#tender expressions on shadowheart kills me

[ayakapartx]

shadowheart has the shoujo filter on when shes romanced, laezel hijacked my brain and now shes taking over all the illustrations

I LOVE DRAWING GITHYANKI EARS

[d-saster-chron-cles]

I wrote a thing!!! I didn't think I could write the characters in BG3, but I did it!

Also this is the first thing that I've written so please keep your comments constructive and kind. I mean it. Be kind.

It's a pre-romance Sharos + Astarion thing, about 2100 words long

-o-o-o-

“Are we nearing the camp yet? We've been walking for hours and my feet are killing me.” Astarion complained, as the party made their way up yet another steep hill. Hearing these words, the blood red tiefling in the bright orange robes stopped where he was for a moment and turned to face Astarion. His red-orange eyes looked about as warm and compassionate as they always did whenever Sharos looked at Astarion, if perhaps a little bit tired.

“Thankfully, we're nearly there, ” Sharos replied, sounding just as tired as Astarion. “I can see Gale's bright blue tent through the bushes over there. Look.” He pointed with one clawed, red finger and sure enough, Astarion could see the camp – exactly where they'd left it.

“Thank the gods,” said Astarion to no one in particular, before picking up speed to jog. Sharos, who was left behind, had to almost run to catch up. Behind them, Karlach also picked up the pace, which left the only other party member in the dust, twigs, small stones and dead leaves kicked up by their feet.

“Istiks,” Lae'zel muttered as she watched them go, irritably flicking a leaf away from her eyes.

--

“Oh man it feels so good to sit down,” Sharos groaned, several minutes later. The team had arrived in camp, had set down their packs, and had promptly flopped into the soft grass. There was a nice, juicy pork shoulder on a spit over the campfire and some potatoes baking by the coals, which Gale and Shadowheart were carefully tending to. Lae'zel was at her whetstone sharpening her sword, and Astarion had disappeared into his tent, the flap of material that served as the door had been rolled down, which meant he didn't want to be disturbed.

Not that anyone wanted to disturb him... They all knew how salty Astarion could be after a long day.

As for Karlach, the tall, curvy Tiefling had said something about heading for the nearby stream to wash off all the sweat. This of course prompted a couple of good-natured jokes about fish soup from Wyll that had made her laugh. Lae'zel, of course, had rolled her eyes again.

Eventually the food was served and consumed with great enjoyment. and the meal passed by devoid of any commentary. All of them were too tired after a long day to really talk as they stuffed their faces with perfectly seasoned, tender meat and nice fluffy fire-baked potatoes. At one point Gale called out to Astarion to see if the elf-turned-vampire would like to join them just for the company, but he was unpleasantly surprised to hear Astarion decline, claiming that he wouldn't be good company.

“Rather odd of him not to be out here, trying to be the center of attention,” Gale commented. "Usually he's all over us."

“That it is,” Wyll agreed. "Weird for him to be so quiet, as well."

“Chk. If he wants to wallow in his own misery, I say let him,” Lae'zel chimed in. The Githyanki's expression was fiercer than it had been a few seconds ago. She looked annoyed.

“Rude, Lae'zel,” Karlach chirped, having just returned from her dip in the stream. She now sported some clean, fluffy hair. Her one curling horn looked like she'd shined it up with something too, and she had her comfortable leisure clothes on now. She looked much happier and a lot more relaxed than she had before she had left.

“Chk,” Lae'zel responded, rising from her spot and heading over to her whetstone, where she promptly began to sharpen her sword again.

“Here. We saved a plate for you, Karlach,” Gale told her once Lae'zel was out of earshot, handing over the loaded plate of meat and potato that he'd been carefully keeping warm next to the campfire.

“Nice! Thanks,” was all the reply Gale got before Karlach busied herself with wolfing down her meal.

“I'm going to go check on Astarion,” Sharos told them all. “He might have an injury that needs to be looked at, and I'm a little worried about him not wanting to socialize. He's usually out here by now, sassing us and driving us crazy with his commentary."

“Please do,” Karlach implored him, between bites of pork and potatoes. “I'm worried about him, too.”

“Call for me if he needs a Cleric. I can't do anything complicated, but if he has pain I can at least do something for that. I know a fair few healing spells and herbal remedies,” Shadowheart added.

“Will do,” Sharos promised. “See you in the morning, if I'm not back before you fall asleep.”

