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wilteddreamsofbaldursgate · 2 months

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The Scent of Missing Buttons

Astarion centred || implied Astarion x gn!Tav || ao3 || Masterlist

Rating: M ; +18Word Count: +2.9k Warnings: prostitution, sex work, sex trafficking, PTSD, suicidal thoughts, no graphic description of sex act

He thought about his old brass buttons as he let the couple have their way with him. His doublet had thirteen buttons, if he recalled correctly. Six he had found on the floor. There was no way of telling where the others were. They had probably rolled under the bed or were lost in the gaps between the splintered floorboards. He would dare another attempt at retrieving them when these brutes were finally done with him. Going back to the master without either of them was simply out of the question.

a/n: phew, that was hard to write. Don't forget to hug your vampire boyfriend today.

Neither the loud human nor the scrawny half-elf sitting on each side of Astarion cared about how witty or charming he was. All he had to do was sit still and smile while he endured the dirt-stained fingers messing up his carefully coiffed curls. The sweaty hand resting heavily upon his knee. The stench of days-old sweat radiating from their bodies.

Astarion gave the gawking half-elf a crooked smirk for no other reason than to loosen the building tension in his jaw.

His marks usually came to him, and that night had been no different.

Astarion had noticed the couple looking over at him from the bar ever so often, giving him toothless grins while he’d pretended to sip on the cheap ale the tavern was pouring out en masse.

Admittedly, the unkempt couple wouldn’t have been his first choice of company, but the night had been approaching eerily fast and Astarion could seldom afford to be picky.

And so he’d met the couple’s shamelessly lewd looks through heavy-lidded eyes, giving them an inviting smile in return.

It had taken them embarrassingly long to stumble over to his table, greeting Astarion with the stink of alcohol on their breaths. They must’ve started their night out drinking well before sunset—Astarion rather hoped to get it over with them fast.

Maybe they were already drunk enough to skip business and just follow him back to the master, he mused as the half-elf’s uncoordinated hand tried and failed to locate his groin.

But then the human let go of his hair; Astarion could feel her sour breath tickle his ear and knew they wouldn’t let him get off the hook that easily.

He tried to subtly lean away from the human, but she was already dragging her coated tongue along his elongated helix.

Astarion shuddered in disgust.

“So much more sensitive than his,” the human panted. Her stupid delight was evident on her face as she indicated the half-elf who was barely an inch short of crawling onto Astarion’s lap.

“You’re the prettiest thing we’ve ever seen,” she continued, mistaking Astarion’s visible disgust for arousal. Or maybe she was just ignoring his displeasure.

“We want you.”

All too easily, Astarion forced his well-constructed mask back over his features.

Grinning, his fingers curled around the human’s bony wrist as he stood, pulling her with him.

“Wonderful, because I know a place where you can indulge in me all night long,” Astarion purred. “Somewhere quiet—just for the three of us…”

The human giggled, though her partner eyed him with a slight hint of contempt.

“Our bed will do, filliken,” the half-elf mumbled as he manoeuvred himself off the bench they’d abandoned him on.

Astarion tensed.

Whore…

Even this piss-drunk mutt had taken only one look at him and known him for what he was.

Astarion had half the mind to bare his fangs, rip out the bastard’s throat. Decorate the dingy tavern with his innards. Paint the walls red.

The human would come next. He would tear off her little ears and shove them down her stinking maw and, maybe, if he was lucky for once, some of the patrons were emboldened enough to drive a stake through his dead heart.

From a distance, Astarion could hear the clock tower strike thrice and the master’s voice came to his mind.

Do not disappoint me again, boy…

The vampire spawn wet his lips, swallowed down his anger and lust for blood until they mingled with the soaring hunger in the pits of his stomach.

A moment passed.

Astarion smiled.

“Lead the way, then, darling.”

The couple brought him to a cramped attic room right across the street.

Dark mould grew on scratched windowpanes and it smelled as if the chamber pot hadn’t been emptied that morning.

Somewhere inside the walls, Astarion could sense a small colony of rodents scurrying to and fro.

He tried to focus on the erratic symphony of their heartbeats as he eyed the colourful range of fluids staining the sheets of an unmade bed.

It would be over soon—at least for that night.

Astarion would deliver these two fools to the master in no time. Maybe he would even get a little treat for a job well done—a fat rat, or even a small dog, if he was being very good.

And then he would rest in the shadows. Close his eyes to the buzzing city above, imagine the sun caressing his skin as it tenderly reduced him to ashes.

The attic door slammed shut behind the human.

Astarion knew he would never feel the sun on his skin again, not even for the short moments between pain and salvation, because as much as he was a whore, he was an even bigger coward.

He stood still as greedy hands began tugging at his clothes.

The human giggled stupidly as her cross-eyed partner tried to undo the brass buttons on Astarion’s doublet. It was a rather pathetic sight, and before Astarion could assist him, the cursed half-elf ripped the doublet open.

A curse ready on his lips, Astarion watched as his buttons went flying across the room.

He doubted the master would afford him new ones any time soon; worse yet, he surely would be chastised for being so careless with his clothes again!

Fuming inside, Astarion pushed the half-elf onto the bed and sank to the dirty floor where he crawled around to collect the buttons closest to him.

“What a cute little pup,” the human laughed right above him.

Her hand clawed at his locks again, and Astarion could feel humiliation merge with the seething mix of anger and hunger and hatred and disgust and—

Astarion pocketed whatever buttons he could retrieve, then rose to his full height.

The human’s hand fell away and her laughter stopped as Astarion crowded her against the rickety bed frame.

She looked up at Astarion with round eyes. Perhaps, somewhere in the back of her booze-clouded tiny little brain, she recognised the danger she’d invited into her greasy bed.

Astarion ran his knuckles along her jaw before his fingers curled tightly around her chin. She shivered.

“Why don’t you two cosy up and just watch for a moment?” Astarion purred. “You like a good show, don’t you?”

“We like so much more than that,” she breathed, her eyes glassy with arousal instead of fear.

Astarion almost scoffed. Stupid bitch.

“So much more you shall have.”

The human ran her calloused fingers over Astarion’s lean forearm before she eagerly joined her partner on their bed.

The couple took in every part of his body as he undressed himself.

They liked that he took his time because they didn’t know that, with every article of clothing that fell away, Astarion imagined ripping them limb from limb.

A finger here. A foot there. The eyes that had seen entirely too much…

Oh, how he hoped the master would make them suffer later.

