manicpiscesdreamgorl
gayle :)
chaotic good • Astarion kisser • jewish • pan • they/she • 22 • tx
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All of my BG3 landscapes on one post :)
prints ✦ patreon (full speedpaints are available there + wallpapers)
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Oh to be a bear, eating salmon, attacking campers, eating campers
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WHAT THE FUCK IS NONCHALANT 😭😭😭 i was built to take a sword through my chest for you
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Goddess
Here’s a little piece I wrote about my Tav, Adrie, who is a cleric of Selune. Astarion is up later than her and can’t help but admiring his little moon maiden as she rests next to him.
Tags: tavxastarion, named tav, religious imagery, the L-word, astarion
Astarion looked down at his lover's serene beauty as she rested. Her long, silvery-white, and blue hair spilled across her pillow like moonlight. He could stare at her for hours and never get over how mesmerizingly gorgeous she was. He loved her expressive watercolor eyes and the way her brow furrowed when she was thinking. The scar that crossed over her nose and face had always made her insecure, but to him, it made her more beautiful. It was like someone had taken cracked porcelain china and filled the crack with silver.
He remembered the honeyed words he had lavished her with when seducing her into their tactical alliance turned to romance. He had told her that it was as if the gods had made her just to ruin him, and he had meant it. She was a vision, a dream. She was his savior. She was his light in the dark.
Adrie had shown him kindness and trust that he had not known in all of his eternal life. It had made him scared and even angry when he began developing feelings for her. After all, how could someone like her ever truly love someone like him? But she did— blindly and without a second thought. He knew their futures were forever bound. She was everything to him. She was his sun, moon, and all of his stars.
Adrie once told him she believed Selune, her goddess, had sent him to her. He had scoffed. Until now, no one had bothered to save him, let alone know him, divine, fiend, or mortal. No one except Adrie Caerdonel. He doubted the gods had any hand in their meeting; despite her faith that it was fate or divine intervention, he knew it was dumb luck. The best luck he’d had in centuries.
He would worship his little moon like the goddess she was. The divine never answered his calls for help or mercy, so he would devote himself to her instead. It was her who pulled him out of the shadows of his mind. She had shown him the tenderness of intimacy. She showed him the kindness and light around him if he cared to look for it. She was… everything to him. He was hers for the rest of his days. Even past her last breath, he would be hers.
“I love you,” he whispered to his resting darling, kissing her forehead softly. He said it like a prayer, like the holy words Adrie whispered before battle. It was another phrase he had used to manipulate her at the beginning of their relationship, but now, he meant it. It was his first prayer to his goddess, a litany he would repeat until the end of time.
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The Urge
Just having made it to Rivington, Zar’riia faces her Urge again. Thankfully she doesn’t face it alone.
Tags: durgexastarion, named durge, hurt comfort.
Zar’riia tossed in her sleep, the Urge calling to her, beckoning her to kill. She needed to figure out how to get away from camp. She couldn’t bear the thought of hurting one of her companions, especially after the sleepless night she had been tied up after almost killing Astarion. She couldn’t do that to him again, and her stomach churned at the thought of killing any of the people she had come to love so dearly. She rolled quietly, untangling herself from the trancing embrace of Astarion, and stood to leave the tent. She had to clear her head; she had to control the Urge.
“Zar’riia?” Her lover’s voice was raspy. She stopped and turned to look at the pale elf, his curls a mess, his eyes bright and alert.
“Sh, love. Rest. I just need to clear my head,” she whispered, not daring to kneel or get close in case the Urge took control of her body.
“It's the Urge, isn’t it? It came back,” he said, standing up and looking her over. Her eyes were glassy, and her hands trembled violently.
“Yes. I need to walk. I need to get away from camp before it takes over,” she replied, her words soft but hurried.
“Darling, you have to tell me when this happens. We are a team, you and me. You can’t keep waiting until things get murderously bad—not just for my sake, for the others and yourself,” he said, his gaze softening at his dagger-happy lover.
“This isn't your burden, Astarion. It’s mine. I don’t want to hurt or scare you. The Urge is something I must carry the weight of alone,” her hands trembled as she anxiously fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve.
“Riia, you are not alone in this. I told you that before. You have helped me so much, shown me so much light; let me do the same for you,” he stared into her silvery-blue eyes as he talked. He could see she was still in control, but he did not know how long he had until the Urge overtook his sensitive, sweet, sometimes terrifying partner. He needed to do something soon, and letting his homicidal maniac walk around Rivington did not seem like a good idea.
“Fine,” she conceded. “I’m scared. This isn’t me. Please help.” Tears began welling in her eyes, and she blinked them away quickly.
“You’re right. This isn’t you. You can do this, darling. You can beat this. Come here; I kept some rope in our tent in case this happened again. The others do not have to see your shame if they wake up. We will ride this out together.”
