shadowheart?” You whisper, moving over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. 

She rises quickly, shaking your hand off, “I’m fine. Let’s go.” Her face was completely emotionless and unfeeling. Her eyes look numb and heartbroken after losing the favor of her goddess. 

“Wonderful idea!” Gale chimes again, you have to fight the feeling of rolling your eyes. “Let me make a portal through the weave to our camp. It’ll be a lot easier than hiking through those cursed lands.” 

Gale's hands begin to move in extravagant circles, purple tendrils floating from his hands and arms. Shadowheart floats close to Gale, waiting for the portal to open to the one place she feels safest. As you wipe crusted blood and dirt off your skin, a glinting light catches your eye. 

You snap your eyes to the light. As it shines again, your curiosity overcomes the soreness of your muscles, causing your feet to begin moving. The small ornate chest was placed in a small room off the side of your battlefield. The arched doorway gave way to a smaller, dark room. Rubble still decorating the floor, dust covered the snuffed out torches. The only available light shining through a moonscreen on the ceiling. 

As you reach the small ornate chest, you find that the lid was locked. You try to open it with brute force, maybe it’s old enough to just open. It didn’t. You sigh, dropping to your knees in front of the dark wooden chest. 

The sound of footsteps caused your eyes to look over your shoulder. The blood soaked and dust covered vampire spawn walked slowly over to you, observing the walls and sconces. “Need my expertise?” He quips, kneeling down next to you. 

Your body was too tired, your throat too dry to answer. You just move over the slightest bit to allow him room to pick the lock. His hands move quickly, his shoulders swiped against yours a few times, shooting chills through your bones. 

You stared at his profile, his beautiful face being illuminated by the moonlight flowing through the ceiling. As he pops the chest open, you shake your head, pushing the thoughts of his lips against yours out of your mind. 

You look inside the shallow box to see a regular crossbow, rotten tomato, and a scroll of Speak To The Dead. You sigh in defeat, “So much for that.” You mumble as you reach inside and take the small scroll. 

You rise as soon as a huge flash of purple lights up the small room and a thunderous sound that pushes yours and Astarion’s backs into the rubble on the ground. Your back screamed in pain and your head throbbed. The large explosion still raced through your body, magic vibrating your skin as your eyes blinked open. The blur finally gave way to clear vision again. 

You looked around, holding your throbbing head. You felt large hands grab your arm and waist. “What in the nine hells was that?” Astarion’s shocked voice moved through your ears, slightly dulling your headache. 

His hands were a nice feeling against your body as he pulled you to your feet. You stretched your body again, noting each of the painful feelings. Astarion retracted his hands as your spine straightened. You tried to move toward the archway, but quickly tripped over a piece of rubble. 

Astarion’s hands shoot to your waist again. “Come now,” Astarion chuckles, “I thought you would be more graceful after a life-threatening magical explosion.” 

You scoff, cherishing the support Astarion’s hand provides to your waist. You walk forward and slide over the rubble piling under the archway. Your mind still reels with battle bludgeoned thoughts and your throbbing skull. Your eyes scan across the larger room, several purple portals spread across the expanse. 

“Gale?” You shout, causing a sharp pain to bounce against your skull. 

No answer. 

“Shadowheart?” You ask the room again. 

The metallic taste of magic fills your mouth as you observe the portals surrounding you. “Did they… leave us?” Astarion’s voice drips with worry and fear. 

“Gale, this isn’t funny. Close the damn portals and let us go to camp.” You groan, bringing your hands up to your temples. You can’t handle any more shit today. 

There was still no answer. 

“What in the hells are we going to do?” Astarion asks, shifting closer to you, moving his eyes to watch your dazed ones over his shoulder. 

“I guess we try one out.” You state plainly, walking to the center of the room. 

He scoffs, following you closely, “Are you insane?!”

His voice, while always being your favorite sound, felt like knives against your throbbing head. You wince as your eyes scan the portals again, deciding which one to try first. Your instinct pushes you towards the first one on your right. You step towards it, bringing your hand up. You can feel the warm embrace of the magic against your palm. 

As you extend your arm towards the circling magic, Astarion’s hands roughly grab your waist, moving you quickly away from the portal. “You are insane. You can’t just walk into strange magical portals like that. Were you raised in a barn?” He chides, dragging you away from your chosen portal. 

“I don’t want to walk all the way back to camp.” You whine, your body screaming to just drop to the floor and sleep. 

“I don’t trust this magic.” He narrows his eyes at the numerous portals. 

You sigh, turning away from him and towards another portal to your right, “You don’t trust anything.” 

Before you could hear his remark, you step into the purple light. A slight whooshing moves past your ears, your hair flies around your face and a warm embrace envelopes your body. You close your eyes, relishing in the comforting feeling then your feet hit the hard floor. You open your eyes to see the back of Astarion’s head. 

“You’re right. That’s why I’ve lived this long.” His sarcastic voice moves through the air. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You say. 

Astarion’s body whips around, eyes widening in surprise. His eyes move to the portal you just went through then back to you, pointing at each, trying to make sense of what just happened. 

While dazed and confused, you still came up with a conclusion faster than he did. “Fuck.” 

“Yes, that seems to be the correct word for this unfortunate situation.” Astarion snaps, looking around the room again, trying to decipher what portal would lead you back to camp. “Let’s try this one.” He smiles, walking over to another. 

“I thought you didn’t trust strange magic portals.” You quip sarcastically. 

“There should be one that led Gale and Shadowheart back to camp and left us here. If the rest of them are just going to lead back to this room, might as well try them out.” He smiles smugly as he steps into another portal.

You stand still, scanning the room, waiting for his body to appear again at another portal. You hear another whooshing sound then a wet slapping sound against the floor. You look to the other side of the room to find a sopping wet Astarion, anger radiating off his features. Water drips off his sodden hair, coating every inch of his body. 