Allowing himself an honest smile, Astarion tossed his smallclothes atop the rest of his clothes and crawled onto the bed.

The doomed couple groped him roughly, drew their sharp fingernails across his skin. Used him.

But that was quite alright; their night would end so much worse than Astarion’s.

He thought about his old brass buttons as he let the couple have their way with him.

His doublet had thirteen buttons, if he recalled correctly. Six he had found on the floor. There was no way of telling where the others were. They had probably rolled under the bed or were lost in the gaps between the splintered floorboards. He would dare another attempt at retrieving them when these brutes were finally done with him.

Going back to the master without either of them was simply out of the question.

Neither the wicked human nor the crude half-elf laying on each side of him cared that his well-timed groans were purely performative, that their touch made his skin crawl. All he had to do was please them, lure them away to their death.

All he had to do was survive another night. Another year. Another century of nothing but pure shit.

How he wished it would end. Time was running out.

Don’t you dare disappoint me again, you useless dirty thing…

The half-elf came first, then the human. It had taken them long enough.

Astarion was quick to pull his shirt back over his head as the human watched him intently—he was sure she wanted another round. Good. This only ever played right into Astarion’s cards.

The half-elf was a problem, though. He’d passed out the moment the last of his spend had added another stain to the nasty bedsheets.

Astarion barely refrained from rolling his eyes; they would have to wake him, and that soon. They had places to be and daybreak was approaching fast.

Astarion gave the human a crooked smile as he put on his breeches.

“You’re very skilled, handsome,” the human said, taking the bait.

“Likewise, darling.”

She returned his smile as she untangled herself from the bedsheets and sat on the corner of the bed, never letting him out of her sight.

Astarion slipped into his doublet. So far, he hadn’t spotted another missing button.

“Why don’t we repeat that—there’s a place I’m dying to show you. If we leave now, I promise you it will be unforgettable…”

The human’s smile widened.

“No.”

No?

Astarion wet his lips.

For a moment, he thought he’d misheard.

No.

It wasn’t like this hadn’t ever happened before. But because it had happened before, Astarion’s hands began to tremble ever so slightly.

No meant trouble.

No meant failure.

No meant punishment.

“You see, we don’t fuck the same thing twice,” the human said, that arrogant grin still plastered across her hideous face.

And then she tossed Astarion some coins—laughably few coins at that. They wouldn’t even buy him some cheap ale from across the street.

Astarion was too stunned to catch the coins. They rolled around his feet before they dropped to the floor with a final mocking clink.

He stared at the dirty change, even spotted one or two of his lost buttons among them.

“Pick them up.”

Astarion’s eyes met the human’s, who licked her lips.

She wanted him to crawl again. Like a dog. Like trash. Like the rat in a cage that he was.

Astarion turned and fled from the attic room. There was nowhere to go, though; the city’s dirty streets only lead to one end.

The clock tower struck five times. Far in the distance, the sky turned indigo.

There was no time to find another victim, Astarion knew, as he prowled the shadows.

But he couldn’t return empty-handed, either.

Astarion considered dragging some passed-out drunk from the next alleyway back to the master. It wasn’t too bad a plan, wasn’t it?

But the master liked his playthings sharp. He wanted them to be aware of what he did to them. He so delighted in their screams.

And if those poor fools couldn’t scream, Astarion’s screams would have to make do instead.

In fact, they were the master’s favourite.

Come to me, boy.

“Shit. Shit. Shit!”

Astarion should’ve gone down on all fours and crawled at that bitch’s feet; begged her to come with him.

He was a fool. He was so fucking stupid. He deserved any punishment the master deemed fit.

He couldn’t do anything right.

Astarion shot another look over his shoulder, fearing to see the sky having changed colours again.

But instead of being painted with dawn, the sky… tore open?

People started to scream. They ran from the flying ship that had appeared out of nowhere. Its tentacles chased after them, picking them off the streets one after another.

Astarion should join the fleeing drunks and alley cats, he thought.

But, really, what could be worse than what was waiting for him at the master’s feet?

Astarion stood still; he could be very good at that.

And unlike the master’s punishment—unlike the nightly humiliation that was his cursed existence—it was over in one blissful moment.

Neither the annoying wizard nor the nosy cleric sitting on the opposite side of the dying campfire cared that they were interrupting Astarion in his plan of bedding you. That night, he’d already endured yet another long-winded retelling of the young warlock’s heroic feats. Listened to the prickly warrior loudly sharpening her blade. Suppressed a laugh at the fiery tiefling’s silly joke.

He wanted to be alone with you. Look at that cute little smile that had only needed one glass of watered-down wine in order to grow this wide. Subtly close the empty space between you and him sitting side by side on a smooth wooden log.

He wanted to breathe in the herbal fragrance of your soap without anybody watching.

The first thing Astarion had ever noticed about you was that, even covered in the blood and grime of your enemies, you smelled nice.

It had taken him days to figure out that the pleasant scent surrounding you didn’t emit from your washed hair or reasonably clean clothes. Once Astarion’s raging hunger had been sated enough, he’d even understood that it wasn’t your delectable blood that made his head spin.

No, your subtle yet unique scent simply lingered as naturally on your skin as the sunlight did on Astarion’s face these days.

It was just you that smelled good, and it slowly drove him mad.

Astarion’s plan was simple enough. All he had to do was please you, weasel himself into your bed and good graces. Only then was he as safe from the master as he could possibly be out here in the wilderness.

But you just had to make this difficult; you didn’t fall for his charm and flirtations. Instead of swooning, you just frowned at him whenever he tried to seduce you—and gods was he trying. And failing.

If he were to lean over and bluntly propose sex to you right then, he was sure you would reject him. The very idea of both excited and terrified him at once.

The wizard and the cleric only excused themselves when the sun’s first golden fingers started to part the night sky.

Astarion watched them vanish into their respective tents, finally leaving you alone with him.

He stole a glance at you and found you already looking at him.

Maybe this was his chance. Astarion couldn’t afford wasting another night, not when the master was breathing down his neck at any given time.

“And what are we two pretty things going to do with the rest of the night, darling?”

You scoffed. “Night? It’s almost morning.”

“Ah, you’re quite right, of course. With the right company, one can lose track of time so easily, no?”

“Indeed,” you yawned. “Now let’s get some rest, Astarion. We have a long day ahead.”

Astarion wet his lips.

Shit.

What was wrong with you?

What was wrong with him?

If he couldn’t even get his stupid little plan right, then maybe he deserved his master’s wrath.

