#might as well hand Shadowheart over to Shar | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daveth-isnt-dead · 1 year ago

Text

Restlessness

Summary:

She usually only lets Astarion feed on her while she is asleep. Not that she has any problem with Astarion, the case just is that him feeding from her while she is still conscious is profoundly intimate and she can’t really be sure if Astarion has noticed or even if he particularly cares, about how quickly her heart races when he does it. So while she is asleep is better, it's much better. But she can't get to sleep tonight, so she is just going to have to make do.

Contains: Fem Unnamed Tav, Explicit Sexual Content, Blood stuff (comes with the territory) Word Count: 5,143 Read on AO3

Astarion has been feeding on her almost every night for the past month now. Most nights while she is still asleep, though he is always surprisingly insistent about obtaining direct consent before she moves to her tent for the evening, by this point she has just assumed that the agreement is mutual and that there is little need for him to keep asking. Though she doesn't have it in her to be upset about the courtesy.

She generally prefers that he drinks while she is sleeping, only knowing that it happened when she wakes up the next morning with a dull throb in her neck and Astarion giving her a knowing smirk from across the camp.

Not that she has any problem with Astarion, the case just is that him feeding from her while she is still conscious is profoundly intimate and she can’t really be sure if Astarion has noticed or even if he particularly cares, about how quickly her heart races when he does it. So while she is asleep is better, it's much better.

Being the vampire’s resident midnight snack does occasionally earn her some uncomfortable looks from other members of their little group. Especially after one of the few nights she had been awake for the ordeal and the feeling of his hand moving to her hip caused her body to jolt so intensely that Astarion accidentally tore her throat up with his fangs. Shadowheart dutifully healed it, but gave her a stare so oppressive that even a slight uptick of the half-elf’s judgemental eyebrow would surely have killed her on the spot.

Astarion did apologize, but then quickly switched to insisting that she needed to let him know next time she decided to experiment with interpretive dance while he was firmly latched to her throat.

That was the night they both agreed, it might be better if he only feeds while she is out cold.

This night, however. Sleep will not come. She knows that it has been nearly a day and a half since Astarion has last eaten, any and all the fighting that took place today in the dark remains of Shar’s gauntlet were against foes severely lacking in the blood department, and tomorrow will likely be the same. To be honest, they were lucky at all, to find somewhere safe and quiet enough to camp in this miserable place.

She rubs her eyes, still sitting upright in her tent despite all efforts to lull herself to sleep. She sighs heavily, tucking her knees up and wrapping her arms around them, usually a long day like this tires her out completely, and she is a very heavy sleeper, but today’s journey has left her so exhausted that even sleep evades her.

The rustling of her tent flap nearly has her topping over with shock, hardly expecting any visitors after the terrible day they had all endured. The realization hits her when Astarion climbs in.

“Oh.” He says, freezing halfway into the tent, “Apologies, you are not usually so…well, conscious, at this time of night.” She had agreed to him feeding on her again this evening, assuming that she would be well asleep by now like usual. She sighs and gives him a wan smile, “Sorry, I can’t sleep.” “I suppose dinner is off the table then, isn't it?” He replies, wearing a smile that seems far tighter than his usual lazy smirk.

“No!” She says quickly, “Gods no, there’s nothing else for you to eat down here and it’s been almost two days.” Astarion frowns, suddenly becoming very interested in his fingernails, “I can always go back to eating rats if I must, there is certainly no lack of them in this miserable place.” He tries to maintain a casual air, but there is venom behind those words. His voice does return to being playful when he says, “Or, should the situation become incredibly dire, I’m sure that our resident hero would let me have a bite if I asked very nicely.” For some reason, the thought of Astarion feeding on Wyll instead of her causes a thick cloud of jealousy to build behind her ribs. She ignores it, “Just come inside, we’ll figure something out.” she says, shuffling backward a little to give him more room, “And close the front of the tent, please.”

When he turns back to her and takes a seat on the hard ground, she can’t help but notice just how etherial he looks in the soft orange glow of her lantern. Even on the nights when she does sleep, she prefers to keep the lantern on, both because the darkness makes her uneasy, and because (even though she knows he can see in the dark) it feels like common courtesy to leave a light on for Astarion.

“So.” He says

“So…” she replies

Astarion sighs, “Look, darling. If you are simply too delicate for me to have my meal while you are awake, I’m sure that I can find a way to occupy myself for now.” He levels his gaze with her, “Something more entertaining than just staring at each other.”

She bristles, “I’m not delicate, I’m just-” she can’t finish the sentence. She’s just what? Too shy, embarrassed maybe, certainly nervous, “I’m fidgety.” she lies, “and I don’t want to cause another…incident.” He laughs, “Oh yes, not willing to suffer another of Shadowheart’s glares, are you?” “No.” She begins, averting her eyes as she feels her cheeks burning, “Not at present.”

“Then what do you suggest? Since you don’t seem to be planning on getting your beauty sleep anytime soon.” She chews on a knuckle, mulling it over. There’s no way she could handle him leaning over her like that again, his scent surrounding her, one of his hands cradling the back of her head as he finally sinks his teeth into the side of her-

“It might be better, if i’m sitting upright.” She offers. Astarion blinks, “Upright?” “Maybe. I think.”

It would at the very least, be far less intimate, more clinical. Astarion hums to himself, “As you know, i don’t have all that much experience in the matter, but i can hardly see how you would expect to stay upright and the last thing we need is you cracking your skull open on the ground.”

“Then I would just need something to lean against.” She says quickly, “I just think I would be far better at sitting still this way, that's all.”

“Well, I’m right here, darling.” He says, almost dismissively, upset that she wouldn’t consider it herself, “You could always lean against me.”

Her eyes widen. That would defeat the purpose of this whole exercise, but she can’t very well tell him that.

“As long as it wouldn’t make things more difficult for you.” She begins, choosing her words slowly and carefully, “I would at least be happy to try.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” He says, leaning backward a little and letting his thighs fall open, “The last thing this could possibly be for me is difficult.” She stares down at him, eyes wide as she realizes that she has only managed to make this situation worse.

“Oh….kay” She says, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. In the end she opts to face away from him, sitting cross legged between his legs and shimmying backward until she feels his chest pressed up against her back. She sucks a difficult breath in through her teeth and though he isn’t warm, he might as well be, the way she immediately breaks out in a nervous sweat.

“Come come, my dear.” He says, his tone hushed as he carefully draws her hair away from her throat, “I’ve had plenty of time to practice being gentle all those nights you were asleep, no need to be so nervous.” She’s more than a little embarrassed at how instinctively she tilts her head to the side for him, almost beckoning him to bite down. It’s not that part that makes her nervous, not at all. It’s that she recalls a conversation, brief and quickly dismissed, that the two had by a campfire many nights ago. A mention of disgust, words spat like bile about the man who forced him to use himself night after night. A disgust of her own, when she remembered how many days she’d spend staring at him, nights under his body as he fed, wishing and wanting for him to touch her.

She had been far too forward that night, prodding where she shouldn't. Astarion had just laughed, dismissed her concern and refused to elaborate.

“I trust you.” She whispers when she feels the ghost of his breath on her neck.

Astarion tenses behind her, and she closes her eyes as he descends, waiting for the bite that never comes. His lips press against the side of her throat, softly, lightly, the way a lover might kiss. She gasps aloud, and quickly covers her mouth with a hand, trying to hide the sound.

One of his hands wraps around hers, gently removing it from her mouth, “No.” he says, pressing another kiss to the cut of her jaw, “Let me hear you.”

A whimper climbs its way up her throat when he wraps a possessive arm around her, his thumb gently brushing across the lower swell of her breast. She feels his teeth against her neck, not biting, gentle and tantalizing.

This is what she had been afraid of, that she would encourage something like this and then lack the restraint to tell him no. Her head inclines backwards, resting on his shoulder and releasing a keening moan when he sucks on her pulsepoint.

“Astarion-” she tries, breaking off into a moan when he slides his hand up and squeezes her breast in his palm.

He chuckles against her throat, “I do so love hearing you say my name like that.” he croons into her ear, his hand sliding down the collar of her loose linen shirt to cup her breast directly, “Say it again for me, would you?”

“W-Wait, please” She forces out, trying to ignore the growing warmth between her thighs, and the cool press of his palm against her breast.

At her words, Astarion freezes completely. She can barely even feel him breathing anymore.

“Yes, of course.” He says quickly, too quickly, there’s something that sounds like panic in his voice, “I- well, I hope i didn’t misread the situation.” “No! That’s- that’s not what I meant, it’s just-” She reaches her hand up backwards until she finds his face, cupping his cheek in her palm, “Astarion…you don’t have to if-“ if you don’t want to, if it doesn’t mean anything, if it hurts too much, or Gods forbid if you think you owe me something.

He stays still for long enough that she begins to worry she said something wrong, that she overstepped a boundary and he was just going to laugh dismissively again. Instead, he turns his head so he can lightly kiss the palm of her hand.

“I know.” He breathes, and it somehow soothes all her worries at once, “I know I don’t have to, but I do want to.” She can almost hear his smile when he says, “That is, of course, provided that you don’t want me to stop.”

“Gods no…” she exhales, leaning back against him, “That’s the last thing I want.”

“Good.” He nearly moans, his hand jumping to the laces at the front of her shirt and quickly undoing them until it hangs wide open all the way down to her sternum. It surprises her a moment, how familiar he seems with undoing her clothes, but then she remembers each morning, waking up with a bite at the join between her shoulder and neck. A courtesy, so none of the others would see it, but he would only be able to reach that low by loosening her shirt.

She feels herself growing warm at the thought, smirking when she asks, “You’ve undressed me before, have you?”

Astarion huffs, licking a stripe up the side of her neck, “Nothing more than was necessary to get at your shoulder, darling.” his cold hands grab both her breasts at once, and he groans, “I was trying to save you from any judgemental stares.”

Her head lolls backward and she moves her hand to his hair, tangling her fingers in tight. His hands are cold against her bare skin, but she is already so warm all over that any reprieve from the heat is a welcome one.

“Is this why you could never sit still while I was feeding on you?” Astarion breathes, one of his hands sliding down the front of her torso to rub over the front of her woolen breeches, “Because you couldn’t stop imaging this?” his hand slips beneath her breeches and into her smalls, “Gods…” he hisses through his teeth, “You’re so wet and I’ve barely even touched you.”

“Don’t act so coy.” She replies, gasping aloud when his talented fingers dip inside her just enough that she is quivering in anticipation for more, and when his thumb reaches up to circle her clit, she whimpers desperately, “You have all the clarification you need right here.”

“Do I?” He asks slowly, fully removing his fingers from her cunt and resting his hand on her hip, “What if I want to hear you admit it?”

She whines, missing his touch already, “Please…” “No no no, you know what you have to do.” He murmurs, breath ghosting across her neck as he presses another kiss to her skin, “You did lie to me about it earlier, don’t I deserve to hear the truth from your delectable lips?” “F-Fine.” She mutters, shame dissolving into something far more sinful as she finally confesses what she is certain he already knew, “The real reason I asked you to only feed while I was asleep, was because I-” his free hand joins the other on her hips, slowly edging her breeches and smalls down over her thighs, “Because I didn’t think I could control myself.”

He laughs warmly against her skin, fingers just barely skirting around the thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs, “My my, with talk like that, you’d think that it is I who should be afraid of you.”

“Maybe you should.” She says, trying and failing to maintain a casual air even as his fingers slowly descend, “After all, who knows that I might- nhg!” “Hm? Sorry, what was that?” Astarion asks, two of his fingers now knuckle deep inside of her.

“I’m h-hardly in a state to offer much witty banter, Astarion.” She stammers, barely even able to speak as his fingers start moving, slow and precise, like he is savoring it.

“But I do so love when you try.” He smiles against her neck, a third finger easily wriggling in alongside the other two. She goes practically boneless against him, unable to keep her hips still as he curls his fingers upward just right and when his thumb teases another utterly devious circle around her clit she feels herself tightening around his fingers. Astarion groans, hiding his face in her shoulder and grinding himself against her lower back, “Hells, darling, you are perfect.”

One of her hands moves to his thigh, struggling to find purchase as she completely loses herself to the pleasure. If the full weight of her body essentially collapsed against him gives Astarion pause, he doesn’t show it, his fingers never falter. The pace he maintains is utterly languid, slow and warm and wet, fast enough that she wouldn’t call it teasing but like he wants to work for it, to enjoy the luxury of taking his time with her.

She moans when his other hand returns to her breast, rubbing addictive circles around her nipple with his thumb. Everything starts to turn hazy at the edges, her body is twitching and desperate.

“Gods…” She hisses through her teeth. Astarion chuckles against her throat, “Come now, darling. There’s only one god here.” she feels the light graze of his sharp teeth, “and he’d much prefer you call him by his name.” “Astarion…” she tries, “Please.” He exhales a shaky breath, but otherwise maintains his composure, “Please what, my sweet?”

She’s on the exhilarating precipice of her climax, barely even able to speak, her body feels so hot that Astarion’s hands nearly burn in their coolness and she can scarcely imagine a world where she doesnt have them pressed against her. Whimpering and mewling under his touch and so unsure of what it is she even wants until: “Bite me!” comes bursting out from her mouth.

Astarion chokes on a breath, and she feels the soft lick of her tongue over his pulsepoint, “Are you sure?” “Yes!” She hisses, practicaly fucking herself on his fingers now, “Gods yes.” She feels more than hears the rumble of his moan, “Do try to stay still.” he purrs, and then sinks his fangs into her throat. The immediate pain feels almost electric jumping from her throat, to her fingertips, to her toes, a quick sharp jolt that is near instantly replaced with a nauseating bliss.

Her head lolls to the side, relishing in the feeling as he begins devouring her. The beat of her heart is loud in her ears, and the pump of his fingers is no longer so tender, with each movement his thumb brushes firmly against her clit and her whole body tenses. He curls his fingers upward, and her hips cant forward violently.

Unlike last time, Astarion is quick to pull his fangs from her throat, before any real damage can occur, “You really can’t sit still, can you?” He groans in her ear, his voice void of any of its usual musicality as he grinds himself up against her in time with his fingers. A bubbling laugh escapes her mouth as she revels in the feeling of his length pressed firmly against her lower back, at the way his own hips don’t seem to want to stop moving, “N-Neither can you.” she says through her moans. “What can I say?” He murmurs, mouth slowly returning to the open wound on her neck, “You are positively delicious.” He does not bite again, instead lapping and sucking at the blood as it flows freely out of her. She can barely breathe, lost in utter exhilaration as the lightheadedness takes hold, his fingers curl and thrust inside of her, skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat as she finds herself completely unable to hold back her whimpers and moans.