You do your best to hide your laughter, but you can’t help the loud snort that leaves your mouth. “Not. A. Word.” He states, stomping over to where you are, ire emanating off his body. 

You can’t help it, his words coming back to bite him in the ass is too hilarious. His body straightens, shivers racking his body from the apparently very cold water. You wipe your smirk off your face and move toward the next portal. 

As you step through, the familiar warm embrace wraps around you. Your feet hit soft soil. You smile, knowing that you’re back at camp but the missing smell of smoke confuses your senses. You open your eyes to see a large field of wildflowers laid out before you. The large tree that the portal sits under has soft white petals gracing the wind and tangling in your hair. 

You shake your head and sigh in defeat. The pain radiating through your body and the throbbing in your head only makes this whole situation just that more frustrating. You step back through the portal and shake your head at Astarion.

“Now that’s just not fair!” He whines, “You get beautiful flowers in your hair and I get the godsdamn ocean.” He sighs as wet footsteps slap their way over to you. A giggle rises in your throat. “Let’s just walk back. It can’t be that far.” 

“Let me just try one more.” You smile softly, “I have a good feeling about this one.” You point at the one sitting in front of you two. 

Another exasperated sigh leaves Astarion’s mouth, “Fine, but I’m going to do it and if I don’t get flowers and rainbows, I’m going to rain hellsfire down on that boot eating wizard.” 

You laugh and motion for his go-ahead, “How noble of you.” 

“Thank you.” Astarion nods his head and sticks his hand into the portal, quickly wincing and shutting his eyes. 

When there seemed to be no pain or water on the other side of the portal, Astarion moves his whole body through. You follow suit, allowing the warm embrace to again envelope your sore muscles. 

“There you are!” A chirping voice broke through the embrace, “And you’re wet.” 

Gale’s voice boomed across the camp and towards the open portal you and Astarion stood in front of. 

“You left us there!!” Astarion shouted, causing another pounding sensation in your head. 

A confused expression washes over Gale, his eye brows furrow. “I left the portal open for you.” He states, motioning to the circling portal. 

“Yes,” Astarion coos softly, “and about a hundred other portals!”

“Oh,” Gale drops his eyes, bringing his hand up to his chin. A motion he does when he’s thinking, “I guess my magic responded poorly to my conjuration spell. The magic of Shar must have multiplied the portals and twisted them into their own doorways.” 

“Wow, a scholar, ladies and gentleman!” Astarion motions to the camp, but he turns toward you, taking your waist again and pulling your arm over your shoulder, “Let’s get you fixed up before Gale pushes us into a portal to Avernus.” 

You sigh, putting all your weight on his body and allowing him to lead you to your tent. His touch reminds you of the warm embrace of the portals whooshing and moving across your skin. “At least we learned something!” You chime, mocking Gale’s previous words, causing Astarion to groan in frustration.

[heliqnthus]

blasphemous rumors; g. dekarios.

pairing: gale dekarios x gn!reader

warning(s): post-game, angst, fluff, implied smut and voyeurism (but honestly, no real smut because i have no idea how to write one)

word count: ~1100

a/n: i had this idea, that also could be read as a gale version of that astarion graveyard scene, and i really wanted to write a fic about it. i have close to 0 of experience in writing fanfiction, as well as english is not my first language, so i apologize for any mistakes. if someone will enjoy this as well i will be more than happy :)

have a nice day, evening or a night!

(italic = part of a flashback)

after gale’s proposal, and not so long before departure to waterdeep, gale offered you one last stroll through the baldur’s gate, and as you were walking around the basilisk gate one building reminded you both of those times when he really considered the idea of using the orb against the absolute. as you were passing the stormshore tabernacle, gale couldn’t not stop to look at it one last time. place, where he spoke with mystra last time, demanding to bring the karsus’s crown to her.

-are you alright? – you asked gale, with a hint of concern. you were for more than hundred percent sure in him and his affections, just like was sure in you, however you more than any other person knew what mystra meant to him and what kind of person did she turn him into. right now, both of you are just glad that everything came to an end – including the whole story with mystra and orb, but still just her name makes you feel fury. what kind of goddess you have to be to not only ruin young man’s life, but also later on demanding on exploding himself for so-called “commonweal”.

as you were looking at tall statue of mother of all magic, you couldn’t feel anything but pure anger.

it is a late night, and all your companions were asleep, but insomnia gave you no rest, so you decided to take a midnight stroll in your hometown, trying to reminisce everything that has happened to you for the last days. fight with ketherick thorn and absolute cultists, rescue of night song, as well as shadowheart’s unexpected choice to abandon the idea of becoming the dark justiciar. but you couldn’t stop thinking about gale - as your and his feelings were blooming stronger than ever, you got to know more of his past, and as you were standing in front of tall, fine statue of mystra, you couldn’t feel anything but pure anger, fury. not because she is a former lover of gale’s, no. creatures meet and fall in love, and just like that creatures can fall out of love and break up, realising they’re not meant for each other. you were furious because you knew how mystra manipulated gale in this kind of relationship and what did she left him with. she used him, just like she did, and she will with other mages.

-i truly hope you hear me, o mother of all magic. i really wish i wasn’t standing here, in front of your statue, not even knowing whether i am speaking to you or the soulless statue of yours. – you felt your nails digging into palms, due to your anger, - not going to lie, obviously, i would come here with one intention only, to speak about gale, and… - here you stuttered, thinking what you could say. by the end of the day, you were no one to her right now, in some near future maybe a person who saved the sword coast. but why would she care about someone that small and mortal?

then why would you care about what she thinks?

-absolutely. – gale turned to you, smiling, - i just thought we might pay a visit to this shrine one last time, if you don’t mind, obviously.

