#shadowheart fanfic

[daintysclaw]

god’s favourite princess~

A 3D Render of our most interesting girl💜

[emocxnteddie]

Breaking Oath And Faith

Shadowheart x GN!Paladin!Selunite!TAV[They/Them Pronouns]

Intro; Selunites & Sharrans have always been at war against each other, never getting along. Selunites value the light & the good parts of life while Sharrans value the darkness & evil parts of life. Selune & Shar's difference is why they are rivals & eternal enemies, and their followers. But one day when a mind flayer nautiloid snatches up a Selunite Paladin & a Sharran Cleric, they'll have to cooperate if both want to live to see another day without tentacles in the morning.

CONTENT WARNINGS; Swearing, Enemies To Lovers, Religious Trauma, Shar, Sex, Wine, Hate sex, Pet names, choking kink, violence, blood, family issues, Religion, praise kink, degradation kink, small hints of jealousy, flirting, aggressive flirting. {More Will Be Added In The Future Most Likely}

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1 <> Forced To Be Allies.

Chapter 2 <> I Hate You.

Chapter 3 <> Why Do You Care?

Chapter 4 <> Jealousy Is Good On You.

Chapter 5 <> Healing Your Wounds.

Chapter 6 <> Show Me.

Chapter 7 <> The Wine Talking.

Chapter 8 <> The Darkness Awaits.

Chapter 9 <> Common Enemy.

Chapter 10 <> The Gauntlet Of Shar.

Chapter 11 <> Rewriting Destiny.

Chapter 12 <> Saved From The Darkness.

Chapter 13 <> The City.

Chapter 14 <> The Past & The Future.

Chapter 15 <> Saving More Than Just Each Other.

Chapter 16 <> Down With The Leaders.

Chapter 17 <> The Battle To Save Faerun.

Chapter 18 <> The Reuniting Of Friends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is a mini-series made by myself! Chapters are in progress! Be not afraid to ask to be added to the tag list! I am happy to announce this new project of mine! - Author Ed.

[charmandabear]

Please reblog this a lot, bc I want a big sample size! Pls and tyyyyyyy

[dailyunstableeve]

Fluff and Angst

Shadowheart x reader (no specific gender)

My maladaptive daydream made me write this. No proofread.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .•°:. *₊ ° . ° .•°:. *₊ ° . ° .•°:. *₊ ° . ° .•°:. *₊ ° . ° .

You woke up with Shadowheart next to you, you couldn't tell how long she was looking at you sleeping. You didn't question anything and just pull her closer to you, snuggle up with her, embracing her warmth. This isn't the first time you wake up with Shadowheart looking at you, you remembered the first time, she told you, “you look so adorable when you sleep and I want to take in the peace we fight so hard to get and now we're here next to each other with nothing to worried about.”

Shadowheart gave you a kiss on the forehead and both of you drifted back to the dreams with you in her arms. 

When you wake up again, you're no longer in the embrace of Shadowheart. You were in confusion for a few minutes until you smelled the scent of freshly baked bread, the bittersweet of coffee’s scent coming from the kitchen. You quickly wash up yourself and skip your way towards the kitchen, excited like always to eat Shadowheart’s cooking. 

“Look who finally woken up,” you made your way next to Shadowheart, she gave you a quick morning kiss and passed you a plate of mixed fruits, you made your way to the back door and got welcomed by all of the animals both you and Shadowheart adopted. 

“Good morning to you all,” you chuckled as you watched all of them circling around you, you picked a space and placed the fruit plate on the floor. The pets couldn't wait anymore, they were already digging in. 

You returned to Shadowheart, hugging her from her back, planting soft kisses on her neck, wondering when the breakfast would be done. You turn into a koala bear, you cling onto Shadowheart everywhere she goes until both of you are seated down by the dining table. 

After breakfast, Shadowheart and you will have only different duties, she will be grooming the pets while you'll be cleaning up the house. 

You looked at the art portraits of you and Shadowheart painted for each other by the fireplace while you're cleaning. You remembered that day, both of you used the shade of the tree to block out the sun, holding hands, watching the pets running free on the field. You brought out the paints and two empty canvases, challenging her to paint, then let the pet pick who painted better. 

You painted the colourful flower field with Shadowheart standing in the middle, how the wind gently blowing by, lifting the silk of the dress along with it, Shadowheart had her hair down, white as snow, pure, looking like a princess who finally discovered freedom. 

As for Shadowheart, she painted the moment when you, her and all the other party members reunited again, the joy on your face, the hair that she braided for you that night, the perfect details. 

The competition was a close call when Shadowheart asked all the pets to pick who’s the winner. Shadowheart won the competition because of the squirrel she adopted a few months ago. The squirrel has been your little enemy since then, all because she kept on sticking onto Shadowheart whenever you wanted to hang out with her. Months passed, you and the squirrel made peace, all thanks to the speak to animal potion, both of you talk out the terms. 

Time flies fast when you’re focused, the chores have been done so you and Shadowheart decided to sit out at the bench, enjoying the afternoon breeze. You rested on Shadowheart’s shoulder as she rested on top of your head, enjoying the cold tea you have brewed while cleaning up the house. 

Since Shadowheart had made breakfast for the day, you take the turn to cook dinner. Shadowheart would sit on the counter, sipping her favourite wine, drinking the sight of you cooking. Whenever you pass her just to grab something, you will take a chance to steal a few kisses from her. Meantime, she will tell you about all the adorable things the pets did during the day, and you can hear the pets responding to Shadowheart’s comments from their shed just by the kitchen window, you will just laugh along because Shadowheart will try to argue back with the pets while she basically on the losing side but that doesn’t stop them to have a cute interaction. 

After dinner, both of you will take a walk by the beach, taking off the shoes, allowing the sea to brush through both of your feet, the coldness that brings refreshment. Holding hands, walking next to each other, Shadowheart would look at you with those lovely eyes, listening to every word you say, perhaps some old story you haven’t told her yet, she listens to it all. 

You and Shadowheart ended your day filled with activities, it’s time to hit the bed. The squirrel will be sleeping in above both yours and Shadowheart’s head, you feel the warmth from Shadowheart’s hand, running gently on your arm, causing a little tickling sensation. You would try to ask her to stop, despite you enjoying it, having Shadowheart’s touch on you, makes you feel alive, belonged. 

You snuggled up to Shadowheart, you could hear her calm heartbeat, like a lullaby. Shadowheart gave you a kiss on the forehead and fell asleep together. 

Morning arrived, you opened your eyes, finding yourself alone on your bed. You got out from your bed, washing up yourself then sit in front of your study table, turning on your computer, staring at your screen as a voice played, 

“Good, I was just starting to miss the sound of your voice.”

[m00nlight-ramblings]

I Feel Pretty

Shadowheart and Lae'zel spend the night in camp doing each other's makeup...hijinks ensure

Pairing: Shadowheart x Lae'zel (no romance)

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1k

Requested: yes

A/N: okay i love these two together!!!!! We need more platonic friendship fics! Just a reminder, graphic made by me, I do not give permission for my work (graphic and writing) to be shared without my permission.

“Tsk – I do not understand why there is even such a thing as this.” Lae’zel spoke, her voice dripping with distain. Shadowheart knew this was all a farce, however, because before she even asked her, Lae’zel closed her eyes, eagerly awaiting the eyeliner Shadowheart was about to apply.

“Because it’s fun, Lae’zel,” Shadowheart smirked, running the eyeliner pencil gently over Lae’zel’s eyes, “And because it enhances our features – don’t you want to enhance your beauty?”

“No,” Lae’zel immediately answered, “I am already my most beautiful self. I need no enhancement.”

“Ooooo-kay,” Shadowheart drew out, immediately retracting the pencil, “Then I’ll stop -”

“No!” Lae’zel said, opening her eyes. She grabbed Shadowheart’s wrist lightly, “Don’t stop…” She looked down, slightly embarrassed, “…it feels nice.”

Shadowheart, smiling smugly, started to trace Lae’zel’s eyes once more, “That’s what I thought.” She murmured, concentrating on her eyes again. Lae’zel huffed, but didn’t say anything else. Working for a few moments in peaceful silence, Lae’zel spoke up again.

“Thank you,” She said, softly, “This is new. But it is…nice. I…appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” Shadowheart offered, “It’s nice to have something to do that doesn’t involve blood and trying to kill parasites.” She put the eyeliner down and picked up some rouge, dipping her finger in the pale pint pot.

“But I enjoy blood and trying to kill parasites,” Lae’zel said, “So I do not understand how I can also like this.”

Shadowheart sighed, “Because you have the ability to contain multitudes. Just because you enjoying murdering – maybe a little too much? – doesn’t mean you can’t also enjoy lipstick.”

“Hmm.” She replied thoughtfully, puckering her lips in thought.

In a rare move, the party had a night where there was no blood from battle to wash off, or journey to continue. Able to take a break for the evening to do whatever their heart saw fit, Lae’zel had approached Shadowheart, asking about the coloring on her eyelids, wanting to know more. Cut to twenty minutes later, Shadowheart was practically straddling Lae’zel, giving her a full makeover with every arsenal in her makeup box.