Astarion completely covers the bite mark with his mouth, sucking with true fervor now as she teeters closer and closer to her climax. Her eyes squeeze shut, and she frantically grinds herself against his awaiting fingers, the warmth builds and builds in her belly until she feels like she is about to turn to lightning in his arms.

“A-Astarion, I-” Her words collapse into a desperate, aching moan as she tumbles over the edge, the world turning white behind her eyes and the heat rushing out from her core all the way to her fingertips. The euphoria is so encompassing that she nearly sobs as his fingers begin to slow their movements within her.

He has the sense not to say anything, at least for a moment, and she can scarcely imagine how she looks right now. Her hair clings to her forehead with sweat, tears are beading in her eyes and- oh gods had she been drooling? She quickly raises a hand to wipe her mouth, and as she is doing so, she turns her head to look at him and oh.

Astarion blinks down at her, and the look in his eyes is heady and lust drunk, but there is something else to it as well, bordering on reverence. His cheeks are flushed, and she knows that can only happen when he has just fed. She swallows thickly at the red colouring of his lips, where her own blood is currently spread. Curiosity does something sinister to her, and she wants to taste it herself.

His eyes go wide when she kisses him, and wider again when she darts out her tongue lick over his teeth. Astarion’s chest is heaving when she pulls back, his red eyes watching cautiously, as though unsure of her next move. She reaches out and takes his cheek in her palm, his skin is warmer than it was before.

“Your turn.” She whispers, trailing her hand from his cheek, down his sternum to the waistband of his breeches. She looks up at him quickly and is emboldened by the desire she still sees in his eyes, untucking his shirt and pulling it up over his head. He’s all perfect, smooth, porcelain skin, but her eyes can’t help being drawn to the way her rough undressing has left his hair disheveled. She tangles her fingers in it, smiling at how boyishly handsome he looks with his hair in disarray.

“If it’s all the same to you, my dear.” He breathes, beginning to sound impatient, “I’ve waited for you long enough.” She laughs, edging his breeches and undergarments down over his hips, “So impatient for someone with your lifespan.”

He frowns at her, but she is surprised to find how easily she can tell he doesn’t mean it, “If anything, that should speak to just how much I crave you.” He croons as she swings one leg over his hips, hoving just over his lap, “You should be flattered.” “I am.” She replies with not a hint of irony, “I consider myself incredibly lucky.” Astarion reaches up to her face and tucks some of her hair behind her ear, “As do I.”

She wraps her arms around his shoulders to steady herself as she slowly lowers herself down, stutting a gasp when the head of his cock meets her entrance. It’s as cold as the rest of him, and she has to bite down on her lower lip to keep herself from crying out when she takes in the first inch. She’s still incredibly sensitive from her first climax, and the coolness of him feels so alien and utterly addictive that she is already panting and whimpering by the time he bottoms out inside of her.

Astarion lets out a shaky moan when she finally sits down fully, his hands jumping to her waist and his head falling to rest on her shoulder. They stay like that for a moment, just clinging to each other, no sounds but their breathing and the rapid tattoo of her heart.

When he looks up at her again, Astarion’s smile is utterly salacious, “You have me now, darling.” he whispers, pressing a cool kiss to her shoulder, “Perhaps it would the perfect moment for you to show me some of those, things you have been thinking about doing to me all this time.”

Astarion isn’t usually that much taller than her, but even still, there is something addictive about their current positioning and the way he has to peer up at her. She tilts her head to the side, taking in the sight of him, his blood flushed cheeks and the glint of his teeth behind his wide smile.

“Would it be…strange-” she begins, tangling one of her hands in the back of his hair, “-If said that i had often imagined biting you.” “Hah!” Astarion exclaims, grinning broadly, “Well, it would be hardly fair for me to ask you to keep your teeth to yourself, wouldn’t it?” Her brows pull together, “You can say no, Astarion.” His eyes go wide for a moment, and his face is awash with a sudden vulnerability, “I- Yes, I know that I can.” His smile returns, but now the look in his eyes is warmer, softer, “But I don’t want to.” He inclines his head to the side, exposing the length of his throat, “Go on, darling. Let me know how I taste, would you?”

She leans into his neck, breathing in his scent as she presses a soft kiss to his skin. He makes a noise, a startled intake of breath, his hands on her waist gripping tighter and she opens her mouth and bites. Astarion cries out, and his hips stutter his cock deeper inside of her. She moans against his skin, grinding her hips down to meet his and languishing in the feeling of just how well he fills her.

Her teeth are far blunter than his, and actually drawing any blood would take a considerable amount of force and cause a considerable amount of pain, but even without the taste of blood in her mouth there is still something so delectably perverse about biting down on him, about burying her face in his throat. She moans, kissing from the base of his neck and up to the curve of his jaw, sucking gently on the skin there and smiling when she pulls away to see purple marks blooming on his pale skin.

Astarion’s breath is heavy when he looks at her, but his eyes are soft and relaxed, “Admiring your handiwork, are you?” He laughs a little, peering up at her coquettishly, “Does it suit me?” She traces a finger over the crescent shaped bruises left by her teeth, smiling at him as she whispers, “Very much so, and now I believe we are even.” “Are we now?” Astarion replies, a mischievous look crossing his face as his hands move down to her hips, “Because as far as I can recall, only one of us has seen stars this evening.”

“We’ll need to rectify this situation then, won’t we?” She says, her breath quickening as she grinds down on him.

Astarion’s grip on her hips grows tighter and he chokes on a groan, “You look beautiful up there, my dear.” he thrusts up into her, slowly and deeply, “Sitting pretty on my lap, just for me.”

Her head lolls forward, whining as his cock brushes against that perfect spot inside of her.

“Look at me.” Astarion whispers, and she tilts her head up to meet his eyes. His breath stutters when he sees her expression, desperate and adoring, “I want to see your face as I’m fucking you, darling.” She giggles shyly, resisting the urge to hide her face in her hands and Astarion smiles, “Good girl.”

He uses the grip on her hips to lift her up and she whimpers as his cock leaves her, only to cry out when he drops her back down. Shifting her weight to her knees, she follows his lead bouncing on his cock to meet him on the upstroke. He never breaks eye contact, staring as her breath leaves her, watching reverently as she pants and moans with each of his movements.

“A-Astarion…” She moans, leaning forward and pressing her forehead to his, “You’re so good, you feel so good.”

He laughs breathlessly, “Would you believe that you feel even better?”

One of his hands moves from her hip around to her front, his talented fingers rubbing encouraging circles on her clit. She keens loudly, digging her nails into his shoulders, “Didn’t I say it was your turn.” She forces out, “You really don’t have-” “You greatly underestimate just how much making you climax arouses me, my sweet.” He groans when he rubs her a little faster, feeling her walls clench around him in response, “I have been thinking about it, constantly.”

She can feel her orgasm building again, the combination of his fingers and his cock driving her absolutely wild. He’s so warm now, her own growing heat slowly warming his cold skin over time, she wants to grab onto him and never let go. His hips are losing rhythm beneath her, driving his cock up into her with short, stuttered thrusts. Gods she can feel him throbbing.

“I’m-I’m close again.” She breathes.

He groans at even the thought of it, “Good. So am I.”

“Fill me, Gods, Astarion- please” She moans, tightening her arms around his shoulders, pressing him flush against her.

His own arms wrap tightly around her waist as he fucks up into her at an utterly desperate speed. His breath coming quick and fast, he buries his face in her shoulder, mouthing at the side of her neck, waiting as always, for her permission.

“Fuck! Yes, Please, bite me!” She cries out, feeling the warmth of her oncoming climax already blooming in her belly, “Gods, Astarion, I am all yours.” His breath hitches at that, the frantic movement of his hips stopping for only a moment, “Mine…” he breathes, and then sinks his fangs into the side of her throat. She can barely comprehend what she is feeling, him all around her, inside her in more ways than one. She’s open, vulnerable, yearning and Astarion is all she ever wanted.

Her second climax of the night is louder, twitchier, her whole body quivers as it feels like she is shoved over the precipice, her insides clenching desperately around him and her hands digging into his hair as she howls into the open air.

“H-Hells!” He stammers at the feeling of her coming undone around him, clutching to her as tightly as he can before emptying inside of her.

There’s warmth, for some time, as the two of them return from the white hot afterglow. She gently runs her fingers through his hair, and Astarion softly laps at any of the mess left on the side of her neck before kissing tenderly over the bite mark left behind.

“Would you stay?” She whispers, hiding her face in his shoulder, nervous for his answer.

Astarion chuckles, “Are you that insatiable, my dear? Can’t get enough?” She shakes her head, “No, I mean it. Stay with me until morning, we can talk, or sleep, I don't mind.” His breath is shaky now, and one of her hands comes up to rest on the back of her head, “I don’t really know what we are doing.” he breathes, “But I’d like to try, with you.” She sits up a little, meeting his eyes. There is apprehension there, yes, but more than that there is something warm and real. She smiles, “I guess we’ll have to figure it out together.”

His smile is lopsided and effortless, “Though I’m sure Shadowheart will have something entertaining to say, come morning.”

She laughs, “I’ll have to get used to withstanding her glare, I think, as I plan to make, well, whatever this is, a regular occurrence.”

Neither of them feels a need to define what they are feeling, or even what comes next. But she smiles when Astarion presses a kiss to her temple, and decides that for now, it hardly matters. They’ll figure it out eventually.

#astarion #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion ancunin

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feyascorner · 10 months ago

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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.”

“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 :)

#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #bg3 #fluff #shadowheart #astarion x you #astarion x oc

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thehistoriccemetery · 11 months ago

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Companions Found Crying

Back on my hurt/comfort shit again. Here’s Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Karlach, Minthara, and Jaheira when they are caught crying by the reader.

There are spoilers for at least Act 2, but I don’t think there’s any for Act 3.

Shadowheart

You find her late one night, just outside of camp on her knees, clutching the idol of Shar you gifted her from Grymforge. She is crying softly, but her sniffles are audible as you approach.

You ease yourself down behind her, laying a gentle hand on her back in an effort not to scare her.

You are caught by surprise as she all but sends you tumbling backwards with how hard she throws her head into your chest. The simple initiation of contact created an immediate need for more.

You stroke her hair gently. She’s taken it down for the evening, allowing you to gently run your fingers through it. She only cries harder, body nearly heaving with the force.

“What have I done?” She sobs. “What have I done?” She repeats over and over again, muffled only by your body.

“You did the right thing,” you say in response, looking down at her as she drops the idol in favor of grabbing your shirt with both hands.

“So… what, I’ve been doing the wrong thing for-for as long as I can remember?” She stammered. “I’ve dedicated my whole life to-to the wrong thing?”

You open your mouth to respond, but you can’t find the words. There was no way to answer her both honestly and helpfully.

“Was I the bad guy? Am I the bad guy?” She asks weakly. “I wanted to fight the evil… but I think the evil might be… me.”

“No,” you say, gently grabbing her wrists and looking into her teary green eyes. “You are not the villain. You never were.”

She picks up the statue on the ground and throws it in to the surrounding forest with a scream of relief. She did not believe your words. Perhaps she never would. But with you by her side, she was sure she would be would be on the right path from now on.

Lae’zel

Lae’zel had dragged you away from supper earlier that evening to spar. You had both done this several times before, but something was off about tonight.

The way she swung her sword was entirely different. Her moves were frantic and lacked her typical calculation. It was the types of swings you’d expect to see from a strong but unskilled child.

On one swing in particular, she swung hard, but in the wrong direction, allowing you to parry the blow and throw her off balance. She stumbled in a nearby stone slab, using her hands to restabilize herself.

You approached her, stepping softly and reaching a hand out to lay on her shoulder. You could tell something was wrong, but you didn’t exactly know what.

Before you could reach her, she turned to make another swing. Even though she had the element of surprise, the strike was blind and unplanned. You easily side stepped her maneuver and she fell, dropping her sword and tumbling to her hands and knees.

“Lae’zel!” You shouted. “What’s going on?” You approached her again, more cautiously this time. She reached for her sword, but you kicked it away before she could reach it.

She looked up at you, defeated. Her war paint was smeared sloppily down her face. You tossed your own weapon aside and fell to ground in front of her.

“I feel frenzied,” she admits finally. “My feelings towards you. I feel- out of control. Like if I were to lose you… I don’t know what I would do. I do not think I could bear it.”

You take one of her hands into yours and reach out with the other to stroke her cheek. “Well then it’s a good thing you’re not gonna lose me.”

“But I cannot control it,” she explains frustratedly. “I cannot even control myself in the face of it.”

You smile a little bit, allowing her to press her face into your hand. “That’s love, my dear,” you explain softly. “It is unbridled happiness in the face of uncertainty. It is brilliant and it is terrifying. And we will do it together.”

She squeezes your hand, and covers your other hand with her own. Somehow, despite all the battles she charged into head first, loving you may be the bravest thing she’s ever done.

Karlach

You find her curled up in a ball behind Dammon’s forge at the Last Light Inn. Her arms and tail are wrapped around her legs, and her teary eyes are barely visible above her knees.

“Karlach?” You call out, holding your lantern out to better illuminate her. She tucks her head into her chest to avoid your gaze.

You set down the lantern and sit down next to her. As big as she is, she feels so small and delicate as you reach out to touch her.

“Love, what’s wrong?” You ask. “You don’t have to hide your tears from me.”

“It’s not fair,” she cries, still not looking up at you. “It’s not fucking fair.”

You sigh. After Dammon’s news you had been waiting for Karlach to finally break. She had put on a strong face for the others. She was able to enjoy the most brilliant night with you, but her unrelenting optimism could only get her so far.

“I know love,” you say, resting your head on her shoulder. “I know.”

You both sit in silence for a moment before she finally lifts her head to look at you. “Can you at least promise me you’ll be there? I can’t bear the thought of… and doing it alone.”

The terrified look in her eyes and the way her bottom lip trembled made your heart break into a million pieces.

You kissed her on the forehead as tears threatened to fall from your own eyes. “Of course darling,” you promise. “I will be with you until the bitter end. There is nothing that could keep me from you.”

She adjusts her position and wraps her arms around you. Sobs violently tear through her body, and you felt tears pour down your cheeks.

“I don’t wanna leave. I want to be here with you forever,” she sobs. “I love you more than I ever thought it possible to love anything.”

“I love you too, darling,” you say, tucking her head under your chin. Her broken horn allowed for a perfect fit.

You didn’t know how you’d ever cope with her loss, but you knew that you’d be at her side until the end of her days.

Minthara

Minthara kneels in front of an alter, hands clasped on top of the holy surface. Tears fall silently from her eyes. Until you saw their reflection under the moonlight, you couldn’t tell she was crying at all.

It has been a very long time since you’ve known to look for Minthara here. She has not much prayed since disavowing the Absolute. In fact, she seems rather repulsed by both her previous gods.

