#Shadowheart web weave | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

merrinla · 2 years ago

Text

Portrait spamming

Recent discovery. If you click on the portraits of the characters like crazy, they will react to it. And the developers had a lot of fun coding these reactions xD

Tav / Dark Urge

normal - I'm awake! Mostly. - I'm starting to get a headache. - Must be the tadpole. - Quit knocking around in there! - A thousand needlepricks in my rotten skull.

combat -Ahhhhhhhh! Okay, I feel better. - I have an itch in the worst place. - Is being a mind flayer so bad? - Just waiting to venture forth here. - I'm maiming as fast as I can!

stealth - What's that ticking? - Is it me? Am I ticking? - Bomb in my head about to go off. Great. - Ah, well. I had a good run.

Astarion

normal - Why do beautiful people taste better? It hardly seems fair on the ugly - they have such wonderful personalities. - Ugh. Strahd wouldn't put up with this shit. - More like Drizzt Don't'Urden - no. No that's not funny. - Villains! Dissemble no more, I admit the deed! Tear up the floor - here, here! It is the beating of his hideous hea- oh, no, that's his brain. Where did I leave that heart?

combat: - I'm trying to focus on murder. - *Humming.* - I shot a svirfneblin in Menzoberranzan just to watch him die. - I should've been a drow. They have such stylish armour.

stealth - Shhh. Just think sneaky thoughts. - Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP. - Be very, very quiet - I'm hunting idiots. - I've got a brand new torture chamber, so come and play with me.

Karlach

normal - NOTE TO ACTOR/DIRECTOR: Blow a raspberry at the player. - Don't. Poke. The Karlach. - Who am I? - My eye!

combat - Eyes on the prize - we need to win this! - Not every soldier should've made it out of training. - Eyes on victory, tummy on dinner. - I ought to just burn this whole thing down.

stealth - My back can't take much more of this. - Not now, I'm being a sneak! - I'm getting too old for this nonsense. - I'm not built to crouch.

Gale

normal - I hope Halaster takes good care of Tara while I'm away. - Sembian wine; Cormyrian boar; Waterdhavian conversation. It's the little things you miss while on the road. - Oh, what a tangled Weave we web! - All the world's my stage and you're just a player in it.

combat - Just go for the Magic Missile and fire away. Never fails. - Don't make me go all Edwin Odesseiron on you. - Get. Out. Of. My. Head. - I really wish I could cast a Hold spell on you.

stealth - You made me hide, don't make me come seek you. - Gods, it's like trying to sleep with a mosquito in the room. - A little privacy please. - Stop it - that tickles.

Wyll

normal - Could do for a brew. - Where there's a 'Wyll', there's a 'y'. - Ever get the sense that someone's watching? - So two halflings walk under a bar...

combat - Can't hear myself think! - Wear your scars proudly. - As my father once told me: 'Can we get on with it?' - I find moderation is key.

stealth - Bad time for an itch. - Could do for a brew. - So two halflings walk under a bar... - Shush. No, really. Shush.

Lae'zel

normal - Must everyone be so exhausting? - Weapons high. Standards higher. - Is perfection too much to ask? - Pride is a virtue.

combat - I will know my queen! - There is no right or wrong, only truth. - What is the point, if not victory? - You are right to fear me.

stealth - Hush already. - There is no wisdom in madness. - Is perfection too much to ask? - There is but one way. Vlaakith.

Shadowheart

all modes - I wonder how I'll feel when I remember everything. - Strange. I've had more freedom this past while than my whole life... - Have to keep focused. Can't afford to get attached - to anyone. - If I succeed, maybe I'll be allowed a pet... ugh, stop being silly.

Halsin / his voice is currently bugged :(

normal - What I would not give for a chunk of fresh honeycomb... - Such attention... I never realised I was so popular. - Are you feeling lonely, perhaps? - Unwise, perhaps, to poke a bear this much...

сombat - Battle is afoot - you can poke me once we are safe. - Perhaps try attacking the enemy? - Admirable stamina, yet terrible priorities. - You are insistent, are you not?

stealth - Most consider it unwise to poke a bear. - My, you are eager, are you not? - Please. I am trying to be stealthy. - Calm yourself. There is plenty of me to go around.

Jaheira

normal - Oh, calm down. I'm happy to see you too. - I would poke you back, but I fear that's what you want. - My, such strong wrists. - Well you certainly have the 'omnipresent' part down, don't you? - Please go poke the ranger instead.

combat - You have my attention - now do something with it. - What? What do you want!? - Do you know, I begin to wish they had never brought me back. - Yes, yes, have your fun. It isn't you they're trying to kill.

stealth - Dry those sweaty palms and let us try this again, shall we? - Argh, my knees! Oh. It was a twig. - Would that I could hide from you, too. - Careful, or I will take your toy away from you.

Minsc

normal - ARGH! My EYE, Boo! They went for my EYE! - Know that if you poke Boo, no higher dimension will keep you safe! - Heehee. Heeheeheehee. - Well, Boo? How do you want to do this?

сombat - Are you perchance a squeaky wheel in need of a kick? - I am armed! Armoured! And entirely sick of your foolishness. - I begin to grow annoyed. It is well for you that Boo does not let me learn the bad words! - Ignore them, Boo. Let them gaze deep into their own abyss, and wonder just what it is they are trying to achieve.

stealth - A little to the left? But not so hard you make me giggle. - Boo...? Are you dancing down there, or...? - Hush! I am surprising Boo for his birthday! He is... uh... eh... how old do hamsters get...? - I am the night. A pity, then, that it is so bright out.

Minthara

all modes - You had my attention, now you have my fury. - Phlar Lolth ssinssrickla. - Your suffering will be spectacular. - Stop, or die.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #karlach #gale #wyll #lae'zel #shadowheart #halsin #jaheira #minsc #minthara #funny stuff #bg3 datamine

5K notes · View notes

tragedybunny · 1 year ago

Text

I Should Tell You - Chapter 1

༺Summary༻

In a fit of guilt, Astarion tries to confess his deception to you. At the last moment, he loses his nerve and ends your relationship with another lie. He's resigned himself to having lost his chance with you forever when once again everything changes. With the two of you out on your own, will he be able to take a chance and tell you everything, and will you forgive him when he does?

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Female Reader

༺Warnings༻ Sexual references

༺Word Count༻ 1888

༺A/N༻ Hi hi - I've recently had some edits done to this chapter by the lovely @icybluepenguin - I hope to pick this story back up soon and I'm working to fix it up.

Astarion was, well, he was loath to admit it, but he was brooding.

He’d taken up a private room at the Elfsong now that everything was over, one where he could keep protected from the sun while the rest of his companions, yourself included, lived their lives in the light of day. Slowly, condemned back to the shadows, locked in his room with drapes drawn tight against the burning sunlight, he’d drifted further and further away from the group. It had culminated tonight, where he had one perfunctory drink at the farewell party and slipped away to hide amongst his books and the shadows of his mind.

For the last several weeks, everyone had put their all into assisting Baldur’s Gate in starting to begin rebuilding. Those who were left, anyway – Wyll and Karlach were in Avernus, and Lae’zel was off to wage war on Vlaakith. Now those who were left would be parting ways as well, Shadowheart to see the world, Gale back to Waterdeep, Jaheira and Minsc to rebuild the Baldur’s Gate Harpers, and you and Halsin… hells, he didn’t want to know.

If he were being honest with himself, which felt like a thing to be avoided these days, there was more to his self-imposed exile than returning to a nocturnal life. Seeing the two of you together was a dagger was being shoved between his ribs and playing around with his insides.

And the worst part of it was, it was all his fault. He couldn’t find it in himself to be mad at you or the infuriatingly perfect druid. Well, he shouldn’t, anyway. Astarion still found himself wanting to shred Halsin’s throat with his teeth every time he pulled you close and kissed you, like you were a goddess he was paying worship to, a goddess Astarion would have loved nothing more than to prostrate before, himself. He’d done it to himself though, weaving a web of lies and manipulations so dense he’d trapped himself while you slipped on through, seemingly unscathed. You’d seen him as a person, and he’d repaid that by seeing you as a pawn,. At least at first.

When you’d stood firm against that drow, for him that web had only become more entangled By the time you shouted at that vile creature on his behalf, he’d become so hopelessly lost in the strands of feeling that had grown and wrapped around his heart that he knew he had to give up the plan, and give you the truth, even if you hated him for it.

As soon as your group had made camp that night, not far enough from the shadows of Moonrise Towers for anyone's comfort, he'd made his way over to you. “I want to thank you,” he’d started, sure of his course. “For what you said whilst in front of that vile drow…

“...You made me realize I never stopped thinking like his slave.” He drew in a breath, despite the fact that he didn’t need it, and froze. Patiently, you stared up at him with that affectionate look you always had, giving him space to collect his thoughts. You, the fount of warmth and sweetness he didn’t deserve, the love he couldn’t hope to keep. Frantically, he willed himself to speak, to tell you what you needed to know, no matter the consequences be damned.

“And I realize I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship.” The words spilled out before he could think them through and he watched as your eyes widened in hurt.

Gods no, what the fuck are you doing!, he cursed himself, but still the words came.

“Being with someone still feels tainted. I need to figure out who I am, what I want.” He bit down on his traitorous tongue to stop the tide, but the damage was done.

Those loving eyes of yours sparkled with tears, but that composure he’d begrudgingly come to admire held firm. “Is this really what you want, Astarion?”

No, no, no. I want you, I want it to be real. If he gave you the truth and you sent him away, however, he wouldn’t be able to bear it. At least this way, he could salvage your friendship, still bask in your light from time to time. The excuse was flimsy, even to himself, but he’d been a liar from the start.

“I think it's for the best, I'm sorry.” Twice, he’d lied to you – twice. There would never be any coming back from this. “Please don't be mad at me.”

You stepped forward and he instinctively wanted to cower away. But you weren’t intent on harming him, instead wrapping your arms around him in a gentle embrace. “I think I understand. I’m not mad if this is what you need.”

