loonymarshian

[loonymarshian]

Kit couldn't be more different from my daughter of Astarion! Her name is Solare, and she got a lot of her father's genes. White hair, pale skin, red eyes (the eyes are only because she's a dhampyr though)

What makes it obvious that she's Tragedy's daughter is the horns and the tail lol. And she has a lot of her mother's facial features, people just don't often notice because of Tragedy's makeup and tattoos - people they introduce Solare to when she's young always comment on how much she looks like her dad.

I'm also a subscriber to the "Astarion is a moon elf" theory, meaning I believe he always had white hair, and before he was turned he had pale blue eyes. If Astarion weren't a vampire, Solare would also have inherited the blue pigmentation in her eyes, but her infernal heritage would still cause her sclera to be black.

Love your bg3 comics! I hope you don’t mind some world/lore building questions!

I was wondering why Kit looks so much more like Dorian than Astarion, and it got me thinking about how vampire genetics work. Do you think that the only physical traits that get passed down are ones from before becoming a vampire? That said, what do you think Astarion looked like before he was turned, and did Kit inherit any of those traits?

i think that would make sense!! i feel like pre-vampire astarion probably looked about the same but less pale and gaunt (personally i hc that he just went grey really early and i’m also in the brown-eyed astarion club)

honestly though, the real reason kit didn’t get anything from astarion is because the redleaf genes are too strong and they all look exactly the same

(he still got the teeth and the fluffy hair though)

[loonymarshian]

Faerie Tale

Day 16 of #BG3FicFeb - "Write something inspired by your favourite song/poem/book" A retelling of a classic fairytale featuring Astarion and Tragedy.

I don't really latch onto specific songs like a lot of people do, I don't read poetry, and none of my favourite books felt suited to BG3. So, I chose to write something inspired by my favourite fairytale instead! I read Brier Rose (Sleeping Beauty) so many times as a kid that now when I open my old copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales, it automatically falls to that page.

2187 words, named Tav x Astarion, fairytale retelling, tw: mentions of blood, decay, mild non-con/assault (we all know how Sleeping Beauty goes, but think more disney than the original)

The vampire was exhausted. He had been on the run for weeks, evading vampire hunters on all fronts, almost getting caught by the sunrise multiple times. Tonight was the first night he hadn’t seen any sign of his pursuers, and his ordeal was finally catching up to him. His worn boots made light crunching sounds as he trudged through the forest, weak from hunger and fatigue. His hands were moving automatically at this point, brushing foliage aside when it got near his face. 

A sudden pain stabbed his palm as he reached up to move a branch, and he stopped, looking up. Ahead of him, the vampire saw nothing but brambles. The thicket seemed a mile or more high, stretching to both sides as far as he could see, and was so tightly tangled he couldn’t tell how deep it went. He glanced over his shoulder. He could turn back, but he would risk handing himself over to his hunters on a silver platter. No, forward was the only way to go. The vampire pulled a dagger from his belt and began to carve away at the wall of brambles bit by bit. It was slow work, and he pricked himself on the thorns a number of times, but eventually he managed to carve himself a path through - the wall of thorns was 5 feet thick, and when he forced himself through to the other side, he noticed the brambles closing behind him. Strange, he thought, but good. The hunters wouldn’t find him here.

It was like stepping into a different world when he was through the brambles. The forest floor had given way to smooth cobblestones, the spaces between overgrown with moss and clover. Ivy-covered stone walls ringed the courtyard he had found himself in, a space in the wall where he had entered. Perhaps it was luck, that he had found the one gap in the wall when he began cutting the brambles. It did not feel like luck. On the opposite side of the courtyard rose a grand castle, nothing at all like the palaces of modern cities, instead more reminiscent of the fortresses of old where human royalty had once ruled from on high. It was built of sun-bleached stone, the colour almost white with age. Lush green ivy climbed the walls of the castle as well, clinging to the bricks and spilling out of small, glassless windows. The castle appeared to be constructed of one main building with numerous connected wings and pointed spires, the roof tiles a deep shade of bluish grey.

Spell-bound by the beauty of this place he’d found, the vampire took his time to take in the sights and wander through the courtyard. He found the stables, a training yard for knights, a number of horse-drawn carriages that looked to be in a state of disuse, but he did not find a single living soul. The place appeared to be entirely abandoned. 

By the time he’d fully explored the courtyard, the sky had begun to lighten. The vampire hurried to a small wooden door tucked into a corner, and was relieved to find it unlocked. He slipped inside, and immediately screwed up his face as the smell of mould and mildew assaulted his senses. He had found himself in a large kitchen, but it had clearly not seen use in many, many years. The wooden island in the centre of the room was almost entirely overgrown with moss and fungus, colourful mushrooms making themselves at home on the large surface. Potato roots spilled from one cupboard, snaking their way across the stone floor and forcing themselves into the cracks. A pile of bones sat on a bench across the room, beneath a series of butcher’s hooks where a pig skull skill hung, entirely devoid of any decaying flesh. 

The vampire hurried out of the room and set to exploring the castle. The grand fortress was cold and empty, devoid of any sentient life. Even the spiders seemed to have abandoned this place, as despite obviously being abandoned for many years, the castle’s halls were entirely clean of cobwebs. The vampire found no more bones, only the ones in the kitchen. It seemed the place had been abandoned in a hurry. He continued to explore, finding faded fineries of times long past in the wardrobes, crumbling books on the shelves, rusted swords on the walls. This place was ancient.

Hours later, the vampire found himself at the base of one of the round spires, his curiosity piqued. There was something different about this tower. The stone had less cracks in it, the wooden door still shiny with lacquer. It was as if this tower had been frozen while the rest of the castle had been left to the sands of time. He started up the stairs, wondering what it was he would find.

There was only one door in the tower. Right at the top of the stairs, not even a landing before them. The door was decorated with carvings of black roses, the paint on the green stems vibrant and shiny. The vampire took a deep breath before carefully pushing the door open to reveal a grand bedroom. There was light in here, but not from the sun. Iron candelabras in each corner flickered with flames from never-melting candles. In the centre of the room stood a beautiful four-poster bed on a raised platform two steps up from the rest of the floor. The platform was draped with a rug of pale pink and bright lilac, the heavy material spilling over the steps at the corners. The bed itself was made up with pristine black covers, soft and thick. Soft curtains in the same pale pink as the rug were draped from the posts, tied back in the corners. Everything in this room was in perfect condition, from the shiny lacquer of the wooden furniture, to the vibrant colours of the rich fabrics, to the strange undying candle flames.

Most shocking of all, however, was the shape in the bed. The pillows were blocked from the vampire’s view by the pink drapes, but he could see delicate pink hands resting on the thick black covers, gently rising and falling with breath. The castle had been devoid of any sign of life since the kitchens, not even bones. Why was this the one living creature in the entire castle? The vampire slowly approached the bed, careful not to make any loud noises so as not to wake the sleeping figure.

When he reached the side of the bed, the figure’s face finally came into the vampire’s view. His heart skipped a beat. She was beautiful. Her skin was a light shade of pink similar to the curtains that had been hiding her. Artificial shadows darkened her round eyes framed by long, fluffy lashes, and her soft, full lips were painted black. Her hair was spread out across the pillows beneath her, gentle waves beginning black at the scalp before fading into lilac at the ends. Slightly curved horns sprouted from her forehead, their colouration the same as her hair. She wore a sheer black nightgown with long, flowing sleeves over a purple silk chemise. The covers were pulled up to her waist, and the vampire was suddenly very aware of how vulnerable she was in her thin clothing.

Hunger swelled in him, and he found his eyes wandering to the woman’s smooth pink neck. It had been days since he’d consumed any blood, and the unbroken skin of her throat was calling him to feast. Unable to resist the call, the vampire climbed onto the bed and positioned himself above the sleeping woman, his knees on either side of her hips, careful not to put too much of his weight on her. He took one last look at her peaceful beauty, feeling a light twang of guilt for what he was about to do… and plunged his fangs into her throat. Warm blood spilled into his mouth from the puncture wounds, the flavour sweet and intoxicating. He didn’t notice when the woman began to stir.

~o~

The tiefling’s eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly in the sudden light. She felt a strange numbness spreading from her neck, and her body felt heavy though she knew not why. It took a moment for her weary eyes to adjust, and when they did, she noticed a head of white hair buried in her neck. The heaviness in her chest was not fatigue, but the weight of a pale man’s body straddled atop of her. Her mind was slow, addled by sleep and rapid blood loss, but she quickly came to her senses and her eyes flew wide. She kicked and screamed and tried to push the man away, but she didn’t have the strength. The vampire extracted his fangs from her neck and scrambled off the bed a moment later, leaving the tiefling free to gather the sheets to her chest and huddle in the corner of her four-poster bed, terrified of the man who had woken her.

Though, now he was no longer drinking her blood, the tiefling took a moment to examine the man before her. He was handsome, she thought. He looked to be of elven blood, with sharp features and long, pointed ears. His hair looked soft and fluffy, white as the moon. His pale skin was so clear it almost glowed. His red eyes, filled with guilt, were framed by soft eyelashes that fluttered gently against his cheeks as he blinked. As she admired the beautiful man before her, her terror slowly faded, replaced by memories she was sure had been just yesterday, yet they felt ancient as they flooded her mind. She recalled being cursed by a powerful archfey, doomed to sleep for all eternity unless her true love appeared to wake her. Did this mean… was this strange man her true love? How long had she been asleep?

“You there. Tell me who you are and why you came here.” The tiefling spoke with authority, her royal upbringing shining through.

The pale elf looked surprised at her tone and replied swiftly. “My name is Astarion Ancunin. I was seeking shelter from those who hunt me.”

“Hunt you? What are your crimes?”

“I am a vampire. There is much superstition surrounding my kind. They hunt me even though I sustain myself on wild animals and have never harmed a humanoid.” The handsome stranger looked taken aback at his admission, as if he hadn’t meant to be so honest.

“I seem to recall waking up with your fangs in my throat, Mr. Ancunin.”

“I… Yes, I suppose you did. My apologies. I haven’t eaten in days, and my instincts took over. You are the first humanoid I have partaken in.”

Sensing no deception in his words, the tiefling climbed out of bed, remaining on the platform for the very slight height advantage, but no longer cowering away from the man who had awoken her.

“Very well, I believe you. My name is Tragedy Liliana Brier Rose Quron, Princess of Forodren, Duchess of Darktide Castle. You may address me as your Highness.” The princess held her hand out in Astarion’s direction, awaiting the proper greeting.

The vampire obliged, gently taking Tragedy’s hand and placing a light kiss on her knuckles. He looked distracted however, his brows knitted in thought. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, your Highness. Please forgive me but… Forodren fell over 100 years ago. How can you be their princess?”

Tragedy stumbled backwards, landing hard on the bed. 100 years? I was asleep for 100 years? “100 years… I can’t believe it. That faerie wasn’t fucking around.”

“Faerie, your Highness?” The vampire’s voice inquired.

“Yes, faerie. A faerie cursed me, placed me into an endless, undying slumber, and told me that no one could wake me but my true love.” She lowered her voice, finally processing what 100 years asleep really meant. “I didn’t think it would take a century for them to find me.”

The bed shifted as Astarion sat down beside Tragedy, taking her hands in his. His hands were soft, and surprisingly warm, for a vampire. She looked up into his eyes and was surprised to find comfort in them. Despite the circumstances of their meeting, this man made her feel safe. Though she knew her family and friends were dead and gone, her kingdom fallen, she felt no grief with Astarion by her side. One of his hands dropped hers and came to rest on her cheek instead, thumb brushing across her skin as his eyes roamed her face. She couldn’t take her eyes off of his, watching them slowly move across her features. She watched them linger on her lips, then flick back to meet hers. She smiled up at him, and he smiled back as he pulled her into his embrace, their lips meeting in true love’s kiss.

The lovers found a place to call home with some of Tragedy’s descendants who were overjoyed to hear she’d finally been rescued, and the two lived Happily Ever After.

The End.

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3ficfeb #bg3 tav #astarion/tav #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #I love a good fairytale retelling don't you?

