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cower-before-power · 3 months

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As Mortals Do

Pairing: Gale X Fem Reader

Summary: As much as you enjoy being with Gale in the Weave, you love being with him just as he is more- aka All The Ways Mystra Missed Out

Warnings: Implied sex, very light grinding, mentions of oral (both on Gale and reader), I guess a smattering of angst?? But mostly soppy romantic, sexy fluff. MINORS STAY AWAY!

Word Count: approx 1300

A/N: I haven't written anything for ages but I'm obsessed with BG3 and Gale, just had a little idea and decided to jot it down. I hate hate hate Mystra, Gale deserves all the love and adoration just as he is, and this is me giving it to him haha. I'm not a Weave sex expert, nor do I know for sure if Gale and Mystra did it outside the Weave, but this is my fic and I'll do what I want!

Mystra is a fool, you think.

It’s not a new thought. You often find your mind turning to the goddess, and the depths of her raging stupidity. How she cast aside a man so full of love and devotion, a man whose heart bled worship and loyalty, a man who gives and gives and gives. A man like Gale Dekarios deserves to be loved as much as he loves, to be held near and never let go of.

Her loss is your gain, you think to yourself smugly, as you lay on your lover’s chest, the two of you basking in the sweet afterglow of your lovemaking. Gale is all yours now. His mind yours to delight in, his body yours to lose yourself in, his heart yours to cherish as the precious thing that it is.

You do not intend to replicate her mistakes.

“I can hear the gears in your brain turning, love,” Gale’s rich voice rumbles softly under your ear. “Spare a thought?”

You prop yourself up on an elbow, allowing yourself to drink deep of his satisfied visage before you answer. Gale is truly a vision after you’ve wrung pleasure from him, eyes aglow and face flushed, happiness exuding from every pore. You keep the image tucked close to your heart, a special treasure for you and you alone to revel in.

“I was just reflecting on the folly of your previous lover, darling. As I often do.”

Mystra’s name no longer brings pain to his dark eyes. Instead, he quirks a brow, no doubt curious as to the train of your thoughts.

“Oh? And in what way do you find fault in her this time?”

You brush your fingers along his cheek, his forehead, the slope of his nose. His skin is warm and slick with sweat. “I couldn’t help but think how foolish of her to never have you like this, in this mortal plane. She missed out greatly.”

Gale catches the hand tracing his face, bringing it to his mouth to kiss each of your fingertips. A shiver of delight skitters up your spine.

“How do you figure that?” He asks, lips moving to press more kisses to your palm, your wrist. You want to melt into his gentle devotion, but you have a point you wish to make. Gently, you prise your hand from his grasp, settling it over his beating heart.

You grin down at him. “Don’t mistake me, sex in the Weave is incredible. Every time you take me in there, I’m drowned in ecstasy. Our very souls meeting, entwining like that? It’s not something I ever thought I’d experience, and I’m thrilled I get to. With you.”

Gale smiles at that. “I’m glad to show you those delights, my love.”

“But,” you lean forward and press your lips to his quickly, gently. “as pleasurable as the Weave is, it skips a lot of my favourite parts.”

Gale’s mouth opens, no doubt to inquire what you mean, but you silence him with a firmer press of your lips.

“Your ethereal paramour did not have many glorious experiences, darling,” your breath mingles with his as your lips brush teasingly. “She did not get to feel the smoothness of your lips the graze of your beard against her skin as you kiss her. Or how it bites deliciously against her sensitive inner thighs.”

You nip his bottom lip softly, relishing in the hitch of his breath and the flutter of his lashes.

“She did not smell your scent, sandalwood and mulled wine and bound leather, and how it mixes with the musk of sex and passion into an elixir I wish I could bathe in.” To drive your point, you lower your face to rest in the crook of his neck, inhaling a generous lungful of said aroma. It sends a visible shudder right through you, and you feel yourself already wanting for your wizard again.

Your tongue sneaks out to lave a long stripe up the side of his neck. and the soft groan that tears from Gale’s throat makes your whole being positively ache with need.

“She did not taste your sweat, the salty tang of your spend. She did not feel the wonderful heaviness of you on her tongue, the little twitch right before you spill. Or see the way you look so thoroughly and splendidly debauched after I’m done with you.”

You climb atop him, hands braced on his chest as he grips your hips harshly. Gods above, he is a truly beautiful sight. You think you are the luckiest woman in all Faerun, to have such a man beneath you.

“She did not get to feel how warm you are inside her, how delicious it feels to be flooded with your seed. How connecting in that base, physical manner can feel just as wonderful as a merging of souls.”

To emphasize your words, you grind your hips against his, mewling softly at the feel of him growing between your thighs. Gale himself is practically panting, his sweet brown eyes nearly swallowed by dark lust, his own hips rutting up into yours mindlessly as he hangs on your every word.

You lean over him, chest to chest, face to face. Close as close can be, just the way you always want to be.

“She missed out on so much you have to offer,” you whisper, “and I’m not sorry for her. I’m greedy, all of this-intimacy, unconditional love, an equal partnership-with you is mine and mine alone.”

Gale snaps then, leaning up to capture your mouth in a voracious kiss. You sigh and sag into him, letting him devour your mouth as his hands wander the expanse of your naked skin. His kiss excites, his touch inflames, your bodies melt together like they were made to be entwined.

You firmly believe they were.

Lips meet, tongues dance, sighs and groans mingle in the soft moonlight. You soft whimpers of delight however, are soon abruptly turned into a squeal as he flips you under him. “Gale!”

Your wizard simply smiles down at you in awe and reverence. You think his eyes might be glassed with unshed tears. “My love, your words….I would ask if you truly mean them, but you’ve been quite the persistent one in making me believe my own worth.”

You return his smile. “I am annoying in that way, aren’t I?”

“Doggedly so,” Gale teases, kissing your nose as it scrunches up at his jesting. “But, I appreciate it. More than even my verbose vocabulary can explain, if you can believe that.”

You giggle. “My wizard of words? Unable to explain something? I certainly cannot believe it.”

Gale’s smile turns salacious. “No matter. I’m learning the benefit of expressing myself physically when words fail me.” He shifts, hard as steel against you, and a moan strangles itself in your throat. “Now, my love, my light, my darling precious gem, shall I express my feelings on your lovely speech with my body? Allow you to enjoy all the things you just praised so eloquently?"

He shifts again, and you cant your hips upwards with a whine, desperation seeping into your pores. You want to have him, again and again again, unending, unyielding. You feel like you might go mad if you don't.

Gale’s reciprocation of your hunger shines down upon you like the sun. “Let me indulge in you, sweetheart,” he croons lowly, “let me bring you to the heights of pleasure. In all the corporeal ways that mortals do.”

Your heart cracks open, joy overflowing. There is no greater bliss. He is bliss, in all that he is and all that he gives to you.

“Yes, please,” you murmur, as Gale presses in and consumes you whole. “As mortals do.”

#gale dekarios #gale dekarios x reader #gale of waterdeep #gale of waterdeep x reader #gale bg3 #bg3 x reader #gale baldurs gate 3 #baulder's gate 3 #my writing #gale x reader

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ahoycaptainautumn · 8 months

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Fated Mates

Synopsis: you, a vengeful vampire slayer, cross paths with the devious and handsome Astarion. Instead of a stake through the heart, Astarion finds something he thought impossible for vampire spawn. A mate.

Not sure how many chapters this will be but it will be slow burn 🖤

Crimson eyes. All that swims in your memory is the look of pure satisfaction in those eyes at the carnage that unfolds before you. Your mother and siblings laid drained and lifeless before you. Your father chanting prayers as he grovels at the feet of the man before you. He is sleek and pristine, with onyx colored hair and prestigious clothing now splattered with the blood of your loved ones. His lips form a nasty sneer, sharp canines glistening in the now dimly lit manor.

“You should have never made a wager you couldn’t keep, especially with a vampire.”

•••

Suddenly you are jolted away from the heart wrenching memory. Nightmares coming and going as blurs of reality swing past you. A tentacle creature. Some type of bug. But what alarms you now is the feeling of rock beneath you. You try to come to as your memories try to serve you. A ship, crashing said ship, others. Others! You jolt from the ground and look over. The Githyanki fighter is next to you as well as the other female you believed to have introduced herself as Shadowheart. You all look at eachother, relieved to be alive.

You all set foot to find any others that might have been held captive while in that demonic ship. So far you have found a tiefling named Karlach and the humans Gale and Wylls. You split up in search of any others with a designated spot to return to. You come upon one last survivor as you crest over a small hill. Silver hair rustles in the wind as the elf’s back faces you. He just barely looks over his shoulder at you, motioning you closer.

“Quickly! I have one of those brain things cornered over here! Come kill it!” He demands. He points towards the grass down the slope in front of him. You take cautious steps, moving silently towards where he mentions. You tense, hand ready at your weapon. A loud squeal comes bursting from the grass as a hog barrels out and away from you. You barely have a moment to turn around to the elf before a dagger is pressed to your throat. In seconds you are thrown to the ground tugging against strong arms ensnaring you.

“Now me and you are going to have a little chat. And you even think about pulling something and you’ll lose that darling neck of yours.” He all but purrs in your ear. You thrash against him, failing to pull the weapon away from your throat.

“Now I saw you on that ship, don’t even bother lying to me. What did you and those brain freaks do to me!?” He growls. You try to take a look at him but he has you pinned too tightly.

“I don’t have anything to do with those animals! I was taken, we all were!” You try to reason. Your temper begins to take over your fright. You escaped that hell hole. Fought tooth and bone to leave with your life. You would not be put down by some scared little elf. He bites back at you, focused on getting answers and not enough on how tight of a grip he has on you. Fury licks up the base of your body and fills your vision.

“Nice try but you’ll find me hard to convince, now what-“ you cut off his ranting as your leg wraps around one of his own. Your opposite arms elbow plants firmly in the ground as you swing yourself up and over the elf. You land him on his back; twisting his wrist in your right hand as your left hand reaches down to grab his now dropping blade. In one smooth motion your legs capture his frame under your own hip to hip as both of your hands ring around his stolen dagger. Confusion smears over his features as hands shoot up in defense. You just bring yourself to give into your anger, to drive the dagger directly into his heart for infuriating you with his insane tactics before your eyes meet. Crimson eyes meet your (e/c) ones. And the world falls out from beneath you. You plummet into a vast nothingness. Your heart gripped and laid bare. Vampire.

Astarions POV

Barely escaping out of a now wrecked ship with disguising brain maggots crawling from it was probably within the top ten worst days of Asatarion’s long life. His muscles ached and his neck throbbed from the impact of where he now found himself. Brushing off dirt from his sleeves, Asatarion rose to his nimble feet as he shook out the pains in his legs. He finds himself in a grassy plain. The ship that once held him hostage was now just over the horizon smashed in against a mountain. Wreckage spewed across the field with no hint as to where he now found himself. He had half a mind to just start walking and find somewhere someplace someone to end up in. But he remembered there were others, whether fellow captive or foe he was not sure. As if on cue, the crunch of feet on leaves and twigs ushered in behind him. A malicious smirk graced his handsome face. Now there was someone with answers. Or dinner. He could take it or leave it. The manic leer doesn’t leave his face as he feigns terror to his new audience. With a signal of his wagging hand he gestures for them to come forward.

“Quickly! I have one of those brain things cornered over here! Come kill it!” Soft steps quietly make their way towards and past him. Your frame comes into his view. Your (h/c) hair billows behind you as you step in front of him. He takes in your toned form flecked with blood and feels his hunger only grow. A tasty little treat. You appease his cries and look over into the clearing where grass covers most of what hides beneath. Just as you ready yourself for another battle a boar rushes out. Astarion jumps on your temporary confusion and pounces onto you. His blade reaches your neck as he hurls your joined bodies to the ground. You twist and curl from him as you listlessly fight from his grasp.

“Now me and you are going to have a little chat. And you even think about pulling something and you’ll lose that darling neck of yours.” Your face may be facing away from him but he can feel the anger pulsing in your rising blood pressure. Your suppulent artery thrums, tantalizing him under your (s/c) skin. He nearly loses himself there staring at your beating pulse. He reigns himself in, shaking the thoughts and desires to be dealt with momentarily.

“Now I saw you on that ship, don’t even bother lying to me. What did you and those brain freaks do to me!?” He spits. Your talon like nails dig into him as you fight back.

“I don’t have anything to do with those animals! I was taken, we all were!” You all but scream. Astarion snarls, the sound vibrating in his aching fangs. “Nice try but you’ll find me hard to convince, now what-“ Astarion finds himself interrupted as you maneuver your body to throw him under yourself. Your long legs hook under each of his own while you busy yourself with stealing his dagger. Astarion can’t help but be mildly impressed but confusion and annoyance soon take precedence. His hands shoot upwards to grab the weapon from your nimble hands. His gaze darts up to you and the moment your gazes lock it as if fire runs throughout his entire body. Every system, every neuron locks against his will. The rest of the world falls to the sidelines, the world blurring around you. You seem to have the same reaction as your muscles relax and a quizzical look takes over the fiery one of earlier.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” You sneer. Astarion puts on his most dazzling smile in hopes it covers the utter confusion he feels at what had just passed between the two of you.

“Astarion my dear, and what’s your name oh so deadly killer?” Your temper flares across your face at his teasing.

“(Y/n).” It sounds vaguely familiar. Like a name long forgotten wiggling in the back of his mind. Or it was the rabid worm that was placed there.

“If you are all done wrestling now, we have ground to cover!” Shadowheart yells. You look up at her, back to him and then back to her. Torn on whether to stab him or not, you decide on the latter. You hoist yourself up and side step away from him. Bringing himself up by the elbows Astarion takes a moment to look you over. Interesting.

Part 2 here

#astarion #astarion x mc #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #mates #fated mates #balders gate 3 #bd3 #vampire #reader insert #smut #slow burn

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chococolte · 2 years

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☼ — calling them a good boy II

word count. 3k

characters included. kazuha, scaramouche, heizou, diluc, kaeya

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religous + cult themes, sagau + cult au, etc. g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. part one here! requested by nonnie <3 yes these are a *lot* longer, i wrote them in my notes app and 4 some reason that equals me writing more words??

kazuha

Kazuha shudders, swallowing hard as you run your hands along his cheek.

"So cute," you say, your smile audible in your voice. The tips of your fingers twirl his platinum blonde hair. "And all mine." Your breath is warm on his face. With you so close, he can almost smell you, if only he leaned forward some more. Your hands glide across his skin with the gentleness of a blade of grass brushing against his legs. Kazuha repeats your words in his mind until they're etched into his memories, until he can look back upon them and feel the heat of your breath.

Your touch is soft like a zephyr, calm and comforting. Your smile is like that of a breath of autumnal air, warm and mellow. Your presence feels like the vernal embrace of the sun's warmth, so perfect and soothing. To exist next to you is a blessing unto itself, to partake in the air you breathe euphoric.

Kazuha's cheeks turn a dark red, burning with heat. Your laughter is full of mirth, ringing out like bursts of gales. The sound of your happiness, to know that he is the cause, even at the expense of his dignity, is worth more than the skin on his back or the vision at his hip. All of his power is meaningless in front of you.

Kazuha shivers when your hands move downward. He's sure you can feel his Adam's apple bobble underneath your fingers, the sweat coating his skin. You retract your hands and rise all to quickly for Kazuha's muddied brain to catch up with, and he barely stops himself from whining at the lack of contact. Leaving him kneeling, Kazuha watches your figure, draped in silk and rich fabrics, as you turn and sit back down on your throne.

You take a moment to properly position yourself, then look at him with an expression of gaiety. You tap your lap languidly with half-lidded eyes, and Kazuha uses every muscle in his body to stop himself from pouncing forward.

With shaky movements, Kazuha crawls toward you and carefully, tentatively, raises himself to his full height; his hands tremble as he, for only a moment, is above you. You look up at him expectantly, and slowly, with his heart stuck in his throat, Kazuha rests himself on your lap.

His heart threatens to burst from his chest as your hands instantly coil around his form, keeping him locked against you. He's sure you can feel his pulse from how close you are, sure you can hear how loud is heartbeat is. You smile knowingly, rubbing soothing circles onto his back.

"Was that so hard?" You whisper against his ear playfully. Your lips brush against his earlobe. He takes in a sharp breath. "You're such a good boy for me... and it's just for me, right?"

There's a slight warning in your tone, a tiny edge. Kazuha flushes at the implications. He nods eagerly, staring at your cheeks instead of your eyes. He can see from his periphery your eyes crinkle at his movement, your smile widening.

"Good," you say, and trail a hand up his leg. Kazuha holds his breath, watching your hand sluggishly move upward. Your movements feel like torture. "Since you're my good boy, I think you deserve a reward, don't you?"

You squeeze his thigh, and Kazuha whimpers.

scaramouche

Scaramouche is weak to you in particular, it seems.

"Sit next to me," you say, patting the spot next to you on your bed. Your voice is soft, almost a whisper. Scaramouche shuts his eyes, allowing himself another second of reprieve. You have commanded him, and as your puppet, he must listen. He can imagine how smooth your silken sheets are, how they'd feel against his skin. Mostly, he thinks about how they must smell like you, by now. Perhaps you'd let him lie down, surrounded by your scent, your warmth. But to think that way was shameful, so he grips the thoughts tightly in his grasp; the ideas, the visages of you, the gentle mirages of you and him, and he rips them to pieces. He will not allow you to have this hold over him.