-well- sure, why not. – you agreed with a bit of doubt, following gale into the shrine. you two were just observing the statues of gods and architecture of place, but deep inside you both knew why you came here. you could feel his anxiety, despite what he said a few days ago, just before to propose to you. yes, his orb “fell asleep”, he can finally restore his peace and can live the life he deserves – to love and being loved. but he knew this was also mystra’s doing, so he caught himself thinking that he shoud say some “thank yous”, or “goodbyes” to her.

however, as you and gale approached mystra’s statue, holding your hands, you could see in his eyes some kind of emotion you never saw, when it came to mystra. it was not hatred, sorrow or fright. it indiffrence, at last. indiffrence towards her and what she might think about him.

-while you are going to look at how mortal lives are being born, and then eventually how these exact mortal lives are facing death, and use other people like toys, i hope you will eventually find yourself thinking that gale dekarios owe you nothing, and never did.

for a mere second, you could swear that you felt weave from the statue, a feeling like she wanted to respond something. but then you felt nothing. perhaps you misunderstood weave for your own. or perhaps you were right, like always.

gale dekarios owe mystra nothing, and never did. you felt a true happiness for your fiancé, for finally letting go this part of his past.

-what’s on your mind? – you asked him, taking his second hand in yours, making him turn towards you. you meet with his eyes, that sparkled especially bright, as he was studying your face once more.

-you.

as you felt true happiness for him, letting go this part of his past, gale felt thrilled for realising that he got to meet his future with you.

-cheesy, - you smiled, feeling some blush appearing on your cheeks. you felt his hand slip on your hip, while the other was placed on your cheek, making you meet with his gaze. you could definetly see how his eyes (and maybe even hands) had an intention to undress you, but even for you it was a bit too much. the key word is “a bit”. as your mind was processing on what is going on, gale placed a tender, yet an unexpected kiss on your lips, as you tried to keep yourself on earth, holding the hem of his robes. as he parted from your lips, you tried to be indignant, but only managed to whisper since you two were still in the shrine:

-gale! what on earth are you doing? – you chuckle, while gale had gazed at you with love, stroking your hair.

-admiring my future wife, nothing special... – wizard murmured, - although i do have some idea. – he added, giving a mischief smile. you did not answer, just raised an eyebrow, awaiting what else he wants to say. – i am not insisting, just say no if you don’t want to do it.

you couldn’t hold yourself from smiling while being in gale’s embrace.

-i never said “no”, you know.

gladly, there were not a single soul in the house of worship at this time of night, so gale just had to spell an arcane lock on door, just in case. finished with surroundings, he quickly came back to his the centre of his world, locking up with you lips in much more passionate kiss than the previous one.

oh, but the night is still young.

[magewisdumb]

Greetings & Partings

Dark Justiciar Shadowheart HCs

A/N: I was listening to a really ethereal cover of down by the river and starting about reuniting and departing with DJ Shadowheart. I kinda wanted to capture SH's more sensual side in this and yes I know her being a DJ she definately hardcore dommy mommy, but how I consider Selunite Shadowheart Light Silk, I consider DJ Shadowheart dark Velvet. Both have their softness in the variance of texture. Enough of my rambling, enjoy!!!

CW: Some NSFW sprinkled in there

Shadowheart knows as choosing the fate of a Dark Justiciar, her run ins with you cannot last long... for now

When meetings Shadowheart, you do not look for her, she looks for you.

She doesn't actually like to meet at the cloister either, she'll meet you in the woods outside the city.

Being a mistress of shadows gives her the edge and she loves the feeling of tracking you through the forest gives her a release from her mother superior duties.

There's a clearing in the forest that you always reunite with Shadowheart in. Bending down at the creek along the side at the clearing, you reach to dip your hands into the clearing to rinse your face when you see her reflection behind you, eyes glowing purple in the night shining with mirth before dragging you to your feet lightly by the collar.

Shadowheart herself is in a loose fitting silky black dress that embodies the endless dark that she worships.

Ok ok so my headcanon is that Selunite Shadowheart develops a love for swimming, Dark Justiciar Shadowheart develops a love for dancing 💃

To her a dance can be full of passion and life, but all dances come to an end and Just like night orchids, Shadowheart finds that cycle of life and death, gain and loss beautiful however tragic.

She always leads. No ands buts or ifs

Hums or sings a tune next to your ear making sure you're well aware of her breath fanning out across it as she pulls you close.

Always chooses to meet you out on a full moon to spite Selûne with her presence.

When the dance dies down, she'll pull you into her tent (which is soaked in the scent of lavender btw)

Wine glasses are ready to go and she'll propose a toast. Expect a small bittersweet expression to flash across her face before she masters it back to one of relaxation.

As the night goes on expect her desire and want of you to grow, and she starts to get handsy. She's feeling emotional and the wine doesn't quite burn enough for her liking.

Takes a swig before kissing you deeply, wine spilling between the contact of your lips

She quickly divests of your clothes and hers and goes down on you

Hickeys and bites ftw she wants to leave whatever impact she has on you.

Her eyes water as your sighs ring out into the space in her tent.

She's missed this more than she'll ever admit. She knows she can not call it love, but deep inside, she knows your heart is hers.

When you cry her name, she rides the after shocks with you before climbing up your body, leaving kisses as she climbs back up and pulls you into a languid kiss.

In the after glow, the pillow talk is mostly about new recruits, nocturne shenanigans, and new changes in the city.

When the night pulls the moon further behind the canopy of trees, Shadowheart knows her time draws short.

When you fall asleep in her arms, she solidifies by casting magical sleep (if you're an elf pretend it works) as she uses a teleportation scroll to bring you to your room in the city or anywhere you live in the surrounding area before taking a longing glance at your sleeping form.

She vanishes through the cracks of the window in a dissolution of smoke.

She leaves a small note along the lines of "till next time"

A/N: OK OK I KNOW I GOT LAZY ABOUT THE DEPARTURE BUT I NEEDED TO GET THESE THOUGHTS OUTTA MY BRAIN. Listen I firmly believe DJ Shadowheart can love (just don't call it that)

[magewisdumb]

Benediction

Dark Justiciar Shadowheart NSFW HCS if you even care.