Astarion picked up a crooked branch and poked around the fading embers.

If you didn’t want his body, then what use did you have of him? He was just some idiot. A whore nobody wanted to fuck. He was—

“Oh!” You exclaimed, suddenly. “I forgot!”

Astarion, trying to not let his growing desperation show on his face, watched as you excitedly produced something from your pocket.

You scooted closer to him; your knee brushed against his thigh and your smile grew as you looked up at him. Instinctively, Astarion breathed in your scent.

Then you opened your hand, revealing thirteen buttons.

The rising sun reflected prettily on their golden surface.

Astarion tensed.

“What’s that?”

Your cheeks reddened, looking as if you’d just scrubbed them clean down by the river.

“Your doublet—it doesn’t close properly, doesn’t it? So I thought, well…buttons.”

When Astarion neither reached for the buttons nor said anything, you slowly let your hand sink.

“I could sew them on for you,” you offered sheepishly. “I’m sure they’ll look very nice on you.”

Throwing his now broken stick aside, Astarion rose to his full height.

“I don’t want them. Go to bed. We have a long day ahead,” he said courtly before he all but fled to his tent.

The sun burned on Astarion’s skin but didn’t reduce him to ashes. He never was afforded any luck.

He watched you walk far ahead of him, leading your companions through the woods. This far back, he could barely catch your lovely scent.

Not for the first time that day did he wonder what those buttons you’d offered him would’ve cost him.

Wouldn’t any price have been worth it?

Astarion had been a fool again.

He should’ve just thanked you, watched your quick little fingers close the chasm in his chest with nothing but some thread and pretty buttons. After that, he should’ve pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek. Take you into his arms.

That’s what he wanted to do, if he was being honest.

But he hadn’t done any of this. His doublet was still shoved to the very bottom of his pack and he hadn’t looked you in the eyes all day.

Because as much as Astarion was a whore, he was an even bigger coward.

That was all to him there was.

The vampire spawn looked over his shoulder but couldn’t see much of what lay behind.

The golden sun was too bright in his eyes.

As usual, all he could do, though, was endure.

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@spacebarbarianweird @bardic-inspo @kawaiiusagichansan

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #astarion ancunin #gn reader #astarion x you #gn tav #astarion x reader #hurt/angst #fanfic #baldur's gate fanfiction #emicha writes #wilteddreamsbg3

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sekiromi · 1 month

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A Devil You Do, ch. 3

pairing(s): Raphael x Tav/Reader, Astarion x Tav/Reader themes: reincarnation, soul bond, past lives, lost memories, pining, slow burn cw/tw: canon-typical violence, gore word count: 4.2k previous chapters: [1] [2]

[read this fic in all its glory on ao3!]

Chapter Three: Scars and the Stories They Tell

You are not your own, for you were bought with a price.

“I don’t know why you don’t just ask Karlach to take a look, I’m sure she could read them for you.” Astarion threw you a displeased look and shushed you to stop the others from overhearing, causing an irritated frown to settle on your features and a slight hurt to sting in your chest. Seeing this, he altered his expression into something less unkind, his eyes softening and a small sigh breaking past his lips as you pretended that a loose stone on the floor was suddenly the most interesting thing you had ever seen in your life just to avoid his gaze.

“Look, I know you’re just trying to help, but I’d rather we kept this between us. For now, at least.” He sensed you were less than satisfied with that answer. “…It’s quite personal. Apart from Cazador, you’re the only other person to really see those scars, you know.” He hoped that would placate you, and felt his shoulders lose some tension as understanding broke onto your face.

“Right, of course.” A pause. “…Sorry.” Astarion resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead offering you a small smile.

“It’s alright. Now, where were we…ah! That’s it.” With a satisfying ‘click’ the lock on the chest came undone. He stepped back, stowing his tools as you lifted the lid and dove in, rummaging around to search for any valuables. A bit of gold, a jewelled necklace, a spell scroll…and a rather fancy looking dagger, which you wordlessly extended towards him. His fingers lingered on yours a little longer than they needed to as he took it. “Oh, thank you dear.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously. Otherwise, I’ll get accused of favouritism.” You gestured your head towards the others milling about across the courtyard, chatting idly as you navigated Rosymorn Monastery. Astarion gave you a teasing smile, inching closer.

“You mean to say, I’m not your favourite? Darling, I’m distraught.” Unlike Astarion, you could not prevent the eye roll that ensued. You liked him, too much perhaps, but Gods could he be insufferable.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Come on, let’s get moving.” You slid past him towards your other companions, illuminated by the rays of the sinking sun, as you continued your search for the entrance to the githyanki crèche that Lae’zel had been harassing you about for the better part of your journey. Despite the only other githyanki you had met along the way having tried to kill you, she still seemed keen to make it there, and assured you the Zaith’Isk would provide you all with the solution you were looking for.

Somehow, you doubted that.

“What is a…Zaith’Isk…exactly?” You asked as you walked beside her, keeping a lookout as you rounded corners, watching for danger lurking in the shadows. Considering there was apparently a faction of githyanki loitering around here somewhere, the monastery seemed eerily quiet.

“It is a githyanki healing device that uses psionic energy to remove a mindflayer parasite from the infected. It is engineered from both illithid and metal machinery, it is our only hope for survival.” She assured, gait steady and confident as you traversed the halls.

“Have you used one before?” You asked curiously, still keeping an eye out for any imminent threat. Lae’zel hesitated a little, and cleared her throat before answering.

“No, I have not. But it is known that only a Zaith’Isk can purify a person that has become infected.” You lingered on those words, ‘it is known’, to who, and how, exactly? Perhaps it was your pessimism showing, or perhaps the tadpole had gifted you with some prescient sense of awareness, but once you entered the crèche, the Zaith’Isk did not fail to meet your expectations, as disappointing as they were.

Lae’zel thrashed and fought within the contraption, evidently in distress. Your own tadpole writhed in pain, communing with hers as it faced a barrage of psionic onslaught. It was torture, you realised, and extended exposure would be Lae’zel’s undoing. After some stressful back and forth, you were able to convince her to jump out of the offending machine, causing it to shatter as it would have done her own mind. Amidst the confusion, the disappointment, the failure, you were glad to see her relatively unharmed.

The Ghustil, however, was less pleased.