You repeat yourself at his silence, patiently waiting for him to follow. Your voice lingers in his mind for a moment, flittering like a current of electricity; his body moves on its own then, his own will lost.

Maybe this is his true will, somewhere deep inside. The thought is off-putting, though he know it likely true. Either way, your soft hands stretch away from you as soon as he's within reach, grabbing onto his thin wrists. You direct him next to you, but keep his hands within your own. Scaramouche stares at your face, your eyes, your smile; you know what you're doing as you return his gaze, taking his hands and moving them to your lips. You lay a small, benign kiss on his skin, looking up at him with a knowing smile. Scaramouche tries to snuff out the feelings that burn in his chest— happiness to be in your presence, blissfulness to be so close to you, euphoria to have your lips upon him, even in such a small way. He douses them, but the flames climb higher. He rips away their oxygen desperately, but still, the fire roars; unbidden, unstoppable.

"My good boy," you mumble against his skin, kissing his hands again. "You know that, don't you?"

Scaramouche nods his head, even though he wants to rip his hands away and ask you to stop. You look at him like that, as if you truly care— but he knows you don't. You can't. No one has cared before, and you will not be any different.

You drop his hands, setting them carefully back down. Your every touch is soft and calculated, touching him as if you're scared he'll run. He has thought about it before, so you're not entirely wrong. Slowly, you reach for his face, cupping his cheeks in your hands. Scaramouche feels his pulse quicken beneath his skin, his face heat up from your proximity. You run your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks, and Scaramouche is unable to stop himself from leaning into your touch, from eagerly lapping up the scraps you've deigned to give him.

"I think I need to tell you again," you say softly, keeping your eyes locked with his own. "You're my good boy. Only mine. I won't let anyone take you from me." You lean forward, and Scaramouche is almost overwhelmed by your scent. You're everywhere, surrounding him— he wants to grab onto you and never let go, to hide in your comfort. Your lips brush against his cheek, and his breath hitches in his throat. You kiss his face gently, then lean away.

A small part of Scaramouche wants to ask you to do it again. He wants to ask you to run your fingers through his hair, to allow him this one moment of peace where he does not need to concern himself with worldly affairs. But to ask would be selfish; to ask would mean demanding more from you than you've allotted him. He must be grateful for what you've given him so far. The rest of him wants to ask you to stop already, to quit pretending like he matters to you.

You hum, and gently push him into your embrace. Scaramouche shudders and closes his eyes.

Maybe, he can allow himself this small moment with you.

heizou

To Heizou, you are everything.

You are the opposite of sin. You are light, bereft of all evil and darkness. You are purity itself, a paragon of virtue: you are what every being should strive to be. You are beauty itself, ethereal and kind— you are incapable of vice, of committing the same evils as mankind. Heizou will listen when you call for him, when you ask for his presence. You can do no wrong. Anything you touch, you purify. Your mere presence could water any wilted flower, resuscitate any withering life form. To Heizou, you are the earth that holds up the world and the sky that contains it. You are the ground he walks upon, the mountains he climbs; you are infallible, immune to temptation.

As your hands run through his hair, Heizou has to stop himself from begging for more. Your touch is holy and sacred. To feel your fingers, your hands, your warmth— it’s a nauseating pleasure. Heizou feels almost drunk on you. He can only barely resist the urge to grab your hands and force them down his body, until every inch of himself is coated in your light— until he’s entirely yours, both in body and mind, until any being could look upon him and know who has marked him.

He shivers when your hands brush against the base of his neck. Heizou makes a small sound of obedience, looking up at you on your throne through half-lidded eyes. A part of him feels slightly embarrassed that you’re seeing him in such a pathetic state, but the rest of him can feel only pride as he stares at his reflection in your eyes. You’re staring at him, no one else. Your hands are tangled through his hair, intermittently tugging and pulling; you’re doing this to him, not to another. Nobody is worthy of you, not even him— but the rest only worship you in name. None of them strive to be like you as he does, not one of them understands your ideals as he does.

“You’re such a good boy, Heizou.” You run your thumb over his lips, laughing at his imploring gaze. Heizou feels adrenaline rush through his veins at your praise. He’s done good by you! You praised him! His greatest wish has always been to please you, to leave you satisfied with him— to hear your voice say what he has only imagined you saying before leaves Heizou breathless.

“Such a cute boy.” A playful smile tugs at your lips. Heizou’s heartbeat quickens at your words, his face bursting with color. You cup his face in your hands and he leans forward, smiling at your touch. "I want to hear you say it. You're only my good boy."

Heizou's smile widens, his eyes looking up at you with awe. His heart clenches and threatens to burst at the thought of announcing he's yours. He has only dreamed of you claiming him, of entering your fold and becoming yours entirely. He wouldn't mind it if you changed parts of him to better fit your preferences; anything until he's truly worthy of you, anything to deserve your eyes on him, for him to continue to breathe in your presence.

"Only yours," he says, voice weak. "I'm only yours. Only your good boy."

diluc

Diluc shuts his eyes when you call for him.

It's not that he doesn't desire to look at you. No, it's that he can't tear his eyes away from you once he does. You are everything— perfect in every way. You do not desire anything from him, only that he worship you. In return, he receives your love, your guidance. Diluc doesn't know what he's done to deserve your preference, but he would not deny you anything he could provide for you. If you ask for his presence, he will arrive at your beck and call. If you want to touch him, Diluc will lay still until you've had your full. If you desire for his eyes to look upon you, he will open them, however reluctantly.

As Diluc takes in your form, his heart roars with all the strength of a wildfire. Your throne is etched with intricate, glistening jewels; multifaceted and multicolored. The loveliest riches can buy; yet, they still look so lacking in comparison to you— beauteous and heavenly you. You will always stick out in Diluc's mind. He has long etched your appearance into his memories, long unforgettable no matter how many years past. He could spot you, even if he's long since weathered from old age and if he's forgotten who he is. He could never forget you, his god; the one he worships above all else.

"Come here, won't you?" You say coyly. You phrase it like a question, but Diluc knows it's an order. His legs move him towards you before he even has any time to fully register your words, so used to following your orders. Diluc is only this complacent for you. He has thought about telling you before, uttering every thought he has of you, of showcasing just how much you consume his every waking moment. But he's sure you must already know, which is why you tap your lap.

"Rest your head here," you say. "You've been working so hard for me, haven't you? I think you deserve a break."

Diluc's heart stutters in his chest. His body awkwardly kneels before you, and with a small pause of hesitation, Diluc slowly lays his head on your lap.

You hum in contentment. "Good boy," you say, and with no prior warning, untie his hair. You move with no rush, slowly threading your fingers through his bright red hair. Diluc, however, is still reeling from your words, repeating them to himself like a mantra. Good boy? If it were anyone else, he would've found the words distasteful, almost mocking. Perhaps he would've gone so far as to completely cut off whoever would dare to utter such a thing to him. But from you, the words spark a desire. A desire for more, a desire for you to stay with him for a little longer. Diluc does not like to be without you— the comfort you bring like the warmth of a familiar embrace. His eyes flutter close when your hands find a particular sensitive spot, goosebumps lining his flesh. He hides his face in your lap before his brain can catch up with his movements.

Just as Diluc almost scrambles away and apologizes, you laugh. He freezes at the sound, face burning at how angelic your laughter is, then shudders as you resume playing with his hair.

"Good boy," you say again. "Just my good boy."

Diluc gulps loudly, averting his eyes. He leans into your lap again.

kaeya

Kaeya should hate that he can't bring himself to detest you.

You are perfection personified. You are virtuous, kind, and loving. Once, Kaeya hated you. He hated your image, your faux benevolence. You were the cause behind his suffering, the perpetrator; if you held even an inkling of love for him that so many claimed you did, none of what happened to him should've come to pass. Yet, they did, and there were only two logical conclusions: either you did not exist, or you did not care.

Kaeya denied you entry. He refused to allow himself to just be mere entertainment to you. He refused to let you diminish him to nothing more than your plaything. He would not be thrown away, used and discarded. He would not let his years of guilt, regret, and sorrow be reduced to something you could just gawk at. His pain was not for you to see. His grief was not for you to analyze. It was his own, not yours. If you were real, you would have to prove yourself to him; not the other way around.

"Kaeya," you coo. He snaps to attention, shuddering from the softness of your voice. Slowly, like he is truly afraid of upsetting you even in this small way, Kaeya raises his head. Kneeling before you should feel shameful, after everything. He should be ashamed to kneel before the one person responsible for everything he has endured. But Kaeya has long since accepted the way you make him feel, that absolute sense of security. He has long since foregone his own ego, pride and dignity. When it is just the two of you, Kaeya is nothing more than your sick, devoted worshiper.

"Kaeya," you say again, a small chuckle leaving your lips. Kaeya's mind feels dazed, almost, the sound of your voice saying his name leaving him weak. He wants to ask you to say his name again, and again, until he can never forget it. Until it's so embedded into his mind that even when he dies, he'll hear it clearly, ringing out like a loud clap of thunder. He never wants to forget the way you make him feel. "Come here to me, my good boy."

With an almost puppy-like eagerness so unlike him, Kaeya moves toward you. Your words, your praise, your attention; all of it is directed onto him. To be the only one standing in your gaze, the only one in the reflection in your eyes, feels more right than anything else in his life has felt before. To imagine being beside you in such a way leaves Kaeya yearning. All too quickly, Kaeya is kneeling directly at your feet.

You tap your lap. "Sit here."

Kaeya blinks. Then, he smirks. "What's this about?" he asks, but he's hurriedly moving on his feet to do as you ordered, excited at the prospect. For the one moment where he rises above you, Kaeya finds himself feeling vaguely sick. Such a position is unnatural. To be above you, even in this sense— is wrong. He quickly bows his head as he settles himself into position, and leans into you when you snake your arms around his waist and tug him closer to your chest.

"Good boy." You praise him so easily he almost feels silly for getting so happy about it. But still, Kaeya's heart thumps in his chest and melts when you rub the sides of his abdomen. This warmth, this affection; this safety and peace that only comes when he is around you. This is why Kaeya has found himself unable to hate you as easily as he did in the past— he realized as soon as he could comprehend the love from your control— all of his suffering, his pain and agony; all of it was meant to lead back to you. If Kaeya had to live through all of it again for you, he would.

You are heaven given form. To worship you so closely; nothing would be too much of a price.

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steelwoolcardigan · 7 months

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My current headcanon for non-origin Tav is actually a person isekai'd to BG3 setting and is just a rando (with a modern desk job back home) having legendary coping/acceptance mechanisms.

And this is all just revealed to their companions post BBEG battle.

How do you think the companion's will react?

I dunno if anyone's done it in a fic, if yes i'd highly appreciate the recommendations. If nah, guess I better start writin'. Sucks it actually involves putting thoughts into words tho...

Edit: My brain is on overdrive and I just had to get these lines in from my poor attempt of a fic on this.

******

"Such a curious writing implement." you hear Gale say the words before you hear his approaching footsteps.

The inn just doesn't provide you with the much needed privacy to hide these things from your companions, unlike when you had your own tents in the wilderness. And it's just your luck that the wizard was the one who saw you scribbling away your deeds for the day.

"Ah yes," you clear your throat as you deftly smooth your face to a blank. It'd be too obvious to hide your things away now and you know you have to play it cool as always; "I nicked it off from one of the dwarves I knew way back." You lied through your teeth.

You just know in your now ilithid free brain that the wizard from Waterdeep is about to bombard you with a hundred questions about your writing implement, a blue ballpoint pen.

******

#bg3 durge #astarion bg3 #astarion #halsin #shadowheart #jaheira #minsc #gale #wyll ravengard #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #lae'zel #karlach #baldurs gate iii #the dark urge #bg3 spoilers #bg3 tav #tav #tav bg3

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sorcerous-caress · 6 months

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I accidentally broke up with Gale and he was like "Oh I see thats disappointing. Youve actually caught me at an inopportune time. Blasted dust in my eye. Excuse me." Highkey broke my heart but the heart wrenching whump is hitting the right spot. Could you write a little something post that discussion maybe from Gales pov?

The Hanged Man | Gale

[Angst, character study, break up, nb!reader]

Gale's thoughts after you break up with him

"Oh" a fool.

"I see." A smitten fool, that's all he was.

The orb pulses inside his chest, tugging his heartstrings along and squeezing the fragile organ painfully.

He can't let you see, he must keep it inside.

"That's disappointing." He can't even hear his own voice as he chokes the words out. A burning hellfire gagging his throat and making each word a struggle to force out.

A struggle to seem unbroken in front of you, to tug his shattered heart pieces back into place and hold them as their sharp edges dig into his fingers, a pathetic performance.

You're looking at him, the concern in your eyes, the furrow of your eyebrows.

Your lips are parting, the same lips he felt melt against his own each night, the same lips that kissed so delicately against his neck, down his chest and between his legs.

For a second his brain flashes back to your previous kiss, a mere hours ago. Your last ever kiss together. How could he have known it was the last? He would've prolonged it if he could turn back time, kissed you with more passion, more tenderness, for longer as he poured all of his love into that one final kiss.

The corners of his lips twitch as his muscles forcefully smoothe out his frown, not in front of you, not now.

"You've actually caught me at an inappropriate time," the words are formal, rehearsed, academically appropriate. The words that got his previous teachers to not dig too deep into his personal business, to allow him to keep his own dignity, to bury his emotions until he was back at the comfort of his own home.

Where is that damned cat when he needs her the most?

He almost begs. Like a snivelling child crying for their mom to come pick them up from school, he almost begs whatever god out there for Tara to appear from thin air and save him from this situation.

"Blasted dust" his voice cracks.

Covering his own eyes as if to rub the dust away, he conceals the tears escaping his soul, like acid burning his flesh in shame.

"In my eyes." He trails off, swallowing back a sob. He is already turning away, shielding what remains of his fragile wound from your judging gaze, "excuse me."

And he doesn't look back.

A silence spell would keep his dignity, a silence spell would allow him to save face as he crashes into the soft bedroll inside his tent.

Books scattered around, not a sign of a single cat hair for him to annoyingly roll his eyes at, not even a small scratch of claws on the hard covers.

Tara is not here, for the first time in ages, he is truly by himself.

To love and be loved, that's all he asked for. That's all he longed for, god or mortal made no difference for him.

But it's too much to ask for, isn't it? What's a wizard if not fated for a lifetime of solitude.

No matter how much he tried, he couldn't replace his longing for companionship. Because at the end of the day, none of his books would hug him back.

Gale closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as the silence spell diminishes from around him. Not that he could concentrate at his current state of mind, a headache is already making itself at home in the front of his head.

A fluttering of wings, a gentle nudge against his limp body.

"Mr.dekarios?"

#♡Gale #♡angst #♡character study #gale dekarios #angst #bg3 angst #gale x reader #baldur's gate 3 x reader

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ryttu3k · 3 months

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Having some Thoughts about Astarion and his perceived intelligence, or lack thereof (it was largely in the tags of this post, which I absolutely recommend reading, but it was getting overly long).

Astarion is perceived as… not very bright. Like it's kind of a running joke in fandom at this point, and it's been bugging me for a bit, so…

INT 13 isn't actually low

INT 13 is actually a fair bit above average! Of the main six Origin characters, only Gale has a higher INT score at 17, which is what you'd expect from a wizard and Actual Nerd (complimentary). Wyll has INT 13 as well, Lae'zel and Shadowheart have the average score of INT 10, and Karlach has INT 8. Of the secondary companions, Halsin and Minthara also have INT 10, and Minsc and - interestingly - Jaheira both have INT 8.

So, far from being one of the dumbest companions, stats-wise, he's actually one of the most intelligent.

Poor planning skills aren't a reflection of intelligence

Yes, Astarion is notoriously terrible at coming up with long-term plans. You know what he also hasn't been able to do for two hundred years? Come up with long-term plans.

He spent about forty years living a normal life, then five times that duration as a slave, being punished for any show of thinking for himself. He tried to make a plan that went against his master's orders, and he spent a year buried alive for it. His only purpose was "to seduce anything with a pulse"; thinking outside of that wasn't just discouraged, it was punished. He's out of practice!

Also, there are a lot of incredibly intelligent people who can't make plans for Assorted Reasons, even without two hundred years of being a puppet to someone else's will. Dyspraxia, ADHD, all sorts of things.

The whole smooth brain thing

This one does bug me, but I also suspect it was a nod to fandom perception. The epilogue has Bing-Bong in it, there were at least parts written well after the game release, and the subsequent fandom response. It's entirely possible, if not likely, that parts of the writing were influenced by fandom perception.

He had low INT in early access

Yes, and they changed it, and he no longer does. Wyll was essentially rewritten between EA and now. Karlach wasn't even a main character in EA. The Dream Visitor was extremely different in EA! Astarion was below average intelligence in EA, and now he's above average ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Neil Newbon says Astarion is intelligent

"I see him as being very intelligent — very erudite — and highly manipulative when he wants to be."