Her eyes were closed, and if she heard you approaching she made no indication of it. She knelt silently in the moonlight.

You sat on the ground behind her for a moment, waiting for her to finish and acknowledge your presence. You were certain she was aware of it despite the lack of acknowledgment.

In time, she fell back to sit on her feet, briefly swiping away the tears that escaped her eyes. Then she adjusted her position and laid back into you.

“I have not known you to pray in a very long time,” you point out, curiously but not judgmentally. It would not be disappointing if she had turned back to the gods, just surprising.

“There are certain things,” she explains, “I feel I must pray for. Even after I have stopped praying for anything else. Even after the gods stopped listening.”

You do not ask what she prayed about, she does not offer a follow up. She only twists the two of you around, allowing you to rest your back against the alter as she lays on your chest.

You attempt to wrap your arms around her, but she gently pushes them back to your side. Her gaze seems far away, but you do not dare ask what she is thinking about. She would tell you if she wanted you to know.

Tears start to roll down her cheeks again, but she does not sniffle or cough. Her body does not shake. She is silent. And you are silent.

You feel helpless, like nothing you could do would soothe her pain. Little do you know, your silent company is everything to her.

Jaheira

Jaheira has been alive for far too long to get embarrassed about something as trivial as crying. At least, that’s what she tells you. She has never cried in front of you or anyone else for a very long time.

So when you find her going through an old box of handwritten notes from her children that never reached her, you’re surprised by the tears that threaten to smear the ink on the pages.

When she hears you approaching she hastily wipes her face with her sleeve and pretends she was not crying. “Not embarrassed” your ass.

“What are you reading?” You ask, looking down at the sloppily written notes in her hands.

“It’s nothing… it’s just,” her hands shake as she hold the papers. “Notes from the children from when I was away. They… um… never reached me.” The note she was currently reading seemed to be from a much younger Rion.

“In all my dedication it’s easy to forget just how much got left behind,” she says, staring once again at the letter. “I don’t regret anything- it’s just- I gave up so much….” Tears pricked her eyes, threatening to fall again.

You rest your forehead against hers, holding her face in your hands. “You’re home now,” you whisper. “And as far as your children are concerned, they turned out to be wonderful little creatures even in your absence.”

There was a lot that could not be undone. There was a lot for Jaheira to grieve and be sorry for. But with Kethric Thorm now dead for good, the healing could commence.

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moghedien · 22 days ago

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something something the reason why Isobel said there was "nothing" after she died was because Ketheric made her tomb the threshold of Sharran holy ground and despite whatever reasons Ketheric might have had for turning to Shar, the Lady of Loss has absolutely no interest in bringing anyone from the eternal darkness of death, which is why he was only able to bring her back once he defiled the tomb and gave it over to Myrkul

given that Isobel isn't classified as undead and doesn't seem to have signs of being affected by Myrkul after she was brought back to life, and given we see evidence all over the fucking place of people being affected by Shar in that town, I'd wager that the "filth" she feels within her isn't from Myrkul and is from being in Shar's hands for 100 years

if "whatever Shar calls her own, Selune has equal claim to" is true, then the reverse is true too and that might very well apply to the souls of faithful Selunite clerics who's deaths gave way to the Shadow curse coming about in the first place and who's body marked the place where Shar rose her armies

anyway Isobel was defiled and held captive by Shar in death while Aylin was defiled and held captive by Shar in life and they'd both permanently marked by the experience. For Aylin its external while for Isobel its the internal "filth" she feels that she can't get out.

so feel free to add that to your angsty dynamics with them and Selune and Shar, especially if you throw Shadowheart and her stigmata into the mix ok thanks bye

#isobel thorm #dame aylin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #shadowheart #ketheric thorm #shar #selune

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tadpolebrains · 9 months ago

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With patch 6 giving us new kissing animations, I’d like to present:

Companion Hugs

Because we deserve a hug update.

“Can I have a hug?”

Gale buries his head into your shoulder, inhaling deeply. He wants to get lost in your warmth, feel completely surrounded by you. His hands grip firmly at your waist, or his arms will sling around you snugly. If you ask for a hug during a moment where you need comfort, he’ll instead take a hand and cradle the back of your head, guiding it down to rest against his shoulder, fingers woven into your hair. His other arm wraps around you, hand settling between your shoulder blades. When you go to pull away, he’ll pull you back in for a moment, letting your foreheads rest against each other for a few moments of silent understanding before letting you go.

Astarion doesn’t understand exactly what to do at first. Hugging isn’t something he’s used to. I’d imagine in-game, act 2 hugging animations would be a bit stiff and awkward. Slightly uncertain pats on the back, not knowing when to pull away. But being unable to drop the lingering smile on his lips afterwards. By act 3, he’s more used to it. Less hesitant in pulling you in. Will even nuzzle into your neck- not even to bite, but because he knows you trust him not to bite unless given permission. It’s rare for that kind of trust to be extended, and it warms his undead heart to have it.

Wyll likes fully leaning against you, your chests flush against each other, lightly swaying back and forth, almost as if you’re slow-dancing. One of your foreheads rests against the other’s chest, or perhaps an ear over the other’s heart so you can hear the heartbeat. He hums lightly, some random tiny tune that is sometimes a known song, and sometimes something random. Going to him for comfort will get you a gentler embrace, a hand rubbing along your back.

Karlach gives the best fucking hugs. This woman is taking every excuse to hug you as soon as she gets her engine fixed. They can range from strong, excited hugs that lift you off the ground to soft, tender ones where she just surrounds you with her heat like a heated blanket, tail curling around your legs just to keep you a little bit closer. She loves nuzzling her nose into your hair, feeling the softness against her cheek. Platonically or romantically, she’ll also give little kisses on your forehead and cheek, just as an extra show of affection. She doesn’t really do quick hugs unless she really has to- ask her for a hug, and you’re getting at least a solid minute. At least. If you need comforting, that minimum time extends.

Lae’zel doesn’t understand it at first. You… want to trap her against you? Is this some sort of battle maneuver, or a show of dominance? She doesn’t see the point of it until you mention someone else in camp gives ‘the best hugs.’ Well, clearly she must be the best at this ‘hugging’ of yours. Once she either watches you do it with someone else or demonstrate for her, she seems to take it as a personal challenge. Will squeeze you tightly against her. Tight, crushing hugs that you feel like could break a rib. If you two are close and you go to her for comfort, she might just let you squeeze her tighter than she squeezes you. Just this once.

Shadowheart isn’t as eager to hug at first; not under Shar, at least. She prides herself on her self-control and independence, and doesn’t see hugging as something she needs. If you ask her for one while she’d still under Shar and you’re close, she’ll do it for your sake, and hate that she likes it so much. Denies it. Doesn’t want to come to rely on it. But once she starts coming into her own, she begins accepting the hugs, even letting herself enjoy them. She’s a gentle hugger, loosely wrapping her arms around you and letting her eyes slip closed, enjoying the moment.

Halsin is literally a bear. Bear hugs, all day. Will scoop you up in his arms and hold you tightly so you feel that nothing could possibly harm you while in his arms. The muscles combined with that softness is perfect hug material. If you need comfort, he’s your man. Comforting hugs from him can feel almost paternal, and he’ll make sure to reassure you that the want for touch is entirely natural. It’s a human need, and you should never be ashamed of giving into your natural urges. Those large hands rub along your back and twirl your hair, grounding you in the moment.

#astarion #gale #halsin #wyll #karlach #shadowheart #lae'zel #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 hcs #tadthoughts

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grandmother-goblin · 1 month ago

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Apotheosis - Chapter 4

Ao3 - Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Halsin gives Zilvira an explanation for the unfortunate comment that she overheard as they try to get past the Flaming Fist.

Relationships: Halsin x Female!Tav

Rating: Explicit (18+) for eventual smut.

Word Count: 3.7k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of past trauma, implication that Halsin has PTSD, mentions of sexual assault.

Notes: A big, huge, thank you to @tragedybunny for beta-reading!

Shame burned across Halsin’s face, blazing over his cheek bones to the tips of his ears, intense enough to nearly mask the icy stillness in his chest.

When those words had come out of his mouth, he had thanked Silvanus that Zilvira hadn’t been around to hear them.

He hadn’t meant them.

It hadn’t even taken a second for regret to seep in, sliding into a simmering stew of confusion, melancholy, and quiet, long-forgotten, rage. He should have taken the words back right then and there, but he didn’t. Not even after Shadowheart gave him a look so scathing it would have made Shar smile.

“Why?” Zilvira’s choked question might as well have been a dagger piercing his heart.

Actually, Halsin might have preferred a dagger; at least he knew how to deal with those. But this? He wasn’t sure where to begin.

While Halsin had already reflected on what he had said in his nightly meditations, he never thought he would need to articulate it. He never thought he would be confronted with his mistake, nor have to apologize for it. At worst, he thought he might have to have an awkward conversation with Shadowheart.

Gods, Zilvira didn’t deserve to hear his moment of weakness. Some part of him was angry at her for eavesdropping on what he thought was a private conversation. Angry at the entire situation. And maybe that anger was justified.

But what he had said wasn’t.

“What did I do?” she asked, her voice so small and unlike anything he had heard from her before.

“You didn’t do anything,” he assured. “I never should have said that.”

Slowly, as to give her plenty of time to refuse his touch, Halsin gathered her delicate hands in his, needing that physical connection to ground him.

Damp, wine-red eyes reflected the moonlight as they met his. “Then why did you?”

That was the question he didn’t want to answer. But she deserved the truth — even if it was something that he was ashamed of. Something that he would have rather discussed when they were both in a sound state of mind.

But if he didn’t answer her now, he had a sinking feeling that she wouldn’t hear his answer later.

That he would lose her.

Clasping her hands tight, Halsin sat back on his heels and gazed up at her like a worshiper before the idol of a goddess. He swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly feeling dry as nervousness twisted in his gut.

“A long time ago,” he began, trying to keep his voice steady as not to betray his nerves. ”I found myself… a guest, one could call it, of a noble drow house during one of my expeditions to the Underdark. While I began my stay as a willing guest, it quickly became clear that I was anything but. The matron wanted me as a consort, a prisoner, and chained me to her bedchamber for three years.”

Before he could continue, Zilvira wriggled one hand from his grip. “Halsin, I’m so sorry,” she said as she clasped his hand in hers. “I had no idea.”

Halsin shook his head. “It was a long time ago, and it just isn’t something that normally crosses my mind,” he replied. ”But when we first got to Sharess’ Caress, Sorn and Nym somehow recognized me from back then. Though they didn’t say anything to my face, Sorn mentioned one of my captors by name.”

He remembered how Sorn’s eyes darted over him, as if noting his height and the tattoos on his face. How he had leaned toward his sister and whispered, “Doesn’t he remind you of Aunshalee’s old plaything?”

Aunshalee.

The name was like stone thrown into once calm waters, disturbing it for the first time in centuries. The last he heard that name, it was bellowed from the throat of a drow warrior, predatory and taunting as the woman called for Aunshalee’s head. Halsin didn’t stick around to find out if the warrior ever claimed her prize.

Hearing the name again, knowing that there were people who knew of his association with her even after so much time had passed, triggered something in his psyche. Something that made it feel like no time had passed at all. Like he was still a prisoner at the mercy of Aunshalee’s whims.

Part of him wanted to tell Zilvira everything about his time in the Underdark, about his relationship with Aunshalee, but she had already been through so much tonight. He didn’t want to turn the conversation to his past when Zilvira was hurting in the present.

“Aunshalee was a scholar who specialized in medicinal plants native to the Underdark, and she found me while I was doing research of my own,” Halsin continued. “When she learned that my research aligned with hers, she offered her aid. To teach me what she knew in exchange for a ‘surface-dweller’s’ insight on her work. Of course, the fool that I was, I accepted.

“I will spare you all of the details, but after weeks of working together, I got sick. Despite being a somewhat accomplished healer at the time, I couldn’t do anything to cure myself. When things got dire, Aunshalee brought me to her home and nursed me back to health. By the time I realized she had been the cause of my illness in the first place, she and the other drow wouldn’t let me leave. I was her prisoner from then until the day I escaped.

“Hearing her name again, and knowing that the twins recognized me from that chapter of my life, reopened some old wounds that I had long thought healed.” Halsin gave a shaky breath and shook his head, feeling a sense of nausea that he knew was all in his head.

Zilvira squeezed his hands. ”I’m sorry,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

“You are the one who deserves an apology, not me,” he replied and held her hands just as tight as she held his. “I thought I hid how it had affected me, but Shadowheart seemed to notice my change in mood. As we spoke, more memories resurfaced. Resentment. Fear that my captors were lurking just around the corner. My mind went down a dark path and my past mixed with my present. For a moment, I had my guard up again.”

“And you were afraid I was like the drow who hurt you? Like Aunshalee?”

“As much as I hate to admit it, the thought crossed my mind,” he confessed. “But I don’t truly believe that. Unfortunately, that acknowledgement came after I made an ass of myself. I am sorry.”

What he had said was wrong, and he couldn’t unsay it no matter how he regretted it. He could only hope that she would give him a chance to prove to her that he didn’t mean it.

And he could only hope that she would truly believe him.

Zilvira swallowed and her eyes drifted from his. “Do you think all drow are like the ones who kidnapped you?”

He shook his head. “I don’t,” he said. “But I will admit that, my time in the Underdark aside, my only other experiences with drow have been… less than ideal. You’re the first one I’ve met that hasn’t tried to harm me in some way. Unless you count the time you elbowed me in the stomach because you thought I was an undead.”

A small upward twitch at the corner of her lips might as well have been a full blown smile. In her defense, she replied, “You snuck up on me.”

Halsin chuckled. “Not on purpose.”

Strangely enough, despite how she had knocked the wind out of him, that moment was one of his fondest memories with her. He remembered the utter mortification on her face and the way her hands clasped over her mouth as she muttered dozens of apologies while he laid supine in the dirt. Her seemingly endless apologies only ceased the moment Halsin had started laughing. Once she was absolutely certain he had nothing more than a bruised diaphragm, she had joined him.

It wasn’t the way any of the drow women he had ever known would have responded to the situation, and that moment had given him some reassurance about her that he didn’t know he needed.

Zilvira lifted her hand from his to swipe away another tear from her cheek. “Gods,” Zilvira said, her tone lighter than before. “Here I was, thinking you secretly hated me or I did something wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

As if absorbing his words, she nodded slowly. Her eyes flickered back to where the spider had been building its web — a perfect masterpiece of nature sequestered in a dismal city alleyway — but the spider was nowhere to be seen.

“Are we okay?” Halsin asked after a few moments of listening to the waves below and the distant chatter of people. Though he felt the conversation went as well as it could have, uncertainty lingered in the forefront of his mind.