You managed to convince her that the Zaith’Isk had succeeded in its task, killed the worm wriggling within Lae’zel’s head, which seemed to satisfy her curiosity for the time being. Rushed by doubt, questions, uncertainty, you felt your mind wax and wane while Lae’zel tried to reason with herself as to why the Zaith’Isk had failed in removing the tadpole. Even after pointing out to her that it did not seem to be designed to accomplish such a task, instead being focused on destroying both parasite and host in one fell swoop, she still muttered to herself and tried to find another explanation. Her faith seemed to hang in the balance, so you did not push the matter as you descended further into the crèche to find the answers that you sought.

That worked out really well for you and your party, by the way. It only resulted in a few deadly battles with Lae’zel’s own kin, a confrontation with their wrathful God-Queen, oh, and the total destruction of the monastery and the crèche that resided within it. And still, you were no closer to ridding yourself of the unwelcome parasite that plagued you. But hey, at least you got a cool mace out of it.

As the sun started to merge with the horizon, flooding the valley in golden rays, sunbeams dancing in the dust that was settling after the total devastation you had caused, you peeled yourself away from your camp to sit on an outcrop that jutted out over the landscape, one leg bent so your arm could rest on your knee, the other dangling beneath you. Despite everything feeling more hopeless than ever, you could not help but to admire the view, savour the relative peace, and took a moment to offer a silent apology to Lathander for blowing up his temple. The sun remained mute in response.

Now that the crèche had proved futile, your journey would be forced to take a darker turn. Tomorrow, you would set out for the Shadow-Cursed Lands and try to find the source of this infection: Moonrise Towers. Hopefully, you would find the answers to your growing list of questions there.

“Shop around! Beg, borrow, and steal. Exhaust every possibility until none are left.”

The devil’s words echoed in your mind. It was as if he knew how every stage of your journey would go, had predicted every twist and turn, every dead end and disappointment. He seemed so sure of the fact that only he could alleviate your condition, and you had to wonder why. There was information he was withholding, knowledge that only he seemed privy to, and it was infuriating.

He knew your quest to remove the tadpole by any means other than his would result in failure, which begged the question, why did he continue to let you make a fool of yourself as you endlessly chased these false hopes? Could he not just tell you why those means were useless, why only he could help? You would be more willing to hear him out if he let you in on the secret.

Like a cat with a mouse, he was toying with you, you realised.

“Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous forms of things; --We murder to dissect.”

Every hair on the back of your neck bristled and stood straight, blood ran colder than usual, and your palms suddenly became slick with sweat. “My, my, made a bit of a mess, haven’t we?” You whipped your head around (how did I not sense him coming!) and tried to siphon some of the shock from your voice.

“Raphael.”

“At your service.” The devil took a low, dramatic bow, smile sickening as he drank in your dejected countenance, the irritation starting to etch its way onto your face. “What’s the matter, you don’t look pleased to see me?” He feigned an expression of hurt, placed his hand over his evil little heart in a way that reminded you of Astarion. Fighting was futile, you decided. This interaction would be less painful for you if you kept to the scripted tone. With concerted effort, you eased the suspicion from your features and gave a small shrug, turning back to gaze at the sunset.

“I didn’t say that.”

Raphael’s eyebrows lifted in mild surprise, causing the creases to deepen on his forehead. He quickly corrected the expression, settling for something slyer and more devilish, and brought his hand to hold his chin.

“Oh? My mistake, then. Tell me, my dear, how did Crèche Y’llek work out for you?” He was teasing you. You found it hard to stop your jaw from clenching. You were visibly covered in the evidence of how Crèche Y’llek had worked out for you: dried githyanki blood staining your armour, dust from the explosion settled into your hair, a new wound that promised to scar bisecting the corner of your upper and lower lip at an almost perpendicular angle. It had finally stopped bleeding, just, but you could still taste that metallic tang in your mouth.

“I think you know exactly how it worked out.” Less than ten sentences into this conversation and he was already starting to dig beneath your usually thick skin. He chuckled darkly, and you heard him take a couple of footsteps closer. Suddenly you realised just how precarious of a situation you were in, one small push and he could send you tumbling to your death, obliterated by the rocks beneath. You tried to swallow that new fear down, turning to look over your shoulder at him when he was less than a foot away, having to crane your neck up uncomfortably to meet his eye, conveying a silent message: that’s close enough. Despite the balance being tipped in his favour, he respected your wish and stayed firmly where he was. His eyes shifted across your features, scanning every fleck of blood, dirt, every pore, every imperfection. For a fleeting moment, you could swear they lingered somewhere near your lips, but only for a moment. Ashamedly, you felt your heart quicken a fraction.

“Oh, but it would be so much more fun to hear your version of events, little mouse.” You automatically wrinkled your nose at the nickname, not too fond of it, an immediate mistake you realised, knowing it would just spur him on and encourage him to use it more. A sigh deeper than the valley of the mountain pass heaved its way out of your chest as you tore your gaze away from him, looking down with a sudden vulnerability.

“Maybe another time, Raphael. I’m just…too tired for this right now.” You gestured vaguely towards him as you said that, an action he would not usually take kindly to, but he could see the exhaustion pressing down on you, forcing your shoulders to round and sag. Your eyes, despite looking beautifully aglow in the light of the fading day, were now framed in shadows, sunken and severe. Hands that held nothing sat limp in your lap, knuckles bruised and split, nailbeds torn and whittled all the way down. Your despondency was delightful, but needed some time to mature into utter ambrosian anguish.

“Little mouse.” Despite your distaste for the new nickname, you still responded to it immediately and turned to come face-to-face with the devil, causing you to flinch backwards a bit. He had crouched down to meet your eye, brown orbs holding yours steadily as he extended a hand towards with you exaggeratedly slow movements, like someone trying to approach a frightened little lamb and not scare it away. A lamb, or a mouse. Eyes wide and watchful, you held your breath as he cupped your jaw with perhaps slightly more force than necessary. Bewildered and completely taken aback, you watched as his eyes wandered south again, tilting your face to examine something. It was not until he pressed his thumb to the deep cut at the side of your mouth, opening the wound once again, causing a sting and a hiss of pain to snake through your gritted teeth, that you realised that was what he had been looking at before. You could only imagine it was an ugly thing, having not seen your reflection this evening yet, and suddenly felt self-conscious. “Do try to take better care of yourself, won’t you?” His voice was quieter, softer, and you felt a soothing warmth bloom from beneath his thumb as he traced the wound with an unexpected gentleness, eyes flitting briefly back to yours, feasting on the succulent mix of shock, fear and something forbidden (was that…arousal?) swirling in your dilated pupils.