Your arms felt as though they were crushing him, their touch burning his skin. The urge to pull away and flee was almost overwhelming. But you deserved this one last bit of comfort. “Thank you,” he murmured, resting his head on your shoulder, breathing you in for what possibly was the last time, and resigning himself to a life without this. Without you.

After you finally pulled away, you went to his tent and packed your things, leaving to set up on your own and let him endure the night without you at his side. There was a time when he’d never believe his own space could feel so empty. Back in the spawn dormitory, he would have given anything for this solitude; Now it was wretched. And so his first night alone was passed in miserable resolution, and when the day dawned, he went on as though all was right.

It wasn’t lost on him that you would eventually find other companionship. You were attractive, witty, brave, and immensely caring. And from what he’d seen, you certainly weren’t interested in a celibate lifestyle. Still, that didn't prepare him for the night the group camped outside Rivington.

Astarion had just returned from a hunt, the blood of a rabbit fresh on his tongue. It wasn’t your delectable essence but he hadn’t dared ask to touch your neck after everything, electing to spend his trances dreaming of those moments between you instead. It was better than the nightmares of Cazador and his tortures at least. As he’d crept into the circle of ruined buildings that camp had been set up in, he stopped short, the world feeling as though it was closing in around him.

You were talking to Halsin, who held one of your hands in his, and somehow, even with his ridiculously large hands, delicately brushed a strand of hair behind your ear with the other. Time slowed and Astarion felt as though the blood in his stomach might make its way back out of his mouth.

In the dim firelight, the stars gleaming without a cloud to obscure them, Halsin kissed you. Softly, slowly at first, and then his hands wandered to your hips to pull you in as he deepened it. Your hands came to rest on those broad shoulders and instead of pulling away as Astarion desperately hoped you would, you leaned into it, eager and wanting. He wasn’t close enough, but Astarion could swear he heard the little moan you would make. The same sound you used to make only for him.

Halsin stared down at you after breaking the kiss, no doubt with naked lust written on his face, and offered you his hand again. And that was that. The two of you began to quietly walk away from camp while Astarion fled to his tent, crawling into his bedroll and desperately choking down the sobs that threatened to overwhelm him.

It had been bound to happen, but how soon, was what burned from the inside out. Just like that, you’d forgotten all about him, as though he hadn’t mattered in the first place. How dare you. He tried to summon anger with you, to wash away the pain. With you, with Halsin, with every circumstance that led him here. It was a betrayal; he had every right to be angry. You waited for no time at all, you moved on so easily, you… you just forgot he loved you.

Not that he’d ever said it, but you must have known. The bedroll was even colder than usual as Astarion clung to the one object he found comfort in; kept secreted away amongst his belongings was a shirt of yours he managed to pilfer before his botched confession. By day, it was tucked in his pack, and at night it filled his bedroll beside him. Pulling it into his arms, he inhaled what was left of your scent on it, not that there was much left, and buried his face in the pillow to weep bitter tears.

He emerged the next morning into daylight that no longer held the promise it had so recently. Almost immediately you ran to him, taking your arm in his, giving him a moment of foolish hope. If things had gone badly between you and Halsin, he would rectify his mistake and tell you everything, he swore.

All it took was one look in your eyes to know that hope was in vain. “Astarion, I need to tell you something, and I wanted you to hear it from me first.” You led him away from the rest of the group, almost to the spot where he’d seen you with Halsin. The others pretended not to notice the obvious personal moment occurring a stone's throw away from them.

It was a good thing he'd cried every tear he had last night. “Well go on, darling, don’t keep me in suspense.” He plastered on a grin.

“The thing is,” you looked everywhere but at him, “Halsin and I, well, things happened between us last night, and I think I'd like to pursue whatever this is. It just felt right to tell you first.”

Astarion laughed, a hollow sound to his own ears, but convincing enough for you, it seemed. “My dear, you were worrying yourself about this? Don't vex your pretty little head like that, I don't begrudge your need for intimacy. Even if I fail to understand the appeal of a man who's always going on about enjoying the freedom of nature's gifts.”

“Astarion,” you scolded, but a subtle smile told him you were relieved. “Behave yourself.”

“Let me have a little fun at your expense.” He disentangled his arm from yours, its warmth suddenly smothering. Taking your hand, he kissed it gently. “I'm glad. You deserve to be happy.” That part he did mean, even as he reviled how it was happening. “And I'm sure you and Halsin will be. Don't worry about me.”

Please worry about me. Can't you see how I'm bleeding?

Leaning up, you kissed his cheek, with all the gentleness in the world. “Thank you, Astarion, I'm glad you understand., I'd never want to hurt you.”

From that moment on, you were Halsin's, and Astarion had to grin and pretend to be happy for you. That's what friends were for after all, and you insisted you two were friends. Halsin and you seemed so disgustingly infatuated with each other, he wanted to scream. So naturally he'd assumed you'd be happily headed out on some grand, romantic journey together now that everything had been resolved.

Which was why it startled him to nearly a second death when you burst into his claimed sanctuary, clearly distraught and slamming the door behind you. “I'm sorry… I can't be in there,” you gasped out between sobs.

Tag List:

@micropoe10 @writingmysanity @mxxny-lupin @azu21

@tallymonster @dependsonthedream @sunfire-ancunin

@bambamwolf87 @fayeriess @lumienyx @lisrelly

@elora-the-slutty-songstress @bhaalbaaby @spacebarbarianweird

@satanicspinosaurus @darlingxdragon @wanderingisobel @astarionsbeloved

@vixstarria @claryvoyantfray @icybluepenguin

#bg3 #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x reader #x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #my fanfic #my writing #i should tell you

525 notes · View notes

mistystepmoonbeam · 1 year ago

Text

Reborn into BG3: Chapter 6

You're reborn into BG3 with only the memory of your past life. Now you're Tav's companion on his journey, and must learn about yourself as much as your new reality.

Chapter 6: Astarion is hungry, and why would he feed on a strong barbarian when you're right there?

Word count: 2.3K

Whatever took place at the blighted village exhausted the adventurers. Tav had been able to talk his way around the goblins, but the spiders below the town had given them trouble. You recall your own time defeating the spider matriarch, and her many, many children. Between peeling off the webbing and patching up wounds, they were all ready for rest.

You and Karlach had bought some supplies to feed the group, and she was a lot more handy making a stew than you thought she would be.

There was a strange sense of home as you all ate together, without Astarion who took his meal into his tent and claimed he was going right to sleep. Karlach had booed at him but nobody pressed him to stay longer. You wonder if tonight is the night he’ll try to feed off Tav.

When the night begins to quiet down and most of the companions go to bed you find you can hear a hum in the air. Your ears ring with some kind of energy coming from Tav’s bag. You eye it by his bedroll, unsure if the hum is coming from there or if it’s a trick of echoes between the trees.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” a voice says in your ear. You nearly jump out of your skin and turn to Gale, who’s holding up his hands with an apologetic smile.

“I thought you went to sleep,” you say, hand over your heart.

Tav snickers at your fear, tail flicking in the air.

Gale lets out a small grunt as he sits beside you, one leg bent and the other stretched towards the fire. “The spiders had quite the item in their cave, whether they knew it or not.”

Tav reaches into his bag and pulls out the amethyst stone you know unlocks the necromancer’s book. The hum grows, more of an annoyance in your ear than anything.

“What is it?” you ask.

“I believe it goes into this.” Gale pulls out the Necromancy of Thay from his own pack. The gaping mouth, amethyst eyes, all of it the same. You resist the urge to scoot away, because unlike the stone key, you can’t sense anything from the book. “Astarion was keen on holding onto this which is why I suspect he’s moping in his tent right now.”

You eye the book. “You’re not going to open it, are you?”

“Perhaps another time.” Gale sets the book away, while Tav tosses the amethyst into the air and catches it like a baseball. Gale scolds, “Once again, please do not do that.”

Tav shrugs but stores the stone back in his bag. He yawns and looks towards Shadowheart’s tent as if considering something before excusing himself. Bag in hand, he retreats to his tent. You look between him and Shadowheart’s tent curiously.

“I think he’s worried about her,” Gale tells you, drawing your attention back to him. “It took a lot of her power to heal him from the spiders poison.”

“Ah, right.” She has looked extra weary upon her return. “How are you feeling?”

“While I do look forward to a long rest, I wanted to test you.”

“You’re giving me a pop quiz? But I didn’t even review the syllabus.”

Gale chuckles as he stands. “If you can sense the power from the stone, then I believe you can manipulate the Weave. Come.”

You follow Gale towards his tent but he keeps walking until you two are by the river. With a large moon overhead and fireflies dotting the area you can see better than you thought you should.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to do anything,” you say. There’s an excited twinkle in his eye at the prospect of solving the mystery of your past. As much as you want it to be true, you can’t picture yourself using magic.

Gale smiles at you, like he knows something you don’t. Well, he knows plenty you don’t but it seems like it’s something about you.

“I’m going to channel the Weave,” he says, “and I want you to close your eyes and tell me what you feel.”

You step up beside him, literally nothing to lose. “Should I get the staff Tav gave me?”

“No, I just want you.” Gale lifts his hands to start a spell when he clarifies, “Here. I just want—need you right here without any conduits.”

You bite your cheek to hide the smile at his stammering, and nod. With a tilt of your head left and right to stretch your neck, you close your eyes.

“Now, just tell me what you feel.”

You wait for something to happen, a breeze or a sting on your skin, but even the phantom limb is unperturbed by whatever Gale is doing. You shrug. “Nothing.”

Gale’s voice is distant when he responds. “Reach out with your mind.”

Once upon a time you would have asked how to do that, but now you keep quiet and consider trying to move the phantom limb. It’s right there, a weight on the back of your mind and yet…

You clear your throat, shoulders shifting uncomfortably. It’s heavier now, even without actually trying to use it. The cold fear that settles across your chest pierces deeper than anything you’ve ever felt. Your breath quickens until that cold fear becomes terror wrapped around your heart and you open your eyes, ready to tell Gale you want to stop. But instead of the handsome wizard you find a rotting boar head in front of you, on top of Gale’s body. Maggots fall from its eye sockets and the mouth hangs open with a broken jaw, fur matted with fresh and dry blood alike. It squeals at you as if being skewered alive.