“Okay, now just for some color on your lips, and you’ll be done.” Shadowheart said, bringing out a dark, ruby color. Lae’zel looked at it, her eyes widening. When Shadowheart saw this, she chuckled, “Trust me. It will look nice.”

“Okay…” Lae’zel nodded, “And after you’re done, it’s your turn.”

“…what?” Shadowheart asked, taken back a bit. Quizzically, she looked at Lae’zel.

“After you are done painting my face, I shall paint yours.” Lae’zel said, speaking as if Shadowheart was a child. Shadowheart pursed her lips, applying the lipstick.

“…alright.” Even though she was fearful of what she would end up looking like, she agreed. After all, it was very rare that her and Lae’zel shared in similar interests, so this moment in camp was very nice.

As soon as she was done with Lae’zel’s lipstick, Astarion walked by, coming back from a hunt. He stopped in his tracks, looking between the two of them. He smirked and tilted his head, his eyes glittering.

“…what are you two up to?”

“Shadowheart is painting my face because I can enjoy both murder and lipstick.” Lae’zel replied.

“…okay.” Astarion said, furrowing his brows and walking away.

Lae’zel stared at him as he walked away, and excitedly turned to Shadowheart, “My turn.” She said mischievously, her eyes widening at Shadowheart’s makeup box. Picking up a coal stick for eyeshadow, she motioned for Shadowheart to close her eyes. Begrudgingly, she closed her eyes and almost immediately felt an intense pressure on her eyelids.

“Ouch! Not so hard…you can do it really lightly to transfer the color.”

“Apologies.” Lae’zel grumbled, pulling the stick back. Then, Shadowheart felt a light pressure, rubbing back and forth, After a moment, Lae’zel’s finger was rubbing the coal in, extending much farther out on Shadowheart’s face than just her eyelids.

“Blush.” Lae’zel grunted as Shadowheart opened her eyes. When Shadowheart could see again, she saw Lae’zel grinning from ear to ear, obviously enjoying herself with the makeup. Taking the blush, she scooped a dollop much more than necessary out of the pot. She smeared it on Shadowheart’s face, murmuring under her breath.

“Um, Lae’zel-”

“Shhh!” Lae’zel shushed Shadowheart, furrowing her brows in concentration. She pulled back, examining her work. Rubbing in the blush a little more, she nodded in approval and pursed her lips. “Lipstick. Then done.”

She grabbed the lipstick – a bright, pink shade Shadowheart hadn’t touched in years – and made a kissing face, forcing Shadowheart to mimic it. Slowly, Shadowheart puckered her lips and Lae’zel rubbed the lipstick on her. After about 10 swipes on each lip, Shadowheart was starting to feel like she had an excess of oil on her lips, and was about to try and interrupt Lae’zel again. Suddenly, Lae’zel pulled away, her eyes shimmering.

“Beautiful.” Lae’zel whispered, smiling. She got up and went to her tent, and Shadowheart could hear her rummaging around. Astarion made his way over again, the same playful smirk playing on his lips.

“Ah!” He gasped when he finally got close enough, “Hells, you look like that Dribbles the Clown fellow…after he was decapitated.”

“Shhh!” Shadowheart shushed him, rolling her eyes, “It’s all in good fun, Astarion. Let Lae’zel relax a little, okay?”

Lae’zel returned with a mirror, holding it up too close to Shadowheart’s face, “You are stunning. A vision.”

Shadowheart looked in the mirror and winced, Astarion’s Dribble the Clown comment making sense. Just past the mirror, Lae’zel smiled, waiting for Shadowheart’s opinion. Smiling the best she could – without making the lipstick crack – Shadowheart nodded.

“Verrryyyy niiiiice.” She said, giving Lae’zel a thumbs up. Lae’zel clapped.

“I like lipstick. But I also like murder! This is fun. Can we do this again tomorrow night?” Lae’zel asked. Astarion snickered and raised his eyebrows at Shadowheart, who sighed and nodded.

“Yes, we can do it again tomorrow.”

Lae’zel smiled again and took the mirror back to her tent, leaving Astarion alone with Shadowheart. She eyed him, crossing her arms.

“I wouldn’t be to fast to tease me, Astarion,” She started, smirking, “Because tomorrow night, I’ll let Lae’zel do your makeup.”

[la--brujaja]

Shadowheart x Tav (completed)

Shadowheart and Morgana fell for each other slowly and steadily while the world fell apart around them. Three moments, three days, three acts. A peek into the start, the blossoming, and the downfall of their love. 3/3 chapters, short and sweet (and always sad)

Shadowheart hesitated a moment, dropping her eyes. “Is it strange to feel more like yourself when you don’t even know who you are?”

“Look at me.” Morgana lifted her chin and looked at her with an affectionate sternness. “You are Shadowheart. History could rewrite your name in a dozen different tongues and scripts, and you would still come back to me as you are. No one can take that away from you.”

Shadowheart didn’t respond, only pressed her mouth against hers with fire. Morgana felt herself get lost in the other woman’s lips, running her fingers through her hair. Molten silver dripping from her fingertips. “No one can take me away from you. Not anymore.”

“And thank the heavens for that,” Morgana whispered against her lips, trailing kisses down to her neck. “Do what you want with your hair, choose any goddess you like, but don’t turn away from me again."

[astarionfreak]

10 w shart and astarion. Uncommon pairing but it could be interesting??????

Immediately yes. Big yes. Thank you !! This was supposed to be way shorter and way smuttier but it spiraled out of control. Oops. 🖤🩸

10. "You don't have to stay the night. Just fuck me."

Snippet for the smut ask game. | Other answers here

One foolish move in the heat of battle and everyone knew the truth. That Astarion was a vampire.

They took it . . . surprisingly well, actually. Gale warned him not to bite (as if), Lae'zel threatened his life -- but Shadowheart, well. The cleric had been kind -- or stupid -- enough to offer her blood. What kind of vampire would Astarion be if he turned down a free meal?

Besides, even though her attacks seemed to miss more often than not, her healing spells had proven to be quite the asset. If she'd allow him a taste from her delicate veins, perhaps she would also be willing to remain at his side when he faced Cazador. This little exchange could be well worth his time. If he played his cards right.

Astarion waited until the others were asleep before he made his way through camp to Shadowheart's tent. He had been so sure of himself just moments ago, but now he hesitated as he reached for the flap. Maybe this was a bad idea after all.

There was still time to turn around -- hunting in these woods was miserable, but he usually had some level of success. He'd eaten worse things than boar. He'd been hungrier for longer too.

Astarion shuffled his feet as he started to turn around, making more noise than intended. Shadowheart must have heard him. Her heartbeat quickened. Astarion's mouth began to water at theb mere thought of the promise she'd made.

Shit. He really was going to do this wasn't he? He put on his best smile and ducked into her tent.

Shadowheart sat up on her forearms. Perfect body laid out in front of him. For him.

His eyes went to her neck, the gentle movement of her pulse just beneath her tender flesh. Then his gaze dragged along her body, slowly drinking her in. Her camp clothes hugged her figure in all the right places.

"I was beginning to think you'd found a better offer," Shadowheart whispered.

"Ah. No." Astarion laughed quietly as he gracefully dropped to his knees in front of her. "Lae'zel already threatened my life twice today. I don't fancy my chances with Karlach at her current . . . temperature. And there is something distinctly wrong with Gale's blood. I got an unpleasant whiff during that fight with the spiders."

"Wyll, then?" Shadowheart sat up completely and pressed closer to Astarion. She smelled faintly of incense.

Astarion swallowed thickly. Trying to ignore the desire to forgo niceties and just sink his teeth into her throat. "As charming as I'm sure he finds me, I do believe I would be wasting my time trying to convince the Blade of Frontiers to offer himself up to a vampire."

"And here I was, believing I was special when all the while I was merely a last resort," Shadowheart said.

Astarion found it difficult to tell how much of what she said was her searching for the truth and how much was just meant to tease.

"Darling," he purred. "You are anything but a last resort. Surely you're well aware of your allure." Astarion placed a hand on her shoulder, when she didn't flinch or pull away, he pushed her onto her back and settled himself on top of her.

Shadowheart's heart was positively racing. Her eyes blew wide with desire. Her breath caught in her throat when she spoke. "I'm only joking, Astarion. You don't need to use that voice on me."

"What voice?" Astarion asked playfully, slotting a leg between her thighs. This was almost too easy, really. For a woman with so many secrets, she'd truly given herself away to him.

"You know precisely which voice I'm talking about." Shadowheart licked her lips, eyes searching his face.

Astarion pouted, staring down at her with a sly smile. "I can't say I do," he purred. "This is the only voice I have."

"Then just shut up and feed." Shadowheart rolled her eyes.

Astarion nestled his face in the curve he her neck, lips brushing over her throat as he spoke. "Are you comfortable? This may . . . hurt a little."

"I can handle pain. Do it, Astarion."

Astarion wasted no more time. His teeth sank into her neck with a faint pop. Blood rushed into his mouth.

He hardly had time to register the sound of her moan before the rest of the world faded away. Only her blood, her breath, her life remained. And she had chosen to share it with him. A precious gift.

