#bg3 amira

[optiwashere]

Written for Femslash February 2024 for the prompt "Quid pro quo."

This ship really writes itself, I think. How could you not see the immediate ship potential between one of the most powerful criminals in the city and the owner of one of the most popular brothels?

To be honest, there's a lot of Nine-Fingers ships that are just kinda... waiting to be written. They're all there. And by "they" I do of course mean most of the women in Baldur's Gate.

Rating: E

Category: F/F

Ship: Nine-Fingers/Amira

Tags and AO3 Summary under the break.

Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Porn With Plot, Trans Female Character, Negotiations, Transactional Sex, Light Dom/sub, Cunnilingus, Blow Jobs, Mirror Sex, Background Nine-Fingers Keene/Lady's Court

Summary:

Astele Keene, best known in the right circles as Nine-Fingers, has always been a woman who knows how to get her way. Ever since her kidnapping as a child and the subsequent revenge she took, people know not to dance around the dealing table with her. Everyone knows better except for one rather clever woman.

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3 amira #nine-fingers keene #femslash february #femslash february 2024 #anotheropti's femslash february #my fics #This is real. To me. #and yeah that background ship? also real to me #you cannot tell me otherwise tbqh

[vasheden]

I got this lovely piece of Amira and her boys from @redreart! I just keep coming back to it and smiling. (Also I finally finished her playthrough!)

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #redreart #astarion #gale dekarios #amira tav

[elgaladwen]

Friends, companions, Tav, NPCs, enemies, lovers, three angry druids, etc.

#It was fun to have three druids in my party for all of ten minutes #But yeah all these don't really have enough for their own post! #bg3 #bg3 screenshots #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #astarion #bg3 shadowheart #shadowheart #bg3 karlach #karlach #bg3 isobel #bg3 aylin #dame aylin #nym orlith #sorn orlith #mamzell amira

[whoopsitsloobis]

I just wanna know why everyone is hot

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 npcs #geraldus #bg3 geraldus #geraldus bg3 #mamzell amira #bg3 mamzell amira #mamzell amira bg3 #klaus #bg3 klaus #klaus bg3

[nymorlith]

Mamzell Amira the Drow Chaser and Devil Worshiper

#nym orlith #sorn orlith #baldur's gate 3 #sharess' caress #bg3 #screenshots #mamzell amira #this puts things into a whole different light for me with the drow twins honestly?

[ecccentrick]

Assigned sub by brothel owner.

#bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate 3 #mamzell amira

[gamerkitten]

BG3 OC List

Just a little list of the OCs I have brewing while I wait to play BG3.

Lorelai

Pinterest

Age:33

Race: High Elf (Bhaalspawn)

Background: Haunted One

Class: Sorcerer (Draconic bloodline)

Alignment: Neutral Evil (Chaotic Evil pre-tadpole)

Romance: Astarion(Ascended)

Rue

Pinterest

Age:30

Race: Wood Elf

Background: Outlander

Class: Cleric(Selune)

Alignment:Neutral Good

Romance: Gale

Amira

Pinterest

Age: 28

Race: Human

Background: Criminal

Class: Bard(swords)

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Romance: Wyll

#BG3 #OCs #Lorelai #Dark Urge #Rue #Amira

[bardic-inspo]

Midnight Chimes

Chapter One: You Look Different in the Daylight

Pairing: Astarion x Cursed! Tav

✨Full Chapter List ✨BG3 Fic Masterlist ✨

Series Summary:

It’s easier for Astarion to believe Naomi tastes so sweet because she was his first. Easier to ignore the fact that every undead in vague proximity yearns for the same blood that’s sated him night after night. Easier to pretend her music is arcane as any other bard’s, and not divine enough to wake corpses from the dirt. Easier to pretend Naomi is simply a bard, and not something more akin to a siren. One that's slowly realized she's not just another sailor, after all. Easier to bury the fact that he's already stupidly in love with her. Like she wouldn't just raise that out of the ground, too. A curse rears its head. A devil comes calling. Astarion fights for his freedom from Cazador. He and the rest of their merry little band fight to save Tav from the doom she feels she's fated for.

Chapter CW: None

A/N: First couple chapters have some time jumps, and then the story falls into a linear progression. (This is a cross-post from my prior (now defunct) sideblog and AO3 account). Dividers by @cafekitsune.

✨ Click here if you prefer to read on AO3 ✨

“Don’t often see your sort on this side of the street.”

The innkeep’s talking about drow. Like the twins. The Flophouse’s most recent newcomer is Seldarine, just like them. Pretty as the pair of them, too. All twilight skin, some pale shade between blue and violet, and moonlight hair that would glow silver with it if he could get her back outside. Astarion could tell her that while he twirled one finger in the strands and wrapped her dwindling life around another.

Darling, you make the stars so pitifully dim. It’s futile, the way they’re shining now. Not like you.

But she’d have to shed some layers to fit in at Mamzell Amira’s establishment. The drow’s armor is light and leather. At least it’s fitted enough to get a figure for her figure.

Astarion catches the flinty edge of her glare as she turns her cheek, ever so slightly, his way. Sharp as a knife. His stage smile echoes back with an edge just as keen. She might be new in town, but she gets the innkeep’s meaning well enough not to like it.