From this interview. I figure he'd know better than anyone save Stephen Rooney, y'know?

The trauma

I mean we can't understate the trauma. The trauma would do a number on your cognitive abilities (and your everything else lbr). And on top of two centuries of going through The Horrors, Cazador repeatedly belittled and infantilised him, hard not to internalise that when Cazador had complete control over his entire existence.

This isn't really meant to be an essay or aimed at anyone in particular and also quite possibly my 'burnt-out gifted kid who valued their intelligence above everything else' is showing but that may be more a Gale thing! Just that the whole 'lmao Astarion is so dumb' trope was bugging me for this, that, and the other reason, so. A post.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion #the pale elf

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thecampjuicebox · 6 months

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To have and to hold Pt. 1

A couple of weeks before Tav and Gale's wedding night, Tav is having second thoughts. Seeking out a past lover before the big night, turns her world upside-down.

Pairing: Tav(f) x Gale x Astarion

POV: 2nd person (Reader is Tav)

Trying my hand at a multi-part fic. Let me know what you think! This idea was suggested to me and I couldn't NOT do it. This is gonna be a long one. Buckle up!

Dress fittings, picking out decorations, venue tours, flowers, food choices, invitations and exchanging kisses with family and friends you've neglected to speak to since the Nether Brain had fallen - all aspects of a wedding you didn't seem to take into account when accepting Gale's proposal. You love him, yes. Unconditionally. With every fiber of your being, and those floating through the weave. And yet.. Regret bubbles up in your gut while staring at yourself in the mirror, hands smoothing the bone white lace on the bodice of your wedding dress. You fumble with the top of your corset, shifting uncomfortably at the stiff boning. Shadowheart stands behind you, one hand placed gently on your shoulder and she leans in to whisper to you, your pointed ears perking up.

"There's still time to turn back, you know."

Your heart thumps audibly in your chest and you sigh, picking at your fingernails. You didn't want to admit how frightened you are. You've never considered forever. Especially not with someone like Gale. Charming, handsome, intelligence unmatched. He was the perfect candidate. The man your late mother always dreamed you'd bring home to the family, Selune bless her. You choke back tears at the thought of her. How she won't be there for the big moment anyways, so why does it matter who you wed? You'd also never been to Waterdeep. You and Gale decided to stay in Baldur's Gate briefly while you made the preparations. It was easier that way. Gale had traveled back to Waterdeep for short bursts of time, mostly to see that Tara, his tressym and trusted friend, was well taken care of. You decided to stay back every time, much to Gale's dismay. Something about making the trek to your soon to be forever home made you uneasy any time he'd ask. You've traveled all over Faerun and back. Hells, you'd even plunged into Avernus more times than you'd be willing to admit. The idea of spending your days in a tower with a tressym, a husband, and an endless supply of books was not how you thought you'd end your travels, though. Mrs. Dekarios. You'd take his last name, obviously. Wear it as a badge of honor. Meet his family, bare his children. Gods.. Children. The idea makes you nauseous, hot bile threatening to fight its way up your throat. Shaking your head, you tune back in to the sounds of the quaint Baldurian dress shop. You were no stranger to Figaro's. You came to enjoy the lavish clothing he offers. Textures your fingers never felt before the cult of the Absolute forced it's way into your life. You were reborn, newly cultured, and so very exhausted by all of it. Karlach stands, making her way over to the small platform you stand on and she meets your eyes in the mirror.

"Everything okay, Soldier?"

You chuckle at the nickname. Soldier.. You feel like anything but a soldier right now. Her warm hand reaches down to capture yours and she gives it a reassuring squeeze. Tears well up in your large brown eyes and you lower your head once more to ease the burning in your tear ducts. You feel so hopeless. Surrounded by the people you love most, but so entirely and devastatingly alone. Your thoughts swirl in your brain, engulfing the area the tadpole once lived. How could you be so ready to give up on Gale? You know he loves you just as much as you love him. If not more. Definitely more. A quiet sob escapes you and you crumble onto the platform, startling Shadowheart and Karlach. In confusion, the two kneel beside you, each one grabbing a hand.

"Gods, Tav.. What has gotten into you?"

Karlach's voice is stern and low, her fingers tightening around yours to ground you in the moment. Shadowheart sighs and shakes her head. She knows. She understands. Small cries rattle your ribcage as a never-ending stream of tears streaks your flushed cheeks. Embarrassment burns in your throat and you quickly stand again, both hands yanking away from your companions. You want nothing more to be free of this dress and the agonizingly tight corset holding all of you in. You reach back and tug at the laces of the corset in frustration, failing to loosen anything before throwing your hands down at your sides once more.

"I'd like to be free of this death trap, please."

You mumble quietly. Shadowheart giggles and begins unlacing the corset while Karlach moves to the front of you, both hands now resting on the tops of your trembling shoulders.

"It's going to be alright. Everyone gets nervous before their wedding. Hells, I'd be fucking batshit if I were in your position. Especially with someone as grand as Gale."

You allow a giggle to pass your frown and sigh heavily in relief when Shadowheart finally frees you from the corset, the pale leather folding neatly in her gentle hands.

"Looks like you need a hefty meal and a nap, Soldier. Let's get going. Your dress fits you just fine."

Figaro scoffs in the corner and collects the corset from Shadowheart, placing it down on a velvet bench before extending his hand to you and helping you down from the platform. He leads you to a small room so you can change back into your normal clothing, quickly shutting the curtain behind him as he steps out. You sigh and quickly shimmy out of your dress, carefully folding the fancy fabric and leaving it on the small stool in the room.

...

"Where are you headed off to? How was your dress fitting? I assume you've gotten all of the details figured out with Figaro by now?"

Gale's eyes lift from the dusty tome lying open on his desk. He scans your form, taking inventory of the cloak you've draped over your shoulders. You wiggle your toes in your boots and shrug off his concerned tone.

"I uh.. Derryth needs help collecting noblestock. Baelen is ill. The fitting went.. About as well as expected. Karlach cried, Shadowheart told me I should get the dress in black, Figaro was disgusted by that idea."

Your fingers drum against your thighs and you turn to look at him, attempting the most sincere look you can muster in the moment. The wizard's eyes narrow on you and he nods slowly, placing his palms flat on his desk to help lift him from his stool. His fingers graze the page on the tome before he begins his trek across the room to you. Gale pulls you into a tight hug, one hand grasping your waist while the other smooths your dark hair against the back of your head.

"Ah yes, Figaro and his.. Closed-minded fashion sense. Well, I'm glad the shop at least didn't go up in flames. The Underdark, hmm? Be safe, my love. Send word when you're on your way back, yes?"

You nod at his words and rest your head against his chest, the gentle thumping of his heart calming the nervous fizz in your brain for a moment. The soft velvet of his robe tickles your cheek and you nuzzle against it in the same fashion Tara would, but with much less purring. Gale chuckles and pecks the top of your head, mumbling a soft "I love you" against your scalp before he releases you, his hand reaching for yours to quickly caress the finger with your engagement ring on it. A soft smile thins his lips and he motions for you to make your exit. You smile nervously up at him, pulling your hand away gently and you turn to leave, your hands coming to your front to slowly slide your ring off of your finger and into your thigh pouch, your teeth catching your bottom lip. You slip into the night, tugging your cloak hood up to further shroud you in darkness.

...

You missed the glowing alure of the Underdark. The Myconid Colony serving as a beacon of calming light. You let out a quiet sigh at the familiar surroundings and cross your arms over your heaving chest, taking a moment to drink in the atmosphere and catch your breath. You weren't here to collect noblestock, and quite honestly, you're proud of yourself for the excuse you had come up with on the spot. You're in search of something much more valuable to you. A vampire spawn. The very one you'd shared so many sleepless nights with while infected with the tadpoles. Astarion. His name sends a shudder through your entire body. After your group took down Cazador in his crypt, Astarion made the impossible decision to kill the vampire lord and stop the Black Mass, freeing his fellow spawn to live in the shadows for eternity. Unfortunately, he was doomed to the same fate once the Nether Brain was defeated. You blink tears away from your eyes, rubbing your palms into the sockets to ease the slight burning. The thought of him cowering at the sun just after the final fight, running off never to be seen again, it makes your heart ache in a way you didn't think possible. And it has been exactly that long since you've laid eyes on the spawn. But you remember him so vividly. His pearlescent skin. His crimson eyes. His silvery hair that always rested in perfect curls, even after the roughest of battles with goblins.

Continuing your walk through the Underdark, your eyes fall on more familiar territory. The Duergar camp, nestled just on the edge of the black water you fondly remember sailing to Grymforge. However, the camp is... Inhabited. Rebuilt. Much more beautiful than you remember, large purple crystals growing in tall pillars around the quaint wooden houses peppered around the area. Long rope bridges connect the homes and buildings on the higher cliffs, chasm creeper and mushrooms speckled about on the rock. Your tired legs seem to will you towards the new found civilization, the promise of sleep fogging your brain. Taking a step into the camp, your eyes scan the surroundings, a few faces seeming oddly familiar to you. A tall, long haired vampire spawn with the scarring of runes scattered about his face approaches you, his crimson eyes cutting through the dark gloom. The purple glow of the crystal pillars around you grants you just enough light to make out his facial features.

"Tav..?"

"Sebastian?!"

Your eyes widen at the sudden realization. Sebastian is one of the Spawn your group freed from Cazador's crypt. A bright smile adorns your tired face and you sprint towards him, quickly embracing him in a tight hug. You nearly knock him off of his feet, your hands gripping the soft fabric of the back of his coat. The spawn chuckles and catches your short frame, gently lifting you from the dirt and giving you a playful twirl, earning a giggle. You inhale deeply, the scent of lavender and deep earth filling your nostrils.

"It's lovely to see you. Astarion hasn't stopped talking about his adventures by your side. I do believe he's around here somewhere. But what are you doing here, Dear? "

Your breath catches in your throat at the mention of his name. He's here. He's really here. You traveled all the way beneath the ground on an inkling that he might have followed the other spawn to the Underdark to seek refuge from the burning sun. Your heart thumps in your chest and Sebastian inhales your excitement deeply. He places you back onto your feet and takes a step back, smoothing his coat down before motioning for you to follow him. You nod and make haste, trying your best to keep up with his quick strides as he leads you in, what you assume to be, the direction of the spawn you initially traveled here to see. Sebastian stops in front of a large wooden door, tapping a few knocks onto the surface with the knuckle of his index finger. He holds his free hand out to you, motioning for you to wait outside once he hears a quiet "Enter" from the dark room behind the door. He carefully opens the door and steps inside, blocking the being within the walls from seeing you.

"Pardon me, Astarion. You have a visitor."

"A visitor? I thought I told that wretch that it was a one time thing! Gods, these deep gnomes are needy. Very well, send him in."

Sebastian stifles a chuckle and steps aside, revealing your presence to the the vampire. You step forward into the dim candlelight of his home, bottom lip caught nervously between your teeth, biting impressively hard on the sensitive flesh. Astarion looks even more beautiful than you remember. His hair a touch longer than before, but still arranged in that intoxicating mess of curls. A sparkling silver chalice rests between his pale, slender fingers and he swirls the contents in it with finesse. A familiar metallic tang lingers in the air along with the soft scent of bergamot and rosemary. A scent you grew very fond of when you were traveling alongside the spawn. One you often find yourself craving back home. Astarion is lying on a small velvet love seat, one leg outstretched and the other bent with his foot resting firmly in the plush cushion beneath him. Piles of dusty books and candles speckle the tables and floors around him, the room still tidy, but certainly lived in. His back rests against the armrest and he stretches for a moment before his eyes drift towards the front door. As he slowly turns his attention to the new intruder, he takes another sip from the chalice and he chokes suddenly, sputtering the red liquid. You stand in the doorway, hands clasped behind your back and you watch his reaction, a light smirk building on your lips. Astarion hurries to his feet, setting the chalice down with care to not spill any more of its contents before moving towards you swiftly.

"Tav is.. Is that you?"

You nod quickly and he whisks you from the floor, his face burying into the crook of your warm neck. You shudder at the sensation of his cold nose nuzzling your skin and you snake your arms around his shoulders, hands finding a comfortable spot in his soft hair. He groans at your touch and tugs you impossibly close to his frame, inhaling every bit of your scent that his nose will allow. Sebastian excuses himself, quietly closing the heavy door behind him.

"I've missed you, little star.."

"Where the hells have you been?"

You cling to him tightly, tears threatening to spill over your cheeks at his question. You shake your head and slowly slide from his embrace. His face contorts into a look of confusion, large eyes glimmering in the candle light when he focuses on your change of posture.

"Little love.. What ever could be the matter?"

You couldn't possibly tell him here. Not now. Not in this moment. You palm at your eyes once more before lifting your head to meet his gaze. He reaches out a gentle hand and cups your burning cheek, lovingly stroking the bone there with his thumb. You tilt your head into his touch and savor the feeling of his skin on yours again, finally. You've missed the vampling so much. Your heart pounds like a goblin war drum behind your ribs. He takes a step closer to you, his free arm gently snaking around your waist. Leaning down, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, the salty taste of your sweat making his pupils dilate. A quiet whine slips past your lips.

"Speak to me, Tav. You're never so tongue tied, you poor thing. What has you so rattled?"

Shaking your head, your arms fly around Astarion's neck, taking him by surprise. He stumbles backwards, bumping his calves against the ornate wooden frame of the loveseat and he sits down to catch himself, a small grunt breaking the otherwise harsh silence of the room. You collapse on top of his thin but toned frame and gasp at the impact. Wet eyes meeting his, you suck your bottom lip into your mouth and bite at it, drawing blood. Astarion senses the metallic hint in the air and groans, your very familiar and intoxicating scent making his grasp on you tighten in a primal fashion. He mumbles a soft "Gods.." and reaches one hand up to grasp your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You strain your eyes in the candlelight, releasing your bottom lip, the skin there now bruised, little rivulets of your life's essence staining the skin there.

"Astarion I..."

His grasp on you loosens and his gaze softens. He flashes you a gentle smile and cocks his head to the side. He knows exactly what he's doing to you, and though he revels in the idea that he can still fluster you this way, you feel his intentions have changed. The way his hands rest respectfully on your lower back now, the gentle drumming of his fingers against your spine. He's hungry, but he's doing so well restraining himself. The Astarion you met after the Nautiloid crash and the Astarion seated beneath you now are so incredibly different. It only makes you want to explore him more, to learn his new ways. And it feels so, incredibly wrong.

"Yes?"

"H-Have you eaten? Lately, I mean. I can't imagine there's much to feast on in the Underdark.."

Your question makes his eyebrows knit together for a moment, his expression twisting at the thought of just how hungry he is. Sure, he's eaten. Feasted upon a deep gnome here and there, their blood burning the inside of his mouth as he drinks. He hasn't, however, had anything nearly as delicious as your blood since the death of the Nether Brain. You were the last of your kind that he fed on, and he missed the taste all the same.

"I have eaten, yes. But, you know I am a man of.. Tremendous appetite."

His velvet words send a shiver down your spine and you press to him tightly now, closing the small gap that was left between your torsos while you straddle one of his legs. His knee presses into your mound and you try your best to block to feeling out of your mind. His eyes meet yours, full of lust. Full of hunger. Tinted with the gentle flicker of.. Love. You were his first mortal, after all. And he would be a liar if he told you that all of those nights of honeyed words and sweet nothings weren't how he truly felt about you. You offered yourself to him in a way no one ever has. Not with the intent to sleep with him. Just with the intent to make sure he was taken care of. A debt he, to this day, has no idea how to repay. His thought process is halted when you lean in close, bloodied lips grazing the length of his earlobe and you mutter quietly.

"I-If you're hungry.. Feed."

You back yourself up to meet his gaze once more. His eyebrows furrow and he growls, the deep noise causing your insides to ignite. Without hesitation, Astarion leans forward and flicks his tongue out against your sensitive bottom lip, lapping at the blood that has begun to dry there. He earns a whine from you, his pointy ears perking up at the sound. He smirks, determined for more noises and he sucks your bottom lip between his own, sinking a fang into the already abused flesh. You moan quietly, tilting your head back to tug your lip away from his grasp and your hands meet his chest, fingers toying with the ruffles around the collar of his silk shirt. The vampling's breath stutters at the encounter, your hands on his chest making his hairs stand on end. You instinctively grind your hips down into his, your leathers making a quiet noise from the friction. "Please.." you stutter, hands pulling at the front of his shirt now, your begging making Astarion's head swirl. Nose first, Astarion nuzzles into the side of your neck again, this time with much more intent, tracing the length of your perfectly soft skin. Baring his fangs to the open space, he quickly drags the flat of his tongue to prime the area for the sensation of the sharp pricks. His teeth sink into the flesh there, like ice shards. The pain is delicious and dizzying. You roll your hips again, this time Astarion's hips bucking upwards to meet your already wet core. You ache for him and you hate yourself for it. He laps the now steady stream of blood he's drawn from your neck, a low groan ringing in your ear as he drinks. In the past, he would drink while you were unconscious. Now, you wished you'd have been awake every time you had offered your neck to him. The little noises he makes, the way he gently cradles the back of your head while he feeds.. It's intoxicating. You're drunk off of the pain and the pleasure. Drunk off of Astarion. His lips leave your skin, tongue tracing the new pierce marks he's left in the crook of your neck. His hands remain where they are, one cradling the back of your head, the other tightly gripping the back of your shirt. He sighs to himself, tilting his head back as he cleans the crimson fluid from his lips.