A/N: LISTEN I have some unholy dj shadowheart smut cooking in my WIPs BUT I'm listening to Ghost rn and I need to get some nsfw release through writing about my favorite cult leader <333

Altar sex? Altar sex. No questions about it.

Everyone likes to think DJ Shadowheart would be an entirely rough dominatrix BUT I HAVE VISION TRUST ME.

Altar sex bathed in darkness? Oh my god imagine she has magically imbued lipstick thay leaves glow in the dark purple kisses in the darkness oh god.

She slowly and methodically give her partner benediction through ravishing them on the altar or in front of the mirror of loss.

She'd definitely mark her partner up 0 doubts

Asks them to stay still as she paints Sharran Symbology on their nude body like art .

I love that the bg3 community universally agrees that Shadowheart and especially dark justiciar shdowheart is a strap queen god because she already gets off on the power of being an evil Jesus for Shar.

Angsty sex depending on context, and she will absolutely take her anger out on her partner through the form of having them at her mercy whether through bondage and a rough time ahead.

Oh, you're crying? Too bad she's got tunnel vision on her own clouded emotions too much to really notice other than putting her force behind her thrusts.

The aftercare is golden though, sinful soft sheets, and I absolutely headcanon that Sharrans have killer bath houses

That cutscene of the party going into the Shadowfell through that huge pool of glowing water like cmon please give me this.

A/N: I'm telling you ghost gives me inspiration ✨️

[shadowfalllen]

Kinktober 2024: Day 10 - Face-sitting

In Her Dark Embrace

As a moonless night descends on Baldur's Gate, the Cloister of Somber Embrace readies for a Nightfall ritual in honor of their dark goddess, Shar. You, a devoted Sharran acolyte, are unexpectedly paired with the enigmatic Mother Superior Shadowheart for the ritual's final, forbidden act—a shared moment of wickedness that will test your loyalty to the shadows…

[random-introverted-blog]

Flickers of Loss [DarkJusticiar!Shadowheart x F!Reader]

you've seen Spawn vs Ascended, but have you heard of...

Continuation/Part 2 - No More Continuation/Part 3 - Shadows of Shar

Intended Audience: Mature [scroll the age requirement wheel until you come to a year where you can bypass the age check]

The Bit: You've been living trapped with Shadowheart in a Sharran cloister for longer than you can remember and it's all fine and dandy until a vision comes to you and tells you how and where to find the person who can help you escape. But when you open the door to their prison, who you find isn't who you expect.

Warnings/Advisories: Implied SA, emotional abuse, angst, no one dies but it's still super sad, not sure whether to tag this Selunite or Dark Justiciar if I'm honest, memory manipulation, I'm probably missing a tag or two, OH VIOLENCE THEY FIGHTIN almost forgot THE GIRLIES ARE FIGHTIN

NO EDITING WE FORGET AND DIE LIKE SHARRANS

Words, all the word (count): A whopping 4,262 baebeee

Creating a new viral bg3 fanfic idea in 3...2...1

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-

Tonight was the night. It was now or never, and you knew deep down that you couldn't keep living this way.

Even though every inch of your heart and body was trained and conditioned to simply lie here in her arms, enjoy the ache between your legs, and find peace in the soft breaths that blanketed your ear with warmth. Absentmindedly, you drew a shape with the very tips of your fingers along the smooth skin of her bare chest. Only to realize as you retraced the shape that it was a heart.

Life here wasn't perfect. Far from it, most of the time. Shadowheart was a firm teacher. All you knew of Shar and now, sex, you learned from her. At least, as far back as you could remember. There are odd gaps in your memory that left you confused and unsure. Shadowheart had assured you that it was for the best, as it was the Dark Lady's will, and you had almost become content with her answer, ready to believe it yourself. Loss is a gift, after all. You should be grateful to Lady Shar.

At least until you started having flickers of moments come back to you. Laughs, warmth, knelt in dirt tending to a... garden, you assumed, so many animals... and consistently in all of them. A silver haired... vision. Stolen kisses, snuggled on the couch in the evening. Flickers were all you would get of these little dreams. And that was enough to leave you desperately aching for more. Even as foggy and faint as they are, they feel so... warm. Brimming with such happiness.

You know you shouldn't want it. While they were indeed very nice, they didn't quite feel like they were influenced by the Nightsinger, and that by itself should have led you to confide in Shadowheart and let that be the end of it.

But you hadn't told Shadowheart. And you still didn't when a mysterious woman came to you from a blinding silver light, telling you when and where to take your chance at freedom. It required sneaking away from your place at her side, disobeying her strict schedule for you. No wandering the halls after she retires to your bedchamber for the evening.

Instead, you had remained steadfast at Shadowheart's side as she led the cloister and her followers. Dutiful and loyal every Nightfall ritual, every sermon, all of it. As you had been for longer than you can recall.

Your eyes fell to the wound on the back of your right hand. It would match hers, if yours didn't extend along your wrist. She's told you hers is directly linked to Lady Shar. But yours was bound to Shadowheart. It was... instrumental in your education. Not only in the searing, unbearable pain... This wasn't your first attempt to run. It was just the first in a long time. And every time, your wound would burn and ache and glow... and Shadowheart would be right there to drag you back.

She used it to keep tabs on you.

After the last time she chained you to the bed for what you estimated had to be a month, you gave up on what seemed to be pointless. Shadowheart has seldom had to inflict your wound since.

Her eyelids fluttered before peeling open, meeting yours right away. "Something the matter, my love?" Shadowheart murmured, voice thick with sleep. Her arm drew you closer to her body. This time it was her fingers swirling patterns on the small of your back, tangling your legs together.