Gods, he could just devour you. Never had an ordinary mortal been so tempting to him. It was slightly vexing, if he was being honest with himself, and he was not sure what he was going to enjoy more: toying with your soul or teasing with your heart.

Satisfied with something, he removed his hand, his retreating touch causing you to compulsorily follow, seeking it out again as your head fell towards his, before you suddenly realised what you were doing. Embarrassed and silently cursing the handsome devil, you moved back and reinstated the previous distance, unable to look him in the eye, for once in your life finding yourself to be completely speechless.

A chuckle bubbled in his chest, but he managed to hold it back for your sake, instead opting for a knowing smile.

“See you, soon.”

In a flash, he was gone, leaving behind nothing but a whisp of burning ashes, the smell of sulphur, and the ghost of a touch.

Gingerly, you brought your finger to trace the rapidly cooling warmth of where his thumb had stroked, feeling no blood nor scab, no stinging. No wound.

He had healed you.

You held your face in your hands and groaned.

Fucking. Hells.

Back at the House of Hope, Raphael eased into his chair to make a note of today’s excursion. Mostly, he just wanted to immortalise in vivid, descriptive imagery the look on your face when he had touched you, the way your pulse thrummed beneath the pad of his thumb, the inner turmoil that was surely brewing within you. Looking down, he inspected the bright, fresh blood decorating his thumb, glistening in the flickering candlelight, and brought it to his mouth. With unbearable anticipation, he could not hold back as his tongue slid past his lips to get a taste, gently grazing the remnants of the wound, and Gods was it divine. Rich and fragrant, with an earthy, woody, almost smoky base note erupting into something floral, giving way to a hint of sweetness that was not overpowering, the usually sharp, metallic edge dulled by the medley. Honey, jasmine, petrichor all mingled at the tip of his tongue, lingered on his lips as he smeared the remainder in a lazy line across the bottom. It was nothing short of euphoric, and for a moment his eyes glazed over, almost all sense leaving him. When it came back, he decided his written report of the day could wait.

For now, he just needed to see Haarlep.

—-

“How much longer do you think it’ll take?” Astarion asked, peering over his shoulder, back facing you as you sat cross-legged in his tent, journal resting open on your lap, trying to divine the infernal symbols branded on his alabaster skin in the limited light. Freshly bathed and dressed in a more comfortable outfit, you felt a little more like yourself, a little less defeated.

“Nearly there, bear with me…” You sketched quickly but precisely, making sure to capture every detail, every jagged line and joining swirl. It was painful enough trying to make an accurate copy, especially with nothing but the candles for guidance, you could only imagine how awful it must have been for Astarion to receive. The thought tore at the edges of your heart. Were you sure he would not bristle at the contact, you felt tempted to trace them with your fingers, soothe the pain that still lingered with your hands.

Like Raphael had done to you earlier.

The memory struck you like an ice knife, unwelcome and intruding. You did not want to think about Raphael, not right now, so you forced yourself to shove him out of your mind by recounting all the things you did not like about him.

He’s an actual devil, for one.

On to the final circle, you sketched with an intensity betraying your rising frustrations.

He’s trying to manipulate me into liking him so I will hand over my soul.

Scratching at the page, you traced over the fainter lines, making sure the symbols stood out and were readable.

His frilly shirt looks ridiculous.

…

He’d look better without it.

The lead of your pencil snapped with a sharp crack as you pressed down with unnecessary force at the nature of that thought, the tip somehow flying off somewhere into the far corner of Astarion’s tent. You both watched it zoom past in surprise, and he turned to give you a questioning look.

“Oops.” You pulled a sheepish face and looked back down at the drawing. Luckily, it was pretty much finished. Any more and you would just be overworking it. Satisfied, you set the pencil down and gently tore the page free from the binding as Astarion turned back around, giving it a final glance before handing it over. He took it quickly and without thanks, which did not surprise you but had you stifling an eye roll as you moved to sit beside him, watching his ruby eyes scan the strange, unfamiliar symbols that neither of you knew how to read.

At least, you did not think you did.

After having been staring at the scars for the better part of the evening, committing them to paper with a disciplined accuracy, some of the symbols started to shift into vaguely recognisable things that conveyed some sort of meaning to you. You were looking at them, but no longer seeing them, eyes fixed somewhere in the middle distance, a trance-like sensation washing over you as the runes moved before your eyes, implanting their meaning directly into your head.

“Hoyc inferiu non iurare per igneu…” You muttered to yourself in a terrible, broken infernal accent, feeling a blunt throb begin to pulse in the outer corner of your left eye, the edges of your vision darkening as the details of the tent interior faded, and every other sense became dulled.

“What did you say?” Astarion asked, turning to look at you with a curious frown. You did not answer, eyes glazed over and unseeing, it seemed like you had not even heard him. He nudged you gently with his elbow, bringing you back to the moment and ripping you from your thoughts. The trance fell away quickly, and you blinked rapidly as the world around you came back into focus, seeming to have forgotten where you were for a second.

“Huh?” You looked tired and weary all of a sudden.

“I asked, what did you say? Just now? You were mumbling to yourself.”

“Was I…?” You mused with a frown, having no memory of what you said, not until you looked back down at the sketch and saw the first ring of the scar. “Oh, that was…the first line, here,” you reached out and pointed to the letter at roughly seven o’clock on the outer circle, the infernal letter for ‘H’, and followed the joined symbols clockwise to five o’clock, “it means something like ‘this soul swears no oath by fire’, I think.” Astarion followed your finger with his eyes, tried to see what you could see in the nonsensical etchings.

“I thought you said you couldn’t read infernal?” He asked slightly accusatorily, confused as to why you did not offer a translation when you first saw the scars. You shrugged, looking just as confused as he felt.

“I…can’t, or, at least, I didn’t think I could. I don’t know what the rest says, though, just that first line.”

Astarion looked back down, retracing the path you had taken around the outer circle.

“This soul swears no oath by fire…” He murmured quietly to himself.

“Any idea what it could mean?” You asked quietly, watching as he shook his head with a sigh.

“I…don’t know. It almost sounds like part of a…contract…or something.” He was right, you realised. ‘Oath’ was the key that gave it away, and you were annoyed for not having noticed it yourself. This realisation unsettled you. You already had reason to suspect that there was something in this that tied Astarion to Cazador still, and if an infernal contract was involved then that would be particularly binding and difficult to negotiate out of. Not knowing the rest of the translation seemed a significant hinderance, as well. “There is someone that could help us with this, you know…” Astarion glanced at you, gauging your thoughts through your expression, which was looking slightly more vacant than usual at this time of day.