The terror bubbles into your throat until it comes out of your mouth as a shriek.

You shoot up from your bedroll, arms blindly shoving at the dark to get the boar-headed Gale away from you and finding nothing but shadows. You lurch, falling to the side when your hands connect to nothing, heart ablaze with adrenaline as you claw at the blue fabric. It’s too dark in your tent to see anything but out of habit you scramble for your phone, your nightstand, something, anything to light up this small space and assure you there’s no threat.

There’s only the bottom of your staff and at the very least you can swing that around to hit anything that might be near you. And you do swing it. It connects with nothing.

The hanging crystals and bones clatter together when you stop after three swipes. Your chest and shoulders rise and fall heavily with each breath, eyes adjusting to the dark.

You gulp down as much air as possible while trying to calm your body. You’re not just shivering, you're trembling from the residual fear of the dream. But it wasn’t that bad. Really, thinking about it now that you’re awake, it was scary but it wasn’t anything worse than what you’ve had in the past. And it certainly shouldn’t have had you shrieking in the night.

Speaking of…shouldn’t someone have come running by now? You listen to the wind blow through the trees but hear nothing else. No questions about what’s going on, and no Tav rushing to your rescue. Maybe you hadn’t actually screamed? You could have sworn…

You aren’t ready to set down your staff, but you’re far too shaky to go back to sleep. Instead you begin to stand only to see movement out of the corner of your eye. Your body is much slower to react, even when on high alert, and in a flash there’s a hand over your mouth and your back is pressed against a warm chest, both of you still on the ground and your legs tangled in the blanket. The intruder's other hand is wrapped around your own on the staff, ensuring you can’t attack.

Your free hand, still healing, fumbles to free your mouth when you hear a whisper, “Shhh, shh, sh.”

“Mstaeeom?”

“No need to wake up the entire camp,” Astarion says. He snatches the staff from your grip while you’re temporarily stunned and tosses it out of reach. “And no need to bludgeon me, either.”

You let out a deep sigh through your nose and lay a hand over Astarion’s to reassure yourself it’s him. You remember his scent, more woodsy than you thought it would be, and your heart rate begins to calm. When his other arm secures around your middle it reassures you more—the tightness of the hold comforting.

“Are you…are you calming down?” he questions incredulously.

You try to answer but can’t speak clearly with his hand over your mouth. So you shift and try to look at him over your shoulder, pressing yourself further into his chest as your head struggles to turn. You can just make out his chin in the dark when he finally releases your mouth.

“I thought you were Gale with a rotting boar head.”

He squints at you, upper lip curling. “I’ll assume that was the nightmare that had you assaulting the air. But…why are you calm? Shouldn’t you be screaming? Struggling? Calling for the others?”

“Why?” When you attempt to shift forward he doesn’t let you, arm now locked securely around your waist since he’s no longer concerned with you fighting back with the staff.

“Because I’m attacking you.”

“You are?” You turn to get a better look at him but he grabs your chin and faces you forward.

He pauses. “I just need a little of your blood and I’ll be on my way. We don’t need to make a big thing out of it.”

“Blood? Shouldn’t you be going for Tav?”

“Why would I go for the bulky barbarian that’s sleeping out in the open when you’re hidden here, weak and ripe for the plucking?” Astarion begins to shift your head to the right to reveal your neck.

“That’s a good point,” you mumble.

His breath fans over your pulse point, but it isn’t some kind of excited or pleasant exhale. It’s more like disappointment or…exhaustion. And he doesn’t bite you.

“Um, Astarion,” you say.

He’s silent.

“If you’re going to drink my blood can you at least do it from the wrist?”

“What?” His question is just another breath.

“It’ll be easier to conceal marks on the wrist.”

Of all things, Astarion shoves you away. He’s quick to get on his feet and step away from you while you fumble for balance. One slender, pale finger points at you. “What’s your game?”

“Go fish?”

His scowl deepens. Watching him work through the slew of emotions and questions would be entertaining, if not for your own nagging question; why is he upset by this? You offered him your blood just like Tav would. So why didn’t he happily accept and tell you to get comfortable? Wait. Why were you so willing to get comfortable and let him potentially kill you? Let’s lock that thought away until we can find out if therapists exist in this world.

“Sorry,” you say. “I’m not playing a game…I just trust you.”

A truly terrible idea. There’s no guarantee this Astarion is exactly like the game but…

“And I owe you right?” you add. “Feeding on me will just be like clearing my debt.”

Astarion frowns but considers your words. “I suppose this means you know what I am.”

You scratch at the spot on your neck he’d been breathing on. “I might have put it together just now. And you’re a better fighter when you’ve fed, right?”

“Well I don’t need any more convincing,” Astarion says, voice turned that saccharine tone. “Why don’t you get comfortable?”

As he kneels beside you you hold up a hand. “I meant it about the wrist.”

Astarion frowns but nods. You roll up the sleeve of your shirt, holding your arm towards him. He sits, one leg bent so his knee faces upwards and the other lays on the ground. There’s a gentleness as he takes your wrist with both hands, lifting it to his lips. If you could see perfectly in the dark this might have scared you more, but the most you could make out were his eyes watching your skin and then the opening of his mouth.

You feel the sting of his fangs, sinking deeper than any wound you’ve had before. Well, any wrist wound, anyway. You look away, not wanting to stare despite the morbid fascination with the act. And you should be…colder, shouldn’t you? Yes, his fangs do feel like ice is piercing your veins but the rest of you is warm—flushed even. But then your head begins to swim, mind too big for your skull, and you sway.

It’s too hot in that little tent. Too enclosed. You gulp as the nausea curls in your gut, the blood seeping from your wrist that doesn’t get sucked away by the vampire now dripping down your arm.

“Astarion,” you whimper. When you try to pull back your arm he keeps you in place, drinking heavily.

Oh gods, you rolled a one.

“Astarion!” you hiss. It’s enough to take him out of his trance, finally pulling his fangs out of your wrist.

“Wha-oh, yes,” he mutters. You watch him wipe the blood on his chin with his thumb and then lick it off. Had you enough blood in your body and again, the ability to see perfectly in the dark, it might have been lewd. But you have to lie down in hopes of making the world stop spinning.

“That was…” Astarion begins but changes whatever he was going to say. “That was wonderful, thank you. Now, I’m off to find something more…filling.”

You turn your head to him as he steps towards the entrance of your tent. Just as he’s about to open one flap he turns to you. “Are you…all right?”

You give him a thumbs up with your good hand and a yawn. “Don’t put any boars in my tent this time.”

Astarion replies, but you’re already asleep and don’t hear anything else the rest of the night.

Taglist:

@half-poison-and-half-hope @sanscas @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @thequeen-oni @terrenuserinj @straewberrysoda @theomnipotentfox @becksynthetic @quitecontrary-to-mary @furblrwurblr @mega-trash-cringe @fandomsbookclub @dontneedbiologytoadopt @pebble-bb @v3lv3tvampir3 @mrow-kat

#reborn into bg3 #reborn into baldur's gate 3 with no memory and plenty of money #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #bg3 gale #gale dekarios x reader #gale dekarios

171 notes · View notes

alliskit · 5 months ago

Text

BG3 Headcanons Nobody Asked For.

Part 3: Enneagrams.

If you’ve never heard of the Enneagram, it’s a personality type system. You can learn more here.

I love the Enneagram (helped with some serious family healing) because it is in-depth, but I’m gonna to do a little “fly-over” of each type and who I feel best fits each. Feel free to give other types you think each embody!

The layout: Motivations // Core Fears

Enneagram 1: Minthara

Want to be right, to strive higher and improve everything, to be consistent with their ideals, to justify themselves, to be beyond criticism // being corrupted, defective

She is deeply upset that she broke her oath to Lloth, even if it wasn’t her fault.

Instead of seeking Lloth for forgiveness or redemption, she believes that she is too corrupted and would rather be an oath breaker than face her old goddess.

She does not like being wrong

Is often right which justifies her desire to never be seen as wrong

She is organized, orderly, and fastidious; maintains high standards — earned her place as the grey warden

She is critical and perfectionistic (cue my fave companion analysis conversation lol)

When first out of the cult she is moody and angry (and a bit irrational about her vengeance and her circumstances)

As she grows, you get ‘silly’ Minthy, the drow comedienne (“it was a beautiful webbing” lol)

Enneagram 2: Shadowheart

Want to be loved, to express their feelings for others, to be needed and appreciated, to get others to respond to them, to vindicate their claims about themselves // being unwanted, unworthy of love

“My Lady Shar must love me”

Not to mention her feelings of insecurity being reinforced by the stupid rats in shar’s temple: “unworthy!”

She is the mom/nurse companion, thinks her servitude is how she will be wanted

Acts aggressive and stand offish (leaning into 8 stress response) when feeling threatened/angry

She starts off prideful, deceptive, and self-deceptive and grows to be self-sacrificing, nurturing, and generous

As she grows she also becomes more comfortable in herself and finding ways to express herself outside of others (new hair!)

Enneagram 3: Gale

Want to be affirmed, to distinguish themselves from others, to have attention, to be admired, and to impress others // being worthless

50% of romance arch is him trying to impress you so much you pick him despite you consistently romancing other characters

Other 50% is him trying to impress you with trying to be a god so you will stay with him

Someone made him feel worthless as a kid so he summoned a fireball and a tressum and then finally got attention from a goddess so now he has to continue to prove his magic is worthwhile

After being cast out by Mystra, he doesn’t recognize it’s because he basically tried to give her the weaves version of a Trojan horse virus instead of him being “deficient” or a “failure” in some way. Sadly, the dumbest wizard in the realms solidifies this belief by saying “you know where you failed”

He was the definition of apathetic and disengaged the year in isolation (3s need people badly) when he was taken and started healing he embodied what he had always wanted to present: authentic, compassionate, and more easy going.