Astarion had never tasted anything as perfect as this. As her. He drank in desperate, needy gulps. His hand instinctively cradeling her head as she writhed beneath him. Even through his blood-drunk gaze Astarion could taste her arousal.

Shadowheart grabbed his arm, fingers digging into his skin as he drank. Her hips jerked up, seeking contact with his thigh. He allowed her that much, let her rut against his body like a bitch in heat as he drank.

"Astarion." Shadowheart's grip on his arm tightened. She was struggling to catch her breath. "Astarion, that's enough."

Her words managed to reach him despite his euphoria. "Shit -- sorry, I -- I got carried away," Astarion said.

"Shut up and kiss me." Shadowheart grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down into a bruising kiss.

The blood on his lips and chin smeared on her face. Astarion only broke the kiss to lick at the mess on her lips.

"That was . . . unexpected," Astarion whispered, nipping at her lower lip.

"You're not really surprised, are you?" Shadowheart asked.

"I suppose not completely surprised. Though this isn't exactly what I pictured when you offered your blood." Astarion leaned back to study her face.

Is this what she wanted? Clearly. Is this what he wanted? Why not?

"How unfortunate. Your imagination must be severely lacking," Shadowheart teased.

"I promise I can be quite imaginative when it counts." Astarion ground his hips down, pressing his half-hard length against her thigh.

"Prove it," Shadowheart said.

They kissed again. Another bruising, needy kiss shared between two people who knew their futures were uncertain.

"And if the others wake to find me in your tent? I'm sure they'd have a lot to say on the topic," Astarion whispered against her lips.

Shadowheart huffed out an annoyed sigh. "You don't have to stay the night. It's best for both of us if you just fuck me and leave."

"Ah, when you put it like that it does sound like a rather good offer," Astarion purred. "Do try not to keep it down though. Let's give them something to gossip about tomorrow."

[random-introverted-blog]

Now officially announcing The Flickers Saga

Picture photoshopped by my bestie @shadowfalllen

Edit done by yours truly.

I'm going to finish the other half of Part 3 and then we'll be shifting gears to to focus on a prequel that better explains what Tav went through and why Dark Justiciar Shadowheart is doing what she's doing. From there, I'll be treating Flickers like a full story and not a series of shorts that connect.

What is posted now will still be considered canon, but I'll be considering it more of a bridge between the prequel and the full story.

The prequel will be co-written and outlined with her - @shadowfalllen and if you don't know, she has a fantastic YouTube channel of cataloged Shadowheart content. Which is perfect for either ogling at Shadowheart or... writing Shadowheart content 👀. Her YouTube is the popular and beloved Shadowrisen.

To celebrate she made a cover for the story. And I decided on a whim to take some music, add some effects and make this little thing.

I don't have an artistic bone in my body, nor do I have great photoshop skills so none of this would be possible without her help. Make sure you show her some love. Otherwise we'd forever be fanart-less for Flickers.

[superhaught]

BG3 fans who follow me

send me Shadowheart fanfic requests

I wanna write for her so bad but I have no ideas in my brain other than just retelling the game plot from the pov of my Tav with added scenes (which I might post anyways but still)

[rinny-rae]

What Could Have Been

Chapter 2

Summary

The tadfools form a plan to rescue Wynn

Characters: Shadowheart POV, Astarion, Jaheira, Orin

Rating: M

Word Count: 2K

Tags/CW: This one is just a few friendos adventuring. Still grimdark but SFW for once!

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

Tick Tock

“Wynn is not in the dungeons,” Astarion yelled into Shadowheart’s ear, straining to be heard over the constant clank of metal on metal.

Shadowheart flinched at the unexpected sound of his voice, missing the vial and spilling runepowder all over the desk. The passage of time felt abstract underground. Rather than relying on things like clocks or sun positions, Shadowheart now measured time in the number of bombs she had put together. Astarion has been gone for exactly one hundred and thirteen. Wynn, for four hundred and twenty six.

”Could they have moved him from the fortress without the Harpers knowing?” she asked and moved to bite her nails but realized her hands were covered in explosive chemicals and thought better of it. She carefully swept the loose runepowder onto a piece of parchment and directed it back into the vial.

Astarion moved to wipe a streak of soot from his cheek with the sleeve of his formerly ivory shirt. He only smeared it further.

“Either that or our beloved archduke has him in some private torture chamber.” He picked up an empty bombshell from the heap and stared at it, wrinkling his brow. The dark circles under his eyes have only gotten worse since she last saw him.

Shadowheart shivered despite the sweltering heat. She shoved her chair aside and began circling around the handful of feet of unobstructed space.

“It certainly does complicate things,” Astarion admitted bitterly.

“Few things are more certain than the existence of a private Archducal torture chamber,” grumbled a burly dwarf who slumped on the floor a few steps away. He leaned one hairy arm on a crate of metal slags, taking greedy bites out of a loaf of sourdough bread. Shadowheart had forgotten his name but was reasonably sure he was the blacksmith.

“Here’s to hoping Jaheira brings some better news,” Shadowheart said.

The Ironhand Clan hideout brimmed with frenzied energy. Two forges roared at the center of the cavern that the gnomes converted into their base of operations. Smoke billowed and pooled around the fires. Too heavy to escape through the hastily constructed vents, it covered every inch of the space with a thick layer of grime and made Shadowheart’s eyes water incessantly. An unrelenting river of workers, almost all deep gnomes, flowed around the two forges.

Shadowheart took a deep breath, coughed and willed herself to sit back down. Breaking Wynn out of the dungeons would have been a piece of cake but things were never simple, were they?

Opposite the forges stood two rows of tables littered with a miscellany of tools. Hammers, chisels and empty bombshells were strewn about every surface. Under the dim light of torches, a dozen gnomes put together all manner of explosives.

Shadowheart noticed Laridda hauling a sack of grain practically the size of her body and absentmindedly waved to her. The small woman waved back, then tripped over a mold that lay forgotten on the ground.

The blacksmith finished his meal and, with a groan, lifted the crate of metal he had been leaning on.

“This one's for Wulbren,” he clarified to no one in particular before shuffling away.

A fluffy cat, somehow pristinely white despite its surroundings, hopped onto the pile of chopped wood beside Shadowheart’s desk. It yawned and moved as if to stretch but its small body continued to elongate in all directions, shedding clumps of fur. It grew and twitched, an uncanny mix of beast and human. Astarion wrinkled his nose and turned away, still twirling the empty bombshell in his fingers.

“I found Wynn,” Jaheira said, smoothing back her long silver hair and brushing a pile of white fur off her lap. Laridda appeared seemingly from nowhere and handed her a black cloak. Jaheira smiled appreciatively, covered herself and studied the room for a long moment before Astarion finally butted in.

“Do share with the class,” he said.

“Would you get me something to draw with, dear?” Jaheira said to Laridda.

She waited for the gnome to leave before turning to Shadowheart.

“Nothing happens in Baldur’s Gate without the Harpers knowing,” she whispered and winked.

A vaguely familiar tiefling child weaved his way through the mass of workers. Moving with spring in his step as if out for a lovely stroll, he bound over to Jaheira and handed her a package wrapped in thick linen. She nodded and whispered something in his ear. The boy beamed, tapped two fingers to his forehead and slunk away.

“They’re holding Wynn on the top floor,” Jaheira said tucking the package away, “across from the lordling’s own quarters but blessedly, in a bedroom and not a torture chamber.”

Shadowheart bit into the stubby nail of her index finger tasting the bitter explosive powder and then the salty copper of fresh blood. The difference between a bedroom and a torture chamber was but a matter of circumstance.

Laridda appeared again with ink and parchment in one hand and two flashblinder grenades in the other.

“All we can spare for the moment,” she said apologetically as if the gnomes haven’t repaid their debts a thousand times over.

Jaheira passed the grenades to Astarion and began writing, mumbling under her breath.

“We could go through a window,” Astarion suggested.

“No, you can go through a window,” Shadowheart corrected.

“Besides, the issue isn’t so much going in as it is getting out.” She bit the nail on her middle finger and watched the blood pool around the grungy cuticle.

“Last I checked Wynn doesn’t fly and he sure as hell can’t climb down a fortress wall,” she added.

Jaheira nodded, scribbling something.

“We must speak to him,” she said, “there may be a way we could use this to our advantage.”

Shadowheart crossed her arms and began pacing once again; The idea did not sit well with her.

***

Shadowheart pulled her cloak tighter and stared straight ahead, weaving through the crowd. The crimson glow of the setting sun flashed in the few windows that hadn’t been shattered or boarded over.

Rivington looked more dour by the day. The Flaming Fists received firm instructions not to allow any refugees into the city proper which meant the outskirts were flooded with the dispossessed. Forced to sleep in the streets, they took to erecting makeshift shelters to protect themselves from the elements as best they could.

A bearded man grabbed Shadowheart by the elbow, pulling her into his chest as if for an embrace.

“You’re one of them Sharess’ Caress lasses aren’t ya?” he said, licking his lips, assaulting her senses with the rancid stench of alcohol and sweat. Shadowheart recoiled and spun out of his grasp. The man lurched, spat at her feet, and stumbled away shaking his head, looking offended.