"By the Nine Hells, you're just as delicious as I remember. I need more of you.."

His hands both slide to meet the tie of your cloak, making quick work of undoing it, the dark fabric sliding to the floor at his feet. Your body trembles beneath every movement, every feather-light touch from his fingers. As much as you love him, this was a feeling Gale has never been able to give to you. You love him.. Differently. You love his intellect. You love how much he adores Tara. You love his affinity for books and the way he talks about the weave. But your love for Astarion.. That was leaps and bounds deeper than anything you've ever felt. His touch sets your skin on fire. Your name sounds like a lyric on his tongue, soft and melodious. You crave him. His presence. His existence. You crave all of it. Tears threaten your eyes again and Astarion notices immediately. His hands quickly cup your cheeks and his soft lips crash to yours, your entire body falling limp against him. Arousal boils your blood, bubbling up into your throat, escaping as a soft moan against the vampire's lips. You're unraveling right there in his arms. He kisses you in a way you never in your life have been kissed, teeth knocking, tongues wrestling for dominance, the slight copper taste of blood lingering in his mouth from his meal. Your hips find a steady rhythm, rocking back and forth against his lap, the two of you moaning in tandem at the fiery friction building between your bodies. His right hand snaps upwards to grab your throat, thumb and fingers pressing harshly into the sides of your neck, your breath labored by the force of his palm against your trachea. Hungry red eyes meet your gaze and Astarion's lips slowly form the words that will be your undoing.

"Your body keeps no secrets, my love. This is what you want, isn't it? To lose yourself in me?"

You moan at his words, jaw falling slack. His hand moves upwards to press his thumb into your mouth, a quiet "Suck." commanding your lips to close around the digit, tongue lapping at his fingerprint. He watches you, pupils blown out with desire, hair disheveled from your previous kiss. You continue to suck on his thumb, his free fingers tapping rhythmically against your cheek bone and he purrs in delight. Your bones vibrate, your core aches, walls fluttering around nothing. He slips his thumb from between your lips with a gentle "pop" and replaces it with his middle and index finger. You obediently take the new fingers just as you did the thumb, moistening them with your saliva. He presses down on the flat of your tongue and you stick it out, allowing him to swipe his fingers around in your spittle. A devilish grin thins his lips as he watches you.

"So good.. Let's put this to good use, shall we?"

He slides his wet fingers down towards the waistband of your leathers, using his free hand to tug them forward. You curse under your breath, unable to do anything but watch. His fingers hastily meet your core, swiping teasingly slow between your think folds and you collapse against him, shaky little moans ringing in his ears. He groans at how wet you are, wasting no time to dip two digits into your aching cunt, finally granting you the pleasure you've been seeking. His thumb presses tightly to your clit and he moves it in agonizingly slow circles, first clockwise, then counter clockwise, and suddenly, in no particular pattern. You writhe against his hand, gasping and whining.

"That's it. Such a mess."

He pumps his fingers in and out of you slowly, relishing in the beautiful noises he earns in return. You're at the precipice now. You grind into his hand feverishly and throw your head back, whining into the open air, his name coming out in little yelps and moans. However, he keeps the slow pace. Taking his sweet, sweet time with you. It's been so long since he's touched you. Made you moan like this. Made you drop all defenses and absolutely lose yourself in him. He loves every second of it, his own pleasure coming solely from pleasuring you. He wants nothing more than to deliver you the ecstasy you so greatly deserve. It's the only way he knows how to repay you for the kindness, love, and support you've shown him in this lifetime. You'd never be up front about asking him for sex, let alone to touch you like this. You're the only person he's ever known to respect how he feels, what he wants, what he needs. For this, he has grown to love you with every ounce he's able to give. The time apart from you was agonizing and he spent many nights, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, praying to whatever gods would hear him that you would return to him. That you'd crawl into his bed once more so he could hold you and drink in your warmth. However, he knew you were somewhere else, with someone else. He didn't have the heart to approach you about it in this moment. All he wanted was to be here, with you. To enjoy you for as long as he possibly could before you slipped away, more unknown amounts of time passing before he'd be able to lay eyes on you again. To take in your sweet scent, one he has tried for months to recreate in a perfume. Vanilla, sandalwood, and woodsmoke. A tantalizing combination that leaves his brain all fuzzy and warm. He snaps back to reality, focusing harder now on your moans and the wiggle of your hips. The knot in your belly tightens with each stroke of his fingers against that heavenly spot within your walls, your arousal soaking his entire hand and the leathers that separate your skin from the cold air. His free hand grasps your hip, stilling your desperate grinding.

"Come for me, pet."

The movement of his fingers keeps a slow, steady pace. His thumb continues to rub into your clit, pressing a little harder now to throw you over the edge. You tighten around him, the knot in your core finally snapping, ecstasy making your eyes roll into your buzzing skull. The loud moan you let out surprises even you as you come undone against his hand. He grins proudly, working you through your climax, whispering sweet affirmations of how well you're doing during your comedown. Carefully sliding his fingers from your leathers, he pops one into his mouth, savoring your warm slick. His lids flutter in enjoyment and you watch him closely.

"You are.. Filthy.."

You giggle and wrap your arms sleepily around his shoulders, burying your face into the crook of his neck. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you up to straddle him now, hands cupping the supple meat of your ass. You close your eyes tightly, the reality of tonight's events creating a pit in your stomach. You fight with yourself internally. Should you tell Astarion? Should you tell Gale? Should you even go home? A quiet sigh leaves you and your breath coasts along Astarion's pale flesh, making him tremble momentarily. He rests his chin on your shoulder and mumbles quietly. His next words make your stomach drop, your eyes shooting open suddenly.

"Well, this should be fun to explain to Gale.."

#baulders gate 3 #bg3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #astarion #bg3 fanfic #astarion smut

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moyashidoodles · 3 months

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Tiny doodles of Pidge (my Tav) from act 1 and early act 2. Her hair changed for each act so it’s easy to tell where they are in their journey by how disheveled she looks.

Pidge is a wild magic sorcerer with an affinity for soul magic. She can see the color of others souls (I don’t consider this game breaking, but also it’s my brain baby so idc if that’s possible in the 5e rule set) there are some supplemental fan spells and materials for adding soul magic and flavor and there’s the soul knife subclass rogue which I think was a Critical Roll addition? Ugh, look at me spreading misinformation on the internet.

OC lore below the cut.

Content warning: abusive relationship discussion (parent and child), implied sexual and physical abuse.

Anyway, Pidge grew up Rapunzel like with a very controlling and narcissistic “mother knows best” mom. The only reason her mother even had a child was to be a “spare” body for when her mother succumbed to a fatal illness (and to help her mother transfer souls into soul coins and gems to be bartered in the 9 hells. Lots of devil’s work)

Pidge’s mother is controlling to the extent that Pidge was not allowed to learn anything about her wild magic and spent much of her life warded to keep her from accessing the weave. “For her own safety,” of course. The only magic she was allowed and praised for learning was soul magic, and this was to help her mother with her research into immortality and with business ventures.

Pidge was also used as “entertainment” for her mother’s important guests. Basically anything that her mother could get from Pidge, she would try to use to her benefit.

About 3-5months before the beginning of the game, Pidge escaped and crafted an amulet to protect her body and soul from being hijacked by her mother.

She is the only member of the bg3 origin crew who did not lose skills when she was infected by the tadpole. She didn’t really have skills to begin with. Much to Gale’s dismay, she learns basically on the fly and does a lot of “firebolt first, ask questions later.” To her, practical experience is much more important than book learning. Really she has adhd and can’t rote memorize for the life of her.

She identifies with Karlach early on as they both have had dealings with the hells, although Pidge is just beginning to understand the ramifications of her mother’s hellish business of soul coin forging.

Pidge is also very afraid in act 1 of Gale finding her out as she was told to keep her soul magic affinity secret by her mother. In truth the stigma for soul magic is not so bad, but it was a manipulation technique to keep Pidge from explaining to any magic practitioners what they were working on and how her mother planned to use the research to steal Pidge’s body.

Her mother is still hunting her down, so Pidge needs a permanent solution or soul barrier to keep herself from her mother “living vicariously” through her.

Bodily autonomy is stupid important to her. She rejects the Emperor the moment he tells her to “embrace her ilithid potential” for fear of losing herself. She is self conscious to the extreme and keeps notes on her newfound companions likes and dislikes so she can keep them happy. She had a legitimate panic attack when both Gale and Astarion wanted the necromancy of Thay because, according to her calculations, they would disapprove if the other was the recipient.

She fell for Astarion after rather disliking him for a good ten day or two. He won her over by being actually reliable in scrapes and being really funny. She can’t remember the last time anyone made her laugh, so she loves the feeling. They are the two smooth brained members of the group. Similar brain cell count.

This ended up being a lot longer than I thought it would be. If you made it to the end, then you will have made it to the end! *salutes in Barcus Wroot*

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marcynomercy · 2 months

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Fate written in blood

I wanted to write a fanfic of Calamity and Carnifex for a while so I took courage and did it, hope you enjoy reading.

Thank you @tragedybunny for beta-reading.

Summary: The blood has always been her way until the day that fate changed, After being kidnapped by mind flayers and the fall of the Nautiloid Calamity had a new opportunity for freedom and strangely her fate crossed with that of Astarion when the elf put that dagger around her neck.

Their fate until now was written by others, but now they would write with their own hands in blood.

Warnings: Violence, blood, game events, mentions of trauma, distress/comfort, mention of abuse. (That’s it for now)

Ship: Astarion and Calamity (Tav), Shadowheart and Carniex (Tav), mentions of other characters.

Chapter 2

Chapter 1 - The beginning of a bond

Freedom was just a dream, a dream she still cherished and strangely came true in a distorted way. It became reality in the form of a capsule being opened and the shock of her body on the floor.

A pain in her head and the knowledge that there was a tadpole in her brain... nothing comes for free does it?

The first thing she did was look at the capsules looking for her twin brother, maybe he was kidnapped too? Unfortunately, she did not succeed.

After the fall of the Nautiloid, Calamity awoke for the second time, by the gods she really thought it was her end but strangely fate had other plans as always.

She did not hesitate to look for her brother even after the fall, she looked body by body, wreckage by wreckage...nothing. But on the contrary she met the cleric who had helped before, her sudden infusion of kindness had good results and so her group began to increase.

Shadowheart was the first to join her on this journey and then soon after came that strange familiar pale elf who left a beautiful first impression... a blade against her neck. Her response was a headbutt.

After the misunderstanding was explained he apologized.

"Excuses accepted, if I were in your place I would have done the same." That was her answer. “My name is Calamity.” She introduced herself.

"A somewhat ominous name for such a cute person, well I’m sure your parents meant well." The elf joked. "My name is Astarion."

So Astarion joined them.

He saw her circling the ship freely as he tried to find a way to escape, but he noticed that strangely she seemed to be looking for someone. At first he deduced that she was looking for Shadowheart, but soon fell off the idea seeing how she was still looking for that person; given the way she looked at the bodies with fear and then with relief mixed with disappointment. Calamity did that until they had nothing left to scour just a wounded mind flayer trapped by rubble, that thing tried to control them, but it was too weak so they managed to resist. They were angry, so much anger and hatred for a nasty creature like that... so worried about becoming one of them.

They could not think about it, they had to forget at least for a moment and continue.

In a few hours the group recruited two more members, Gale of Waterdeep and the warrior githyanki Lae'zel who was already known to the girls.

Lae'zel was adamant and insisted on looking for the creche, Calamity on the other hand agreed with Shadowheart as to be wary and distrustful of githyanki so she tried to handle the situation as best she can.

"We already understand your point Lae'zel, but at the moment we do not have the resources for this. We need a place to set up camp, supplies and most importantly investigate this whole situation. There is something wrong and if we want to survive we need this information, so yes we will look for this creche and get its location meanwhile nothing prevents us from looking for answers, do you not agree?" One talent that Calamity cultivated and honed was persuasion and it fit her like a glove at that point.

Astarion was surprised how she was a smooth talker and a good sense of survival, he decided if he wanted to survive he should focus on her.

"In fact we don’t have a defined leader here right? In that case I think our dear Calamity would be perfect for that role." Astarion wasted no time in ensuring his target the most important role, all for the sake of his well-being.

Calamity stared at him in disbelief.

"Me what?!" she protested in shock.

"Well he’s not wrong, you seem to have skills for it given the way you handled it well during our short period on the nautiloid and now after the crash." Shadowheart commented thoughtfully. "Actually for me it doesn’t matter who would actually be the leader, but that you were nominated I won’t be against it."

"I don’t see any problems either." Gale also agreed.

"Tsk, if you’re all for her leadership, I won’t question it... for now. Better prove yourself worthy of that role."

Still stunned as everyone simply pushed her to the leadership, Calamity just sighed and nodded.

"Okay, okay... so let’s move on." She just took the lead and they moved on.

Astarion smiled, pleased. The first part of his plan was a success now he just needed to conquer the rest of it which didn’t seem to be difficult for him.

Well, that’s what he thought.

For the rest of the day he tried to approach her, but either Calamity ignored him or she just replied disinterested... How frustrating!

He took it out during the fight in front of the gates on those filthy goblins, it was good to kill something for a change, but then he saw that Calamity wasn’t just a pretty face. She beheaded the goblins as if they were nothing, her attacks were swift, agile and precise. It always focused on the vital, simple and practical points. This was no amateur skill, Astarion’s sharp eyes realized it was the skill of a professional, trained assassin. Calamity until now was a box of surprises for him, since they went from plunder this crypt to pacifying an argument between a tiefling and a human, knocking out the human with a punch to finding an improbable clue just because of a mistrust. He noticed the way her eyes ran around the place analyzing everything and that she was suspicious about something, then she tried to be a little too curious and quickly managed to sneak behind the stone shelves of one of the rooms by finding a chest with a suspicious letter addressed to Kagha.

But just as she proved to be very suspicious and cautious, she showed herself to have a terribly naive side! - dumb and stupid being more sincere.

Astarion was incredulous when she trusted the druid Nettie and being poisoned by her, but again Calamity saved herself with her lip and got the antidote along with some answers and her best bet was the druid Halsin... then another stupid decision, accept the poison Nettie gave.

"You know I’m starting to think you’re an idiot! You should have denied the poison!" Calamity stared with a serious look.

"I did it to spare us a possible confrontation unnecessarily and she would only let us go if I accepted and if the genius did not notice she locked us there with magic! And we gain a potent poison it can be useful in future battles." She seemed to have thought of everything.

"Well that doesn’t justify your stupid decision to trust her first!"

"Yes it was a stupid decision, but what could I do? I had to risk it and at least we had some productive result in this, never heard that the ends justify the means?" Her voice had a sarcastic tone and it irritated him.

"I can’t believe she poisoned you, tried to put you down like a dying dog without as much as a whisper of consent!" Gale was quicker in expressing his outrage.

"She gave up at the end." Calamity replied.

"Yes! But that doesn’t change the fact! How dare she snuff out life with as much thought as snuffing out a bloody candle?!"

"Are you all right, Gale?"

"Yes. Yes, I am. It’s just that, had it been me…Had it been… But you handled it, and you handled it well! As for myself, I could quite do with a tumbler full of Waterdeep Whiskey."

He really showed concern so she smiled sweetly at him in response.

"Oh, so you’re the kind of guy who prefers whiskey? That’s good to know, but I think at the end of today no one here would deny a drink." The way she spoke almost sounded like flirting, at least to Astarion’s ears.

The elf crossed his arms bored while they talked, it was decided that it would be better to find a place to camp and close the day.

The camp was set up. It was a tiring day, Calamity lightly massaged her strained shoulder after taking off the leather shoulder pad. Waking up on a devastated beach, recruiting one by one her new companions for that group, being chosen as a leader, plundering a crypt where you had a weird skeleton that was now in your camp, killing some goblins, being poisoned by a druid... She went over the day in her mind as she counted every event on her fingers, a tired sigh escapes from her mouth before she lies in her sleeping bag.

"Where are you brother?" she muttered covering her face with her hands.

Maybe he wasn’t kidnapped... so what would she do? Her mind starts spinning, she tried to focus her thoughts. Come on she needed to think of a plan! Wait... when did her mind get so clear? Was it the tadpole? Since she woke up in the Nautiloid she did not feel that weight that excessive fear caused her, the tadpole suppressed it?

Of course the same was still with her, but he did not control her anymore. Calamity smiled taking advantage of this relief, no anxiety, fear or panic... just a brief moment of tranquility. She gave herself the luxury of enjoying two minutes and then began to worry again, they will surely come after her.

"I don’t want to go back, but I can’t leave him..." She swallowed the cry.

She was free, but her brother wasn’t.

This brief moment of relief was taken by anguish, she could only hope that he is not suffering because of her. If she comes back maybe they’ll never have a chance to be free, she looked at the group through the small crack in the fabric of her tent’s entrance, she also had to worry about them now.