Ambitious is the name of the game! He would be the god of all 3s.

Enneagram 4: Astarion

Want to express themselves and their individuality, to create and surround themselves with beauty, to maintain certain moods and feelings, to withdraw to protect their self-image, to take care of emotional needs before attending to anything else, to attract a “rescuer” // have no identity or personal significance

Despite having not seen his face in 200 years and having only attention because of it you’d think he rather be ugly so he isn’t used for his body but nope he needs to be reassured that he is in-fact still gorgeous

A terrible combination is a narcissist abuser and a partner who will do anything to hold onto a sliver of themselves

“I called on all the gods but no one answered”; willing to entertain new kinds of slavery (basically prostituting himself to tav from his pov, entertaining Raphael, and the tadpole) if it meant being saved

All about the ✨aesthetic✨

At his worst he does things to manipulate to keep people close (believing they won’t stay otherwise) and is moody and violent (emotional turbulence of getting approvals and disapprovals almost at the same time sometimes lololol)

At his best is balanced, introspective, and vulnerable (vulnerable in a way that's not to garner sympathies/manipulations)

He starts off very hopeless, self-destructive, and very indulgent (has addictive tendencies for coping; Minthy's observation is excellent), taking everything personally and is paranoid

Is a creative (embroiders!)

Enneagram 5: Jaheira

Want to possess knowledge, to understand the environment, to have everything figured out as a way of defending the self from threats from the environment // Being useless, helpless, or incapable

She is epically tired and living in survivor's guilt in a leadership role, so she will seem like an 8 taking charge (this woman is a researcher and explorer with a sense of justice, just take a look around her incredible study!)

Secretive and independent are the titles of a 5 and she embodies both. Once again: her basement lair.

She stuck it out for 20+ years in the Shadowlands because she is a problem solver and won't leave until the problem (Ketheric you wrinkly ass) is solved. (Also someone explain to me how she is gone for 20 years yet 2 little human kids know her like she's their mommy? Come on larian....)

She is high strung and intense, yet an inspiration. There is a reason even Halsin is in awe. She is a force. He had to leave to survive, yet she was the one who found Isobel and created a safe haven. This woman might feel useless and isolated, but she is resourceful.

She is the ultimate defender, which makes her the best Harper. She studies her opponents before she attacks and she uses her warriors like chess pieces who rarely fail. The Harpers are known to be efficient because she is efficient. She wastes no lives. She needs them all.

Enneagram 6: Wyll

Want to have security, to feel supported by others, to have certitude and reassurance, to test the attitudes of others toward them, to fight against anxiety and insecurity // being without support and guidance

They are known for being the ultimate friend and buddy. They are the ride or dies. Wyll is the companions' favorite.

He is engaging not because he was socially trained, he is that way naturally.

He is both rebellious, but also not a risk taker. He defied his father to be warlock, yet won't hop on the tadpole train for power. There has to be a positive payout for the risk.

He can be one the of the most encouraging, but also one of the meanest.

He wants to be recognized. He likes his moniker. He will act like it was gifted to him, but he leans into it and hides behind it arrogantly. ("My friends call me Wyll", so everyone else has to know him as the Blade FIRST.) He thinks it hides his true failure, which is that he has to depend on a devil for any of the power his moniker gives him. ("A story of two men" when you find out he's basically a prince... as if that is a bad thing. Gods. Face palm.)

He is wary of authority figures and most literally chose to be his own authority by becoming the Blade and not the next Ulder.

He is a champion of the people, the bards aren't being paid by his PR team. 6s fight injustices big time. They may not defy EVERY authority, but they will stand up to them to help others (8s take a seat you're coming...)

In a safe space, he is laid back and fun. (Dancing with tav around the fire!)

6s do a really good job at saving face during stress, even if they are crumbling inside. (He totally is and I highly suggest you don't let his dad die.)

Enneagram 7: Karlach

Want to maintain their freedom and happiness, to avoid missing out on worthwhile experiences, to keep themselves excited and occupied, to avoid and discharge pain // being deprived and in pain

Karlach wants to taste, touch, see, smell, and hear everything life has to offer.

Getting trapped in Avernus was literal hell for her. It is an empty place where she was on a leash. Getting to literally touch grass is life-giving.

She can endure a lot, but if she could just turn it off, she would.

Her screaming "I'M FREE" even if Zariel is hunting her (versus Astarion's constant paranoia despite also being free)

She struggles with impatience and impulsiveness. She literally runs from her fears.

With growth she leans into true contentment, even if it means living in Avernus.

She is overtly optimistic even in the face of death (would rather die than go back to Avernus and is willing to back it up with wanting to use her time left to live to the fullest even tadpoled)

Enneagram 8: Lae’zel

Want to be self-reliant, to prove their strength and resist weakness, to be important in their world, to dominate the environment, and to stay in control of their situation // being harmed or controlled by others

Unlike Minthara who knows she has weaknesses, but has to overcome them, Lae'zel believes that she has to do everything to never be weak. She can't abide weakness.

Githyanki are conquerors and she must dominate all her foes and cirmcumstances.

They fight against oppressors (ghaik) to stay in control. She will fight Vlakkith once she realizes her queen is just another controlling oppressor.

You have to roll a wisdom or persuasion check to get her to be vulnerable or else she's not unless you're romancing her. And to romance her, you have to let her dominate you or you show your dominance. Literally.

She keeps things close to the chest until her proverbial armor begins to melt after the incident at the creche. She is terrified underneath it all. She is about to become the thing she hates most and her own people would rather kill her. She is no longer worthy of being alive. She stood her ground and made her place in pursuit of becoming one of the greatest only to be made weakest by the tadpole.

She starts off being completely self-interested and isn't willing to help others, but by the end, she is using her talents and self-confidence to save her people and the Sword Coast (she deserves a line like Shadowheart about "you know who I never cared about? Desperate people.")

Enneagram 9: Halsin

Want to create harmony in their environment, to avoid conflicts and tension, to preserve things as they are, to resist whatever would upset or disturb them // Of loss and separation

When asked if he will miss being First Druid and his answer is "Gods no!" is on brand 9. They make fantastic leaders, yet would rather not deal with the politics of it all.

He, like Karlach, is a runner. Even though he wrapped his avoidance in a "I must cure the shadowlands" bow, he saw a chance to get out of the Enclave's issues he felt he couldn't fix to go somewhere he felt he would be needed more.

A big complaint of Kagha's is that Halsin was inattentive. He was disengaged. He was clocked out internally while trying to give everyone what they wanted to "keep the peace". Only 4 other druids in the busy grove are against Kagha on this.

He defers responsibilities to have his own peace. He asks a lot of the companions for his own quest, while not joining them on theirs (I know this is a Larian issue, but there are so many lines with Halsin that are "Wait, why am I doing this for you?" and "Is he finally joining us?" indicating he was just chilling while the rest adventured)

He spends most of Act 2 trying to make up for a major loss. He clings to tav because he doesn't want to lose them too. The more he grows with the group, the more autonomous and self-assured he gets. Especially after reuniting with Thaniel.

He becomes one of the best and beloved companions as he heals: 'Optimistic, reassuring, supportive: have a healing and calming influence—harmonizing groups, bringing people together: a good mediator, synthesizer, and communicator.'

I know I left Minsc out but he’s a 7 from what I can tell! He’s a fun add on companion, but I’m going to omit him from this line up.

This was A LOT. But such food for thought. Thank you for enduring my mindFULL imaginings this time. This could have been so much more detailed but it's already so long.

#enneagram #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 headcanons #astarion #karlach #gale dekarios #shadowheart #laezel #minthara baenre #wyll ravengard #halsin #jaheira

28 notes · View notes

optimisticgrey · 4 days ago

Text

The Vanishing of Celeste Dekarios, Part 4 - Celeste

summary: Celeste is missing and reviewing one of her favorite memories.

author's note: AO3 has been unlocked. The story can be read without an account :-)

Theme song: Frederik Wiedmann - A Song of Love and Loss

darling tags: @astarioffsimpmain @whiskeyskin @enbyofwaterdeep @monowires @rdekarios (let me know, if you want to be on/off this list)

divider by @strangergraphics

content warning: This scene contains descriptions of torture, phsycial abuse, bodily harm, dissociation, graphic violence and a lot of pain. Please proceed with caution!

word count: 5,1k

Start at the beginning

AO3 Link

Celeste had always pride herself on her wit and adaptability. Her strengths were not measured in the traditional brilliance of scholars or the raw power of wizards but in the more subtle arts of survival and persuasion. She excels in the spaces between where intuition and instinct reigned.

Not in the same league as Gale’s brilliance, of course. His academic rigor, his unyielding curiosity, and his unmatched mastery of the Weave places him in a category all his own. Watching him lecture on the intricacies of magic or lose himself in unravelling some arcane enigma is witnessing the inner workings of the cosmos. He isn’t merely clever; he is extraordinary, a man who can hold entire rooms captive with the force of his intellect.

But Celeste had never envied him for it. She admires him deeply, respects him even more, and loves him. Yet, that admiration comes with a quiet understanding that they are different creatures, shaped by different paths and different kinds of knowledge. He would never speak in the same language of the arcane with the ease and confidence she does, nor could she debate the finer points of planar theory without significant preparation.

Still, she had considered herself clever in her own way. Her gifts lie elsewhere.

Celeste thrive in the unpredictable. She reads people like others read books, deciphering unspoken words in a glance, understanding motivations from a single hesitation. Where Gale’s brilliance illuminates the mysteries of magic, hers illuminate the complexities of people—their desires, their fears, their secrets.

She had built her life on that ability, navigating the intricate webs of relationships that often ensnared others. Knowing just when to push and when to pull had saved her life more than once. Whether coaxing vital information from an unwilling source or diffusing a volatile situation with the perfect blend of charm and wit, Celeste had always trusted in her own resourcefulness.

Her adaptability wasn’t merely a survival skill; it is a part of who she is. On the road with their companions, it had allowed her to bridge the gaps between their wildly different personalities. She had soothed Astarion’s sharp edges, balanced Lae’zel’s ferocity, drawn out Shadowheart’s quieter confidence, and offered Halsin a steady presence amid his own doubts.