[loonymarshian]

Intoxicating ❗NSFW❗

Day 15 of #BG3FicFeb - "Any character is drunk/high" Tragedy gets drunk at the tiefling party, and Astarion can't keep his hands off her.

Hey remember when I said I wouldn't write more smut? I lied. I tried harder with this one, it's a smidge more explicit and I think I like it better? I'm still not feeling confident in my smut writing abilities, but practice makes perfect right? I hope you enjoy.

Btw I have not forgotten about the last prompt, it's just giving me hell so I skipped ahead to write this on time instead, I'll finish day 14's fic eventually.

1406 words, named Tav x Astarion, tw: alcohol, intimacy while intoxicated, semi-rough sex, biting. Despite one of the characters being under the influence of alcohol, this is not meant to be in any way non-consensual. Tragedy is fully capable of stopping at any moment, she just doesn't want to. However, if knowing she is intoxicated makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip this one, I understand 💙

The camp was livelier than ever, the quiet corner of the forest now bursting with laughter, music, and voices chatting as the tieflings celebrated the day’s victory. Tragedy had had a little too much to drink - Alfira and Karlach were bad influences. Her head was fuzzy and she had stumbled a couple of times, but she was having too much fun to sit down like everyone kept telling her to. She was on her way to challenge Rolan to a friendly duel when she felt an arm slide around her waist and she found herself with her back pressed against a firm masculine chest.

“Now where are you off to?” Astarion purred in Tragedy’s ear, causing a shiver to rush down her spine. “You haven’t come to see me all evening, I’m hurt.”

Tragedy giggled, trying to wriggle out of his grip, but he held tight. So instead, she leaned back and pushed herself up on her toes so that her mouth was nearer the vampire’s ear, and whispered seductively in return. “Maybe I was saving the best ‘til last.”

A low, guttural growl emitted from Astarion’s throat as Tragedy’s breath warmed his neck. Pressed against him like this, the tiefling could feel him harden against the base of her tail. She flicked her tail between his legs, the end whipping dramatically and the base moving just enough to cause friction. Astarion drew in a sharp breath at the sensation and immediately turned Tragedy around in his arms, catching her lips in a hungry kiss, his hands exploring the shape of her back and drawing her closer.

“Get a room!”

The couple broke apart as Karlach shouted at them, followed by loud, hearty laughter from the barbarian. Half the party had turned to look at them, though Tragedy wasn’t sure how long they’d been watching. Not that she cared. She broke down into giggles, the copious amounts of wine in her system removing any sense of shame or focus. But Astarion was a little more sober, and his eyes were still dark with desire. He took Tragedy’s hand and whispered in her ear, “oh, we will,” and dragged her off into the forest.

Upon reaching their usual clearing, Astarion pushed Tragedy against a tree and shoved his mouth against hers. Their lips and tongues melted together as Tragedy lost herself in Astarion's touch. She buried her fingers in his hair as his hands roamed her body, eventually finding the laces of her dress and shoving it off her shoulders. Her exposed nipples hardened in seconds in the crisp night air. She’d hoped to end up in a situation like this tonight, and hadn’t worn any underwear.

Astarion’s hands were back on her body as soon as the dress was gone. He started with the sensitive ridges on her hips, moving up her back and eventually bringing them back around to find her breasts. His thumbs brushed against Tragedy’s nipples, causing her to moan into his kiss. Tragedy was disappointed for a second when Astarion’s mouth left hers, until she noticed where he was headed. Moments later, his tongue brushed against her left nipple and she bit her lip to hold in the sound that had wanted to escape. His mouth was warm against her skin as he licked and sucked her breast. His left hand was tending to her right nipple, pinching and twisting it. The tiefling gasped as she felt teeth brush against her nipple, barely touching at first before biting down gently. After a few nibbles, Astarion moved his attention to Tragedy’s right breast, her left, exposed for a moment, growing cold as the cool breeze hit Astarion’s lingering saliva. The vampire did not leave it unattended for long, his hand reaching up once more.

When he decided he was done with Tragedy’s breasts, Astarion pulled her into another passionate kiss, but she didn’t let it last long. The tiefling dropped to her knees on the damp forest floor and reached for the ties on Astarion’s trousers. Another growl rumbled in the vampire’s throat as Tragedy pulled his trousers and underwear down together, Astarion’s pale, erect member exposed before her. He quickly kicked the clothing away and pulled his shirt over his head before Tragedy took him in her clawed hand and started carefully working his shaft. She’d never done this before, her previous sexual experience limited prior to meeting Astarion. She hadn’t been a virgin when they met, but she also hadn’t experimented much with the few sexual partners she’d had over the years. The organ was warm in her hand, soft yet firm, and the smell was intoxicating.

Quickly growing bored of the handjob, Tragedy ran her tongue up his shaft and took him slowly into her mouth. The vampire groaned in response, one hand against the tree behind Tragedy. The other hand made its way into Tragedy’s hair as she bobbed her head up and down the length of him, her tongue wrapping itself around his head, tasting the precum that had begun to leak out. She looked up at him as she worked, wanting to see the effect she had on him. His eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily.

“Fuck, Tragedy…” Astarion whispered between breaths, so quiet Tragedy barely heard it.

Astarion’s hand in Tragedy’s hair began to undo her carefully tied braids, shaking her hair out into gentle waves of black and lilac. His fingers tangled themselves in the freshly freed strands, gripping tight enough that he could take control if he wanted to, yet he continued to allow Tragedy to set her own pace. 

Suddenly, Astarion pulled Tragedy off of him and back up to her feet. He forced her back against the tree again, their bodies flush against each other, his lips on her neck, her jaw, her mouth. Tragedy could feel him against her stomach, and was overwhelmed with a desire to have him inside her.

“Astarion,” Tragedy breathed into his ear. “Take me, please.”

“My pleasure.” He purred in response.

Astarion flipped the tiefling around so her chest was against the tree and pulled her ass towards him. Her tail flicked out of the way almost automatically, giving him a clear view of her exposed sex. Tragedy felt him slowly press himself into her, and her mind fluttered as he stretched and filled her. When he had fully buried himself inside of her, he leaned over her back to kiss her neck, giving her a moment to adapt to his size before he started moving. He started slow, but his movements gained speed rapidly, his grip tight on her hips, pressing into the sensitive ridges. Tragedy made no attempt to be quiet, moaning loudly and screaming Astarion’s name into the forest as he slammed into her, harder and faster by the moment. At some point she wrapped her tail around Astarion’s waist so she could pull him deeper with each thrust.

Astarion’s fangs pierced her neck, and the sudden pain and numbing sensation pushed Tragedy over the edge. Her knees went weak as waves of pleasure surged through her body, fighting against the numbness. Astarion’s arms wrapped around her waist to hold her up, his fangs and member both still within her. Tragedy rode her wave of pleasure higher and higher as Astarion’s thrusts became fast and shallow. His fangs retracted from her neck and his hands reached for her breasts as he reached his own climax, his form stiffening and his hands squeezing, leaving crescent-shaped marks in the soft skin of Tragedy’s breasts with his nails. Astarion extracted himself, and Tragedy was left feeling cold and exposed.

Without Astarion holding her up, Tragedy’s legs buckled, and she nearly found herself landing face-first on the ground before Astarion caught her again and helped her lay down properly. She looked up at the pale man above her, his white hair shining like the moon above. He was so beautiful. She smiled, and reached up to run her fingers through his hair, stopping to rest her hand on his cheek.

“I’m really glad I met you, Astarion.”

Astarion seemed taken back by the comment, but eventually he smiled too, taking her hand and kissing the palm. 

“I have grown to rather enjoy your company.”

Tragedy giggled as Astarion laid himself down next to her, allowing her to use him as a pillow, and soon the two of them had fallen asleep together beneath the stars.

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3ficfeb #bg3 tav #astarion/tav #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #nsfw #smut #now that I think about it #it's kind of disturbing that my first thought with this prompt was to write more smut #why was that the first place my brain went #I feel better at least knowing it's not their first time together #that would be way more messed up #actually I just remembered #my first idea wasn't smut #it was just tragedy being super flirty with astarion #which devolved into smut by the time I started writing

[loonymarshian]

Something I love about confronting Cazador is how he obviously never processes that Astarion has friends until it's too late.

Petras and Dalyria must have mentioned that Astarion wasn't alone when they met him, but when you read Cazador's journal? He's 100% fixated on Astarion. How Astarion stood in the sun, how Astarion was willing and able to disobey him. And when Astarion shows up, Cazador barely acknowledges the party at all - and sure, that's partly because this is Astarion's moment in the narrative, but Cazador doesn't so much as ask why these random strangers are there! They're not part of his plans, so they don't exist.

And then they immediately save his errant spawn from the ritual and start beating his ass.

Just. What must have been going through Cazador's head when that fight starting turning against him? 'Is that... the Blade of Frontiers? Why is a monster hunter - and is that a cleric? - helping a vampire spawn? An undead? Ah, but they must be treating it as a necessary evil to have a chance to slay me, of course - hold on, why is the cleric healing Astarion? Why does that wizard keep Counterspelling everything I'm casting at Astarion, why waste the spells when I'm not even targeting him? Did... did that druid just cast Daylight on Astarion's weapons? And that brute of a tiefling - that's not just disgust in her eye when she looks at me, it's fury - and she keeps putting herself in front of Astarion, why in the hells would she - she's running right at me- '

I hope that one of the last things Cazador ever knew was the choking realisation that Astarion didn't just come back strong, or free. Astarion came back loved.

#loved is godsdamned RIGHT #karlach with her crazy barbarian speed got astarion out of that ritual immediately #shadowheart cast daylight so cazador couldn't regenerate #tragedy used all her spell slots on counterspell so her love could beat the shit out of his master #i love the cazador fight it's so cathartic

[loonymarshian]

Oath

Day 13 of #BG3FicFeb - "NPC shows up at camp unexpectedly" Alfira shows up at camp asking to join the cause, but Bhaal has other plans for her...

I'm introducing ya'll to my Durge today! Nightshade is a wood elf oath of vengeance paladin who is trying really really hard to resist her dark urges. She is also romancing Astarion, so unfortunately there will be no Tragedy and Nightshade crossovers.

890 words, named Durge, Alfira, tw: lots of blood and graphic descriptions of injuries, death, panic attacks, nightmares.

“Alfira?”

Dread settled itself in Nightshade’s gut. Alfira was a welcome surprise, the colourful tiefling bard a ray of sunshine compared to many of the wood elf’s travelling companions. But there was something about this visit that unnerved her, and she didn’t know why.

“Nightshade! I’m glad I caught you, I wasn’t sure how long you’d stick around. I was hoping…” The bard trailed off, nervous, or trying to find the right words perhaps. “I was hoping you’d let me join you.”

Nightshade’s eyebrows shot up, her dark red eyes wide in shock. Join me? The wood elf ran her fingers through her dark hair to hide the slight tremor that was beginning to develop in them. She ought to be delighted that Alfira wanted to join her merry band, so why did she feel so anxious?

“Join me? Why? What I do is dangerous, Alfira, you could get hurt.” Nightshade didn’t think she would be able to dissuade Alfira so easily, but she had to try.

“I know. But you inspired me. I want to help, to fight, to protect my people. To avenge Lihala. I’m good for more than just a pretty song you know, I can handle it.” Alfira’s fiery orange eyes shone with determination, and Nightshade’s own resolve crumbled. Alfira deserved a chance to at least cut down a few gnolls, for her mentor’s sake. The pursuit of vengeance was the one thing Nightshade couldn’t deny to another.

“Alright then, welcome to the team, Alfira. Find yourself a spot and get settled.”

The rest of the evening passed by in merriment. Alfira was a wonderfully skilled bard, and for the first time since they’d all fallen off the nautiloid, Nightshade and her companions spent the evening all around the fire together, talking and laughing and listening to Alfira play. The tiefling would make a good addition to the team, especially if she was capable of keeping them all in good spirits like this. Morale was just as important as combat skills after all. For the first time she could remember, Nightshade went to bed happy that night.

