#how he still thinks time to time that wyll will regret coming with him and tossing aside his options when he's still so young

[ride-a-dromedary]

Halsin and Wyll deserve their babies ever after ending.

#BG3 Musing #Halsin #Wyll Ravengard #wyllsin #(i'm sorry for clogging the tag forgive me) #someday i'll figure out a different tag #listen i promise i'll stop eventually i'm just really hung up on the moon rn #wyll: i've always thought about having a child of my own #halsin: *nine wagonfuls of orphans in tow* alright bet #(laezel does too thank you secret epilogue ilu) #what if they had a little half elf they adopted together and think about #how she would light up and reach for wyll every time he came home #how halsin would lean against the door frame and watch them together and just be...so so full of love he doesn't know what to do #how he still thinks time to time that wyll will regret coming with him and tossing aside his options when he's still so young #but then he sees the two of them and hopes in his heart of hearts that he genuinely wants to be there #and will stay for at least a little while longer #though he'd never ask him to - never expect him to

[cambion-companion]

Here’s ya girl who has gone completely feral over astarion. He’s the babiest baby. Okay, here’s the prompt. My characterisation could be a bit (or a lot lol) off bc I haven’t played the game Y E T so feel free to change the things that seem OOC.

Established relationship, but the beginnings of it, on a mission to find a way for astarion to be in the sun again. Reader has given astarion time to work on his sexual trauma so they haven’t been having sex for some time. Reader is 100% ok w that. But they have a big argument over something (not related to sex) and astarion doesn’t know how to resolve the situation other than reverting back to his seductive artifice and using sex as a way to ensure his safety (in this case, emotional safety). Reader figures it out because they (or she) are not dumb. They reassure astarion and he lets himself be vulnerable but also, it turns out that astarion wants that sexual intimacy. But reader decides this will be all about astarion and making him feel good and loved. Body worship, astarion’s praise kink, just everything focused on astarion’s pleasure in a way he has never experienced and that makes him completely unravel once he comes. Not a subby reader, tho. You know me, I don’t do subby.

If this is too long of a prompt, just the sexy part will be ok. Thank you so much, i have such astarion brainrot DDDD:

I Want to Live

word count: 1700

gn!reader x Astarion | Baldur's Gate 3 fanfic | 18+ only

"I don't think we should use the tadpoles for anything, Astarion." You put your hands on your hips, glaring at the sulky Elf in front of you.

This tense conversation between the two of you had gone on far longer than you'd have liked. Astarion seemed insistent on using whatever advantage the Illithids had unintentionally given your party. Despite not yet knowing the implications of doing so.

Astarion's silver hair glinted in the firelight that warmed your back, his eyes shone like droplets of blood. "You might as well leave me alone, spoilsport." He waved an imperious hand in your direction, sneering at you in the way he knew would hurt you most. "Since you insist on being boring and unimaginative."

You ground your teeth. "I'm trying to keep us safe."

"And a fine job you're doing, my sweet." His lilting voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Why don't you ask Arabella how her parents are doing?" He paused, then feigned surprise. "Oh wait..."

Your eyes widened as a jolt of genuine pain lanced through your heart at his callous words. Astarion was aiming to do damage and, like always, he knew how to push your buttons.

Magic sparked at the end of your fingertips as you fought to control your rage. It was the lack of verbal response that alerted Astarion to the fact he might have pushed a little too far with you. His face almost looked regretful for a moment, or perhaps it was a trick of the firelight casting shadows across his features. You didn't gain much insight because of the tears blurring your vision as you quickly turned away and strode as far away from the vampire spawn as you could.

Shadowheart, who always seemed to overhear everything, cast a worried glance your direction before leveling a glare on Astarion who still watched after you with a blank look.

You sat yourself upon your bedroll before the campfire and listened to Volo squeakily tune his lute. Wyll and Gale were over by their tents chatting and Lae'zel sat on a boulder by the river sharpening her sword.

You had thought Astarion would understand and perhaps even agree with you, and the rest of the camp for that matter, that the parasites should not be utilized to gain control of other beings. It was convenient and downright useful, yes...but not worth an unknown cost.

You had thought...since that night when the two of you had become intimate...that he'd maybe come to care for you. But that jab about Arabella's parents, who you'd failed to save, only confirmed that the vampire did not have your best interests at heart.

Sighing, you moved your bedroll away from its usual place beside Astarion's and arranged it next to where Karlach slept. You could feel multiple pairs of eyes watching you move about but you didn't much care at the moment.

Karlach gave you a curious and concerned look as she came over and got comfortable for the night. "Are you alright? I could hear you and Astarion going at it...and not in the fun way."

You grunted and moved your body to the side so you could scrape out a rock that had been digging into your back. "It's fine. He's just an ass." You said these words loud enough for him to hear.

Karlach shrugged and nodded as if this were common knowledge. She gave you a jolting pat on the back before getting comfortable in her own bedroll.

As the breathing patterns of your companions slowly deepened in slumber, you could not find any rest. You tossed and turned as best you could in such primitive sleeping arrangements. You missed your bed back in Baldur's Gate above the taproom of the Shadowcat Claw, the familiar bustle of voices and a mug of ale in your belly lulling you to sleep. Out in this wilderness, with the thought of your argument with Astarion tugging at your thoughts...you had to get up.

As quietly as you could, you slid out of your bedroll and got to your feet. A quick observation of your companions told you they were all in a deep sleep. All except Lae'zel who sat on the boulder still, keeping silent watch. She nodded at you curtly as you passed and didn't ask any questions, for which you were grateful.

You crept through the foliage down to the place in the forest by the river where you and Astarion had had your midnight tryst. You could still feel his moonlight hair running through your fingers, his fangs on your neck as you arched it just for him. The trust...you thought you had at least earned a little bit of his trust.

"I thought I'd find you here." His voice was velvet, it shivered straight through your defenses to your heart.

"I wanted to be alone, Astarion." You tried to keep your own voice cool and collected, but you ached to hold him in your arms again.

Astarion had followed you from the campsite into the woods. He'd been fully aware of your restlessness, of course he had. He entered your line of sight now, looking very much like a cat stalking its prey. His ruby eyes were dark and trained on your face. "Come now, you're far too obvious for all this bluster. Do you not want to feel me again?" He gave you a crooked smile, showing his teeth. "A second taste, perhaps?"

You felt the hollowness of his words and saw the carefully arranged expression he wore like a mask. Beneath the facade you could make out the telltale twitch of a facial muscle, the tenseness of his eyes, indicating anxiety.

You sighed. "I thought we were passed these games."

"Games?" Astarion's tongue flicked out to wet his lips. "Games are all part of the fun, my dear. So good at getting the blood pumping."

You folded your arms. "I want an apology."

This tripped him up. For a moment the facade slipped, and he seemed genuinely taken aback. "Apologize?" Then he was back to his usual bluster. "Me? Apologize for what?"

"For having a go at me today. Bringing up Arabella's parents when you know how upset I am about it." Astarion made a noise as if to speak but you cut across him. "That was cruel, Astarion, and I deserve better from you."

"I didn't..." Astarion sighs heavily, his eyes glancing down to the ground then back at your face. "I apologize." The words seemed to pain him in some way. "I wanted to get a rise out of you, that's all. Now let's forget about that and have some fun."

You raised an unimpressed eyebrow, saying nothing, simply watching his face lit in the silver moonlight. His unconvincing grin slowly slipped off his face, a troubled frown replacing it. The two of you looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, you spoke.