Part of him feared that his explanation and apology wasn’t enough. That he had ruined things between them all because of some careless words and she would never forgive him. Maybe he didn’t deserve her forgiveness. Or her friendship. If he lost her over this… well, he had a feeling a few bottles of wine would go missing from their camp supplies.

Zilvira sniffled. “We’re okay,” she said. “I’m still a little mad at you, but I’ll get over it.”

A rush of relief washed through him like a broken dam, relaxing the muscles he didn’t realize he was tensing and easing the tension coiled in his chest. “If it would help, you’re welcome to elbow me in the stomach again. I’ll give you one free shot.”

She playfully pushed his shoulder. “Given my coordination right now, I’d probably miss,” she said with a tired laugh. “I’d rather just go to bed.”

Halsin couldn’t help the grateful smile that tugged at his lips. “Come on, then,” he said, and carefully helped her to her feet. “Let’s get you back to camp.”

—

After days of dealing with feelings of hurt, betrayal, and heartache, after failing to hold back her tears, part of Zilvira’s mind didn’t want to forgive him. He hurt her, so he couldn’t be forgiven until he felt the same hurt too, right? Yet, the reasonable part of her mind chided her, telling her that she was being petty and immature.

That she still loved him. And because she loved him, and he went out of his way to explain himself, even if it didn’t paint him in the most flattering light, she forgave him.

She was still a little miffed about the entire situation, but she forgave him.

If that made her weak, then so be it. She could at least look him in the eye again and know that he didn’t secretly hate her.

Zilvira adjusted her hold on Halsin’s arm as they slowly made their way toward the entrance to Wyrm’s crossing. With the Shar’s Oblivion lingering in her system, she still couldn’t completely trust her feet. If it wasn’t for Halsin keeping her steady, she would have stumbled over the cobblestone or drifted into a civilian passing by a half a dozen times by now.

The Emperor had been right before: Halsin has always had her best interest at heart. Even when she was trying her damndest to avoid him, it didn’t stop him from caring when she needed help.

Prior to overhearing Halsin’s unfortunate comment, she had never once doubted the sincerity of his friendship. That he cared for her the way she cared for him. While his explanation for his comment wasn’t what she expected, she believed him when he said he didn’t mean it.

From what little he told her, and judging by his reaction, she had a feeling that his experience with the drow was far worse than she imagined. Then for him to notice two strangers casually recognizing him from a horrendous chapter of his life, one he thought he had left behind, out of nowhere? If she had been in his shoes, she might’ve responded poorly as well.

She would never be able to fully comprehend what he had been feeling at the time — any bad experience she had couldn’t begin to compare to what he went through — but she could accept it. Sometimes, that had to be enough. Even if she couldn’t completely understand or relate.

Later, perhaps sometimes tomorrow, they could discuss it more if he was willing. But for now, all she needed to know was that he said those words in a moment of foggy antipathy, that he didn’t mean them, and he was sorry.

That was enough.

“We may have a problem up ahead,” Halsin said, stopping the two of them in the shadow of a closed market stall. One that sold fish, from the smell of it, and Zilvira wrinkled her nose in distaste.

Halsin cocked his chin toward four Flaming Fist soldiers and a Steel Watcher guarding the gate that would lead them into Rivington. “If Jack kept his word,” he whispered, “they’re going to be looking for us. It’ll probably be safest if we go around.”

Go around?

Oh no. Nope. She did not like that idea one bit.

There was an outdoor storage area, just under the gate’s guardhouse, that was only a few feet away from the steep hillside that anchored Wyrm’s Crossing to Rivington. On a normal day, the jump was easy enough for her and her companions to clear, but the consequences for missing that jump were falling dozens of meters into the bay. Or, with her luck, breaking every bone in her body on the rocks on the beach. In her current condition, she couldn’t trust her feet to play hopscotch.

“You want me to make that jump?” she asked Halsin, slowly and incredulously.

He made a humming sound as his lips flattened into a thin line, as though he were trying to think of alternatives. “If we don’t want to be here all night, I don’t think we have much of a choice,” he said with a sigh. “I should be able to get you across without issue with some vines.”

Though the idea didn’t exactly instill the confidence Zilvira would have liked, she was far too tired to argue with him. She just wanted to get back to camp, and be surrounded by people who made her feel safe. If Halsin said he was able to get her across the gap, then she would have to trust him.

She let him guide her toward the far side of the guard tower, then carefully down the stairs that wrapped around the wooden exterior to the storage room beneath. Dim yellow light from the room above them seeped through the floorboards, telling her that there was likely someone in the room above. Probably more Flaming Fist. As long as she and Halsin didn’t draw any attention to themselves, she wouldn’t need to find out.

They slipped between stacks of crates and, fortunately for them, no one had bothered to fix the broken railing that opened up the storeroom to the hillside.

“I’ll jump across,” Halsin said in a hushed tone, turning to her in the darkness, “and then—”

A door slammed and Zilvira’s heart leapt into her throat.

“There you are, asshole,” boomed a male voice above them as the sound of footsteps and shadows grew closer. “You could’ve told us you weren’t going to show. We ended up having to pay tonight.”

“I got thrown out,” a nonplussed voice answered, but one she immediately recognized.

Her stomach sank as she looked to Halsin, hoping that perhaps the long night was making her hear things. But when he stared back at her, with his brows drawn and his jaw tense, there was no mistaking that he recognized the voice too.

Jack.

“Yeah, Byan and I heard you picked a fight with someone twice your size,” the first voice said. “Fucking idiot.”

“Rhenn, I’ve fought Goliaths,” Jack replied as if Rhenn was the one who was a massive idiot.

Zilvira knew the answer: they were both morons.

The faint smell of cigar smoke wafted through the floorboards as Jack continued, “I know how to deal with the big guys,” he said as if holding something in his mouth. “The guy seemed like a pussy. Didn’t expect him to turn into a fucking bear.”

“Oh, so you can handle a Goliath but not a bear?” another voice, presumably Byan, quipped. He sounded much younger than the other two — definitely not a child but certainly no older than his early twenties.

“Caught me off guard,” Jack said defensively. Ash from his cigar drifted through the floorboards and directly onto Halsin’s leathers, and Zilvira brushed it away. “Not used to dealing with druids, especially not ones who can change shape faster than I can throw a punch. Fortunately, he’s easy to keep an eye out for. Now, pull up a seat, play cards with me. We can try again tomorrow.”

Wood scraped against wood, and shadows crossed over her and Halsin as the men dragged chairs to the spot directly above them. Halsin wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled them into a crouch, putting a bit of distance between them. Though there was little chance that Jack and his friends could spot them through the floor, getting low and ducking into the shadows made her feel a little bit safer.

But not by much.

“I should make you pay me back for the whore I had to buy so we didn’t blow our cover,” the one called Rhenn said, talking as if he were just business over a cup of coffee. “I was looking forward to fucking the drow chick. Did you see her lips? They would’ve looked so good around my cock.”

There was a snort of laughter.

“What? It’s true.”

Jack circled back to the original point. “If you didn’t want to blow your cover, why didn’t you two—”

“No way,” Rhenn said with a chuckle. “I’ll share a girl with a guy or two, but that’s as far as I‘ll go. I wouldn’t touch Byan even if you paid me to.”

Byan gave a sigh that said he was used to this sort of talk. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Beneath her hand, Halsin’s muscles tensed. Zilvira caught a glimpse of golden light cutting across his eyes as he clenched his jaw. Then, he breathed deeply in through his nose and out through his mouth. In and out. Holding himself back.

If Halsin wildshaped now, she doubted the men just above them wouldn’t notice the transformation. Even if they couldn’t see it, Halsin’s bear form wasn’t known for its subtlety.

“Halsin,” she whispered close to his ear, having no idea where she was going with that sentence. What could she say? Please don’t get mad on her behalf? Calm down? Because telling someone to calm down when they were agitated always went over well.

Hells, she had no business trying to calm Halsin with the way a high-pitched ringing sound built in her ears and her stomach contorted itself. Her cheeks chilled from the blood draining from her face, the implications of what could’ve happened to her that night rushing into her head all at once.

She felt like she was going to be sick.

But being sick would have to wait, because she had an angry druid threatening to turn into a bear next to her.

Zilvira placed her hand over Halsin’s chest, his warmth seeping into her palm, and leaned her cheek against his bicep. “Halsin, please,” she said, hoping that her presence and her touch might rein in the beast.

Fortunately for both of them, it seemed to work. The aureate glow emanating from his eyes dimmed as he shook his head, as if the small motion could alleviate his remaining tension. When he looked at her, her pulse quickened at the intensity of his gaze — one that was protective and underlying with barely restrained rage.

Possessive.

Then he closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers. “We should go before I kill them,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for her to hear him, and she wasn’t sure how literally he meant those words.

At that moment, she hoped he meant them very literally. In the morning she knew she would regret thinking that way, but after everything she had just been through… she could have some vengeful ideations.

With his arm still firmly wrapped around her, Halsin turned his attention to the hillside across from the storeroom. Slowly, with just a simple gesture of his hand, thick vines sprouted from the earth and grew toward Halsin as if they were chasing sunlight. As more and more grew, building a makeshift bridge, Halsin directed them to weave around the floorboards at their feet.

“Shame that powder ended up wasted,” came Rhenn’s voice again as Halsin tested the sturdiness of the vines. “How much do you have left?”

“At least a dozen doses,” Jack replied as Halsin gathered Zilvira into his arms, cradling her against his chest. “Now let’s play. I don’t want to think about this shit any more tonight.”

That was a sentiment she could agree with. She just wanted the night to be over. To cuddle into her blankets and meditate on happier times.

She looped her arms around Halsin’s neck as he cautiously, but confidently, crossed the vines and the voices of those awful men faded behind them. Once they were safely across, he withered the vines with another gesture of his hand, letting the dried and dead plant matter collapse into the water below.

“Do you think you’ll be able to walk back with me, or do you want me to carry you the rest of the way?” Halsin asked as they reached some flatter ground.

“I can make it as long as you’re still willing to help me,” she replied.

Gently, he set her down on her feet, keeping his hands on her waist until he was certain she had found some semblance of balance. “Of course,” he said. “Whatever you need.”

Zilvira felt her face warm at the way he said those words, his striking hazel eyes locking onto her own. That warmth faded as she caught a bit of movement over his shoulder from the window of the guard tower and she swallowed.

Jack had spotted them. For a moment, she watched him watching her, fighting the urge to run.

And by the time Halsin turned around, Jack had disappeared.

---

Beginning

Previous Chapter

#halsin #halsin x tav #halsin x female tav #halsin smut #halsin fanfic #halsin silverbough #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #drow tav

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blackjackkent · 12 days ago

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Ask prompt fill for @thedarkstrategist for this ask meme: Major Arcana Tarot Prompts Shadowzel - The Lovers (Love, harmony, relationships, values alignment, choices) This one got away from me a little. D: Kind of drifted from the prompt and fought me a little and goes all over. XD So it's a bit more fluffy and rambly than I intended. But I hope you enjoy; ty for the prompt, friend!

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It is a battle for the ages. Lae'zel grips one end of the length of rope in each hand, her fingers white-knuckled with the intensity of her grip. Scratch has his teeth sunk firmly into the rope's center and flings his weight back on his haunches, pulling and pulling with all his might.

“Careful, Lae’zel, I think he’s getting the upper hand,” Shadowheart says, leaning against a nearby fencepost and grinning.

Hearing her voice, Scratch rolls his eyes back in his head to look at her and yips softly, muffled around his mouthful of rope.

“Chk,” Lae'zel says crisply. “It is an even match. Do you think I cannot best a dog in a trial of strength?”

“Oh, I see,” Shadowheart says with exaggerated seriousness, raising one eyebrow. “You’re allowing him to win, then.”

“It is a matter of protocol,” Lae'zel says stiffly, shooting her a fierce look. “A beast of war must taste of victory, to whet the edge of his hunger.” Scratch gives a great heave on the rope and she quicksteps forward with a grunt to regain her balance. “Any child of Gith would tell you the same.”

Shadowheart chuckles softly. In spite of the teasing, her smile is cautiously gentle. It's a soft night, for once; the scars of the Shadowfell still burn in the back of her mind, as does the fear of what lies ahead, but here on the edge of Rivington, the night air is sweet and filled with the low hum of insects. And there's a strange ache in her chest that she doesn't have any name for, watching Lae'zel wrestle with the dog, and the owlbear cub running circles around the pair with eager hoots.

“Do you have dogs among the githyanki?” she asks curiously.

Lae'zel's eyes narrow in focus as she pivots sideways, pulling Scratch along with her. “They are called kaoulgrim,” she says curtly - though Shadowheart can discern the hint of pride in her voice that rises when she speaks of her people. “Purpose-bred for battle. Some grow nearly to the size of Halsin in his bear form. In Creche Kliir, we kept a full contingent of warhounds, and it was considered a great honor to be assigned to their care. I myself held the post three times.”

“No wonder you and Scratch get on so well, then.” Shadowheart fidgets absently with a loose splinter of wood on the fence. “I had a dog once, I think. I must have done. Not in the cloister,” she clarifies hastily. “I think we had guard dogs, at times - but I was never allowed to go near them. But it feels natural - petting Scratch and giving him his bones and throwing the ball, and now I know there was a life I had, before Shar, before the darkness…” She rubs her thumb against the mark on the back of her hand. “I wish I could remember…”

She trails off, then shakes herself, pushing the thought aside with deliberate effort. “Did you have names for them? Your kaoulgrim?”

With a great burst of strength, Lae'zel hoists the rope upward, lifting Scratch (tail wagging furiously) onto his hind legs. “Tsk'va,” she says sharply. “They were not pets, no more than your Sharran dogs.”

Shadowheart lifts one eyebrow, watching appreciatively as Lae'zel's lithe muscles flex and twist to hold Scratch’s weight up. “That isn’t what I asked,” she points out.

Lae'zel rolls her eyes, lowering the dog back to the ground. “There were a few which I knew best, yes,” she admits grudgingly. “The largest I called Ir'mlar. ‘Crafter of Pain.’ He was our finest fighter among the kaoulgrim.”

“Crafter of Pain. That's what passes for a gith pet name, is it?” Shadowheart can't help a soft laugh.

Lae'zel raises one eyebrow at her. “Indeed - zhak vo'n'ash duj.”

“Hm. Point taken.”

Scratch gives a low, eager whine and shakes his head rapidly back and forth, jerking Lae'zel's arm up and down in the process. Lae'zel, though, barely seems to notice - her attention is suddenly elsewhere, distant, back in the rock-hewn corridors of Stardock. “Ir’mlar was a fine dog. Well-trained. A pack leader; the others followed his example.”

“A good boy?” Shadowheart asks.