But Gale had challenged her in ways no one else had. Not because he doubts her abilities but because he inspires her to see herself through his eyes. To him, she wasn’t just adaptable; she was exceptional. She wasn’t simply clever; she was brilliant in her own right.

Yet here she was. Beaten, battered, and imprisoned in a dungeon that reeks of death and despair. How it had come to this eluded her entirely. Or at least, that was what she is telling herself.

In what she had considered to be her new life in Waterdeep, she worked with Harpers, rubbed shoulders with the Zhentarim, and lent her talents to those who operate in the shadows between law and order. She became adept at bribing the right officials, slipping the perfect charm into the right hands, or offering well-timed favours.

Her tasks had never felt like they crossed a line she couldn’t stomach. Smuggling untaxed alcohol? Hardly a moral quandary. It had even netted her a crate of very rare 50-year-old Waterdhavian whiskey she stashed in their wine cellar, a secret gift for Gale. She had drawn her boundaries clearly: no slave trade, no war profiteering, no wet work and certainly no dealing in artifacts too dangerous to be unleashed on the world. No one was to use her last name, if they even knew it. That had been one of Celeste’s firmest rules, a line drawn so clearly it needed no explanation. Even before she had met Gale, she had made it a habit to obscure her identity, slipping into different roles, adopting false names like second skins. It was a skill born of necessity, a safeguard to ensure that no one connected her present to the darkness of her past.

After marrying Gale, her precautions doubled. He bore the name Dekarios with pride, a legacy that spoke of nobility, intellect, and purpose. It was a name revered in circles of academia and magic, one that opened doors and inspired awe. Celeste could not bear the thought of tainting it with the weight of her own history or, worse, dragging him into the shadows she sometimes treaded for her hobbies. Those quiet but dangerous ventures she pursued out of necessity or some unspoken compulsion.

The thought of involving him or even allowing the Dekarios name to brush against the edges of her clandestine activities, was unthinkable. Celeste had kept that part of her life carefully partitioned, a separate existence where her face was hidden, her voice altered, and her presence untraceable.

In those moments, she was no one. A shadow among shadows. The only rule she held to more fiercely than concealing her identity was that nothing, not a single thread, could lead back to Gale.

It wasn’t fear for herself that drove her, but a fierce, unrelenting need to protect him. She couldn’t bear the idea of his reputation being questioned, his safety being compromised, or his trust in her being broken. Gale’s world was one of integrity and open-hearted brilliance, and she refused to let her darker ventures cast even a fleeting shadow over it.

She had never told him what she was doing when he was lecturing at the Academy and he didn’t ask. For Gale’s sake, and for the sake of the life they were building together, it was better that some secrets remained buried.

Until those secrets got her caught.

Celeste had been as cautious as possible. Every plan meticulously constructed, every step taken with precision. Yet caution could only stretch so far when dealing with the Zhentarim—a web of opportunists and schemers always seeking their next angle.

The invitation had come from Aris, a sharp-tongued but tenacious halfling woman with a reputation for resilience and a rare appreciation for honesty. Celeste had been wary of her at first; Aris had an unerring ability to see through pretence, and that kind of clarity was dangerous for someone with secrets to keep.

Aris had figured out who Celeste was. The halfling’s initial inquiries into her identity had led nowhere—Celeste had seen to that. Other trusted people had reported back to her, even the Harpers warned her at some point. But Aris was not one to give up.

Celeste had taken every precaution she could think of. She had rented a modest apartment in a very busy part of town, next to The Gray Serpent. A luxurious club whose back door she accessed through a quiet arrangement with the owner. A few carefully placed bribes—luxury goods like fine tobacco and restricted spirits—had ensured her access. The plan was simple: she would enter the apartment, shed her spells and disguises, change into elegant attire, move over to the club and leave through the opulent front entrance of The Gray Serpent, wearing her own face.

How exactly Aris had pieced the puzzle together, Celeste couldn’t say. She had varied her times, her routes, outfits and faces - everything. Yet one night, as Celeste emerged from the grand doors of The Gray Serpent, she found Aris waiting for her. The halfling’s knowing smirk told Celeste everything before a single word was spoken.

Aris had approached carefully, her tone casual but her intent clear. She offered her knowledge as an opportunity, not a threat. Celeste had braced herself for blackmail or demands, but instead, Aris had surprised her.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Aris had declared, matter-of-factly. “I want nothing in return.”

Celeste had laughed at the absurdity of it. “This information is very valuable to the right people,” she had countered. “And you’re not pressing it?”

“No,” Aris had replied, her voice steady. “I want to work with you. People I respect and trust speak highly of your talents. Besides, you’re selective. You deal with Harpers, even train them, but you don’t meddle in the City Watch or politics. There are certain lines you do not cross and you are more than careful. One might even say paranoid. I can respect that.”

Their partnership had been forged over long days of negotiation and nights softened by fine liquor and shared pipes. Aris offered protection from the darker forces lurking in Waterdeep’s shadows. In return, she asked only for small favours. Of course she did. Minor interventions, such as listening to the right people or leaving the right door unlocked. In return, she paid in Celeste’s most beloved currency: favours.

Celeste had hesitated. She knew the risks of entangling herself with someone as connected and shrewd as Aris. But the promise of shielding Gale from her hidden world outweighed her doubts. His safety, his future, was more important than any moral line she might be tempted to draw.

And so, she had agreed. The problems started to pile up, when she crosses paths with Silas.

Silas was an unimposing man, frail in build. His head was perpetually shaved, giving his pale scalp an odd sheen under certain lights. His small, rat-like eyes darted nervously, yet there was something unsettling in their sharpness.

Celeste had first encountered Silas indirectly, overhearing his name during a whispered conversation in one of the Zhentarim's covert hideouts. The place was masked as an amusement house, a popular venue for illicit deals cloaked in laughter and music. She had been playing there that evening, her bardic charm drawing the crowd's attention and loosening a few tongues. After she had had a beer, knowing Gale would be home late and it was time to go, snippets of conversation reached her trained ears. Silas’s name had come up alongside mentions of debts and disappearances.

But Celeste had chosen not to pry. She knew better than to stick her nose too deep into Zhentarim business, especially without Aris’s explicit approval. Whatever dealings involved Silas were none of her concern. She left the conversation in the shadows where it belonged and carried on with her life.

Until she woke up in a cell, shackled to a chair. Instinctively, she reached for her magic but it didn’t answer. For the first time in her life, her blood was quiet. Nothing to call to. No answer. She tried again and again before realizing her head only hurt more. The shackles. Adamatium, or worse.

The realization hit her at once, the metallic bite of the cuffs cutting into her wrists as she shifted in the dim light. The air was damp, thick with the scent of mildew and rust, and her head throbbed from whatever had knocked her unconscious. She forced herself to stay calm, to assess.

Definitely a cell, in a basement or window less room. It was small, two walls made of rough stone, the other rusty and old prison bars. The only light came from a single lantern hanging near the door. A table sat against the far wall, cluttered with tools she didn’t want to think too hard about.

Her mind raced. How had this happened? She had taken every precaution, hadn’t she? Then, through the haze of her thoughts, she heard footsteps. The sound of boots striking the stone floor sent a shiver down her spine.

The door creaked open, and Silas stepped inside.

“Ah, the infamous mystery lady,” he said, his voice high-pitched but oily, like a venomous serpent coiled and ready to strike. “I was beginning to think Aris’s golden girl was untouchable.”

Celeste clenched her jaw, forcing her expression into one of defiance. This small, unimportant man dared to touch her. Dared to take her. He would pay for it. She would make sure of that.

“You must have mistaken me for someone else,” she replied evenly, her voice firm. “I don’t know who you think I am.”

Silas chuckled, a low, mocking sound that slithered through the air and sent a shiver down her spine.

“Oh, no mistake,” he smiled, leaning in so close she could smell the faint tang of iron on his breath. “You’ve been a thorn in my side for months, even if you remained unaware. You think you can waltz into our world, play your little games, and not draw attention? Darling, you’ve been had my attention for far too long.”

Her mind worked furiously, scrambling for an angle, a tactic to manipulate or stall. She needed time, clarity, anything to turn this situation to her advantage. But Silas seemed to see right through her, his rat-like eyes narrowing in satisfaction.

“Don’t bother,” he said, his tone sharpening into a blade of malice. “I don’t know who you are yet, but we will find out.”

His grin widened, exposing crooked teeth as he stepped back, arms crossed as though he were appraising her.

“We shall find out. And when we do,” he continued, his voice turning almost sing-song, “well, let’s just say it will be… enlightening.”

And then… nothing.

No interrogation. No questions. No cruel laughter echoing down the hall, no threats murmured through the bars.

Just silence. Dense, impenetrable silence that pressed against her mind.

Celeste waited.

And waited.

At first with suspicion, every breath drawn sharp, every sound dissected for meaning. A door creak might be a footstep. A shuffle in the walls, a spell being woven. She kept herself ready—shoulders tense, hands curled to fists, heart hammering its rhythm of survival.

Then came something colder. Not fear, exactly. That had burned itself out in the first stretch of solitude. What remained was the hollow after—dread, maybe. Or numbness. The kind that creeps in like fog, curling around the bones and whispering: this is it. This is all there is now.

She had expected something. Interrogation. Magic. Pain, probably. Some attempt to drag her secrets into the light, to crack her open and pick apart what made her her—a Bhaalspawn, a weapon, a mistake. But no one came.

No one ever came.

Time became elastic in the nothingness. It stretched and bent, looped back on itself until even the rhythm of her breath felt unmoored. She stopped counting the hours, then the days. There was no meaning in them.

Her only company were the rats. A small, scrabbling colony that skittered through cracks in the walls and circled her warily. She couldn’t speak to them—her magic was gone—but they seemed to delight in her helplessness. Tiny teeth scraped against her skin, nipped at her ankles, gnawed at her toes while she tried to sleep. She learned quickly not to sleep too deeply.