"You're testing how much I care for you, aren't you?" Your voice was soft, almost inaudible over the rippling stream.

Astarion seemed momentarily taken aback, he seemed to consider taking shelter once more behind his mask of pompous indifference. But then his shoulder's slumped slightly, the fists at his sides loosened. That was all the answer you needed.

You stepped forward and placed your hands around his, tugging him closer. He did not resist, his footfalls light as ever as he drew near. Close enough to feel his breath warm your lips.

"I care about you, Astarion." Your voice was still soft amidst the rustling leaves and sparkling water. "I discourage you from using the tadpole's powers because I couldn't bear to see your will overtaken by yet another monster."

Astarion was silent for a long time, his scarlet eyes turned silver as a moonbeam fell across his pallid face. When he spoke, his voice sounded strained. "What if it's too late for me? To be anything other than a monster? My only choice is which one." He laughs forcefully, bitterness twisting his mouth.

"I won't let that happen." You encircled him tenderly in a hug, pulling him to rest flush against your body. "We're in this...together."

"Together." The word was echoed back to you, his voice framing the syllables as if it were a foreign tongue.

You turned your face into him and kissed his neck softly, feeling his body tense in your arms and then slowly relax. You kept your lips against his skin, over where Cazador had sunk his fangs all those centuries ago.

Astarion's hands slowly slid up your hips to rest against your lower back as he held you close. Your lips caressed his neck, throat and trailed up to his jaw until you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I love you." You murmured.

You felt him tense again, not pushing you away, but his hands tightened on your back. "I..." Astarion hesitated. "I'm not quite ready to say those words back to you, my dear."

"I know." You felt no anger, no hurt. You accepted him however he wished to come to you, grateful for this rare moment of vulnerability beneath the stars.

You pushed him back gently until his back made contact with the base of a large sycamore tree. A huff of air left his lungs, quickly claimed by your mouth as you kissed him hungrily this time. Your hands made quick work of his clothing and Astarion became eager to help the process along.

"Vixen." He murmured and you laughed against his lips, your tongues teasing each other.

"You're beautiful, Astarion." You held his face in your hands and kissed his mouth lightly, not allowing him to turn away even as the compliment made his eyes search yours for hints of disingenuity. "I want nothing from you in return." You said firmly, reading his emotional turmoil through your shared Illithid connection. "This is just for you." You kissed his mouth, his cheek, his forehead. "To keep."

Astarion's head fell back to rest against the tree trunk as you continued lavishing affection upon him. He moaned your name softly to the night sky as you slowly sunk to your knees before him, the dirt and rocks digging unheeded against your knees. His fingers twisted in your hair and guided you to where he wanted you most.

"Good, my love." You praised him, your words causing his body to shake with increasing pleasure. "Show me."

The night was long and full of bliss. A genuine exchange of pleasure, without the previous facades and plays at affection. You felt the change as surely as he did, and when the others awoke in the morning it was to find your bedroll pulled back right next to where Astarion lay curled against you.

~

"You owe me five gold, Shadowheart." Gale mumbled.

#baldurs gate 3 fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion bg3 #gale bg3 #shadowheart #bg3 fic #bg3 astarion x reader #astarion x tav #karlach #astarion romance #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction

[eeldritchblast]

Ethel's Vicious Mockery Analysis

(Major thanks to Aloija for the Dialog Parser and Roksik for doing the parsing, from the Down by the River Discord Server!)

I love when Ethel uses vicious mockery in the game, because I feel like it gives insight into the character’s insecurities, you know? So let’s further dissect that mockery.

WYLL

“Oh, look! It's daddy's regret.”

“Fraud of the Frontiers!”

“Do you think losing that eye made you a hero?”

Wyll wants to be seen as a hero so badly… and I’m starting to think that has a little something to do with daddy issues. This “daddy’s regret” line from Ethel, matched with one of Wyll’s desires when confronted by the secret laboratory mirror being his father’s forgiveness, certainly says there is something unresolved there…

GALE

“I can smell what's under those bandages, wizard. You're all rot and ruin.”

“Come to greet death early? You'll be a lovely spectacle.”

“Who would be jealous of you, apprentice?”

The first two aren’t anything new—we’re already aware of Gale’s condition after all. But why would Ethel call him an apprentice? Is he lying about how great a wizard he once was? Or maybe it’s just because he’s lost all his powers, and she’s teasing him about that.

SHADOWHEART

“You're so far up Shar's cake you can't see straight.”

“Why would Shar love you when no one else does?”

“You're no complex puzzle. Just a sad little girl.”

These to me, at least, speak of an undiscussed bubbling crisis of faith Shadowheart may be undergoing. And I am very interested in the second line above. Shadowheart is the type of person to keep everyone at arm’s length, and yet at the same time, it seems from this, desperately wants to be loved? That matches up with her “she took me in when no one else would” answer when asked why she became a worshipper of Shar in the first place. So it seems to me, like Shadowheart experiencing compassion from another person, possibly for the first time in her memory, is leading her to question her faith in Shar.

LAE’ZEL

“A toad with a tadpole! How fitting.”

“Your people will never take you back - illithid scum.”

“Do you miss kissing Vlaakith's feet, gith?”

Lae’zel’s biggest desire is to become kith’rak – we know this. But more to that, I think her biggest desire is to be accepted and revered by her people. Ethel saying that she will never achieve this is probably Lae’zel’s greatest fear.

ASTARION

“Is there still rat stuck in your teeth, slave?”

“Deep down, you like being leashed, don't you?”

“You're one thirsty night away from betraying everyone.”

Okay, okay, okay… the first two? Ethel just being a top tier bitch. But the last one… The last one suggests that Astarion actually does have some care for his travelling companions, if he’s concerned about hurting them. I think that brings a lot out of his character, because it confirms he’s not just a one-dimensional jerk. The glimpses of his nice side are just as genuine.

KARLACH

“Let's pull your strings, infernal puppet.”

“Happy to sell everyone's soul but your own, aren't you?”

“When I'm done, even the Hells won't want you.”

We don’t know a lot about Karlach, because she isn’t available as a companion in Early Access. But what little we do know, adds up with what Ethel says here. We know she was caught up in the Blood War as essentially a slave to Zariel. And judging from this mockery, it seems that’s left her with questioning self-worth.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #wyll #gale #shadowheart #lae'zel #astarion #karlach #meta

[senualothbrok]

Content

Summary: After seeing everyone at the reunion party, Gale wonders if you regret choosing him over Astarion.

Word count: 1.4k

Disclaimers: Non-18+. Unascended Gale x Tav. Unascended Astarion. Mild hurt/comfort. Fluff.

AO3 link

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“That-” The bed dips as he collapses beside you. “Was a lovely evening.”

It is instinct now, to nestle yourself into him, to nuzzle into the nook where his neck meets his shoulder. To interlace your fingers with his.

His words are lightly slurred, drowsy from wine, heavy with pleasure. He is so warm. A light drizzle has begun outside. You lie still, listening to the gentle patter of rain on the sea.

“Everyone looked so happy,” you say. “Did you see Wyll and Karlach?”

His grin is so wide you can hear it. “I can’t say I didn’t see that coming.”

“Even Lae’zel.” You laugh. “She told me she was having a nice time. She used the word nice.”

Gale chuckles. Your body moves to its rhythm.

“Shadowheart wants to stop by again next month.”