You had to bite back a sound when you felt your naked body melt perfectly to fit hers under the covers. Moving your hand from her chest to brush through her long, dark hair, "no... well... not exactly." You start before remembering you're supposed to be trying to get out of this bedchamber.

Shadowheart smiled lazily, leaning to press a tender, lingering kiss to your forehead. "Hmm... what is not exactly the matter, then? Secrecy won't aid us in getting back to sleep, I'm afraid." She mutters against your skin before pulling away and meeting your eyes.

"I'm not sure. My mind feels restless..." you answer, not lying. Just... not offering the reason for it.

Her green eyes study you awhile, judging your response. Then you feel her hand wander away from the small of your back... lower... "I see... Perhaps you are in need of another lesson on the subject of finer torments..." Leaning down for the crook of your neck, working her knee between your thighs.

"Can I take a walk? A short one?" You hurry out, knowing if she gets much further, your plan is ruined.

Like you just blasphemed against Lady Shar, Shadowheart recoils back up and glares at you. "You know better than to ask me that."

Intimidated as you may be, you hold your ground. "Just this one time, please, and I swear I'll behave. You know I will, haven't I proven myself?" pleading, even staring into her eyes, risky as it is considering how easily you get lost in them.

The intensity of her stare makes you question the passing of time until she finally breaks the spell with a deep exhale through her nostrils. "Fine. But I'm accompanying you." Slowly disentangling your limbs from hers. "Might as well get dressed properly while I'm at it, seeing as I'm leading the compliment at first light..." she grumbles, her hand reaching for the cover to pull it back and off her.

Goddess, how could you have forgotten? The planning for the visit to the Gauntlet of Shar had taken up so much of her time lately. It would take her substantially more time to get dressed than you, with her dawning her armor and plait her hair. Despite knowing now you only had a few hours, as she intended to take you, her beloved, with her, your hand settles over hers.

Shadowheart pauses and watches you expectantly as you lean slowly closer. All it takes is your lips to brush hers for her to take control. Her hand gets weaves in the hair at the back of your neck, her mouth crashes onto yours in a voracious kiss, as if she's savoring every moment. With a firmness you've come to anticipate, she captures your lip between her teeth, drawing out a soft groan, as you surrender to the intimate dance of her tongue. With a tender touch, she runs her tongue over the small, bleeding wound she created on your bottom lip before deepening the kiss, her tongue entering your mouth at a tantalizingly slow pace.

You realize almost too late how slick your thighs are, and she lets you pull away to your immense surprise, welcoming you back into her arms when you lean into her. Her hand, still playing with the hair behind your head, guides you to rest on her shoulder. Securing you against her with her arm. "You sure I can't tempt you into lingering in bed with me?" She whispers into your ear, and you sense the way she smiles down at you when shiver.

How badly you want to quickly collides with how badly you want freedom, it almost makes your head spin. But you manage to both shake no and clear your mind. In your experience, saying no to her only hurts. Only denies you pleasure she so freely blesses you with. She'll claim what she wants, regardless. Why fight when being subservient is so much easier? So you tense. You wait for the inevitable.

But it never comes.

"Alright. But you're going to give me a proper answer before we return to this room." Shadowheart sighs, kissing the side of your head as she gently guides you off of her. "You've been such a good girl for me, I'll tolerate these little games of yours for a bit longer. But don't test my patience... After all," she said, her eyes narrowing, "you know better than to tell me no," a coldness creeping into her tone. Taking your hand into hers and kissing the wound. Holding a steady, unwavering eye contact throughout.

With that, she flings the covers off the both of you and swings her legs over the side of the bed. "I'm going to draw a bath, if you'd like one as well." Shadowheart says, voice tense as she stretches her limbs.

Taking a moment to admire the curves of her body, you bite your lip. "I would actually like to pray if that's acceptable?" As you slowly sit up in your shared bed.

"Of course, my love. You're welcome to join me after you're done." She flashes you a small, almost proud smile over her shoulder before she walks away, disappearing through the door leading to the bathroom.

You wait awhile. A pang of trepidation washes over you as you slide out of bed and find your clothes. Quiet as you can, you dress yourself in simple black trousers and tunic before tying a dark robe around you and flicking the hood up. Intentionally not wearing shoes to minimize the sound of your feet in what will surely be the mostly empty halls of the cloister.

Before you allow yourself to hesitate, you open the door only enough to slip through the gap and hurry down the halls. Careful to check corners and listen for the sound of patrolling guards, but reminding yourself almost obsessively how little time you have before Shadowheart realizes you're missing. To the best of your recollection, you follow the instructions the mysterious woman gave you to find your chance at freedom. Relief trickling in when you spot the door, just as the woman described it.

Cautiously, you rest your hand against it before attempting to open it. Admittedly, a little surprised when you discover it's unlocked. Slowly creeping through the door and closing it behind you before you look around. It's not a big room.

But there is someone suspended on two floating, metal disc things, the rims of which glowing violet with Sharran runes, arms spread, shirt tattered and worn.

You recognize that silvery hair immediately.

"And here I was worrying you were bored of me." And you'd recognize that voice anywhere. You tense, an instant urge to run nearly carries you out of the room. But it's... not her. Even if it was, it was better to just accept the consequences and whatever punishment she dispenses than make it worse. "What? It's unlike you... or me, to be so quiet. The one thing we have in common... We love the sound of our own voice." She continues, slowly lifting her head to look at you.

And you freeze, your blood runs cold. Shadowheart...??

Those same green eyes, the same braid, the same scar... And silver hair. Just like you remember.

Remember...

"...Y/n...?" she asks slowly, quietly. Her blustering mere moments ago, now timid as a mouse. "Is that... really you this time? No illusions? No games?" You can hear the reluctant hope in her voice, afraid to let it take hold of her.

Slowly, you slide the hood off your head, her eyes visibly shining at the sight of you. "Gods above, it really is you... you got away..." she trails off and noticeably swallows.