Must’ve been the tip of a blade that cut that scar curling from her cheek across the bridge of her nose. It’s hairline thin, but it interrupts the freckles powdering her face. No one’s paying her to hang over them like drapery at Sharess’ Caress. Not with that trace imperfection.

Astarion could do it. Pay her enough attention to get her loose, dangling, vulnerable. Play the role of the valiant hero. Spring forth to defend her honor. Show her about town, like a gentleman should. It’s a gambit he’s run more times then he can count.

It would go something like this: sweet words about city secrets she hasn’t seen to lure her back into the starlit streets. A pretty view, perhaps of the Chionthar glimmering, to get her eyes wide. A promise of a better one, somewhere secluded. A heated whisper to get her blushing. His breath on her skin, to start a shiver. Promises, promises tumbling out of his pretty mouth. His name, falling out of hers.

And it would end in blood, like it always does. What a night she’d have. Her first in Baldur’s Gate. Her last alive.

Her life flashes before Astarion’s eyes in a glint of golden light. Sudden, vivid, then all at once gone. Someone else spots his prey and takes a swipe before he can.

The prey, it turns out, bites back.

“Argh -- get your hands off me!”

The garbled cry of indignation doesn’t come from the drow. Her grip latches to the arm of the would-be thief and wrenches it around, forcing his hand to open. Her coin falls back, neatly, into her own waiting palm.

She tosses away her hold on her assailant in the same manner as pitching trash. The thief -- a rather burly half-elf -- cowers, cradling his throbbing hand. A hiss leaks out of him, sending a shiver down Astarion’s spine. The noise is too familiar. Too much like vampiric skin simmering in sunlight.

Astarion grimaces, a twist of pity sinking in his gut. Not for the thief, and not for her, either. For their star-crossed evening, or the fleeting notion of it, stolen away by someone else’s sticky fingers fishing into her back pocket. For a measly pair of coins, she’d bought her own life back. With a twist of a wrist, she wrenched her fate from Astarion’s nimble hands.

It’s for the best, really. Thanks to the thief, Astarion knows better. She’s too clever. Too quick. Too cunning. Violet eyes cut across the room to his watchful ones. Maybe she’d have seen through his schemes, too, and made good on the promise in that look of hers. Like she could spear him straight to the paneling behind his head, same as the curled fliers nailed near the door.

But alas, now he has to do horrible things to someone else.

Astarion’s stomach turns as he sets his sights to the Flophouse door. Finding what he needs on the other side of the street, yet again, sounds like the opposite of fun. Someone drunk, naive, unsuspecting. He thought the drow checked those last two boxes. Astarion’s eyes drift to the thieving half-elf, now stooped and sulking in a seat as far from the drow as the room allows.

Someone has to pay. It won’t be Astarion, under Godey’s biting blades. Not again. Not tonight. He’ll take his chances with whatever happens while he’s under someone, anyone else.

Astarion’s fingernails drag into the woodgrain of the table before he shoves from his seat. He lets his chair scrape back loud enough to scrape the thief’s eyes off the floor. By the time Astarion’s sauntered over to the vacant chair at the half-elf’s table, the other man’s eyes have oozed, messy and lustful, all over Astarion’s best assets. Most of them, anyway.

With one click of his tongue, like the tug of a leash, the stranger’s wide, blue eyes snap to Astarion’s. Good boy.

“Tough break,” Astarion nearly purrs, letting the words roll slowly off his tongue, letting his hips drop slower into the seat. “Not as tough as you, I’d wager.”

The other man scoffs, as if without a care. But he wets his lips before speaking, like he needs to test them first. “Shouldn’t be,” he says gruffly. “Should be, if someone’s lived their whole life somewhere, they shouldn’t have to settle for scraps while all these foreigners come rolling in.”

“You’re so right,” Astarion croons, leaning in to prop his chin with his hand. “And you should say it.”

And he does. In excess. Punctuated with chest-puffing, peppered in curse words and vaguely political bleating. Almost like he’s practiced this little diatribe as much as Astarion’s recited his best hooks. His mark seems pent-up, at least, in one sense. Before Astarion can allude to another, his ear catches on the more civilized conversation happening over at the counter.

“I’ll need a name, then,” the innkeep -- a surly dwarf -- prompts.

The drow swallows. “Tav…riel.”

It’s nearly two words, with the amount of hesitation in between. The innkeep asks again.

“Tavriel?” He mutters. She nods. He eyes her warily, scribbling the name down into his book. “You some sort of bard or something?”

“Sure." If you want me to be, the careful lilt of her voice says.

“Never heard a flute I was fond of,” the innkeep prattles irritably. The offending instrument is strapped near the drow’s waist. “Too pitchy.”

“Sounds like you’ve never met someone who knew what to do with it.”

Astarion perks a brow. It’s near enough to one of his usual lines that he stores it away in the back of his brain for later. It needs refinement. Not his fav-

“It’s not my favorite, either, but it’s easier to travel with,” Tavriel says.

“You any good with it? Can’t say I’ve heard of you.”

“Mm, you probably wouldn’t have,” Tavriel says, unperturbed. A clever sort of smile creeps onto her lips. “I’m a killer with a fiddle. Not sure anyone’s lived to tell the tale.”

Well, what a tease. Astarion’s never heard of a bard that didn’t very desperately want to be heard of. What else would she be, could she be, if not a bard? Maybe a rake, if her claws weren’t so cutting. Teeth are far better for that sort of delicate work.

She swipes the brass key from the counter. Astarion watches until her boots disappear up the stairs and she’s gone. His mark never notices Astarion’s attention was anywhere else. Suppressing a tired sigh, Astarion slips back into his shtick like a sword in a sheath.

Time to get to it, before the darkness runs out.

“Oh, yes, darling. Fuck those foreigners. But…wouldn't you rather with a real Baldurian?”

Astarion’s stomach swoops, harder than it bucked on the fall from the nautiloid. It doesn’t matter how hard he runs for the trees, for the sparse and insufficient shade they might cast. Doesn’t matter that his legs pump as fast as his exquisite body allows. He should be burning by now. Should be dead, at least twice over.

If he had a heartbeat, it’d be hammering in his throat. He feels the pressure all the same. Every swallow comes as a choke, even as he staggers to a stop in the meager shadows.

Astarion’s eyes dart towards that scorching orb hanging, searing, and ominous overhead. The light glints back like a damn guillotine. Any moment now, the drop will come. This farce will end. This figment of freedom, the barest wisp of it, will evaporate. Ashes will be all that’s left in the wake of two centuries of pure, utter, shit.

Ashes do fall. They drift in fat flakes from the sky, coating the beach in soot. The acrid tang cloys with the spray of saltwater in the air. But his body’s still whole enough to tremble. Astarion turns his palms over in silent awe, watching his own skin alight. The flames don’t come. Only…

Warmth. Dainty as a first kiss. Across his throat, flooding his cheeks, his chest, his every inch. A smile as faint as a ghost dares to grace Astarion’s lips.

He hears his own shaky, unbidden laugh like it’s that of a stranger. It came from someone else’s body, surely. This is someone else’s body. His would’ve been in cinders, barring some very, very belated divine intervention.

Or, apparently, an illithid invasion. The up close and personal kind.

Astarion rips his gaze away as it begins to water. Scorch marks stain his sight for a full minute after. Inkblots of bright, burning color. It’s as he’s blinking rapidly that he sees her, picking her way up the slope, past the wreckage.

Astarion’s seen her before. He’s sure of it, now that she’s nearer. Now that he can see her in the full, unadulterated light of the sun. (The sun. The sun. The fucking sun!)

Outside of the nautiloid’s bloody glow, her hair’s white as frost. Her complexion’s less rosy, more violet. Out here, she could be a normal drow.

He tenses, picking up the faint prickling of voices in the distance. She’s not alone. Astarion doesn’t recognize the other woman, a half-elf with a black, chained braid dangling down her back like a whip.

But he remembers the drow. She was on board that blasted ship. She knows about the damn worm lodged behind his eye socket. Maybe they both do. His fist clenches on the hilt of his blade, still tucked in its sheath.

As Astarion watches from afar, magic wakes in half-elf’s palm, vivid and blinding. It sears into the bare cerebrum of some crawling creature snapping at the drow’s heels. The creature utters a shrill screech before it slumps over, steaming. His eyes narrow. Seems the pair of them are chummy, at very least, if not co-conspirators. He creeps back further into the brush.

Both of them will pay. They’ll have to. At least half as much as Cazador will make Astarion pay for this…this…impossible escapade.

It can’t last. Astarion’s brow knits in with the stiffness in his jaw. Certain doom surrounds him like the sheer sides of a cliff. One one hand lies the inevitable, excruciating plummet into ceremorphosis. Astarion’s skin crawls with the thought. The final destruction of his body. The devouring of his mind. Someone, something else, stealing his entire self and reshaping him into a tentacled puppet.

On the other hand, Cazador would never settle for being outdone by some squid-faced freak. He’ll get creative for this. More than he ever has before. Astarion’s teeth grate against each other.

This can’t last. Oh, but it has to.

Another glow of magic, dimmer this time, catches his eye. It blinks and fades from the drow’s gloved fingers like a firefly. But it has the same radiance as the earlier spell. The same radiance as the delightful glow seeping over his skin. Though, thankfully, the sunshine has proven far less lethal. A dead trail of intellect devourers lies in their wake.

They’re clerics, then, he thinks with a swell of distaste. Fools, but capable ones. Though, the drow is perhaps less of the latter. Still, she’s hardly a victim. The both of them could very well be villains, emerging from the smoking wreckage of their mothership. They’ve come close enough, he can hear the sand crunch beneath their footsteps. Hear their heartbeats, still quickened from their fight, pumping the blood of thinking creatures through their veins.

Astarion sucks in a steadying breath. Not because he needs it to live. Because he needs to perform.

“Help! Help, I need some help!” He bellows.

Their pace hastens to a jog up the hill. In a matter of moments, their wary eyes latch to his plaintive, pleading ones.

“Hurry!” He gasps, panting for good measure. “I’ve got one of those brain things cornered! There, in the grass. You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others?”

The stronger-looking one -- the half-elf -- hangs back. She might be the smarter one, too. The drow isn’t so bothered by brains or caution. She comes within an arm's length, eyes wide and doey. She scans the brush for danger like she isn’t the prey, one hand wrapping the hilt of her rapier.

“There,” he says, slipping into step behind the drow as her feet tamp down the brittle grass. “Can you see it?”

She doesn’t see the knife drawn in a flash. Not until her back hits the dirt, and the blade bites against the pretty flesh of her throat. Astarion tumbles down with her, keeping a vice-grip on the dagger. Her pulse practically leaps against the knife, smacking in a wet, sumptuous rhythm. The back of his throat burns, raw, ragged. Thirsty.

The urge rips through him, sudden and staggering. Astarion bites back a breath, just to bite something. The drow shifts beneath his blade, grunting in indignation.

“Shh, shh shh. Not a sound,” he hisses, soft as velvet. “Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours. And you,” he growls, louder for their little audience. “Keep your distance. No need for this to get messy.”

The half-elf isn’t half-convinced. “I need her alive,” she snaps, light flaring at her fingertips as she dares a step closer. “Stow that blade, or I’ll show you just how messy things can get.”

But one step is all she dares. Astarion’s eyes narrow wickedly. His captive has value. Good to know. “Promises, promises. But I have other business, I’m afraid.”

His gaze hardens on the drow, who’s gone so sweetly still for him. “Now, I saw you on the ship, didn’t I? Nod.”

Wordlessly, she complies. Good girl.

“Splendid. And now you’re going to tell me exactly what you and those tentacled freaks did to me!”

Her eyes flash, defiant. “We were prisoners, too!”

Astarion’s lips curl with a snarl. “Don’t lie to me -- AH!”

His own memories burst like blisters in his mind’s eye. Dark streets and darker alleys with darker endings. Unlucky souls, lured away, alone, to their fates. Except he isn’t alone. Astarion doesn’t know how, but he’s certain. She’s in his fucking head.

The connection snaps and shatters as sudden as it came. Astarion recoils, reeling as the remnants sting between his temples. “What was that? What’s going on?!”

“Stalker,” his captive spits scornfully.

“I--what?”

“You were in Baldur’s Gate,” the drow huffs. “Fraygo’s Flophouse.”

Gods, you’ll have to be more specific, he nearly sighs. But the slice of violet eyes cuts him short. Astarion’s brow pinches in thought.

“You sat there and stared at me while I was nearly robbed. Not so helpful then. Kind of acting like the opposite right about now.”

It’s ringing bells, but she doesn’t have her flute. She didn’t have that silver symbol, hanging around her neck, back in the Gate. She said she was a bard back then, and she looked like far less of a cleric when she said it.

And Astarion hadn’t noticed the tattoo curving with her left cheekbone. Little birds in flight. He wonders, fleetingly, what on earth could have possessed her to mark her own pretty little face with such a thing.

“AH-- urgh!”

Her hand grips his wrist and twists harsh enough for his vision to flood with white. His eyes burn. By the time he blinks to clear them, his own knife pokes the hollow of his throat.

Cute trick. The same fate her would-be thief suffered, he remembers ruefully. Before Astarion suffered the thief, and the thief suffered what Astarion baited him for.

She scrambles backwards, gaining as much distance as she grants him. They stagger to stand, dust caking his doublet, and dirt streaking her leathers.

“We’ve been wormed, too,” she says, stance softening. “The tadpoles can connect our thoughts. We’re trying to get rid of them. If you’re done trying to stab me, we might let you tag along for the ride.”

“We will?” Her companion mutters skeptically.

You will? Astarion wonders, equally mystified.

She turns his knife once, twice, thrice between her fingers, like she’s playing a parlor game. When the spinning stops, the blade end rests in her gloved palm.

“I’m Naomi,” she says, offering him the hilt of his own dagger like it’s a handshake. Tentatively, Astarion takes it.

“Tavriel,” he mutters faintly, the name swimming out of the depths of all the others to the forefront of his memory.

She shrugs. “If you’d prefer to stay on a surname basis. ‘Tav’ is fine, too.”

Impossible starlight seeps between the thinning veil of clouds above. Silvered blades of grass glint like so many knives under a shimmer centuries in the making.

Astarion lays beneath the clearing sky, his back cushioned by damp, flattened grass. Warmth radiates across his chest, where another impossibility rests her cheek. His free hand strokes idly, thoughtlessly, through her ivory hair. The motion comes easier than breathing ever could’ve.

This -- the two of them, tangled here -- is centuries in the making, too.

They lay fully clothed and content. His other hand wraps Naomi’s waist, tucking the heat of her against his skin like a blanket. Cuddling, of all things. Something in him still balks at the notion. Yet, here he is, yet again.

It’s something they get to do, now, when he wants to. There’s yet to be a night he hasn’t, in the weeks since he stammered out his confession and Naomi laid her hand in his.

He wanted something else to be real between them, too, tonight, when he discovered his favorite drow had wandered away from their merry band of misfits. He found her doused in the starlight she looks so good in, sat on some rock between the gnarled trees, ever oblivious to the small war she started between Astarion’s mind and body.

If there were more life in the trees, it might’ve been reminiscent of another night spent together, after the tieflings’ celebration simmered down into quiet, sleepy cinders. If it were a night like that, he’d have his hands on the small of her back, where she arched it in a stretch. He’d have the rest of her lilac skin soaking Selune’s evening shine, not just the lovely length of her neck above her collar, and that succulent slice peering from between her breasts. He’d have her pliant. He’d have her gasping.

And he’d be free. Of his trousers, at the very least. A flare of yearning ached so earnestly beneath his ribs. Memory and loathing speared it down, sharp, only moments later.

The sound of frantic scrubbing put that battle to bed, for now, and sparked a new one. She was at it again. After Shadowheart already tried to put an end to it in the camp. So that’s why she snuck away.

Astarion cleared his throat pointedly, eyes drifting to the black stains of spellwork scrawled over Naomi’s arms. The marks didn’t let up. Neither did she, until Astarion stayed her hand, and took it in his.

“Really, darling,” he chided. “At that rate, you’ll rub yourself bloody.”

He expected an eyeroll, at least, if not a snicker. But her throat merely bobbed. “They haven’t faded since our fight at the portal.”

“Oh, that was only, what? A few days ago?”

It’s normal, Gale told her. And Shadowheart, too. Well…some of it is. In a paraphrased sense.

“It’s never hung around this long before,” she said, frowning. “I’m not even sure what spell it’s from. There were so many of them, and they all rushed me at once--”

“They were trying to close the door on Halsin and Thaniel,” Astarion said, matter-of-factly. “And we stopped them like the good little heroes we are.”

Sure, their less-than-living foes seemed to aim in one particular direction, at one particular target, during the whole hold-the-gate ordeal. But they barely clipped her barely half the time. Naomi’s fleet-footed in a fight. And what she couldn’t dodge, she fluted away with that cute little ditty that steers their enemies’ arrows elsewhere. The purpling bruise at her shoulder is an exception. Her cutting words were keener than whatever wounded her.

Besides, none of them came away from the past few days without the marks to show it. But those who survived Ketheric Thorm’s final, bony bout are in far better shape than the general’s dusty remnants. Even after they had to jump down that gods-forsaken pit into rancid hell just to kill him for good. The thought alone stirs a shiver down Astarion’s spine, still.

“Now,” he said, steering her by the shoulder, “come keep your frigid lover warm and look at the good you’ve done.”

So, they set aside the notions either of them had in mind, and settled instead for…this. A piece of peace, resting among the patchy tufts of grass grown over a rooftop in what used to be Reithwin. Naomi stares up at their handiwork. The scatter of stars isn’t so different from the freckles dusted over her nose, nearly hiding the thin scar that angles over the bridge of it.

A muted glow leaks over the so-called shadow-cursed lands from the crescent cut of the moon hanging overhead. The first, hard-won taste of what this place could be now that it’s free from its curse. It’ll be different in the daylight, just like Astarion was when he stumbled into it after two hundred years apart. But they’ll be on the road again before they see it glaze over this place.

On the path, at last, to Baldur’s Gate. And to Cazador. To vengeance, absolution, ascension, and all sorts of fairytale words that were once greater than Astarion’s imagination. Now, they’re bloody nightmares in his own arsenal, two hundred years of them, on the cusp of release. Now, they’re promises. Dreams with teeth.

It brings to mind the first burst of blood on his tongue, from that soft neck that nuzzles so near him, now. With that first taste came color, life, and heat where there was only frailty and feebleness before. What fresh sweetness will Cazador’s blood bring, painting Astarion’s hands, pooling like a cloak at his feet?

A whole new world of it, he’s sure. One that’s his to claim. His to share and shape as he sees fit.

Astarion breathes in, not because he needs to, but because he wants the trace scent of lavender in his nose as Naomi’s hair tickles the tip of it. Her heartbeat flutters down from her earlier anxiousness, pattering into a steady rhythm. He feels its mark against his ribs and thinks, for the first time, he understands what might possess lunatics like her to get tattoos on purpose.

That little rhythm should settle there, at his side. Always. Like the little music boxes she’s so fond of. She didn’t take the one she found in Moonrise Towers, so Astarion did. It’s been by her bedside ever since. He sees the little glimmer of it, every night he slinks into her tent.

A gentle, but insistent tug pulls at the corner of his thoughts. He peers down at his present company with an arched brow. Her eyes are peacefully shut, but the mischievous smile gives her away.

Hesitantly, Astarion lets his head roll back to the earth, and his eyes slide shut, too. All right, love. What is it you want to show me?

The tadpole connection hums, all at once familiar and foreign. Listen, she says back, with the same smile in her thoughts as on her lips. He lets the connection pull him through and stifles a soft sound of awe in the back of his throat.

Quiet. Blessed, blissful quiet. Like none she’s ever known.

Naomi’s ear rests over his heart, but it doesn’t beat for her. Not literally, at least. He’d still heavily negotiate any figurative sense of the matter. But it doesn’t matter that it isn’t beating. It’s not what she wants. Not what she…needs.

He feels the ache of it, as she lifts her cheek, briefly, and music flits, frenetic, though her mind. Spells and stanzas and half-remembered rhymes in mangled cacophony. She lays her head back down, and lets out a long breath. Astarion echoes the sound, unbidden, as the connection withdraws, and he’s left with the pluck of her heartbeat in his head again.

It’s never quiet. Not in her head. But it can be. With him. If he hadn’t prayed so hard to them already, he’d swear the gods gifted him this woman. Astarion knows better. The illithids did.

She shifts with a sigh that echoes in his own ribs. He follows the motion and finds her staring at her palms again. Like she could will away the sooty stains. They might pass for evening gloves, if they didn’t look so veiny. But they don’t hurt. He’s asked her.

Precious thing, what on earth is wrong with you, to think there’s anything wrong with you?

“You--” Astarion stammers, brow furrowing as he begins again, incredulous. “What in all the heavens above and hells below could have ever possessed you of the notion that you’re cursed?”

The softness in his throat, his whispered words on fogged breath, curling quiet into the night air, that’s entirely her doing. Her undoing of so much of what Astarion thought was in his nature.

Naomi looks up at him, with an aged sort of sadness brimming beneath the quiet huff of her laugh. “It was all the dead people, dear.”

Astarion scoffs. “Darling, I’m hurt that you could think of my fine company as anything other than a blessing.”

“You are my silver lining,” she breathes back, as if her words themselves were fragile lace. Astarion feels the delicate brush of them over his neck. It grows suddenly taut, choking the notion of other words right out of him.

When his head rolls back to the ground again, something, perhaps that useless heart of his, is trying to punch its way straight through his chest. He feels winded, like he took a tumble without featherfall. Like she smacked him with a damn brick.

He is as much her unintended consequence as she is his. One that might’ve been impossible if fate was otherwise. Resplendent light, only made possible by ravenous shadows.

Silver linings.

And you are mine, he thinks, only to himself, as his hands find her hair again. Aren’t you?

#thank you all for the patience and support as I cross post from AO3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #tavstarion #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #bg3 #naomi tavriel #midnight chimes #my writing

[g-gyuutaros]

☀️hellooooo my lovely vixen! if you and your blorbos were in like a D&D AU, what classes would y’all be? (also i love your new theme!! 🍓)

HELLLOOOOO my lovely amira!! I actually had to ask my husband because I am not well versed in this but I agree with his answers hehe

Tenko would be an Oathbreaker Paladin

Gyuutaro would be a Rogue / Fighter

And apparently I would be a Barbarian lol my husband actually specifically said “you remind me of Karlach from BG3👀”

#also I changed my theme before I answered this RIP #but thank you my love!!!! #he was right and knew I wanted to be #a Tiefling as well heheh I am nothin #if not a little predictable

[optiwashere]

Anotheropti's Femslash February 2024

OK, so I have something of a problem and apparently the only cure is writing for these monthlong fic challenges. This time it won't be every day, but it is a a fair bit of femslash. We as a fandom deserve far more F/F works, and I'm nothing if not dedicated to the task.

Most of the prompts are taken from the list by @doomedgirls in this post.

The prompt for the 14th is part of BG3 Valentine's Day! That one was taken from this list posted by @baldursgays3.

The prompts, ratings, and ships for each fic I'll be doing are under the break. I'll be posting on my AO3 as usual and I'll update this with links as I post the fics. All fics are for Baldur's Gate 3.

Asheera is my primary Tav. I write just an awful lot about my favorite trans fem half-orc paladin, and she's naturally taking up half the prompts. If you're interested, you can see some (spoilerish) screenshots of her here! And some art of her...

Here, here, and here! 💜

February 1: Morning after (Shadowheart/Asheera - Rated M)

February 4: Lipstick (Nocturne/Shadowheart - Rated T)

February 7: Letters (Aylin/Isobel - Rated T)

February 9: So close (Shadowheart/Asheera - Rated E)

February 10: Reckless (Shadowheart/Karlach - Rated M)

February 12: Meeting the family (Shadowheart/Asheera - Rated G)

February 14: Collars + Restraints (Shadowheart/Asheera - Rated E)

February 16: Rain (Allandra Grey/OC - Rated E)

February 18: Transformation (Araj/OC - Rated E)

February 19: Quid pro quo (Nine-Fingers/Amira - Rated E)

February 22: Hands (Shadowheart/Asheera - Rated E)

February 25: Everything (Shadowheart/Asheera - Rated E)

February 28: Freedom (Minthara/Lae'zel - Rated M)

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #shadowheart #femslashfeb2024 #BG3valentines #femslash february #femslash #my fic #anotheropti's femslash february #<- tag to look at/block #oc: asheera #gonna pin this for february? I think? and then I'll throw the masterpost thingy back up there afterwards #probably with this in that list? IDK there's a point where that post becomes too long lmao

[vasheden]

Help I told him we could just be together without fucking and he gently took her hand and looked at her like this and I'm gonna combust. Acestarion real as hell.

Also this:

(Also A+ voice acting. Accidentally clicked on him out in the field and he just said "Gods, you're beautiful," in a way that sounded like he actually meant it now as opposed to the "laying it on thick" tone he had before. I actually gasped.)

#help I'm unwell over this one #bg3 #astarion #amira tav

[maybeamultiverse]

A little writing and life update---

So, I have like several writing works in progress, but I really can't say that I'll be able to post any new stuff until 2024 for certain. Maybe.

Maaaaybbeee, I'll be able to update a fic during this complicated time (currently, I have drafts of the next updates for Halovaya, Sakonna and the Spy, War Birds: The Prophet's Tears, Terrha: Before I Go, and a new BG3 Tav/Gale Dekarios fic already partially completed), but it's looking rather unlikely, folks.

I'm currently in the trenches of completing a transfer process for my university, am in a play, have a new part-time job, am continuing my thesis and other graduate work, and other personal issues, all offline.

None of these works are abandoned! I just really don't think I can prioritize anything creative right now. It's really pedal to the medal in terms of IRL commitments. It's just life.

I will still be here and post and reblog Star Trek and other stuff or share screenshots from BG3 playthroughs (playing after work and school helps me unwind without too much mental effort, lol).

I just wanted to let people know that you probably won't expect any new writing content from my AO3, and I don't want to keep people waiting or upset anyone.

Thanks <3 - amira

#updates #captain's log #maybeamultiverse

[bhaalbaaby]

i've been thinking a lot of about bg3!penelope and her backstory lol canonically she doesn't know a lot about elturel because she was in baldur's gate at the time of collapse and she wasn't paying attention that much she has 0 in perception and insight she knew something big happened with tieflings because people kept asking her but she just stared at them like what?

she's lived in baldur's gate since she was 13. she was supposed to go with her mother after her mother left her father back in elturel, but along the way, they were attacked by gnolls and her mother died. she barely made it herself, but she was a crafty kid. she made money by playing her flute and pickpocketing. she also learned early on that tieflings weren't as common in the city as others so she'd use that to her advantage when ill-intentioned patrons tried to hire her for more than a song. she started working for sharess' caress when she was 15 after pickpocketing mamzell amira. it was either work or go to jail for a tenday and Penelope wanted to avoid jail time lol. since she was minor, she worked with hoots and chorizo. she did entertain sometimes if they needed a bard and made her own coin that way. she met pale petras one night while working, but he was called away before anything could happen. she has never met astarion beforehand though. when she turned 18, mamzell held an auction of her virginity for penelope's first day. gortash won it and it was, in less graphic terms, awful and left Penelope jaded from the whole industry, but she stayed because she was scared to be on her own and using her beauty and body was easy enough in a controlled space. she was 27 at the time of nautiloid and was taken when she was supposed to hang out with sorn and nym to unwind from their day of debauchery.

im planning on her getting in some sort of romantic context with everyone at camp because like astarion, she's defaulting to using her body to get everyone on her side. so far it's worked :( but i think her main romance will be astarion because they're very similar and their flirting right now is both of them seeing who can seduce the other first. i think for them it is a tie so far with who seduced who lol.

#tav: penelope #im just rambling #headcanons #writing #but yeah she knows baldur's gate people ahead of time but not really #long post #oc musings

[rottenbrainstuff]

BG3 playthrough - Wasting time at the southern checkpoint

Spoilers below

Guess who backtracked about 5 hours of game time because they only just discovered that the newspaper actually changes every day based on what you did that day, and now they need to go back and collect them all? This is why I’ve been playing since October, have over 500 hours on my steam account, and still haven’t finished one single playthrough yet…

I’ve been playing since October. Wow. This game has just totally taken over my brain. On the one hand it’s been amazing to have my brain so thoroughly distracted, cause things have been getting really rough, and I appreciate the distraction, so so much. But on the other hand… I do sometimes wish I could be spending all this effort doing something actually useful. Last year I had been making some progress on personal projects, and I’ve had no desire to touch it at all since October. Sigh.

After finishing the backtracking and collecting all the papers, guess who found Carm’s Garms and wasted a few hours dressing everyone up like barbie dolls? I am NEVER going to finish this game!!! Look, it’s not my fault that Astarion looks so fabulous in so many things. I think my favorite dye for him is the white and scarlet, but sometimes the black and furnace red has good results. My tav used to wear a lot of red but has lost his taste for it - reminds him too much of what he wore as a bhaalspawn. He’s been using the azure and blue dye a lot.

So of course I finished the Open Hand Temple investigation. That was super interesting but also super sad, more tiefling refugees getting shit on, and the only person who really cared about them got murdered for his trouble. I like the little touch that Astarion disapproves of any religious comments that you make: on brand. I only just noticed getting a statue made gives the subject a permanent buff. Enjoy, Astarion. (and everyone else in the camp: enjoy Astarion) Found Petras and Dalyria at the flophouse. Trying to kill each other - that’s how you know they’re really siblings.

Obviously if I was at the clothes shop, I ran into Naaber. Oh boy. I didn’t get the joke at first and was quite bowled over by how strange and out of place he is, though I did find it funny and listened to everything he had to say. Then I looked him up online and found out he’s a running gag brought over from BG2 which is funny… But I ALSO came across a discussion where people were, as far as I am able to tell, asking in complete earnest if there was any way to deal with him besides killing him. ??? Look I know there’s no “wrong” way to play and whatever way makes you happy is the right way, but like damn. WTF are some of you doing? He’s an annoying dude to be sure, but it is a LITTLE bit funny, and if you don’t like him, you don’t have to even talk to him at all. (right? It almost sounded from what people were saying that he was following them around being a nuisance, but he definitely didn’t follow me. Did he used to follow players in previous patches or something?)

And then I went to Sharess’ Caress. Boy oh boy, the devs really liked this location didn’t they, they put in a ton of detail, lol. It’s kind of funny how everyone wants to meet at Sharess’ Caress. I thought it was just a funny brothel, but apparently it’s a respectable taphouse as well, judging from how many people just hang out here / conduct business meetings? Or is this like the people who claim they like to go to Hooters for the wings? Anyways I adore the cat, I adore mamzell Amira, I adore the put-upon chef. I adore how Amira introduces Raphael and makes the services he’s offering sound ambiguous. I wonder if she knows full well what he’s actually doing in that room, but this is how she introduces him, and some poor asshole who just wants a quick blowjob gets talked into selling his soul instead, or if she really does just think he’s some kind of freelance gentleman whore, temporarily renting out a room from her. I can’t decide which is more funny.

Drow twins: god the dude is hilarious and the girl is interesting. I must have spent at least one solid half hour just reloading and trying out all the different dialogue branches with them. What do other races get to talk to them about, I wonder? Being a drow I had some options to ask about their history and how they ended up here, and also point out that Sorn’s Menzoberranzan Love Trick is just a name to make customers excited. I assume at least that non-drow characters have other paths to get to their backstory? I wasn’t able to see the foursome because I was romancing Astarion, and he’s not comfortable with that, but I checked them out each on their own. Everything with Sorn made me laugh and laugh. If you say you aren’t sure what you’re into, he chats with you a bit, and dark urge has a few extra little options that are so funny. The only thing I didn’t get to see was what happens if you fail the athletics or persuasion checks. Nym was kind of an interesting encounter - first you have the humour option of just complaining and crying to her for a couple hours, or you can actually just talk, listen to her talk about herself or get some weight off your own chest. If you choose to talk about boundaries, she will talk about how the female drow stereotype is a spicy dominatrix, but she doesn’t feel comfortable doing the rough stuff. That suits my drow just fine - as his boundary, a male drow can say he’s uncomfortable with dominant drow women. It was very interesting. And apparently my tav keeps his gauntlets on during sex. Not sure if that was a bug or on purpose but it was funny, lol.

That was just me checking things out for my personal curiosity anyways - in my actual save game, I didn’t do anything with either of them. I know Astarion says he’s ok if you fool around, and whether he actually is or not is debatable (he seems more comfortable here than when you talk to him about Halsin, IMO), but my tav just really has no interest if Astarion isn’t there.

I walked in on the nymph and her client… I had no idea what happened there so that was a shocking surprise.

I was stuck for a while trying to decide what to do about Raphael offering the contract. I had said that I would do anything in my game to trigger his hilarious little monologue at the epilogue party. It sounds like you must sign the contract then break it in order to get that. But everyone in the party is so freaking mad about it, I don’t have dialogue options to indicate I’m doing it fully intending on going back on it later, I don’t really want to deal with the Emperor being pissed off just yet, but if I lie to him, what do I do with Voss? Lie to him too? Man I dunno. I think it’s simpler just to tell Raphael to fuck off. Plus it’s also pretty funny to go and steal the hammer from him later. He’s the one who made me aware of the hammer: if he hadn’t mentioned it at all, I wouldn’t have known about it, but now that I know that he has it, BECAUSE HE TOLD ME, I’m going to go steal it? I just think that’s hilarious. Idiot.

HOWEVER IN THE END: I decided to do the contract. I have a second playthrough that I started and put on hold with a tiefling paladin, and since she would NEVER sign a contract with Raphael, I think I’ll make my durge do it. But besides just meta game reasons, I also reasoned… he just recently found out he’s a bhaalspawn, and I think he’s feeling like his crummy soul is forfeit. No big deal signing over his soul to a devil when he’s already completely fucked. Who knows, maybe Raphael and Daddy Bhaal will have a fistfight over it later. That’s where my tav is coming from.

I also did Gortash’s big fucking coronation but I’ll write that up as its own thing I think. Goddamn I am enjoying this game so much.

#bg3 #bg3 playthrough #bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate 3

[elder-moth]

Bored at work so I'm pondering names for new BG3 characters.

So far I have...

Amira Shathiel

Elrin Magesc

Grahn Steelspire

Sadryn Varle

Drea Teliroy

[beedalee]

My Inktober Tag | Day 5: Spectrum Noir PL4, featuring my lolita fairytale princess Amira.

Tools: Sakura Microns, Gelly Roll White, Sakura Permapaque Black, Prismacolor Black, Spectrum Noir BG3 for the gray.

Special edition full page! I had put washi tape and stickers on this page ages ago (I like to break in empty pages this way bc drawing on them out of order upsets me)... I wasn’t about to go peeling them off to fit my halfpage spreads, so I made it work. I like the lineart a tiny bit more than the final, if only because I wish I picked a lighter purple to highlight all the cute details I made an effort to draw that get lost in the black fill stage lmao (I gotta stop that) Buuuut it still turned out pretty cute, and she’s fine with a little gothic lolita in her wardrobe!! This one actually didn’t take me as long as it might look, laughs!

Funfact: Amira has delicate manner and frilly style of a princess but the temper of a queen. Appropriately, her favorite animals are dragons... but you won’t often find lolita dresses with dragons on them, so unicorns will do. (I didn’t even draw unicorns on this dress either!! whoops)

#beedalee art #Book keepers #i should do pv sets for her #inktober 2017 #inktober