If Lae’zel registers the muted amusement in the question, she doesn’t respond to it. “Yes,” she says absently. “It was… a comfort to find him, after a day of training.”

Scratch’s ears perk up and he gives a muffled bark, yanking the rope and dropping his forelegs downwards so his wagging tail sticks up behind him. The barest hint of a smile tugs the corner of Lae’zel’s mouth. “Hm. Yes - like you,” she says.

She releases the rope ends. Immediately Scratch darts off with his prize in his mouth, barking excitedly with Buddy chasing at his heels; the two women are left alone in the corner of the abandoned paddock.

“Well fought,” Shadowheart says with a slight smile.

Lae'zel makes a soft chuckling noise low in her throat. After a moment's pause, she moves to stand next to Shadowheart at the fence. Shadowheart's heart gives a brief little flip-flop as the gith's hand comes to rest - automatically, naturally - on her thigh. “It troubles me to think of the hounds,” she mutters. “I… cannot say why.”

“I suppose gith are no more immune to homesickness than the rest of us,” Shadowheart says quietly.

“Mm.” Lae'zel lets out a long, slow breath. “Do not mistake me. I do not wish to return. Nothing remains for me in Vlaakith's service.”

“Nor for me in the cloister,” Shadowheart murmurs. “But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.”

“Yes.” Lae'zel grips Shadowheart's hand with sudden ferocity, the clawed tips of her fingers digging in just above the stinging Sharran scar. There are a thousand words in that quick, fierce touch - the offering of reassurance and the clinging need for it, both at once. But, perhaps unsurprisingly, she speaks none of it aloud, instead turning her eyes away to watch Scratch rolling on his back in the dirt.

“He is a fine hound,” she says gruffly. “He would make a poor fit for the stables of Kliir… but a fine hound nevertheless.”

Shadowheart chuckles. “Perhaps next time you'll even win the tug-of-war.”

“Chk,” Lae'zel says, rolling her eyes but making no effort to hide her amusement. “Peace, kainyank.”

#thedarkstrategist #ask meme #shadowzel #shadowheart #lae'zel #bg3 drabble #sorry this took 1321541234 years lol #slowly working through my backlog #ty for the prompt friendo <3

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freestyle-crocodile-trashpile · 9 months ago

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Worship

Summary:Youve never been one to worship, at least, not to any gods

Type:Scenario:companions + M!Tiefling!Reader

Version:Bg3

Gale was leading the group, looking for herbs for a potion he'd like to make. Wyll and Shadowheart we're talking abiut something random, while you investigated the tracks left by a beast.

"Tav? Did you find anything?" Gales voice cut through your thoughts, making you turn your attention to him.

All three of your chosen companions we're looking at you. It seemed they've been trying to get your attention.

"Mm? Oh, yes. Dragon tracks. We should be careful, powerful creatures" you mumble something else your companions didn't quite hear.

They took your warning, continuing to look for herbs. The walk was long, and it might as well be a hike. Gale found more than just herbs. He found a small cave with a few rare mushrooms, an abandoned chest with a few gems. So much, while Wyll and Shadowheart helped him search high and low. But you. You were distracted. By the time the sun started to go, say you three started heading back to camp. You stood infront, guiding everyone back to camp safely, due to your dark vision. You four heard it, but you saw it, and Wyll Spoke.

"By the gods..." Wyll, it was the first you heard a spickle of fear.

Gale gasped, now seeing the silver beast staring down at you four, dropping whatever he was holding. Shadowheart froze, for the first time since her childhood. But you... you smiled, taking a step forward and spreading your arms as if to welcome the beast. To welcome the Dragon.

"Beautiful...truly beautiful," You dropped to your knees as the dragon landed infront of you. "My lord... I am honored to by graced by your present,"

Your companions watched as you bowed your head, watching in shock as you got on your hands to bow as if praying to this dragon. You glanced over your shoulder, anger suddenly filling your gaze.

"Bow!" Your voice was loud and stern, fearsome.

Gale instantly dropped, bowing his head as he would with mystra, Wyll slowly sank to his knees, dropping his head but not necessarily bowing. Shadowheart only tsked, but slightly bowed her head. The dragon huffed, slowly circling your party.

"Tiefling... why are you here boy? In my domain, in my presence?" The dragon asked, his voice so booming and commanding it made Shadowheart drop to her knees in fear of such a commanding voice.

This was the first time Shadowheart and Wyll heard such a dangerous and commanding voice outside of their deity. Mizora and Shar were the only ones with such a powerful voice.

"I am bring my party back to camp, this is the safest way I found, since it is dark and they cannot see clearly" Your voice was to calm, to... Euphoric, to happy.

You slowly raised your head, filling the most euphoria you've ever felt upon seeing this dragon.

"You...your beautiful, your scales shine so brightly in the moonlight, my lord. Thank you for blessing me with your presence, with your time, your power voice." Shadowheart was shocked by how you sounded. She never seen you drop to your knees. For anyone, not even a God.

The Dragon hummed. Letting you four continue to your camp, not saying goodbye as he flew to the sky, leaving you to sit in the mud. You sat a minute longer than the rest.

"Tav, I never knew you loved dragons so much" Gale spoke, giving you a bright smile.

You almost seemed offended.

"Love? No, worship. Dragons are intelligent, powerful, ancient and beautiful beings. They are strong enough to be God's! To be lords and rule. They did once, they ruled this plant, a whole race! Love will never truly speak the words I feel for those magical creatures. Love is the only word I can use for such simple people as yourselves"

Wyll and Gale just stared, Shadowheart seemed almost pleased by your answer. You huffed. Walking ahead of the three and continuing to lead. No one spoke the rest of the way.

Everyone knew you didn't worship a god or godness. You've never said why. Some of your companions like to believe a deity never answered your call, and the others say your just not interested. And it's not like your in a relationship to show any of them how you truly worship flesh. No, your a strong man, even Lae'zel says your a fine a warrior. But, no one expects a dragon.

[A/n:Dragons are actually amazing. I hope you enjoyed]

#bg3 gale #bg3 wyll #bg3 #bg3 x male reader #bg3 x tav #bg3 tav #baldur's gate 3 gale #baldur's gate wyll #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate shadowheart #bg3 shadowheart #dragon #dragons are so fucking cool

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andauril · 2 months ago

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Chapter Title: The Chosen

Chapter Summary: The party enters the heart of the colony, and several truths are revealed.

(art by @/morebird) Pairing: Astarion x Female Dark Urge

Summary: When Astarion called Silaestra a "kindred spirit", the first time they met, he could never have known how right he ended up being.

Excerpt:

A part of Silaestra wondered whether the platform would ever stop its slow descent. Peering over the edge, the bottom of the pit was swallowed by darkness, the likes of which she’d only ever experienced once before - when they had entered the Shadowfell in the Gauntlet of Shar. That seemed a lifetime ago. It was strange to think that it had been only a couple of days since Shadowheart had set Dame Aylin free. All of that seemed so distant now. The tadpole behind her eye squirmed and wriggled. But even that felt strangely surreal - as though she was merely observing it, instead of experiencing it for herself. She tried not to dwell on that. The Absolute is close. Be prepared. The Dream Guardian’s voice was nearly imperceptible. As though he was struggling to make himself heard. If she would take off the ring, would she be able to feel what he was fighting on against? What was it like for the others, who had to face whatever it was without a magical trinket to shield them? Gale rubbed at his brow, wincing. The faint veins that trailed from his eye to his chest glowed dimly. The hand that grasped his quarterstaff was shaking, the tremble so slight that it might be confused for the jostle of the descending platform. Wyll’s eyes were fixed on the floor, brow furrowed with concern, a hand hovering near his brand new rapier. They both feared what they would find down below. “We must be prepared to confront the elder brain”, Lae’zel said. She’d drawn her longsword. It’s tip was shaking slightly. “One presides over every ghaik colony.” “No problem.” Astarion’s tone was flippant; or at least, he was trying his hardest to give off the impression. But there was a slight, tense edge to his tone. “And what does this old brain look like?” “A hovering mass of grey matter, sprouted with lethal tentacles and oozing cerebrospinal fluids.” Lae’zel sounded irritated, as though this was the most obvious thing to expect. She’d never looked more like a frightened child than at this moment. “Right...” Astarion’s voice cracked slightly. “Good. Glad I asked.” He was terrified as well. Silaestra should be too. It would be the logical thing. It was perfectly reasonable, even expected, to be scared of whatever waited for them at the end of their descend. Her palms should be sweating. Her heart should be racing. Why weren’t they?

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eldritchelfwriter · 5 months ago

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Shadowheart gets a haircut from the camp's expert hair stylist

“What can I do for you, my friend?” Astarion says.

Shadowheart blinks, taken aback.

“Too much?”

“Just, a little unexpected, perhaps,” Shadowheart says, surprised. She shouldn’t be, really. Florwyn had told her that her friends want to help her, which is why she had sought out Astarion in the first place. Just because she finds it difficult to believe, doesn’t mean that it isn’t true.

“Oh well, I’m new to this whole friend thing,” Astarion shrugs. “I’m still fine tuning how to … be … if that makes sense.”

“Me too, if I’m honest,” Shadowheart admits, finding a surprising amount to empathise with in Astarion’s words.

“How are you, anyway, after all the, you know, defying the evil goddess rigmarole? Shame you gave up the new armour, it was quite fetching on you.”

“Well, now that you mention it …” Shadowheart starts. “I was hoping you might be able to help me with something.”

“Me?” Astarion says, and it is his turn to be taken aback. “Why on earth me, of all people? Why not someone more … friend-practiced? Or Florwyn? Surely, she would have several skills that would be beyond my remit that could be very helpful in cheering you up.”

Shadowheart outlines what she has in mind.

“So you see, you’re absolutely the only person I could possibly trust with this,” she explains, trying to keep a pleading note out of her voice.

“Darling,” Astarion says, beaming. “You came to the right elf.”

Hours later, after their days’ exploits in Rivington having repairs made on their equipment and resupplying, Shadowheart and Astarion sneak off from the rest of the camp while the others are playing cards around the campfire.

“I have always wanted to style your hair,” Astarion murmurs as he helps to undo her braid.

“Oh?”

“But I never offered because I couldn’t stand for you to have the best hair in camp.”

Shadowheart smiles, as she mixes the ingredients together in a bowl.

“How on earth did you know how to make the dye?” Astarion asks.

“An unexpected benefit of my training. Any novice knows how to source the right herbs and mixtures to alter one’s hair. Typically reserved for disguises and subterfuge rather than self-discovery, but I don’t live by Shar’s rules any longer.” She feels a thrill to say that out loud; it feels terribly rebellious.

“You know, I never thought of sticking it to an evil goddess with a hairstyle. It’s utterly inspired.”

“Thank you, I think,” Shadowheart says, feeling Astarion begin to part her hair to start applying the dye.

She feels surprisingly nervous the next morning when she wakes up. She casts Pass Without a Trace on herself so she can sneak all the way to Astarion’s tent without being seen. So that she can use his mirror, and see for herself the results of their evening’s handiwork.

“Pssst,” she hisses. “Astarion!”

The bleary-eyed vampire spawn unties the flaps to his tent and spots her immediately.

“Oh. Darling.”

“What’s wrong?” she says, nerves spiking as Astarion stands, staring at her, without moving. Did she forget an ingredient? Does it look … terrible? Oh gods, what has she done?

“Nothing at all,” Astarion says. He walks over to his mirror, and holds it up so she can get a good look.

She gasps at her reflection.

“You look, absolutely, beautiful.”

Shadowheart raises a hand to touch her face, to touch her hair.

“Astarion,” she says, her throat catching. She throws her arms around him without thinking, while he holds his arms taut, as though unsure what to do with them, before placing them around her. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

“Don’t forget, gorgeous as you are, I still have the best hair in camp, friend,” he murmurs. “Now go and show that sorcerer what a lucky catch she has. Play your cards right, and who knows, you might even get lucky.”

Shadowheart punches him on the arm playfully. But finding Florwyn and surprising her was, in fact, exactly what she had in mind...

This is an extract from Chapter 12 of Shadowheart Begins

#baldurs gate fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #baldurs gate shadowheart #shadowheart #baldurs gate 3 #shadowheart fanfic #shadowheart x tav #shadowheart fic #bg3 shadowheart #bg3 fanfiction #shadowheart bg3

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trulycertain · 8 months ago

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Blankets

In which the shadow-cursed lands are freezing, Lora's undead boyfriend is shivering, and she decides there's only one solution: hug that vampire. And bring blankets. Meanwhile, Astarion gets to further discover the joys of non-sexual intimacy.

Sappy fluff on those lines Astarion has about cuddling, and about missing his partner's body heat. Act 2, after his big "I like you" confession. 3.1k. Ao3

The shadow-cursed lands have a certain character. It's a menacing, get-the-fuck-out-of-here character, but it's definitely a character. The dark and the weather - or lack of it - have a feel all their own.

"Who gave this place permission to be so damned freezing?" Astarion's trying to keep his usual stiff-necked poise, even slouched by the fire, but the cold's starting to defeat him. Hunting helped for a while, it was obvious, and it'd probably be a lot worse if he hadn't fed, but nothing seems to keep the cold at bay for long. His mouth is working as he tries not to let his teeth chatter - probably a lot worse with fangs.

"Blame Shar," Gale mutters, daring to without Shadowheart close by, and Lae’zel snorts. “But tonight is frigid even for this cursed place.”

Astarion pulls the blanket tighter round himself - worn but thick wool, with a little embellished, almost fleur-de-lys border in delicate gold thread. Somehow that hasn't unravelled. The rest is drabber than his usual style, though needs must, Lora supposes. But there's a pink patch, one she swears she sewed more haphazardly...

Wait. Lora knows that blanket. It used to be one of hers. It's the worn one she dropped outside his tent the first night they camped together - when he'd spent the journey muttering about the mud and the lack of baths, she'd spent it letting his snotty insults roll off her back, and she'd woken up the next morning to find said blanket had... mysteriously disappeared. That was months ago.

The thread's new.

“Damn this,” Astarion mutters, before she can muck everything up by saying something. “I'm turning in. Wake me up if we're all eaten by shadow undead.” And then he stalks to his tent, blanket thrown over his shoulders like a stereotypical vampire's cape; she watches him go in concern.

“Goodnight?” Gale manages.

Silence falls, even more than usual in the Shadowlands. Gale coughs. Wyll stirs the fire with a stick. Lae’zel sharpens her sword just a little more pointedly.

Lora lasts perhaps two minutes before she's grabbing a fur and an extra blanket from her tent - firmly ignoring the curious amusement she can feel from the other side of the fire - and sidling into Astarion's vaguely hedonistic lair, stepping past blood jars and haphazard books.

Astarion’s already reclining on an elbow, of course; he heard her coming. “Oh? Didn't know you were feeling frisky. At least it might warm us both up.”