The glyphs carved into the walls had long since gone dark. Once, they had glowed faintly, casting shifting shapes across the stone. She had stared at them for hours, maybe days, tracing their patterns with her eyes like they were constellations, like they might offer some kind of meaning. But that light was gone now too. As if even the Weave had withdrawn from her.

The days—or weeks or months—blurred. Her mind wandered in strange, spiraling loops. Sometimes she spoke aloud, just to hear her own voice. Sometimes she screamed, just to break the silence. And sometimes she sat still, unmoving, for hours, breathing in the same stale air and wondering whether she existed at all.

Meals arrived with quiet regularity, though they hardly deserved the name. A bowl of lukewarm broth that barely clung to the memory of flavour. A piece of fruit, soft, bruised, not yet rotting. Once or twice, a crust of stale bread and a sliver of dry cheese, the kind Gale would grimace at with theatrical disdain. Always water, never anything else.

The tray would be slid in and taken away without a word, without so much as a shadow crossing her door. It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t good, but it kept her alive. Barely. Long enough to start wondering if that was the whole point. Not to hurt her, not to break her. Just to keep her here. Waiting. Empty.

Nothing happened.

And it kept not happening for so long that even the silence began to feel sentient. It pressed in from every direction—thick, heavy, aware. Like it was watching her. Measuring her. Or perhaps just ignoring her entirely.

Long enough that she began to wonder if she’d been forgotten.

Or worse—if she was never meant to be remembered at all.

Continue on AO3

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #ao3 fanfiction #gale dekarios fanfic #oc: celeste #song of love and loss #gale dekarios x oc

8 notes · View notes

mybloodystarlight · 1 year ago

Text

Dark Justiciar Shadowheart // Gale the God of Ambition // Vampire Ascendant Astarion

Richard Siken, “War of the Foxes” // Tory Adkisson, “Anecdote of the Pig”

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur’s gate iii #bg3 spoilers #baldur’s gate 3 spoilers #astarion #astarion ancunin #Shadowheart #gale dekarios #Gale bg3 #jenevelle hallowleaf #bg3 bad endings #web weave #intertextuality

2K notes · View notes

kyberphilosopher · 11 months ago

Text

Tenebrous

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

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

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

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

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

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

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

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

She opens them.

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

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

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

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

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

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

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

Shadowheart obeyed.

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

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

Shadowheart obeyed.

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

Luckily, there is always you.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

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

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

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

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

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

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

The holy warrior looks at you sharply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

#fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 shadowheart #baldurs gate 3 shadowheart x reader #baldurs gate 3 shadowheart imagines #shadowheart x reader #shadowheart imagine #shadowheart imagines #shadowheart fanfiction #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fic #dark justiciar shadowheart #dark justiciar shadowheart x reader #x reader

34 notes · View notes

thats-a-lot-of-cortisol · 1 year ago

Text

I've been chewing on what fears the bg3 characters would be because I do that with almost every piece of media I like now.

Gale is the Beholding (hubris, pursuit of knowledge above all else, his ex can literally see everything he does in/with the Weave). You could make an argument for Desolation b/c of the orb but I think that's secondary. Wyll is the Hunt imo, but the Desolation works for him too- I think his situation is similar to that Hunter we meet whose name I'm forgetting, whose inciting incident has to do with the Dark. I thought the same thing about Karlach but I think she's Desolation instead of Hunt, both aesthetically and because she was actively betrayed and is, you know, dying. Shadowheart is the Dark. Halsin could honestly be the Lonely: he's pretty isolated from the people around him emotionally. An island unto himself etc etc. Lae'zel is the End imo. You'd think she'd be Hunt but End fits into Vlaakith's whole deal (victim of the End, avatar of the Hunt?). Astarion could be either the Buried (since that covers abuse as well, he was literally kept underground/out of the sunlight, etc etc) or the Hunt. I'm a bit undecided there. I don't know enough about Minthara to make a call on her and I don't want to just say Web because of Lolth. Slaughter, maybe? Since that fear covers war. Jaheira and Minsc are Hunt too, I think (there's a lot of Hunt but that comes with the territory when you're adventuring).

Gortash is Web and you cannot convince me otherwise. I think Orin is Slaughter but, honestly, Durge seems more associated with the Extinction to me because of Bhaal's end goal. The Desolation and the Lonely tag-teamed Ketheric's ass but he's an avatar of the End. Dame Aylin is an avatar of the Hunt, victim of the Dark, and Isobel is an avatar of the End a la the main End avatar we see (Oliver? I really need to re-listen...)

There's obviously a lot of overlap and bleed because there always is. I've been wanting to make art based off of this but it's not happening anytime soon so I figured I'd shout about it into the void a bit lol

#as far as tavs go:#dora is probably hunt? unclear #peri's stranger #corentin specifically is slaughter even though i know i said durge was extinction #candor is web tbh but a victim of the vast #io is...none? honestly? they were just a Normal Person before pre-tadpole #luka's end obviously #undecided about solace. theyre a victim of/marked by slaughter & desolation even though theyre a tempest cleric #buried? perhaps? im chewing on beholding for them too b/c of reasons i cant quite articulate rn #anyway #my post #jay rambles #bg3 #bg3 companions #bg3 characters #the magnus archives #tma #i dont think orins stranger despite being a changeling because that just enhances her killing #like. nicola's pretty damn murderous too but that's just bc she is #while orin uses her shapeshifting as a tool to kill *better*#idk if that makes sense #dribbles is stranger though (the real one AND the doppleganger. dont trust clowns kids)

27 notes · View notes

lendeah · 1 year ago

Text

After the Weave 5.

series masterlist

Summary: As they search for clues among the nobility's estates, the group struggles under the weight of their investigation into the murder of the Duke. In the dark and winding halls of the Crimson Palace, Astarion and Elara become caught up in a tangled web of feelings and yearnings, heightened by an impending private meeting that holds the potential to alter everything.

Pairing: Astarion x OFC!Tav, past Gale x OFC!Tav

Tags: Angst, Drinking to Cope, References to Depression, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Emotional Baggage, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Post-Break Up, Tav finds herself again with Astarion, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD.

Word count: 5.1k

Also on AO3

note: *Insert evil laughter*

We all stand in the dimly lit hallway, both Astarion and I sobering up after a long night. Exhaustion weighs heavily on my body, as I haven't slept in nearly two days. Even Astarion looks drained, his usual charm overshadowed by pronounced dark circles under his eyes.

"We had nothing to do with the Duke's death," I say, "We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Shadowheart's expression remains stoic, "We know that," she says calmly. "But to everyone else, you are the only vampire present and therefore an easy target for blame. They will come after both of you if we don't act soon."

I let out a defeated sigh, feeling overwhelmed and exhausted beyond measure. "I agree, but can we please discuss this tomorrow? I fear I may collapse from exhaustion at any moment."

"Tsk'va, you've grown considerably feeble since the last time we stood together in battle," Lae'zel says with a disapproving scowl.

Thankfully, Shadowheart nods in understanding. "Of course, we can continue this discussion tomorrow when you are both well-rested."

The gith groans at this, clearly disappointed. The three of us turn to Astarion, his nervous demeanor palpable as he clears his throat. His eyes dart between Lae'zel and me before finally settling on Shadowheart, who stands regally across from him. "Ahem... did you intend on spending the night here?" he asks tentatively.

Lae'zel arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "What does it look like?"

He quickly plasters on a charming smile. "Of course, sorry, my dear Lae'zel. You and Shadowheart are always welcome in my humble abode." He paused for a moment before adding, "The thing is... all of my bedchambers are currently occupied."

My own eyebrows furrow in disbelief. "In a palace?!"

Astarion coughs awkwardly. "Well, yes, you see... Cazador didn't have many visitors, so the place didn't need that many bedchambers and possesses, in fact, only three. The three main rooms are all taken and the rest are being used by our servants, so..."

Shadowheart exchanged a doubtful look with Lae'zel before turning her steely gaze towards me. "I suppose I could make do with the floor for one night," she stated stoically, though I could sense an underlying weariness in her voice.

Lae'zel folds her arms across her chest, clearly not pleased with the idea. "I will not sleep on the floor like some dog," she declares firmly.

Astarion's red eyes flicker between the three of us, his mind working rapidly to come up with a solution. I can practically see the gears turning in his head as he weighs his options. Finally, he speaks up, "Well, the beds are big enough. We could always share."

I can feel my cheeks heating up at Astarion's suggestion, the memories of our encounter in the basement flooding back to me. I glance over at him and see a playful glint in his eyes. I then consider the idea of sharing a room with Shadowheart and shudder inwardly, things are still definitely too tense to share that kind of space. Shadowheart seems equally uncomfortable with the idea, shifting on her feet and avoiding eye contact.

And Lae'zel...well, as much as I love her she has always been uncomfortable to be around, even without sharing a bed.

"Well, you two could take my room and I can sleep somewhere else," I offer.

Shadowheart and Lae'zel both look at me with surprise, as if they weren't expecting me to offer my own bedchamber.

"Oh, how noble of you, my dear," Astarion says with a sly grin. "I had no idea you were so selfless."

I roll my eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. "It's not like I have anything valuable in there anyway."

Lae'zel snorts in disbelief. "And where will you sleep then?"

Astarion speaks up before I can answer. "With me, obviously."

I can feel my cheeks heating up at the thought and quickly jump in. "Not in a million years. I'll just take a blanket and sleep on the floor somewhere else."

Astarion's grin widens, and of course he is enjoying my discomfort. "Oh come now, it won't be that bad. We've shared a bedroll before."

I quickly respond, "You were only resting momentarily while you fed, not sleeping."

"Details," Astarion shrugs nonchalantly.

Shadowheart clears her throat, drawing our attention back to her, "There's no need to go to such lengths. We'll find another solution."

Astarion chuckles. "Oh come on, let's not make this any more uncomfortable than it already is. I'm sure we can all handle sharing a bed for one night."