“Gods, this place is positively vile,” Astarion said, stepping closer to her and discreetly placing one hand on the hilt of his dagger.

“The city has plenty of resources to accommodate the refugees,” Jaheira said, forging ahead. She pushed past a group of shouting women and slipped a scroll out of the sleeve of her cloak. A stout half orc bumped into her, grumbled something into her ear and disappeared into the crowd, tucking Jaheira’s scroll away beneath his shirt.

“This situation is hardly the fault of the people,” Jaheira added.

“This way,” she said and, urging her companions on with a small wave, dipped into an alley between two dingy buildings. The alley stank of piss and rot. A frail beggar girl huddled against the wooden fence that separated it from the cliffside and the river below. Across the river, insurmountable walls of Wyrm’s Rock loomed, barring free passage to the city.

The beggar reached for Astarion, her pleading stare that of a wounded animal.

“Shoo, get out of here,” he hissed, waving her away.

The girl scurried around the corner and faded into the gap between the crooked buildings.

Astarion hoisted himself on top of the fence and, squinting against the fiery sunset, extended a hand to Shadowheart. She took his hand and hopped up beside him.

Once atop the fence, she peered over at the cliffside that plunged into the river; Her head spun.

”No way I’m getting down there in one piece,” she shook her head.

Astarion rolled his eyes and, with an air of casual indifference, vaulted over the fence. Jaheira’s black cloak dropped to the ground and a white raven emerged. It soared above the fence and over the narrow expanse of the river, perching atop a boulder on the other side.

Shadowheart pointed her soot-stained fingers at Astarion and muttered two spells in quick succession. A cloud of fine mist engulfed him, then absorbed into his skin making him glow a faint blue.

“Wish me luck,” Astarion cooed. He blew Shadowheart a kiss and dashed toward the cliff’s edge, hurling himself off and sending a shower of gravel and twigs raining upon the calm waters below. Rather than plummeting to certain death, his body glided over the water and landed gently on the other side.

The white raven cawed and began preening itself.

Shadowheart shielded her eyes and watched until the two disappeared into the thicket beneath the fortress walls. She hopped off the fence, snatched Jaheira’s discarded cloak and headed for the alley’s exit.

A small voice trailed after her.

“A spare coin, miss?”

Shadowheart rolled her eyes but tossed the black cloak to the urchin as she walked past. It wasn’t much but the kid’s own clothing was no more than rags.

The revolting sound of snapping bones froze Shadowheart in place.

“Look at it, weep and wail and pity the innocent, ripe for the slaughter.”

The unmistakable singsong cadence sent a twinge of panic through Shadowheart’s chest.

“Orin,” she spat the name out like a bite of rotting meat. Turning on her heel, she frantically rummaged for a suitable weapon.

The changeling cocked her head too far one way then the other, blinking her milky pale eyes. With a mad grin she drew closer, lithe and careful, stepping silently - a wolf on a prowl. Shadowheart thought to run but that would only serve to thrill and hardly prolong the inevitable.

Besides, Shadowheart was no prey.

She fished out the vial of runepowder and shook it at the changeling, fixing her with a stony gaze.

“Recognize this?” she spat, “or is your brain too rotted from your so-called worship?”

Orin grinned even wider and pointed the split tip of her dagger at Shadowheart.

The curves and ridges of the metal made it seem organic - the glistening tongue of a monster ripped from its maw with her bare hands. The blade itself and the Netherstone encrusted in the hilt glistened the same grisly crimson as the suit of human flesh that Orin wore for armor.

“It means to kill us both,” she snickered and licked the blade almost salaciously, circling her quarry, testing for weakness.

“You make allying with the tyrant sound tempting,” Shadowheart said and forced a faux-confident smirk.

A venomous shadow fell over Orin’s face.

“Do not let the lordling hiss hot air into your worm-weakened brain. His throat spits lies,” she snarled.

”I’m well aware,” Shadowheart said, smirking in earnest now, “any other pearls of wisdom you care to impart?”

“Your doe-eyed sweetling brat already sings into the tyrant’s ear,” Orin said with a distinct undercurrent of mockery in her voice, “and so your seconds and minutes and hours cowering in the gnome pit are numbered.”

She stuck her lip out pretending to cry.

Shadowheart bristled, sickened by the implications.

“Wynn would never…” She started but trailed off into a bitter silence.

Wynn was a scared little boy, alone and helpless, left to his own devices.

“See for yourself tonight, tonight, tonight,” Orin licked her blade not taking her pale eyes off Shadowheart, apparently delighted by her reaction.

“Tick tock,” she pranced, retreating into the shadow, “tick tock.”

She disappeared in a puff of smoke leaving Shadowheart alone in the alley. Trembling, Shadowheart slumped against the stone of a crumbling façade and hugged herself.

[istibaethoriel]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate), Tav (Baldur's Gate), Halsin (Baldur's Gate), Shar (Dungeons & Dragons) Additional Tags: One Shot, Shadowheart Needs a Hug (Baldur's Gate), Quest: Daughter of Darkness | Shadowheart's Companion Quest (Baldur's Gate), POV Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate), Fictional Religion & Theology, Religious Conflict, Angst, Internal Conflict, Canon Compliant Summary:

"Lady Shar does not abandon; she protects, nurtures, embraces. She plucks the lost from the frightful woodlands and reconstitutes them, turns the dark from nightmare to everlasting womb... The nerves escape Shadowheart’s stomach, surge to her throat and take up space there. She swallows. It does nothing."

Filling in what felt like a heel-turn (potential) choice. Major spoilers for Act 2's finale.

[simp-ly-writes]

From being able to magically move items between your and your party's inventory- feel as though the companions would do the same to yours if given the chance. Astarion would give you an extra dagger of his someday with a note saying "just in case." While Lae'zel would manage to place a whole-ass sword or something like that. Wyll and Gale would so place little notes of encouragement or witty/flirty lines they came up with. Halsin would be attentive and place useful items you may had forgotten before departing. Similar to Shadowheart would place either extra healing potions or a favorite plant or flower of yours. Karlach would place just about anything- too fascinated with the ability in general. From a very pretty rock to a large exploding barrel- she would be testing the limits with bright eyes and a wide smile while Gale would be taking notes on the whole experiment.

[eyebagshawty]

Hello! May I request Lae’zel, Karlach, and whoever else you want to write being washed by the reader. I find the idea of bathing and taking care of someone to be really sweet.

Headcanons + Blurbs for Being Taken Care of/Washed by Tav

A/N: Hello! Sorry for just getting around to requests and other things now, the end of the semester got pretty crazy (at least I passed everything !) and now I’m finally able to focus and get out of this rut. Thank you for your patience and I hope you like it!

Characters: Lae’zel, Karlach, Shadowheart, Wyll, Gale, Astarion, Halsin

Part 2

Lae’zel

• When you first offer to wash up with Lae’zel she’s mostly confused and kind of annoyed - there’s already a tadpole in her head, and that’s enough lack of privacy.

• “Chk. At my crèche these things are normal. However, you istiks insist on attaching emotional meaning to such things… no.”

• However the more she thinks about it… you two have shared a bed more than once. She respects you more than the others; when she tells you to speak she also makes sure you know she will listen. She supposes that maybe connection wouldn’t be so bad with you of all people.

• She just walks up to your tent, grabs your hand, and says “Fine.”

You meet her at the waterfront and- is she nervous? Her gaze wavers between you and the night sky, feet firmly planted into the ground and arms across her armored chest. You get most of your armor off, but that last clasp just has to give you trouble. “Lae’zel, could you help me out with this?” It’s silent for a tension filled moment, and you’re about to ask again.

“Chk.” She walks over and with ease undoes the clasp. She’s back to feet firmly planted and arms crossed, only looking at the sky. You unfurl your hair from its practical braid and keep your eyes on her. “I wish I could show you the Tears.” Your eyes widen when you think about the first night she invited you to her bunk, how hard getting used to this unusual plane must be for her. You place your hand on her shoulder and she tenses, but relaxes after she’s brought back to the moment.

“I wish I could see them.” You whisper to her. You ‘help’ her out of her armor (she’s just letting you at this point, she could’ve been out of it in 30 seconds flat) and you both hiss as you enter the cold water. After a soft and asking touch, she allows you to undo her hair and wash it. You gather her hair gently into your hands and have her lean back to the water. As she does, you can see that she clearly hasn’t been this vulnerable in maybe ever. You give a soothing stroke to her scalp and she hums. As you lather the looted soap into her hair and scratch your nails lightly, you hear her sniffle.

“Lae’zel… are you alright?” You stop your ministrations but keep a hand cupped at the back of her neck.

“My-my queen is false. I will never ascend. Tsk’va, I’m an enemy to my kin. I don’t want to be on this plane anymore… I miss the astral. I must fight but I do not know how to keep going.” She quickly wipes her tears and looks at you. “Speak, source of my bruises. I will always listen.”

With her hair looking clean, you slowly move the bar between her shoulder blades and move it in soothing circles. You kiss her temple. “My love, this situation is quite a mess. Tadpoles in our heads, endless injuries, and I cannot imagine what this world must be like for someone who has never been in it. We will get through this. I’m here. I’m yours.” With that she shows an inkling of a smile as she stares into the water in thought. You continue to bathe her with soft kisses in between every swipe of soap along with words of reassurance. You are hers, the source of her bruises.