“That would be marvellous.”

“Did I show you the duck that Halsin gave me?”

“Yes, my love. More than once. I think you showed everyone at the party.”

You sigh. “Even Jaheira and Minsc looked well. Well, Minsc looked like an escaped prisoner, but I guess that’s his version of thriving.”

“It’s heartening to see that some things never change.” He runs his fingers through your hair, slow and soft. Your eyelids begin to flutter. “And that some things do. Astarion, for instance. He seems remarkably well, doesn’t he?”

Your eyes spring open. You shift your head slightly.

“He does.”  

“He and Tara took to each other like flies to a carcass. For almost half an hour they traded casual insults about my beard, my lack of organisation, and my life choices in general. It was most entertaining. For them.

You trace your fingers over his chest. There are the faintest indents in his skin where the mark of the orb used to be.

“Some things never change.” 

“Indeed.” He kisses your forehead. “Just like the good old days, I suppose, when we were two suitors battling for the prize of your precious affections.”

You look up at him with an arched eyebrow. “Is that what I was? A prize to be won through a contest of manhood?”

He rubs his nose against yours. “Of course not. Your love is a gift, one I never dreamed I’d deserve.”

He goes on before you can protest.

“I think he may still hold my good fortune against me, though. Despite being a changed man. A leader of seven thousand spawn, even.” There is pride in his voice.

In the silence that follows, you bask in that pride. You too are indescribably proud of Astarion, how far he has come, the life he has made for himself.

“No regrets, then?” Gale asks.

He disguises it as a jest, a throwaway comment. But there is a stiffness in his chest, a hollowness to his tone, that he cannot conceal from you.

“Regrets?”

He shuffles. As he tilts his head, you see a crease on his brow.

“Do you regret your choice? Now that you’ve seen Astarion again, in all his glory?”

It is the briefest of moments. You hesitate. And he sees it.

He moves back.  Doubt darkens his features. Desperation quivers in them. He searches your eyes.

You had wanted to brush it off, dismiss it as absurd. Reassure him that you had never entertained any doubts, that you had never been uncertain about your choice. But that would not be true. And you had promised, when you had sworn your lives to each other, that you would always tell the truth.

You had promised each other that you would not sacrifice your own needs on the altar of the other’s approval. Those days were over and gone. You had vowed to always tell each other the truth about what you wanted, what you needed, what you felt. No longer would you ignore or deny who you were out of fear that the other would withdraw their love.

Your marriage had been built on that promise. You could not disregard it now.

“You can tell me.” He nods. There is turmoil in his gaze, but also kindness. And love. So much love.

You place your hand on his heart. You take a deep breath.

“After we ended things, I worried for Astarion. For a long time, I thought I had broken him, even more than he already was. I thought, after all he’d been through, for me to leave him like that…”

You remember the cold tentacles of guilt that latched around your heart, the weight of the shame that crushed you.

“I thought that I could help him. I wanted to be there for him, when no one else had been. He said I was the only one who had ever been kind to him, the only good thing he had experienced in this godsdamned shitty world. To have left him, after all that… I thought I had destroyed him.”

You remember all the sleepless nights, the dreams, the nightmares.  You know, with such certainty, that Gale will understand. You have cradled him in your arms, after all, when he has woken stricken and confused, calling out Mystra’s name. Some things do not need to be explained.

The tenderness of Gale’s gaze gives you strength to continue.

“It was exhausting, to feel like I always wanted him to be something he wasn’t. He resented me for it, for trying to change him. All the times I had to talk him down, justify my decisions, tell him that it was worth it to be kind and compassionate, to help people without expecting anything in return. I’m a Paladin, for gods’ sake, and the number of times I had to explain my oath…” You shake your head. “I felt like I had to make myself smaller, to be a different person, for our love to survive.”

Your voice breaks. “It was too much, anyway, to be the one to save him, to be his only hope.”

There is uncertainty in Gale’s frown. You see the question he holds back.

“It was different with you, Gale. You were a good man long before we met. Even being cursed with the power to obliterate an entire city couldn’t take away your kindness. Your goodness. Even that couldn’t make you bitter or cruel.”

Gale’s face has softened, but he averts his eyes. He looks contrite, when he has no reason to be.

“I admit that I’ve had some concerns.” He grimaces. “When you’re frightfully out of practice, and competing with someone with such clear expertise in matters of seduction…” He clears his throat. “It’s difficult not to wonder.”

“It was never like that.” You hand moves to cup Gale’s cheek. “And seduction, sex – that’s different from…well, making love, forgive the cliché.”

You have discussed intimacy before with Gale, but you have never discussed how things were with Astarion. You do not want to hurt him, but you owe him the truth.

“Sometimes, touch was hard for him. Being close. Showing love. And I understood that. But sometimes, I needed to be touched. To be held.”

It still surprises you, how easy it is to show Gale your heart and all its scars. How safe you feel in the knowledge that he will never run away from them.

“I felt so, so selfish for that.  And for a long time, I blamed myself, for leaving him, for choosing happiness with you.”

The tears come without warning. You brush them away, but they do not stop.

“I could never regret this life with you, Gale. But I did feel guilty. Ashamed. Now, after seeing him, knowing how happy he is, knowing how truly well he is, being able to hug him…” A laugh bursts from you, bright with relief, shaky with tears. “I don’t have to feel that way anymore.”

When he smiles, it is like the light of a thousand stars radiating through you.

“My love,” he whispers. “If I’d known that you were carrying this burden with you all this time, I would have asked you this question sooner.”

He reaches for you and holds you to his chest. You can feel the beating of his heart, echoing through you, boundless as the night sky.

“Choosing you was the best choice I’ve ever made,” you breathe.

His lips caress your hair, your ear, your neck, the tears which fall down your cheeks. His tongue melts into yours as your limbs entwine with his. You give yourself to each other, as you have before, as you will again and again. And for the first time in as long as you can remember, you are content.

----

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#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #astarion #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #astarion fanfic #gale fanfic #gale romance #gale fic #gale x tav

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

The joyous din of the party was distant as Wyll sat by the riverside. Wyll hadn’t strayed too far from the camp, but the celebrations and singing felt miles away, a lifetime away.

Against all odds, Majexatli had managed not just to save the tieflings, but also save Halsin, take down the goblin leaders, talk Kagha out of the Rite of Thorns, and have the title of Faithwarden bestowed upon them. They were a hero. Wyll couldn’t think of anyone more deserving of a celebration in their honor.

Wyll had helped, certainly, and he couldn’t have been more honored to be by Majexatli’s side. They were a competent leader, a skilled warrior, a sage druid. He had done his best to help them at every turn, help the tiefling refugees in any way possible. But even as he had been teaching the tiefling children how to defend themselves, when he first saw Majexatli, there had only been one thing on his mind. 

Karlach. 

The violent devil he had spent so long hunting, the monster he had sworn to cut down. The one he had traveled to Averus to kill, only to discover she was only a young woman tiefling, a victim of Zariel, forced into servitude. She was no more a monster than he was.

He didn't regret sparing her. He would do it again.

Yet—

His dreams were still haunted by how close he had come to killing her. When he closed his eyes, he could still feel the hellfire burning his skin and his soul was dragged through all the levels of hell. Every time he caught a glimpse of his reflection he was reminded of it all, that he was nothing more than a devil’s puppet. Every time people looked at him, all they saw was his worst.