It did not last.

Nightshade’s dreams were a kaleidoscope of murder. Sprays of blood, flashes of sharp silver, the occasional glimpse of brightly coloured fabrics. There were no clear images, just blood, blood… blood. Nightshade’s eyes snapped open, her skin damp with cold sweat, her heart fluttering in her chest, and… a maniacal grin on her face? She shook the expression off, and realised she was standing. Standing? Why am I-

Blood. Nightshade glanced down and noticed a mangled corpse on the ground in front of her, the body ripped to shreds, barely recognisable. It was Alfira. The tiefling’s blood had been spread around the corpse in an image resembling a spell circle or a ritual symbol. Countless stab wounds decorated Alfira’s lifeless body, her colourful bard garb stained red. Her clothing looked like it had been torn before the stabbing started, strands of her hair had been ripped out and littered the ground around her head, and one of her horns had a large chunk carved out of it. Her face had been slashed to pieces, her eyes, still open, just bloody pools where such lively black and orange had been just a few hours earlier. Her mouth had been sliced from the corners, giving her a terrifying wide smile, her back teeth on full display. Runes and symbols similar to the large circle on the ground were carved sloppily into her forehead and cheeks. If it weren’t for the horns and the colourful clothing, the corpse would have been entirely unidentifiable.

Nightshade’s heart beat faster and her breathing became laboured. She slowly looked down at her hands, dreading what she would find there. As she expected, her hands were completely drenched in the tiefling’s blood. Her lightly tanned skin, patched with pale vitiligo, faded away into nothing but red below the wrists. I did this. The wood elf panicked. Her limbs shook and tingled with numbness. Her chest was tight and she couldn’t breathe. She collapsed, landing on her bedroll and curling herself into a ball. I did this, I did this, I murdered Alfira, oh gods what will I tell the others, will they attack me, I probably deserve it, I’m a monster I’m a monster I’m a monster. Her hands were in her hair, threatening to rip it out, blood tinting the short strands even redder than they already were. 

There was nothing Nightshade could do but wait for the sun to rise, blood on her hands, trying not to hyperventilate and failing miserably. At some point she realised her face was wet with tears, but she didn’t know when she’d started crying. All she knew was that she was a murderer, that the dark thoughts she’d been having since she woke up on the nautiloid had somehow taken over. 

As the sun rose, and she finally got her breathing under control, the paladin steeled herself with determination, and swore her oath. It was an oath she had no memory of swearing, but she knew in her heart that she had sworn it before. She would find whoever or whatever had made her like this. She would find them, and she would destroy them. She would be a slave to these dark urges no longer.

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3ficfeb #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 dark urge #bg3 durge #I hated this scene in the game #I knew it was coming but I was still so upset #Alfira is my favourite #why did it have to be her #I hope you guys like Nightshade

[loonymarshian]

Healing

Day 11 of #BG3FicFeb - "bandaging/healing each other's wounds" Astarion patches up a deep cut on Tragedy's shoulder, and the couple talk about their plans for the next day. (Cazador~)

This might be my favourite so far! Cute and wholesome, but also angsty as heck.

1082 words, named Tav x Astarion, tw: needles, blood, vague mentions of abuse.

“Ah-” Tragedy hissed a breath in through her teeth as a burning, stinging pain shot down her arm.

“Hold still would you?” Astarion chided, an alcohol-soaked cloth in his hand, trying to clean a deep wound Tragedy had acquired on her left shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry. But fuck that hurts.”

The pink tiefling sat cross-legged on her bed in the Elfsong Tavern. Her tail lay curled around her, the tip hanging over the edge of the mattress and swaying restlessly. Astarion was also sitting on the bed, one leg crossed beneath him against Tragedy’s side, the other foot resting on the floor. A simple first aid kit lay open next to him. The necromancer wasn’t accustomed to dealing with wounds this severe - she was a spellcaster, not a fighter, she knew to keep a distance from the melee, and usually made it out of a fight unscathed. But she hadn’t been given the option tonight.

Tonight, the whole camp had been woken up in the middle of the night by more of Astarion’s “siblings” paying a surprise visit. Tragedy and Astarion had done their best to talk them down, into either leaving or agreeing to help them, but Cazador’s hold over them was too strong, and a fight had broken out. The necromancer hadn’t had a chance to distance herself from the melee, and one of the vampires had gotten a good slash in before retreating. Shadowheart had taken a few hits too, and was out of power for the day, so she’d been unable to heal Tragedy before returning to bed. Thus, Astarion, first aid. The vampire was skilled with a needle, and Tragedy trusted him with her body more than she’d trust the rest of her companions, besides Shadowheart.

Astarion continued to dab delicately at her shoulder, the pain causing the tiefling to wince and breathe through her clenched teeth, but she did her best to stay still. Her tail flicked agitatedly with each dab of the cloth, but her body didn’t move - Astarion’s gentle hand on her arm helped with that.

“Hey, Astarion?” Tragedy’s eyes were trained on her hands in her lap, nervous about the conversation she was starting. “Why did you lie to them? That ritual will kill them, you know that.” She glanced over at her lover, but he didn’t meet her eyes. His gaze was firmly focussed on his task.

“They don’t need to know that. Better to think they stand a chance, it will make them all the more willing to aid me. Then, I can take the ritual for myself.” The vampire’s red eyes were hard, determined. It made Tragedy nervous.

“... Are you really going to go through with it? Are you prepared to sacrifice them all? They’re still your family, fucked up family though it may be- ah!”

Tragedy let out a small cry of pain as Astarion pressed harder with the cloth. His brief anger softened when he realised he was hurting her, and his touch was gentle once more, but there was still a sharp edge to his voice when he spoke.

“It’s not like they’re good people, Tragedy. They’ve lured just as many victims back for Cazador as I have. The city will be better off without them.” Astarion finished cleaning Tragedy’s wound, and began rummaging in the first aid kit for a needle and thread, being careful to sanitise them both with more alcohol before bringing them to her shoulder.

“But you’ve been given a chance to redeem yourself, surely they deserve the same? If we just kill Cazador, maybe they could do something good with their freedom.” Tragedy’s hands were weaving around each other nervously in her lap. She knew it was a bad idea to ask all this while Astarion had a needle aimed at her shoulder, but she felt it needed to be said, and this might be her last chance.

Astarion laughed, a cold, disbelieving laugh as he plunged the needle into Tragedy’s flesh, causing her to wince in pain and bite her tongue to keep from crying out. “Darling, I highly doubt my siblings would be interested in anything you’d consider ‘good’.” His hands made easy work of her cut, deftly sewing the skin back together with neat, even stitches. “No, they’ll be much more useful for ascending me, for granting me my freedom.”

This attitude scared Tragedy. She knew Astarion was capable of good. She knew ascending using Cazador’s ritual wouldn’t free him, it would only trap him in the cycle of abuse he was trying to break himself out of. But he was scared, and he was refusing to listen to her pleas, because at that moment, he truly believed the only way he could be safe and happy was if he was so powerful that no one could ever hurt him again.

“I just… I worry that this isn’t the right choice. Morally or personally.”

“You want me to be happy, don’t you, love?” Astarion paused his sewing for a moment, his fingers leaving some of Tragedy’s own blood on her chin as he turned her head to meet his gaze. The fear he was trying to hide was clear in his eyes, but it was also accompanied by a pleading sadness.

“I- yes. I do.” Tragedy dropped her gaze, not wanting her lover to see the doubt in her eyes. There was no getting through to him right now. She just hoped she would be able to convince him when the moment came.

“Then help me. This ritual will make me happy, I promise.” Astarion let go of her chin, using his sleeve to wipe away the blood he’d left there. Tragedy was silent as she allowed Astarion to finish stitching up her wound, both relieved and disappointed when he started packing up the first aid kit and lifted himself from her mattress.

“Alright, you’re all patched up. Take a healing potion before you go to sleep, and you should be good as new in the morning. Goodnight, love.” Astarion leaned down to give Tragedy a quick kiss and a reassuring smile. She returned the smile with a forced one of her own, before downing a potion and settling down to rest.

Dreading the events of the next day, when they were to face down Cazador once and for all, Tragedy fell into a restless sleep. Her dreams were filled with glowing red eyes, glistening white fangs, and blood. So much blood. She would not get much quality rest tonight.

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3ficfeb #bg3 tav #astarion/tav #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #angst #cazador szarr #it always hurts to see astarion in act 3 before you kill cazador #he shows such sweet vulnerability in act 2 #and then suddenly all he cares about is this ritual #and he wont listen when you tell him its wrong #but he KNOWS its wrong #hes just too scared to hear it #UGH i love astarion so much

[loonymarshian]

We'll Make It

Day 10 of #BG3FicFeb - "A tearful, hard kiss before battle" Tragedy's allies are gathered. The Netherbrain awaits. She is scared.

Just a short one today! I didn't put much effort into it tbh, but it's still a cute little Star-Crossed moment.

This was it then. The final battle. All of Tragedy’s friends and allies were gathered here, in High Hall, waiting to support her as she faced down the Netherbrain once and for all. Tragedy’s eyes were misty as she took in all the faces around her, all these people who supported her, some of whom she’d come to think of as family. She made her rounds, thanking each person for their support, encouraging them for the fight ahead. When she reached Shadowheart, she gave the cleric the biggest hug she could muster, honoured to be fighting alongside her new best friend.

Tragedy saved the best til last. Astarion had posted himself up in the corner, watching his lover with a proud smile. He opened his arms as she approached, and she threw herself into them gratefully, her face buried in his chest for a moment, breathing in his familiar scent of rosemary and brandy. This would be their last chance for a semblance of peace until the battle was over, and she intended to savour it. When she’d had her fill, she let out a deep breath and looked up to the face of the man she loved, searching his eyes for reassurance.

“Astarion… I’m scared. Everything we’ve done together, it’s all been leading up to this. What if… what if I lose you? What if you lose me? I have ultimate faith in the people gathered here, I know we can win. But what if the cost is more than I was willing to pay?” The tiefling’s demonic purple eyes filled with tears as she finally allowed herself one last moment of vulnerability before the battle ahead.

Gentle hands rested themselves on her face and neck as Astarion stooped down to eye level with Tragedy. “You won’t lose me. We’ll have Shadowheart with us, she’ll never let us fall. We’re going to be okay, my love. I promise.”

Tragedy nodded, a small smile breaking through her tear-streaked face. Astarion took her face in both hands and kissed her fiercely. It was a hard, desperate kiss, laced with all his love and determination, and the fear he refused to show on the surface. The tiefling returned the kiss with equal fervour, tears still flowing down her cheeks, flavouring the kiss with salt. When they finally broke apart, Astarion’s eyes shone with tears as well, not breaking the barrier of his waterline, but there all the same. He touched his forehead to Tragedy’s, and whispered one final sentence before they needed to rally the troops and go to war.

“We’ll make it together. I swear.”

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3ficfeb #bg3 tav #astarion/tav #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #soft astarion #tragedy died in that fight my first playthrough #thank the gods withers can just poof them back at that point #could you imagine dying in that fight and then your tav just isn't there for the ending #what a bummer that would be #she's gonna do better the second time #yes i am playing the same character twice what of it

[loonymarshian]

Pain and Pleasure ❗NSFW❗

Day 9 of #BG3FicFeb - "Meeting Abdirak/First Time" Tragedy takes part in a strange Loviatar ritual, and Astarion propositions her immediately afterwards.

I decided to combine two prompts for this, and the length reflects that - she looooooong 😅 I've also never written smut before, and being an asexual who hasn't read smut in a while... I struggled. Hopefully it's not too terrible, I didn't have the energy to proof-read this one.

Tragedy missed fresh air. The air in this temple was stale, and smelled like goblins. The barbaric little creatures weren’t exactly known for their hygiene, and the tiefling had taken to casting prestidigitation in front of her face every few minutes, flooding her nostrils with a strong scent of lavender. At this point, she was beginning to question why she was there. She knew why, of course. Save Halsin, find the Nightsong, rescue Volo… but gods above, all she wanted right now was fresh air.