Karlach

•Once Karlach is able to touch people again, she is ecstatic to wash up with you. She’s barely been able to keep her hands off of you since, so when you offer she squeals.

• “Of fucking course soldier! Who knows, we might even be able to turn that river into a hot spring.” Her eyebrows waggle and your face goes beet red.

• When you meet her she definitely cannonballs into the water and complains when it’s shallow

• “Aw hells, that’s gonna be a kink to work out in the morning.”

• You guys don’t bathe for a good 15 minutes, she’s just kissing you and rubbing your sides and it’s so SWEET

She breaks away from the kiss and wades further into the water. You grab the soap from the grass and follow after, settling your arms around her neck and wrapping your legs around her waist. Her fingers come up to pinch your nose and she flops backwards into the water, leaving both of you sopping wet when she comes back up. “Gods Karlach you’re gonna kill me,” you sputter as you cough out the bit of water that got in your mouth. She pats your back and lets out a full bellied laugh.

“That’s right soldier get it all out,” she grins. You shoot her a playful glare. When your collective giggles finally die down, you bring the bar of soap up to her hair and begin lathering and spreading it with your fingers. Her eyes close with a serene smile. You make sure to get the area around her horns, and she kisses your cheeks as you take care of them. “You know… after Gortash. After… Avernus. Nobody has taken care of me like this in so long. So fucking long.” She sighs as you bring the bar to her neck and chest, taking away the near pints of blood the party had spilled earlier.

“I’ll make sure it never is that way again. I love you, and no matter what happens you deserve to be free from all of this.” You meet her gaze as the bar moves to her shoulders, and you see fear.

“Tav… my heart.” She lets out a choked sob and a tear streams down her cheek that you immediately wipe away. “I finally have you after so godsdamn long, and I don’t want to lose what’s most important. Not again. I’m just so scared.” She breaks down into tears and her skin heats up warmly under your skin. You crush her into your chest and she buries her face into your neck, where you rub soothing circles into her scalp along with kisses.

“You won’t lose me. Whether it be in Baldurs Gate or Avernus, I’ll be here.” She lifts her head and you kiss her nose, where a little flame sparks and then snuffs out. She lets out a soft chuckle as her mood cools. “I promise to you we’re gonna kill that pathetic little fucker and anyone who helped him.” Her lips meet yours and you kiss back with eager passion. As you pull away you go back to soothingly rubbing the bar across the planes of her back.

“Wait- didn’t you grab this soap off a dead guy?! GROSS soldier!”

Shadowheart

•She immediately says no

•Not because she doesn’t trust you, she just can’t swim and finds it a bit embarrassing for her powerful presence

•After you finally convince her it’ll only be where she can stand, she agrees.

• “A bottle of wine, my lover, and a nice grassy beach? It’ll do,” she gives a sarcastic but playful smile.

•You two get plastered on Chultan Fireswill before you hop in

After one last swig from the bottle Shadowheart takes your hand and leads you into the water. You stop at around three feet deep and get to your knees. Her braid whips around her shoulder as she serenely begins to scrub away blood with the soap bar. “I love this silver color so much. It illuminates you as some would say,” you utter softly, and she chuckles. She slowly takes her hair out of the braid’s confines and your jaw drops at how long and pretty it is as it flows down her back. You look pointedly to the bar of soap. “May I?”

She squints at you in playful suspicion then smiles. “You may.” You lather the soap into her hair and she lays her head back into your chest as you scratch lovingly at her scalp. She brings her hand up to your cheek behind her and whispers, “The moon looks beautiful tonight.” As soon as the words leave her lips the wound in her hand opens. She hisses and sits back up. As she looks back to you, her gaze looks broken. “After everything I’ve been through with the dark lady, I don’t think this will ever go away.”

You inch your hand closer to hers, placing your pinkies over each other. “It’s horrible… what she did to you.” She grins bitterly but moves to interlace your fingers, rubbing the back of your hand with her thumb.

“I just wish I could remember any of that horrible stuff. I want to be angry. But mostly I’m only numb. She was… she was everything to me. And although it is horrible yes, it’s all so new. Being away from her.”

She nods in confirmation as you move the bar of soap to her chest, the motions soothing her and making her eyes soften as she watches you. “I understand,” you whisper as you lean up to kiss the shell of her pointed ear. That’s all that needs to be said, Shadowheart thinks to herself. You’ve become more than her greatest companion in her eyes, she trusts you’ll be there through thick and thin. “We’ll just have to make new memories,” you smile, and as you finish rubbing the soap across her body you throw it back to the grass, pulling her into a loving kiss as she wraps her arms around your neck.

Wyll

•When you offer to wash up with Wyll a MASSIVE blush runs across his cheeks

• “Are you sure? ImsurethehornsfreakyououtandtheresbumpsinotherstrangeplacesIdontwantyou-“ he basically starts talking at a mile a minute about how it might be awkward for you

• “Wyll honey, I can just meet you there while you’re already in if that’s more comfortable for you” and you give him a sweet smile and his face goes red AGAIN

By the time you get to the waterfront, you see Wyll propped against a rock, the water resting at waist level with his arms propping him up. You throw him a shy smile. He has a sly grin and nods your way, beckoning you towards him. You twirl your finger and mouth, “Turn around!” He lets out a silent chuckle and turns his head towards the mountains beyond the lake.

You slide out of your evening clothes and grab the soap bar laying on top of your towel. As you wade further into the water you let out a shriek — it wasn’t winter right? Wyll turns around and laughs at the sight; you’re rubbing your arms with chattering teeth. “It is quite frigid tonight, huh? I think I’ve got a cantrip in me for a special someone.”

You look around, bemused, as to how spells could possibly help you out here. Wyll shoots a fireball into the depths of the water, your skin instantly warming up. However, it doesn’t last long as the lake cools back down to freezing. You swim at the speed of light over to Wyll and wrap your arms around his neck. “Sorry, I just need something. By the nine hells you think a blizzard would be rolling through,” you laugh. When you’ve warmed up enough, you take the bar of soap and gingerly begin to wash and lather his hair and horns, kissing the scars across his face.

Wyll looks down at you, surprise slathered across his face as you finish up with his head and move to his broad shoulders, kissing everything infernal you can find. “Tav…you like this?” He brings up a hand to your cheek as you continue your ministrations. You cup water in your hands and gently rinse away the soap on his chest.

“Of course I do, Mizora could make you look fully cambion and I would still have the strongest of feelings for you. You’ll always be my dashing, strong, Blade of Frontiers,” you peck his neck with each last word, and he laughs, kissing your forehead with a soft cherishing smile.

Gale

• When you offer to Gale, he gives you the most devious look you’ve ever seen

• He hasn’t been around others for so long till now, much less bathing with anyone, and he’s grown pretty strong feelings for you so he love love loves this idea

• “My dear Tav I would love to! You know how I enjoy your body after a battle, all the sweat covering your skin and the flush of your cheeks”

• He’s not your quietest companion so everybody does hear this and everybody does let out an exasperated groan

• Your face flushes even further than when you asked him and you squeak out an okay and run to your tent

When you meet up with Gale at the waterfront, his tunic is already off, showing his surprisingly wonderful muscles. He kisses you upon greeting, and helps you out of your evening clothes with a soft caress here and there on every part of your body. You grab your soap and lead him into the water, the water being just warm enough for your plans.

He gathers you into his lap, his cheeks a light red as he grins up at you. You lather the soap and scrub it into his hair, listening to his groans and praises as you work. You kiss his cheeks as you move to his chest, and he finally opens his eyes again, looking up at you with those big round puppy eyes.

“This is surprisingly wonderful. I remember doing things like this for her, running water through her hair and lathering the finest oils onto her skin, but she never once did anything for me.” You stop your work, looking up to his eyes with an expression of shock and sadness. His eyes bore just as strongly into yours, and his thumbs rub circles into your hips.

“Gale… you are worthy of being loved. What she did to you wasn’t right — it never was, even from the beginning if I’m getting my facts straight. She isolated and took from you. I never want you to feel like that with me.” You kiss his cheeks and his hairline, and his lips follow yours, chasing to press them together.

They finally do, and his kiss is filled with eager passion, pouring every thought he’s had about you into you. When you pull away he lets out a soft whine, bringing his hand to your neck. “I’m in love with you, darling. And I know and trust that you feel the same, any need of the tadpole be damned.” You smile and begin to continue rubbing the soap into his stomach, but he stops you. He brings his lips to yours once more, and he rolls you over onto your back in the water, letting you prove how loved he is.