--

The light scratching at his tent-flap was a surprise, though whether it was a welcome one would remain to be seen. Of course, Astarion had heard them all as they had spoken about him. He knew someone was coming, but was it actually the tiefling he'd had his eye on or was it going to be someone else?

“Astarion? Are you alright in there?” Ah... he knew that voice. It was the soft-spoken but warm voice of Sharos Helltalon. A blood red tiefling and the camp's resident sorcerer, whose magic had a tendency to run amok. At one point, Astarion would have been annoyed with the man and would have irritably sent him away... but now? All he could think about was how Sharos spoke to him with kindness, shared his blood freely, and looked at him not as a monster but as someone he considered a friend. The first time Astarion had bitten Sharos, everyone else had looked rather murderous as they'd converged on Astarion's tent, but Sharos had spoken up to defend him from them.

Then, Sharos had turned to Astarion and had spoken to him as if he were a normal person, with no condescension in his tone. Astarion could still remember the soft glow in those fiery, demonic looking eyes. He had seen no trace of malice, hatred, or fear in that gaze. Instead Sharos had offered him a gentle smile before offering him yet another taste of the thick, rich, deliciously salt-sweet lifeblood that flowed through his veins. He'd told Astarion they'd need to wait a couple days so the supply could replenish and Sharos could regain his strength, but once that happened, his neck was fair game again.

All Astarion had to do was agree to be gentle about it -- which he did.

Now Sharos was scratching at his tent flap with those long, pointed black claws of his, his silhouette just barely visible through the fabric. Sighing softly, Astarion moved the tent flap aside and gestured with one hand for the tiefling to enter. Sharos had to duck down as he entered so that his sharp horns wouldn't tear through the cloth that made up the top of the tent, but soon the tiefling had settled down in the opposite end, carefully avoiding touching Astarion's bare feet.

Yes. Bare. His boots had made the pain worse so he'd pulled them off, He hadn't bothered changing to his leisure clothes yet, wanting to wait until the pain in his feet subsided a little.

“Are your feet still bothering you?” Sharos asked suddenly, as if he'd read Astarion's mind.

“No, they're...” Astarion began, but then he paused. Did he really want to hurt Sharos' feelings with a lie? Was he truly about to push away the first person who had treated him like he mattered?

Of course not. He'd wanted Sharos' attention for this exact reason. He needed someone to care enough for him that he would be protected if Cazador ever decided to come for him himself.

“Yes, actually... They are. I thought it would be wise to keep weight off of them,” said Astarion instead, while looking Sharos straight in the glowing eyes. “It's nothing that some rest won't cure, but if you should happen to know anything that can help, I am all pointy ears at the moment.”

“I don't know any remedies, but if you are amenable, I could, well... rub them for you,” Sharos replied. “I might not be perfect at it but, my hands are soft and warm – and the pressure might help the pain.”

“I don't know...” Astarion's voice trailed off as he considered. He knew Sharos well enough to know he was soft and kind. He'd seen the way that Sharos interacted with the others – always ready with a kind word or a gentle touch. Sharos had even risked burning himself just to pat Karlach on the back for a job well done, and that was just after they'd defeated the green hag Ethel in her swampy lair.

“It's okay to say no, Astarion... My feelings won't be hurt, and I don't want to force you to accept a touch that you are unwilling or unable to handle,” Sharos told him. Then he was offering Astarion one of his hands and looking at him with the softest and most compassionate smile that Astarion had ever seen directed his way. “Shake my hand and I'll promise not to touch you, ever, without permission.”

“I-” Damnit, it was far to difficult to speak around this sudden lump in his throat.

-

“Astarion, are you okay?” Sharos asked, The vampire had tried to speak, but then he had seemed to choke on his own words and gone eerily quiet. He seemed much paler than normal, and between that and the brilliant white halo of curls that surrounded his head he was curiously devoid of any color.

“No, I am not okay,” Astarion replied, but then suddenly the vampire's red eyes were fixed on him in a fearsome glare. “Why are you in here, really? Is it pity? I don't want to be pitied.”

“What?! No, damnit,” Sharos told him, so forcefully that it almost came out as a snarl. “I'm not here out of pity at all. I'm here out of concern because in case you hadn't noticed... I'm your friend!”

“W-what?” Astarion stammered, staring at Sharos with big round red eyes as if he'd not believed. In this moment, he looked impossibly, and adorably, young – especially with his hair curled over his ears.