Her hands searched for blank book pages she had found, if she wanted to do that she needed to write it down! That’s how she started this diary, noting possible missions and progress and of course a way to vent alone. Calamity wrote everything, her advances of the day, the discoveries, hypotheses, theories, ideas for future plans and finally what she felt.

"It’s weird, I’ve never felt so good after so long... am I wrong? All this seems like a distorted dream from which I hope not to wake up, still not sure if my brother was kidnapped or not since I did not find any trace of him. I don’t know if I feel relief or regret for not finding him, on the one hand I’m happy because if he wasn’t kidnapped it means he wasn’t infected but at the same time I feel anguish because it means he was alone... I miss him."

She wrote with her anguished heart so she soon closed the diary and left it aside when she realized that someone came to her tent.

"Gale made dinner and I came to warn you." It was Shadowheart.

"Thank you, I’m starving." she replies putting on her social mask again and coming out of the attempt. " We’re lucky to have someone with culinary skills with us." She smiled and walked to the campfire beside the cleric

That first night together as a group was... quite a bit distant, Gale after dinner stood watching the fire and shared his pessimistic thoughts full of reality shock. " There’s nothing abstract about it" was what he said, Calamity understood his point but all he could offer were words. She then spoke to Astarion who expressed just as everyone else had how serious Gale was and later commented how new it was to him.

"The night normally means bustling streets, bursting taverns. Curling up in the dirt and resting is… a little novel."

"I confess that all this is strange to me, it’s the first time I’m away from the city but we need to take a chance after all we have a lot to do tomorrow."

"You mentioned that you were from Baldur’s Gate and I couldn’t ignore your abilities." She just got serious staring at him. "No need to look at me like that, what I mean is that I noticed that you are someone capable. Well I’m no place to rest yet, today has been a lot. I need some time to think things through to process this, you rest I’ll keep watch."

"If you say so, I’ll sleep quietly knowing there’s someone watching."

"The pleasure is all mine. Sweet dreams."

She walked away and Astarion kept his eyes on her, a single measure of her abilities made her alert, he was no idiot and knew that if he angered her, it could be his end tonight. Although it left him more intrigued by the minute, thinking he might have met her earlier wouldn’t make sense, but he still had that impression rooted in his mind... where he saw those eyes before? Her eyes are unique, the left eye sapphire blue and the right eye red this combination is not seen every day around.

He saw her talking to the other half-elf and then she returned to the tent, this matter occupied him for the rest of the night along with his hunger.

Well that’s it! Thank you for reading the first chapter.

@spacebarbarianweird @spacesquidlings@thechaoticdruid

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ghost-proofbaby · 2 months

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She knows him. She doesn’t know how or why. But she swears it on her life, she knows this pale elf. She can’t explain the echoing hollow ache that rings out at the up-close sight of him any other way. She knows him, knew him, and had somehow lost him.

summary: aruna meets gale. aruna meets shadowheart. but, somehow, none it matters - they're not astarion, and she's beginning to think this astarion doesn't exist.

wc: 5.3k+

warnings: continued memory loss, more canon violence/gore. a lot of gameplay recount. spoilers for the game below (act 1, ravaged beach).

a/n: anyone else fail that perception check when meeting astarion? just me? that's cool. i can't even be mad when a pretty boy holds a knife to my throat. also, if some of this isn't 100% game accurate/lore accurate, do not come for me. we're here for a good time! not an accurate time!

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Aruna and Astarion. Astarion and Aruna. Aruna – Astarion.

She echoes the two names in her mind an impossible amount of times. The one name, her name, clicks right into place for her. It makes sense. Her name is Aruna, there’s not a single doubt within her regarding that. And even if there had been, she’s already laid claim to it – she’s already introduced herself to the two strangers she’d managed to stumble upon on the beach as such.

Shadowheart and Gale. Kind souls, a bit guarded but fair given the circumstances. They share a common affliction, one that Aruna hadn’t even noticed in the daze of her awakening on the beach – a worm in their heads. Literally.

And she should be pondering more about how odd that is, all the squirming in her brain that she can feel, the way that she managed to connect telepathically with both of these strangers upon running into them, but she isn’t.

Because, apparently, according to this mysterious letter addressed to her, she’s supposed to save Astarion. And neither of them are Astarion.

Who the hell is Astarion?

Maybe it could be one of her new companions; either of them could have lied regarding their name easily. But she had seen into their minds, and they had proven trustworthy so far. Hell, Gale was even offering to cook some sort of dinner for all of them in their current makeshift campsite they had chosen. A clearing in the edge of the woods, not too far from the beach, but certainly not wandering any further than necessary into the unfamiliar grounds they’ve found themselves crashed onto. They’d snagged some bedrolls out of random chests discarded by the crash (they had all doubted the previous owners were even still alive), made a makeshift fire pit in the center of the clearing, and declared it home – for now.

It didn’t feel like home. Felt the furthest from home Aruna could have possibly been, and she didn’t even remember where her home was. Or if she had one before all of this.

“What have you got there?” Gale asks casually from where he stands over the dinner he was scrounging together, pulling Aruna away from all her stubborn thoughts.

They had turned one of the fallen trees into a bench of sorts. Waist level and the perfect place for him to carefully cut up mushrooms they had found along their way with a stolen knife they’d secured. It was the beginnings of a home, gut feelings aside.

“Hm?” Aruna hums, looking up from her palm, closing it on instinct, “What?”

Gale stops all movement, eyes narrowing in her further at her closed fist, “The stone you’re holding. Did you find it during our travels?”

Ah. The stone. One of two items she had found in the mysterious pouch on her body. She’d been mindlessly flipping it between her hands, fingers sliding over the smooth surface as she had studied it. Her investigation had proven half useful when she’d realized there was a carving on the flattest surface of the stone – a crescent moon, just like one of her daggers.

She could be honest. But for some reason, she feels protective over the stone. Especially after noticing that carving, “Oh, yeah. Saw it on the side of the road and it looked pretty unique. I’ll probably toss it away when we start back up on the road tomorrow.”

Like Hells will I be letting it out of my sight.

She doesn’t know much, frustratingly so, but she knows that this unusual stone is not the kind you would stumble upon on the road. Gale clearly knows as much as well, looking entirely unconvinced as they suddenly stare each other down in silence.

He’s giving her an opportunity to be honest. As if she owes him the truth.

“It’d be a shame to get rid of such an… unique stone.”

It would be. And he clearly believes it’s far more than a stone. But it only makes her fingers curl far more tightly around the opal, feeling the rough edge of the moon pressing into her skin.

“Maybe I’ll sell it,” she shrugs, trying to put up an act of indifference, “It looks pretty enough to earn a decent amount of gold, right?”

As if to prove her point, to further sell this careless act, she lets her hand fall back open. The moon carving is safe against her palm and out of sight, and the stone glimmers in the moonlight.

“Looks like it would be worth more than just a bit of gold,” Gale says, taking a few steps closer to get a better look. On instinct, Aruna nearly bristles. “That- Are you aware of what that is-”

“Is dinner done?” Shadowheart interrupts with perfect timing. Her distraction lets Aruna quickly move to shove the stone away back into her pouch, having no interest in some sort of lecture from Gale.

She doesn’t know what it is. But it’s hers, and his hungry eyes on the small artifact are enough to tell her to keep it far away from him.

“Pardon me?” Gale blinks a few times, taking longer than a normal person might to register Shadowheart’s questions. He’s still focused on Aruna’s hand that now rests emptily against her lap. “Oh! Oh, no. Not quite. Sorry, my hungry friends. Just a few more minutes. It won’t be much but, it’ll be something. Excellent fuel to continue our search for a healer tomorrow, I assure you.”

Shadowheart says something more as she takes a seat on another makeshift bench they’d set up, and Gale responds with ease this time, but Aruna has tuned them both out.

He’s probably right. Tomorrow, they need to find a healer. She needs to worry more about the worm in her head. She needs to reassess her priorities.

But it’s awfully hard when not only that stone, but that letter burns a hole in her pack, and she’s dreadfully aware that as kind and oddly trusting these people have been given their current situation, neither of them are Astarion.

And the letter said to save Astarion. Not Shadowheart, not Gale, not even herself. But Astarion.

—

“So, what were your lives like before this entire mess and impending doom of ceremorphosis?”

Gale is a chatty traveling companion. Aruna learns this quickly when they wake the next morning and gather their packs, and she’d even had half the mind to begin a map of sorts so she can mark their camp and the surrounding areas they’ve already explored on it. All her sketches, trees and scribbles to depict the Nautiloid crash, are abysmal at best. But it’s something. If they can just be smart, if they can just be aware of their surroundings, they might be able to continue to call their perfect clearing home.

Besides, none of them really wanted to continue to carry every single thing they had gathered thus far in their packs.

Whatever they left surely is at risk of being found by others wandering, and they could be robbed blind of any supplies left behind, but Aruna is just glad for the lack of an ache in her back as she adjusts her pack.

Shadowheart nearly trips over her steps, as if not expecting the question and clearly panicking over what to say, but Aruna decides to speak up first.

“I can’t remember,” she says plainly, monotonous as she continues to confidently stride forward. They’re nearly back to the main path they had discovered, and something is tugging her back in the direction of that damned beach.

Shadowheart trips again, and this time, Aruna truly can’t tell if it’s due to shock or simply not watching where she was going in her effort to keep up.

“What?” Gale chuckles under his breath, as though Aruna’s told a joke. He’s keeping pace with her fairly impressively, “I know this entire journey thus far has been fairly startling, but a symptom of ceremorphosis is not memory loss. Surely, you remember at least where you’re from.”

“I don’t,” Aruna finally slows, letting Shadowheart fall into place on her right as she faces Gale, “I… I have no memories from before the ship. I must have just hit my head exceptionally hard, or maybe that worm is digging around in places in my brain that it isn’t in yours.”

It’s a bold show of trust. She should feel more resistance towards laying out her troublesome internal quarrel so plainly to Gale, but she doesn’t. It’s almost as easy as fiddling with her daggers by the campfire, or mindlessly flipping around that stone in her pack.

She should trust him, shouldn’t she?

Yes, something screams inside of her. The thing she felt locked up inside of her finally finds its voice, it seems, as it calls to her, you should trust him. Trust him with all that you have.

The issue, of course, is that Aruna doesn’t have much. Material-wise nor of internal self.

She has daggers. She has a pretty stone. She has a tarnished ring. She has a name. She has instructions to save Astarion, whoever that elusive bastard may be.

She doesn’t have much to offer. To trust with.

“How very interesting,” Gale murmurs as he looks at her with nothing but unbridled curiosity, “Well, as I said, it’s not a symptom of ceremorphosis. As far as I’ve read, at least.”

Aruna eyes him wearily, instinct to trust be damned, “Yes, you seem to do a lot of that.”

He throws his head back in a laugh and- why does it pull on her heartstrings like something of recognition? Why does something about this very moment all feel so familiar?

The deja vu nearly makes Aruna sick, Gale completely unaware as he says, “Reading? Why, yes, I do. A hungry mind is crucial to surviving this world, I’ve found.”

Why is his laughter so familiar? Why does it spark a flicker of warmth in her chest, as though he’s some old friend she’s shared endless laughs with while gathered around a fire?

It terrifies her.

It was different, inanimate objects holding that flame of warmth and unlocking pieces of her. Daggers carved with nighttime symbols and a stone to match don’t scare Aruna; real people that she might have real history with do.

“I’m sure your hungry mind is very happy, then, having been fed a worm worthy of a feast,” she tries to say it snappily, but it still all comes out a bit flat.

And Gale only laughs more – Gods, she wishes he would stop, so that the waves of a memory she can’t catch will finally recede – and it’s clear he’s not affected by her defenses.

He finally tilts his eyes back forward, trained on her, a ghost of a smile still lingering, “Ah, well, not quite. I prefer feasts of words, of knowled-”

“You know what else is crucial to surviving this world?” Shadowheart interrupts, shifting her weight from one foot to the other in a clear sign of her losing patience, “Finding a healer, and getting rid of the worm. Shall we carry on?”

Aruna shares a final glance with Gale, and can’t help but also find the corners of her mouth twitching up, a mirror to his own. For the first time in several days, it almost feels as though she might have a friend. The exact opposite result of what she had intended by trying to be particularly sharp and even a bit sarcastic, but she doesn’t fight it.

Instead, she nods to Shadowheart, and Gale motions for her to take the front as he bows, “Lead on, as you were.”

Gale is not Astarion. She has no instructions to save him. And yet, she can’t help but feel her defenses are too weak, given the way he’s beginning to crack them with so few prods. Maybe his inquiry regarding her stone had been in genuine curiosity, a hungry mind as he had put it. Maybe he’s just trying to be friendly. Maybe he has good intentions after all.

Maybe she does know him, and maybe her letter had just forgotten to add another crucial reminder.

Maybe she’ll add it when she gets back to camp.

She can see it now, as if the words have already been solidified by pen to paper: P.S.S DO NOT FORGET TO FIND A FRIEND IN GALE.

—

Shadowheart is far from amused when Aruna leads them back to the beach. Yet, to be fair, it’s hers and Gale’s fault for following her so blindly.

She knows there’s no healer on the beach. But something is calling her back to it.

“The-” Shadowheart starts the moment the sand comes back into view. Trailings of sand mingle with the dirt below their feet, “We’re back on the beach? Haven’t we already established that there’s no healer on this ravished thing?”

“Good name for it,” Aruna whispers more for herself than her companions, considering adding that to her map when they retire for the night. She turns to face Shadowheart and forces a smile. A kind, disarming type of look in hopes that the girl will just trust her, “Call it a gut feeling. I just feel like we missed something here.”

“A gut feeling? We’ve already looted all the corpses. What more could there possibly be?”

“We only checked one side of the beach.”

“Yes, because to get to the other side, we’ll have to go through the damn crash rubble. Filled with those- those brain things.”

“There’s three of us. I have faith.”

“I-”

Gale’s head turns back and forth, bouncing between the arguing girls. He seems perfectly content to add any commentary, almost at ease with the current argument, until Aruna’s hand moves to her hip.

Aruna is quick to pull a dagger from one of her sheaths. Immediately, all relaxed state of being drains from Gale, him paling and stepping forward to finally insert himself between them, “Woah, now! I don’t think there’s any need to-”

“I’m not going to stab her, Gale,” Aruna huffs. Shadowheart doesn’t look very convinced as Aruna focuses on her once more, dagger still hovering up in their line of sight, “I was trying to make a point – we have weapons. Gale has magic. And you’ve said you’re a cleric, which means you can heal. I doubt those ‘brain things’ – devourers, by the way, is the correct term – will even lay a claw on us between all our varying skill sets. If you don’t want to go to the other side of the beach, then don’t. I can’t force you. But you’ve both put your faith in me this far, what harm can a little more do?”

The speech works. She doesn’t expect it to. She expects them to laugh at her, or walk away from her, or for Shadowheart to even start a proper fight.

They don’t.

They follow her right into danger, no hesitation. The wizard she’d saved from a portal in some cliff-side rock and the cleric she’d awoken on the beach when she’d stumbled upon her, faithful to her to a damaging fault. Even when the intellect devourers do attack, just as Shadowheart had worried they would, neither utter a single word so much as sounding like the well-deserved ‘I told you so’.

They just use their skill sets. The very ones Aruna had pointed out. Her daggers, Shadowheart’s cleric artillery, Gale’s infallible spells – they use them for all they’re worth, until each of those brains are unrecognizable on the ground.

And best (or possibly worst) of all, Aruna discovers something new about herself.

Her magic.

She hadn’t even been sure if she held any useful skills beyond being decently good with her daggers thus far, but as one of those brains had trampled towards her, she had felt it. A warm hum beneath her skin, erratic and wild as can be, begging for release.

Release it, she did. The final brain falls from the power of the fire bolt that flies from her fingertips, not even leaving her so much as marked.

Gale notices immediately, Shadowheart still scoping out the area for any more enemies.

“A fellow magic wielder, it seems,” he grins, motioning vaguely to her hands, “Now, if only we knew what kind.”

What kind?

“If you have no memory of your life before the ship, I’m correct to assume you aren’t very knowledgeable in the boundaries of your magic, yes?” She hadn’t even realized she had said the thought out loud until Gale is in front of her, still rambling, a light of intrigue in his eyes, “There’s wizards such as yours truly,” he pauses, and motions over himself in flourish, “As well as warlocks. Those, however, usually answer to a patron. So unless you’ve had any strange callings to any great deities over the last few nights… well, it’s off the table, I suppose.”

“I haven’t,” she croaks, still looking down at her fingertips in shock. Magic. She still feels it now. Probably could have felt it this entire time, had she not been so distracted by the tadpole, the headaches, the memory loss. It’s fluid and tangible, something bursting through her veins for her taking, “I- What would that even feel like?”

“You’d know,” Gale says most assuredly, “Trust me. Besides, your patron probably would have already found you by now.”

“So, I’m a wizard?”

Gale is quick to shake his head as Shadowheart walks back over to them, “Not necessarily. It’s certainly an option, and would make you a magic wielder who learned their knowledge of the Weave through studies. But there’s also other possibilities – sorcerers, paladins, clerics. They all have the ability to wield some magic. Druids, too, although theirs are usually more of the healing nature. And, well… the nature variety in general.”