“Hm? Who?”

“Our devilish friend, Raphael, of course.”

Vacancy vanished to be replaced by disapproval and reluctance, a cocktail of emotions that all gathered together to say one thing: no thank you.

“There’s got to be someone else, surely.” You pleaded with an unexpected amount of desperation.

“What’s wrong with him? If anyone’s going to know anything about infernal contracts, he will.” You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose, tried to find the strength not to release a barrage of insults regarding the insufferable creature you had the misfortune of encountering again mere hours ago.

“He’s after our souls, for one thing. For another, he’s such a smarmy bastard…” Astarion huffed an amused laugh. He had yet to hear you shit talk anyone. He could get used to it, he decided, and made a mental note to gossip with you about Shadowheart and Lae’zel another time. “Gods know what he’ll ask for in return, are you prepared to pay the price?”

“Well, we won’t know until we ask now, will we?” You grunted and threw yourself back onto the hard ground with a soft thud, covering your eyes with your arm as you tried to suppress the images of Raphael roaming the planes of your face, drinking in your despair, piercing into what felt like your very soul. Feeling the phantom of his thumb caressing the corner of your lip almost caused you to whimper. Almost.

“Fine. We’ll ask next time we see him.” You relented, unwilling to deny Astarion’s whims and sour your otherwise positive relationship. He smiled, looking very much like the cat that got the cream.

“Thank you. Unfortunately, he seems to come and go on his own schedule, so I suppose we’ll just have to look out for any sulphurous odours…or the sound of questionable poetry.” You snorted at that, reminiscing unenthusiastically on your earlier encounter. It lingered uneasily in your mind, how he had the power to completely overwhelm you with just a simple touch, how you had frozen under his thumb. It was something you could not have expected, and stirred a feeling within your chest that you did not want to entertain, a distant ache, an unnurtured longing, a forgotten desire.

You took a deep breath, held it for a second, then spoke quickly. When you decided to tell it, the truth always came rushing forth without restraint, and, because you cared about him, you felt you needed to be truthful with Astarion, always.

“I saw him earlier, actually.”

“What? Why didn’t you say anything?” Astarion leaned over, gently grasped your wrist and peeled your arm away from your face, which you reluctantly allowed, hoping your eyes did not betray the tempest brewing in your soul. You managed a half-convincing shrug.

“Nothing interesting happened…he just wanted to toy with me, I suppose.” It was not untrue, but it was not the full truth. You were not sure what the full truth even was, so what was the point of trying to say it? He watched you closely, eyes searching for any sign of deception, any give aways that you were not being fully honest. You could not tell whether he found anything, but thankfully he did not seem like he was going to press you. “I’m sorry, if I had known you wanted to speak to him I would have said something.” Astarion shook his head, silencing your apology, and moved back to sit upright, no longer looming over you.

“It’s alright, at least you’ll know for next time.” You nodded noncommittally, wondering when the ‘next time’ would be, hoping it would not be too soon.

“Yeah…anyway, I better get going to bed now.” With great effort, you rocked forward and into a stand, brushing down your trousers before gathering up your journal and sketching supplies.

“Alright, love. Sleep tight.”

“You too, g’night.”

You left the warmth of Astarion’s tent, and delved into the chill of night.

[chapter four]

#bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #bg3 raphael x tav #bg3 raphael x reader #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 raphael #raphael the cambion #reader insert #fem reader #female reader

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random-introverted-blog · 6 months

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I intended to write a reply way sooner. Anywho here it is! YouTube complication videos bout BG3 are so useful for fanfics and more! I bet you’ve seen the ones about Astarion’s assist voice lines (Shadowheart has her own video too).

They deserve just playful banter & casual flirting. The entire group seems pretty shippable with each other because of the similarities & differences they all have. That’s such an interesting & angsty idea, SH just escaping a life of shadows then Astarion being doomed to one.

Ascended!Astarion & DarkJusticiar!Shadowheart being together just contractually for power & playing a game together but accidentally falling for each other would be so interesting. Neither of them want to lose the game.

Both of them were used to causal flirting at meant nothing since they start from the time they met. It had been one comforting inconsequential constant & just for fun + didn’t mean anything but this. This was terrible. It’d muck up the simplicity. It’d be ridiculous. Why now? What’s so great about that person anyway? I don’t relate to them! Me in love with that diva? What?! That’s preposterous. Just a rival-ally I happen to be contractually marr- ahem…with. Why would you suggest that? Away with you.

(^Them Tsundereing. Impromptu dialogue. You just inspired me I suppose! They’d both amp up the pressure and flirting (probs the possessiveness and jealousy too) but would still try to make it look effortless and like they don’t give a damn any more than the usual act)

Exactly, it could happen or could work.

I have so many thoughts about them. They’re both my favourite characters & I just ship em too after I thought about them.

I read some of your writing and it is phenomenal. Hopefully you have had fun. You seem on a roll since you wrote so much. As a fellow writer, I applaud you and congratulate you.

I’ll dub myself Bloodmoon anon I guess?

What’d you like to be called?

-Bloodmoon/ 🩸🌕 anon

Hello, Bloodmoon anon! Missed you, darling. I've spent a long while thinking about this, went back and studied YouTube videos, took notes and boy do I have a wall of text for you lol.

Yes, I have seen those assist lines and I'm a tad sad we don't have many snarky or genuine "kiss you better" like lines from Shadowheart. She's the cleric, come on 😭.

All the companions deserve playful banter and casual flirting! Personally, I think the two most shippable are Wyll and Karlach.

But Astarion and Shadowheart fostering a relationship only for her to have to choose between living in darkness again or living with Astarion would be very angsty. I feel like that idea is better written post game though. Maybe they had inkling of feelings throughout but for one reason or another failed to pursue. There IS a line you can get with Shadowheart where you can ask her "We started a romance earlier but didn't follow up" and she basically says "yeah, maybe in another life" like way to tell me to reload my playthrough Shadow-waifu... That aside, this could be the way you pave into a SHxAst relationship post game.