Questions race through your mind. This is... Shadowheart. But not... her either. Not the one you know. "The mystery lady said I'd find freedom in here." You say slowly, cautiously. Idiot. What if this is one of your lovers' clever traps?

Her eyebrows knit together in her own confusion. "Mystery lady...?"

You shake your head in mild irritation. "We don't have a lot of time, but I had a dream. A lady in silver light told me to find this room, and I'd find freedom." Hurrying out, crossing your arms tight across your chest and looking away, "fuck, what am I thinking? I shouldn't be here..."

"No, listen to me, y/n! They were right, I can help you!" The silver Shadowheart rushes out, desperation, but... you can read it. It's not motivated by self preservation. It's different.

This is wrong. What's gotten into you? "No, she's going to be so disappointed in me... They both are! I've done so well, been so obedient and studious, and now my Shadowheart and Lady Shar are going to... to..." you trail off, turning your back, but not quite able to move toward the door either. "I don't even know who you are... some... doppelgänger of my mistress?" Muttering under your breath, but the words reverberate gently against the walls of the mostly empty room. Save one larger chest and a tall armoire or something against the wall.

"Y/n..." she calls out softly behind you, her voice trying to coax you to face her again. "Y/n, my love... please... help me down, and I'll help you."

"You... I'm not your—" The words coming out as a snarl as you give in if only to glare and sear your defiance of her into her eyes.

But when you meet hers, stained with stray tears, waves crash over you. Memory after memory...

A portal buried in the forest. It was disrupting your quiet life in the countryside, and Shadowheart had convinced you it had to be dealt with. So you both came temporarily came out of retirement and tracked the thing down.

You found it easily enough, and you both sat in the brush, her leaning on the Blood of Lathander with its light turned off as you watched the patrols. But before you could make any sort of move, a guiding bolt hit Shadowheart in the back so hard it sent her flying out of the brush and into the field. You had spun around, tried to block your assailant, and they snapped your bow in half like it was a twig.

The Sharran Shadowheart made you watch as she used her wound to torture the Silver Shadowheart to degrees neither of you knew were possible.

It didn't take long after her screams turned to anguished sobs and pleas to stop... for you to surrender and give them whatever they wanted.

What a surprise it was you. They spared your partner.

Sometime later, you can't tell, you heard a commotion in the halls of the cloister and you snuck out of the bedchamber to investigate, abandoning the piles of tomes and books left for you to study. Again, you saw the Sharran Shadowheart standing over the Silver Shadowheart in the main hall...

And again later, Sharran Shadowheart instructing you as you did... horrible things to her... over and over.

To your horror, it all made sense. Sure, there were still gaps here and there, but there was enough there to make sense of what's happened.

"There you are, lover, there you are..." Shadowheart breathed out in relief, apparently recognizing the look in your eyes. "Quick, find a way to get me down and we can workshop the rest."

With a single nod, you look around before coming to a stop just as soon as you began. Instinct guides your gaze to your right hand, hidden in the length of your robe sleeve. As you hold it in front of you, the wounds on your hand and wrist, etched in the distinct patterns of Sharran runes, start to emit a gentle, pulsating light. You turn your hand over once or twice, studying the odd glow. Usually when it glows, it causes pain...

Shaking your head clear, you shuffle toward the disc and wave your hand at it, causing the platform to fade away, dropping Shadowheart to the ground on her hands and knees. But she doesn't stay there long before scrambling toward you.

Her arms envelope you in a rib crushing hug, one that you tentatively return. , nowhere near as strong. She's familiar this way... and not at all like the Sharran. "I've waited far too long to hold you again..." Shadowheart murmurs, nuzzling her nose into the crook of your neck.

When she pulls away, her hands quickly clasp around your right, lifting it and brushing the sleeve of your robe out of the way. You watch her lip quiver and her eyes gloss over, her soft fingers brushing over the wounds on your hand. And you notice a lack of one on hers. "When she said she was curing my wound, sparing my parents... If I had known what that monster wearing my face meant..." She sighs, holding it between her hands almost protectively.

Shadowheart quickly presses a peck to the back of your hand before rushing away to the armoire. A silver light falls over the door, and not a moment too late, it shakes as someone attempts to open it from the other side.

Followed by loud bangs and shouts. "Unless we're planning on teleporting out of here, we're kinda fucked..." you try to jest, but your voice wavers even to your ears. The silver light cracks, visibly weakening the more the door quakes and shudders under the force.

"Something like that." She says back, and a glance reveals she's already halfway through fastening her armor to her body with impressive dexterity. You admire how it seems so similar to Dark Justiciar armor, excluding the removal of all Sharran symbology, almost purely silver in color with the cloth around the neck a dark grey. Shadowheart flung the chest open next and reached in, pulling the mace and shield. Striding to your side, not a second to spare.

When the silver light shattered and the door swung open, every instinct in you was to return to her side and apologize for... for what?

Her dark hair was fixed like she always wore it, similar to the silver Shadowheart. Already in her armor, she did say she was going to get dressed... and you were supposed to leave the cloister with her in a few hours. What you didn't expect was the spear in her hand. The gold decals reflected beautifully on the polished silver, the Sharran symbol boldly emblazoned on her chest, the purple cloth more familiar to you now.

You can still remember playing with it in your fingers when you hugged her yesterday.

"I'll behave," Sharran Shadowheart says with an edge of venom to her words, "You know I will. Haven't I proven myself?" She parrots your words to her earlier in bed. Her fury softens in her eyes, glancing away, tipping her head briefly to one side as if in a nod. "I'll admit, I'm a touch proud you've taken so well to our lessons together. I should have been more guarded against your deception."

Silver Shadowheart nudges you behind her, and the fury returns in full force. "But that doesn't mean your punishment will be any less severe. Now come to me, and I'll handle this... embarrassment."