All words that make little sense to Aruna. She gives it a moment, waits to see if her muddled brain might catch up and offer her a little help in understanding, but it’s all in vain.

“I should know these things,” she whispers, so quietly that both Gale and Shadowheart have to lean in to hear her small tone. It’s the first time she’s openly shown such emotion with them – something like devastation, laced with frustration. The inability to remember, to know, as they do. “Even if my memories of my life before this evade me, I should know these things.”

Shadowheart speaks up in a tone unlike any other she had used on their journey, “They might still return to you yet, or there might be a greater reason for it all. Don’t give up hope.”

“And if they don’t return to you,” Gale interjects, the air of casualty returning to him as he gives a lopsided grin, “Well, I can always teach you about it all. I have books back at camp.”

“You have books?” Out of all the things just said, it was probably the most odd for Aruna to latch onto, but she still looks at him befuddled, “Where in the Hells did you just get… books on all this? Did you loot them off of-”

“Bag of holding,” he answers as though it was obvious.

Great. Awesome. A bag of holding. Because Aruna totally knew what that was.

“Let’s just keep moving,” she moves on, letting it go. Maybe she’ll take him up on his offer, maybe she won’t. If anything else, she’ll just inquire more about whatever the Hells a bag of holding is later on, back at camp, “I can see the other side of the beach over there.”

It’s Shadowheart and Gale’s turn to exchange a look, and slowly but surely, it’s feeling as though more than just the tadpoles in their mind are connecting them. Threads are being spun, small connections that are painfully mundane yet easily connecting these three strangers. They could all be friends, if they really wanted to. It might even make their survival a little bit easier. It might make their travels a little lighter.

Aruna can worry about friendship once she’s found Astarion, though. The faceless stranger mentioned in passing on a letter, the one person she’s been tasked with saving.

She doesn’t even know who he, or she, or they are. This mysterious name – it really means nothing to her. All she has to reasonably cling to it is that ridiculous letter. If she were to confide in her two companions about it, she’d probably get an earful, and truly be abandoned. They wanted to seek out a cure to the imminent danger within their heads, and she was sending them on a wild goose chase for Astarion.

Does this Astarion even have a tadpole as well? Is that how she’s meant to save them? And if they don’t, does that mean that they’ll help her with her issue first, and then she saves them?

Does she have to save them in order to rid herself of the tadpole?

It’s all giving her a headache by the time their group of three is slowly walking up the slope of the sliver of beach they’ve discovered, taking small yet sturdy steps along the side of the crashed ship. Gale, thankfully, has stopped his nervous rambling (because, Aruna realized, that’s what it was. His nerves, controlling his tongue endlessly, trying to fill the dreadful silence for even the smallest bit of comfort. It almost makes her feel bad for being grateful for the quiet).

She must have been thinking about her questions hard enough for some mysterious power out in the Universe to hear her, however. Because they’d hardly been walking for a few minutes, she’d hardly been left to all her confusion and cursing of the damn name for such little time, when she sees him.

Him. Decent height, pure white hair, pale skin that is nearly blinding in the harsh sunlight.

Him. With eyes so red, she can see them from this distance. They almost match the shades of crimson that haunt her nightmares.

Him. Who is currently, pathetically, calling out for help.

“What the-” Shadowheart begins. And Aruna doesn’t notice it, but she starts to reach out to grab the elf by her elbow before she’s beginning to dart up the hill, falling right into the trap.

Both of her companions, Shadowheart in her guarded glory and Gale in his perpetual state of anxiety, can’t even stop her. Neither dare to breathe out a word as she approaches the pale elf, but she can feel their disapproval as she comes up beside him.

“You,” he breathes out, half crouched, eyes darting towards the bushes, “Hurry. I’ve got one of those brain things cornered,” he turns and points towards the bushes, assuming where the said brain thing has been lured, “There, in the grass. You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others.”

She should have been smarter. She should have been more perceptive. She should have heard Gale’s deep breath as he prepared to warn her against getting any closer.

But she wasn’t.

She’s a damned fool, a lamb to the slaughter, as she nods and whispers out an immediate, “Of course.”

There’s no brain thing that has been cornered. The only thing that has been lured is Aruna; one moment, she’s leaning in to get a closer look into the bushes, and the next, a wild boar is skittering out.

That’s not what catches her off guard.

The blade to her throat is what does it. Quickly, with unsettling ease, before she feels the elf’s arms wrapping around her and bringing them both down to the ground.

Oh, fuck me.

He has her trapped. She knows it, he knows it, and both her companions know it. She was an idiot and got exactly what was coming for her.

All her survival instincts kick in immediately, causing her to trash in his arms, a painful whine coming out as she can feel the cold metal digging deeper into the delicate skin of her neck.

And all the pale elf does is shush her gently, “Sh, sh, sh, sh. Not a sound. Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.”

His words do little to deter her. He starts to argue with her companions who have finally come to their senses, keeping a safe distance all while spilling out carefully calculated threats to the stranger, but she can’t hear them over the blood rushing in her ears. One hand feebly grabs onto his that is wrapped around the hilt of the dagger, the other reaching for his elbow. She tries to tug the weapon away from her, but he’s strong. It’s a fruitless battle.

Aruna swears she hears Shadowheart insist she needs her alive. Gale saying something regarding the way he’ll make the elf regret it if he brings Aruna any harm. She can’t be sure.

The longer his steady grip on her shoulder lingers, the more familiar it begins to become. His leg, trapping both of hers so that she can’t kick out of his grasp, is also familiar. Familiar, familiar, familiar.

His lips are moving as he stares up at her companions, but it’s only once his eyes narrow back on Aruna that her heart slows and she can hear him properly once more.

“Now,” he nearly purrs, voice low, dangerous, “I saw you on the ship, didn’t I?”

She presses her lips together tightly, still trying to maintain her struggle to get out of his grasp. Her teeth grit from the effort, arms shaking violently.

“Nod,” he commands, nearly condescendingly, and synapses fire off in the darkest corners of her brain.

I know that voice.

She almost feels as though she has no control over her body as her head nods on instinct, blade dropping from her neck to her chest now.

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

I know that voice.

The same thing deep within her chest that had unfurled at the sight of Gale’s laughter, that had called her to the beach, that had lit up with recognition at the sight of her daggers – it’s wide awake now. Staring through her eyes at his own rubies, tracing every outline of every wrinkle, every curve, every imperfection. She knows his voice. She knows him.

It weeps at the sight of him, and she has no idea why. The same strings that clench when she reads over her letter, when she let her eyes trace over the words ‘My dearest Aruna’ and the heavily underlined name of Astarion, are now pulled taut.

She knows him. She doesn’t know how or why. But she swears it on her life, she knows this pale elf.

She can’t explain the echoing hollow ache that rings out at the up-close sight of him any other way. She knows him, knew him, and had somehow lost him.

Her lack of an answer clearly irritates him, but he’s cut off by whatever quip he had perched on his tongue by the sudden connection. She doesn’t understand it, whether it be due to the new rolling thunder of the most intense deja vu she’s experienced yet or if it were a simple side effect of the tadpole, but each connection via the tadpole has become more painful. More intense.

She’d first noticed the difference between it happening with Shadowheart versus Gale.

And now, she notices it an impossible amount with this stranger.

It’s nauseating as their minds connect, sharp and quick as if their two brains had been laying in wait for this very moment. It feels as though it goes beyond the tadpoles, beyond their shared affliction and terrible predicament.

She sees bustling taverns and lively night streets, yes, but there’s something more there. Something missing. She’d felt it with Gale as well, an emptiness neither of them could seemingly unlock. But with this one, it’s far more intense than it had been previously. Like gaping wounds being presented to her, interspersed with the exchange of both his memories and… well, the lack of hers beyond the Nautiloid ship, she sees gaps. Spaces to be filled. Questions to be answered.

I know that voice, the thing in her whimpers, I know this man.

She doesn’t even care to hold onto the memory. She lets it slip away, wishing the pain would, too.

But it lingers.

Not just for her, but for him as well. His grip entirely loosens on her as he winces, a soft gasp falling from his lips as he begins to question, “What was that-”

She doesn’t care to listen to his question. In an instant, she’s pulled away, rolling out of his reach before standing steady on both feet. The pain leftover from the connection fuels her as she holds a hand out, and her magic thrums steadily with her heart as electricity crackles in the palm.

Neither Gale nor Shadowheart make a single move as she holds out that palm, watching the elf’s every moment as he also rises to meet her. But he’s no longer hostile, hand holding his dagger now limp as he lets it rest at his side.

“You’re… not one of them,” he says slowly, shame briefly flickering over his features before being replaced with something more despairing, “They took you. Just the same as me.”

Her fingers shake in front of her as blue bolts continue to flicker amongst them, forming spasming webs between her knuckles. She could obliterate him, if she wanted. Right here, right now, she finally has the upper-hand.

But she doesn’t. And in her hesitation, she can see him still reeling just as she was from their connection. She swears she can hear the pounding in his head syncing to hers, perfectly in time with one another.

The thing inside her claims to know him, but she doesn’t even know his name.

I know him. Don’t hurt him.

She sort of hates that internal dialogue. That true monster inside of her that had been the reason she hadn’t hesitated in her running to his rescue. It was the reason that she’d ended up with a knife against her throat, and she’s praying it’s not the reason for her death as she listens and closes her hand into a soft fist, releasing the hold on her magic momentarily.

He watches her do it. His face relaxes, a charming smile gracing it now instead.

“And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. My sincerest apologies.”

She highly doubts just how sincere that apology is, but she’s unphased all the same.

“Apology accepted,” she sighs, swiping her palm on the side of her now dirty pants. Somewhere beneath the dust she’s now covered in, there’s blood from the intellect devourers, but that’s a problem for tonight. Not now, “I would have done the same thing.”

No, I wouldn’t have. From the very first moment I saw you, all I wanted to do was help. Every instinct in me screamed to help you.

She’s lying, but she really doesn’t care that she’s lying. He has a tadpole. He can join them. She doesn’t care.

Back in the forefront of her mind, even ahead of the damned tadpole and the need for a healer, the need to keep them all alive, her brain is back to whispering of this Astarion. The quicker she carries out this predictable conversation, the quicker they can get back on the road. And the quicker she can find whoever Astarion is-

“I’m out of wine and flowers, so I hope an introduction will suffice,” his blood-red eyes meet hers, and something in her gut twists. As if she already knows. As if she’s just realized that she’s missed the obvious. “My name is Astarion. I was in Balder’s Gate when-”

Astarion. Save Astarion. Astarion.

All the breath leaves her lungs as she interrupts, “You’re Astarion?”

#if it's out of character choose to look away man idk what to tell you #my writing #ghost's stories #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion fanfic #it is what it is #they've met but at what cost #the moon will sing #it'll get better as we dig into the plot scout's honor #(i was never a boy scout)

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galebrainrot2024 · 3 months

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Gale x Tav Enemies to Lovers Part 14 Gale's Perspective Writing in the airport is very distracting! So I will be editing this for a bit, and wanted to get it out so you can begin to enjoy!

Gale was mystified - his mind whirled with memory, the sensation of her fingers brushing against his lower lip and how that sent blood spiraling and pooling to his core. He took a deep breath, trying to focus on sleep. Instead, his brain turned the memory over like a coin between his fingers, rubbed smooth from the nervousness of it. Oh… how his cells thrummed with excitement when her soft fingertips wiped the sweat from his skin. Gale had been reminded more in the past few weeks of the sweetness of mortal touch, how that sudden contact causes a tidal wave of adrenaline, of need. Caused, mind you, not only through touch but plenty of stolen, subtle glances.

Apart from the orb, Tav was all he could think about. In a primal, almost heathenish way. Gale touched his face, rubbing the corners of his eyes.

Instead of sleep, though, his mind examined the other parts of the coin and thought about how each night she would accompany him by the fire to help prepare their meals - though, prepare was a generous overstatement.

The other night, Gale had the frustrating experience of trying to teach Tav something he thought was simple. Tav would be able to chop potatoes and carrots. Surely. He’d seen her weild multiple knives at once in battle, why should sedentary vegetables be significantly different?

Well. Tav proved him wrong, in so short a time it was a cosmic joke. It must have been. She wielded the knife like someone who was from another galaxy where no sharp blades on any kind existed. She even tried to chop it using the Weave and instead had made strange, splintering shapes of the vegetables. It was bewildering and also deliciously entertaining. It made no sense to Gale why Tav should be so bad at this simple thing. Gale had enough when he saw the tip get dangerously close to her fingertip.

“You wouldn’t be the first person to lose a finger if you keep hacking away like that, how are you even managing to butcher using Magic?” Gale tsk’ed and peeled the knife from her fingers as if each one was made of glass. He felt goosebumps rise on his arms.

Her face was red, her eyes full of anger and she huffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This looks… fine.” She gestured pitifully and Gale read the creep of redness. “Chopped.” Tav held up a sad looking carrot slice that was translucent. Gale cupped her hand around his mouth to hide his smile and bit the insides of his cheeks to control the rush of hormones flooding his nervous system.

“Ah… chopped.” Gale touched brushed her shoulder, “It seems we have a difference in opinion, then - may I?” Despite her over the top sarcastic eye-roll, Tav nodded and Gale stepped forward to place his fingers over hers to guide their movements. The hair on their arms mingled and quivered. “Imagine the same stillness as harnessing the Weave during combat, at the peak of adrenaline. The control you wield, even faced with the precipice of death… how all thought and time seems to fall away when you pluck at its fine strings. Cooking is similar…” Gale inhaled his exhale slow as he watched it brush the hair along the back of her neck, “allow your fingers to find the same stillness as your mind does,” he slid their hands over the potato, his body pressed against her back in the way of lovers. He tried to ignore the drumroll in his chest, the sweat that collected on his brow, his breath that felt too shallow and jagged. His voice was low, thick with emotion. “Very good.” He breathed, feeling her body tense beneath his. It made him dizzy.

“Well don’t you look…. Cozy.” Astarion sneered, repulsing the two from each other. Gale felt his nails dig into his palms.

“Just making sure she doesn’t loose a finger,” Gale said, though he realized he likely did a poor job of disguising the venom in his tone. And then Gale had excused himself to prepare the rest of the meal.

All of these small moments Gale thought of as he tossed and turned, the unconsciousness of sleep refusing to come. The orb was a firestorm in his chest and no number of magical items would quench its boiling rage, Gale was convinced he was moments away from becoming a super nova. The orb was insatiable and he felt such a profound, severe gnawing that he was having more and more difficulty concentrating or doing much else. And now even sleep was out of reach. He felt the Weave at a grave distance, and was grateful they’d be moving on soon.

Despite Halsin’s serious warning about the dangers if the Shadow Cursed Lands, they were left with little other option. He stared blankly, the heaviness of his lids juxtaposed against the fervor of his mind. Of thoughts of her.

He felt his stomach sink. With his condition as volatile as it was and with their history as it was… the secret he still guarded from her - nothing could ever come of these fleeting feelings, so why was he intent on entertaining it?

What did Gale have to offer her beyond suffering?

***

As they approached the threshold to the Shadowed Lands, Gale spotted someone who looked uncannily like someone he knew. No - it couldn’t be, though - for him to have traveled all this way… Gale felt fear seize his heart and pushed forward, ignoring the emotion to deal with later. Except, later would come sooner than expected.

“Why’s this old man just wandering about out here, doesn’t he know how unsafe it is? Unless it’s a trap” Karlach asked, slowing her pace and equipped her axe as if preparing for battle.

“Easy, Karlach,” Tav’s eyebrows jolted up and she motioned to say settle down. “If my eyes are as sharp as I think they are…” Tav squinted and Gale’s lips parted subconsciously as she concentrated. “I’d swear that is one of the most acclaimed Wizards in all the realms - Gale, what do you think?”

“Ugh, who cares what Gale thinks.” Astarion quipped and Gale felt his eyes flutter with irritation.

Gale’s tongue ran against his front teeth. Karlach tilted her head to the side and widened her eyes, pointing her axe at Astarion, “Mind your manners. Both of you.”

He loathed the days that Astarion was in the party too. He didn’t mind so long as he was left at camp, but on the rare occasion they traveled together it was like oil and water.

Gale interjected, “As much as I hate to admit to her superior observational skills, I have a feeling Tav is right - though it would rather strange for him to be here, of all places…”

Tav nudged him and stuck out her tongue a bit, pushing his shoulder and Gale felt the familiar shock. He shot her a wicked grin and held up a finger, “I said you were right, what more do you want from me?” He was goading her, but only in hopes it meant she’d return his volley. His stomach knotted with a sensation he didn’t want to place yet.

Gale was chuffed by Astarion’s groan and audible faux gagging noise. It made him swell with something close to pride. “I mean it,” Karlach hissed, “And, if this guy is who you say he is, I’m going to tell him about how you both deserve to get turned into toads.”

He felt the tops of his ears warm and allowed himself to fall behind.

As they drew closer, the person came into focus.

“I knew it,” he heard Tav whisper under her breath.

“AH!” Gale said, surprised by the finger to his side. He shot Tav a fiendish look. “What was that for?”