Wyll never regretted his pact, how could he? How much good has he done because of it, he saved Baldur’s Gate, saved countless people. He couldn’t regret it. He was the Blade of Frontiers, a monster hunter, protecting the innocent with the powers granted by Mizora. He had sworn to only ever hunt monsters and devils.

But how many were just like Karlach—

A twig snapped behind Wyll and he couldn’t help the way his breath hitched, his heart fluttered in anticipation. Perhaps it was selfish, to think that they would leave their own celebration just to see him. He couldn’t ignore that hope though, as much as he tried.

Turning to look where the noise came from, though, that hope vanished.

Stood a few yards away was a wolf, large with dark brown fur and yellow eyes trained on him.

Fear shot through Wyll for a moment, freezing him in place as his mind raced. He was unarmored, unarmed. He had left all his equipment back at camp, he wasn’t even sure how much magic he had left in him after a full day of battle.

Before Wyll’s mind could race much any further, Wyll saw the wolf lower its head and whine.  

Majexatli, Wyll realized, a warmth spreading in his chest. 

The other day, he had seen them wildshape into a wolf while fighting the gnolls on the risen road. It was a form they rarely took, at least for as long as Wyll had known them. 

For a moment on the battlefield, he had wondered what their strategy was, why that form. Often they chose something larger, a bear, a rothé, something that could shrug and walk off arrows and stabs.

His questioning didn’t last long, when a gnoll cornered him and out of nowhere the wolf jumped at the gnoll’s throat, tackling it to the ground and biting down with a jaw powerful enough that Wyll heard the gnoll’s spine crunch.

The wolf before him now looked worlds different from the one he saw with bared teeth and blood-soaked fur. Its eyes were wide and curious, fur clean and soft, though its right ear was still missing, skin raw from where a gnoll had torn it off. 

The wolf padded closer to Wyll cautiously, and Wyll let out a chuckle.

“I had hoped you wouldn’t notice I was gone,”

It was partially true. Some deep, selfish part of him hoped they would come looking for him. He shouldn’t have hoped for it, shouldn’t be glad they left the celebration. 

The wolf whined again as it approached, and mid-stride it was consumed by a golden light. In the blink of an eye, Majexatli was by his side, sitting next to him on the rock. They weren’t quite touching him, but Wyll could feel the warmth radiating off them, melting away the chill of the night. He had to stop himself from leaning into them.

“You were the first person I looked for, of course I noticed,” Majexatli said, adjusting their bad leg with a slight wince.

“Really? I mean— ahem, I’m honored,”

It was hard not to stumble over his words around them.

“Are you alright?”

Majexatli looked over at Wyll, briefly meeting his eyes before returning their gaze to the river. They rarely made eye contact; seeing Majexatli’s green eyes focused on him, even just for a moment, almost made his breath hitch. This close, Wyll could see the worry on their face, the lines on their face more pronounced as they looked out at the river.

“I’m deeply proud of you, a touch less so of myself,” Wyll sighed, joining Majexatli in looking out towards the water, “In truth, I don’t feel in a festive mood and didn’t want to cast a gray cloud over the night.”

Majexatli was silent for a few moments.

“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?” 

You coming to find me already means the world.

“It’s alright, you needn’t worry. Any other time and I would love to join you in celebrating, but…” Wyll let out another sigh, “I’m a devil. I love the people from the grove, but I unsettle them deep down. As I seem to unsettle everyone nowadays.” 

“Wyll, that’s not true,” 

Majexatli’s frown had deepened, the sight almost hurt to see.

Wyll almost wanted to be honest, tell them the truth. I’ve likely killed innocent people. People used to look at me as a hero but now all they see is a monster. He couldn’t bring himself to say it, though.

“Come on, you don’t want a devil at your party. Claws will pop the balloons, you see. And the sweetcakes don't taste half as good as raw eggs with this blasted forked tongue,” Wyll smiled, trying to make light of it all, trying to keep Majexatli from seeing through him to the truth. 

“You’re no more a devil than any of us,”

In appearance, perhaps. You don’t know everything I’ve done for Mizora. And I chose to be this way. I wouldn’t change what I did. I would make the pact again if given a chance to do it over. I don’t regret it. I don’t. I can’t regret it.

“If only half the world had half the heart you do,”  Wyll said softly before he could stop himself.

“Wyll…”

They sounded so earnest. 

“Ah, but I’ve taken up enough of your time,” Wyll bit back the selfish urge to keep them here, to lean on them, to tell them everything, “You have a party to return to! Have a dance, enjoy the music. I’ll be back to my old self in no time,” 

Wyll patted their shoulder with a smile. He half expected them to leave immediately, that the moment he finished speaking, they would nod politely and be enveloped in golden light as they returned to whichever form they felt suited them.

In the time Wyll had known them, he had learned enough about them to know they weren’t particularly social. Majexatli preferred silence, solitude, being surrounded by nature rather than engaging in small talk or comforting others. 

Even in the river, Wyll had noticed their tension, the faint edge in their voice, the way they kept their distance. He knew they didn’t mean him any ill will, it was just as they had said, they were unused to being around people. They were a druid that spent their time in the wilds far from settlements, it was understandable, even the kindest druids in the Emerald Grove had seemed slightly awkward around outsiders. Perhaps Wyll should have turned down their invitation—

Wyll pulled himself from his thoughts as he realized Majexatli was still sitting there, looking down, fidgeting with their sleeve, or rather, something in their sleeve. Wyll saw the faintest glint of something silver between their fingers.

“I… I came out here for a reason, you know,” 

“Oh?” 

Majexatli shifted slightly, perhaps by accident, perhaps coincidentally, their knee touching his. The playful retort that had been on the tip of Wyll’s tongue died at the sudden contact, heart skipping a beat.

“I did,”

They fidgeted again, moonlight once again reflecting off something by their side. Wyll paid it no mind though, regaining his composure and smiling.

“And here I thought you had stumbled out here by accident, perhaps all the wine has gotten the better of you,”

As much as he was teasing them, looking at them, he could see their lips faintly stained red from wine. With the amount of bottles he had seen at camp before he left, he shouldn’t be surprised that they were likely a bit drunk. The thought hurt, somehow, the idea that what fueled their care for him in this moment might just be the wine talking—

“I’m afraid I’m quite sober,”

Perhaps it should have struck him as strange. Surely they were lying, exaggerating. He hadn’t seen them drink before, perhaps they handled their alcohol better than most.

“Is that so? Surely then you must have been looking for somewhere quiet to relax and I’ve intruded on your solitude and quite ruined your whole evening,”

Wyll was only half joking, trying to hide the fact that he was nervous, second-guessing himself. He scanned their face intently. Surely he must have misread the signs. 

“I wasn’t looking for solitude, actually,”

Majexatli shifted again, just barely, the hand they were leaning on moving over just enough that they brushed Wyll’s own hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see they were clutching something tightly in their other hand.

After a moment, Wyll slowly moved his hand over Majexatli’s. He was almost afraid, worried Majexatli might get spooked and bolt like a cornered animal. But they stayed, half turning towards him, eyes wide.

“I—It’s a long shot, but- maybe you’ve grown fond of me. Gods know I’ve grown fond of you.”

He heard Majexatli’s breath hitch.

“I think I do, have feelings for you that is,” Majexatli said slowly, occasionally flicking their eyes over to meet his.