Even though it's a joke, any coquettish effect is mostly ruined by the three layers he's wearing - undershirt peeking out from under his collar, another shirt, and some kind of robe he must have stolen along the way - and his miserable little nest of blankets. And the subtle redness to his nose, the tension in his shoulders to stop the shakes. Gods, there’s barely anything here, for all the treasure trove outside his tent. He’s all but slee – trancing on the ground. Elf or not, he’s got to be freezing.

Lora shakes her head, sliding to her knees next to him. “You're shivering.”

“Of course I'm not. Am I?” Astarion looks down at himself and sighs. “I suppose I am.” He is. Vigorously. “How are you not?” he adds, in confused disgust.

Lora throws the extra covers over him. And then she wriggles half out of his tent, ignoring the fact that Wyll is now leaning round Gale to watch, and returns with half of Astarion’s cushion stash.

“Is that why you're here? To make a delivery?” That arch voice is muffled through wool, until a pale hand pulls it away from his face and Astarion blinks at her owlishly. Well, half owl, half very disgruntled sheep. The pomade’s starting to lose the fight against blanket friction, flyaway curls sneaking back into shape. It’s... sweet.

“If you want. But I thought I'd ask if we could share,” she says, gesturing to his bedroll.

He blinks at her, sobering. “I thought we'd spoken about, ah…”

Is it patronising to be proud of him? Probably. It doesn't change the fact she is, terribly, even while guilt for how they started is trying to squeeze the breath out of her.

A hand to her heart, Lora says, “No funny business. On my mother's life.”

Astarion squints at her, amused but with the tiniest hint of wariness underneath. “You don't have a mother.”

Sombrely now, eyes steady on his, she says, “On my lyre.”

Those little lines start around his brows - he's frowning, trying to work her out. And then, like so many small moments over this journey, she sees the second he decides to trust her. With an incline of his head, Astarion says, “Accepted.” He blinks, and snorts. “But darling, it's not as if I have an excess of body heat to give. If anything, quite the opposite. I'll, ah, leech from you.” He tries to grin fangily through the shivers, and then it occurs to him. “...Ah. You were trying to save my dignity, weren't you?” He sighs, and untucks a corner of his blanket pile, dragging a cushion or two under his head and turning away from her. It's the nearest to an invitation she's likely to get.

Unable to watch him in his misery any more, Lora swiftly ties the tent flaps, tries not to bolt into his absurd nest of cushions, and tucks herself in. “Oh. These are soft,” she says, plumping one. Silk. Shouldn't even ruin her hair too badly.

Astarion huffs a laugh at that - mostly silent, but she spots the movement of his shoulders.

Slowly, loudly, she shuffles closer and puts an arm round him; Hells, below wool and linen, he's absolute ice. He makes the smallest noise and stiffens, shoulder blades like shelves against her.

Lora lets go, instantly - but there's a hand snaking to her hip before she can shuffle backwards, pulling her to him.

Astarion murmurs, “I was just startled, that's all. You're so warm.” His tone is wondering - and then embarrassment at himself catches up with him. He goes tense all over again, but Lora just re-wraps an arm round him; curls the rest of herself round him too, knees against his knees, hips against his hips, chest to back.

It's the softest breath he lets out, almost inaudible. He tries, “This is ridiculous. It's not as if we're in some snowy wasteland.”

She says, “No light. No heat.”

“Hm. You know, once I would have said something like, ‘You're all the light I need. A lone star in the darkness.’”

With a laugh, she puts her nose against his shoulder. “Isn't that meant to be you? Considering the name, and all.”

“Shh. Don't ruin my metaphor. It took me a whole five seconds to think of it.” It's a slow thaw, the way he's melting against her as he speaks: bit by bit, inch by inch.

Lora sniggers against his robe.

Where her hand rests on his chest, she feels slim, strong, freezing fingers join it. Astarion says, softly, “I won't say I don't miss the sun. But you… help. You're so - ugh - colourful. And warm.” His head ducks, and then her hand’s being lifted to cool, gentle lips. He lays a kiss to her knuckles.

Lora’s chest fills with something that makes her realise she's a terrible bard, because she's uncertain how to describe so very much. She kisses a pointed ear - it twitches the tiniest bit in his surprise, barely there and in a way that would likely irritate him if he knew.

“It's probably the big glowing mace,” Astarion grumbles, carefully ruining the compliment - belied by how gently his hand’s still holding hers. That first time is still fresh and new: the way he took her hand like it was a precious thing. How pleased he was just to hold and be held. His grousing is relaxed, half swallowed by his pillow.

Many wouldn't say he's an ideal partner for cuddling: he's all sharp angles and sharper elbows, albeit ones dulled by his clothing. He's freezing marble except for where his hair tickles her nose. But his toes twitch against her shins and his voice is a low rumble where she rests, and he fits in her arms like they were made for it. Lora knew these strong shoulders and these long limbs would be good for something, and apparently that something was holding a short, slowly warming undead elf.

For all he's not tall, he's long, somehow: elegant limbs with a deceptive amount of strength hidden underneath. She'd thought the first time they slept together he was all lean muscle and sinew; now she realises he was starving. It just takes longer in a vampire. There's a solidity to him now under her hands: his shoulders are the slightest bit broader, his thighs a little less skinny. Lora wants, all over again, to tell the man she met in that clearing not to do this: to go hunting with her instead. To ask for a bit of her blood. To take her hand. Not that he would have listened.

“You've gone all tense,” Astarion remarks. “Have I done something?” His voice is on the knife-edge of casual.

Yes. No.

She swallows. “It's so quiet here. The birds don't sing. I feel exposed when I do. The silence leaves you with your thoughts - not always the good ones.”

“Mm.” All at once there's a small hurricane of movement next to her - before she quite knows what's happening, he's eeled out of her grasp and turned to face her. “Luminis,” he says, softly, all cut-glass enunciation; close to where they've bedded down, a jar - empty, thankfully - illuminates. He takes his fingers away from it.

Scarlet eyes search her face. It felt easier to hide in the half-dark, even though he could see her perfectly well… Oh. The light isn't for him, is it? His fragile mortal lover, so small in the grand scheme of things.

The words spill from her mouth unbidden, and she wonders, for far from the first time, how she ever became a bard. “I, ah, I get on edge, in this place. You said I was… colourful.”

“It's a bard thing, I'm sure.” Astarion’s voice is wry, but there's a crease of what looks like concern between his brows; he’d be appalled if it was pointed out.

“Here, that feels like I'm a target. I feel watched all the time.”

Grimacing, he says, “Ugh. Awful, isn't it? It's not just you.” But it's less theatrical than it would be with the others. More honest.

Astarion eases closer to her, hair falling over his forehead but eyes still dark and curious on hers - and something like realisation is dawning on his face. He always knows someone's soft spots. Lora wants to crawl away, to make some pleasant joke to distract them both; she makes herself be brave and stay, instead.

He places a hand on her arm, lightly, uncertainly, as if real tenderness is a song he's heard so many times but he isn't sure how to play by ear - and then he cups her face, still with a tentative hand. There's no laughter in his voice when he speaks. “Lora, darling, are you scared?”

“Aren't you?” she says, sounding small and helpless and hating every second of it.

Astarion barks a laugh, seeming to startle them both. “Love, we're all terrified of this place. Karlach’s spent half the journey quaking in her fiery little boots. Gale seems to be reading so he doesn't scream. But you're always so… cheerful.” He strokes his thumb over her cheek, again with a slow lightness to it, as if he's ready to move away the moment she says something, as if he might be overstaying his welcome. As if it isn't keeping her grounded. Sadness is in the tight lines around his eyes, his mouth. “I thought you'd sublimated it all into jokes and anger. Or perhaps that's just me.” He gives her a grin that's almost sheepish, by his pointedly-confident standards. Sobering, he says, “I should have seen through a fellow liar.” That's too gentle, too worried to have any sting to it.

The words are so hard to find. “Having someone with me helps. To watch this place back. You've got the fastest eye of any of us.”

Amusement flits over his face, his eyes skating to her throat. “I didn't think you'd want these fangs so close to your neck.” Double-edged, with the barest hint of real fear under there, the way so many of his offhand jokes are.

“They have been enough times before. You” - she clears her throat, and tries not to feel ridiculous - “you look after me?”

Astarion blinks a moment, eyes widening. “I do, do I?” He's trying for wryness, but his voice has something else to it. Something raw, but she can't tell if it's good or bad.

Lora says, hastily, with a demented kind of mildness, “Usually by stabbing things that are trying to kill me. And you can see in the dark, and I can't. And you slee - trance less.” And the shadows are less frightening when met with a wry voice and flamboyant arm-waving. And she's learned to feel him at her back, even when she can't see him.

She wants to squirm, but he's leaning to catch her eye. He says, with a disbelieving half-smile, “My dear, are you saying you feel safe with me?”

Lora sighs explosively, ready to be laughed at -

“Gods, I really have taken up with a madwoman.” But the words are softer than they should be, and he… tugs her into his arms, and holds her tightly.

Oh.

Lora freezes - he does, too, as if scared he might have overstepped his bounds. She wraps an arm round his waist before he can decide that she must hate this and he should run away again, her head settling onto his shoulder. He's warmer, she's glad to note, the shivers gone entirely. Still not as warm as someone alive, but getting closer to his normal.

Astarion says, “I'll keep the shadows at bay. You just focus on keeping me warm.”

“I can do that,” she says, faintly.

“Can I take away the light?”

“Sure. It's not the dark that worries me. It's… being alone, in the silence.”

Astarion throws the tent back into darkness with a whispered word - and then stays there: chest against hers and legs tangled, breathing every so often out of habit instead of necessity. A hundred little sounds even in a man as consummately quiet as him, from that to the brush of his clothes against pillows. Lora feels him start to stroke her hair with that careful touch, uncertain of his welcome; she hums happily, and he keeps it up. It's worth a little extra work in the morning for this.

A memory winds slowly back into her head: a man who'd give her florid nicknames and yet all but flee after sex, their arrangement going mostly unspoken. The second time, and that touch on her hair, so oddly uncertain for a man that confident in bed. She hadn't understood it at the time.

All I had to do was not fall for you.

Astarion turns his head, breath cool on her ear. “Lora?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

“Mmhm." It's vague, said into his hair.

She feels him laugh faintly against her.

When Lora wakes to the morning light, she's somehow spooning him again; his forearm is wrapped around hers, holding her there, but he’s contorted himself to lean a book next to him so he can read.

Wait. That wasn’t in his tent last night. Lora tries to get her mind around the image of him sneaking out of bed, getting a book, and sneaking himself back in under her arm. Somehow, it makes a worrying amount of sense.

Astarion lets go of her the moment he senses she's awake, saying idly, “Have you ever considered a second career as a backpack?”

“How long have you been thinking of that one?” she mumbles, only realising she's nuzzling her nose into his hair when she gets tickled.

The book snaps shut, and Astarion pushes it aside with three fingers. “Is your pillow talk always so cynical? What's wrong with a good sweet nothing?” But he turns to her, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

For a moment Lora just lies there in some sort of disbelief, because she knows how nights with Astarion end. She wakes up alone, with only a bite mark to say anything happened at all, or there’s some convenient excuse he pulls out to sneak away.

But there’s a man in her arms, now, running a little cool for a mortal but not the block of ice he was – his hair wildly curly, his movements soft and slow and easy, the tiniest satisfied hum running through him as he eases into her embrace. “Gale is skulking about, making breakfast,” he says into her shoulder.

“Sounds good.”

“No, it sounds terrible. You’re better than a furnace. The bastard can show off to everyone else, but I’m keeping you.”

“Just for warmth,” Lora says.

“Obviously.”

“Are you warmer?”

His voice is a wry drawl, but something content is sneaking in around the edges. “Toasty, darling.”

Lora strokes a hand over Astarion’s back, over the layers of nightshirts and robes. For the barest moment he tenses – whether it’s because of his scars, or whether he thinks she’ll touch him somewhere less innocent, try to push his limits. She doesn’t, and he makes that faint content sound under his breath and goes loose again, his nose against her neck, curls tickling her cheek. It all feels like an impossibility that’s half a dream, like capturing the moon in a bucket of water, or...

A throat’s cleared outside the tent.

“Gale?” Lora says.

Through the tent, a wizardish shadow gazes awkwardly up at the sky. “I see. I shan’t ask if you’re decent in there. I somehow doubt I wish to know.”

Astarion mumbles, mouth still half against her skin, “If you untie that tent flap, I will kill you.”

“Ahem. It occurs to me that only one of you needs food – well, until I perfect that Waterdhavian blood pudding recipe. All the same, I’ve made a porridge with honey and almonds. Whenever you’re ready.”

Lora’s stomach growls just at the sound of that; she tries not to be embarrassed.

Astarion says, with the faintest fond undertone to it, “Ugh, mortals.” Rolling away from her, he adds, “Go, darling. It’s best never to deny your hunger.” He grins at her, and it’s full of teeth – but it softens as he adds, “And if you need further protection from the night’s shadows, you know where I am.”

She does. But it’s Astarion who sneaks into her tent the next night, a couple of ragged blankets tossed round his shoulders. She shifts to make room, opens her arms, and he fits himself between them like it was where he was always meant to be. Perhaps it was.

#tav x astarion #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin #Tav #gale of waterdeep #Lora mctavish #baldur's gate 3 #My fic

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crow-winged-wolf · 3 months ago

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Self-Same Trial

So I'm gonna go out on a limb and finally post my first story on here, please be kind. it's fluffy, has a few innuendos, but nothing mature. Not yet anyway lol. If this turns out well, I might post the spicier stuff. I once promised to write a little something about Astarion seeing himself at the Self-Same Trial. And here it is.

Anyway, pairing is Astarion and F!RangerTav (Serra)

The four walked into the room slowly, looking around at every corner as if it was about to leap out and tackle them. Shadowheart was at the front of the pack, gaze locked on to a statue of Shar holding a basin. She approached confidently, grabbing the dagger on the edge of the bowl and slicing her palm without a second thought. Serra winced once more, not truly used to seeing someone happily open their palm 3 times for various challenges, but there really wasn't any fighting involved, so she guessed a weapon hand weakening wound shouldn't be too much of a bother. Shadowheart looked like she was listening to something, nodding and taking a sharp breath.

“So, this one is called the Self-Same Trial.” Shadowheart announced, turning to them.

“What does that mean?” Serra asked as they continued to the next room, pivoting on her heel mid stride to walk backwards.

“I’m not sure.” Shadowheart shrugged. “I don't know what the trials are, just what the statue holding the basin said. Vanquish your old life to receive my wisdom.”

“Maybe we can ask that rather well armed group up there.” Astarion interjected, pointing up at the raised platform above them. Serra turned around to look up at four figures sneering down at them.