“I was right.”

Gale was so enamored and slightly confused by this new behavior. It evoked strong feelings from their childhood, the memories almost bleeding into the present.

“Elminster?” Gale felt the concern within his gullet grow.

“The very same,” Elminster grumbled and Tav and Gale exchanged a look. He saw concern wash over her dark irises. Gale was trying not to focus on how Tav’s eyes seemed to bore into him and how close she stood, their shoulders brushing - but just. “And a fair bit miffed he is too, finding himself forced to expose his best boots to miles of country road on your behalf.”

“Many miles you say?” Astarion asked, “From where do you hail, exactly?” Gale could sense Astarion already knew the answer to this question and was simply buying into his bumbling elder act.

“Originally?” Gale scoffed, “Shadowdale. Lately? The fanciest inns of Waterdeep. Meet, everyone, Elminster Amaur, a good friend of mine but rather more significantly he’s the most famed and respected Wizard in the realms.”

“A pleasure - you sure you’re not Gale’s granddad?” She chuckled at her joke, “I gotta be honest, I was ready to murder you back there, thank the gods these two knew who you were.” Karlach had a habit of oversharing and it was a quality he admired in his friend.

“Am I indeed? Most famed and respected errand boy, more like.” The seasoned Wizard bristled, dusting off his robes. “I was bid to spare neither time nor my own self to find you. She sent me, Gale. You know of whom I speak.”

“But why? Out with it Elminster. Please.”

“Young man, has your sojourn away from Waterdeep washed away your decorum as well as your patience? Neigh a ten-day has gone without honest fare - drank nought but what the sky entitled to my thirst.”

“Why some bread, cheese, and a cup of wine would appear unto me a feast. Surely you won’t begrudge me of some rest and repast before I get out with it?”

“Yes, Gale, where is your decorum,” Astarion snickered.

“Oh for the love of….” Gale sighed with exasperation.

“Ahh… this when, then? Hm? To your camp?” Elminster huffed impatiently. “Don’t dawdle now, you’re the one who’s in such a frightful hurry.”

“Neigh on thirteen centuries old and he still thinks with his stomach. We best follow, and see if he’s more disposed to speak plainly once it’s stopped its grumbling.”

Despite Astarion’s protests, Tav insisted they follow.

***

As Elminster explained, in too many words what Mystra was asking of him, Gale felt himself grow horribly cold. It started at the tips of his fingers and crept through his body as if he was freezing from the inside out.

Gale’s mind was still as he struggled to absorb the gravity of what Elminster unleashed upon him. He was terrified, elated… disgusted… confused. It all meshed together into a larger blankness.

Mystra’s forgiveness. Only if he died on her behalf… Yet… if Elminster’s word was true, it meant he would be reclaimed in death no longer subjected to the horrific punishment of the godless and shunned. Being spared such a fate meant everything to him. As soon as Elminster spoke the last word, Gale breathed sharply.

Quiet.

For the first time in over a year, the orb was quiet. The stillness was jarring, he had grown so accustomed to the incessant ache and to have it so abruptly silenced was… remarkable and disorienting. A sensation he had taken for granted for the entirety of his life before the orb and would never again. When one’s body hums in a chaotic roil for a year, the sudden stillness was rapture.

Although his mind was still muddled, Gale rejoined the conversation as Elminster spoke: “It is done. Both charge and charm have been committed into your care.” Elminster looked to Tav and then broadly at the remainder of their companions. “I count on you to shepherd him well on this strangest of journeys.”

Elminster paused for a moment and Gale flashed a look at Tav whose face was unreadable and pale. He reached out to touch her hand and pulled away, startled before his fingers could brush her.

“Like moons make swell and wane, the nescient seas, so too the sky strewn gods ordain the tidal fates of mortal days. And yet, a notion born in lonely hours, come ebb come flow, come all that is beneath the breadth of our dominion. Be a moon unto yourself. Even fate can break upon the shores of will.”

Gale understood. Elminster knew he could find another way. So, find another way he would.

#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale #bg3 #bg3 brainrot #bg3 gale #gale x tav #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #bg3 fluff #bg3 gale fanfiction

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thedomesticanthropologist · 2 months

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Hey there... I'm terribly angry about something big and outside of my control at the moment. Could you let me know what you'd think the BG3 companions do if Tav started self destructing? Like Tav passing harsher judgments, snapping at neutral NPCs, or fighting more dangerously and recklessly with bad guys?

Ah, I know this feeling very well! For the purposes of it's easier to write, "Tav" will be replaced with "you" in this. Also helps with immersion imho

Karlach: recommends you scream. Really. Big cathartic screams, into Clive maybe just incase you don't want to bring too much attention nearby. Taking out your rage in battle is great, but only if you live through it - reckless can get you killed, alao letting out that rage in a primal scream is a good way to let it all out and return to focus

Gale: tells you to sit with him, gives you a quill and ink and an empty journal. If you sigh and refuse or get mad, he insists. "The thoughts in your head cannot get out - even talking it through doesn't always help, or maybe there's no one to talk to about this," his gaze softens,

"But writing it down gets it out. With purpose. And you can burn it afterward if you don't want the evidence. Just give it a try. The brain to hand to paper connection creates a flow of energy that can help settle the raging waters of your heart."

Un-romanced Astarion: becomes your cheerleader and encourages your reckless and snappy behavior (sorry but 😂 he's a little rat man)

Romanced astarion: reassures you that you are not alone in this, and he doesn't want you getting yourself (or him) killed through self destruction. He stays up at night with you when you can't sleep, reminds you that the most important thing you can do is survive because one day this will be behind you and you'll want to be here for that.

Shadowheart: chats with other companions about it before talking to you. Tries to take some chores off your hands, offers to split a bottle of wine by the campfire. Shares a little about herself (what she can remember) in order to bond and help you feel less alone

Lae'zel: suggests you spar until you are too tired to lift your arms and your legs shake and you cannot possibly carry on. And then sleep, sleep, sleep. When you wake up, she is standing there 'five laps around the clearing and then we jump in the lake. Refreshing. You will do this.'

Wyll: steps in to smooth things over when needed, spends more attention to watching your back in battle, makes sure you've eaten, and always has a bright, cheery quote or catchphrase to try to brighten your day

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we-staybhaalin · 21 days

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For my beloved Nettlebane and Gale!

What happens if one of them gets sick?

Describe their first date.

Do they have many heated arguments? How do they smooth things over?

Choose one song that perfectly describes their relationship.

What reminds each of their partner?

Do they have any hobbies they share?

What are there thoughts on pet names? Do they have any?

Who's more likely to do something out of spite?

BONUS: Are they looking for a partner? Asking for a friend... 👀

Ooh! Thank you for the ask!

What happens if one of them gets sick? -

Gale particularly strikes me as the sort that might be a little dramatic about getting sick. He'd try to push Nettie off even though she's 1) a cleric and 2) very obviously aware that he's sick. Luckily for Nettlebane, Tara is a very useful ally to have in the battle of Making the Wizard Get Bedrest, so she can easily call in a ringer and have Tara sit on his chest until she's done whipping up some medicine or soup for him to eat. Secretly, he very much loves being doted on but publicly he'll gripe about it for about a day. The only thing she can't win on is letting him bring a book to bed so he'll often sit up reading while he's recovering and she'll let him have that. Otherwise, she keeps his work locked up and way out of reach until he fully recovers.

Nettlebane doesn't get sick often but when she does, Gale has to pull out every trick in the book to convince her to stay in bed. He's a decent cook so he can very much make her get some rest. Nettie usually is the "caretaker" and the person that looks after everyone's wellbeing but regarding her own, she can be a bit neglectful. Trying to convince her to stay down takes getting on her level and understanding that her brain is pushing her in a way her body can't accommodate and Gale does have to coax her to bed however he can. Usually, his soups put her right out and, prior to her teaching him how to make her medicine, he and Tara would take a walk to a healer and stockpile some medicine while she sleeps. When he gets back, he'll have the piano strum a soft lullaby and he'll get back to his work. He knows she's woken up when he starts hearing a voice humming alongside the piano and he'll give her the medicine then.

Describe their first date.

Canonically, their first date was him showing her the inside of his tower in game. But headcanon, he does get a chance to do things properly so he pays for her travels to Waterdeep and starts first with taking her around the city. He wanted their first official date together to be just about the two of them. I'm imagining him taking her along the waterfront and laying out dinner on a boat with only them on it. Beneath the stars and with the shimmering lights of Waterdeep in the back, he'd ask her about all her old friends and get to know the Bells even more through her stories. He'd tell her exactly who he was before they met and they'd take the time to really get to know each other the way they couldn't with the Absolute Crisis hanging over them.

He'd hear about her being a young girl given away to a temple and who found refuge in Alris, Caress, and Sharess. She'd learn about the boy who's first love was magic, not the goddess who controls it.

After dinner and docking back, he'd take her on a walk through one of the more scenic parks in the city. Through the neighborhood he grew up in. Through the places most people don't know about in Waterdeep that he frequents.

He'd end the date back at his tower and he'd ask her then show her everything in his tower that he showed her in their date in the Weave. Nettie would touch absolutely everything in the room and ask a million questions about a lot of it. He'd answer all of them with a smile on his face. When they get to the balcony, she'd stare out into the harbor and up at the brilliant stars dotting the sky. They'd share that moment of silence together and they'd fall into a conversation about all they have been through together, what the future they want with each other is.

They'd have each other on the floor of his balcony beneath the stars. His knees will be screaming in the morning.

Do they have many heated arguments? How do they smooth things over?

I don't think so but there were definitely moments in their relationship where clashes happened. Leading up to him learning how to forge the Crown of Karsus, he would have posited the question about attaining and controlling that power, something she would have not agreed with. I think the crux of their arguments stem from Gale's knowing--he is ambitious and, as someone who has worked at his craft, when he is certain that he has an answer he is assertive about it. I think his arrogance can color how he shapes his perspective, but Nettlebane would have heard the sincerity in his pleas and what he gets back in turn teaches him about her.

When she is assured of her perspective, she approaches with warmth and stands stone solid. She does not yell although her voice will raise a bit. She does not get mean or biting. She is gentle but she will not be moved. Her sincerity and way with words slap him down, but with a calm that cuts to the heart of the issue, so much that it startles him sometimes. Nettie's opinion matters a great deal to Gale too, so when she speaks, he makes a big effort to listen.

I think they both know where they stand at the heart of things and it's that understanding that keeps their disagreements from blowing up into something more. They'd pick at each other post-game because she can sometimes be a bit overbearing and he's still...Gale. But arguments that happen between them would probably be pretty rare.

Choose one song that perfectly describes their relationship.

Litost by X Ambassadors

What reminds each of their partner?

Gale sees Nettie in a lot of little things--a very interesting little bauble, the jovial laughter of a group of people stumbling out of a festhall, and the warmth of the sun on his face. He'd think of her face lighting up at the tiny bauble and her cooing over it. He'd think of the way she'd shimmy over to the partygoers stirring up a raunchy ballad that they'd steadily join along in as they scoop her right back inside. He'd see her standing in the soft rays of an evening sun, the sky alight with pink and gold and orange, and he could hear her voice, "and so we are gifted the thread of Sharess, the golden hour of evening caresses our desires and floods our beings with Her warmth."

Nettie feels Gale in much of what she does with her magic. I think once he gets a chance, there's definitely some lessons here and there to help her hone her casting abilities. It's the phantom sensation of his hands laid over hers, moving long fingers in the motions it takes to cast and hers bending to his will. She feels his smile at the back of her head as she's thumbing through books and wanders over to the more interesting selections--a book on the art of romantic etiquette within far off societies and another on types of wine served during a dinner party denoting societal status.

Do they have any hobbies they share?

They are both very big on cooking and often times will be in the kitchen, whipping up a grand meal for two people (and a tressym!).

What are their thoughts on pet names? Do they have any?

They both would love them a lot. Gale defaults to "my love" usually but Nettlebane will call him anything ranging between "honey" and "Professor Dekarios." If she calls him "Gale," he's in trouble.

Who's more likely to do something out of spite?

Gale. Nettie can be mischievous but she's not very spiteful unless it involves her friends.

Gale, however, is an arrogant former level 20 wizard who now teaches children for a living. He has to have a little vinegar in him to deal with some of the people he works with daily.

Bonus: Are they looking for a partner? Asking for a friend...👀

Now Raz, you know Gale doesn't like sharing lololol

Nettlebane would absolutely go for it if he was okay with it but since he's got that hard boundary set, she wouldn't cross it.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #bg3 tav #gale x tav #gale x oc #bg3 tiefling

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vixnovacoda · 7 months

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The Cure We Seek || Chapter 1

Astarion x f!Tav

Word Count: ~3.2k

Summary: Set after the events of the Mindflayer tadpoles and the Netherbrain, Astarion and fellow companion Nemeia spent years in search of a cure for the free vampire spawn where they have taken to settling down within their splendid city of Baldur's Gate and trying to establish a life of normalcy for themselves in a world that aims to constantly work against them as a dark past threatens the couple's peace.

[AO3]

Nemeia

Promises are binding contracts, oaths sworn on trust that bind lips and mind where ink may coat parchment. They are the kind not to be taken lightly and used sparingly when possible for woe befalls the fool who breaks it. Throughout her life, Nemeia met such fools, she saw the fate which awaited, she knew better than to strike a deal that pitted her against an inevitable doom.

But, this all started with a promise; she did it anyhow.

Something simple. A few words: “I promise you,” uttered by the Tiefling, Nemeia, to a peculiar vampire spawn years ago. Words that were expressed all without second thought, as if they were any other phrase; so simple, and still, they held a power in them that would change the world.

Their world.

A power that makes a dead heart beat, hopeful; possibility. The unexpected kind.

There was no going back now.

The stars bore witness to the act and sealed it away in their constellations. Silvanus’ earthly nature watched from trees and bushes, and rooted her words into the ground beneath their idle feet, spreading. All forces of the world would hold her to the promise she made for as long as she may exist.

Longer than Astarion ever expected on that otherwise tiresome night. He had her put down for a few seconds or hours at best as they switched a single wine bottle back and forth, half-expecting there to be no truth to it due in part to the alcohol. But, those seconds passed, Gale continued an… interesting poetry telling, he distracted himself and stayed sat, and beside him Nemeia remained while the moon told a tale on her periwinkle skin, revealing, showing what hid under the blissful smile and earnest eyes. For some reason, she meant it.

Briefly, she spotted him pull away the carefully constructed facade. The promise kept soft to the vampire spawn’s chest. Before it came back, full swoon and all. “My, you make me feel special,” said Astarion.

“Well, maybe you are,” she muttered quietly to the ground lest his ego inflate exponentially.

A smirk twisted the corners of his mouth. “Hm? What was that?”

“I said,” she began, and he leaned in, “you’re not. Special. You’re not special.”

“Am I now? If I recall correctly, there was a moment where you”—his cold breath tickled her neck, drawing a sharp inhale from her lips as his tone turned sultry, edging on desire—“gasped into my ear about how exceptional I was. I think I’d rather have to disagree with that lying tongue of yours.”

Nemeia shoved the wine bottle into his chest and avoided his gaze. A drunken flush of scarlet lettered her cheeks.

He chuckled, pleased. “Flustered already, are we, darling?”

“Shut up,” she gabbled, caught inadvertently in a lie and unexpected memories. “It’s just. It’s the wine, that’s all. Forget I said anything.”

“Of course, of course. Whatever helps you sleep better at night, my sweet.” Besotted with himself, the vampire spawn leant back and drank in the results of his fine work as Nemeia covered and buried her face into calloused palms and aching knees. However, nothing she attempted helped lessen the fluster. His cutting smile was like a dagger, carving the smoothness of his lips that rivalled any luxury she had ever known and the way lines formed when the corners twinged and pulled back into her brain. Every detail committed to a resounding memory. How she could count all the lines on his body all day and never be satisfied. How, of course, he was special. And what was she thinking? These thoughts were spiralling out of control. They had shared a bed once, grown closer, sure, and now, full of alcohol, knew not how to act or think of what they were or what she wanted… or what he wanted from her. Safe to say, Nemeia sat conflicted as a blushing schoolgirl.

The sight tickled Astarion. He never had expected their little group’s druid – she, who his usual charms had no effect on and was ever the composed type – would behave in a state of loose lips and an easily flustered nature from a few drops of alcohol. It was hard not to find it fun when compared to the rather lacklustre performance Gale’s poetry gave. And how red she had turned by the night’s end.

Oh, what a night to forever not forget. The words that were said, the sides never before seen, the closer they willingly sat and slept; the change which began to grow roots from a tender, kind care.

How changed they would become in the years that followed.

———

Domestic bliss. Such a wonderful thing does not exist for adventurers, even the seasoned type. Still, however, Nemeia soiled her hands with foaming water and cleaned dirty clothes. Bubbles threw up their arms against her forceful swirls, popping iridescent hues upon the shine of a half-lit room. The sunlight pillars coated her irritated skin in shades of yellow as each jostle and thrash and wrung under the sun’s watchful gaze revealed peaks at the scarlet colouration which tainted the water tub and her fingertips, gradually bleeding past her wrists and even elbow with every sudsy wave.