“Then we share a similar affliction, though I can’t say I’ve earned the honor,” Wyll let out a half-laugh, “The Blade hasn’t really lived up to own reputation, I haven’t even managed to kill a single devil,”

It was true—Majexatli hadn’t seen the best of The Blade. They saw him nearly kill an innocent woman, saw him get dragged through the hells in punishment, saw the tight grip Mizora had on him. What must they think of him? If his patron punished him for being good and he hadn’t been punished like this before.

Majexatli pulled back slightly, and Wyll braced himself for rejection.

“You don't need to be the Blade of Frontiers, Wyll,” Was what Majexatli said instead, looking almost hurt, “You’re more than just the Blade,”

“The Blade is my best self, some days I even live up to it,”

Majexatli was quiet for a moment, eyes distant, face stony. What Wyll wouldn’t give to see them smile, relax, feel at ease. They looked far older than they were, aged by a constant stress and frown that seemed unfitting of a druid. As the quiet carried on, Wyll couldn’t help a gnawing guilt, that he was only adding to their stress, adding unnecessary layers to an already awful situation. Majexatli could be celebrating and drinking at a party in their honor, but instead, they were at Wyll’s side, looking more melancholy than ever.

“Does it hurt?” Majexatli asked eventually, breaking the silence.

“I— pardon?”

The question caught Wyll off guard, he wasn’t even sure what they meant. 

“Having a title you feel you aren’t living up to? Does it hurt?” Majexatli continued, “Is the Blade who you are, or is it a role, a front, character, boots you can never fill that contain some ephemeral worth?”

“What brought this on?”

Majexatli looked up at the stars above, they opened their mouth to speak but stopped themselves, tail flicking at their side.

“What happened in the Grove… with Kagha, the way she named me Faithwarden,”

Wyll wasn’t too familiar with druid customs, but he had been able to sense that it was something meaningful. He saw the surprise on the other druids’ faces as Kagha named them Faithwarden, placing the quarterstaff in their hands that radiated a faint golden light.

“I hear it’s quite an honor, you deserve it, for all you did at the Grove. I don’t know much of Silvanus, but you seem to honor his teachings well,”

Majexatli almost flinched at his words.

At their reaction, their visceral disgust, something clicked in Wyll’s mind, a puzzle piece falling into place. As enigmatic and stoic as Majexatli was, all of the little slips in their mask were compounding. Their discomfort in the Grove, their unusual coldness towards Calnys there, their seeming contempt for Wyll’s congratulations and mention of Silvanus…

“I don’t care for the title,” Majexatli said, then added, almost inaudible, “Not this time,”

There was something just beneath the surface, just out of reach.

“This time?”

For the briefest moment, he felt his tadpole twitch, flashes of images in his mind. Pale hands braiding dark curly hair. The feel of fine robes with delicate elven embroidery. Butterflies in stomach, kneeling before an older half-elf before a crowd of druids. 

With a pang of guilt, Wyll wondered if he had probed their mind without meaning to. 

“I just... I need you to know that I care about you, Wyll. I would care about you if you weren't the Blade, I would care about you if you weren't a hero. You matter to me as a person, not a story or title,”

Majexatli’s hand found Wyll’s, warm and calloused, squeezing gently, earnestly, desperately. They had turned to look at him fully for the first time that night, meeting his eyes directly, searching for something. 

This was a different Majexatli than Wyll had seen before, unguarded in a way that felt more intimate than bathing with them in the river the other day. Wyll leaned in closer without realizing.

“I—I’ll try to remember that, but I’m not sure what I have without the title,”

“You’re enough,”

Majexatli still held Wyll’s hand, looked in his eyes, leaned close to him. 

“In another life, I can imagine courting you properly, dancing in ballrooms,” Wyll said softly.

Wyll would have given anything to see it, to live it. To get a chance to lead Majexatli and glide across the dancefloor with them. To see what Majexatli would look like well-rested, well cared for. For them to see him as he used to be, some version of himself more worthy of their affection.

There was a flash of something across Majexatli’s face, something unreadable. They regained composure quickly, face softening as they brought up their hand to cup Wyll’s face. A faintly metallic smell hit Wyll, subtle enough to barely register.

“I don’t have another life, just this one, where I met you,”

Some skeptical part of Wyll had wondered if it had all been a ploy, that Majexatli simply craved intimacy with anyone and he was just romantic enough to fall for it. There was no way they meant what they said, there had to be some hidden motive, and yet—

Majexatli’s calloused thumb stroked his cheek with such tenderness.  

Hells. 

Wyll could court them in this life, even if he was a devil and they both had tadpoles in their heads and the Absolute threatening them at every turn. As much as he wanted it to be perfect, as much as he wanted to take his time—

Wyll leaned in, slowly, cautiously, half expecting Majexatli to stop him. Instead, they closed the distance, pressing their chapped lips to his softly.

The kiss lasted only a moment, Wyll’s hand finding their waist as he kissed back, Majexatli still cupping his cheek with a gentleness he hadn’t seen them show before. He had to stop himself from clinging to them and kissing back with the fevered desperation he felt, trying to chase the warmth and safety he felt in their arms.

“I—well, then,” Wyll started, cheeks burning hot as he pulled away, “Erm, you've got a party to get back to. After all, tonight is about you.”

“Of course. Goodnight, Wyll,”

Majexatli nodded with a faint smile, standing up and immediately being consumed by golden light as they once again assumed their wolf form. They trotted off towards the woods, towards camp Wyll hoped. 

As they disappeared in the treeline, Wyll realized a taste lingered on his lips. 

Not wine.

Blood.

#eldritch it speaks #salam plays bg3 #oc: majexatli #i should make a wyll/majexatli tag at some point #anyways! my own imagining of the tielfing party scene between Majexatli and Wyll #i hope I did okay with writing from Wyll's POV it seemed right to focus on him in this #this took me too long and I had to remind myself writing it bad is better than not writing lmao

[galedekarios]

Something something "Gale is a character who believes the world would be better with him dead and the player can show him that's not true" as a persistent theme of his character arc. *glares at Larian*

Honestly it feels like the Leads fell for the surface level part of Gale's arc. Like, all of them have that shallow impression that the characters themselves are trying to make you believe: Astarion wants you to think he's cruel and suave, Shadowheart is fine with the facade that she's a pawn of her lady of darkness, Lae'zel is brash and rude and initially intolerant of istik society, Wyll plays off the confident persona who has no regrets, Karlach is happy about everything all the time. And Gale's facade is that he's full of himself while simultaneously not being worth the effort.

The game ENCOURAGES you to break that illusion. Astarion's not a seductive wretch, he's scared and securing himself. Shaowheart's whole arc is about retaking her independence. Lae'zel comes to understand the beauty of the world outside what her queen wants. Wyll believes himself to be a perfect sacrifice for others' safety. Karlach is angry, REALLY angry, and terrified. And Gale is desperate to prove himself worthy of everyone's expectations of him, and to hide the mortal side of him he'd been told wasn't worth indulging in.

I feel like that's where the problem is. Gale's writer worked those flaws into Gale's character, with enough moments to show a player who's invested at all in him what the REAL reason is behind his actions, but the other writers didn't bother to invest anything into cracking that open. They took the persona he's trying to push at face value (that and probably not wanting to get on the bad side of the fans who think Gale's annoying due to *checks notes* Larian-side bugs).

Gale killing himself isn't the "right" ending where he "gives back to the world" - but that's what Gale THINKS the "right" ending is, before you prove him otherwise. The dryad test outright says that's what his greatest fear is.