"She's not going anywhere with you." Shadowheart spits protectively, holding her arm in front of you. "I won't let you touch a hair on her head." Her glare fixed straight at the Sharran.

Instead of meeting it, the Sharran's eyes find yours and glow a soft violet. You know it before you feel it. Your hand seizes up, burning agony sends you to your knees and unleashes a piercing cry into the room. "Now, pet." She demands, voice cold while you cradle your arm against you.

Before you can try crawling across the cold stone floor to her, Shadowheart swiftly moves, her boots scraping against the ground. "Flagra!" she shouts, her voice echoing through the chamber. A blinding bolt of guiding light fires off her outstretched hand, the air crackling with energy as it streaks towards the Sharran. With lightning reflexes, she dodges the bolt.

The clash of metal reverberates through the room as the two clerics engage each other, their weapons clanging together, creating a symphony of steel. "Y/n, the chest!" Shadowheart's voice cuts through the chaos, a command laced with urgency. Shadowheart's shield collides with the Sharran's spear, the impact reverberating through the room, sending vibrations through the ground beneath your palms. With a swift motion, Shadowheart swings her mace upwards, the metallic clang of the weapon connecting with the Sharran's chestplate resonating in your ears. The Sharran hisses in pain and retaliation, swinging her spear with a renewed ferocity.

Adrenaline surges through your veins as you witness the intense battle unfold. The room feels charged with energy; air crackling with anticipation. Still reeling from the pain, you stumble to your feet and reach the chest.

Shiny and sparkly, an amulet waits on the bottom. Just a smooth white disc, dotted with speckles of grey. A moon. The moment your fingers brush it, all nine hells break loose.

Your wound flares for starters, as if you've touched the most heinous thing in Sharran history, appearing with a loud boom and rush of air, a blue portal appears on the back wall and instinctively, the amulet in your hand, you swing your arm around.

Chains emerge from the floor, curling around the Sharran's legs first, then her hands. The spear clangs to the floor as she pulls and tears with strength you've seldom seen her need to muster. Wincing as the links in the chains give out several times before re-fixing to her limbs until they can pull her to her knees. "You insolent, pathetic...!" she growls loudly. Whether it's directed at you or Shadowheart, you don't think you want to know. The wound on your hand and wrist simmer and burn, the glow shifting from a purple to a red, then pulses with shades of violet.

Emerging from the portal, a silver-skinned man with glowing eyes that looks... also familiar. But your memory is still too tattered to recall him. "I see you succeeded at last, Shadowheart. And put an end to Shar's tampering with the threads of reality." He smiles and approaches the Sharran. Studying her a moment before looking at Shadowheart. "Well done. You may take our friend away from here and do whatever you wish. I will take it from here." As he slowly circles around your... former lover?

"I will get free. And when I do, I will shear your skin from your bones, then offer them to Lady Shar. You will watch as I break my pet all over again, purging the memory of you from her mind and fucking the rest from her skull." The Sharran fumes, her voice low, cold and menacing.

Shadowheart doesn't even flinch. If anything, she smirks. "If you could do all that without destroying us both, you would have already." She says simply, sheathing her mace and shield as red glowing sigils surround the Sharran in a wide circle where she kneels on the floor.

Gazing beyond her, she catches sight of you, practically cowering behind Shadowheart. "Don't worry. No matter where you go, the depths you flee to... Where she hides you, or the cloak she weaves around you... I will find you. And I'll spend every evening retraining you what it means to belong to me. That, I swear in the Nightsingers' name." Her words, spoken low, still echo in the relative silence of the room. Carrying the sharpened edge of a thinly veiled threat.

Or a promise.

As you cautiously emerge from behind Shadowheart, her arm instinctively reaches out to catch you before reluctantly releasing its grip allowing you to close some of the distance between you. Choosing instead to watch the Sharran with a piercing glare of her own.

She... your... lover watches you with a coldness. An invitation in her eyes, it's not too late to call on Lady Shar to restore this life with her. To return to Shadowhearts embrace.

"Let go, mistress," you intone, observing the briefest flicker of pain like you had driven a dagger through her chest, "embrace loss."

"As will you... When I raze that world in the Dark Lady's name." There's no hatred. No anger, no venom. Only tenderness, like a whispered sweet nothing. Like you're in her arms again, while she whispers scripture and proverbs in your ear.

Shadowhearts' hand rests on your shoulder. "She's spewing nonsense." She reassures, gently turning you away. "Let's go home... I'm sure Buttons will be eager to see us." Gracing you with a warm smile, her hand on the small of your back to guide you toward the portal. Only giving the silver-skinned man a nod.

You can't help but look back once, Her, kneeling on the floor, bound and chained and encircled by ominous red sigils... before her delicate touch nudges you over the threshold.

Warm, wet sensations wash over you, for how long you're not sure.

What you do know is you appear in front of a couch in a sizeable though quaint cottage. Animals startle, hiss and bark, scattering in all directions. Numbness, emptiness, the only feelings you know for a moment.

Then grief. Mourning. The shattering of your heart for too many reasons to hold on to and understand all at once.

You collapse to your knees, arms quickly encircling you, another body joins you on the wooden floor, warm arms holding you tighter as the first sob overtakes your whole body. Tighter still when they become louder. You can still recognize Shadowhearts' fingers in your hair in an effort to soothe you. Her words in your ear, promises of safety, of yours and her wellbeing, that it's over.

However long she holds you for, you're not sure. Through it all, you only feel one thing and deep down you know it's not true nor right....

Loss.

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A/N: GUYS I DID IT LAST DAMN MINUTE OH GAWD. HERES THE DARK JUSTICIAR FIC, I'M SORRY IF ITS AWFUL I LITERALLY ONLY STARTED WRITING IN LIKE YESTERDAY AFTERNOON (I had scrapped it and rewrote it from scratch around 5-6 times throughout the week)

[iri-2]

Rating: Explicit

Category: F/F

Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games)

Relationships: Shadowheart/Reader

Characters: Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate)

[madwomansapologist]

──────〃✰ kinktober 2024 ୨ৎ

welcome to my first kinktober! bellow you'll find prompts i've come up with + one that was commented on a post i made about this very same subject.

if you want to be tagged, tell me! i update this post everytime i finish one of the prompts with some details.