So an Ascended and Dark Justiciar relationship... A little bit trickier to see with the Sharran Shadowheart ending I saw but we can bend things around, for sure! Part of the fun of fanfic is bending canon, after all. SPOILERS FOR THE EPILOGUE FOR SHARRAN!SHADOWHEART AND ASCENDED!ASTARION FOR ANYONE WHO HASN'T SEEN IT YET BEYOND THIS POINT

Shadowheart canonically becomes mother superior of the Baldur's Gate cloister, and if asked will tell you she actually sympathizes with Viconia now. And though she'll practically clamber onto the dining table and preach "Lady of Loss, now only $19.99 plus shipping and handling, call now and get two Lady of Losses for the price of one" at the start of the dialogue, clearly wants Shar to give her a way out. She's feeling overwhelmed. If you tell her you're living a quiet life, she'll admit to being a little jealous of you because "a little calm and solitude would be a tonic". When you ask her how's life being mother superior she will go off on a rant about how exhausting it is and that she misses the comparative simplicity of "your little group against the odds". And if you romanced her and she left you, you can hit her with the "You're not the same woman I fell for" and she basically gives you a tough girl "nor are you the same person who fell for me..." before segwaying into "👉👈 but I'm sure there's still plenty for you to like and indulge in for tonight 😏".

Astarion, if you break up with him, will admit that he has missed you and there's something lonely about all the power he has. And I have no doubt if the opportunity were presented to rekindle something, that he'd happily take you back. He'd be a total asshole about it, that I'm almost sure, but he'd still welcome you back. He seems reasonably calm and not like the fanfics have written him to be. But I do get a mild sense that he is still obsessed even if just a teensy bit.

END OF SPOILERS THANKS FOR STILL READING

All that said, you can certainly swing their stories toward "two lonely souls seeking carnal/physical solace in each other but end up way more entangled than either of them wanted/expected". And once they do realize they're catching feelings, then the toxic tsundere power plays start rolling in. Then they're just trying to out yandere each other and that could be scary, hot and hilarious all at once.

Aww, thank you! It means the world to me that people enjoy my work! Without that, I'd have no reason to post. Much less pressure to write privately for myself, but knowing there are people like you out there that my writing can make happy or boost your mood is what I really write for.

What would I like to be called? Not sure! You and anyone else can call me what you'd like, within reason of course. Could call me by my ao3 username, could call me an abbreviated name of this blog... Doesn't matter, as long as it's not malicious or bullying.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate #bg3 #shadowheart #baldurs gate shadowheart #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate fanfiction #ascended astarion #bg3 shadowheart #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #vampire spawn #vampire spawn Astarion #yandere female #yandere male

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local-vampire-enjoyer · 7 months

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just a happy lil guy.

Day 5, Scars Rating: Fluff???? Idk Maybe some slight angst once again. Also more mentions of my Drows lore :D I wanted to do where one day would've been Fall and then the other day would've been Minette. But the scars fitted too well with Fall. Not beta-read and I rushed through making this since it is 11;07

Once again spoilers for the ending/Act 3, Major spoilers for Astarion Good ending romance option...???

Male Drow Tav, Charlatan background, Paladin Class, Oath of Vengence.

Fall traced the scars that lined his stomach and chest, some were new, and a majority were old. His old life as a thief was not all good. “So, if I may ask. What is the history with those scars?” Astarion’s voice flooded Fall's ears. He was snapped out of his thoughts; looking over at his lover who was resting on the bed of the Tavren they were able to find, three days into trying to find something that would grant Astarion the ability to walk into the sun again. “Point to one, I tell the story.”

Fall laid near his lover, the day was about to approach and so their meditation rest would begin soon. Astarion rolled over onto his stomach to get a better look at Fall’s chest and stomach. He gently traced the old scar that was carved into Fall’s skin a long time ago, it rested near his ribs. “Easy, arrow. The Cleric was surprised that I was still walking around. I still have the arrowhead as a reminder.” Fall explained the memory was from his naive days as a Paldian. He knew better now.

Astarion then traced over another scar, one that was engraved into the right side of his stomach, it was obvious to tell that it was poorly patched up at the time. Fall chuckled at the story he was about to tell, “Don’t trust people when all they carry is a lot of saws and scalpels. Almost lost my liver. They wanted to use it as part of a sacrifice. I still don’t know what for. Nordove was the one that patched me up. She was still inexperienced in the whole medical world.”

It was a bit easier now for Fall to talk about Nordove now. Astarion helped him through the grief he never truly went through.”You know when the emperor was still disguised as the dream guardian, he was disguised as her. I thought when I first met him, that I had died. But when they spoke, I knew it wasn’t Nordove, her voice was lighter; The Emperor failed on that, I hated him because he decided to take the form of someone that I cared deeply for.”

Astarion gently grabbed Fall’s hand. “At least he isn’t making a mockery of her anymore.”

The sun had now risen and their rest now begins. Fall quickly got up to close the curtains, as he knew that the sun would shine directly into their window. “Time for some meditation, dear.”

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 drow #drow tav #i'm a sleepy guy #sleep deprived af #promptober #I am running out of photos for fall #not beta read

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parasite-core · 9 months

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Calio: Immediately liked Astarion because they’re incredibly alike—then they both ended up trying to seduce each other and accidentally fell for each other, he was wary of Shadowheart at first but she grew on him and is one of his favorites now, he likes Gale but doesn’t entrust him with anything more than superficial information since he never disclosed any information to me without being under duress, he liked Lae’Zel alright but decided she brought death on herself by picking a fight with Shadowheart, he thinks Wyll is too much of a goodie two shoes sometimes but likes him for his power and isn’t above flirting with him. He never met Karlach.

Draven: Headbutted Astarion in the face upon meeting for holding her at knifepoint and is only giving him a second chance because she assumes he was only being a jerk due to thinking she was a thrall of the Mind Flayers (much like Lae’Zel), she does not know he’s a vampire yet, and definitely has no intention of sleeping with him. She likes both Shadowheart and Lae’zel alright, but she thinks both are too serious for her—Shadowheart got upset with her for some light hearted joking about Astarion, and Lae’zel is…well, Lae’Zel. She doesn’t dislike either however, and wants to work together with them to try to solve their little tadpole problem. She likes Gale the best so far, he is fun and charming and a little weird. She hasn’t met Wyll or Karlach yet (but I intend to try my best not to miss Karlach a second time). I think she will *definitely* like both of them.

Also Draven is the first time in any playthrough that I failed the perception check on Astarion trying to knife you. This game knows Draven so well somehow 😂 She always rolled so poorly on perception (having only one good eye and all). She rolled poorly in general and so far that trend has continued and it’s hilarious.