Of COURSE Gale's going to think sacrificing himself for the greater good is the best option if you don't tell him you're willing to fight for him. It's literally the one insecurity that's been consuming his whole being since he got the Orb. Man's been planning his death for over a year. Thanks for not reading past the first page, lead writers.

Sorry for the rant, had to get this off my chest and you've had the most presence in the "why would you tell Gale to kill himself" discussion.

again, don't feel sorry for venting in my inbox! 🖤 i agree with a lot of what you said.

i've seen a lot of speculation as to why the devs said what they said. there is a deluge of posts trying to explain for a variety of reasons and coming up with their own scenarios: gale is supposedly comedic relief (hard disagree btw), they were maybe talking about ea gale, they were just talking about powerful messages, whathaveyou, and i have to say that at the end of the day it doesn't really matter why.

because even if that all was true, it means either one or a combination of the following things:

either they didn't care enough to delve deeper than the extreme surface level & current iteration of their own writing & character

or they parrot the worst reddit & twitter & tunglr talking points to be like how do you do fellow kids with their assumed fanbase

or they have some sort of internal bias

nevermind that the message they sent (intentionally or not) to people identifying with the character for his struggles still very much remains.

#ch: gale dekarios #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #text: asks #bg3 critical #larian critical #i'm sorry for taking so long to answer #i'm still recovering from covid (((':

[freestyle-crocodile-trashpile]

Mother's love

Summary:Raphael makes a deal, but you can't believe him

Type:Scenario:Angst:Raphael & M!Reader

Version:Bg3

~

"There you are! I was worried you wouldn't show up," Raphael stared down at you, smirking at the glare on your face.

You frowned, knowing why he summoned you hear. He wanted to make a deal, he must have a proposal if he summoned you hear all of a sudden. But, at this point, their might be nothing that could convince you, right?

"What do you want, Devil," You spat out harshly, not truly caring what he wanted.

He tsked at your words, shaking his head at your impatient. But his grin came back, more devilish than before.

"I have a proposal, you get me the Karus crown. And I'll get you what you most desire in return" he stepped closer, a knowing look in his eye

You huffed out a laugh, rolling your eyes at his confidence.

"Really? And what would that be? Some coin won't cut it either," Raphael grinned even wider, stepping closer

He chuckled darkly, the look on his face sending unease down your spine.

"Well...there's a few things. I could kill your worst enemy, I could finally show you what true love is....or" He tapped his chin like he was in thought.

Rolling your eyes you mocked him with your hand, mumbling out blah blahs before crossing your arms.

"Oh please, I don't need a devil to do that for me, your just wasting my time" As soon as you turned to leave he spoke up.

"Or! Your mother's love, didn't you always want to feel her warm embrace? Her soft touch and motherly love?" His words taunted you.

Your companions glared at Raphael, only Astarion noticing how you froze, your eyes wide with regret and fear.

"You were so jealous of your sister you grew to hate her, hated her so much you tried to kill her. Did you not? I could give you her place!" His arms shot up as if he won you over.

"Oh please, Devil. Tav is better than that, he's not gonna get you the crown for that!" Wyll shouted out, he was mad, everyone could tell.

You were still frozen. Astarion was tempted to help you, but he couldn't bare to get close. The look in your eyes devastated him. Raphael snickered darkly, pushing your companions away to get to you. His hands grabbed your shoulders, leaning down to whisper to you.

"Think about it...You'll get your mom, and she'll get her son. Imagine it, you'll feel her love, and she'll feel your grief" Raphael smirked, knowing he was only rubbing salt into the wound.

Promising the impossible. Your companions tried to get closer, but only got their feet chained to the ground by a burning chain so he could taunt you more.

"No...s-she'll never... never love me again" Your head dropped, your body shaking with grief, but also desperation.

Raphael moved to stand infront of you, causing you to instinctively look up at him as he leaned down again to hold you eye contact.

"Oh but she will, all those night you dreamt of hugging her rather than yourself, feeling her tuck you in, have brunch, have that family meeting in school." Raphael grinned, knowing he was getting under your skin.

But he was right, you spent sleepless nights begging, praying, pleading for your mother to forgive you for whatever you did. Begging for you and your sister to swap places. Jahire was probably the closed person you've seen like a mother. And it hurt having a mother figure but no mother. No one to write to, no one to cry to, no one to hug you and comfort you through things. Everytime Gale talked about his mother it hurt you. And when Shadowheart reconnected with her mother you only wished you were her. You and Wyll understand eachother, not like he knows. No one does.

"Come on now, all those tears, pleads, jealousy, grudges. They'll all be gone, just sigh the contract. And you'll know what it feels like to be welcomed into a mother's arms, your mothers arms" The paper formed in his hands.

And as you read it, the more you wanted to cry. It said he'd do it, but can a devil completely change the views a person sees? You highly doubt it. A faucet seemed to turn in your head, your shaky hands tried to shove him away as tears flowed down your face. Quickly backing away wasn't a smart chance, all it did was land you on your butt. You couldn't stop the tears, sobbing into your hand at his promise. It held so much truth, or maybe you just wanted to see the smile on your mother's face when she looked at you, rather than fear or a scold. All you could imagine was her arms wrapping around you, holding you close, and it was actually Astarion and Wyll. Pulling you to your feet as Lae'zel stood infront of you, ready to attack the devil.

"We're done here, send us back now you devil!" Wyll shouted.

"Think about it, tav. I'll be there when you make up your mind" Raphael laughed loudly as he snapped his fingers.

The moment you got back to camp you collapsed. All your other companions rushed over to you. All raphael did was remind you of your mother. The last moment she hugged you, and smiled at you, and even looked at you. You couldn't stop the way your body shook. Your mother broke you like no other, she's haunted you since you were a child. And yet, even now, when you think she's gone, someone has to bring her up.

"What happened?"

"Soldier! Hey, we're here. Don't cry"

"Oh my...Tav? Hey, Tav!"

"Tav! Shit! Tav!"

Your companions voices were drowned out as you started hyperventilating. Raphael was abusing your mind, his laugh echoing through your mind, sending flashes of promises and lies, the promises that'll break you like no other. Or maybe you just finally hit your breaking point, you could only handle so much stress. Hands grabbed your from all over, but it ended so quickly as your vision blurred and your senses froze. Your body hit the ground from the overwhelming feeling moving throughout your body. So many emotions and feelings going through you at once, your body couldn't handle it. The last thing you heard was Gale screaming over everyone else, and Jahire ordering people around. Maybe when you woke it'd all be a dream, or even better. Silence, it'd be better than your companions screaming at you.

~

[A/n:I'm debating if I like this. I hope you enjoyed]

#x male reader #x reader #bg3 x male reader #bg3 x tav #bg3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 raphael #bg3 wyll #bg3 x you #baldurs gate 3 raphael #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate wyll

[luxlightly]

Thoughts on Astarion and why he's the most compelling character in BG3 to me right now

I've been posting a lot about this boy recently, mostly just about finding him hilarious and adorable but I do genuinely love his character and find him extremely interesting.

The defining thing about his story, especially when comparing it to Wyll or Gale, is just how LONG he has been suffering. Wyll has essentially just realized how tricked he's been and is fuming, Gale is still in denial that he's done anything wrong except for failing at his goal to return the trapped magic. Astarion has been a puppet for an evil vampire lord who tortured him and forced him to lure probably hundreds of people to their deaths for TWO HUNDRED YEARS.