Tragedy and her companions had just finished “torturing” (freeing) one of Aradin’s adventurers, and could see two more openings along the same side of the temple. Ever diligent, the wizard was determined to check out each space, to ensure nothing was missed. She could not have prepared herself for what she would find when she rounded the corner into the second room.

A human man stood at the far end of the room, facing the wall. His body was covered in scars and fresh wounds. His decorative armour appeared to just be a pair of chitinous pauldrons, connected across his back by thin strips of iron. His only other clothing was a set of robe-like skirts in dark colours, a simple pair of boots visible beneath. The floor beneath him was drenched in blood. Tragedy wasn’t immediately sure how fresh it was, but a quick glance back at her vampiric companion told her it was quite fresh. Astarion’s eyes were dark with hunger, and he kept running his tongue across his pointed fangs, the smell of fresh blood much stronger to his nose than hers. There were also two goblins in the corner, watching the man by the wall, but Tragedy ignored them.

A book sat open on a table to Tragedy’s right, and she took a moment to scan the pages, unable to rein in her curiosity. It was a book of rituals for worshipping Loviatar, goddess of pain. Whipping, slicing, bludgeoning, stabbing… what weapons to use, how to prepare them, which areas of a humanoid’s anatomy to avoid so you didn’t accidentally kill them… the tome went into great detail. Now Tragedy understood why the man by the wall had so many scars - he was a priest of Loviatar. Injuring himself was the greatest form of worship for his goddess.

Her curiosity sated, Tragedy finally stepped up to the priest, curious about the strange man. Surely it couldn’t hurt to talk, she thought. She tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention and stepped back to give him room to turn around. When he did, Tragedy had to suppress a gasp. His front was infinitely more scarred than his back. There were a plethora of healed slashes across his face, and his whole body was littered with cuts and bruises, many of them fresh. Now that she was closer, Tragedy could smell the blood as well. She could only imagine how strong the scent must be to Astarion.

The scarred man seemed surprised at the sight of non-goblinoids in the temple. “Greetings, child,” he said, scanning the tiefling in front of him. “I’ve not met anyone other than goblins in this place. Are you here to assist with the prisoner as well?”

“Oh, no, I’m just here for a meeting with the leaders. I’m not particularly skilled in the art of… persuasion.” The idea of torturing information out of someone made Tragedy sick. “But it seems they made a smart decision, employing a follower of Loviatar for the job.”

“Yes.” The single syllable was dragged out, the scarred man’s displeasure apparent. “These goblins have a rather… primitive idea of pain. They do not possess the care and artistry that the Maiden of Pain expects.”

The scarred man raked his eyes across Tragedy’s form once more, a smile slowly forming on his face as he took in her soft pink skin. “Now, what would you say to receiving the Maiden’s blessing yourself? There is much we can learn about oneself through pain, and I am more than happy to act as teacher.”

Tragedy froze, unsure of how to respond. She could almost feel Astarion’s gaze upon her, and she turned to meet his eyes. The hunger she saw in them made her breath catch, and her heart rate sped up, causing a light blush to bloom on her cheeks.

“Don’t you dare say no. I simply must see this.” The vampire’s voice was playful, teasing, but there was a subtle undercurrent of desire that Tragedy couldn’t ignore.

Taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart, Tragedy turned back to the scarred man. “Sure, why not. I read your book, by the way. I was hoping I might request the mace.”

“Perfect, go and face the wall and we can begin.” The priest responded, his eyes alight with excitement as he selected his weapon, a heavy mace meant for bruising and bone-breaking, rather than drawing blood. “And might I add, the experience is rather improved if you remove any obstructive garments. You are not obligated to do so, but I highly recommend it.”

The tiefling’s cheeks burned brighter, the blush spreading to her ears as she reached for the laces of her dress. She heard Astarion’s sharp intake of breath as the dark fabric slipped from her shoulders and landed in a pile on the floor. Now naked, save for her lacy black underwear, Tragedy stepped forward to face the wall, too embarrassed to look back at her companions. She tried to brace herself, but when the first strike came, the tiefling was unable to hold back her cry of pain. Heat bloomed where the mace had hit her, blood rushing to the area to begin the formation of a bruise. The necromancer was surprised to find that her back wasn’t the only area that warmed at the sensation.

“Did you know she’d be into this kind of thing when you agreed to travel with her, Astarion?” Shadowheart’s voice rang out from behind, providing commentary on Tragedy’s experience.

Astarion’s voice was husky with desire when he responded. “No, but I had hoped.”

He hoped, huh? Tragedy felt herself shiver at Astarion’s words. It disturbed her a little how much she was actually enjoying herself. She could think of a few things she’d let Astarion to do her, if he wanted to. And it definitely sounded like he wanted to. She was vaguely aware of the scarred priest saying something about the joys of pain, but by that point, the necromancer’s mind was elsewhere entirely.

Crack!

The mace connected with Tragedy’s bare flesh a second time, and again her voice escaped her lips unbidden. A cry of pain, followed by weak whimpers of pleasure. Fuzzy images of Astarion licking her blood off a weapon flickered in her mind as the sensations overwhelmed her.

Crack!

Another hit. Another pained cry tinged with pleasure. Tragedy was panting, the flesh of her back burning, the heat in her loins burning, her tail curling in on itself over and over again. Her knees gave out from under her, and she collapsed to a seated position on the ground. The scarred priest was still talking, but Tragedy wasn’t listening, though she did take his hand when offered, allowing him to help her to her feet. He seemed impressed with her performance, and took a moment to bestow upon her a blessing from his goddess, the lady of pain herself.

The necromancer thanked the scarred man for the blessing, and stumbled over to where her dress lay abandoned on the ground. She started to put it back on, but the experience had left her weak and shaky, and she found herself struggling with the laces, until cold hands nudged hers out of the way, and began to lace the dress for her. As he did so, his delicate hands tying the ends into a neat bow, Astarion leaned forward to whisper in the tiefling’s ear seductively.

“That was a marvelous performance, darling. Truly breathtaking.” 

The vampire’s hot breath tickled Tragedy’s neck as he spoke, causing goosebumps to spring up all along her arms. She spun around to look him in the eyes. There was hardly any red left in them. Astarion’s eyes were so darkened with lust that they looked almost black, and Tragedy was sure hers must’ve been the same.

Their faces still only inches apart, Astarion continued in a low purr. “I think it’s about time we take a night to ourselves, don’t you agree? I know you want this. I could feel it, when I was getting lost in your neck. Your little shakes of excitement. And after that lovely little performance, well…” the vampire positioned his lips next to Tragedy’s ear once more. “How can I resist?”

Shivers coursed through the tiefling’s spine. “What did you have in mind?”

“Tonight, when the others are asleep, meet me in the clearing, out in the woods. I’ll show you a night you’ll never forget.” Not intent on giving her a chance to respond, Astarion took Tragedy’s hand in a manner most gentlemanly. “I’ll see you there, lover.” The vampire dropped a kiss on the tiefling’s knuckles, then sauntered away to where Shadowheart and the others stood waiting.

Finally realising where she was, and who was watching, Tragedy turned bright red with embarrassment. She hurried to follow Astarion and catch up with their companions. When she caught Shadowheart’s gaze, the cleric put on her best smirk, and the necromancer buried her face in her hands, trailing behind the others as she attempted to regain her composure.

It was going to be a long day, but she was very much looking forward to the night.

~o~

The camp was silent. Astarion had disappeared nearly an hour ago - no one ever seemed to question it when Astarion disappeared, so the only indication he gave was a quick wink to Tragedy as he wandered off into the forest. The tiefling had been restless all evening, waiting for her companions to fall asleep as her heart raced in her chest, her nervous energy barely contained. It took longer than she’d hoped, but finally, Karlach’s snores started to echo through the silence.

As quietly as she could, Tragedy extracted herself from her bedroll and tiptoed towards the forest, careful not to snap any twigs or alert Scratch to her presence. Once she reached the treeline, she allowed herself to walk normally. The cool night air was soothing in her lungs as she took deep breaths to calm her nerves.

This wasn’t her first time, of course. Tragedy was an attractive young tiefling, she’d had plenty of sexual encounters. But there was something about Astarion in particular that made her heart race and her breath catch. Obviously he was a very attractive man, but this felt different to Tragedy. Maybe it was because she was a necromancer, and Astarion was undead. It certainly made for an interesting match. She didn’t think that was all though. Regardless, she’d been enraptured by the vampire since the moment they met, and to finally have confirmation that he saw her in a similar way… it was intoxicating, and incredibly nerve wracking. Now that she knew there was something there, she was all the more worried about fucking it up.

It didn’t take long for Tragedy’s feet to carry her to a familiar clearing in the forest, where just a few nights ago she had taught Astarion how to channel the Weave. She’d since noticed him utilising his new magical abilities, both in and out of battle, and he was already very good. Tonight, however, would be an entirely different kind of lesson. But where the Hells was Astarion?

The tiefling paced the clearing nervously, throwing her gaze beyond the border of trees trying to find the vampire. For a moment, she almost thought he’d tricked her, stood her up. But then, his pale form emerged from behind one of the trees, his shirt already missing, his hair glowing in the moonlight. Gods, he was beautiful. He stepped towards her slowly, his gaze running the length of her body, drinking in the sight of her.

“There you are,” Astarion purred, breaking the silence. “I’ve been waiting. Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting… to have you.”

Finally in the moment, Tragedy’s nerves dissolved. She plastered on a cheeky grin, and replied. “You don’t have me yet.”

“Don’t I? You’re here, and I don’t think you want to talk.” The rogue’s eyes had made their way up to Tragedy’s horns, and his hand rose to trace the shape of them, never quite touching. “I think you want to be known,” his eyes drifted back down to meet the tiefling’s, white and blood red meeting black and bright purple. “To be tasted.”

Tragedy stopped resisting her urge to get her hands on Astarion, walking two fingers up the firm flesh of his chest. “And what do you want?”

The playful spark in Astarion’s eyes dimmed ever so slightly. “What does anyone want? Pleasure. Yours, mine. Our collective ecstasy.” The vampire’s confidence seemed to wane then. His expression was unsure as he continued to speak. “That's what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me.”

Suddenly, Tragedy wasn’t so sure anymore. Earlier that day, she’d been so overcome with lust thanks to the Loviatar priest’s ritual, that she’d been eager for a chance to bed Astarion. But now, moments away from that fantasy becoming reality, she wavered. Not because she wanted it any less, she definitely did, but rather, because it didn’t seem like he did.

“Well, yes, but-”

Astarion didn’t let her finish. He heard yes, and seemed unwilling to listen to anything else. Tragedy got the feeling it was because he was scared of where the conversation might turn if he let her continue. 

Before she even had a chance to react, Astarion’s lips were on hers, his hands on her back, caressing the tender skin riddled with dark bruises from the day’s activities. The tiefling tried to focus, but it seemed all rational thought drifted away the moment their lips met. She’d been waiting for this too, after all. She lost herself in his touch, allowing him to remove all her clothing without a fight. He took his time, brushing his knuckles along her skin every chance he got. When he got to the waistband of her trousers, his fingers fluttered across the ridges on her hips, and Tragedy shuddered. She was sensitive there, and Astarion smirked, the location of one of her weak spots noted.

Fully exposed before her new lover, Tragedy stood by as Astarion removed his own trousers and underwear at last. He was as beautiful as ever, and the tiefling couldn’t wait to explore every inch of him. She practically threw herself at him when he was done, her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands tangled in his hair as she reconnected their lips in earnest.

Tragedy cried out, the bruises on her back burning anew. Astarion had walked her backwards into a tree, and had not been gentle about it. She didn’t mind. She settled her weight into the rough bark as Astarion adjusted his grip on her ass, getting himself into position. She nodded down at him, and he smiled, catching her mouth with his own as he thrust into her, eliciting a loud moan from the tiefling that was muffled by their locked lips. The tree was rough on her back, and each thrust pressed on her bruises, but it only added to the experience. The pain mixed with pleasure until Tragedy’s mind went blank, her head thrown back, screams and moans echoing through the silence of the forest.