Beneath the fragrant clover and oaken smell emanating from the tub at the far end of the room, laid something unmistakable. Coppery. Metallic. The signature stench lingered in Nemeia’s nose. The blood caused her button nose to wrinkle – far exaggerating her age by adding unflattering creases – and her stomach to turn, to boil, burn; rage. She smashed the white, blood-covered linen, applying more force when it hit the tub’s wooden bottom like a victim succumbing to the wrath of a tempest’s storm. Dark grey clouds hung over the sun. Splashes hit her, splattering patterns against clean delicate robes and freckled skin. Donning black she felt like a widower, and who was she fooling? She almost had been. Earlier, mere hours ago, instead of this frothy, pinkish water, she had been drenched in a far thicker, fresher crimson liquid. Some of it hers. Half of it, someone else’s.

They had survived. This time, they had both barely survived.

Nemeia scrubbed away harder while pestering screams brought her eyes to swell with tears that scorched to let loose. She didn’t want to think about how close they came, how they almost never left the foreign plane, how his white curls were veiled in red pearls and his pale body profusely leaked pools of blood from the cavity in his stoma— no. Her fists slammed the frothy water. Holding back the tears, and frightfully vivid vision, she took a shaky breath. This last adventure was too close. All she wanted for the pair of them was bliss, a peaceful existence, but these cure-finding adventures were far from that.

“Oh dear,” said Astarion, “whatever did the poor thing do to you?” His jesting voice carried from the doorway, echoing off the slippery tiled laundry room floor, and hiding an amused smile while he himself remained immersed in shadow during what was otherwise an early morning as his words hit fleeting sunlight. By design, the room always maintained a shroud of darkness over the threshold even when all the curtains were drawn back, so the vampire spawn could enter – somewhat – and not be burned.

Today Nemeia had drawn back the curtain at the far end of the room, illuminating her work and drawing a glowing line across half of the room, separating them. “He,” Nemeia warned, deigning him a cursory glance under the edge of her vision, “was supposed to be resting.” She hadn’t meant for what she said to sound so harsh, yet she found it hard to bite back the pain with blood seeping into her mind’s eye, her bark just as vicious out of wildshape. It wasn’t his fault she knew that, but still.

“Well, ‘he’ has been through worse. I can manage quite alright, unlike that there tub you’re brutalising.” Wood creaked. The door frame shifted, followed by the light-footed trudging of footsteps Astarion had become known for like a cat traipsing the darkness, careful not to disturb any would-be aggressors. Her gaze dropped, noticing the fat veins which cracked along the tub’s grooves. “… You’re mad at me,” he nonetheless suspected.

Silence fell harder than her punches. That, being mad towards him, wasn’t her intent. She stopped, her shoulders dropping, body slumping out of shape.

He let out a self-pitying chuckle. “Darling, at least make it actually look like you hate the laundry if you’re going to pretend it’s my face when you’re annoyed by me. A cool, longing scowl perhaps.”

“I’m… I’m.” Pausing for a gulp and swallowing her simmering anger, she spoke in a washed-out tone, “It’s not you I’m mad at. I just worry, that’s all.” Which was true. Her frustration against the blood-stains weren’t aimed at him, but at herself, who survived fairly well, whose contrasting emotions filled to the brim so she didn’t know whether to be upset or angry at his close call. And wasn’t that all worry was though? An extension of anger muddled with sorrow?

Astarion’s steps ended a mere few feet away from her. The source of her sorrow was unable to reach her, but not out of sight. Nemeia could barely make out the rough bandages she had wrapped around his bare midsection. Cloth strips jutted at odd angles, tight and uneven. How her hands had shaken. How they shook now.

“Still thinking about the Abyss, are we?” He questioned.

“And you’re not?” She rebutted.

“Oddly enough, no. But it’s not the end of the world.”

“You.” Nemeia thrust herself onto her feet. “Almost died! I… I almost lost you.” It all came out from her in sobs that broke the mucus wall coating her throat, spat from her tongue and ran down her face, tears streaking and staining and stinging. The dam she’d been building, she’d been hitting, broke throughout her body, leaking out cracks. His bleeding-out body playing on repeat inside her every waking thought was her end of the world. I promised you, she wanted to tell him. I promised.

Those ruby eyes of his fell along, glistening with his brow and achingly whispered, “I’m sorry.” Astarion took a softer approach, as if the state of her weakened his bravado, and judging by the reflection she caught in the water she had done. While he was simply injured, she was a mess. Unholy bags stuffed themselves beneath her eyes, wisps of her nebulae-coloured hair were strewn every which way, and sunken eyes that promised not to get any sleep later that day. Left unchecked, this for sure would linger like a scar they’d share except on separate locations; her mind; his stomach. “I died once before and it was nothing less than fun. The last thing I wish for is death to catch up to me, let alone have you witness such a tragedy. You are the bestest thing that has happened to me and I shall not ruin this. I’m not going anywhere, I promise you,” declared the desperate to cling on man.

Promise. Fear pricked her skin. “Don’t. Don’t say that.”

“And let you get all the glory? We can both promise each other impossible things, my sweet.” All that smugness did not ease her, however. These things, of course, were no joking matter. As a creature of the night, Astarion will always outlive her. Eventually, he will leave her one way or another. He will break his word. She won’t. For one should never give false hope, the damage done will be irreversible. Such is the cause not to give out binding vows lightly, and she thought he knew that by now, after all their travelling and everything he had seen, what came to those who dared.

The metal band around her ring finger weighed heavily with trepidation. What Nemeia had promised, every vow, every spoken contract, was made with an assuredness she’d stop at nothing to see through, which he did not seem to comprehend. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t his strong point.

Sensing the flickering of unrest scratching at her nails between skin and avoiding gaze, Astarion beckoned her. “Come here.” Though what he lacked in body temperature, he made up with extended warmth as he returned what she had first given to him, hand extended.

Only then did she meet him at the edge of sun and shadow, loosely taking his hand in hers. Even then, what worry she had did not simply wash away. It was like a splatter of blood on fresh linen. It crept and seeped into every fibre of her being, and all Astarion’s attempts at quelling achieved was a dulled pink flush when he reached for the side of her face where light dared not go. Oh, how they both preferred being taken whole. His hands enveloped her face from both sides as a reminder about his presence being there and unleaving while they filled each other’s vision. But, here in the light of day, he could only ever touch her shadow. He was half a comfort than normal, nor could he so easily make her look at him, her thumb relaying busy thoughts to his other hand through small circles drawn against the palm. A habit he had come upon recognising over the recent years, anxious rings, he nicknamed it. One complete ring for every worry, and he bore them without reluctance.

“My love,” he mustered with an alluring hushness that cut through the silence and the circles, and Nemeia searched the darkness for his piercing gaze, finding it almost immediately after spotting jutting cheekbones – the likes which made certain gods envious – and elongated ears. Being shrouded without light made the task originally difficult, but over time she had learned how to read the sharp planes of his face under the shadow’s cloak, and he learned how she shined under the sun’s touch. During the day she was the sun’s. Its warm embrace reached her skin where it burned him to try. It burned him, still knowing he could not follow. But eventually, they would belong together. Body and soul. No more burning. No more hurt.

Attention grasped, he took the opening, bringing her hand to rest on his chest and asked, “Tell me, am I dead?”

“Technically, ye—”

He shot her a look of warning. Brow furred.

Nemeia sighed, playing along. “No,” she answered, as his muscles tensed and relaxed under her lithe touch; a sign of the living. More seconds passed where she swore there laid the faintest heartbeat from his undead heart. Another sign. A reminder that her fear did not come to pass, of what consisted of being true. The concern he gave was real. His envisioned death was not. “No, you’re here, alive,” breathed Nemeia, relief washing over her poor soul.

A calming smile tickled her forehead. “Then my promise remains, darling.”

She leant into the press of his lips with a sigh and loosened up. His cool lips smothered her summer tempest, and it was as if she’d been met by the moon. There was no better sensation. Neither wished to leave, afraid this rare moment of reprieve would vanish the way trodden shores did when oceans waved upon them. Gone in an instant and drifted. Something long forgotten, a familiar basking of the sun’s golden embrace.

The sheet pale head nestled the darkened side of her nightly face she had covered with a single constellated scar, and Nemeia nudged back, his unfairly satin cheek a delight to rest against. Cooler, even, than his hearty lips. Chilling at the touch. “Thank you,” said the Tiefling into his Elven ear full of rosy warmth upon her utterance.

“Thank me proper,” said Astarion, “by getting some rest.”

“It’s only morning. I’ll go to sleep later on, don’t worry,” she said.

“That’s not what I meant.” he pulled back slightly, his face to hers so that she might comprehend the meaning properly this time as a hand tucked away a knocked loose strand of blue hair behind the curvature of her blackened horn and ear. A small but gentle gesture. “In these five years, you have never stopped. In these last few weeks alone, we’ve not stopped venturing. Trust me when I say I am grateful for your help in finding a cure,” he told her.

Befuddled. She tilted her head.

“But if the price of finding it is losing you, then I will not have it.”

“Stubborn and kind, you keep surprising me every day.” Nemeia blinked away his words as if it were some joke.

But it was no joke. “Nemeia.”

The air stifled around them like mould stuffed inside a pair of lungs. Molecule dust particles grew denser, and her black fingertips itched and ached. “What you are asking, I can’t do. I cannot just stop,” she refused, pushing and withdrawing from him.

“There’s stopping and then there’s taking a break. All I ask from you is to take a little respite before it’s me trying to find a cure for your insanity. This search, the dead ends, it’s killing you. I shall not have that. I want you to live. I want us to live.”

“We are.”

He looked at her, then, in a way he hadn’t done since his master Cazador’s downfall, full of inexplicable pain and sorrow. “This isn’t living.”

Twisted. Torn. “I…”

An intrusive, repeated banging on a door echoed down the hall outside and drowned her out. The noise continued: persistent, loud, interruptive and urgent. Past the seconds Astarion waited for her response. If she even had one. She had multiple, except none would be the ones he’d have wanted to hear. “That’s the front door,” said Nemeia, clearing her throat at the obvious. “I should probably answer it.”

Slinking into a solemn silence, Astarion swallowed a pointed lump in his throat and let her pass by, pushing back the urge to reach out, for a proper answer, for her to realise what he apparently could about the cost she was paying as he watched how wood turned to rot at her touch of the room’s door frame.

Truth be told, yes, she did wish for peace, however, she also could not help following the call of danger. She yearned to help others who needed it. You’re too kind, Astarion had called her once, naively so. Only she’d argue that she was simply doing the right thing as she had been taught to do, fixing the skewed circle life wrought on the world like the good druid she devoted to being.

The cycle of life and death are the core ideas of a druid who followed a path of spores. It mattered more than nature, for it was nature. That made it beautiful – the same, too, applied for the undead in all its complicated grey area and eternal companion-hood to the cycle. Being a druid meant giving your whole body and soul to nature, correcting the scales where one saw them. They represented the wilds. Standing in for The Order as something akin to a layman.

So, if Nemeia was too kind, then it was to make up for some darker thing she fought within herself.

Such was balance; her balance.

She only wished someone had taught her a quiet domestic bliss. Then maybe Astarion could live the life he deserved, removed from the dangers thrust upon him, where no more harm should come to him and no false promises.

“Gandrel?” wondered Nemeia at the man before her as she opened the front door.

#astarion #bg3 #astarion bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion brainrot #astarion x mc #baldurs gate iii #astarion fanfic #astarion romance #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate fanfiction

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lxvejohnny · 1 year

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The endless beginning

part one: intro

scream VI & new character! will be implied ethan x oc but will also focus on Amelie and her character.

warnings: violence, character deaths, trauma, blood, romantic relationships with a literal killer lol.

enjoy!

They say that time will heal all wounds but it feels as if centuries has gone by and she is still bleeding out. Ever since she became more aware to what was around her, she has been haunted by what her father has introduced into her life. It is not that she blamed him, per se, but she is aware that if it weren’t for him, that mask and cloak wouldn’t disease her brain. That lifeless person dressed as the next Ghostface with the stupid, long, white mask accompanied with hollow eyes. That stupid idiot who decided that the franchise just can’t end and must be avenged.

Her dad told her all about it once she started getting involved. He never let her watch the Stab movies, saying “that’s not how you should find out about what has happened, what happened to your aunt. God you would have loved her, as she would have you”. She met Sidney, she met Gale, and she had Dewey as her father. It was inevitable that she would eventually find out about everything that has happened. What was too hopeful was that she would never end up being a part of the franchise and experience the trauma her father once has had to endure.

It truly started 12 years ago when Amelie first experienced Ghostface for herself. Luckily, somewhat, Ghostface notoriously is not known for killing children which landed her at least a couple of more guaranteed years of her life. It began again 11 years later, just last year, when some low life and his girlfriend decided to continue the franchise because he was just so obsessed with it. It was just last year when she finally met a good group of friends: Tara, Mindy, Chad, Wes, Amber, Liv, and eventually, Sam and Richie. It was just last year when she lost some of the people she cared about the most and was betrayed by some she grew to grow find of. It was just last year where her scars formed, mentally and physically. And it was just last year she lost the one person she never thought would leave, never thought she would have to part from, the one she truly cared about the most: her dad, Dewey Riley. Now it would be her turn to eventually tell her children, God you would have loved him so much. He would have cherished you until the end of time, as he did me.

To say she was taking this new life in New York difficult would be an understatement. She lost her dad, her friends, and was betrayed by people she trusted, of course her life wouldn’t be smooth sailing for a long time. She will give it to Sam though for pushing her to move to New York with them and go to school. Along with Gale who helped push the education agenda. Though it really was because Gale told her to “think of your dad, this is what he would have wanted. He would be so proud of you if you did this”. She remembers rolling her eyes when she was told that but also felt like sobbing on the inside. She hates being talked to about people who could have been involved in her current life but are dead, but she also knows that it is in efforts to remind her of the ones who love (or would have loved) her dearly. Anyways, moving has helped her get a new breath of air and start at life, even if it’s not with the person she loved the most. However, having her group of friends and their attachment of doing literally everything together has distracted her just the right amount. Specifically, the Woodsboro gang who survived last year’s attack with her- Tara, Sam, Mindy, and Chad- who are closer than they ever have been before. Trauma bonded; she may even call it.

Besides having her friends nearby, she has attempted to go to counselling after she broke down with a bottle of cheap vodka in front of Sam only a couple of months after the attacks. Sam stayed with her the entire night after seeing the state Amelie was in and soon enough it became a night to just cry and hold one another for both. So, as Sam was adamant on seeking a therapist as soon as they moved to New York, she encouraged both Amelie and Tara to do the same. Amelie did go for a mere three days, slowly expressing how she feels about all the emotions bottled up in her small body before she gave up on talking to a stranger. She felt so humiliated and overwhelmed by her inability stop crying that she eventually became so angry at everything. And while expressing these emotions are exactly what therapists are meant to deal with, she vowed to never step foot into their office again feeling like they didn’t really care about what she was saying and that she was merely another lump of sum in their bank account. She doesn’t mind too much, though, she has her friends beside her now and they all know exactly what she has gone through. She also has Gale who, even though she reminds Gale so much of Dewey it physically hurts, is still very involved with her life and is always checking up on her.

Besides the obvious, to say that last year’s events fucked her up, they royally fucked her up. Amber was one of her best friends who she would even have considered her greatest friend, before she found out who Amber really was. Then there was Wes who Amelie liked, like really liked. Finding out he was brutally murdered was when she saw her world start falling apart, slowly, and then all at once. It makes her sick to her stomach now as she recalls what happened and how someone who she cherished so dearly to her, was capable of being so heartless and kill someone who she also cherished so dearly. As every other one of her friends, her trust issues are exceptionally high, and she is more than reluctant to involve new people into her life. The only acceptable people seemed to be Anika, Mindy’s girlfriend, who she does love and seemingly trust since Mindy does as well. And she makes Mindy incredibly happy. Then there is Quinn who is her, Sam’s, and Tara’s roommate. They do live with her which makes them kind of have to trust her and her dad is a cop, as was hers once. And then there is Ethan, Chad’s roommate. His shy and dorky demeanour makes him scream INNOCENT! But alas, that could also make him the perfect backstabber of them all. Everyone else seems to trust him and he does seem like an alright person, so she also is giving him a chance. Plus, he’s cute. However, whatever her desire she may have for the cute new boy would have to stay just that. As she relents letting new people close to her to prevent the risk of losing them, she also fears that he just may never look at her the same way. As she tries to subdue the fluttering feeling in her tummy when Ethan talks to her, she is also missing the loud thump of his heart when she replies. It appears to be obvious to everyone around them, but them. Th soft eye contact and rosy cheeks so innocent that Amelie often feels like she is seeing the world in white when around him. But she hides the idea that she may like him to prevent the red splatters that will coat the white lens and he will make it painfully obvious that he would literally kill for her but is just too shy to make a move.

As she moves on with her life in a new state and with good people, she finds herself wallowing in what has happened and what could be if everything was different. But she also finds herself looking forward to see what can and will happen. With steady people, a new location, and an education ahead of her, she takes small steps at a time in life and pushing the obstacles in her way with one last thing on her mind: for her dad, for Dewey.

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