He's past the initial anger. Past the denial. He's gone through every kind of grief a dozen times over until he came around to a terrible, cold acceptance. And to having to see the "funny side" of it. The cruel, twisted humor in everything. For instance, he seems, in some way, truly sorry for Mayrina and her husband's fate, but also finds it funny. He mentions he wishes Mayrina could at least see the "funny side of it". It seems that crucial to his ability to accept the things he's done and have been done to him.

I saw a comment earlier that said they felt Astarion is just "needlessly evil" but honestly I see very clear cut motivations in all of his approval choices. Fear for his life. Fear of being controlled. And finding joy, however twisted, in the horrible things that have befallen him and others.

I honestly think one of the best scenes in exploring his character is the goblin party after siding with the goblins in the grove battle, which is likely a much more rare scene since the game pushes you pretty hard towards helping the teiflings. If you side with the teiflings, he spends the party being boisterous and whiny. He complains loudly about the lack of reward, but seems to be mostly just blowing smoke, enjoying complaining. He'll joke around with you and, while making a fuss about it, does seem to enjoying himself to some extent, even if it's just enjoying the fuss he's making. And he raises a good point. If you tell him "just think of the lives we saved" he'll raise the question: did you really "save" anyone? You killed as many goblins in the camp as there were teiflings in the grove. Goblins who were manipulated and controlled by the cult of the Absolute. At the end of the day, you decided that some lives were worth the loss of others. Whether or not you made the "right" decision is up to your interpretation. It gives a glimpse into the way he's come to rationalize the things he's had to do under Cazador's command.

At the goblin party, he's much more subdued. I saw a video saying he was clearly "having a great time" but I don't see it that way at all. His jokes are dry and dark. His words soft. The way we only really see him in scenes where he feels vulnerable, emotionally. His usual flamboyant nature dulled. If you express regret over what you did, he tells you "You did what you had to. Don't be ashamed you did it well." You can really tell how that's a motto he's had to cling to himself. He's not wracked with guilt the way the others like Gale and Shadowheart are, but you can see exactly why. Not because he wanted this, but because he's completely internalized the idea that one can't get what they want. They can only take it. And accept everything else as inevitable. Right and wrong stopped meaning anything to him a long long time ago. There's just life. Survival. And whatever it takes to keep on going.

Everything Astarion does is, in some way, about protecting himself. His blades protect his body. His harsh words and lies protect his secrets. His humor protects his mind. Which is why each of his important character cutscenes have been about having to lower his guard. To trust you with all three of those things.

I'm very interested in seeing what will happen when he truly is faced with the decision to protect himself or to protect those he cares about. I think that will be the defining moment for him and will vary wildly depending on if you've managed to get him to lower his defenses around you and learn to trust.

#Astarion #Baldur's Gate #Baldur's Gate 3 #Astarion Baldur's Gate #reposting because there was some error with tagging it before

[brewstersbru]

Uh oh I'm writing again... have some wyllstarion

Wyll likes to act like the most straightforward guy in the party- and perhaps, with what strange characters have coalesced here, he may very well be. Although, Astarion thinks to himself, pots and kettles are still black, at the end of the day- no matter what they call themselves or each other.

The vampire is not usually one to dwell on others for too long, simply because he has more than enough to worry about on his own. But something about Wyll, his righteous façade, his dedication to remaining insufferably well-meaning, even in the face of becoming an actual, literal, devil from the hells. It’s off-putting. Not quite right. Something about Wyll is just not quite right.  

He becomes transfixed- gaze unwittingly wandering to the warlock whenever he’s been idle for too long. Gale notices, but he thinks it’s because Astarion has a crush on Wyll, and is too stubborn to admit it. Sometimes he’ll try to engineer a way for the two of them to be alone together, steering Tav further ahead into a crypt, or pretending to be asleep when they’re all huddled around the fire. Astarion is too embarrassed at being caught staring to properly threaten the wizard for even thinking such a thing.

His fixation is not amorous. It’s curious. What in the world could such a seemingly candid, straightforward fellow have to hide? The things that drift to mind are equal parts terrifying and hilarious. Perhaps he’s secretly some twisted murderer- although, it’s not like Astarion’s not one of those- or perhaps he has a tragic, uncomfortable rash somewhere inconvenient. That would be funny. Astarion wonders if his new devilish-ness has come with any awkward skin conditions. Horns simply cannot be comfortable on a head so used to not having them.

He’s getting into the weeds now- the point is, Wyll is strange. And Astarion has absolutely no idea how to deal with him. A fact that has become increasingly apparent, as the man- currently sweating bullets in the middle of a watership they’d commandeered- falters and stumbles over his words for the first time since they’ve known each other.

The others are tending their wounds, and those of the other prisoners they’d managed to free in the short time they’d been in Gortash’s underwater prison. Shadowheart stands over a beaten Omeluum and rests a glowing hand gently against his forehead. Halsin is kneeled on the floor of the ship, inspecting injuries and distributing salve and bandages to the Gondians gathered around him.

Wyll is staring at his father’s furrowed brow, mouth choking around pleasantries. Astarion tilts his head at the display, considering. He and Wyll aren’t that close, but the other man had insisted that they save his father. Had begged Tav to let him go; went against Mizora, knowing full-well what she is capable of.  And all he can choke out, when they finally reunite, is a short, stunted hello?

Then, he catches a glimpse of the Duke’s face. The disgust is so apparent that Astarion almost recoils with the force of it. Perhaps that’s why Wyll is struggling so much.

He tarries for a moment, two, but cannot stay idle when the gruff older man opens his mouth to respond. There’s no doubt in Astarion’s mind that whatever is about to come out of his mouth will break Wyll’s heart, and for some godsforsaken reason, he doesn’t want to let that happen.

“A Grand Duke! My my, Wyll, who knew you had such lofty connections?” Astarion sidles up next to his friend, sliding a cool hand up his back to grasp at his shoulder in steady reassurance. His body moves of its own accord, without his permission, but he cannot find it within himself to regret the action when Wyll’s shoulders relax just so underneath his hand, when his brow smooths.

“Ah, well. It’s been a while.” His smile is a rueful, broken thing hanging off of its hinges. The laugh that follows creaks hollowly. Astarion cannot stand the sight of it. He turns his sharpened gaze to the Duke, smiles wide so as to showcase his sharp, pearly fangs.

“Oh, that’s too bad, my dear. That your father has not had the chance to know what a devilishly good fellow you’ve grown into.” The Duke coughs at the word ‘devilishly’ but that’s why Astarion had used it. Good. Be uncomfortable. He laughs something mirthless and sharp before continuing, “No matter. You did just save him, now you’ve got all the time in the world to catch up.”

Wyll looks at him for a moment, eyes clouded, calculating. He huffs a ghost of a laugh but shakes his head. “I appreciate your optimism, my friend, but perhaps-“

The Duke’s forceful, indignant interruption drowns out the rest of whatever he was about to say, “First you cleave my heart in twain, and now you shatter it to pieces! My son, a monster, twisted almost beyond recognition.” He stares at Wyll as if he was no better than the dirt beneath his feet, then scoffs to the side. “To think… my blood flows through those veins.” The words are forced past his lips, almost as if he’s about to be sick.

Astarion sneers at the display. Wyll only shakes his head, dispassionately at his feet.