Drowning in bliss, Tragedy glanced down to meet Astarion’s eyes, and was unceremoniously ripped back to her senses. His gaze looked a million miles away, but the second he noticed her looking, he plastered a smile right back on, his thrusts never having slowed or his technique ever having lacked. Tragedy tried to ignore the gnawing feeling in her gut that said this was wrong, but it wasn’t working. The blissful moment was lost. Yet somehow she knew, if she tried to stop this now, Astarion would lock her out of his heart forever. So she did the one thing she thought might allow him to actually enjoy this night - she offered him her neck.

Astarion had mentioned, the morning after she discovered he was a vampire, that Tragedy was the first humanoid he’d ever tasted. That prior to that night, all he’d ever been allowed to eat were the dead rats fed to him by his master, Cazador, and the wildlife he had been hunting in this very forest since his escape. He hadn’t gone into detail, but he’d also mentioned that he’d been luring victims back to his master for centuries - perhaps that was why he seemed so distant during sex. If Tragedy could provide him with a new experience, something he’d never done before… maybe, just maybe, he could enjoy himself too.

Forcing a playful smile onto her face, Tragedy pushed herself off the tree behind her, forcing Astarion onto his back in the grass. She leaned down to give him a kiss before rolling him on top, her smooth pink neck plainly on display, begging for Astarion’s fangs to break that perfect skin. For a moment, the vampire seemed unsure, but Tragedy grinned up at him and stretched her neck a little further, inviting him in. Delaying no longer, Astarion’s fangs stabbed into the tiefling’s neck.

Pain gave way to numbness, which then gave way to overwhelming pleasure as Astarion once again thrust himself into Tragedy’s waiting sex. The tiefling cried out in ecstasy, her mind instantly wiped as Astarion filled her and drained her all at once. His hands made their way down to her hips, roughly gripping the sensitive ridges, eliciting louder and louder moans as the necromancer lost herself in climax.

Astarion followed soon after, extracting his fangs from Tragedy’s neck and catching her lips instead as his thrusts quickened in pace. Being undead, there was no risk of pregnancy, so neither party tried to stop it as the vampire emptied his seed within her.

Dizzy from blood loss and bliss, Tragedy was half-asleep from the moment Astarion pulled out. He rolled himself off her, and she settled comfortably against him, her head on his chest, her arms, legs and tail all wrapped around him. Dozing off, the tiefling mumbled quietly against the vampire’s chest.

“I hope you were able to enjoy yourself…” Then moments later, she was fast asleep.

Astarion looked down at the sleeping necromancer in his arms, eyes wide. For the first time in nearly 200 years, he actually had enjoyed himself. With his fangs in her neck, he’d been able to forget his trauma, just for a moment. Maybe there was something more to this girl than just a pretty face and powerful magic…

#nsfw #smut #bg3 fanfiction #bg3ficfeb #bg3 tav #astarion/tav #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #this took me so long #I was STRUGGLING #it's not easy to write smut when you have no personal experience #it's kinda mild in the end tbh #hope it turned out okay #don't think i'll be doing more smut for this challenge though #tragedy has proficiency in insight btw #hopefully i didn't fuck up with the depiction of astarion's trauma #please tell me if i did and i'll fix it

[loonymarshian]

Always By Your Side

Day 8 of #BG3FicFeb - "It will be okay as long as we're together" A bit of a re-write of the end of the game, Astarion struggles as he is finally forced to confront the rest of his life in the shadows, but he doesn't have to do it alone.

Sorry ya'll, I skipped day 7, was struggling to come up with any inspiration from the prompt. Also, don't worry, part 2 of the day 6 prompt is coming, I've just decided to put it on the backburner a bit so I can focus on the daily prompts more.

The adventure was over, the netherbrain defeated. Tragedy and her companions had destroyed the tadpoles that had infected their minds all this time, and been named the Heroes of Baldur’s Gate. But this was not a wholly happy ending. After the brain’s defeat, the party had gathered on the docks to watch the sunrise. They’d forgotten, for a moment, that one of them was no longer welcome in the light of day. As the sun rose over the horizon, Astarion had begun to burn, the tadpole no longer protecting him from the curses of his vampiric nature. He’d run for cover, but just as Tragedy had been about to rush after him, Karlach had collapsed, her engine finally reaching its limits. The necromancer had been forced to remain behind, to convince Karlach to return to Avernus with Wyll. Her fellow tiefling had been through too much, was loved too much, for her to die now. But through all that, Tragedy’s mind was flooded with anxiety for her love. She couldn’t bear to leave him alone out there, but convincing Karlach to live had been far more urgent than following the vampire.

As soon as she had safely seen Wyll and Karlach off, Tragedy rushed off on her own, not even taking the time to say goodbye to her remaining companions. She knew they would understand. The only thing that mattered to her was finding Astarion as she ran around the docks, praying to every god who might be listening that he had found somewhere safe to hide. The tiefling’s heart didn’t slow until she finally spotted the vampire’s familiar white hair, his form huddled in the shadows cast by a large stack of crates.

Astarion had made himself as small as possible. His face was buried in his knees, his arms wrapped around his shins. Even from 20 feet away, Tragedy could see him shaking. Tears sprang to the necromancer’s eyes as she rushed over to the man she loved. Wordlessly, she sat down beside him and pulled him into her arms, encouraging him to cry on her shoulder instead. He did so without a fight, leaning his full weight into her side as his form shuddered with sobs. Tragedy didn’t know how long they sat there before Astarion exhausted himself.

“I thought I would be okay.” Astarion’s voice was quiet and hoarse as he mumbled into his lover’s chest. “I thought I was prepared to lose the sun. I didn’t realise it would be so hard. I’m sorry.”

Tragedy held Astarion tighter, her cheek resting on the top of his head. “Don’t be sorry, love. Of course this is hard. But I’m here. You don’t have to face this alone.”

The sun had fully risen by now, and it was starting to encroach on the shadows the couple occupied. Thankfully, Tragedy was pretty sure she still had enough energy left to cast Dimension Door. All she needed was to find a safe space they could move to within the spell’s range. Glancing up, she spotted the bow of a ship jutting over the docks. The Blushing Mermaid. They should be safe there for the rest of the day, especially if Captain Grisly was willing to let them hide in Ethel’s lair.

“Hey, Astarion? I’m going to cast Dimension Door to take us to the ‘Maid, okay? We can’t stay here.”

At that, the vampire finally pulled away from Tragedy’s embrace, glancing up at the tavern above, and the shadows surrounding them, noticeably smaller than they had been when he’d arrived. He reached up to wipe away his tears, then took his lover’s hand and nodded, ready.

Pulling Astarion to his feet with her, Tragedy closed her eyes and conjured an image in her mind of the interior of the Blushing Mermaid, specifically the main upstairs space where the curtains were always drawn so there was no risk of landing in a patch of sunlight. She whispered the verbal component of the spell, and felt as the Weave wrapped around her and her love, blanketing them in darkness for a moment before they found themselves within the dark interior of the Blushing Mermaid. The tiefling made sure Astarion was comfortably situated at a table in the darkest corner of the room, before hurrying downstairs to get drinks. If there were ever a time for day-drinking, she figured, it was now.

~o~

A bottle of wine later, Astarion seemed much more himself. The ‘Maid was never empty, even at noon, and the rogue had started distracting himself by making snide comments about the rest of the patrons. Tragedy was joining in of course, partly because it seemed to be keeping Astarion in good spirits for the moment, but she had to admit, people-watching like this was entertaining. It wasn’t until a gnome walked into the room wearing a hideous red beret that did not at all match his purple attire, and Astarion didn’t respond to her pointing it out, that Tragedy realised he had slipped into melancholy once more.

The tiefling reached across the table to hold her lover’s hand, both their wine glasses abandoned.

“Is everything okay, love?” She squeezed Astarion’s hand in her grip reassuringly, wanting to remind him that he wasn’t alone, and she was here to listen.

Astarion met Tragedy’s eyes just briefly, a fake smile plastered on his face. “Just thinking about what comes next. Do you have any plans?”

The question confused Tragedy. The way he asked made it sound like he thought their plans for the future wouldn’t involve each other. She hadn’t really thought about what she wanted to do with the rest of her life, but she did know one thing - whatever life was going to bring, she wanted to share it with this man. They’d gone through so much together in such a short time, grown together in ways she never would have expected. She loved him, and she would do anything to make him sure of that.

“I suppose we’ll have to start looking for a way for you to walk in the sun again,” she said, full of confidence. She may not have been a powerful enough wizard to attract the attention of Mystra herself, but that didn’t mean she was without power and skill. If there was any magic out there that could cure vampirism, or grant a vampire immunity to the sun’s rays, she would find it. And if there wasn’t anything for that specifically, she would dedicate the rest of her life to mastering Wish, a legendary spell that could grant an arcane caster anything they Wished for.

The declaration seemed to stun Astarion, his eyes wide and his body frozen. It took him a moment to thaw out, but when he did, his insecurity was painted clearly across his face. By now, Tragedy was pretty sure she understood what was going on in his mind. For 200 years, Astarion had been abused, his body used as a tool over and over again to lure victims back for his master, Cazador. He’d never known real love, romantic or otherwise. So, now that the tadpoles were gone and there was no outside influence keeping them together, Astarion was half-convinced that she would want to leave him.

“Really?” His question came out in a whisper at first, before he cleared his throat and continued at a higher volume. “Are you sure? Is this,” the vampire gestured between them with his free hand, “what you want?”

“It is. Whatever we’ll face in our futures, I want to face it together. I love you, Astarion.” Tragedy gripped his hand tighter, trying to infuse all her love and conviction into that one touch, this one look.

Astarion finally relaxed, his expression softening into a relieved smile at her response. “Good. Because, selfless as I am, I really didn’t want to let you go.”

Reaching over the small table with his free hand, Astarion cupped Tragedy’s cheek and pulled her into a sweet, slow kiss.

This was the end of one adventure, but their lives together had just begun.

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3 tav #bg3ficfeb #astarion/tav #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #ya'll have no idea how much soft astarion means to me #i'll do my best to write some of his signature sass later #but for now you're getting soft astarion because i said so #i wish i could run after astarion at the end #it makes me so sad to see him run off alone #someone get this man a million hugs

[loonymarshian]

Private Lessons, Pt. 1

Day 6 of #BG3FicFeb - "Teaching each other how to do something" Tragedy asks Astarion for help with her mending again, but this time, he's not doing it for free This one has turned out to be pretty long, and I'm still working on the second part, but I figured there was no harm in sharing the first part before I head to bed!

Tragedy’s dress needed mending again. It had only been two days since the last time she’d attempted to mend her clothing, with horrendous results. This time, the necromancer had no intentions of trying to mend the garment by herself. She volunteered herself for first watch, and when everyone else had fallen asleep, she made her way to Astarion’s tent to ask for help.

“Astarion?” Tragedy called in a low whisper as she pushed the fabric of the rogue’s tent aside. Unsurprisingly, he was still awake, reading a book by soft candlelight. Being an elf, he only needed four hours of meditation to be fully rested, so he was often up late. The only reason he wasn’t keeping watch right now was because Tragedy had volunteered.

The elf’s eyebrows raised in query as the tiefling entered his tent, lifting his gaze from his book to meet her eyes. Tragedy’s fingers wound around each other nervously, and she averted her gaze as she asked her question.

“Um… My dress was torn again at the village today. Could you… teach me how to mend it?” Her eyes flicked back to Astarion’s face as she finished speaking, hopeful.

A little smirk had fixed itself upon the elf’s features as he put his book aside and stood up, stretching. He seemed to have been expecting this. “Sure, why not? But I won’t do it for free this time.”

Tragedy started, not having anticipated him asking for anything in return after the last time he’d helped her. She kicked herself mentally for that though. She’d been shocked by his kindness that first time, she should have expected that it wouldn’t be a regular occurrence. Her cheeks went red as she chided herself, embarrassed by her own naivete.