The exhaustion grips me with unrelenting force, and I simply cannot summon the energy to refute him any further. The other two women seem to think the same thing, as they remain silent.

With Astarion in the lead, we navigate through the grand hallways of the castle until we reach my bedroom. I can sense Lae'zel and Shadowheart's tension as they say their goodbyes before disappearing into my room, leaving me alone with Astarion. As he steps into the doorway of his adjoining room, a sly grin crosses his face, making me feel uneasy.

"Shall we?" He gestures towards his door.

I hesitate for a moment before following him inside. As we enter, my breath catches at the sheer beauty of it all. The room is dimly lit by candles, giving it an intimate and cozy atmosphere. Every wall is alive with vibrant tapestries, each depicting scenes of nature and mythology in intricate detail. The paintings are so lifelike, it feels as if I could reach out and touch the creatures within them. Bookshelves line one side of the room, every shelf overflowing with an array of tomes. It reminds me of my own room but on a much grander scale. The bed itself is a massive piece of furniture, fit for royalty. Its four posts stand tall and regal, draped in luxurious fabrics that cascade to the floor. As we make our way towards it, I can't help but notice how soft and inviting it looks to my tired body.

Astarion nonchalantly removes his shirt and pants, and I turn away in a fluster, feeling my cheeks grow warm. I realize with dread that I have left my sleepwear in the other room, leaving me with the option of either sleeping in my undergarments or the extremely uncomfortable gown. After hesitating for a moment, I attempt to strip down to my lingerie. However, the intricate design of my dress makes it impossible for me to undo the tightly-laced corset on my own. After struggling for some time, I let out a defeated sigh. It seems like fate is working against me tonight.

"Can you help me?" I ask, looking back at Astarion, who is now perched on the bedframe looking at me with amusement.

He quirks an eyebrow "I would rather watch you struggling for a little while longer, but thanks for asking."

I groan and turn away from him and focus all my energy on trying to loosen the ties.

Astarion chuckles and I can't help but admire his naked form as he stands up from the bed frame. His body is toned and strong, his skin radiating a soft glow in the dimness of the room. My heart races at the sight, and I'm sure he can hear it too. He walks over to stand behind me, close enough that I can feel his breath on my neck. "Let me help you with that," he murmurs, close to my ear.

As he works, I can feel his cold fingers brushing against my skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. When Astarion finishes loosening the ties on my corset, a sense of relief washes over me. I quickly turn around and take a step back, trying to put some distance between us.

"Thank you," I say, avoiding eye contact.

Astarion smiles knowingly and takes a step closer.

"My pleasure," he says, his voice low and husky.

I quickly strip off the rest of my dress and slip under the covers. His gaze lingers on me for a moment before he turns away to blow out the candles, leaving us in a dimly lit room.

"You take the bed," Astarion offers, throwing himself onto a nearby chair.

His offer shocks me. I dread the thought of sharing a bed with him, but I also feel guilty about kicking him out of his own bed.

"What are you talking about?"

"It's not like I will sleep much anyway, it doesn't matter to me," he says with a nonchalant shrug.

"No, I can't let you do that. There's plenty of room for both of us in here. You're not sleeping on a chair in your own room."

Astarion stays silent for a moment before his lips curve into a mischievous smirk as he stands up from the chair.

"Oh, darling, if you insist..." he says, crawling into the bed next to me.

As he eases into the spot beside mine, I can sense his presence even with the ample space between us. I lay in the bed, my heart still racing from Astarion's closeness. I try to focus on calming my mind and finding some comfort in sleep. Astarion stays quiet beside me, his fake breathing even and calm.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to clear my mind of any thoughts about him. But again, all I see is Astarion's eyes as he looked at me in the basement, full of desire, his hand wandering on my thigh and his lips teasing against mine... I sigh defeatedly and turn to face him, my eyes finally meeting his. The intensity of his gaze takes my breath away, and for a moment, I forget everything else.

"What are you doing?" I whisper, trying not to let my voice betray the fluttering feeling in my stomach.

"I can't sleep," he says simply. "Your heart is beating too loudly."

I swallow nervously and try to calm myself down. "I...I can't help it," I murmur.

Astarion shifts closer to me. "It's quite distracting," he says with a chuckle. "Is it because of what happened before?"

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks once again at the memory of our encounter in the basement.

"I was drunk," I say, hoping to brush off the subject.

Astarion is silent for a few beats and then asks. "Do you regret it?"

I'm caught off guard by the question. "I..." I trail off, unsure of how to answer. Part of me regrets giving into my desires and touching him that way, but another part of me can't help but feel constantly drawn to him.

His voice dropped to a seductive whisper. "I have no regrets, my dear." he admits, "But let's be clear, this is not a marriage proposal. I believe in granting you the freedom to indulge in your desires without any obligations or attachments, if that is what you wish."

Astarion's words linger in the air between us and I can feel my heart racing at the implications. Does he really mean what I think he means? Is this just a game to him or does he truly want me?

"Are you suggesting a... casual arrangement?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I try to steady my racing heart.

Astarion hesitates for a moment before answering, "Why not?" His voice is so soft it's nearly drowned out by the rustling of the sheets. "We both have needs. It's no crime to fulfill them."

His words strangely make sense. Yet, something within me recoils at the idea.

How can I feel this way about Astarion? He's been my friend and companion for quite long. The thought of us being anything more than that never crossed my mind, especially with Gale in the picture. Plus, I've always believed in true love, and the idea of giving myself to someone without an emotional connection scares me. But lately, there have been moments of intense chemistry and longing between us, making everything so complicated and conflicting.

"I... I need time to think about it," I say, my voice trembling slightly.

Astarion nods, his expression unreadable in the darkness. "By all means, my dear. Take all the time you need."

I let out a shaky breath and nod. I need to figure out my feelings and make a decision without any pressure.

The weight of silence is now heavy between us as we lay in the dark, our breaths creating the only audible sound in the room. The air felt charged with unsaid words and unspoken desires. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, before breaking the peace.

"For me, it helps when someone touches my hair," he says suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"When I'm restless at night, I find it quite pleasurable when someone plays with my hair. Perhaps you could, you know... give it a try?"

His words catch me off guard, causing my mind to scramble for a response. But exhaustion weighs heavily on my body and I am desperate for any kind of comfort.

After a brief pause, I find myself nodding. Immediately, he wraps his arms around me, and a sense of calm washes over me. I hug his torso, relishing the touch of his bare skin against mine. I thought this would be uncomfortable after what just happened, but it feels natural, almost familiar. Astarion's fingers begin to comb through my hair, sending tingles down my spine as I melt into his touch, allowing the weariness to gradually fade away. I bury my nose in his neck, and he smells so warm despite his cold skin. He continues this for a few minutes until I am on the brink of sleep.

His voice breaks through my drowsiness, whispering into my hair. "Asleep already?"

I keep my eyes closed and keep quiet, hoping he will stop talking. However, after a few seconds, he continues. "Do you know how I found out about this?"

My heart quickens, but I remain still, giving no indication of being awake. "It was during those nights at camp when you let me feed from you," he continues in a hushed voice. "Your delicate fingers would always comb through my hair, making it nearly impossible for me to stay awake."

My cheeks flush with embarrassment and I resist the urge to snuggle into his chest to hide my blush. He keeps threading his fingers through my strands. "But tonight, rest assured, my love. It is your turn to relax and allow me to take care of you," he murmurs tenderly.

Despite my attempts to stifle my emotions, I can't help but smile at his words, feeling a flutter in my chest. His touch is surprisingly soothing and soon enough, I find myself drifting off to sleep.

------------✧♡✧-------------

The sound of birds chirping outside the window startles me awake, and for a split second, I can't remember where I am. But then I see the empty space next to me and remember last night. Was it all just a dream? A twinge of disappointment hits me in the gut.

I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, squinting against the dawn light piercing through the curtains. The smell of Astarion still lingers on the pillow next to mine, a teasing reminder that last night was indeed real.

I glance down at my underwear and realize I have nothing decent to wear for the morning. In a rush, I jump out of bed and make my way over to the wardrobe in the corner of the room. It's much bigger than mine and filled with expensive, high-quality clothing. My eyes scan through the options, hoping to find something that will fit me. Eventually, I settle on a simple white shirt and a pair of elegant pants that are slightly too tight around my thighs. It's not ideal, but it will do until I can retrieve my own clothes. I quickly braid my fiery curls and slip out of the room towards my own quarters.

I rap my knuckles against the thick wooden door, and a low murmur of voices drifts out from within. "Enter," Shadowheart's voice calls out. I press my hand to the cool metal handle and push open the door, feeling a rush of anticipation. As I step inside, my eyes widen in surprise at the unexpected company. Shadowheart stands by the window, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Next to her is Lae'zel, her imposing figure taking up most of the small room. Across from them sit Astarion and Dalyria, both with serious expressions on their faces as they engage in a heated debate. The group is hanging around a desk, studying a map spread out in front of them.

Shadowheart turns to look at me, her expression unreadable. "Good morning," she greets me curtly.

"Morning," I reply, unsure of what to do next.

As I awkwardly hover in the doorway, Astarion's gaze flickers to me, and then my clothes. His smirk widens, and he leans back in his chair. "Well, you look positively ravishing in my clothes," he says with a playful tone. I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks as the others turn to stare at us curiously.

"It's not like I had much choice." I retort.

His gaze gleams, following the contours of my figure and settling on my thighs, and a hint of hunger swirls inside.

I shift uncomfortably, pulling at the too-tight fabric of the pants. He grins wider, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

"Well, it's a good thing I have impeccable taste then," he says with a wink.

I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the flutters in my stomach at his teasing.

"Enough banter," Lae'zel interrupts. "We have more important matters to discuss."

I nod, grateful for the change in subject, and walk over to the desk to glance at the maps, trying to make sense of the markings and symbols scattered across them.

Dalyria notices my confusion and points to a spot. "We are currently here," she gestures, "and we suspect the spawn have been hiding in this location for the past few months. The circles surrounding it indicate where the murders have taken place."

I nod my head slowly. "But the location of the Duke's murder was far from there."