“You heard me. I'm your friend, and friends help friends.” Sharos told him, Now are your feet still hurting you, and will you allow me to give your feet a rub or not? A simple yes or no will suffice.”

“Yes, and yes... I'm sorry for doubting you,” Astarion muttered, in the subdued way that he did when he was actually being honest for once. He seemed to slump where he sat, staring down at his own hands. Then he stretched out a spindly leg and placed his foot in Sharos' lap.

“Damn... This foot's in bad shape, so it's no wonder you're in so much pain,” Sharos commented “When was the last time anyone checked your feet?” At the same time, however, he brought a hand down to pick up the foot in his lap so it wouldn't cause a reaction. Where the foot had been resting, it had been dangerously close to pressing against a place that Sharos didn't want touched. Astarion was already a stunningly beautiful specimen of an elf, but there was something about his vampiric features that just did it for Sharos. Having that slender foot with it's high arch in his lap had almost awakened parts of Sharos' anatomy that were better off left dormant, for now.

“I've lost track of the time since I've seen anyone for my health,” Astarion replied, still in that subdued way. “I don't remember.”

“Well, this might hurt a bit at first, but I promise it'll feel better as time goes on.,” Sharos told him. With that, he began to gently knead at the ball of Astarion's foot with the pads of both thumbs. He glanced up at Astarion in alarm when the pale elf let out a little hiss of pain, but after a few tense seconds where it looked like Astarion might try to kick him in the face, he was rewarded when the tensed up muscles in Astarion's leg loosened, He was rewarded even further when Astarion let out a low moan and flopped back against the pillows behind him,

“Oh, Darling.. you have forever to stop doing that,” said Astarion in that breathy, sensual voice of his.

Now Sharos would be lying if he told Astarion that his voice didn't affect him. It affected him very much, but instead of showing any sign of how that voice had sent a lightning bolt straight down his spine, he simply grinned a wicked, toothy grin at Astarion and began to work on the foot in earnest.

Neither of them could have said how many gasps and moans were pulled out of Astarion, but by the end of the night there was one thing that was certain... Astarion would be coming back for more.

That, and Astarion's feet wouldn't hurt him anymore.

Fin

-o-o-o-

[caressofsharess]

* closed starter | @weaveshadows ( shadowheart )

of all of the people to liberate the nightsong, a sharran being among their ranks is certainly the very last thing the demigod expected. after centuries of enslavement by the lady of darkness, every ounce of her own once unbreakable will siphoned and replaced only by pain, a thing once curiously pleasurable quickly became her nightmare. her prison. no more pleasure, no more bliss, only darkness and agony. after her escape, shar sent armies of sharran cultists throughout faerûn to hunt her down, forcing the demigod to abandon the realms she adored so very much. she retaliated by growing her own army, her own cult— orders of werecats throughout faerûn would gather in packs, hunt and kill any sharran cultists on sight in sharress’ name during each and every full moon.

but as sharess looks upon this particular sharran by the name of shadowheart, her golden cat eyes are flooded with nothing but admiration. this one was to be a dark justiciar, the desire for that title, that respect given by their chosen deity, sharess can feel without even touching the elf that this meant more to them than anything else and yet— they quite literally threw the opportunity away, and for a direct descendant of selûne. why, shadowheart is more deserving of this blessing than anyone here.

` you must be the sharran who made a most great sacrifice, and not the sacrifice one would have expected a sharran to make, ` her voice is gentle, as warm as the expression upon her face. her hair falls in dark waves, down to the small of her back, and her body is wrapped in expensive, sheer, lavender fabrics, like a loose robe, one shoulder exposed as flowing pieces of cloth rest nestled within the crook of her arms. arms that are soon outstretched, welcoming and familiar, as she approaches the cleric. hands covered in golden rings gently cup shadowheart’s face within her soft palms, standing a few inches taller than the mortal. she looks deeply into their eyes, her own feline pupils dilating slightly as she allows her soothing influence to be cast out from her fingertips, washing over shadowheart’s essence like a wave of pure bliss, ` you will be the first sharran i bless, rather than kill — and whatever desires you possess, i will do everything in my power to make them so, ` and with that, sharess places a tender kiss against the mortal’s lips — a blessing, a thank you. she pulls back just as smoothly as she moved in, offering a loving smile, ` you may call me sharess, child. i will be here to aid in whatever is to come, and i owe you my undying gratitude. dame aylin means many worlds to me. `