Astarion

• His eyes go soft and round when you ask him

• “Really?? Little old me??” Even after the graveyard and all your reassurances, he’s still moving towards actual coupley things

• “You’ve never wanted a luxurious meal and bath together my love?” You take his hand stroke his fingers with care

• If he could blush he would, but he just sputters with the goblet of wine he has

• He collects himself back into charming mode, “Well then, I thought you’d never ask. Come find me when you’re ready.” He kisses your cheeks and literally just walks off into the woods, leaving you standing at the entrance to your shared tent looking absolutely befuddled

When you find him at the hot spring the camp had discovered last night, he’s already in the water with his eyes closed angling his head towards the night sky. His ears twitch as he hears you begin to take off your evening clothes, and his eyes open to look at you with a rakish smile. “Why hello, my treasure. The water feels amazing.” You smile, grab your soap and head in. Immediately you groan with relief, the hot water soothing the aches from your nasty fight with some undead earlier.

Astarion moves closer to you, taking the most warmth he can get. You bring your arms around his neck and just stay there for a minute. He hugs you back, burying his face into the crook in your shoulder. You fingers lightly stroke against his raised scars in a loving motion, and after his breath hitches he melts into your touch, practically purring as you lavish him with affection. When you pull away his loss of heat is devastating. However, he calms down when you begin to wash his hair, scratching at his scalp and running the hot water over his curls.

“I don’t think I’ve ever let anyone touch my hair like this,” he mumbles. You kiss his cheek and move the bar to his chest and shoulders, working out any aches and pains he might have.

“Well, now you have me my love,” you whisper, kissing the tip of his ear.

“I just can’t believe that after everything you want to stay. The sky is beautiful tonight, but it is all I will ever know once this mindflayer business is said and done with.” His words are bitter, almost as if he is angry with himself.

“It is all we will know my love. And I’m actually quite the night owl. As much as I love our ragtag group, I’m quite introverted around most of society. Everything is fine,” you kiss his bite marks, the hollows of his cheeks, and finally his lips. He kisses you back fervently, pouring care he was never able to show for anyone else previously. You pull away and finish gently washing the rest of his body in silence. As you prop your neck to the side for him, he looks at you with an expression akin to great offense.

“Darling! I thought you knew me well enough to know the bath is never over after only soap.” He waves his hand over to the small crate of oils he’d brought to the spring. “Now, I’m feeling lavender tonight. How about you my love?”

You give him a beaming smile, wading out of the spring to retrieve it. “Sounds wonderful, my heart.”

Halsin

• You don’t even really have to ask him, he’s just joined you most of the time to protect you

• He doesn’t like you venturing out in to the woods by yourself, because Silvanus help him a lot of people are after you guys

• “Of course my heart — Scratch is licking at his paw a bit so I need to inspect that, but I will join you in just a couple of minutes.”

• With an encouraging woof from Scratch, you caress his shoulder and go to collect your things

You’ve stuffed all the stuff needed for the bath into two large bags, your arms making you crouch downward with the weight. As Halsin walks to meet you he sees this, chuckles, and wild shapes into his bear form. He takes the bag handles into his mouth and nudges your leg with his snout. You pet his head and hop onto his back, him letting you ride on it as you both make your way to the water.

On arrival, you hop off and he drops the items into the grass. As his bear form is used most in combat, you grab out a bottle of soap you’d nicked off of that crazy dog handler in Rivington. You drizzle it all over his fur and gather some of the river water into a bucket. You begin scrubbing the soap into his fur, and he lets out cute little groans and growls. When you finish you dump the bucket of water onto him, and he lets out a noise of surprise. He turns back into regular Halsin, his hair soaked down against his head with playful exasperation.

“My heart, you did not need to release the full power of a waterfall onto me I assure you.” You laugh and beckon him into the water. He wades in and smothers you with kisses.

“Halsin please! I need to breathe!” You giggle, pushing at his chest. He finally settles down, pulling you into his lap.

“Thank you for helping me with the shadow curse. Thaniel he… he needed us. He needed you.” He settles into a somber smile, nuzzling his nose against your temple.

You trace your fingers across his chest, leaving kisses that follow. “I knew the lands needed our help, and I’m glad he’s free from the curse. All we have left is this elder brain, and we can go back to the grove and live in peace.”

He tilts your chin up with his hand, and looks tenderly into your eyes. “I would be blessed by Silvanus to spend my thousands of years with you.” He crashes his lips into yours, one of many you’ll share over the passage of time.

[oh-theseus]

bloody stones

pairing: astarion x gn!reader, astarion x gn!tav summary: you nearly die and astarion still can't bring himself to be honest with you. word count: 4,018 a/n: first time trying to write for astarion (or just bg3 in general) & i'm not sure it came out how i wanted it to, BUT i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless <333 i kind of wrote this to be like a background for a future thing i think... but no promises bc i am anything if not inconsistent 😭

warnings: descriptions of blood & injury, canon typical violence, mentions of past abuse. lmk if i should add more!

You were fairly certain you had never been as close to death as you currently were. Even while trapped inside of the nautiloid ship, you had felt like you would make it out. Granted, that might have been because you thought Lae’zel was going to kill you if you died, but still. Even then, on a ship that was actively crashing from hundreds of miles in the sky, you’d thought you’d make it out.

That hope is nowhere to be found as Z’rell drives her ax into your lower leg. You have been injured in battle dozens of times but this is the first time your injury has ever made you fall to your knees within three seconds of receiving it. There is next to no pain at first, but then she pulls her ax from your leg, and it feels like… well, like your leg was just split open.

Blood gushes down your leg, and you can’t stand up again, but by the grace of one of the gods, you manage to block her next attack. Her ax meets the blade of your sword with a loud clang that you can hear over the sounds of other blades clashing and spells being conjured. Anger blazes in Z’rell’s eyes and she surges her weapon further with as much strength as she can muster. You met her with the same effort, but you’re losing so much blood so fast. You’re not nearly as strong as she is.

A noise that is somewhere between a cry and a grunt falls from your lips. But you are certain this is it. You’ll die here. In Moonrise Towers with a parasite wiggling within your skull. You’ll die in a blighted land and your friends will go on without you. If they survive, that is. You can feel your arms wobbling, about to give out. Her ax will come down on your neck and you’ll sit here choking on your own blood until you die. Maybe she’ll dig the Illithid parasite out of your skull and consume it just as your Dream Guardian had urged you to do so many times before. You doubt Z’rell would have qualms about it though - if fact, she might just keep you alive while she digs around in your skull. She seems like the type.

But then there’s an arrow embedded in Z’rell’s neck. And now she’s the one choking on her blood, her weapon faltering. You don’t have time to be grateful, not when she’s determined to make a killing blow and take you out with her. It takes all of your effort to roll out of the way, her ax bouncing off of the bloody stone floor where your head had just been seconds previous. Your head is spinning from the movement, and your leg feels like dead weight, but you manage to draw your dagger and shove it deep into the disciples stomach.

Z’rell falls to her knees. Then forward, onto her face. Dead. 

Hands are underneath your arms, dragging you away from the rest of the battle before you even have time to process that you aren’t dead. You have half a mind to kick and struggle, but when you try to push the hands off of your body you stop your fighting. You know these hands.

“Astarion,” you choke out, tilting your head upwards to see him above you, carefully dragging you behind a turned over table. You can feel a trail of blood being left by your leg; for a moment you wonder if Astarion had smelled your blood before he saw it.

“Don’t talk,” Astarion scolds, propping your back against the table. Blood is splattered on his face and armor, his bow slung across his body. Your eyes shift to his quiver where only three arrows remain. If you weren’t so busy trying not to pass out from blood loss, you might have told him you were right when you’d told him this morning he needed more arrows. But you can hardly convince yourself to breathe, let alone make a joke.

Astarion’s face is twisted into an expression you don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear before. There is determination there as he examines your wound, cursing beneath his breath. There’s concern too. But something else dances in his crimson eyes that makes you tilt your head to the side curiously. 

Fear.

Astarion is scared. 

“How bad?” you force out, leaning your head back against the overturned table. Your eyes lock on the ceiling of Moonrise. This had been a temple once. Briefly, as you fight to keep your eyes open, you decide that it might’ve even been beautiful.

“Not terrible,” Astarion lies. You know it’s a lie, and he knows you know that, too. You might’ve looked at him, tried to assure him you would be okay if you believed it. But you’re not quite sure that you do, so you keep your eyes on the ceiling, listening to the sounds of battle slowing down behind you.

Astarion stops talking after that. Your silence and sudden interest in the ceiling is enough to make Astarion certain his heart will start beating again just so it can race in fear. But his hands are quick in grabbing a healing potion from your belt and helping you get it down. They’re faster still as he shuffles through his discarded back for cloth to press to your wound. 

Blood quickly soaks the white cloth and Astarion’s hands, but the vampire doesn’t mind. He can’t be bothered to think about how potent your blood smells, how easy it would be to just take some for himself. He is certain that if you’d been bleeding out in front of him like this when you first met that he would’ve taken every last drop of blood that he could get. But right now… Astarion wasn’t sure he had ever wanted to puke at the sight of blood more.

Astarion isn’t sure he’s ever felt a panic quite like this before. Perhaps when he’d woken up in a coffin six feet underground. Maybe when he’d realized he was a slave to an evil vampire lord. But other than that? No, Astarion had never felt fear like this. Fear that clutches him by the throat, makes his hands start to tremble. Fear that won’t let him focus on the battle coming to end. Not even to see if his companions - his friends - had survived. All he knows is you, your blood coating his hands, and terror coursing through his entire being.