Amusement sparkled in Astarion’s eyes at her redness. “Ah, but what to ask for, hmm? Gold would be pointless out in this wilderness. And you don’t have any magical items that would be of much use to me.” Astarion tapped his finger on his chin, an exaggerated thoughtful expression on his face. “Oh, I know.”

Tragedy swallowed, nervous. They’d been travelling together for a few days now, but she still had no idea what went on in Astarion’s mind. He could be about to ask for anything.

The elf leaned in to Tragedy’s ear, and her blush deepened, her heart racing at his closeness. “How about you teach me some magic?” 

That had been just about the last thing Tragedy had expected. She pulled away so she could look Astarion in the eyes, her own eyes sparkling with wary excitement at the prospect.

Astarion continued in his usual playful tone, clarifying his request. “I’ll bet you have some fun spells I could find useful, and better to learn from you than… Gale.” He punctuated the final word with a dismissive wave in the direction of Gale’s tent.

Oh, Tragedy definitely had some spells for him. The necromancer was practically vibrating with excitement as she made a mental list of spells and cantrips the rogue might find useful. Minor Illusion would allow him to create better distractions, making it easier for him to sneak about. Charm Person would aid him in talking his way out if he ever got caught. She could even teach him Shield, one of her personal favourite spells, which made it much more difficult for enemies to land a hit on her. Between Astarion’s agility and the Shield spell, he’d be practically untouchable. Oh, and Mage Hand! Mage Hand would be perfect for a rogue - she’d heard of a trick to make it invisible, but she didn’t tend to utilise that particular cantrip so she’d never had a chance to try it herself.

Tragedy was snapped back to reality when she felt Astarion’s hands come to rest on her shoulders. She could feel the low vibrations of his chuckle through his arms as he amused himself with her excitement.

“Alright little wizard, calm down. Seems I’ll be in good hands. But first things first - let’s get that dress of yours fixed, hmm?”

That was all it took for Tragedy to deflate. In all her brainstorming she’d forgotten her initial reason for coming to Astarion’s tent so late at night - sewing lessons. Embarrassed once more, the tiefling nodded at her elven companion, and returned to her bedroll by the fire where her torn dress lay waiting. She plopped herself down cross-legged, and gathered the damaged garment into her lap. A few moments later, Astarion appeared beside her, a worn velvet pouch in hand. Contained within were a small pair of scissors, half a dozen spools of thread in different colours, a little metal box, and two tiny cups made of hammered steel that Tragedy recognised to be thimbles. As the necromancer watched on, Astarion extracted the scissors, the box, the spool of black thread, and one of the thimbles, placing them carefully on the bedroll between them. He then opened the little box to reveal three sewing needles, and added one to his little pile of supplies before returning the box to the pouch and putting it aside.

“You already know how to thread the needle, yes?” Astarion’s voice wasn’t exactly gentle, imbued with his usual sass, but it didn’t have the same edge of impatience that Tragedy had come to expect from the rogue.

Eager to get this over with, (and not embarrass herself in front of Astarion), Tragedy nodded, cutting a length of thread from the spool and carefully threading it through the eye of the needle. When she was done, she looked up at Astarion to get her next instruction, and found his eyes already trained on her face. She quickly returned her eyes to the needle in her hand, the heat on her face spreading to the tips of her pointed ears.

Astarion seemed unphased by Tragedy’s reaction, and continued his instruction. “Now, unfortunately, for the most part sewing is one of those skills that only really improves with practice. For simple mending, there’s not much I can teach you beyond ‘always wear a thimble.’” 

To emphasise his point, the elf picked up the thimble from Tragedy’s bedroll and took her left hand, placing the thimble on her middle finger. “This will make sure you don’t stab yourself a dozen times like you did the other night.”

“Hey, it was only ten times!” Tragedy exclaimed, mildly offended. She should have expected Astarion wouldn’t be a gentle teacher, but despite his ribbing she couldn’t help but feel appreciative that he was still helping her, despite his usual disposition.

The elf shifted closer to Tragedy then, his shoulder pressing against hers as he held out his hand for the needle. The necromancer obliged, placing the needle and thread in his waiting palm. She ignored the thoughts that flooded her mind saying that she could get used to being this close to Astarion, and tried to pay attention to his lesson.

Needle in hand, Astarion lifted the dress from Tragedy’s lap and located the tear in the sleeve. “For mending tears like this, you’ll usually want to use a simple whip stitch.” As he spoke, Astarion demonstrated the stitch, poking the needle through both sides of the tear and pulling through, then plunging the needle in again from the same side he began on, creating small diagonal lines of thread that joined the previously separated sections of fabric.

Tragedy watched in silence as his nimble hands worked, confronted with the juxtaposition between how delicately he handled the needle and thread, and the brutality those same hands were capable of on the battlefield. It was reassuring, knowing there was more to Astarion than the flirtatious sass and violence.

“Here, your turn.” Astarion handed the mending project back to Tragedy, the tear half-closed already by Astarion’s neat whip stitch. The tiefling doubted she would be able to keep her stitches as small and evenly spaced as his, but she was going to try her best.

Thimble still secure on her finger, Tragedy got to work finishing what Astarion had started. As she worked, she was acutely aware of the elf’s shoulder, still touching her own as he kept a watchful eye over the fabric in her hands. With the aid of the thimble, Tragedy was able to sew the rest of the tear closed without stabbing herself even once. Her stitches were definitely not as nice as Astarion’s - they were larger, and unevenly spaced, but they were functional, and she hadn’t injured herself, so that was a win in her book. She stabbed the needle through the fabric one last time so that the remaining length of thread was on the inside of the garment, tied a small knot, and used the tiny scissors to cut off the excess thread.

“Well done.” Astarion’s voice cut through the comfortable silence that had formed as Tragedy worked. “You’re a fast learner. Let me know if you ever pop a seam, maybe I’ll teach you a new stitch to deal with those.” 

Satisfied that his lesson had been a success, the elf gathered his supplies back into the velvet pouch and stood up from the bedroll where they’d been sitting for a good half-hour. Tragedy scrambled to stand as well before he left again.

“Thank you, Astarion. Seriously. I really appreciate this.”

Astarion waved off the thanks with a flippant laugh. “Oh please, this wasn’t free, remember. You’d best get planning, Miss Quron. I’ll be expecting a magic lesson tomorrow night.”

With that, the pale elf disappeared back into his tent, and Tragedy was left to complete her part of the watch alone, her mind swimming with ideas for what she could teach Astarion the next day.

#bg3ficfeb #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion/tav #Tragedy is down so bad for Astarion and she doesn't even know he's a vampire yet #Astarion is taking full advantage of her very obvious crush #he doesn't know it yet but he is going to fall so much harder #I love these two so much

[loonymarshian]

Into the Woods

Day 5 of #BG3FicFeb - "First time seeing companions/LI fight in battle" Tragedy struggles to sleep, her feelings conflicted after her first battle with her new companions.

It was a beautiful night. The moon shone brightly, and the stars glittered in the velvet tapestry that was the Faerunian night sky. Beneath it all, Tragedy Quron lay awake in her bedroll. It was surely past midnight by now, and all her companions had been asleep for quite some time. That made sense of course - they’d fought quite the battle earlier that day, and were rightfully exhausted. Yet Tragedy couldn’t sleep. Her mind kept lingering on the battle from earlier. It had been the first time she’d seen Astarion fight. It was breathtaking. He wielded his twin scimitars with practised ease, his movements taking on a dance-like quality as he slashed his way through goblin after goblin, a dark grin widening on his face each time he was splattered with someone else’s blood.

The sight had both terrified and entranced Tragedy. The rogue was stunningly beautiful when he fought, yet she could also see the joy he took in such extreme violence. But what really scared her was the way she felt about it. She’d always considered herself to be a good person, though there were many who would disagree simply because she studied necromancy. Yet there was something about Astarion’s bloodlust that was alluring to her. 

Sighing, the tiefling gave up on sleep, and climbed out of her bedroll, determined to take a walk in the woods to clear her head. The forest surrounding the Emerald Grove was so full of life during the day, constantly filled with the chatter of birds and small woodland creatures, the sunlight filtering through the leaves creating beautiful patterns on the ground. It was an entirely different experience at night. The woods were silent, save for the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. The moonlight was soft and diffused, the shadows slowly fading in and out as opposed to the sharp edges they had during the day.

Tragedy walked slowly through the fallen leaves and brush underfoot, taking her time to enjoy the crisp night air. It didn’t take long for her to reach a stream, and she stopped on its banks, dipping her hands in the running water and enjoying the cool sensation. But her tranquility didn’t last. A twig snapped somewhere behind her, and Tragedy leapt to her feet, necrotic energy gathering in her palm instinctually. She strained to see what had made the noise, but she could only see in the dark so far, and she was unable to make anything out. The tiefling crept towards the source of the sound, her tail sweeping behind her cautiously as she went. Nothing else made a sound though, and before she knew it, she was back at camp.

Straightening up from her half-crouched position and dispelling the energy she’d gathered, Tragedy shook her head at herself. She’d probably just imagined the sound, she thought, and decided it was time to finally get some sleep. The tiefling crawled back into her bedroll, rolled onto her side, and quickly fell asleep, the walk in the woods having been successful in clearing her head. 

She never noticed that Astarion was not in his tent when she returned.

#bg3ficfeb #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 tav #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #this one seriously got away from me ya'll #this is barely related to the prompt #but it's okay #these fics aren't in chronological order btw

[loonymarshian]

A Good Deed

Day 4 of #BG3FicFeb - "Camp Chores" Tragedy struggles to mend her clothes, and receives help from an unexpected place.

It was another busy night at camp. Everyone mostly kept to themselves as they bustled about with their chores, but some of them worked in pairs and chatted between themselves as they worked. Wyll and Lae’zel had turned out to be excellent hunters, and often went out together in the evenings to shoot rabbits and any other game they could find. Karlach enjoyed gathering firewood, but received frequent reminders to stay away from where Wyll and Lae’zel were hunting due to her inability to keep quiet. Gale was a masterful cook, though Tragedy had no idea where he found all the herbs and spices he put in the stew. Shadowheart and Tragedy usually took care of setting up sleeping areas and sorting their inventory. Astarion would occasionally provide commentary on the work of others, but usually he just lounged about reading a book and refusing to help.

Tonight, Shadowheart had agreed to take inventory by herself, as Tragedy had acquired a tear in her skirt while moving through the forest, and she needed to mend it before the morning. Unfortunately, the necromancer had never been one for sewing - before she left home, her mother had done her mending, and in the city she could just send any garments that needed repairing to a tailor. But there were no mothers or tailors in the wilderness, so Tragedy had been forced to borrow a mending kit from Gale and attempt to fix the tear herself.

When she’d stabbed herself for the tenth time, Tragedy was ready to give up. She placed the needle down carefully in her lap, and pressed her face into her hands, frustrated with her own incompetence. How could something so simple be so difficult?

Someone sat down next to Tragedy on her bedroll, but she didn’t look up at first. Then, she felt her dress being lifted gently off her lap, and she turned her head to see who it was, expecting Gale or Shadowheart. Instead, it was Astarion - the man who loved to make snarky comments while everyone else did the work, had silently picked up her mending and was doing it for her without even a mocking grin. 

Tragedy sat there stunned, staring up at the face of the man she’d come to expect such different behaviour from. She’d never seen him so peaceful, his delicate hands making quick work of the tear in her skirt. He didn’t look back at her even once, his focus entirely on the work in front of him. Tragedy watched the tear practically disappear as the needle pulled black thread through the equally black fabric. It was almost as if the material had never been torn at all. Astarion was good at this.

As she watched him work, Tragedy began to see Astarion in a different light. She noticed almost invisible lines on his shirt where he’d mended it many times before, and when he shifted to get better light from the campfire, she spotted some embroidery on the collar that she’d never seen until now. “Lamentable is the autumn picker content with plums.” The line was unfamiliar to her, but it felt like there was more to it - a piece of a poem, perhaps. It was expertly embroidered, and she wondered why she’d never noticed it before. It was evident now that Astarion was no stranger at all to a needle and thread, but she was still in disbelief that he was helping her.