She climbed back into his tent, and they had both begun to share since making their relationship official. Tears silently slipped down her pale purple cheeks. She had never cried in front of Astarion before, but everything felt so overwhelming. She was scared of herself, what her party was up against, and of losing everything she had built for herself.
Why was he being so nice to her? Didn’t he see she was a monster? Whoever she was before, the nautiloid scared her. She did not deserve the companionship and love those around her gave so freely. She tried so hard the past month to be good to change; after her murder of Alfira, she had vowed to overcome this. She promised to atone for her sins. But tonight, the burden of the Urge felt too heavy, too intense.
“Little love, what’s going on? Are you hurt?” Astarion asked, rushing to her side, oncoming homicidal tendencies be damned. Tears fell from her eyes, cascading down her cheeks like waterfalls. His heart crumbled watching his partner cry; he had never seen this side of Zar’riia. She looked terrified and more vulnerable than he had ever seen her.
“I am so scared. What if I ruin everything? I don’t even know who I was before the nautiloid. I know I was a horrible person to be cursed with this killing perversion. I am so scared of my past, and I feel like we are about to confront it head-on in the city. The Urge has been stronger since we left Reithwin,” she sobbed, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Zar’riia, you know I am the last person to judge you for anything you may have done in your past. I have done some…horrible things because Cazador used me to do his bidding. You have shown me it is possible to change and find the world's light. You have shown that you are capable of change. And whatever is waiting for you in the city, we will face it together. We are a team,” he said, wrapping her in a hug, as she had done after he met that vile drow blood merchant when he confessed his feelings and revealed more of his past. Urge be damned.
She cautiously wrapped her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder. He held her until the sobs stopped racking her body, and she pulled away. Her eyes glazed over, her hands twitching, and her lips curled into a cruel sneer. The Urge had taken over his darling’s body.
Zar’riia’s mind filled with yellow bile, and her vision was blurred. Every fiber of her being screamed, ‘Kill. Kill. Kill. And kill again.’ Astarion grabbed the rope and quickly bound her hands and ankles together, lowering her to the ground as she snapped at him and spasmed, trying to break free of her bindings.
“You will get through this, Riia. You are stronger than this. Dawn will be here before you know it.” He whispered as he watched his mad love writhe and twitch on the floor.
Zar’riia tried to show she understood and was going to make it through, but she was spasming too violently, her teeth gnashing together, her mouth filling with blood as she accidentally bit her tongue. Her Urge spit the blood at him; she swore she would see his blood bloom over his white curls as she twitched.
He watched, not daring to get too close to her. He knew this was not her, but he was terrified that the sweet half-drow, who had just been sobbing in his embrace, so quickly turned into this bloodthirsty killer.
Hours passed as he watched his partner convulse and threaten him with all sorts of very imaginative, violent imagery. He sighed, grateful to have met her, but seeing her turn into a carrion creature broke his heart. It reminded him too much of his worst self. They needed to figure out how to save her, to control her Urge. They would both break their chains in the city. He hoped that he might convince her to stay with him after this brain business. But first, they both had to kill the demons that haunted them day and night.
Dawn finally arrived; pink and oranges painted the sky outside the tent as the sun rose. Astarion looked down at Zar’riia; she had stopped convulsing, and her silver eyes were bright and alert again. She sat stock still and silent as he cut her free. Her wrists and ankles were bloody from where she had struggled against her bindings. She rubbed her wrists and looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes again.
“I am so sorry,” she sobbed, her body aching and tired. Astarion once again wrapped her in an embrace, stroking her soft spider-silk hair and breathing in her scent. She melted into the hug, tears slipping down her cheeks as she held him tightly, scared to let him go. He did not say a word. He didn’t need to. He had her back, through her darkness, through everything, just as she did for him.
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Thinking about this line from Cazador and what implies:
I keep thinking about how strange and new must have been for Astarion to finally be surrounded by people who actually listen to him and no one there to punish him for speaking up.
How it must have felt for him to be able to freely joke around and find that Tav actually laughs at his jokes and even joins in the fun. How new it must have been to be able to express himself and have people who actually listen to him and don't treat him like he is a nuisance, but truly listen to what he has to say.
I imagine a Tav who just listens, even when he is complaining and whining on purpose, they listen and maybe smile a bit between themselves because they've seen through him, and they never tell him to shut up, they let him vent, they listen to his stories about Cazador, they laugh with him at his jokes.
No wonder he falls so hard for Tav or becomes very fond of them in a friendship route.
After 200 years where even the Gods didn't care to listen, he has found someone who sits down with him and hears him out.
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“it's up to you” please don't stress me out like this 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
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John Dominis. Magdalena, New Mexico (c. 1951)
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I support women's rights but also women's decades long revenge plots
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