Astarion recognized three of the figures. There was the small blonde Wood Elf Ranger at the front with a crackling bow clutched in her hand who was clearly Serra. The hulking red Barbarian Tiefling to her left with an eternally burning sword was Karlach, and the Half-Elf Cleric to the right with a glowing mace and black, tightly bound hair was Shadowheart. That only left the fourth person, the male High Elf of the group with a pale complexion, silver hair, and daggers clenched in both hands. He was boasting a cocksure smirk that made Astarion want to Misty Step up there and wipe it off his face before he could move, but he held back to watch the girls reactions.

“They look exactly like us!” Serra marveled.

“Oh, I get it, you have to fight only yourself!” Shadowheart called out as the group up top opened fire on them, the Serra clone and the white haired High Elf drawing on their bows while the Karlach and Shadowheart clones went for the steps to get closer.

He exchanged a look with Serra before pulling his hood out from the collar of his armor and over his head, fading into the shadows without another word. “Astar- crap.” She hissed, barely twisting out of the way of yet another arrow from her own clone. “Get down here and do that!” She snarled, drawing her own arrows back and sending them through the clones shoulder.

“Well, hello darling.” He purred as he dropped the invisibility right behind the Elf. “Care to dance?”

The clone turned and regarded him silently, putting the bow away and slowly drawing his daggers again as the two began cautiously circling each other.

“What, nothing to say?” He tutted in disappointment. “I was hoping this would be more than just physical.”

He had to admit, the clone was rather handsome. The drow armor that Serra insisted on dying red and black really made his crimson eyes practically glow against his pallid skin. And it was fitted just the right way to cut a very alluring figure. He had to remember later to look into getting more corset style clothes, those looked especially good on him.

The clone lunged forwards blade first, the sharp edge skating past Astarion's side as he twisted out of the way, parrying the second blade that came down for his chest. It still managed to bite into his arm with a glancing blow, making him hiss in pain, then retaliate with a strike at the clones exposed back. He landed both daggers into its shoulders, knocking the wind out of him as he hit the ground face first.

Below them, Serra had managed to entangle and drag her clone down to her, a resound snap coming from the mirror images arm when she landed on her side hard. Karlach had all but slashed her clone to pieces, and Shadowheart was exchanging blows with her own, both succeeding at missing the other with firebolts.

As Serra dispatched her clone, she looked up at the raised platform, slightly worried. The girls were almost finished with their fights, and Astarion was usually one of the fastest in a fight, ending one or two enemies before she could fire off a single arrow. Him still being missing was unusual. She headed for the stairs to go up and check on him.

Meanwhile, Astarion was looking down at his prone dance partner, his eyes drifting down along his back and stopping at his backside. Astarion quirked an eyebrow at the clone, twisting to look down past his own shoulder, then back at the clone. “Hm, not everyday you get to see your own-”

“Astarion? Are you okay?” Serra called, peering over the floor as she came up to eye level with it. The silver haired Elf waved her off, and heard the rustle of the arrows in her quiver.

“Okay.” She climbed the rest of the way up, sitting down on the raised floor to watch Karlach and Shadowheart finish their fights.

“I’m fine, pet!” He snapped before she could nock her arrow, the rustling stopping. He glanced at her, the tip of her bow disappearing from view as she watched him cautiously.

“Pity,” He sighed as he knelt down and brought his blade to the heavily injured clones neck, cradling his chin in his palm firmly but delicately. “I was just enjoying gazing upon this gorgeous face.” Serra glanced over, watching the reverence with which Astarion regarded the clone. He had a knee in his back to keep him down, his expression saddened by the thought of losing his first chance in a long time at seeing his own face. Her eyes brightened as she thought of something, tucking the idea away for later.

He dispatched the clone quickly and cleanly, wiping the blades on the clones back before standing up and looking around. Karlach and Shadowheart climbed the stairs to join them, Serra picking herself up and stooping over the Astarion clones body to pick something up.

“Where is the orb?” Karlach asked, looking around. Serra came up between them, placing the softly glowing purple orb in Shadowheart’s hands.

“Astarion’s clone had it. Anyone hurt?” She looked around, each of them checking themselves over.

“Just a scrape, darling, nothing to worry about.”

“Excellent, let’s go.” She nodded, leading them back out of the room.

“So, they looked exactly like us?” Astarion asked. The girls nodded. “Well, I don't know about you, but my clone certainly was a handsome devil, wasn't he?” He smiled brightly, Serra cracking a distracted smirk.

That night at camp, when everyone went to sleep, Serra snuck off to Gale’s tent with a request, careful not to let Astarion see her. He was sweet, if not somewhat territorial at times, and she saw his expression when she spoke to Gale. She held a finger to her lips as she approached, Gale smiling at her in confusion. He glanced at Astarion’s tent where she was usually headed, then back at her. “Serra, what brings you to my tent tonight?”

“I want to learn a party trick, do you mind teaching me?”

“Well sure, why not.” He shrugged. “Which one?”

It took her three nights practicing with Gale in secret before she was confident in her ability to cast this very specific spell. Multiple times, Gale asked why this one, but she always dodged the question with a well placed inquiry of her own.

In the morning of the fourth day, Serra looked exhausted, but proud as she came up to Astarion and pulled him aside. “I want to show you something.”

“Does it include a secluded corner of this shrine?” He asked, smirking at the slight blush that tinged her tired face.

“Only if you want.” She retorted, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. “Give me a moment, retuto sui!” She waved her hand in front of her face, slowly opening her now crimson red eyes, smiling then wincing as she bit her lip. “Fangth. Fangth are new.” She lisped, giggling in a more masculine voice that didn't belong to her.

Astarion stood rooted to the spot as she changed her appearance to mirror his all the way down to his height, breaking from his stupor when she bit herself. He placed two fingers under her chin, pushing her face up so he could look at it better. “When did you learn this?”

“The patht couple nighths.”

“You can’t possibly have gotten every feature correct, darling. My nose isn’t that big.” He chuckled, turning her head side to side slowly.

“I can get better. I jutht need practiss.” She frowned as she bit her tongue this time in her struggle to stop lisping.

“How far does this illusion go?” Astarion glanced down at her flat chest then back up to her face.

“How far do you want it to go, darling?” She mimicked him playfully, albeit clumsily, rather enjoying the feel of his voice as it reverberated in her throat and upper chest deliciously.

He cupped her face between his palms, running his thumb across the cheekbone that he was slowly coming to understand was his, and smiling impishly. “This could be a new way of exploring myself.” He cooed.

“Careful, sweetheart, that almost sounded like an offer.” She winked at him, unable to hold back her giggles at her imitation. She didn’t have his laugh perfected, so it sounded more like Astarion giggling like a giddy schoolgirl. “Hey, wait a minute.” She said as she managed to reign in her laughter, taking a step back. “I've alwayth wanted to do this!” She reached up, carding her fingers into the soft silver curls on her head and ruffling them before pulling them forward. “Man, your hair’s long!” She laughed. She tried to push it back in place, failing miserably as the locks fell across her eyes again in a feathery light mess that didn't seem to bother her as much as it did him. Astarion reached up and fixed her hair for her, tutting her and slapping her hands away as she tried to help.

“What made you think of learning this spell?” Astarion asked. Serra smiled sweetly, wrapping her hands around his wrists and placing them at her cheeks again.

“I thaw- SAW how you were looking at your clone in the self-same trial. When you said it was a pity to lose that handsome face, I remembered Gale talking about a spell that lets you mirror someone's appearance. I thought I might like to try to give you the chance to have a look at your face up close instead of in the middle of a fight.”

“And what a marvelous face it is.” He said, Serra beaming.

“I don’t smile like that! You’re too giddy to be wearing my face!” He flicked her nose, Serra laughing again.

“Oh, this is why you came to me for those midnight lessons!” Gale said loudly, laughing. Serra shot him a withering look, Astarion somewhat bemused she was sneaking around just to learn to clone his face.

“Thanks, Gale.” She growled, Gale looking at her in surprise.

“Oh! I thought…” He looked at Astarion, then back at Serra.

“Well, I’m definitely not your crafty student!” The silver haired Elf motioned to himself with a flourish, Serra crossing her arms over her chest, momentarily distracted by the firm pecs that greeted her forearms.

“Ah, you certainly mastered this spell, you had me fooled!” Gale announced, the expression on his face a clear indication he was about to launch into a long diatribe about how the weave worked or something like that. Serra was about to cut him off when Astarion interrupted him.

“I don’t want to be a bother, but isn’t your little roast looking a tad dark?” He pointed to the fire where a roast was suspended over it on a spit. Gale looked, suddenly bolting for the food while muttering about the fire being too big. “There, now it’s just us again, darling.” Astarion smirked mischievously, taking a step closer to Serra. “Enjoying what that feels like?” He plucked at her sleeve, Serra looking away in embarrassment as she dropped her arms to her sides.

“I think I’m gonna change back.” She muttered, Astarion stopping her as she raised her hand by tracing her jaw and chin with gentle fingertips.

“Let me enjoy this just a bit longer, pet. I do rather enjoy finally being able to gaze upon my own face.”

#bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #astarion female tav

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yeetmeoutthewindowdaddy · 2 months ago

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Ranking the camp companions on their childrearing abilities:

The companions are ranked by how I think they'd do as a single parent.

#1: Halsin

Not only will that child survive, they'll thrive. (Halsin is DJ Khalid when it comes to taking care of orphans; another one!) They might have problems with feeling unimportant or overlooked becuase of the many, many, other children competing for Halsin's attention. But they'll always be 1000% loved and supported.

#2: Wyll

The child will survive and do great, so long as Wyll goes to therapy for his own daddy issues (Ulder is a shitty father, you cannot change my mind.) and is not in Avernus with Karlach, and Mizora has buggered off. I feel like the child would have a naïve outlook on how the world works, and would experience a rough paradigm shift when they inevitably see how unjust it really is. And they would have to grow up in Baldur's Gate, the moral cesspit of Faerûn. But Wyll is such a sweetheart that I think the kid will turn out just fine and mostly well adjusted.

#3: Lae'zel

(I am honestly shocked at how high she ranks on this list.) The child will survive and do well, so long as Lae'zel reads plenty of parenting books and asks for advice/ help. Though the kid might have abandonment issues/ an avoidant attachment style because their mother was always away at war. They may also have an identity crisis from not feeling like they belong either in Gith society or Faerûn society. But the child will grow up to be decisive, fiercely independent, and capable.

#4: Gale

The child will survive and do well, so long as Gale goes to therapy for his daddy issues, and Mystra's abuse, and his fucked relationship with Elminster, and if he isn't a God, and if he doesn't have the orb in his chest anymore. Though they may develop into a gifted kid who needs academic validation and will eventually face burn out if they don't relax. Or they'd feel like they've never made their father proud becuase they're dumb. Gale won't do this intentionally, it would simply be a by product of the child having a respected academic/ magical prodigy as their father. They might also have self esteem issues from Gale handing them off to his simulacrum when he got overstimulated by their normal (young child) behavior.

#5: Karlach

The child will survive and do fine. I just don't personally see Karlach as a mom, she has fun aunt vibes. But as a mom I think she'd be too permissive in her parenting. Or she could over correct because of her own childhood and be overbearing. Or a baffling mixture of both. Having a mother who has an infnal engine for a heart would probably result in the kid having seperation anxiety/ health anxiety. However, the child would never doubt that she loves them and their home would be full of joy.

#6: Shadowheart

The child will survive and do alright. Shart doesn't have any memories of her own childhood (that aren't Sharran abuse) to guide her. Her mother will probably die before the child even reaches 2, and even if she lives then she'd not be fit to help take care of a child. Her father has been a prisoner of Sharrans for ~30 years, I don't think he's going to be a whole lot of help. Shar is absolutely going to be a petty bitch and go after the kid. I think that Shart will try her hardest to properly raise the child, and the kid will eventually see that— but the child is definitely going to have to go to lots of therapy.

#7: Jaheira

The child will survive, but they will have abandonment issues and mommy issues. I love Jaheira, but why in the fuck did she decide to adopt a bunch of kids and then not raise them herself for the majority of their childhoods? The kid's going to have anxiety issues, as they'd know from a young age that they're a target for anyone who has a grudge against the Harpers. They're probably going to have problems with authority figures. Also, potental parentification depending on their age.

#8: Minthara

The child will probably survive, but they will have many issues. Two words sum up my reasoning: drow parenting.

#9: Astarion

The child might survive. Astarion would do well as the rich eccentric uncle who is fun but is only seen 2x a year for 30 minutes, at most. Who in the fuck looked at this man and said "Yes, he's fit to be a parent."? He struggles with his own emotions, he doesn't like being touched, he doesn't like loud stinky things, he can only ever go out at night, not to mention the "200 years of shit, PURE SHIT." he 'lived' through. He only had his own fucked up "family" as a reference to how families interact. Even with trying his best that kid is going to have an avoidant-anxious/ disorganized attachment style that will single-handedly keep a therapist in business for many, many, years. If he is the biological father of the child then the kid will probably resent him because they'd be a damphir. If he just adopted a random kid they'd resent him for raising them himself instead of giving them to someone (Halsin) who could properly care for them— assuming that they survive long enough to develop resentment that is. (Astarion: "I feel like I'm forgetting something important. Eh, must've not been important if I forgot about it." The the important thing he forgot was, emphasis on the word the word was, the child.) The only reason he's not lower on this list is because he'd actually have some amount of genuine affection for the child.

#10: Mizora

The child might survive, but they're going to be fucked up. Mizora is absolutely the narcissistic, literal devil (cambion) Karen Toddlers in Tiaras mom who tries to live vicariously through her child and reacts severely negatively when said child has their own personality/ wants and dreams. She's not going to focus on raising them, she's too busy brown nosing Zariel for that. She seems like someone who would take out loans in her child's name when they're a minor and not pay them back, thus fucking the kids credit score before they could even walk. She will tell the kid "You're lucky to be alive." She makes Joan Crawford look like a stellar mother. Actual hell itself is not a good environment for a child to be raised in.

#11: Minsc (and Boo)

It's a miracle in and of itself that Minsc has managed to keep himself alive for as long as he has. Even with Boo's help it would be a miracle if the child survives. He'd feed an infant raw honey and give the poor kid botulism. (Seriously y'all, don't give babies honey.) The best thing Minsc could do is hand the kid off to Jaheira to "raise" them for him.

#12: Withers

"No."

He ain't even going to try. Do not hand him a baby, he'll place it on the floor and walk away like a Sim does.

#13: Volo

🗣🔥🔥🔥 We ain't making it past infancy with this one. Poor kid never stood a chance.