He’s so consumed by his fear that he doesn’t notice you’ve finally passed out. Nor does he hear Shadowheart approach until she’s shoving Astarion away from you, her hands immediately coming to rest above the gash in your leg. She starts to mutter the words of a healing spell and even Astarion can tell that she’s completely spent, that she’s using her last bit of magic and strength to coax your skin back together.

“Wake them up,” Shadowheart hisses, her eyes still locked on your leg. “Wake them up now, Astarion!”

The near crack in Shadowheart’s voice stirs Astarion from his fear driven stupor. His hands are on your face immediately, your name falling from his lips once, twice. His fingers find the pulsepoint at your neck, and Astarion doesn’t dare to move until he feels it. It’s faint, but it is there.

But your eyes are still closed, and no matter how hard Astarion tries, you will not wake up. You’re still breathing, but it’s hard and labored, and Astarion is certain that if he looks away from you for even a moment you will be gone for good. He didn’t know much, but Astarion did know that a world without you was not one he was willing to return to.

By the grace of… something, Shadowheart manages to mend the skin of your leg. She’s exhausted and can hardly stand by the time she’s finished, but she does it. You’re still out cold, and Astarion is not sure whether to start crying or to find something else to kill to distract himself.

“It’s the blood loss,” Wyll assures him quickly, hauling Shadowheart up from the ground with her arm over his shoulders. “They’ll live. But we need to move them. Now.”

The Blade of Frontiers does not waste another moment, leading Shadowheart across the main floor of Moonrise Towers, down into the basement. Astarion doesn’t hesitate to do the same with you, his blood coated hands holding you so, so carefully.

When you wake up, you’re pretty sure you’re dead. You didn’t know what you expected the afterlife to hold, but it certainly was not a stone floor and the smell of mildew. For a second you think that maybe you could be somewhere else (somewhere where you are not dead) but you can’t think very clearly right now. All you can feel is a distant throbbing in your head and a bone deep cold. Your leg… You could feel your leg. That was good, considering the last thing you could recall before passing out was taking Z’rell’s ax to your shin.

And Astarion. You remembered his familiar grip, pulling you to safety. You remembered his crimson eyes, the fear you’d seen in them. But that was it. You didn’t remember passing out or how light you had felt while blood seeped from your leg. For a moment, it troubles you that you can’t remember. But if this was truly your eternal resting place… maybe it was a good thing you couldn’t remember. You’re not sure that it's really something you’d enjoy dwelling on for the rest of eternity.

You’re not sure how long you lay there. You don’t move your body, and your eyes keep falling closed every once in a while. You feel lightheaded, yet impossibly heavy at the same time. All you can bring yourself to do is stare at the ceiling. Maybe there is a god here, because you’re gifted the memory of doing the very same thing before passing out the first time. And this ceiling looks remarkably similar to the one in Moonrise Towers.

That voice, too. The one you can hear in the distance - almost as if they are shouting for you from the other room. The voice is so similar to…

“Astarion?” You breathe out, your eyes finally shifting away from the ceiling. They fall instead to the person beside you. At first, they’re just a jumble of white curls and red eyes. But then your vision clears and so does your hearing. Astarion’s repeating your name, asking if you can hear him. All you can do is nod. At least you know you’re alive, though. Or at least, you’re pretty sure. Your brain is still foggy. The lingering effects of blood loss? Or perhaps one too many healing potions?

You somehow manage to force yourself into a sitting position. Astarion’s right hand splays against your lower back carefully, his left one hovering in front of your body to catch you if you fold in on yourself. When you straighten your back, the room spins so fast you’re certain that Gale’s cast a spell to make it do that. Your hands grip Astarion’s left arm to keep from falling over.

“Easy, easy,” Astarion says softly. You’re not certain of many things right now, but you are certain that you have never heard Astarion use that tone before. One so gentle, so soft. Even when he’d told you of Cazador and the scar that tainted his back. 

“I’m okay,” you reply after a moment. Your hands still grip his arm but neither of you seem to mind it. “I’m okay, promise.” The sentiment is just as much for yourself as it is for Astarion.

Astarion only hums in reply. His eyes are flickering over your face. Like he’s taking you in for the first time - or perhaps even the last. His hand on your back is a welcome weight and the feeling of his forearm under your fingertips keeps you grounded. This is real. You are here.

You are alive.

“Holy shit,” you curse. Your eyes widen and your breathing slowly begins to pick up. You’d been so close to dying, to bleeding out in a cursed land so far from home. You’d never thought you’d be one to care so much about something like this, but the fear that you could’ve died is gripping you by the throat, pinning you beneath its clutches. 

Astarion notices this. Of course he notices. He notices everything about you. The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. How you shift your weight from foot to foot when unsure about something. How your hands flex when you’re growing frustrated. So of course he notices your breathing picking up, your grip on his arms becoming just slightly tighter.

“You’re okay, you’re okay. You need to breathe, love.” He says your name softly then, still in that foreign tone of his. The hand at your back comes up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. “Breathe,” his voice is firmer now, one you’re used to from him. Maybe it’s that tone of his that compels you to listen. Maybe it’s his hand cradling your face like you might slip away as soon as he lets you go. Or maybe it’s the fact that his eyes are still swimming with that fear you’d seen before you lost consciousness.

It takes a few moments, but you manage to even out your breathing. Those invisible claws at your neck retract, fading into the shadows of the room. The basement of Moonrise Towers, you realize. That was why the ceiling looked similar to the one upstairs. 

Everything returns to you then. The battle, Ketheric, the ax, the amount of blood you’d lost. Astarion’s arrow in Z’rell’s neck.

“You killed her,” you say, as if Astarion had not killed dozens of other enemies during your travels. “Nice aim.”

Astarion visibly deflates as soon as the joke leaves your lips. Your lips quirk into the smallest of smiles despite yourself. But then Astarion retracts his hand from your face, and that small smile falls away slowly. Astarion pretends not to notice it. You pretend like you don’t either; your attention shifts to your right leg, studying the skin exposed by the large tear in your pants. You make a mental note to find new pants.

Your hand trembles slightly as you remove it from Astarion’s arm and bring it down on your leg. Gingerly, you pull the ruined fabric back more and take in where the wound should have been. Instead, your skin looks near perfect. There is a thin scar from where Shadowheart’s healing had knitted the skin together but that is the only indication that your flesh had been torn apart that very same day.

“For a woman who worshiped the Lady of Loss, Shadowheart was rather good at keeping me - us from losing you.”

Your eyes shift to Astarion’s at his slip. You try to not let your face fall when he pulls his arm from beneath your other hand. He leans back in the chair that matches the table you’re laid out on top of, crossing his arms and screwing his face into that expression you’ve grown to recognize as a mask. A flash of hurt floods through you. Selfishly, you wonder how much more you will need to do to prove yourself before Astarion finally, finally trusts you.

“Shadowheart is a good healer,” you say instead of what you want to say. You want to comment on him being scared. You want to point out that he had literally saved your life. You want to tell him that that is not something you just do for someone you’re looking at with sheer indifference. “I think you’re the only one who doubts her.” Your own tone has changed. Despite the hurt in your heart, your tone is sharp.

“I do not doubt her, my dear. I don’t trust her. There is a difference,” Astarion replies with a wave of his hand. You don’t like this game. You hate this game. Why must he insist on playing it?

“Do you trust anyone, Astarion?”

If you were anyone else, Astarion would’ve had a quick retort. Or if you’d said it with anger in your voice. But you’re you and the question comes out with far less frustration than you had wanted it to. Instead, you sound sad. Hurt. And somehow, seeing you look like this is almost as bad as watching you bleed out. He predicts your next words before you say them, but he still winces at them all the same.

“Do you trust me?”

Your question hangs in the air between the two of you. Maybe it’s the lack of blood in your system that makes you say it. You never would have dared to ask something so vulnerable just a few feet from the rest of your companions normally. Maybe it’s the fact that you had almost died. Almost died with so many unsaid words swimming through your mind. Maybe that’s why you say it. Or maybe you’re just tired of not knowing what Astarion is truly thinking and feeling.

“You know I care for you,” Astarion replies after a moment. And you do know - how could you not when you’d seen his fear at the prospect of losing you with your own two eyes. How could you not know that he cared for you when he was so gentle every time he took your blood? How could you not know that he cared for you when he had sat beside you on sleepless nights? 

But that was not what your question was. 

“That’s not what I asked.” You intend to sound firm still. You fail, though, and you sound every bit as hurt and frustrated as you feel. “Why not?” Why didn’t he trust you? Or better, why did he not trust you enough? He trusted you enough to tell you about Cazador and what his former master had done to him. But he didn’t trust you enough to be honest about his emotions - especially his emotions towards you. Why? Why?

You watch as Astarion shifts in his seat. At first, you think he’s going to get up and walk away from you. Instead, he shifts forward, and his left hand finds yours. Your eyes fall to where your skin meets, they watch as Astarion holds your hand on top of his gently. His own attention is drawn to it, watching carefully as his other hand fidgets with your fingers.

“I thought you were going to die.”