୨ৎ WEEK 1: LET'S PLAY PRETEND ୨ৎ

OCT 1ST strip poker with sir crocodile

title: poker face synopsis: luckily, mr. zero didn't knew you were a mugiwara. luckily, mr. zero fell for your bluffs. unfortunately, you never imagined it would be that hard to not fall for crocodile's charm. [3.1K] cw: mugiwara!fem!reader, strip poker, strip tease, public sex, cock crush, nipple stimulation, size difference, fingering (f!receiving), riding, biting, scratching, finger sucking, p in v, creampie, possessive behavior, mob boss meets a baddie, pussy so good he wonders about marriage.

OCT 3TH somnophilia with kento nanami

title: sweet dreams synopsis: watching the man you love deny himself of his needs, you take matters into your own hands. or lips, to be more precise. [1.5K] cw: established relationship, service top!reader, somnophilia, body worship, nipple stimulation, masturbation (m!receiving), oral (m!receiving), choking (gn!receiving), hair pulling, overstimulation.

OCT 5TH incest with karlach

title: a small favor synopsis: a movie night turned into you being a good girl for your older sister. if only she had warned you of what it truly meant. [1.1K] cw: t!karlach, plus size!reader, incest, lil sis/big sis, dub con, gaslighting, obssessive behavior, apologetic, spit, dry humping, pussyjob, premature ejaculation.

୨ৎ WEEK 2: MONSTERS AND LESBIANS DESERVE LOVE TOO ୨ৎ

OCT 6TH monster fucking with multiple monsters

title: haunted bang synopsis: when you decided to explored a haunted mansion, all you wanted was to gain more knowledge for your grimoire. you never expected it to be habited, even less for all the residents to agree that sharing is caring. [2.4K] cw: wizard!reader, teratophilia, monster fucking, gangbang, voyeurism, size difference, manhandling, mind connection, scent kink, oral (females!receiving), pet play, pussy drunk, overstimulation, you know that post about "would you fuck your clone?", f in v, monsters included are a eldritch creature, a werewolf, a vampire and a shapeshifter.

OCT 8TH shower sex with namivivi

title: let it sink in synopsis: the fight was over, the war was done, but the tension was still there. watching the princess falling victim of her own mind, the navigator has to intervene. [1K] cw: established relationship, insecurity, a bit of hurt and a lot of comfort, this isn't sex it's love okay i'm sensitive about them, shower sex, masturbation.

OCT 10TH scent kink with farcille

title: animal attraction synopsis: back from the dead, falin could feel something changing inside of her. but with marcille's scent blinding her mind, she ignored the dragon and focused on the warmth coming from her friend. [0.8K] cw: the night pre-chimera, scent kink (in a dragon’s mate way), nipple stimulation, a tiny small bit of somnophilia, erotic dreams, public sex.

OCT 12TH masturbation with nico robin

title: a helping hand synopsis: there is an aspect of sailing in the grand line you failed to consider: there is no one to fuck. of course, that's only true if you ignore your crew as candidates. [0.5K] cw: sorry for the delay! reader has a little crush on luffy, masturbation, accidental orgasm denial, accidental/non-accidental voyeurism.

୨ৎ WEEK 3: REWARD SYSTEM ୨ৎ

OCT 13TH praise kink with kagaya x reader x amane

title: pretty, pretty, pretty synopsis: back from a mission, is time to remember your lovers you will always be there to take care of their every needs and desires. [1.1K] cw: sorry for the delay! established relationship, kagaya x reader x amane, dom!fem!reader, praise kink, voyeurism, masturbation (f! and m! receiving), body worship, oral (m!receiving).

OCT 15TH bondage with dark justiciar shadowheart

title: sing your prayers synopsis: to worship lady shar, one must be perfect. shadowheart will guide you, make you the best you can ever be. don't matter the cost, her teachings shall find a way into your very soul. [1K] cw: fem!reader, bard!tav, domme!shadowheart, power imbalance, memory loss, bondage, humilliation kink, temperature play, gaslighting, dacryphilia, religious imagery, Shar vs Selune.

OCT 17TH corruption kink with shan yu

title: training session synopsis: you're tired of being treated like a glass about to be shattered. if he will have you whole, than it's only fair you receive the same. [1.3K] cw: established relationship, corruption kink, finger sucking, masturbation (m!receiving), oral (m!receiving), cum eating.

୨ৎ WEEK 4: ANIME SEASON ୨ৎ

OCT 24TH sex pollen with kyojuro rengoku

title: milk me synopsis: usually demons' poisons just kill whoever was affected by them. this time, it served for something else. something way better. [2.1K] cw: established relationship, eye patch!kyojuro, crystal hashira!reader, sex pollen, public sex, pussy drunk, forced orgasms, overstimulation, oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), p in v, dacryphilia, spit, nipple stimulation, accidental voyeurism (we'll say: sorry miss shinobu).

୨ৎ WEEK 5: LOVE, LOVE, LOVE ୨ৎ

OCT 27TH exhibitionism kink with ryomen sukuna

title: mine synopsis: watching the man you love deny himself of his needs, you take matters into your own hands. or lips, to be more precise. [0.5K] cw: established relationship, toxic couple (only towards others), exhibitionism, public sex, cockwarming.

taglist: @ffinosie @lovelyy-moonlight @alzaira @s2-angells @eyes-ofhell @inlovewithmariah @chiiyohiimee @shaquilles-0atmeal @bloodyziggy @salemey @kcch-ns @notanalienindisguiseblink @py-schi @miyanosm @idonthaveanameforthisacc

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.