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donnabenevientosimp · 11 months ago

Text

Karlach x Shadowheart x NB!Reader

Tags: contains spoilers abt Shadowheart's real name and her arc, reader is a tiefling and has two tails bc who wouldn't want two tails just to keep wrapped around your gfs, reader may or may not be the child of a devil, depends on what I wrote ofc. Giving Karlach a different ending bc she deserves it, slight major character death, fluff, tiny bit of angst sprinkled in bc I do love my angst/comfort

Requested: yes or no

This one is super long and I don't regret a thing, I love Karlach and Shadowheart

You had managed to get to Baldur's Gate, finally leaving the shadow-cursed lands and healing said shadow lands. You had been roaming around the large city with Karlach and Shadowheart, your girlfriends. You had managed to pick a fight with a mother superior of Shar, the same one who had supposedly 'saved' Shadowheart. After that battle, Shadowheart found her parents and learned her real name and decided to free them despite the curse staying. You had asked her if she wanted to be called Shadowheart still or if you could call her Jenevelle, her real name. She gave you and Karlach the freedom to call her either, saying she didn't mind the way her real name fell off your tongue, with a blush on her cheeks and tips of her ears. "Love, are you alright?" Shadowheart asked and you blinked and looked at her. "Sorry, just thinking about the past few days," you said with a sheepish smile. "What are you thinking about?" Karlach asked and you looked at her. "Helping you two, how I got so lucky to have both of you in my life. I've been thinking of something though, running it by Gale and even Elminster," you said and they looked at you curiously. "What is it?" Karlach asked. "Well, when you were yelling at me after Gortash died and asked if I had a Wish spell stored in my pack, it got me thinking. What if I didn't need so much as a Wish spell to give you heart, than some fine-tuned necromantic rituals? We faced Balthazar who was a necromancer and I kept his notes, we found a Chosen of Myrkul and I killed him, but also kept his notes. I could kill you, temporarily, remove your engine and put a heart into your chest and revive you either with a scroll of revivify or the spell or with the necromancy rituals," you said and looked away from the two of them, scared of what they might say. "You really wanna do those rituals that kill other people just for one person?" Karlach said. "I wouldn't be killing anyone Karlach," you said and she scoffed. "That's the whole point of these rituals. I can't believe you'd actually kill an innocent person and rip their heart out," Karlach said. "Karlach, let them finish," Shadowheart said gently. "No, I don't want some butchered innocent's heart inside me," Karlach said and you stood up and walked off, your tails dragging along the floor, indicating your feelings you didn't want to show. You walked over to Gale and Elminster and gave them a sad smile, walking through the portal to the tower Elminster let you so graciously use. You threw yourself into your research, why? Well Karlach's anger and emptiness after killing Gortash ruined you and you knew she deserved better.

"Tymora, Kelemvor, Jergal, please let this ritual work. I can't lose her," you sighed, wiping away a stray tear. "Hell, if you have an inspiration to give on how to fix it Gond, I'll take it," you muttered, speaking to the gods to see if they could even help a tiny bit. An idea then popped into your head and you went back through the portal. You walked over to Mizora who looked at you. "What can I do for you, Two-Tails?" Mizora asked with a smile. "Take me to Avernus," you said and she rose an eyebrow. "Why?" Mizora asked curiously. "I need to meet someone, you'll know when we get there but only you will know," you said and she smiled. "Very well," Mizora said and grabbed your hand, teleporting you both to Avernus. Your wings forced themselves out of hiding from inside your back and your tails became forked at the ends. "You...," Mizora was speechless. "The only thing I could conceal about my true heritage was my wings and the forked part of my tails. I couldn't figure out how to conceal one of them so I just said I was born with two tails and don't know why," you said and Mizora nodded. "Who is your devilish parent?" Mizora asked. "Glasya, the Archdevil of Malbolge and daughter of Asmodeus," you replied and her eyes widened. "My liege I did not-" "Don't bow Mizora. I, like my mother, have a thing for subtlety," you said and she nodded. "I wish to meet Zariel and see her infernal engine blueprint," you said and Mizora nodded, flapping her wings. "Let's go then," Mizora said and you both took flight. You reached the Bronze Citadel and walked to where Zariel was sitting on her throne. There she sat, the archangel turned archdevil. Her bald head with a halo of flame, black feathery wings with red ends, glowing orange eyes and a flail for an arm. "Archdevil Zariel, Lord of Avernus," you said and she looked at you. "If it isn't Glasya's spawn," Zariel smiled. "I'd like to see your infernal engine blueprints," you said and she nodded and snapped her fingers, the blueprints appearing in her hand. "Here you are," Zariel said and you walked up to her and took the blueprints. "Thank you Zariel. I guess this is payment for me giving you the soul of one of my friends," you said and she smiled. "He will make a fine killer of devils, demons and fiends," Zariel smiled. "I have to return topside, but do keep in touch," you said and gave her a two finger salute before Mizora teleported you both back to camp. "Thanks Mizora," you said and she smiled. "Of course, I live to serve, and well, you keep the surprises coming Pup, I do enjoy them," Mizora said with a grin. "You reek of Avernus, why did you go there?" Wyll asked. "I had some business there Wyll, don't worry, I only stole some things I forgot to steal in the House of Hope," you lied and he nodded.

You then made your way back to the tower and looked over the infernal engine blueprints. "These aren't even meant for people, what the hells Zariel? You put a smaller hellfire engine inside Karlach?" You spoke to yourself out loud. You then looked at the blueprints for an upgraded version of the smaller hellfire engine and noticed whoever made it, wrote it in Primordial. Zariel only spoke Infernal, Abyssal and Celestial, but you chose to learn as many languages as you could. You immediately grabbed all the infernal iron and enriched infernal iron and got to work making the new hellfire engine. After spending several hours on creating the engine you finished it. Turning it on and seeing how it works in the Material Plane. You put your hand on it, it felt warm but not as hot as the Hells, it could work here on the Material Plane and even in the Hells. You smiled widely, you'd done it. You found a cure for Karlach! You turned the engine off and grabbed it, walking to the portal and were back at camp. "I thought you'd be cooped up in that mage's tower for the entire day Pup. Did it work?" Mizora asked. "It did...wait where's Karlach?" You asked, now not seeing your girlfriend. "She said she needed to think things over and went somewhere, said she'd be back later," Mizora said and you nodded sadly. You walked over to the little dock in your camp and sat down with a sigh. You heard a portal open and felt a familiar presence. You turned your head and a smile broke out onto your face. You quickly got up, placing the hellfire engine on the ground. "Mom!" You smiled and hugged her. "Hello my dear," Glasya smiled as she hugged you back. "I heard you went to Avernus, what for?" Glasya asked. "You read my letters? How I found love in two people? One of them is Zariel's old agent, Karlach. I went to Avernus for the blueprints on her infernal engine. Turns out it's a smaller version of a hellfire engine. But whoever made the designs made an upgraded one that can operate on the Material Plane without overheating and wrote it in Primordial, I created it and it works," you said happily and Glasya smiled. "I knew you could do it, little liege," Glasya smiled, brushing her fingers through your hair. "Thanks Mom, I've missed you, so much," you said and she nodded. "I missed you too, have you told anyone of your heritage? Aside from Mizora," Glasya asked and you frowned and shook your head. "No, we've run into Raphael and everyone hated and didn't trust him. I killed him of course, but how could I tell them I'm a devil? Karlach's been used and abused by an archdevil, Wyll was forced to take a deal from a devil to save a city. I can't tell them, they'd hate me, I'd be alone again," you said with a sad sigh. "I see, but what if they don't?" Glasya said and you shrugged. "Well, I hope once you do tell them, let me meet your lovers," Glasya said and you nodded with a smile. "I will," you said and she smiled and placed a kiss on your forehead. "I have to return to Malbolge, but keep in touch okay?" Glasya said and you nodded. "I will Mom, I love you," you said and she smiled. "I love you too little liege, try not to cause too much chaos okay?" Glasya said and you nodded. She then teleported back to Malbolge and you sighed.

"Your mother is a devil?" You heard and turned to see Karlach. "She is," you said and looked down nervously. "Why didn't you tell me?" Karlach asked. "I didn't want you to hate me, or kill me. You went through enough pain with Zariel and Mizora, I didn't want to add on to that with you knowing I was a devil. So I hid my devilish heritage as best I could, except for my tails. I could only make them not forked," you said, playing with one of your tails out of anxiousness. "What's that?" Karlach asked, pointing to the hellfire engine. "Oh, I paid Zariel a visit, asked her for the infernal engine blueprints. She gave them to me freely, but whoever wrote em wrote the upgraded version in Primordial and I was able to make and test it. It works on the Material Plane without overheating," you said and held it. "I wanted to find a cure for you, at any cost because....because I love you so much it hurts me sometimes Karlach. I want to live with you and Jenevelle, wherever that may be and just..be happy with both of you," you said and Karlach smiled, tears streaming down her face. "It really works?" Karlach asked and you nodded. "We'd have to go back to Avernus to safely take out that old engine so it doesn't blow up upon removal," you said and Karlach frowned. "Or we could go to my mom's domain, to her fortress Osseia. I know it's the Sixth Layer of Baator but we'd be safe there," you said and she nodded. "Can Jenevelle come with us?" Karlach asked. "Of course she can, Jen, I know you're lurking around the corner. C'mon," you said and she walked over to you two. "I can never hide from you can I?" Shadowheart smiled. "Mizora, my favorite manipulative bitch, I need your assistance, darling," you said and Mizora walked over to you. "You called my liege?" Mizora said and I smiled. "We are going to Malbolge, to Osseia. I need your assistance in transporting this hellfire engine and my two loves along with me there," you said and she nodded. "Of course my liege," Mizora said with a smile. "Quit with the 'liege' shit I never liked it," you groaned and she giggled.

Mizora and you teleported Shadowheart, Karlach, the hellfire engine and yourselves to Osseia in Malbolge. "At kg qaddqx qaxfx! usw gio ryioftd gioy qibxyz (Oh my little liege! And you brought your lovers)!" Glasya said excitedly in Abyssal. "Kik, Xy sxxw di znadlt dni txqqpayx xsfasxz, nussu txqj (Mom, I need to switch two hellfire engines, wanna help)?" You asked in Abyssal and her smile widened. "Of course I wanna help! Come come," Glasya said excitedly and motioned you all to follow her. You arrived in your research room and you noticed everything was clean but still in the same spot. "I kept it the same when you left, I've been keeping it clean too," Glasya said and you smiled at her. "Thanks Kik (Mom)," you said and she nodded. "Karlach, lay down over here," Glasya said and Karlach looked at you then at Glasya. "How do you know who I am?" Karlach asked. "Y/N told me of course, and of you Shadowheart," Glasya smiled. "Karlach, sweetheart, we unfortunately have to temporarily have you dead while we take out your engine," Glasya said and Karlach nodded slowly. "Don't worry, you're in the best hands, four of them in fact. My little liege is well versed in all types of magic, the little bookworm that they are. They've even had a visit from a Chosen from one of the death gods, the god commended them for their work!" Glasya said with a proud smile. "Kik (Mom)," you groaned and she looked at you. "What? Am I not allowed to brag about my child to your lovers?" Glasya said and you sighed, a blush dusting your cheeks and ears. "Karlach, love, would you like a painless death?" You asked and looked at her. "Yes, you'll bring me back after it's installed right?" Karlach asked. "Of course I will," you said and walked over to her. You gently cupped her cheek and kissed her. "Ah, the literal and classic kiss of death," Glasya said as Karlach peacefully and quickly died. Your eyes and hands glowed green as you grabbed hold of Karlach's soul. "Kidtxy (Mother), can you hold her soul?" You asked and she nodded and grabbed hold of Karlach's soul. You precisely and quickly opened her chest up and commanded the engine to shut off and removed it. You then grabbed the upgraded engine and put it in her chest, commanding it to turn on. It glowed and started up, running smoothly and without any complications. You then magically closed Karlach's chest without leaving scars and nodded to your mother. Karlach's soul was put back in her body and she stirred awake. "Hello love," you smiled and she opened her eyes with a smile. "How do you feel?" You asked. "Better, not overwhelmingly hot," Karlach said as she sat up. "It worked....it worked! You did it!" Karlach said with a laugh. "The only time those flames of yours change colors is the same as it was with your old engine," you said with a smile. "O-Oh," Karlach said, a dark red blush on her cheeks as some flames exited out of the vent holes in her arms. "I do hope I'll be invited for a nxwwasf (wedding) soon," Glasya said, looking at you expectantly. Your ears and cheeks went red, your tails wagging slightly. "Kik (Mom)!" You said embarrassedly and she looked at you. "I'm serious, little liege. I expect a pxn fyusweawz (few grandkids) too," Glasya said and you nodded. "I know, but, we have a-" "Illithid issue I know. I meant after you take care of that blasted thing," Glasya said and you nodded. "I know. Uhm, Jen, Karla, can you go get Mizora?" You said and they nodded and left the room. Once they left you quickly pulled out two small boxes. "I planned on proposing to both of them sometime this week," you said and Glasya smiled. "Oh, they're beautiful! You made them of course, I know your metalwork and jewelry making anywhere," Glasya said and you nodded, quickly putting the boxes back into your pocket. "Marrying them in Baator will make their souls bound to you, they'll become ageless," Glasya said and you nodded. "I know, but that's their decision," you said and she nodded.

Once back at camp, you led the three of them to a nearby rooftop as the sun was rising. "I wanted to do this now, because I know we may not have much time left but I hope we have years to spend together. When I met you both, you both captivated me, I definitely fell in love with both of you at first sight. I want to make you both happy, to love you both, for as long as you'll let me. So, I ask the both of you this: will you marry me?" You said as you got down on one knee, taking out both boxes and opening the boxes to reveal the rings. "Yes!" Karlach said happily. "Are you joking? Of course I will!" Shadowheart smiled. You stood up, slipping the rings on their fingers and kissing both of them. "How long have you been planning this?" Shadowheart asked. "A couple weeks," you said with a smile. "I do want you both to know, if you get married to me in Baator, your souls will be bound to me as mine will be to yours and you will become ageless," you said and they nodded. "It's an option for our marriage but we can get married here, and in Baator or just here or just Baator," you said and they nodded. "I want to spend my life with you, if I can become ageless to spend an eternity with you, then I'll do it," Shadowheart said and you smiled. "You took the words out of my mouth Jen," Karlach said and you smiled. Your tails wrapped around Karlach's tail and Shadowheart's arm as you smiled at the two of them. "I love you both, no matter what may come. Be it Sharrans for your head as a sacrifice Jenevelle, or whatever people we piss off Karlach, I wouldn't change it for anything," you said and they smiled. "I love you too Y/N," they both said, kissing your cheeks.

#karlach x reader #shadowheart x reader #karlach x shadowheart #karlach x shadowheart x reader #oneshot requests #oneshot #sfw oneshot

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