#my prediction is she will either be attracted to Wyll post-devil transformation assuming that happens if you recruit Karlach #or she will be attracted to Karlach #because Draven has always been most attracted to tieflings/people with demonic/internal features (horns/fangs/tails)#infernal*#so those two will check those boxes #although I know both Gale and Wyll have personalities she’ll like #idk about Karlach since I’ve never met her but I suspect she will like her #Baldur’s Gate 3 #BG3 spoilers #at least in the notes lol

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annakie · 10 months

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So, some thoughts and screenshots on the first few hours of BG3 --

Indyara is my Half-Elf Bard. She's a character I have played in several D&D games, wanting to find a game where her backstory mattered and we actually finished the game. I'm actually in that game right now, playing every other Saturday morning, though there was one other game it... almost worked out for her.

Bard is my favorite D&D class, going back to when I played one in a 3/3.5e game for several years in the early 2000's, and I played BG1 & 2 with one.

Decently high CHA (16) but not sacrificing INT, DEX, and CON (14) while having a bad WIS (9) and STR (8). Let's see how that works out for her.

High Half-elf for that sweet CHA bonus and getting Firebolt, so I have an actual useful damaging cantrip. (Do not ask me for my diatribe about why everyone is wrong about Vicious Mockery being a good spell unless you want an earful.)

Absolutely fuming that they still are leaving the version number up and it's visible in screenshots. Cannot believe that oversight. Also that they leave menu buttons visible in cutscenes, what the fuck Larian? Found out last night that apparently hitting f10 should stop that, but that removes the entire UI and obviously you need to turn it back on. But for now my entire first day's of screenshots and videos look like ass and I'm mad about it.

Lots of screenshots and commentary below the cut. I didn't make it too far in-game and honestly I don't talk about the plot much.

Hey, look lady, we're both stuck here. Indy is very patient and diplomatic, whatever it takes to make it through every day as unscathed as possible, but this one might try that patience. At least she's useful. Let's see if we can make a friend.

Indy did save Shadowheart from her pod, but the way she and Lae'zel bicker is already giving her a headache.

Well this certainly is a development, and I'm sure whoever these two are will be completely unimportant in the hours to come.

I told myself I wasn't going to savescum when I failed a roll, but look, I'm not about to let Indyara Nat 1 on a CHARISMA check about magic when she very first meets the future love of her life. I reloaded this one.

Indy's initial impression on meeting Gale: a few seconds of "Wait, THIS is the one I'm going to fall in love with?" met with "Oh. I get it." a few seconds later. Very smart, polite, charming and funny? Sign me up, please.

Plus, we look great in screenshots together.

(Indy's hair is definitely lighter in sunlight than I intended, her hair was supposed to be brown with pink streaks (for bardic flair) but it comes out looking dark honey in direct sun. Ah well.)

A few minutes later though "Wait, this one is as charming and me, and extremely heroic? Are you SURE we made the right choice? They're both great. Can't we have them both?"

(Sorry Indy, we don't need two high-CHA characters in the main party. He's saved for another playthrough.)

Oh come ON. This isn't fair. Another one?

Poly mod... when? Or at least a list of who is officially OK with poly in-game? Shadowheart is growing on me, too, after a bit of a rough introduction.

I'm sorry, Astarion. I already took a level dip in rogue to be the party trap/lock skill monkey since we're bringing along the Wizard, Cleric and, for now at least, the fighter. (We'll see how long that lasts. This game needs more tank companions. Though I don't mind companions that are challenging, generally.)

I love having a camp again. Need better camp clothes, though, for all of us. I did do the Twitch Stream unlock thing, but haven't found those rewards in-game yet. Anyone?

Literally already started unlocking the Gale romance by the time I was just wandering around the Emerald Grove area. He loves almost every decision I make and I'm glad of it.

...of course there's a catch.

Hahahaha holy shit, Volo! I love being a bard in this game and loved bullshitting Volo, and he loved knowing he was getting bullshitted.

See, wasn't this a nice time, ladies, listening to this other bard sing? Let's have less bickering, more listening to Bards. <3

Astarion... I'm just not into Vampires. At least not with this character. Still, I like you. I wish I could have offered to help him find food here instead of just sending him away, but I let him down easy.

Indy found a cute hat at camp and is wearing the FUCK out of it. I mean look at her! And it helps with song of rest! (though it does considerably shorten her hair, but hey, it's a MAGIC hat so that's just part of the magic.)

I've played a Larian game or two before so I picked up Speak with Animals as one of my first level spells and do not regret it. However, I feel like I didn't help this Owlbear enough, though I let her and her cub be. Probably missed out on something cool here. Again, I'll pick it up in another playthrough. I'm trying to not google for answers to every puzzle this time and just play through blind.

OH HOLY SHIT WHAT DID I WALK IN ON. I'M SO SORRY FOR YOU AND FOR ME.

Oh no, Gale is into some other woman... oh wait that's Mystra. I get it, you're a wizard. And I'm a smart Lore bard who's also very into magic so uh, let's make some magic happen? Also, sorry we got this cutscene when Gale was at like 2hp so he's all bruised up. I love that it shows on the character models though.

Ohhh wait you DO want to make magic together? I'm down with that, and got to put bardic flourishes on all my responses to Gale's instructions. I LOVE this game, I LOVED this scene. Though I hate what the magic VFX did to Indy's face here.

Oh my God, is this the first flirt scene!?! Tell me it's the first flirt scene!!

I imagined slipping my hand into his hand on a romantic walk and... he liked it. This was very, very sweet. And getting to flirt over a shared love of magic was... *chef's kiss*

I'm also making great progress with Shadowheart. Okay, we can be BFFs. <3

Things to come indeed, Gale.

----

In Early Access I didn't get very far and honestly I think last night I made it about as far as I ever made then, or close to it. I basically went "Whelp I love this game, I don't want to spend my time playing through this now when I can go through it fresh later in like a year." (and then it was THREE, but that's fine.)

I'm fighting Phase Spiders but fuck that, I might come back when we all hit level 4. That fight sucked. I am trying to make "good" choices but have probably really screwed some stuff up. i feel bad that Astarion and Wyll get left at camp but they don't fit into my party makeup (I think I'll do a Paladin next and bring both of them along instead of Gale and Lae.)

Absolutely love all of the chances to shortcut quests and fights by Barding / persuading / lying my way out of it. So few things I don't love so far, though I definitely feel like I'm stumbling my way through the dark, not knowing if I'm doing the right things.

Can't wait to do almost nothing this weekend but play BG3. A full day of work, first, though. :(

#baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 stuff

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