Astarion finished mending Tragedy’s skirt, tying off the thread with a tiny knot on the inside of the garment where it wouldn’t be visible. He handed it back to her wordlessly, and stood up to go back to his tent.

But the necromancer wasn’t having that - she stood up as well, dress, needle, and thread abandoned on the bedroll. She reached to stop the pale elf, and ended up grabbing his hand. When he turned back around to look at her, she let go, a blush spreading over her face.

“Thank you.” Tragedy spoke in a low tone, bashful.

A gentle, almost sad smile formed on Astarion’s face as he acknowledged her thanks. “Don’t mention it.”

Somehow, Tragedy felt like he really meant he didn’t want her to mention it again. She glanced around and realised that everyone else was already asleep, and likely no one had witnessed Astarion’s good deed. As Astarion turned his back again, Tragedy smiled softly to herself, the blush still warm on her cheeks. He had a reputation to uphold among their other companions, but he’d allowed Tragedy to see a part of him he’d kept hidden until now, a softer side that secretly wanted to help others. She resolved to keep this interaction a secret as he wished, and went to sleep that night with a smile on her face and a warmth in her heart.

#bg3ficfeb #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 tav #astarion/tav #astarion #baldurs gate 3

[loonymarshian]

The Pale Elf

Day 3 of #BG3FicFeb - "First encounter with their love interest" Tragedy meets another new companion, but things don't go as smoothly as she hoped...

Tragedy threw her hands up in frustration as her lockpicks broke. She had been attempting to open a locked chest she and Shadowheart had found near the wreckage of an abandoned cart, but was having no luck. At first, she had attempted to cast Knock, but had found herself unable to gather enough energy for the spell. She was sure she’d spoken the words correctly, yet the Weave refused to bend to her will. She was starting to suspect her lack of magic extended far beyond simply being separated from her grimoire.

Giving up on the chest, she stood up and started brushing herself off, when a distant voice broke through the quiet. It was too faint to make out the words, but it sounded like it was coming from up the hill. With a quick glance to Shadowheart, which was met with a look of recognition and a shrug, Tragedy tossed her the remaining set of thieves’ tools she had found nearby. “I’m going to go check out that noise. See if you can get that open while I’m gone.” 

Shadowheart nodded and got to work while Tragedy made her way towards the source of the voice, leaving the cleric behind to figure out the locked box. As she crested the small hill, Tragedy was met with one of the most beautiful sights she’d seen in her life.

The elf seemed to glow in the bright sunlight. His pale skin and hair shone with the radiance of the moon, looking soft and well cared for. Immediately, the tiefling was overtaken by a desire to run her fingers through that white hair. She shook her head at the thought, and continued to approach. The closer she got, the more details she could make out of the adonis before her. He had angular features, and dark eyes that didn’t seem to be brown or black, but Tragedy couldn’t quite make out the colour yet. His clothes were finely embroidered, in a style that had been popular a few years ago in Baldur’s Gate, but had since gone out of fashion. The elf didn’t strike Tragedy as the type to be behind on the latest fashions, but perhaps he preferred to stand out in a crowd. She could understand that, as she herself tended to dress unconventionally in dark colours and girlish frills.

With Tragedy around 20 feet away, the pale elf started gesturing for her to come closer. His eyes flicked over to her a few times, but he kept his attention primarily on a patch of bushes nearby. His posture was low and steady as he kept watch over the bushes, the way one might approach a nervous animal.

His voice was low when he spoke. “Hurry, I’ve got one of those brain things cornered - there, in the grass, do you see it?” He looked her directly in the eyes then, and she noticed with a start that his eyes were a deep blood red. “You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others?”

Despite his well-tailored appearance, there was something about this man that made Tragedy think he was more than capable of wielding a blade himself, but she didn’t question it. She wasn’t one to turn down a plea for help. Besides, there was a small part of her that relished the opportunity to show off in front of someone so beautiful. “Sure, I can do that. Stand back.”

Tragedy crept forward, gathering necrotic energy in her palm as she went. She had only taken a couple of steps when the bushes rustled, and a large shape rushed out of them, away from her. The tiefling flinched back before she noticed it was just a boar, not an intellect devourer after all. With a flick of her wrist she dispelled the spell energy she’d collected. She let out a quick sigh of relief, and was about to turn back towards the strange elf when she suddenly found herself on her back, a shiny dagger pressed gently to her throat. Her breath hitched as she froze in place. She didn’t want to struggle too much and end up with her throat sliced open. She was rather attached to her neck. Despite the very apparent danger she was in, she could feel warmth blooming on her cheeks at the knowledge that the very attractive stranger had her on the ground with his arms around her, his face mere inches from her own.

“Shhhh. Be a dear and keep that pretty mouth of yours shut. I wouldn’t want to have to hurt you or your friend if she comes to check on you.” The elf’s red eyes bore into Tragedy’s, a dangerous glint to them that she hadn’t noticed earlier. The tiefling pressed her mouth into a thin line to indicate her cooperation. She had no desire to make this any more difficult for herself. 

“Good girl,” the elf drawled, causing a shiver to go up Tragedy’s spine, her blush deepening. The tiefling mentally scolded herself. This was definitely the wrong time for those kinds of thoughts.

“Now, I saw you on the ship, didn’t I?”

Tragedy’s eyes widened. This man was on the nautiloid as well? She scanned her memory to try and figure out where he might have seen her. Was he in one of the pods she’d seen in the room near where she found Shadowheart? Did this mean he had a tadpole too?

When she didn’t respond, the elf tightened his grip on Tragedy. “Nod.”

The necromancer complied, tilting her head back as far as she could so she could nod without bringing her chin any closer to his blade.

The pale elf seemed pleased with her compliance, and loosened his hold again, just a little. “Splendid. And now you’re going to tell me exactly what you and those tentacled freaks did to me.”

The tiefling shook her head as animatedly as she could while still being wary of the blade at her throat. “No, please, you’ve got it all wrong - they took me prisoner, the same as you!”

Tragedy felt the cold blade of the knife press deeper into her throat, threatening to draw blood. She closed her eyes and tried to pull away, but was saved when the tadpole in her head began to squirm painfully, and her vision went dark. The streets of Baldur’s Gate filled her mind’s eye, familiar and alien at the same time. She stalked the busy streets on unfamiliar feet, ducking from shadow to shadow in the late evening light. For a moment, fear gripped her heart, not her own but that of the man who had attacked her. She couldn’t see anything in the memory that would spark such fear, but the feeling quickly faded, and she was herself once more, still locked in the pale man’s arms.

There was still a knife at her throat, but Tragedy turned her head to look at the elf, trying to determine if he had seen her memories as well, just as Shadowheart and the gith had on the nautiloid.

“What was that? What’s going on?” The elf looked as confused as he sounded, and Tragedy was more than happy to answer his question - she suspected he’d finally let her go if she did.

“It was the mindflayer’s worm. It… connected us. I’ve had it happen before.”

His confusion turned apologetic as he let her go, the two both standing and brushing dirt off their clothes. “The worm… I suppose that explains things, somewhat. And you… you really aren’t one of them, are you? You were a victim, same as me.” There was a sadness in the elf’s eyes that the necromancer suspected had nothing to do with her, or their shared experience with mindflayers. 

The elf seemed to shake off the sadness quickly however, as his expression settled into a coy smile, his body language suddenly casual and welcoming. “And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. Apologies.”

Waving a clawed hand through the air, Tragedy happily accepted his apology. “It’s fine, today’s been stressful and you thought I was the enemy. I’d probably have done the same in your position.” The tiefling gave the elf a reassuring smile, hoping to convey her earnestness.

He let out a gentle laugh at her admission. “Aha, a kindred spirit. My name’s Astarion. I was in Baldur’s Gate when those beasts snatched me.”

Astarion. It meant “Little Star” in the ancient common tongue. It was a sweet name, Tragedy thought, and it endeared him to her. She considered mentioning that she, too, was from Baldur’s Gate, but his fine clothes and coy grin suggested he was Upper City folk, and Upper City folk tended to look down on those who lived in the Lower City. She didn’t want to sour his first impression of her.

“I’m Tragedy. I was the one who crashed the ship.” Tragedy jutted her thumb over her shoulder, pointing at the smoking wreckage of the nautiloid they’d both escaped from.

Astarion raised his eyebrows, seemingly impressed. It pleased Tragedy to notice that there was no disbelief in his expression - he had no doubt she was capable. “My my, you’ve been busy. Did you find out anything about these worms while you were running about up there?”

Tragedy’s smile faltered, and she bowed her head, not having the courage to look Astarion in the eyes as she delivered the bad news. “I did, actually. They’re going to turn us into mindflayers.” The tiefling looked up at the pale elf through her eyelashes to gauge his reaction, not wanting to raise her head just yet.

It seemed her news had stunned him for a moment. Then suddenly, he let out a disbelieving laugh, not a shred of joy in the sound. His expression hardened into resignation, and there was a weak anger in his voice as he spoke. “Of course it’ll turn me into a monster. What else did I expect.”

There was something about the way he said that last part that pulled on Tragedy’s heartstrings. It seemed clear to her that despite the charming persona he’d put forth so far, Astarion held a deep sadness in his heart. She couldn’t help but think that his reaction sounded like someone who already considered himself a monster. But how could such a beautiful creature think himself monstrous? Tragedy knew better than to pry, but she stored the thought away for later. She hoped she could someday grow close enough to him that he’d be willing to open up to her - he could use someone to talk to, and Tragedy was more than happy to provide.

The conversation continued, with Tragedy explaining her quest to find a healer that could deal with the tadpoles. Astarion agreed to join her, and they both trailed down the hill to introduce the newest member of the party to Shadowheart. The cleric looked about ready to kill Astarion on the spot when Tragedy mentioned the whole “dagger to the throat” scenario, but between Tragedy’s reassurances, and Astarion demonstrating his skill with a lockpick (Shadowheart still hadn’t gotten the chest open), they were able to get her to accept her new travelling companion.

As Shadowheart and Astarion began to wander off into the ruins of the nautiloid, bickering as they went, Tragedy trailed behind and smiled to herself. However long or short this adventure was going to be, she’d certainly found some interesting companions for the journey.

#bg3ficfeb #bg3 fanfiction #astarion/tav #bg3 tav

[loonymarshian]

New Beginnings

Day 2 of #BG3FicFeb - "Waking up on the Ravaged Beach" Tragedy has had a very bad day, but at least she's made a new friend.

A dull ache in her head was the first thing Tragedy registered. Bright sunlight stabbed at her eyes when she opened them. She could feel the coarse grind of sand beneath her, and lamented as she thought about how much of it might be trapped in her braids. Slowly, she lifted herself out of the sand, stumbling a little as she caught her footing, a hand pressed into her temple as a brief wave of dizziness overcame her. The tiefling took a moment to survey her surroundings, and the memories of the last few days came rushing back, along with an uncomfortable wriggling sensation in her skull. Right, the tadpole. Shit.

If Tragedy’s prior knowledge of illithids was accurate, this tadpole would turn her into a mindflayer within days. She needed to find a cure - she only hoped there was a healer skilled enough to remove the damn thing somewhere nearby. The chances seemed slim, but she didn’t have any other options. To make matters worse, her grimoire containing all her high level spells was still in her apartment, on her desk where she worked. She had been unable to study her spells in days, and had no spell components for higher level magic either. All she had on her was the leather bound notebook she’d been taking notes in at the library. It wasn’t really permanent spellbook worthy, but it would have to do for now. With so little at her disposal in terms of magic, Tragedy felt more vulnerable than she had in years. She hated it.

The ruins of the nautiloid Tragedy had crashed loomed above her, and it appeared she had landed on a small beach along a river - it was a miracle she’d made dry land without being crushed, considering how close the nautiloid was to the water. Flecks of ash and her own aching head obscured her vision somewhat, but as she scanned further up the beach she eventually noticed two bodies lying in the sand as she had been - one of which looked somewhat familiar. She made her way towards them, reaching the first and discovering without a doubt that he was dead, his mangled limbs sticking out at unnatural angles. A fisherman, killed either by the shockwave or falling debris from the crash. Tragedy felt a little guilty for that, but figured now wasn’t the time to dwell. She checked his pockets, finding a handful of gold pieces, and moved on to the second body she’d spotted.