His confession is soft, heartfelt. You might even be able to convince yourself he sounds like he might cry. But when he looks up to meet your eyes again, his crimson eyes are clear of tears. But there is pain there. Pain and torment and that fear. 

“I thought you were going to die and I would… And I would have to live with -” He gestures to himself with his hand that had been fidgeting with your fingers. “This.”

Your eyebrows knit together at his words, but you say nothing. You had long since learned that when Astarion was on the verge of opening up, it was best to let him get the words out on his own. Pressuring him had never gotten you anywhere. Well, except for right now. Every other time it had been entirely fruitless. 

“You have shown a kindness to me that I am unfamiliar with. With Cazador… His version of kindness was letting me eat instead of starving. But it always had a price. Always,” he can’t look at you anymore, instead looking intently at your hand in his. “Your kindness - I am learning - comes freely.”

“You are waiting for the other boot to drop,” You say, understanding what he is trying to tell you without directly saying it. When he nods, you swallow thickly. Words seem to fail you as you search desperately for the right thing to say. But there are no words that feel good enough.

Astarion also seems to be at a loss for words. Carefully, you place your hand not holding his under his chin and tilt his face upwards, so that your eyes meet once more. Your hand slides to cup his cheek, and your heart swells when you feel him press into your touch gently. 

“I am not him.”

Astarion’s eyes close at your words. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything except sit there for a long moment. So long that you think he isn’t going to reply. But then he turns his head, and he kisses the palm of your hand. Then where your hand meets your wrist. Then the inside of your wrist. As he places the third kiss to your skin, you let your hand fall away and watch as he picks it up with his free hand.

He doesn’t say it, but you know he understands. He knows you are not Cazador. And you don’t say it, but he knows you understand. You know he is trying. And neither of you say it, but both of you see those three words swimming in each other’s eyes. But you both know they’re there.

“Thank you,” you say after a long minute. “For not letting me die. Not that I expected you to, but…”

But you knew he wouldn’t have saved you a few weeks ago. 

“I mean it. Thank you.”

The fear in Astarion’s eyes finally melts away and that smirk of his falls onto his lips. But this was not his mask - no, this was his real joy. His real happiness at your not being dead and at being able to let a joke slip past his lips knowing you didn’t expect anything because of it.

“I can think of a few ways you could show that gratitude,” he says suggestively. A smile of your own spreads across your face, despite the color that floods it, too. Weakly, you shove his hands off of yours and roll your eyes at him. “You are welcome. I’ll save you a thousand times over if it means I get to see your smile once more.”

“Oh, don’t get soft on me now,” You say through your grin. But you’d like nothing more. A soft Astarion meant a healed one, a safe one. If that meant you were subjected to a few sappy lines here and there, you wouldn’t mind it.

“Hard to be soft with you around.”

“Astarion,” You hiss, realizing the joke you’ve walked yourself right into. For a second you debate getting off of the table and smacking him over the head, but when you shift your leg just slightly, that dizziness returns and has you gripping the edge of the table. 

Astarion is on his feet within a moment, noticing the change in you as soon as it happens. His hand has returned to your back, steadying you as the room starts to spin again. With your head a little clearer now, you recognize the feeling as similar to what you feel when Astarion drinks from you. With how strongly you’re feeling it… you don’t want to think about how much blood you must have lost.

“Rest. Please,” Astarion says in that soft voice again. And truly, who are you to deny him when he’s being so gentle? You let him coax you onto the table, onto the soft pile of fabrics you hadn’t realized had been under your head until just now. You want to stay conscious, to talk to Astarion more, but as soon as you’ve settled back down, you realize just how tired you are.

When you stir hours later, you’re tucked into your bedroll within your tent. And Astarion is sitting not far from you, reading. You don’t say anything as sleep overtakes you again, but you’re pretty certain you could get used to waking up to the sight of Astarion.

And Astarion’s pretty certain he wouldn’t mind it either.

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[littlejuicebox]

Astarion talks in his sleep.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader/Tav (Shadowheart is our lovely supporting role though.) Summary/Setting: 6 months post BG3, "good/spawn" Astarion ending, all fluff Rating/Warnings: PG / Very mild if any game spoilers but nothing related to major content or scenes Word Count: 900+ Notes: Inspired by this post here!

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Astarion talks in his sleep. It’s something you’ve never mentioned to him, because it’s mostly when he’s having a nightmare about Cazador or some other horrid trauma from his past. You'd quickly determined it not worth bringing up, for fear of embarrassing him. Plus, if you were being honest, part of you found it rather endearing... especially the lighter drabble that would escape his lips. Delighted giggles, little purrs... it could be overwhelmingly adorable, on occasion.

In fact, the first time you ever heard him say he loved you was in his sleep. Then you'd waited weeks… anxiously, impatiently, unbearably for the revelation to come out while he was awake, under his own terms.

But tonight, the talking and tossing isn't cute. The vampire writhing in bed disturbs you, and your eyes flutter open, catching the smallest glimpse of daylight between the thick, tightly drawn curtains and shuttered windows of your bedchamber. You'd just fallen asleep, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't the slightest bit annoyed.

You idly try to figure out the date. Adjusting your schedule to the night life was… difficult; you often lost track of dates nowadays. But somehow you manage to remember that it's been nearly six months since you all saved Baldur's Gate; six months since Astarion had been returned to a creature of the shadows. Six months you've been in the house provided by the city as you two adjust to whatever normalcy you are able to conjure up and figure out your next steps. You were a strong proponent for the Underdark; Astarion was not quite sold.

At first you think the silver-haired elf's tossing and turning is a night terror… it’s been nearly two weeks since the last one. He’s overdue. You ready yourself to pop out of bed and grab your calming herbs to steep a quick sleeping draught. But then you hear him, soft and garbled, laced with thick strings of sleep.

“Will you marry me?”

You turn to stare stupidly at the elf, eyes piercing through the blackness of your room; his face is obscured, you cannot tell if he’s awake. “…what did you say?”

Silence. A long, unbearable stretch of silence where your heart is pounding into your throat, practically rattling around your chest cavity at the sudden shock. And then he’s snoring again, and you’re left with your brow furrowed and robe half pulled onto your shoulder. Well, so much for your sleep.

You meander down the hall to the kitchen, where Shadowheart has several jars and plants strewn across the table. She’s practically taken over the kitchen since Gale left, not that you particularly mind, since she’s also taken over the cooking.

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep right now?” She asks, spotting you out of the corner of her eye, not lifting her focus from the mortar and pestle in her hand.

“You won’t believe what Astarion just said in his sleep.” You murmur in dazed response, walking over to the cabinets and rummaging through the contents. You grab an old kettle and fill it with water, turning to look at the cleric.

“Gods, what was it? I’m quite thankful to be out of the camp... his night terrors woke all of us up at one point or another. It's no wonder you’re struggling with the schedule adjustment.”

“He said, ‘Will you marry me?’” You respond, almost giggling at how silly that sounds in retrospect, as you place the kettle on the stove.

Shadowheart pauses. One, two, three beats of silence. “Shit… well, I guess the cat is out of the bag now.” She murmurs with a shrug, before returning to grinding her herbs.

“Wh-what?!”

“Oh, come off, don’t be daft! You had to expect it would be coming sooner or later. Gods, your love is almost sickening… it was sickening, having to hear it all the time... once again, so thankful for the separation of these walls.”

You are frozen, your hand still holding onto the kettle as you appraise your friend. Shadowheart is right. You knew a proposal would come sooner or later… you just figured it would be much later. Astarion was still struggling; more often than not you woke to him in tears or in the throes of a sleeping fit. Countless calming elixirs and teas had been drawn up by you and Shadowheart in the last six months. Truly, you hadn’t thought he was thinking that deeply about it... you hadn't been, if at all. Gods, you two still didn't even know where you were headed after leaving this city-supplied house... the lease was up in a few weeks' time.

“I guess… well, I suppose I didn’t think he was ready.” You sigh, lighting the stove and sitting across the table, watching the cleric as she works.

“Oh, trust me, he’s ready. And he's certain. Perhaps not about anything else... but definitely about this. He's been writing to Gale for weeks trying to source a particular ring." Shadowheart responds, now pouring the contents of her grinder into pouches. "Just promise you'll act like it's a surprise when the time comes... he's been talking about it for a while. He's put a lot of thought into things."

"When will it be?"

Shadowheart laughs, the edges of her eyes crinkling as she flicks her gaze toward the ceiling. She’s now cinching the sachets and sorting them all into a nearby basket. "Now that I'm not telling you. I've already given away too much."

You try for a few more minutes to pry the information from your friend, but she remains tight-lipped. You even threaten her with detect thoughts, though you both know you'd never go through with it. Finally, a whistle from the kettle beckons you back to the stovetop, and the conversation is halted as you ready your tea and aim to go back to bed. You might not know when your love is going to pop the question, but you do know that when the time comes, your answer will be a resounding yes.

Click here for Part 2

[m00nlight-ramblings]

*comes up to you shaking with excitment*

Can laezel and shadowheart have a fluff moment together? Nothing in particular they just need to be happy while doing each other’s makeup 😭

ACTUALLY SO OBSESSED WITH THIS REQUEST????

here it is, "i feel pretty"!: