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lovinglokilaufeyson · 16 days

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Catastrophe - A.A.

Pairings: Astarion x Fem!Reader (Druid)

Warnings: BG3 Act I spoilers, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Suggestive, Angst if you squint, NOT proofread, Reader is a chronic people pleaser/SIMP/really oblivious (and a little bit of an idiot with initiative), Astarion is a bit oblivious and also a SIMP, use of Astarion’s classic pet names, as well as “kitten”

This is a similar concept to a fic I have read before, although I can’t exactly remember the name or the author. If I do find it, I will link it here.

Wordcount: 2,415

Summary: Astarion meets you as a cat, and you find it an easy way to be around him while maintaining your crush. You maintain your cover for weeks, until suddenly the team gets ambushed, and you are forced to reveal your identity.

Astarion was very intimidating to you. He had revealed himself as a vampire to you, only after he tried to drink your blood late one night. You let him, of course. You were too worried about the wellbeing of the rest of the team that you seldom worried about your own needs. So, even though you were scared of Astarion drinking your blood, you wanted to please him even more. It didn’t help that you happened to have a massive crush on the man, which always tempted you to say “yes” to him.

You learned of Astarion’s love for cats one night when you had decided you needed some cozy time. It was after a long trek back to camp, late at night where you had stripped yourself of your clothing before transforming into a simple feline, a black housecat. Your form had simple white patches along your back, neck, and face. You peeked outside the back of your tent, trotting stealthily towards a nearby stream. Suddenly, you were plucked up from the ground, and you mewled out on instinct. “Oh, kitty kitty. You – are coming with me.” Astarion held you up above his face, and you stared down at his crimson eyes. Should you reveal yourself? You wondered. You ultimately decided against it, letting your chartreuse-toned eyes hit his, and he looked up at you in – love? Admiration? What was this feeling?

That night, Astarion took you back to his tent, and he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. Your fur was so soft that he was nearly intoxicated by it. Astarion really did love cats, there were many nights outside of the bars he frequented that he attempted to get away, if only for a moment, to pet one – or a few, if he was lucky – of the cats in the alleyway. It was always the highlight of his night. When he saw you nimbly walking around, his eyes lit up like a child’s on Christmas. That night, he fell asleep in his bedroll, with you curled up on his chest, purring incessantly.

When he woke up the next morning, you were gone. Thankfully for him, it was the sweetest sleep he had had in centuries. After that night, you made it your mission to approach Astarion late at night at camp. This particular evening, you had returned from Emerald Grove, and had exhausted all possible resources. There were very few nights where Astarion missed out on cuddle time, but you wanted to make sure that he was the one to hold you tonight. You sauntered over to his tent expectantly, pawing at the curtain, meowing gently. That was his cue to open it up for you. “Hello, pet” he spoke in a voice that was barely above a whisper, taking you into his arms. He placed a chitter of kisses into your cheek, then laying down once more. You climbed up on top of him, careful to be gentle with your claws on his bare chest.

“I missed you, dear.” Astarion spoke, bringing his hands to pet along your back, popping your butt up when he got too far back, to which your response was to mewl. “Sorry.” He murmured. “You know, sweet kitty. I don’t know what will happen when we leave the grove.” His words cut you like a knife. What would you do? Showing up to the team’s next camp out would certainly be – suspicious. He would have to take you with him, but that would also require you – in your human form – being missing from the group. You figured that would cause some problems.

“You should just stick around, and I’ll take you with me.” He spoke, trotting his finger along your whiskers. You purred in response. “You know, if I could just buck up and really talk to her, we wouldn’t have to be cuddle buddies.” Who was she? You hissed, pulling away from him, retreating further away from him. “You are a smart one, aren’t you? Here, kitty kitty. I didn’t mean it. You, me, and Y/N can all cuddle together, how about that?” You nearly shifted out of excitement, Astarion had not released this information to you prior, even in cat form. Astarion was fairly difficult to read. You figured that his attempts to flirt with you were all – fake? In jest?

However, perhaps he was telling the truth. That, or maybe he knew. No, no, no. No way. Astarion would have confronted you by now. Or said something. A snide remark. Anything. You still stood further away from him, timidly. “Oh, kitty kitty. Come on over. Please?” He tutted in disappointment, bringing a hand out towards you. You couldn’t resist those soft, veiny hands of his. You purred, staggering towards him once more. You pushed your whiskers against his pinky, as he fluttered his finger up and down within your mane. He clicked his tongue in approval, as you drag your frame against his arm. In the midst of your lovely purrs, you were startled by a conglomeration of shouting, and then a loud “boom” coming from outside of the tent. You cowered as Astarion peeled the curtain of his tent back, where he was greeted by an abundance of smoke. He exited quickly, careful not to let much of the cloud infiltrate his space, where you were still housed.

“We’ve been ambushed!” spoke Karlach, loud and boisterous. Fuck. Of course. Astarion thought. You were thinking similarly but didn’t know how to best approach the situation. It would be quite incriminating to exit Astarion’s tent now, out of cat form.

Astarion, Wyll, Karlach, Shadowheart, Lae’zel, and Gale stood outside, clearly shaken from the impact of what had come along. There were many goblins that had infiltrated the area. 5 at least, for each member of the party. The smoke dissipated after a while, and you were able to peer out and see the confrontation. The party was doing alright in battle until Shadowheart collapsed from an impact. “Where is Y/N when you need her?” Wyll shouted, bringing realization to the group, and to Astarion. You were nowhere to be found. Fuck, where is she? He thought. He attempted to maneuver over to your tent to find you, which is when you decided you needed to act. Now. Which, maybe you should have swallowed your pride and done so earlier. But now your companions were getting hurt, which made you want to act more defensively.

You shifted out of cat form, grabbing the nearest piece of clothing (which happened to be one of Astarion’s dress shirts) and covering yourself with it. It was long enough to cover you somewhat modestly, although team would likely see parts of you that they weren’t exactly used to. Alas, it was a do or die situation, and you had let your anxiety get the best of you for far too long.

Meanwhile, Astarion had gotten slashed several times in his attempts to reach your tent. Not only did he want confirmation that you were okay, but if you were, he wanted you to please heal the rest of the party, himself included. You dashed out of his tent as Astarion was hit again. This one was hard, a thud to the gut. His eyelids became heavy as his vision blurred. But he could see you, finally feel your presence. And you were wearing… his shirt? Something within him clicked, and he realized everything. Of course you were that damn precious feline. In a sudden moment, you had cast cure wounds on Astarion, who was clearly in the worst shape of them all from tumbling across the camp to check on you. You watched as life came back into his eyes, as he stared at you in awe. You entangled the remaining enemies, leaving them helpless to move. There was one goblin who had just struck Astarion, and you cast thorn whip to tug the creature towards you. “There she is!” Karlach grinned in excitement and admiration.

It was apparent that your release from Astarion’s tent was not pertinent at the present moment. However, you recognized that it would definitely be something that would be mentioned later once combat had subsided. The rest of the battle went considerably better than the first half, and you were able to heal Shadowheart once it was all over. “Well, we might want to reconsider camp placement” you stated to the rest of your companions. They all nodded in agreement. Suddenly, you felt a hand slither around your waist from behind, and breath on your ear. “We should reconsider the placement of your tent – next to mine” he whispered, then followed up, “or, how about you just never leave my tent. I’m good with that too, kitten.” This was proceeded with a gentle nibble on your ear. You nearly gasped but managed to cover it up by cupping your hand over your mouth in a quick motion.

You almost went to scold him, but refrained from doing so, since you were also deserving of scolding at the present moment. You spent the remainder of the night moving the camp to a more remote location. It was past midnight when you were able to reconvene at the new campsite, everyone was fairly exhausted after the events of earlier in the evening.

Astarion hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of you since, and he took special care to walk behind you on the way to the new campsite, admiring your rear end. You were still fairly coherent of the fact that you and Astarion would need to have some sort of conversation regarding your previous actions. After all, you had been snuggling together every night for several weeks. To your knowledge, not so much to his. However, now that he knew, he was going to go to any length to snuggle your form in his arms tonight, that was for certain.

Astarion’s festering admiration for you had been going on for a few weeks. He hadn’t realized just how much until his feelings were revealed to be reciprocated. Clearly, you snuggling up on his chest every night was no accident, and he was grateful for that fact. He just wished he had approached you sooner in your human form.

You wondered if you had overstepped with Astarion or if he was upset with you. Instead of walking next to you towards the new camp, he walked behind. It made you feel like perhaps he didn’t feel like talking with you. Or needed to process things.

This caused you to make a beeline directly towards your tent once you were set up. The rest of the party had gone to bed shortly after, aside from Astarion, who stood, looking confused that you hadn’t approached him after camp was set up once more. His eyebrows scrunched together, indicating the thoughts that puzzled him deep within. He wondered if perhaps you were simply using him, or if you were not as fond of him as he truly believed. He looked at his bedroll, approaching it, kneeling down, and then laying on his back as he usually did to fall asleep. Except – he couldn’t. He couldn’t, for the life of him, allow his heavy lids to fall and send him into slumber. He couldn’t sleep without you. He sighed, finally surrendering, and leaving his tent in search of yours. You had put up your tent close to his, which is something that he indicated he wanted. Maybe that was a good sign? Astarion wondered.

Alas, Astarion was quite correct in his assumptions. You were absolutely wide awake. Your eyes were agape, which would be heavily attested to the “lack” of Astarion in your presence, at least until now. Your body turned towards the entrance as you felt the moonlight pour into your tent. You stared up at the shadowy figure that housed Astarion’s carmine coated irises. “Oh good, you’re awake. I didn’t want to have to be that creep that you woke up next to in the morning.” You sent a puzzled expression his way in response.

“I can’t sleep without you, darling. And I know we have lots to talk about, but I know right now we both need sleep. So please, just let me revel in your cuddles.” You nodded in response this time, opening up your bedroll and ushering him inside. You were still delicately dressed in his button up shirt, and the sight nearly drove him mad. But he had to stay relaxed. You needed to sleep. Both of you.

He began to undress himself, which was not a big deal to you at all, of course. You had seen him naked these past few weeks more time than you could count. He left his underwear on of course, and you could see that he was slightly erect underneath. It made you a little giddy that you had any kind of physical affect on him. He nearly dove into the bedroll with you, excited to hold your human form. Don’t get him wrong, the cat was lovely as well, but he definitely enjoyed your human form a bit more. Your supple legs glided along his until he allowed you to entangle your legs with his. He was cold, naturally, but he was addicted to the warmth that radiated from your body. Similarly, you felt drawn to his cool skin, how it managed to alter your temperature so that you could mold together perfectly.

You were faced towards one another, and you analyzed every perfect feature on Astarion’s face. He did the same with you, He reached his hands towards your chin, holding it with the pad of his thumb and the lower portion of his index finger. “Darling” he caught your attention, and you gazed at him, meeting his eyes where they were taking in every part of you.

“Yes?” You replied. “May I kiss you?’ He asked tenderly, and all you could do was give a gentle nod. “Please.” Astarion’s lips seemed to hit yours before you could even say the word, your lips colliding in an imperfect, exhausted exchange. However, it was the most tender, real kiss that Astarion (and yourself) had had in a long while.

That night, you both slept the best you had in years, the presence of one another seemingly protecting you from any incoming nightmares, anxieties, or fears. Astarion didn’t know what would come next for you, but he knew he wanted it to be together.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion fluff #astarion vampire #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 fandom #astarion fanfiction #astarion imagine #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #tav x astarion

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beepersteeper · 2 months

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Digits -- Astarion x Tav smut

Astarion was reading a book across camp. Nothing out of the norm. He was fidgeting with a coin aimlessly to keep his hand busy.

Tav watched completely entranced in watching the coin move so smoothly over each slender finger, being flicked into the air and caught seemingly without any attention given by Astarion. Her concentration was broken when the hand with the coin stopped and waved at her with the coin between his pointer and middle fingers. Her cheeks flushed and she sheepishly waved back mouthing “sorry. Zoned out." Across the camp. Astarion waved the thought away and continued into his studies.

Tav turned a quarter turn to face Karlach to strike up conversation to distract her from his gorgeous hands. The next day she caught herself staring again as he picked several locks throughout their adventure.

“I could teach you, if you wanted." Astarion stated right before hearing that successful click of the lock releasing “its like magic every time."

“Huh?" She says hiding her startle

“Lock picking" he states handing her a tool set “you'll get the next one" leaving his hand on hers just longer than necessary.

The party continues along their path, when they ultimately come across a locked chest and Astarion ushered Tav to kneel in front of him. He knelt behind her, pressing his body to hers guiding her hands through the motions of the task.

“You really just have to listen and feel what the lock is saying. Figure out what is a good resistance and what is a resistance that will make you start over” he says too quietly into her ear, his cold breath caressing her skin.

When the lock clicks and falls open Astarion whispers in a husky soft tone "good girl." And quickly stands trailing his fingers up her arm and across her shoulders before he walks away talking over his shoulder "there will be more for us to practice with.”

Back at camp for supper, Astarion seems to be constantly doing something with his hands. Twirling a dagger between his fingers, tapping his finger tips on the table. Running his finger over the rim of his glass and bringing the liquid to his lips to lick it off of his fingers, meeting Tav's eyes with his own.

She retired first to her tent before the others saying “I'm just awfully tired. I'll see you all in the morning." A chorus of goodnights follow her to her bedroll. She ties the flap closed and rests into her bedroll, pulling out her sketchbook. Without really thinking she sketched his hands as best she can from memory. The perfectly manicured nails, the marble smooth skin, and a few thick veins covering the back. She was finishing sketching his nimble fingers and rounded knuckles on his ring finger when she hears a voice from outside her tent

“Tav, are you awake?" Astarion whispers.

Shit she whispers to herself and tucks the notebook under her stack of books “yeah, come in." she calls to him.

He ducks to get under the knot “I was hoping you were. You ran off pretty quick from dinner, everything alright?" Sitting behind her as he usually does for his supper.

“Yeah, like I said, just tired. Those goblins really took it out of me" she half lied and I couldn't watch your fingers anymore without wanting to put them in my mouth she thought as she braided her hair off to the side opening her neck for him.

He notices the notebook to the side of the bed with a detailed image of what looks like his right hand.

He traces a finger along the vein on her neck feeling her pulse race. He grabbed her jaw tightly, leaning her head to the side to expose her flesh completely. He slid a finger under her top to open the place even more. He rested his other hand on her thigh adding pressure and squeezing slightly as he punctured her already scared skin.

She rested her hand on top of his, relishing in the tender moment she's allowed to have with him. Feeling his hands on her. He finishes and adds pressure to the wound with his tongue to stop the bleeding.

When he would usually let her chin go, he didn't. He instead put his thumb on her bottom lip slightly opening her mouth. “I've seen you staring.” He whispers. Tav's shoulders tense. “I've got to say. I've been told that almost every part of my body is desirable, but I think my hands…” he moves his hands from her, completely pulling the sketch book in front of her to see “is a first."

Tav tried to fold into herself out of embarrassment only to be stopped by his strong hand returning to her jaw holding her still facing forward. "What do you want to see these fingers do?” he purrs “I know you've thought some dirty things darling, practically undressing me with your eyes at dinner.” Before she could answer he put a finger in her mouth pressing her tongue down, opening her mouth rendering her mute. “Well if you won't answer I guess I'll just have to figure it out myself.”

He lets her close her mouth and slides two fingers in and out of her lips, making her suck on the fingers that she's watched for days. She moans, enjoying the invasion of her mouth.

“Is that what you wanted?" He asks, knowing she still can't talk “nod." She nods moving her tongue as much as she can, feeling his fingers across her hungry tongue.

He uses his free hand to loosen her pants and with her help shimmy them down her legs. He runs his nimble fingers across her thighs. Then he reaches across her body and drags his nails from her knee past her core and up her body grabbing a breast firmly causing her nipples to harden. “like putty in my… well” he laughs, pulling his fingers from her mouth letting her lick each digit before he returns the two to her tongue holding it down again, holding her jaw open.

He slid his hand down her body once more and easily inserted one, then two, then three fingers into her core. Causing her to let out warm breath and whimper from her mouth. He focuses on bringing her to climax with only his hands, the very things she's been idolizing. Arching his fingers into her hitting the spot deep inside that shoots pleasure through her core. Her breath quickens a bit and then more when he starts playing with her clit softly, barely touching her at first. And then rubbing circles into her tender flesh speeding up her breath.

Electricity shoots through her body as she arches her back and lets out a loud moan, unable to muffle her pleasure because he had locked her jaw open.

After she finished riding her high he brought his fingers out slowly, stings of her sex slightly hanging from his fingers. He brings his wet fingers to his mouth making sure she was watching him enjoy her taste cleaning every part of his skin that was covered in her sex, thoroughly and slowly keeping eye contact with her. He smiles as she watches him slack jawed. “Delicious. I'll see you tomorrow morning, do try not to stare too much darling."

#astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion smut

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genovianxprince · 7 days

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OK I think I understand some of why some people in the fandom choose to make Mystra some kind of a terrible, grooming abuser to Gale. It's because every one of the companions has like a specific person you can point to and say, that is the abuser. That right there is the person who has caused the companion grievous harm. Gale and Mystra are a little more complex than that.

Shadowheart and Lae'zel technically have a whole cult/culture backing up the abuse, but you can still pretty directly point to Viconia and Shar for Shadowheart, and ultimately Vlaakith for Lae'zel as well as just... every Githyanki she ever met, except for Kith'rak Voss.

Wyll has Mizora, Karlach had Zariel and Gortash, Astarion has Cazador, all very obvious and self explanatory in the game. They were innocent, kidnapped, coerced, sold, played like a damn fiddle. But Gale?

Gale has Mystra, a goddess he loves, who also loves him, and the things they did to each other were both fucked up, and a lot of the fault totally lies with Gale! The other companions all had external forces affecting them. Gale's was mostly internal. He refused to believe he was good enough. "As inconceivable as it seems to me now, I shared a bed with a goddess and I still wasn't satisfied." A literal goddess, the one he favored, the one he was in love with, who favored and loved him back, consistently told him he was perfect as he was and he straight up did not believe her. He placed himself on a higher and higher pedestal he could never reach the top of because if he wasn't constantly climbing to some nebulous goal of perfection, then could he be good enough for Mystra?

Y'know, instead of just believing the woman he was in love with. And I get it! Insecurities suck! Especially when you've been the gifted child your entire life, perfectly talented at something that all the adults in your life go nuts over. But also, it is extremely arrogant to assume you know better than your literal goddess and be like "yo, there's a missing piece of the Weave and I can go get it" like... Mystra is the Weave, she would have known and probably sent someone on a quest if it were actually Her Weave and not Karsus' Weave.

Gale is INCREDIBLY hubristic and he keeps falling for that trap. He's overconfident. Hell, even after his year in isolation where he comes out humbled, a small group of people believing in him for a short amount of time gets him to go "omg, crown of karsus = godhood, I can totally do that and tell the gods they SUCK and overthrow Ao's rules!"

Like, babyboy, no.

Of course, Mystra is not without some fault. After Gale's initial... Folly-up, she just ignores him for a year. Damn, girl, what the hell! Well. You see. The Netherese orb is a fragment of the magic that Karsus used to try to ascend and steal her throne with. The magic that she realized was going to kill everything if she didn't sacrifice herself. For a moment, all magic ceased to exist, including Mystryl herself, and Karsus died. Then Mystra came into being. Gale tells you a short version of this story himself! So it kind of makes sense that Mystra would see this shard of magic and just... kinda have a trauma reaction! And to gods, time flows differently. It wouldn't shock me to learn she didn't realize it had been a year by the time Gale left his Tower due to mind flayer shenanigans. Naturally, she does not want to discuss the thing she's so terrified of, and just tries to have it destroyed without her having to touch it—the plan to have Gale blow himself up on the Absolute itself, and she would save his soul. And even after he disobeys her instruction, she still allows the orb to feed on the true Weave! She still lets him live without fear of blowing up randomly, even though it greatly distresses her to let this magic that killed her once feed on her own life force.

Then he reaches the city, and reads The Annals of Karsus, and realizes she's going to have to explain, despite not wanting to. And she summons him. Tells him exactly what's in his chest. Asks him to turn over the Crown and she will destroy the orb and face her own trauma, because Gale... doesn't want to die. She understands that. And she still loves him and his big beautiful brain despite how stupid he's been, and she wants to have him as her Chosen again.

Things will never be the same, of course. They both fucked up. Gave each other a bad time. But in the end, they forgive each other and move past it. Not as a couple, because things broke too much for that. But they can have a healthy relationship as Goddess and Chosen once more.

And that is what sets Gale and his trauma apart from the companions. He doesn't have a direct abuser or live in a horrific abusive society. He almost killed the goddess of all magic a second time and she had an understandably harsh reaction to that, even if it was still too harsh. I just don't believe it's only Mystra who fucked up here. Not by a long shot. Much of it lies squarely with Gale.

And, as for the grooming allegations [as far as people trying to say it is canon], literally just no. She's a True Neutral goddess. Gale literally tells you that you are not his first mortal lover, he had a few before he ever fell into Mystra's bed, and you're just the first since the breakup about a year ago. The game doesn't shy away from sex and sexual abuse in the least. Why on Earth would this be something hidden behind several layers of nonexistent subtext? It's definitely fun for AU's, but by Ahghairon's lost nose, no, it's not canon!

#my posts #bg3 #gale dekarios #mystra

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bearhugsandshrugs · 5 months

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Real talk who do you think are the top three lays in BG3 and why? (Bonus points: who do you is packing the most/best schmeat out of the gents)

lol I feel like I'll get hate for this :D lmk if you agree

Best sex

3. Haarlep

I mean. He’s a professional. He’ll fuck you so good you give up your soul. It’s hard to argue not putting him into the top 3, and the reason why he’s not higher is that I wonder if he’d be as good if he had to actually seduce you without his incubus skills.

The shapeshifting though? The domming nature of an incubus? Yeah my stupid ass is biased af but I’d probably be soulless and dead after meeting him

2. Minthara

I walked into a cave full of dead tiefling children and hated myself, questioning how I could ever have done that, but then I got her sex scene and I considered doing it again.

Minthara is ambitious and confident. She will be the best fucking lay you ever had. Don’t argue with her. She will, because she’s skilled. I’m not putting her at 1 because I do think she can’t fuck you in quite as many ways as no. 1, and with that I don’t mean positions or kinks, I mean the emotional spectrum. If you romance her, you’ll get there. But that’s conditional, so… Runner-up it is.

1. Halsin

That man fucks. And he switches. So whatever flavor of sex you’re into? He’s got it. Want him to tie you up with vines or fuck you shapeshifted? Want him to eat you out or make you come with his broad hands? Want him to gently lie with you under the moon? Want him to let you take him, make him whimper at your feet, service you?

He provides and it’s great. Two centuries of experience and a body like a dream. Yeah he’s taking top spot.

Honorable mentions:

I feel like Gortash will be good, but situational. Does he care? Oh yeah, it’s good. Is he fucking you out of boredom? RIP he hasn’t even washed up

Lae’zel is a strong contender for the top 3 as well, but ultimately I felt a lot of her dominance comes from a place of compensating and that’s ultimately not my vibe. Romanced Lae will be a different story for sure.

Best dick

Girth: Halsin

Length: Astarion

Shape: Raphael/Haarlep

Total package: Wyll, Gortash

I will not elaborate

#enver gortash #halsin #minthara #haarlep #lae'zel #bg3 raphael #astarion #wyll #sorry for pushing this ahead of the queue in terms of ask order #but this was easier to do than drabbles

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tyrantisterror · 3 months

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You seem to have been enjoying Baldur's Gate III a lot. Would you mind giving your thoughts on the individual companions? I'm just curious to see what your take on them is.

Yeah sure! The game's been rotting my brain for months now in part because of its character writing, so I can stand to gush about the companions a bit.

Before we get to the companions individually, I want to talk about them as a group, because one of the things that makes this game so impressive to me is its commitment to its core themes, and that extends to how the companions were crafted as a group. See, each of the core six companions have the following things in common:

The mindflayer tadpole that threatens to turn them into a monster against their will (i.e. the thing that gets them all together on a quest)

A personal history of being abused and exploited by someone they trusted

A Want that comes as a result of their personal history of abuse that is self destructive but understandable given their circumstances

A Need that comes as a result of their personal history of abuse that they have written off or ignored because their past makes them think fulfilling it is impossible

A point in their character arc where they will come into conflict with the player character if the player character tries to advocate for their Need over their Want. If the player values the Want over the Need, the relationship will initially go smoother, but end badly.

The overall theme of Baldur's Gate 3 can be loosely summed up in one of its major recurring songs, I Want to Live, and that's ultimately what each character's arc is a variation of: the desperate desire to live in a world that has been trying to kill your mind, body, and soul to the best of its ability. Got it? Cool, we can talk about the characters now that we've got this established.

Oh, and, uh, this game covers some... HEAVY themes, given that abuse is one of the common denominators between the companions. I'm going to try to be gentle in talking about it, but this will cover some of that subject matter, so this is your warning if you want to avoid that.

Companion 1: Astarion, My Bisexual Awakening

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I'm going to start with the companion I feel is the most talked about/popular/overexposed I suppose, Astarion. I feel like anyone with even the vaguest knowledge of Baldur's Gate 3 probably recognizes Astarion at this point, even if it's just as "that annoying vampire twink I'm sick of seeing." There's already a growing "he's popular so he sucks" movement about Astarion here on tumblr and at the cesspool of hate known as Twitter, because of course there is, he's popular, ergo he must suck.

...

I think Astarion is one of the best written video game characters of all time.

There's this one great tumblr post that summarizes Astarion's role in the narrative really well, with the great punchline of "Astarion is kinda like if they sexualized gollum," which is not only funny but perfectly accurate. I can't really top that, so I'm just going to talk around some of its points a bit, but I highly recommend reading it yourself, it's more concise and well-thought out than whatever this ramble will be.

But, ok, so, "I Want to Live" is our theme, right? Astarion is dead. Dead to begin with, Marley style. He has been killed, at a young age, before his time. Sure, he was brought back to a sort of life, being a vampire and a member of the undead and all, but the life he knew is gone. All the pathos one can mine from being a vampire is played up here, for as Astarion himself notes, he's not even a full fledge vampire, but a vampire spawn - "All of the drawbacks, few of the perks." Worse, as a vampire spawn, he's magically bound to the will of the vampire that turned him - forced to live out his undead life as a slave to a sadistic monster that abused him in every way a person can be abused.

Which is why Astarion is the only companion who's entirely thankful for the mindflayers kidnapping him and implanting a tadpole in his head - because they broke that magic connection to his master, and gave him resistances to many of the stock vampire weaknesses to boot (hungry tadpole doesn't want its meat suit burning in the sun, after all). Astarion's life was so fucked that getting a brain-eating parasite was a unilateral improvement.

But while the magic connection is severed, the psychological affect of the abuse Astarion suffered lingers. His master made him use sex as a lure to bring victims to his lair, and so Astarion still believes that he has to offer people sex to "earn his keep" - that his body is a tool for others to use for their gratification, and if he refuses their desires he puts his life at peril. Astarion hates putting himself out to help other people not only because no one has done that for him during his long undead life, but because doing so puts his life at risk. Astarion is power hungry - his Want is to be as strong, no, stronger than his master, so that way he can never be afraid again. Astarion Wants to be a true vampire.

His need, however, is to find value in the life he has now. He needs people who love him for who he is, not what he can offer, and who will protect him the way he has needed protecting for hundreds of years. His need is to be shown that kindness isn't a weakness, that charity is possible, that power does not have to be gained through selfish and cruel means. You're shown this in the game's approval mechanic - while Astarion will disapprove of you putting yourself out on a limb for others and revealing sensitive information freely, he has a soft spot for whenever you help someone who, like him, is being exploited. Because while he'll protest otherwise, Astarion wants to believe kindness is possible, and that the horrible things he's suffered don't define him. Astarion may believe he's just a tool to serve others' desires, but that doesn't mean he doesn't wish to be more than that.

And I know the cynics among you are like "Oh, ok, so the cute vampire twink has a ludicrously tragic backstory. How is that original or good writing?" Because that's the thing, right? If there's an effeminate, brooding bad boy character that lots of teenage girls like in a piece of media, it HAS to be shallow wangst at its core. Every tumblr sexyman is just Edward Cullen when you cut past the bullshit, right?

Like, I know I'm not going to convince the "Thing popular so thing bad" crowd on Astarion's quality no matter how many words I write, but, like, there is a reason for the hype. Dude's got fucking layers! The different interactions with him you can have, the dimensions you can bring out of him by how you choose to engage with him, all paint this great tapestry of a character who takes the concept of a vampire and explores it to a depth few pieces of media have every plunged to.

And he's fucking funny! Dude's got some of the best lines in the game, and his voice actor didn't just give him a sexy sultry voice, but, like, shades of Tim Curry that make him endearingly weird and goofy and witty as hell while still being very sexy.

And yes, he's a sexy vampire, that's a big point in his favor and what most people are dwelling on. And I'm standing by the sexy part - listen, for the past few years I've been kind of wrestling with whether or not I'm bisexual, and the question was laid to rest the first time this fucker flirted with me in game. My heart raced, my cheeks flushed, I reflexively giggled and went "Whoo!" like a Southern Belle in need of a feinting couch. Every time he's flirted with me since has given me the fucking vapors. Thank you, Astarion, I'm bi for sure now. you solved that fucking riddle pretty decisively.

Let's move on.

Companion 2: Shadowheart, A Fellow Lapsed Catholic

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Shadowheart is a bundle of contradictions. She's got some of the best quips and quickest wits in the game, and she's also a huge fucking dork. She is oozing with confidence about the role she's been assigned to play and is incredibly assertive in group social situations, but on her own she's a mess of insecurities and is constantly plagued with doubts about her worth. She's constantly preaching about the need to be pragmatic and self-focused, but loves it whenever you are kind and generous. Depending on your choices during the tutorial level, she can become the first ride-or-die party member you get, and she's also a miserable pile of secrets who is terrified of you discovering what she really is.

See, Shadowheart is a cleric of Shar, the Goddess of Darkness, which is both in a literal and figurative sense - that is, Shar is the goddess of night and the absence of light, but, like, also the goddess of loss, and sorrow, and hopelessness, and secrets, and lies. The Goddess of Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss, basically. Being raised to follow the goddess has plagues Shadowheart with guilt over the secrets she's had to keep, the cruelties she's had to inflict, and the distance she's kept from all people in her life as a result of the church's creed. If you're a nerd who comes into this game knowing who Shar is, you'd probably be immediately suspicious of Shadowheart when you find out her alleigance, because Shar's basically one of the more prominent evil gods whose followers are always fucking things up for everyone.

However, I did not come into this game knowing that, but I did come into it knowing what's it's like to be raised in a religion that teaches you that many of your natural desires for companionship are wrong and to feel guilt and paranoia over how your every action will be judged, for like Shadowheart, I am also a Catholic.

Shadowheart's Want is to become a Dark Justiciar, which is basically the Sharran equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition, and to fully prove her devotion to Shar's will. The way she talks about Shar is so thickly coded with the way children of abusive parents talk about said parents that's it's legitimately frightening to witness at times. Shadowheart doesn't blame Shar for hurting her, she knows it's her fault for disappointing Shar in the first place.

Shadowheart's Need is to leave the fucking Catholic church. Depending on your choices, she can accomplish this with the help of two moon-worshipping lesbians, at which point she dyes her hair a color that would piss off her parents Shar and proceeds to indulge in a somewhat hedonistic rebellion of self actualization that only a lapsed Catholic can fully comprehend. I love her.

Companion 3: Lae'Zel, The World's Most Loyal Toad

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Ok, so, brief tangent: one of my favorite games of all time is Dragon Age Origins, and it is one of my favorite games of all time in part because it has Morrigan, one of the best characters in all of fantasy fiction, fuck you fight me. Morrigan is a divisive character in the DA fandom because she is notoriously hard to please if you're trying to be a good person - it was so prominent a criticism, in fact, that "Morrigan Disapproves" was put on a fucking t-shirt to play on/monetize the controversy.

But, see, the thing about Morrigan is that she's 1. incredibly complex and 2. designed to challenge your worldview, and to be challenged in turn. Morrigan isn't just an evil bitch, she has a genuine philosophy for why she behaves as coldly as she does, which in part stems from her awful upbringing by her cruel, selfish hermit mother who was trying to shelter her from an even crueller world that would see her in chains just for being a witch. Morrigan has been taught that love is a weakness others will exploit, that kindness is folly, and that everyone is out for themselves. And you need to contradict her on that - getting to know her inevitably involves fighting her on this point, and you proving to her that the cruelty she's been taught is wrong. If you are willing to listen, to argue, to truly understand this character, she grows because of you. It makes her character arc so fucking satisfying, when you get to the end of the game and she realizes that she does love you, she does want to be kind, and that even though she now feels more accutely than ever how love has made her weak, she can't be without it. It's so fucking good.

I bring Morrigan up because almost all the companions in Baldur's Gate 3 are on her level, in part because they are designed like her - to challenge you and be challenged in turn. And none of the core six are more like her than Lae'zel.

Which, sadly, includes the fan backlash part. A lot of fans of the game hate Lae'zel - she's too mean, they say, too hostile, to proud of her strange and callous worldview, too critical of our normal and kind outlook, too difficult to relate to.

These people are cowards.

If Shadowheart is Catholic, then Lae'zel is, like, Christian Reformed. A fundie. She's been training at Githyanki Bible Camp for years to be her lichqueen's perfectly loyal soldier, only to run into this minor snag of being kidnapped by Mindflayers, the ancestral enemies of her people, and infected with a tadpole that will turn her into one of them, the Worst Fate that can become a Githyanki. Luckily, she's read all of her people's Chick Tracts, and knows that if she can get to one of the Githyanki creches, they can use their special machine to pray the tadpole out of her brain and save her.

Lae'zel has drunk the metaphorical kool-aid of her people, but only to a point. See, Githyankis are viciously racist, but Lae'zel is REALLY quick to accept you and most of the other companions (not Shadowheart, though, as like a true Fundie, she cannot stand a Catholic) despite them not being Giths like herself. Yeah, she'll preen and posture about the superiority of her kind a bit, but she sides with you within seconds of meeting you, and from that point on she is ride or die until you give her a good reason to think otherwise. Lae'zel can be mean, stubborn, and arrogant, but she is above all else loyal.

Her Want is to be a perfect Githyanki warrior, earning the respect of her queen and serving her endlessly in the Astral Plane. Of course, when you actually get to that creche she's pointing you towards early in the game, this all falls apart on her, because just like Fundamentalist Christianity, Githyanki culture is little more than a sham designed to uphold an evil and exploitative power structure where the rich drain the life and resources of everyone beneath them and declare it the will of the divine. In this case, that "drain the life" part is explicitly literal, as the Githyanki queen literally devours the life force of any gith that gets even a bit close to rivaling her in power. If Lae'zel tries to follow her dream, it will end with her queen eating her soul.

Lae'zel's Need is to not only break out of her culture's indoctrination, but to find a way to make her life worthwhile on her own terms. It's heartbreaking to witness, honestly, because unlike the other core companions, Lae'zel has no idea what a life outside of her Want looks like. What is she without serving her queen? What the hell does she want? If you've been taught God your queen is all that is good, then how the fuck you you figure out what good is when you realize she's actually evil?

And while she goes through this seriously traumatic existential crisis, she finds the energy to be invested in the struggles of you and your companions. When the other characters are going through The Shit in their respective arcs, Lae'zel is always quick to note that she thinks they are strong and deserve more than they're getting - even Shadowheart, that fucking Catholic!

Because the first word you'd ever use to describe Lae'zel, the one that most succinctly captures who she is, is LOYAL. She fucking rocks, I love her.

Companion 4: Wyll, The Unjustly Underrated

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Almost no one talks about Wyll and it fucking sucks, man. I mean, we all know why (it starts with a Ra and ends in a Cism), but still it fucking blows dude. And yes, I include myself in this, anyone who's followed my blog can tell that Wyll's not the companion I fixate on the most.

But listen, I promise you, if the game let me take along four companions instead of three, Wyll... would be competing with Lae'zel for spot #4, and Lae'zel might win out because she's an angry girl, but... fuck I'm losing the plot.

Wyll is great though! He's severely underrated! He's one of the nicest companions you'll get, first of all, but he's not just a nice guy. Everyone's got layers in this, right? Wyll is nice, but he's also a bit arrogant - a glory hound, really. He's the only companion who's given himself a superhero name, and he routinely uses it. Dude wants to be fuckin' Batman so bad, it's wonderful.

He's also the most actively fucked member of the party. Everyone's got abusers in their past, but Wyll's is the only one who's followed him to your camp. Mizora, the devil he sold his soul too, frequently shows up to give him shitty tasks and shittier punishments, and is one of the most hateful fucking characters I have ever encountered in my life. Like, to put this in perspective: if you know me, you know that I have certain... preferences... when it comes to women. So if there was, say, a demon lady character who's also a bit of a dominatrix, and I fucking hated her guts, you'd probably be a bit surprised given, you know, my preferences.

But the way Mizora treats Wyll? The way she talks about him and to him? It's fucking heinous. She's not fun evil, she's evil evil, and she's got to fucking go.

It kind of reframes Wyll's kindness and cockiness as you experience it, because beneath the showy acts of heroism and the bluster, Wyll is a sad little dog in a burning apartment telling himself "this is fine!" over and over again.

Wyll's Want is to be a hero and make the sacrifice of his soul worth something. He has accepted that there is no redemption for himself, that Mizora preying upon his vulnerability in the past is something he can never recover from, that he cannot be free of her chains, and only hopes to use what time he has to do some good, even if it inevitably comes at the cost of his life.

His Need is to break out of Mizora's control, to wrest his fate back into his own hands, and to prove what has always been true: that he IS the hero he's selling himself as. It's a real Rango arc if you think about it.

Companion 5: Gale, The Friend With the Messiest Fucking Love Life You've Ever Heard Of Goddamn

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Gale... kind of breaks the companion formula, a little bit? Like, for the other five core companions, there is a clear-cut situation where they were abused and exploited by an asshole - Shar exploited Shadowheart, Cazador the master vampire exploited Astarion, Mizora exploits Wyll, etc. Gale's fucked up traumatic relationship is a bit... messier, and harder to untangle, because by his own admission, he was not blameless in it.

Gale is a wizard, and like all good wizards in fiction, he's a bit of a mad scientist. He was so good at wizarding, in fact, that the goddess of magic itself, Mystra, reached out to him, and eventually the two had a little romance. Now, fans have gone back and forth interpreting this, with some saying that Mystra was grooming Gale from childhood and thus is as bad as Cazador/Shar/Mizora/et cetera. I feel that's kind of a bad faith reading of the character, one that's actively ignoring the concept of what an ageless immortal goddess is to try and fit it into a human context.

For nerds who know about the setting, Mystra is NOT an evil goddess like Shar. In fact, she's kind of a vitally important goddess to have around, as Magic is such an integral part of the reality of this setting that not having a god of some sort for it results in an fucking extinction event - which the characters in the game know for a fact because at one point in the past, a mortal wizard killed Mystra and made that extinction event happen. Mystra reformed, as gods do, and eventually things got back to more or less normal, but that doesn't do much for the shitload of people and creatures that died during the period of time where magic was dead.

And that's what ends up souring Gale and Mystra's relationship. Gale, being mortal, felt he had to prove he was Mystra's equal, and so set out to find a source of magical power not unlike that used by the wizard in the past who killed Mystra. And when Mystra saw Gale doing that, she freaked the fuck out because she thought she was going to get killed again - because the wizard who slew her in the past ALSO felt he needed to prove he was equal to a goddess.

Neither character takes the breakup well. Gale feels like fucking shit because he fumbled a literal goddess, and also got a piece of super destructive magic lodged in his chest in the process that's slowly killing him. And Mystra is worried that the super powerful piece of magic lodged in Gale's chest could kill her, and also about the cult using a very similar piece of magic (it's a big plot point for the game I won't go into it this is already too long), and so, in an act of cruel godly pragmatism, she sends D&D Gandalf to tell Gale to use his the magic murder ball in his chest to kill the cult, even though it'll destroy him in the process. "Hi sweetie, please kill yourself on my behalf, k thanx!" basically.

It's... it's a mess.

Gale's Want is to prove he is Mystra's equal by mastering the ancient magic he's found, and either win her back or, better yet, become a god himself and dethrone her. As I said, he's got a bit of a mad scientist in him.

Gale's Need is to move on from this relationship, talk things out with his ex, give her her dvds the ancient magic artifacts back, and move on with his life.

I like Gale. He's got funny lines, he loves his cat, he's a goofy nerd, and while his love life is a mess, his heart is mostly in the right place. He needs some nudges to do the right thing, but he's a good guy deep down, and I always love it when fiction shows a relationship that falls apart not because one person in it was "bad," but because the two people were just not compatible. Yeah, Gale fucked up, but you can understand why he fucked up, and he can understand it too if you help him own up to his mistakes and move forward. Also, he loves his cat, he can't be all bad.

Companion 6: Karlach, the Most Beautiful Woman I've Ever Seen

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Karlach is my favorite companion in this game, which is why I saved her for (sort of) last. And, yes, sure, part of it is because of my aforementioned preferences with women...

she's so goddamn pretty

But it's also because of how she plays with those core themes I've mentioned. Karlach was sold into slavery as a teenager, where her devil master ripped out her heart and replaced it with an engine to turn her into a super-strong gladiator. She's been living in literal Hell for years, fighting every day to survive, and like Astarion she actually views being kidnapped by Mindflayers as a godsend since it freed her from her enslavement.

Unlike Astarion, Karlach doesn't have a long life to look forward to. That engine in her chest can't work properly outside of Hell, and it will eventually break, overheat, and melt her from the inside out. Karlach is the only companion who knows she's going to die soon whether or not the tadpole is taken out - no matter how this adventure ends, she will die.

At least, that's what she's told herself. Karlach's Want is to never return to Literal Hell, no matter what, because she's afraid if she does she will be taken as a slave again, and that there is no hope for a good life if she touches foot on that ground again. Following this want means she WILL die - either by the engine, by her enemies in the mortal plane, or by turning into a mind flayer (because while mind flayers can retain their hosts' memories, they are NOT the same being as their host).

And Karlach is convinced she's ok with this! No, really, she's fine! This is fine! She's got a few days left to live, and she's going to enjoy them! She is unfailingly kind and compassionate, always willing to help others, always cheery and taking the best view of her friends and people in need, a ray of fucking sunshine.

And beneath it all she's terrified and sad. When you get towards the end of the game, and Karlach feels how close the Inevitable End is, she reaches a breaking point where that happy facade snaps and it's... it's gut wrenching, man. It breaks your fucking heart, because as much as she's determined not to risk setting foot in Literal Hell ever again, she really doesn't want to die.

...

Karlach's Need is to go back to Literal Hell long enough to get that engine replaced. Her Need is to find hope, TRUE hope, not just a facade of optimism - a true belief that she can face the worst and come out of it ok, that she can survive, that she is not alone in facing the darkest shit this world can throw at her. Her Need is to find the strength to believe that she can live, even if it's hard, even if it's Hell to get there.

And Karlach is worth it. She is worth Hell.

Companions 7 - 10 Speedrun

I don't have as much to say about the four other companions you can get in the game, mainly because I already love these six so much that trying to take time to get to know four other weirdos who I don't get to recruit until halfway through the game just... like, there's a party limit of four characters and one is me, I can only take three of you along at a time, I'm prioritizing the one's who've been with me since all the goblin shit in Act 1, feel me? The rest of you seem real neat but I've got my nakama all set, we're good.

Halsin is the one I know the most of these four because he helped me at the tail end of the goblin stuff and he seems fine. He's a big nice hippie who turns into a bear and is into polygamy and carving wooden ducks. A lot of people thirst for him, but he's not my type - like I get the appeal but this is a case of Not My Favorite Pennywise Hentai But OK as far as I'm concerned. I like his subplot about restoring balance to the cursed forest, though. Felt like teaming up with Smokey the Bear.

Minthara is the companion that used to require you to kill a shitload of innocent people to recruit, but people found weird work-arounds that involved turning her into a sheep and so the developers sighed and released a patch where you could recruit her without mass murder using only slightly cheesey means. She is Genuinely Evil, but in a complicated way that's still fun from a character perspective. She's also a great comically serious character - i.e. someone who's so serious all the time that they end up being incredibly funny on accident just by their muted reactions to all the weirdness around them. From the clip compilations I've watched on youtube, her romance is basically a Lady Macbeth situation, and that's pretty hot. If it weren't for Karlach, I'd... romance Astarion, but if it weren't for Astarion, I'd... romance Shadowheart, but if it weren't for Shadowheart, I'd... romance Lae'zel, but if it weren't for Lae'zel, I might romance Minthara. Or Wyll. One of the two.

Jaheira is a character from one of the previous Baldur's Gate games, neither of which I've played, so I had no preconceptions or attachments to her going in this game. She basically becomes your surrogate mom as the game goes along, and I mean that as a compliment. She's pretty great and fills a nice emotional niche - I didn't use her that much because, again, I've already got six close friends to rotate out, I'm not going to ditch them for long periods of time to hang out with my MOM, but it was nice having her along for the ride a few times.

Minsc is the OTHER returning character from the previous games, and from what I can tell he's basicall Kronk from The Emperor's New Groove but with a funny accent. I like him, he's fun comic relief, and he throws a hamster at people while telling it to eat their eyes. I don't have a lot to say on Minsc, I just think he's neat.

At some point I might do a followup to this gushing about NPCs from the game, because goddamn the supporting cast is great too. Omeluum, Us, the Emperor, fucking Dame Aylin. Dame Aylin is so goddamn fucking cool, I want to read novels about her adventures, she rocks so hard. All glory to the Nightsong!

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bg-brainrot · 2 months

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WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 1: Knifes and Nightmares

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence

WC: 1.7k words, 1/?? chapters

Summary: At 12 years old, you first dream of the Pale Elf. The encounter scares you and sets you on your path forward.

Ao3 | [Ch2] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

An elf’s reverie is a time of introspection, of connecting to your former selves and their lives, and ultimately learning from them for your new life. When an elf enters this deep trance, the entire world falls away, and memories both good and bad come to them as if in a dream. It’s not always a pleasant experience, but it is often considered a necessary experience for elves to reach full maturity. After 100 years of reliving your past, you are finally acknowledged as a true adult, allowed to forge your way into the world in your new life.

You knew from a young age that you had lived some interesting lives. You received snippets of them each night, and awoke from your trance trying to decipher what each bit could mean, who the people were, which lives might have belonged to you. You found it a fascinating puzzle to solve– you also had the sneaking suspicion you didn’t always like puzzles.

The oddity of a new life is that you aren’t the same person. Of course not. You’re currently being raised by two well-to-do, doting parents living in Neverwinter. You don’t need a lot of memories to know that this is by far one of the most pleasant starts to life you’ve had. In this life, where you weren’t searching for your next meal or living on the streets, you’ve found the capacity to love puzzles.

When your memories suddenly decide to hand you a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit, it throws your new life for a loop.

You’re 12 years old, quite used to your nightly reveries now. Your parents have lovingly laid you to rest, and you eagerly enter your trance, ready for another clue about your past selves.

Eyes closed, world shut out, you access tonight’s memory easily.

The first thing you notice is the scent of the ocean. Its smell is a mixture of brine and fish, not unfamiliar to you. Along with the smell, you feel the cool breeze tickling your skin, blowing your hair just within your field of vision.

You feel taller than your current self, older, and bigger. You’re not sure how old you are, but you know that you’re an adult. Despite this, you’re unable to decipher much else.

Reliving a memory is nothing like real life. You can’t control your body, no matter how much you wish you could, you can find yourself coming in and out of these memories, and you can’t force yourself out of a memory once it’s started– it’s all out of your control.

So, as much as you’d like to learn more about your past-self, they’re currently preoccupied. Walking up this winding path, a rocky outcropping with some barren trees and shrubs, they seem to have a clear destination in mind: a figure at the top of the hill.

They approach the person carelessly, as if nothing in the world could be a danger to them– you wonder if they’re more powerful than some of your other lives. You can tell someone is in tow, but clearly you trust them because you don’t turn around to look.

You reach the figure, a silver-haired elf. He’s strikingly pale, wearing impeccably designed clothing that seems out of place for where you’re finding him. His stance is cautious, ready for anything. Most surprising to you are his eyes, a rich red, and they dart between the bushes and you.

“Hurry! I’ve got one of those brain things cornered.” The voice is breathy, masculine, with an accent a bit different from your own. You can’t quite place it, as you’ve never left Neverwinter, but you think you’ve heard it in other lives’ memories. “There, in the grass. You can kill it can’t you? Like you killed the others?”

You feel your own emotions spark at his question, at once alien and familiar, and a surge of confidence radiates through you. “Easily, stand back.” The voice for this life is new to you, but it’s clearly very self-assured. You wonder what the ‘brain thing’ could be to warrant such certainty.

The memory cuts out–not a new occurrence, and your parents explained that lapses in memory could happen around moments of severe emotion as a natural protection. However, when it cuts back in, you’re overwhelmed by the amount of shock and fear coursing through you. You’re on your back, staring up at the same clear blue sky. A flash of silver glints just under your chin, and, as your former-self looks down, you see a knife pressed to your throat.

You feel your limbs struggle, but the way his legs are wrapped around you, the way he’s leveraging his body weight, you find that you’re unable to get up. Panic rises in your throat as you wonder if this might be your first death. You didn’t realize you could experience death at such a young age– usually this was reserved for your later years of reverie. I’m not ready for this, you think, as you feel both of your body’s hearts pounding in their chests.

“Shhhh,” the man, who is now pinning you to the ground, all but tuts. “Not a sound. Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.” His head cranes up, to someone you can’t see. His face and tone shift to something angry as he growls, “And you– Keep your distance. No need for this to get messy.”

“I need them alive. Stow that blade or I’ll show you just how messy things can get.” The voice is feminine, their accent matches this man’s.

“Promises, promises,” he says with a nonchalance that irks at you. “But I have other business, I’m afraid.”

His attention turns back to you. “Now, I saw you on the ship, didn’t I?” the elf continues, his tone is taunting you, knowing he has the upperhand. His next word is a command, “Nod.”

Present-day you, the 12-year-old that just wants to live, wills yourself to nod, to acquiesce to this insane man’s demands and see another dawn. However your past-self has other inclinations.

Without so much as a word, they headbutt the man. Hard.

You feel the force of it nearly jolt you out of your trance, but you hold on, willing yourself to see if you make it out of this alive.

The man grunts as he rolls off of you. “Argh. You wretched little–”

Then your mind is wracked with pain, with flashes of memory that you can’t place. A previous life? You’re not sure. But after the sting of your heads colliding, this strain is too much for your mind to bear. Your vision teeters, hanging on by a single thread, all that’s left are that man’s intense red eyes.

You emerge from your trance with a shaky breath. You reach for your throat, as if to make sure that it’s still in one piece, only to find it coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

What was that, you think. One thing is for sure: it was quite possibly one of the most vivid memories you think you’ve had yet. The smells, the sensations, the emotions – all of them still linger.

You don’t like it.

Tears begin spilling down your face, an unwelcome reaction to the fear that seems to rest just under your skin, uncomfortable and chilling. Your hands feel like someone else’s, and looking at them shake involuntarily is just about enough to bring you to a breaking point. “Who– who was that?” you get out, to no one in particular.

Verbalizing it helps to soothe your turbulent emotions, look at this logically. Okay, I must have felt quite strongly in that lifetime. You nod to yourself, wiping away tears with a few trembling fingers. More importantly, what did I learn?

You think back to the memories, willing your mind to push past the fear. You met this man. You don’t know who he is, or what he wanted, but he seemed to be armed and dangerous. You had a companion. You don’t know who they were either, but they seemed to be ready to kill for you.

The exercise calms you considerably, and only leaves you with more mysteries than solutions to your puzzle. What ship was he referring to? What was the ‘brain thing’? Whose memories had flashed through your head?

You shake your head, no, no, none of those likely matter. If there’s one thing your memories have taught you is that specific events are in the past– there’s no use trying to piece it together like a history book. Likely nothing you did was worthy of a history book anyway. What you need to know would be infinitely more useful: who were you?

You’d been confident, unshaken despite the fear pulsing in your body. You’d faced that terrifying man as if he were just another inconvenience, one that you were thoroughly fed up with.

You don’t know much of your former selves but you know that you want to be that. You don’t want to cry when faced with certain death. You want to headbutt it.

Years pass, and you work hard at training in the arcane arts, finding comfort in books and wizardry. You wonder if that will be enough to keep you safe in this life, safe from people like that silver-haired madman. Every time your will falters, you remember that memory and study harder. He becomes a figure in your mind of the dangers of the world, of something to fuel your fury when it begins to burn low.

He’s nothing more to you than that silver-haired man for more than six years, as that particular lifetime of memories seems to lay dormant. Your parents have explained this to you before: you can’t control which life’s memories come to the forefront. To many, it seems arbitrary. To you, it feels like your mind is defending you. As if it realized you aren’t ready for that particular part of your past. Or perhaps it just knows that your hatred for this fair-haired elf may take over your current life.

The next time you’re visited by a memory of this pale elf, you find that the emotions he elicits are far from hatred.

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion masterlist #gn reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion #when he's all but forgotten how to love again #whabfhtla #reincarnation trope #elf!tav #astarion x you

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underprivilegedcactus · 5 months

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It's totally fine if you don't think God!Gale and Ascended!Astarion endings are necessarily bad endings. I agree there's definitely some ambiguity when it comes to these outcomes, but there's something that people should consider: When writing a character, one of the things a writer can choose to focus on to build them out is to consider What They Want vs. What They Need.

Gale WANTS to become a god (eventually) to both show up Mystra and to help mortals the way he feels that gods should. What Gale NEEDS is to realise that he is enough as is, that he is more than just his power and any more strength he could aqcuire. Gale needs to have more confidence in his own self worth.

Astarion WANTS ultimate power so that no can ever hurt him or those he loves ever again. He wants to be so strong that no one would even try to harm him, and if they do he can effortlessly squash them. For him, it's only through power that he can ever be truly and forever free. What Astarion NEEDS is healing from centuries of cruelty through true friendship or even romantic love and to be seen as an equal, to take back control of his bodily autonomy and choices, and to become actually free from not only Cazador, but from becoming a slave to his darkest impulses that his rough life has exacerbated.

Sure, both Gale and Astarion are happy when they get what they want, but there's lots of hints that it's not what they really needed.

Gale becomes the god of ambition, which is never satisfied with its lot and will likely cause trouble for the pantheon down the line. It's also very clear that he lost a vital part of himself, and I don't think it's his connection with his mother or Tara, which are still important facets but are ultimately not the core of what he lost. It's the fact that he no longer cares about doing actual good for people, a key component of his former personality. One of the things I love about his character is that no matter how high he rose, mortal Gale still cared about helping people in positive ways. Ambition doesn't give a damn where its drive takes people, for better or for worse. Mortal Gale would be horrified if he knew that he influenced evil people to do worse things in the name of ambition. Mortal Gale would also be horrified that his god version openly admits to not offering ANYTHING to his followers, which is anathema to what Gale originally wanted godhood for. But hey, he got what he wants and he's happy, so that MUST be good, right?

Ascended Astarion has entirely lost any shred of his humanity, and is now a complete slave to his darkest desires. He no longer views his romantic partner as a person. They're just his most prized object, whether they want to be or not. He enslaves other people, inflicting on them the exact kind of bondage he had to deal with for two centuries, including the person he used to love. On top of all that, he loses his capacity to even recognize the wrongness of his actions. For all intents and purposes, Ascended Astarion becomes a megalomaniacal homicidal psychopath who's hunger knows no bounds. Worse, he has no way to ever recognise if this is a problem anymore or something he doesn't like. But again, he got what he wants and he's happy, so it MUST be a good thing, right?

There's nothing wrong if you still see these outcomes as good endings, or even just better endings than an outright "bad" ending. I see what you mean, and also, it's a video game and these are fictional characters, not people who can actually get hurt. Like so much media and art, it's really more of a thought experiment than any kind of moral indicator.

I do however implore you to consider why so many people, Larian included, don't see these outcomes as good, and in some ways perhaps even worse than other "bad" endings. A very common but very relevant trope in storytelling is "be careful what you wish for because you might just get it", and it's usually to remind us that getting what we want isn't always what's best for us in the long run.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale #bg3 spoilers #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #astarion #bg3 astarion #storytelling

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eff-plays · 1 month

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On these notes, can I umm ... have Tavs who are like ... their own people. With personal issues and hangups and conflicts and preferences. I need Tavs who have spines, who don't just exist to be soft and gentle for Astarion's sake, who don't exist to be therapists for him. Like I get it, it's self-care for writers to some extent, but it just makes for such boring reading when a Tav is always 100% understanding and pliable for Astarion. When they're head over heels instantly and understand him perfectly with minimal explanations. When they can somehow tell, feel his pain through nothing but his eyes. After knowing him for days, hours, seconds.

Need Tavs who don't let him drink from them and/or tell him to only bite enemies because it's more pragmatic. Tavs who don't get off to his bites and in fact find them painful and inconvenient. Tavs who disagree with him to his face. Tavs who call him out when he's being a cunt.

"I didn't tell anyone you're a vampire because it's not my secret to tell" but why? He never asked to keep it a secret, and he attacked you. In your sleep. You owe him nothing, and he could pose an active danger to the others if you don't tell them? How do you know he doesn't? He's done nothing to earn your trust, yet you offer it anyway. And you're not written to be stupid, just that you innately know he's important/damaged somehow, so what gives?

It annoys me that the only time meta knowledge is used it's in his favor. Like Tav just knows he's good deep down somehow. Despite him being a huge cunt constantly. Like, he kills Tav if they fail to make him stop. Without remorse. He even jokes about it later when they have the audacity to be upset about it. But that's never even a fear some Tavs have. When it makes far more sense to be suspicious he'd do that than trusting him instantly.

And another thing like ... So many Tavs are just orbiting Astarion. Just straight up fail to make connections of friendships with anyone else. They'll also have some sad backstory of course, but only Astarion is somehow aware of it, he's the only one who has any insight into their inner turmoil while everyone else doesn't give a shit, I guess. Which is just. He gets to both have the benefit of the doubt and special insight and understanding of Tav. He gets to have all the cards.

Where's the mess. Where's the conflict. Where's the intrigue and fun of two actual individual people learning to overcome their differences and/or finding comfort in their similarities?

Idk I realize I'm barking up the wrong tree because this is generally the state of most fic and the romance genre in general but it's extra evident in the Astarion fandom where he's elevated to the status of the ultimate victim and ultimate sex god so any conflict is untenable because he's soo vunlerable and sensitive and all situations must have him coming out on top or else it'll be ... idk, problematic? Abusive? Traumatic to him? What's the reason?

It ends up just doing him a disservice? Part of what makes the romance so compelling-in game (at least the Spawn route) is that Tav challenges him and his assumptions. That they push back. But in fic these Tavs "push back" by just accepting his bullshit with a smile and waiting for him to realize he's being a bitch on his own, I guess. He's also rarely allowed to be silly or cringefail, which he canonically is, and he's so coddled that it makes it look like this grown-ass man can't handle anyone disagreeing with him or teasing him, so he's always paired up with the most weaksauce spineless soft quirky manic pixie dream Tav imaginable.

Like. It's always "Uwu how can I make him happy? Anything to make him happy!" What about you hon? What do you get out of this relationship, babygirl?

And tbh this is headcanon of course but I just don't think he'd respect a doormat Tav very much. He needs to be sprayed with water every now and then. For his own good.

Whatevs. I mean write whatever you want. But. Man. I just want more cool Tavs. And less stunted and flattened Astarion who can't take a joke or a goof or a gaff, who's always too cool to fail or be wrong.

And before someone says "this is why Durge is better!" I have no interest in Durge and do not read Durge fic sorry. Also that wound't even be true.

#bg3 #'noo tav makes him realize the world is a good place by being kind and patient' ok but can they not be kind and patient at their own expens

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sincerelystesichorus · 3 months

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astarion, anne carson, & autobiography of red - small character study blurb

In which I've written 40k words of Astarion character analysis fanfiction and I'm definitely still normal.

Astarion used to be blue, but ever since that night two centuries ago, he was reborn red. And he had spent at least the past century thinking that red was irreplaceable. It was – red, it was in his blood and the little blood Cazador would let him wring from rats, corroded and stained. His very life force. He was Cazador’s, his spawn, his jewel, his ruby. There was no cure for red. Not until you became the successful means to an end. He had been sure of it. Being red wasn’t good. It made everyone who wasn’t red, and that felt like most everyone, stare at you like you put off a certain aura… like they knew you were a monster that could only act off of instinct and emotion. And it was so frustrating, because parts of Astarion were blue still, knew what was better, but they were nothing in comparison to the suffocation of red. The emotions, and especially anger, fear, came on so strong. It was hard not to act on them, to test out what the boundaries of pure action were. Astarion knew the color and impulse all too well.

I expand way more on the idea of people as colors within my writing than Autobiography of Red does, where Geryon is the only one who is red. This further pushes Geryon's feelings of being separated from humanity in his narrative, but there's a lot of inherent evil and fucked up things within Faerun so I felt expanding on colors and specifically shades/hues was a better way to communicate this for Astarion.

Geryon's red is tied very instinctually to emotion though, and so representing red as a chaotic force of emotion in my fic didn't feel like too far a step. I took a lot of inspiration from Magic: the Gathering's color pie lol. While you never get an exact description of what's wrong with Geryon, you get a lot of the symptoms, reminiscent of some sort of innate childhood mental illness, on top of the obvious trauma present in his story.

Back to Astarion, though. I've just never not been able to code him with CPTSD, I think that's obvious, but I also know that poor bastard has a personality disorder skffkjdf. The game always hammers in he has no sense of self outside of his looks, which he can't even be sure of because he can't see himself. Astarion has to work his confidence and self-image off of memories of his body and face from two centuries ago, and from his master's word. Cazador has assigned him to this seduction role (or, I feel its at least implied that Astarion was ultimately forced into it because he was seen as the Szarr runt, he was pretty and easy to push around, and I'm also pretty sure Petras has a line about getting to eat dogs now and then?) and Astarion fulfills it because it's all he can do. All he feels good for. His actions aren't his own for two hundred years, and in a morbid way of coping with constant sexual trauma, he functions off of "Well, at least I'm pretty," but even that assumption comes from Cazador's rule.

Astarion had decided he was mostly pure red, splashes of black and blue coming in, bright and visible. The remnants of his past and an even deeper level of Cazador’s corruption, bruising his psyche.

Carson is again sparing with other color imagery as to fully emphasize Geryon feeling like this big red monster, but I love this little excerpt on fearful anger.

Black/shadow is already a strong force and theme within the game so it was easy to work with, acknowledging it as a sort of staining evil. Astrion has his later lines about how he never stopped viewing himself as Cazador's slave, and I think showing that corruption is obviously important. He's hurt but can still heal (as opposed to an ascended Astarion... who I have little if any hope for sdfkjdskf).

Cazador had spent the last two centuries branding it into his skin and mind, breaking his psyche to the point Astarion was worried there’d always be little cracks that remained. That he’d always be Cazador’s wilted poppy, ashamed and folding in on himself, his neck miserably drooped aside for the taking.

Cazador is Astarion's Herakles, and I think that metaphor works even better considering that whole little side lore with Vellioth in the ruins. Herakles kills Geryon because he must, Geryon is a way for Herakles to ultimately reach a life free of consequence, but it's not like Herakles is innately malicious in the act. He is hardened after already facing so many labors and the trauma that was forced on him by Hera that induced his journey in the first place.

Cazador wants power, some part of him is probably truly convinced he's easier on his spawn than Vellioth was to him (a lot of insults to Astarion are about his feelings and "whining", Cazador feels vindicated in his trauma and is far gone), and sacrificing Astarion is simply a part of that journey. There is no world where their destinies do not intertwine. Geryon will always be pierced by Herakles, and Astarion wouldn't be the Astarion we know without being pierced by Cazador (and without his ultimate decision to finally separate himself from him, or to become him.) Astarion, understandably, will never not feel some sort of shame or agony over this moment, from natural emotions and I'm sure years of Cazador victim-blaming him. He consented to Cazador's help that night after all, didn't he? (And we simply won't acknowledge the coercion.)

Astarion’s attempts to prolong the inevitable were shattered by thick layers of stone suddenly slamming in front of his face, muffling sound and casting him into a void. He could hardly hear Cazador’s foul laugh as he departed. Astarion waited all night for Cazador to return. And then all of the next day, and the next one after that. Days became weeks. Weeks became months. Astarion started to agree that dying would have been easier. More peaceful. He had pondered hundreds of ways to attempt to kill himself while stuck in this abyss, the voices that had started developing only giving further inspiration, but it was impossible. He was sure. All he could do was wait. Beat and claw at the stone around him. Curse. Repeat. Sometimes he'd wonder. If he'd ever get out of here. If Cazador would remember after forgetting. If this would be his forever. The voices began to recite to him again. Just how long eternity can be.

I think this is the greatest and most obvious similarity between these two, within Carson's retelling. Geryon feels somehow trapped and doomed by the narrative from his early childhood, and receives some blunt confirmation of it when he faces early sexual abuse. This affects his entire life, his early relationships. Geryon can't be older than ten in this excerpt, but knows the pain of isolation because of his trauma and for feeling different.

Astarion was plucked up by Cazador right out of law school. While for us it's not all that young, for elves he was fiercely immature, basically just starting to come into himself at his first big-boy job. Astarion was likely raised with a lot of privilege that also made him a bit more naive, his book smarts not meeting street smarts, which has him meet his end. In his undeath, that basically flips, Astarion plays his manipulation games and indulges in petty crime and seduction, unable to dedicate himself to studies. He reads and he's witty, but can you imagine the Astarion we know as a judge? It's giving Divorce Court. It's giving Judge Judy. (Honestly maybe that's what got him whacked in the first place.)

Astarion is already constrained to what Cazador lets him be as a slave. He's less than a person, and his own body is one of his greatest trauma sources.

All of this, to be punished so supremely when making an act of slight self-preservation. Astarion wanting to maintain some of his principles and let someone go. It becomes his greatest regret, his worst and most defining punishment. It's how Cazador breaks him.

I restructure some of the circumstances within my fic, as to better tie in the main romance, but it still functions as a punished act of self-preservation for Astarion. I'm also sure most people are familiar with the pain that solitary confinement can bring, but if not, it's genuinely inhumane and dehumanizing. Lack of stimulation is extremely damaging to the psyche, I wrote in Astarion breaking into psychotic episodes while enclosed, but even in game, he speaks about going catatonic. I'm sure minorly from exhaustion after fighting, but also from the isolation. His mind likely just drifted and dissociated beyond belief, and I can't imagine it. This is my favorite piece of Astarion's story we are given, it really is just so pivotal and heartbreaking, to be punished for having freewill in the most objectifying circumstances.

In summary to Astarion Ancunin I just sorta feel like this I guess...

ddfsdfdk but yeah just emo about my poor boy feeling so weird and disconnected yet so drowned in his own emotions you know...

[my homage to autobiography of red, fic series page, my ao3 page]

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nostalgiachan · 2 months

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Baldurian Finger Trap

Second Prompt: One of the companions has been gone from camp for a very long time

Act Three Spoiler Warning

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“Darling, it’s Minsc,” Astarion sighed, his hand gently landing on Vier’s shoulder. “That lummox would get lost on a straight path, I’m certain. And lest we forget, he’s a grand world-saving hero…twice over, yes? So any poor soul dumb enough to try to jump him on his little outing will get the quite literal spanking of a lifetime.”

Vier reached a hand up to meet Astarion’s. In any other circumstance, she would have agreed with him. But in the last tenday or so, their camp had been met with one attempted abduction, one successful abduction, and multiple visits from a deviless who she was sure would look for any excuse to cause them problems. The party had relocated to a room in the Elfsong Tavern in hopes that it would prove a slightly more defensible location than a wide-open alleyway in the slums by the docks, but that did little to put Vier’s mind at ease. On top of all that, the last time Minsc ‘went missing’, he’d gotten a worm jammed in his skull, and before that, turned into a statue. She trusted him to take care of himself, but there was no denying the man’s a lightning rod of misfortune.

It had been a day since Minsc had headed out into the Lower City on some sort of errand. About the only person who knew where he was headed was Jaheira, who’d lightly scoffed when asked. “Why does everyone seem to think me the man’s keeper now?” she’d replied when Vier asked about him. “He’d said something about taking Boo to the marketplace. Something ‘urgent’, apparently.” She did admit that it shouldn’t have taken him this long to come back from market, and he wasn’t exactly the type to go carousing through the streets and accidentally fall asleep in an alley somewhere.

Vier wasn’t prone to assuming the worst, but in this case, she could no longer take chances. “I know,” she answered Astarion as she ran a thumb over his hand, “but I’d be much more at ease if I knew for certain. I’ll go out to look for him by myself. No sense dragging anyone else along just to soothe my paranoia.”

“Well, I’d be remiss if I let you go looking on your own,” Astarion replied with faux exasperation. “Two sets of eyes will get the job done faster, after all. I do hope you appreciate this.”

“You know I always do, dear.”

. . .

If there was anywhere Vier had expected to ultimately find the Mad Rasheman, it was not facing a stone wall just off the marketplace, two of his fingers jammed in a tiny hole. He looked deep in concentration, attempting to wiggle his hands together, apart, this way and that. He didn’t seem to notice Vier and Astarion as they approached him. The startled roar that escaped the man as Vier spoke up was one for the ages.

“Friends!” he cheered at last when he realized who was speaking to him. “Hurrah for you, that you have finally come to free Minsc and Boo from this dire situation!”

Vier couldn’t keep her clear befuddlement from her face. “What, erm…’dire situation’ is this, precisely?” she asked.

“To put simply,” Minsc began in earnest, “I am stuck. You see, Boo wished for me to take him on a trip to market. He’d heard word someone would be selling a foreign nut he’s grown quite fond of, and he would not stop chewing at my bootstrings until I agreed to buy some for him. Oh, you should have seen his joy as he stuffed his chubby cheeks!”

The mountain of a man practically glowed for a moment as he recalled the sight, but he quickly returned to himself. “But for a split second, I turned my eyes from Boo, that I might pay for his meal, and when I looked back, he had vanished! I cried out for him, looked everywhere I could, but I couldn’t see the tiniest hint of his fuzzy self anywhere!”

For a moment, Vier found herself caught between wanting Minsc to cut to the chase and wanting to listen patiently, deeply curious as to how all of that led to all of this. Her curiosity won out in the end.

“I nearly tore the marketplace apart in my search,” he continued, “but then, I heard it! The cry of a hamster in deep distress! I followed the noise, and came upon this hole in the wall here - and trapped deep inside was Boo! I wondered if perhaps he had developed a nut-induced teleportation ability, but Boo was quick to explain what had happened. As I was paying for the nuts, a young child in the market had mistaken Boo for an escaped pet of hers, and snatched him away! She’d made it quite some distance before realizing he was not, in fact, her beloved Tummytuft, and released him promptly on the other side of this wall.”

“Boo took to his tiny feet as quickly as he could, doing his best to return to me, but he made a fatal mistake. He was feeling far too sluggish to run around the wall, so attempted to take a shortcut through this hole here. But he had gorged himself on far too many nuts, and had grown too bloated to make it through. Thus, when Minsc came upon him, there was only one thing to do! I simply had to reach right in and get him out! But, it seems, my fingers are far too large, and became stuck between Boo’s girth and the stone as surely as if he was covered in sticky glue! And thus, here we are.”

There was hardly a second of silence between them before Astarion could no longer hold back his laughter. “What a wonderfully convoluted predicament,” he snorted. “You’ve been stuck with your fingers in this hole for an entire day?! Absolutely incredible!”

Vier, at least, made the attempt to be nice about it. “I assume you called out for help. Did no one answer?”

Minsc replied, “I most certainly did! And most saw fit to pass me by, notably averting their gazes. The one or two brave souls who did lend a hand, however, had little success in freeing us. In fact, as time has gone on, it seems to have become even harder to make any sort of progress. My fingers may have begun to swell in there, I fear.”

“Oh dear, alright,” Vier sighed, and she swung her supply bag off of back, setting it on the ground and rifling through to produce a brown bottle. “Fortunately, I tend to keep a bit of grease on hand for just such an occasion. Should be able to get you out with just a bit of finesse.” She dipped a small wooden applicator into the grease as she approached the stone wall. “Pardon me, Mr. Boo,” she attempted to speak into small gap between Minsc’s fingers. “You may wish to hold your breath a moment. Don’t want you swallowing any of this. Won’t kill you, but it won’t be pleasant.”

After about half an hour of wiggling, liberal applications of grease, and plenty of moral support from Astarion (read: laughter), Minsc and Boo were finally freed from their stony prison. Boo looked like he’d been through the first layer of the hells, his fur matted with finger sweat and grease, a look of pure frazzlement on his furry little face - or at least as much of one as a hamster could show. He’d be headed straight to a warm bath as soon as they got back to the Elfsong, and Minsc would be getting a healthy dose of ice against his fingers to get the swelling down.

As they tromped their way back to the inn, Vier breathed a sigh of relief. Sure, she’d been right about Minsc being in trouble, but in light of everything they’d faced up until now…well, this was just the low-stakes sort of adventure they needed.

#my writing #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #astarion #astarion x tav #minsc #baldur's gate 3 tav #drow tav #vier alurlssrin

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kastlequill · 17 days

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wip game

thank you for the tag @ethereal-night-fairy ! np tags: @dotcie @snail-eggs @skinnyazn @alittleposhtoad @50cal-fullauto-astarion @lunarvicar @siriusleee @parttimeprophet

Rules: in a new post, post the names of all the files in your wip folder regardless of how nondescript or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet and tell us about it!

i have way too many wips, so here are the top 5 that are most likely to see the light of day relatively soon(ish):

➜ jjk — illusion (itafushi); tnp: i (gojohime)

➜ cod — thtd: iii (ghost); unearth: v (keegan); pulse: iv (gaz)

illusion (megumi x yuji)

current status: 1.8k words written; expecting 1k+ more words

Megumi shook away the mental image of his wide-eyed, grim-faced classmate. Neither his thoughts nor fears were of consequence at present, and it was not as if he had time to spare on regretting the past. Itadori would need all the help he could get, and Megumi refused to be a bystander to his death. Not again.

‘til my pulse loses time: iv/v (gaz x medic f!reader)

current status: 200 words written; expecting 1.5-2k+ more words

As a medic, you could only do so much. Many factors that would ultimately decide whether a patient lived or died were simply beyond your sphere of influence. Stitching together sliced skin, surgically removing bullets from traumatized flesh, administering first aid in the field—all within your skill range. Hell, even resuscitating a still-warm, newly-dead body was possible on special occasions. But you were neither God nor Death, so you could neither breathe life into the corpse of a friend, nor could you hold a scalpel to the jugular of a foe. These mortal limitations weren’t to blame for the horrors that unfolded during the coming hours, however.

unearth without a name: v/v (keegan x brainwashed f!reader)

current status: 100 words written; expecting 2-2.5k+ more words

Two hundred seven. That was the number of days currently separating him from the moment he had last seen you.

the nightmare pact: i/v (gojo x utahime)

current status: 2.7k words written; expecting 3.5-4k more words

Too late to turn back now, she thought with a resigned sigh. Still, part of her almost wished she could. Rght when she was about to do just that, an aggravating voice pierced the air. “Don’t just stand there, Utahime, I can hear those old joints of yours cryin’ out from all the way back here!” For the second time that day, Gojo made her left eye twitch.

that human, that demon: iii (ghost x f!reader)

current status: 9.1k words written; expecting 2.5-5k+ more words

“Your wrist control’s shit, and you failed to pass guard four times.” Ghost’s tone was neutral, betrayed nothing, and his body didn’t so much as move an inch from where he’d been spectating the match. “I’m almost impressed.” A snort. “Haud yer wheesht.” “English, MacTavish.” “Y’sure know how to make a man feel special, eh, Lt.?” “Special? Might be time for a career change,” the lieutenant mused, his banter as dry as his. . . everything else. “No one’s special in our line o’ work, Johnny.”

#writing update #fic: that human that demon #fic: unearth without a name #fic: ‘til my pulse loses time

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whitegoldtower · 2 months

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Tam'lin x Kar'niss Fic???

Maybe, just maybe I'm being really hot and sexy and actually writing up the beginning of my fic 'Arachnophilia'.

MLM, if you like power-bottom pleasure-dom x submissive top, this might be the fic for you :D

Nothing spicy in the first chapter (except for a brief mention of something happening at Sharess' Caress), so you'll have to bear with me. First bit's below the break.

His name was Tam’lin, though it had seemed of little importance before meeting those he now called ‘friends’. Before, he had been simply ‘the Szarkai’; a pale drow raised only to be planted upon the surface amongst darthiir, to blend in with the faeries and ultimately bring subterfuge and death to their ranks in the name of House Baenre. He had been a spy, an assassin, a pawn.

He’d had virtually no will of his own, until he had. And when he discovered what he was capable of, he’d legged it at the first opportunity, House Baenre and Menzoberranzan be damned. He’d not been too pleased to see his dear cousin, Minthara, at the side of the Absolute.

Yet it would have displeased him greatly to see her suffer any more than she already had. Horrid as she could be, he knew that most of her wickedness was merely a sharpness of the mind; much like himself, back before he had discovered his vulnerability, he, too, had tended to think first, feel later, rather than experience both at the same time.

It was a difficult habit to break, especially when hardwired into one’s very nature. He couldn’t fault Minthara for it any more than he could fault Astarion for being the way he was. And that vampire had many flaws, when it came to vulnerability. The man’s self-preservation instincts, had they been given physicality, would have been sturdy enough to keep Ketheric, Orin and Gortash away, singlehandedly. Would have been, had Tam’lin not been so curious, had he not craved the vampire spawn’s companionship.

They had slept together multiple times, until one quiet night at camp, somewhere near the Last Light Inn. Astarion had thanked him for what he’d said, the way he’d defended him from that deplorable drow woman. Honestly, Tam’lin hadn’t wanted to be thanked for it; he didn’t need the thanks, what he needed was for his friend (a word which, until recently felt too funny in his mouth) to recognise that despite Cazador’s hold on him, he had autonomy.

If Tam’lin could sever himself from House Baenre, and Shadowheart from Shar, Lae’zel from Vlaakith, and Minthara from the Absolute, then by all the hells, Astarion could free himself from Cazador. Even when Tam’lin’s words came out a little too harshly, when his face did not present itself in the soft manner he intended it to, the szarkai was hell-bent on shoving Astarion in the right direction. He just needed encouragement, and a bit of support. Perhaps a bit of discipline, every now and then.

Although, some of the words that came from Astarion’s lips shocked him. He knew the man’s cruelty was but a front, but even so, some things he’d said had made Tam’lin’s palms itch, made his skin crawl, made his teeth squirm for a scrap. Many times, he’d come close to fist-fighting the one he called his closest friend.

This night had been one of those times.

The szarkai sat alone, in his deep purple tent, on top of his nest of rich jewel-tone cushions and blankets, watching his summoned spiders, Janet One and Janet Two, patrolling back and forth under the canopy just outside of the threshold, which was illuminated by the soft pink, green, and orange glow of a bioluminescent hanging basket.

Gods, he felt miserable, as he looked at the spoils of the day. Ketheric’s netherese stone. Balthazar’s quietly twinkling moon-lantern.

And Kar’niss’ sword, cruel-sting.

The night was quiet. Too quiet. Tam’lin’s dusky, pale mauve eyes narrowed as he analysed his emotions, picking them apart as he chewed at his blackened lips. What was this feeling? It seemed to be an amalgamation, of sorts. Anger, at Astarion’s reaction to his choice to knock the drider unconscious, instead of killing him. Sadness, that Kar’niss had been taken advantage of in such a way in the first place. Regret, possibly? Or something that felt like envy, that he should have been the drider? That he should have been taken in by the Absolute, for he was sure his crimes against Lolth were far greater than whatever Kar’niss had done. He’d deserved that fate. Possibly worse.

He remembered where he had been before being abducted by the illithids. He’d been in the city, hungover and still possibly drunk from the night before, that night in Sharess’ Caress with the male drow twin whose name he couldn’t recall. What he had remembered of that night were but fragments; the honeyed words about the milky pallor of his skin and hair, the mood-ruining questions about his scars and his alleged intimidating aura, the purr of ‘come, szarkai,’ and the beckoning of a slender finger that would later snuff out the lights. Mundane and mildly irritating things, mostly, but a few diamonds in the rough, such as the mysterious click of a box’s lid followed by a thousand little running pinpricks over his chest as the young lad had expertly stroked his insides. A guilty pleasure. One he hadn’t ever even considered, but one he had yet to stop thinking about. He still remembered the tickle of gossamer sliding over and sticking to his ribs as the tiny beasts had scattered, tickling him enough to steal a chuckle.

Sad, however, that he’d stooped to spending nights in brothels and drinking the towns dry.

He’d let himself go, for a while, content to play the part of the dark, vigilante folk-hero for the less fortunate, but after that while, it had started to get boring. Stories were being spun about him, rumours went flying, and Tam’lin did not welcome the prospect that people were making observations about him and speculating over what he did behind closed doors. He valued his privacy. He valued his autonomy. He valued people not trying to put him in a box.

Gloomstalker, the darthiir called him. The shadow ranger, with footsteps as silent and fleeting as the mist, tracking down his prey, setting traps, and then waiting in ambush, like the patient trapdoor spider that sizes up an arrogant snake. Possibly the only metaphor he’d heard about himself that he could be somewhat proud of. The spider that takes down snakes.

He frowned deeply as he looked at cruel-sting, propped up against his backpack in one of the tent’s corners. Kar’niss wasn’t a snake. He didn’t deserve to be hunted. Certainly didn’t deserve to be attacked by more than just himself. His throat was raw from shouting at the others to get back, to take down the wraiths, the shadows, anything but the indignity of attacking the poor drider like a pack of hyenas. Jaheira hadn’t wanted to trust him to take down Kar’niss alone. He’d had to force her to retreat, himself, and that was something that hadn’t gone down well when they had all returned to camp.

He was still bitter about it. She was still bitter about it.

Tam’lin ground his teeth together, furiously, stewing in his emotions. It would take a while for him to calm down.

So engrossed, was he, that he almost did not see Janet One beginning to jitter around. Almost missed the clicking chirrup of Janet Two as she assumed a more defensive position.

Shadows. It must be the Shadows.

It was pitch black, outside the tent, with only the campfire’s distant glow illuminating the other tents, all closed up for the night. All of his friends were asleep.

That thought might have been somewhat comforting, had he not seen a particularly fast shadow darting in reflection across the fabric of Astarion’s tent, directly adjacent to his own, or heard quiet, frantic whispering in the dark.

Tam’lin tucked a snowy strand of hair behind a pale, pointed ear and silently loaded an arrow into his longbow, readying it, ever vigilant. He watched his spiders like a hawk, before realising something about the positions they had assumed. Female spiders, recognising a male.

They know their own kind.

Tam’lin put the bow down, and picked up cruel-sting, instead. He waited. And waited.

Come to me, first, and I'll see if you are friend or foe. I'll give you the chance that the other's won't.

#bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 male tav #male tav x Kar'niss #kar'niss #drider #drow #bg3 karniss #bg3 kar'niss #karniss

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