The body was indeed one she knew - Shadowheart, the cleric she’d met on the nautiloid, who had helped her escape alongside a githyanki woman who had refused to give her name. Tragedy scanned the beach again and saw no sign of the gith, just a few more unfortunate fishers, and the cleric at her feet. She could figure out where the gith had gone later - for now, she ought to help Shadowheart.

Thankfully, it looked like the cleric was alive. Her chest rose and fell steadily, but she was out cold. Tragedy was about to shake her shoulders to wake her up, when she noticed the strange artifact she’d seen Shadowheart tuck away on the nautiloid. It was just sitting there, on her open palm. The necromancer desperately wanted to examine it closer, but she resisted, and grasped Shadowheart’s shoulders to give her a firm shake.

The half-elven cleric shot up almost immediately, utter disbelief in her eyes as she took in the ruins of the nautiloid, and the tiefling who had woken her.

“You’re alive.” Shadowheart said, incredulously. “I’m alive. How is this possible?”

Tragedy shrugged. “I was hoping you’d know. Did you happen to see the gith on your way down?”

Shadowheart’s shocked expression quickly shifted to one of cool displeasure at the mention of the gith. “Looks like she left without us. I’m not surprised.”

It was impossible to miss how much Shadowheart seemed to dislike githyanki. Tragedy had felt her wariness herself upon first meeting her on the nautiloid. She couldn’t help but wonder if the cleric had history with gith that influenced how she viewed the people as a whole, or if she’d simply been raised on the wrong stories. Tragedy herself had read a number of books about the various races that existed on the astral plane, and the militaristic githyanki certainly came across less pleasant than their more philosophical counterparts, the githzerai. Curious as she was, the necromancer knew better than to ask the personal history of a woman she’d met less than 24 hours ago.

Planting her hands on her hips, Tragedy tipped back her head and sighed. “Well, wherever she is, I hope she’s okay.” 

Even looking up at the sky, the tiefling could feel Shadowheart rolling her eyes. “We can worry about her later. First things first, we need supplies, shelter, and most of all a healer.”

Tragedy snapped her head back to look the cleric in the eyes, her demonic purple meeting Shadowheart’s clear green. “We? You want to stay together?”

There was a steadfast determination in Shadowheart’s eyes as she responded. “Why not? We need each other, and we both know what’s at stake. I can’t think of better company.”

The tiefling felt her cheeks warm, and hoped the blush wouldn’t be noticeable on her already pink skin. If she didn’t know any better, she would almost think Shadowheart was flirting with her, and Tragedy couldn’t deny that she was an attractive woman. She shook her head to dispel the thoughts. There would be no time for distractions. Shadowheart was right - they needed to find a healer, and fast.

“All right then, let’s get going. The water here is fresh, and the crash seems to have killed a handful of fishers, so it's likely that there’s a settlement nearby. Hopefully they’ll have someone who can help us.”

Satisfied with her new ally, Tragedy made to walk further down the beach, but was stopped by the sound of Shadowheart’s voice. The half-elf who had previously been somewhat cold and closed off, now had a softer, more vulnerable look on her face as she spoke.

“Before we go… I wanted to thank you for freeing me on the nautiloid.”

Tragedy’s eyes widened just a bit, but it seemed Shadowheart wasn’t finished, so she kept her mouth shut.

The cleric continued. “It would have been all too easy for you to run right past my pod, but you didn’t. I’ll remember this.” Shadowheart gave Tragedy a shy smile, and the tiefling’s light blush returned. She put on a bright smile, partly in an attempt to hide the blush, but mostly in genuine response to Shadowheart’s words. 

“Anytime.” The tiefling grinned at Shadowheart, and the half-elf slipped back into her usual demeanour, rolling her eyes, but Tragedy could tell the annoyance in her expression was fake.

With a skip in her step, the necromancer turned and made her way down the beach, cleric in tow. This was turning out to be quite the adventure already. Who knew what else was in store for Tragedy and her new companion?

#bg3ficfeb #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 tav #shadowheart

[loonymarshian]

Tragedy Quron and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Day 1 of #BG3FicFeb - "What was Tav doing when they were abducted?" An introduction to my tav, Tragedy, and a small peek into what her life consisted of prior to her adventures in BG3.

Stepping out of a grand building and onto the streets of Baldur’s Gate, Tragedy yawned and stretched her arms above her head, trying to loosen the stiffness in her back from a long day of research. She’d been back in the Gate for a few weeks, and had yet to find any new leads on the kinds of necromantic magic she was looking for. The library in the Upper City was a helpful resource in seeking out potential liches and other powerful necromancers to consult, but she hadn’t had any luck today and she was exhausted. 

Her last little adventure had proven useful however. Just last month, Tragedy had been able to track down the lair of a powerful lich who had been terrorising a handful of small villages up north. With some effort, in an epic battle of necromancers, she and her hired mercenaries had managed to come out on top, and the young necromancer had made sure to scour the entire lair for the lich’s spellbook and any loose spell scrolls she had yet to use or transcribe. The lich’s spellbook had been rendered unreadable by moss and mildew, much to Tragedy’s disappointment, but there were a few spell scrolls that remained intact and usable. 

All in all, it had been a successful trip - among the lich’s hoard had been a scroll of Blight, and Tragedy had been impatient to get home to her humble apartment in the Lower City so she could transcribe the spell into her grimoire. It wasn’t the most powerful magic she was capable of, but it was the best she’d managed to find in the way of necromancy, unfortunately. Nearly 10 years of research based in this city, and she’d only now found Blight. The world really did make it hard to study necromancy. 

It was understandable, of course. Death, and its associated magics, scared people. But Tragedy thought it was beautiful. The cycle of life and death wasn’t something to shy away from, it was necessary. Her parents had always been insistent that death wasn’t as sad and scary as everyone else seemed to think. After all, her mother was an elf, and would far outlive her human husband and half-elf children.

Well, most of her children were half-elves. 

Tragedy was a tiefling. Her bubblegum pink skin, pointed tail, and slightly curved horns would have been more than enough to distinguish her from her two older siblings, but she also added to the look by dressing mostly in black and smearing plenty of dark makeup over her delicate features. She’d been picked on a bit by the other students at the academy of magic she had attended as a teen (with free tuition too, as her parents were both professors), but her big sister Lariette had always stood up for her and made sure she didn’t feel like she didn’t belong.

Wandering through the streets of Baldur’s Gate as she reminisced, Tragedy hadn’t noticed that she was almost home. Something had snapped her back to reality as she turned the corner onto her street, but she wasn’t sure what, until she heard the bells. She looked up into the fading orange glow of the late evening sky, ready to start slinging spells if necessary, and saw what she could only describe as an abomination. It appeared to be some kind of great skyship, except for the fact that it was covered in undulating tentacles. It took her a moment, but eventually she was able to recall what this beast was - a nautiloid. Mindflayers. What were mindflayers doing in Baldur’s Gate? 

Tragedy gripped the straps of her leather satchel until her knuckles turned white. She was frozen in place for a moment as panic set in, before the screams of her fellow Baldurians cut through the haze. Down the street, a number of long black tentacles slithered their way down alleyways and into side streets, seemingly on the hunt. Each time a tentacle touched someone, they vanished in a puff of smoke, which only made the people around them scream louder.

Finally realising the danger she was in, Tragedy spun on her heel and sprinted up the street to her home. It was still a couple hundred feet away, and those tentacles moved faster than they ought to. The wizard would have been able to cut down the distance some by casting misty step, but in her panicked state she wasn’t thinking clearly, and just kept running instead. 100 feet, 70 feet, 40 feet. She was so close, but she could sense the tentacles catching up. She wasn’t sure if she was going to make it.

The last thing Tragedy saw was the welcoming sight of her front door, her pink, freckled arm reaching out with clawed nails -

And then, nothing.

#bg3ficfeb #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 tav

[loonymarshian]

Astarion/Tav Mini Fic

It’s over. The Absolute, the Netherbrain controlled by the Chosen of the Dead Three, has been destroyed, and all of the modified tadpoles with it. Jaheira has allowed Astarion to stay in her basement grotto during the day until the celebrations are over, and so after the first night of drinking at the Blushing Mermaid, this is where we find our hero. Tragedy has slept light through her adventures, always waking up first among her companions, even compared to the elves in her party who did not need to sleep the same way she did. So when she wakes in this druidic oasis beneath the Lower City of Baldur’s Gate, it is a new experience for her to be greeted by the face of her lover, scanning her face like it was the first time he was seeing it.

“Morning love. Sleep well?” Astarion’s voice greets Tragedy’s ears softly. What a wonderful sound to wake up to.

“Mhmm.” Tragedy mumbles as she tries to snuggle in closer to his chest, being mindful of her horns in the proximity of his face. She does not expect him to lean away and continue staring at her face. “I know I’m pretty but why are you staring at me like that?” She says in a huff, annoyed at the lack of cuddles.

“Your tattoos darling. They’re not there. Whatever could have made them disappear like that?” There are equal parts concern and confusion written plainly across Astarion’s face - he is worried there may be untoward magics at play, but he cannot fathom what they could be. Dating a wizard has given him a decent understanding of the capabilities of magic users in Faerun, not to mention Gale’s constant lectures, but still he does not know what could cause a person’s tattoos to suddenly vanish.

The concern turns to shock, and then offense, as Tragedy starts to giggle.

“Astarion, love, you look so concerned for me!” She reaches up to touch his cheek as she suppresses more giggles. “I appreciate it, truly, but I promise you it’s nothing. It’s just prestidigitation.”

Tragedy waves her hand in a quick and practised motion, and suddenly her face is adorned with its usual tattoos and dark makeup. “See? I’m just very good about reapplying it regularly, so no one ever saw me without until now. Nothing to worry about.” 

Astarion lets out a breath, and his shock and confusion melts into a soft smile. “Well, aren’t I the lucky one. I suppose we’re both each others’ firsts then aren’t we?”

Tragedy’s giggles start up again.

“I don’t think being the first of our companions to see my bare face is quite comparable to being the first person you’ve ever bitten, but if it makes you feel better…” Tragedy grins as she watches Astarion’s face fall into an exaggerated pout.

“Well I think it is plenty comparable, so long as I continue to be the only one who gets to see you like this, same as you’re the only one I’ve bitten.” Tragedy’s grin changes slightly into an accusatory stare as the words leave Astarion’s mouth. “Alright, the only person I’ve bitten with consent.”

The grin is back. “That’s a bit better. And yes, I can promise you that you’re the only one lucky enough to see me first thing in the morning, without my prestidigitation on. Besides my parents and siblings at least.”

“I suppose I can live with that.” Astarion begrudgingly assents, as he brings his hand up to run his thumb along the lines of Tragedy’s “tattoo”, his expression softening as he drinks in the sight of his lover. “Gods you’re beautiful. With and without your little magic trick.”

Tragedy’s grin is replaced with a gentler smile as Astarion leans down to press a soft, sweet kiss to her lips, before finally relenting, and allowing her to cuddle in closer to his chest.

“I love you, Tragedy.”

“I love you too.”

For a smidge of context: Tragedy was originally a D&D 5e character who I recreated in Baldur’s Gate 3. She is a necromancer (wizard), purely because she is goth and likes dead things and was raised by wizard parents. When I created her as a D&D character, I decided that she would apply her makeup using the prestidigitation cantrip, seeing as it lists “you make a colour, small mark, or a symbol appear on an object or surface for 1 hour” as one of the ways to use the cantrip. Using magic to apply her makeup would save her a lot of time and money, as well as making the makeup waterproof and smudgeproof - always a good thing to have when you’re adventuring out in the wilderness! This scene popped into my head around when I finished Tragedy’s first BG3 campaign (I started replaying her because I love her so much) and if I could draw I would’ve made a comic, but I can’t, so this little fic is the best I can do for now.

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion/tav #bg3 spoilers #bg3 fanfiction #astarion romance #dungeons and dragons