"Not only that, but how did they get to murder a well-protected and connected member of the nobility in a ball full of people?" Shadowheart chimes in.

"That's what we're trying to figure out," says Dalyria, her brows knitted into a frown. "The Duke was well-guarded and his estate is heavily fortified. If no one caught them in the act, it means the murderer knew his way around. Which also means, everything was previously planned."

Astarion leans in closer to examine the map and speaks up, "So, the mastermind is someone close to the Duke while this spawn is the actual murderer."

A hush falls over the group as we all consider this possibility. A traitor within the Duke's inner circle could explain how the murder was carried out without anyone noticing.

"But who could it be?" I ask, turning to look at each of my companions.

Shadowheart sighs, "If someone really let them in to do it, it must be someone who wanted the Duke dead, but for what?"

"The council of four..." Astarion mumbles.

"What?" I ask.

"The council of four," Astarion repeats, his voice gaining a hint of urgency. "Duke Ravengaard was one of them."

"And with Wyll gone, the substitute would be someone else from the nobility," Shadowheart adds.

We all exchange worried glances, each of us silently contemplating the possibility.

"There are plenty of players in this game," Dalyria says grimly. "But we can't afford to make assumptions without evidence."

"We need to find out who would have motives to gain that power," Lae'zel declares, her hand resting on her sword hilt.

My voice is firm as I speak, my eyes meeting each of my companions with determination. "I agree," I say, nodding. "We must gather more information before taking any action. It would be wise for us to split up and interrogate the nobles separately." I turn to Astarion and Dalyria, including them in my plan. "Lae'zel, Shadowheart, and I will handle that task, while you two continue searching for the spawn. Perhaps if we find one of them, they will reveal the identity of our culprit."

Astarion raises an eyebrow at me, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. "I'm curious to see how you three would fare in a room full of nobles with your charming personalities."

Dalyria chuckles and shakes her head, glancing between Astarion and me. "Don't let him fool you," she says, nudging him lightly with her elbow. "He's just pissed because he didn't come up with the plan himself."

------------✧♡✧-------------

As we make our way through the bustling streets towards one of the noble's estates, I can't help but feel uneasy.

"We can't draw attention to ourselves as murder investigators." I remind them of our precarious situation. "We'll need to mingle and be subtle about it."

"Or else we will meet the same fate as the Duke," Lae'zel interjects, her tone ominous. She's not wrong. If this murderer is indeed among the nobility, then prying too openly could lead us directly into their crosshairs.

We start at the top of the list Dalyria had provided us. Belt, Bormul, Caldwell, Durinbold, Eltan... But to no avail. Even though most of them I talked to at the past party, they don't seem to have any relevant information for us.

As we leave each estate and move on to the next, my frustration grows. It seems like we're getting nowhere. It's already night-time by the time we make it out of the Hhune family estate, and Lae'zel leaves to get some water from a vendor, leaving Shadowheart and me alone.

I look at the cleric, feeling uneasy. The last time we were together alone I told her a lot of regrettable things.

She catches my gaze and raises an eyebrow, studying me with a curious expression. "Is there something on your mind?" she asks, breaking the silence between us.

I bite my lip, hesitating before speaking.

"I...I'm sorry for what happened between us," I say, my voice heavy with guilt.

"I was angry and frustrated but that's no excuse for how I treated you."

Shadowheart looks at me, surprise and then understanding crossing her features. "It's in the past," she says softly. "No need to apologize," she says, shaking her head. "You were under a lot of pressure and it wasn't easy for any of us."

I nod, relieved that she doesn't seem angry or hurt by my words. But I can't shake off the feeling that there's still something between us that needs to be addressed.

"Shadowheart...I want you to know that I am grateful for you," I tell her earnestly. "I know we don't always see eye to eye, but I do consider you my friend. And I am so sorry about Karlach. I should've been there for you as your friend."

Shadowheart looks at me with a mix of surprise and gratitude. "Thank you, I appreciate that," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "And I am sorry about Gale as well."

I nod, understanding the weight of her words. We both have our own burdens to bear, but it doesn't mean we can't find comfort in each other. We exchange smiles before she wraps her arms around me in a warm embrace. Standing there with Shadowheart, I feel a wave of relief and comfort wash over me. It's been a while since I've allowed myself to be vulnerable with someone, and having her back in my life feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

When we finally break apart, she clears her throat, clearly eager to shift the subject. "So, you and Astarion..." Shadowheart starts, her tone cautious.

I know what she's getting at, and I sigh. "It's complicated," I say, not wanting to delve too much into my relationship with the vampire.

"Complicated how?" she presses on.

I hesitate for a moment before deciding to be honest with her. "We have...something," I admit, feeling a rush of embarrassment flood through me. "He offered me a casual arrangement."

Shadowheart's eyes widen in surprise at my confession. "A casual arrangement? With Astarion?" she repeats, her tone incredulous.

I nod, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "Yes," I confirm, avoiding her gaze.

"And you accepted?" she asks, her voice betraying a hint of disapproval.

"It's complicated," I repeat, not wanting to reveal too much of the details.

Shadowheart frowns, clearly not satisfied with my answer.

"I just... Look, do whatever you need to get better, okay? But be careful with Astarion. As much as I love him..." Shadowheart sighs, her expression troubled.

I sense her worry and hesitation, and I can't help but feel a twinge of guilt. I know Astarion has a reputation for being a seducer and manipulative, but he has been nothing but kind to me when I needed him most.

"I appreciate your concern," I say sincerely, wanting to ease her worries. "But like I said, it's not a big deal. I don't have any deep emotional attachment to Astarion; it's just physical attraction."

Shadowheart's brow furrows in confusion and a hint of worry. "But if it's just physical, why even bother with him of all people?" she asks, clearly not understanding my reasoning.

I shrug, feeling embarrassed and unsure how to explain myself. "I don't know... Maybe it's because I'm still grieving over Gale and Astarion has been a distraction. Or maybe it's just nice to feel desired again," I admit with a sigh.

Shadowheart nods, not completely convinced but willing to trust my judgment. We fall into a comfortable silence until Lae'zel returns with the water.

"Enough time wasted. Now - forward," she says, handing each of us a waterskin.

I take a long sip, parched from the conversation and the night's investigation. I glance at Shadowheart and find her looking at me with a small, understanding smile. It's a strange sort of comfort and the tension that was there before seems to dissipate.

We move on to the next names on our list: Ilzimmer, Neverember, Heltharn... Each estate is more lavish than the last, with ornate gardens and gilded gates that scream privilege and wealth. But despite their ostentation, they are as unyielding as stone, offering no new leads or information.

The walk back to the Crimson Palace feels longer and heavier than before. The weight of the investigation hangs heavily on our shoulders, and I can't help but feel discouraged by our lack of progress.

Weariness washes over me as we step into the palace. The day's unending rush of adrenaline and anxiety has finally caught up to me. I can see the same exhaustion etched on Shadowheart and Lae'zel's features too. However, we press on towards the dinner hall, where we know Dalyria and Astarion are eagerly waiting for our arrival.

The place is just as magnificent as I remember it, with its high ceilings and grand chandeliers. They both look up as we enter and greet us with warm smiles.

"How was your day?" Dalyria asks eagerly.

I exchange a glance with Shadowheart before responding. "We didn't find much," I admit with a sigh. "But we'll keep interviewing tomorrow."

Dalyria nods sympathetically before speaking again, seemingly oblivious to our exhaustion.

"We didn't uncover any clues about the Spawn, but we did receive news about the council," she announces eagerly.

Astarion lets out an exasperated sigh. "They've requested a private meeting with Elara and me tomorrow evening."

My heart drops at his words, a sudden chill running down my spine. A private meeting with the council? That can't be good.

"Said it was urgent and quite secretive," Astarion continues, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans back in his chair with an air of nonchalance.

Dalyria takes a sip from her own drink before leaning back in her chair. "I'm sure it's just formalities," she assures us, although she doesn't quite meet my eyes.

I can't help the pang of unease that washes over me. There's no doubt in my mind that Dalyria's not telling us the whole truth.

"Let's not trouble ourselves about it tonight," Shadowheart suggests calmly as she fills her plate.

As the evening wears on, we eat and drink in lighthearted conversation, diverting all topics from the investigation or the meeting. However, as we retire for the night, I find myself unable to shake off the gnawing unease that settles in my stomach.

I step behind the rest of the group, lost in thought, when suddenly I feel someone grab my arm and pull me into a narrow corridor. My heart jumps in my chest as I turn to see who it is, only to find Astarion's smirking face.

"What are you doing?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.

His body cages mine against the wall, his arms on either side of my head as he leans in close. I can feel his warm breath on my face and my heart starts to race.

"Just wanted to have a private conversation," he purrs, his lips so close to mine that I can almost taste them.

I try to push him away, but he's surprisingly strong for someone so lean and agile. "Can't it wait until tomorrow?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

He lets out a chuckle and leans in closer, his lips brushing against my ear. "I'm afraid not," he whispers before pulling back slightly."I know I said I'd give you time to think, but I've been... rather impatient. After all, time has always been a fickle friend of mine." he admits, his eyes focused on my lips. "Have you made up your mind?"

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. My mind is a whirlwind of confusion and uncertainty, torn between my physical desire for him and the complexities that come with it.

At my silence, Astarion's charming smile fades slightly. "I... apologies, I shouldn't have pushed you ," he murmurs, leaning slightly away.

In that moment, all doubts and questions disappear from my mind. The pull between us is too strong to ignore any longer. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself before responding.

"I want it," I finally manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Astarion's smirking expression returns as he leans in closer, his lips only inches from mine. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

I nod, my heart pounding in my chest. Astarion leans in closer until our faces are mere inches apart. Our breaths mingle as he looks deep into my eyes before closing the distance between us and pressing his lips against mine.

Tag List - @astarioffsimpmain, @amazingnerd, @ayselluna

#astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 #bg3 fanfic prompt #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #baldurs gate fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #astarion baldurs gate #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic

51 notes · View notes