“It’s not what you think, it never was.” His voice is small, but firm. Astarion’s long-dead heart aches in his chest. Who could possibly deny that, deny him? The Duke snarls his response, “It is exactly what I think.”

And that’s quite enough, Astarion decides. He doesn’t know where all of this animalistic protectiveness is coming from, but it’s as if a beast has been awakened inside of him, sitting on its haunches, ready to pounce at any moment. Wyll’s expression has only sunken further into despair, his eyes duller than they’ve ever been. It’s unnatural, to watch as the usual spark of life within them flickers out into a deep, yawning pain.

“I’m beginning to think we should have let you drown, Duke,” He spits the word like it’s a curse, “if this is how you’re going to treat your savior. He’s risked his life, his godsdamned soul to save yours. The least you could do is show a little fucking gratitude.” Astarion’s teeth are gritted as he speaks, his voice low and grating in ways it’s only been in the midst of battle. Wyll is looking at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. He’s frowning, but his eyes are shining again so Astarion takes it as a success.

Before anything else can be said, both Wyll and his father groan and hunch over themselves. Astarion’s own tadpole twitches at the psychic disturbance. They’re sharing memories. It’s but a few moments later that they’re shaking themselves out of it, Astarion clutches tightly at Wyll’s waist, supporting his weight as he recovers. It doesn’t hurt that he’s so warm, and fit, either.

Silence reigns for a moment, two, three as the Duke parses through whatever’s Wyll’s just chosen to show him. Astarion’s thumb moves of its own accord against the sharp jut of Wyll’s hipbone through his robe. The other man relaxes minutely, and as much as Astarion is loathe to admit it, his body knows what it’s doing better than his mind does, right now. Because his mind has not really stopped repeating whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckareyoudoingidiot for the past half hour.  

The Duke nods, after a minute or so. “I… I apologize, my son. You have suffered much for your people.”

Wyll nods, his voice is just slightly wet as he speaks, “Everything I did, I did for Baldur’s Gate. I did for you.” His voice breaks on the last word, and Astarion’s heart with it. He pulls Wyll tighter against him before releasing his grip. The Duke’s eyes shine, a little bit like Wyll’s always seem to. Astarion is beginning to see the resemblance.

“You sold your soul to save Baldur’s Gate- and I cast you out for it. You gave yourself to the hells eternal fires so I might walk free. By the gods! Can you ever forgive me?” He seems close to tears himself. Good. Astarion thinks, and only feels a little bad about it when Wyll responds in kind.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Astarion disagrees but remains quiet, they’re having a moment. “You only wanted to protect the city, and I only ever wanted the same.” Wyll is a much better man than Astarion could ever hope to be, he would have said ‘I told you so’ and spit at his feet. Perhaps that’s why Wyll is the Blade of Frontiers and Astarion is not. The Duke seems to concur.

“You are a better man than I. A better son than I deserve.” A few seconds pass as the two take a moment to look at each other, for all that they are, and all that they wish they were, before drawing in and crushing together into a violent, giddy hug. Astarion sighs to himself, contented.

Both of them are crying and Astarion pretends like he doesn’t notice. He makes to walk away after a bit, but before he can make it very far the Duke is calling him back. “Wait, vampire!” Oh hells. Not this again. If the fucking Bitch-Duke tries to stake him after he’d just helped save his ass, he’s going to be quite cross. And Wyll just might have to reconcile with not having a father. Oh, who is he kidding. He’d die before being the reason the other man’s eyes were dulled. Still, it’d be extremely inconvenient.

Astarion sighs, but turns on his heel. “What could you possibly need from me, your Duke-ness. I thought you and doe-eyes here were having father-son bonding time?” Wyll recoils a bit at the description, as if no one’s told him how large and shiny his eyes are. Pity, that.

The Duke looks at him like he’s an especially tricky puzzle. Good. He likes being difficult.

“I wanted to thank you. For setting me straight.” Astarion sighs and inspects his nails, trying not to let the thanks sink in. They always feel strange and hot in his gut. Bubbly and uncomfortable.

“Well, someone had to and little miss martyr here wasn’t going to do it.” Wyll smiles and offers a similar thanks. Striding forward and pulling Astarion into a gentle embrace.

“Thank you, Astarion. You truly are a gift.” He whispers the words, low and sincere into his ear as he clasps a warm hand tenderly across the back of his neck. Astarion hates and loves it. He’s so fucking glad to be dead and hungry right now, because there’s not enough blood to show the warmth blossoming across his cheeks and onto the tips of his ears. He coughs.

“Yes, well, aren’t I always. I’ll leave you two to it!” And with that, he scurries away. Perhaps more confused and intrigued than ever, but understanding more about Wyll than he ever has.

What a strange, strange man. But gods, he is cute.

#bg3 #astarion #wyll ravengard #wyllstarion #astarion x wyll #bloodfrontier #bloodpact #whatever the hell we're calling it #the sillies #astarion is such a bitch and i love him so much #feat wyll's mega father problems #cross posted on ao3 as always bc i crave attention #wherein wyll is a full character and not just a prop for astarion ! #daddy issues uh oh #astarion bites #of his own admittance ! hes a biter #wherein i use some game dialogue bc it inspired me #i was like oh juicyyyyy!! (after u save wylls dad hes a little bitch for a bit) #bg3spoilers

[verai-marcel]

Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 3 of ?)

Summary, Notes, Tags, & Part 1 are here.

Part 2 is here.

AO3 link is here, darling.

Chapter Word Count: 2256

Act I, Chapter 3 - The Tension

Another day passed, and another evening of Astarion wandering off while the others ate their meal.

“Doesn’t he ever eat?” Karlach asked.

“Maybe he snacks throughout the day,” you commented idly. "He certainly doesn’t like my food," you muttered after.

“Then he doesn’t have good taste,” Wyll said, giving you a smile. “For what it’s worth, I think your food is absolutely delicious.”

You beamed. Gods, you had to admit to yourself that you were a whore for praise. It was what had kept you by your former employer’s side for longer than was healthy. You shook your head of the memories. Some things were better left in the past.

While the others finished up their meals, you went to prepare the tents.

As you finished Gale’s tent, you saw him coming up to you.

“Watching you work has been an absolute pleasure,” he said with a smile. “I’ve performed great magicks, manipulated the Weave into spells that could topple castles. But you? I’ve never felt a more welcoming and warm magic. It’s like a comforting blanket I could just wrap myself in and never leave.” He leaned a bit closer to you. “I’d love to learn some of those cantrips from you. If you don’t mind sharing your secrets.”

“Sure! I’m not sure how well I can teach you, but I’ll do my best.” You were quite giddy from the fact that a wizard was asking you, a mere hearth witch, to teach him something.

“Wonderful.” He reached out, perhaps to touch your arm, but you instinctively flinched away. Noticing your reaction, he let his hand fall. “Well, have a good night,” Gale said, giving you a friendly wave of his hand instead before turning in for the night.

You stayed still for a moment, turning over two things in your head: one, wondering if you were good enough to teach a wizard, and two, berating yourself for recoiling so obviously from a friendly touch. You had sleeves and gloves on, so there was no reason for you to have done that, yet habits instilled into you as a child were hard to change. Because of your ability to feel others’ emotions through skin contact, your mother had trained you to avoid touch in general as a safeguard. You could react appropriately with forewarning, and sometimes you even brushed someone’s hand or arm on purpose to get a read on them. But there were times when you were caught off guard. 

I thought I had gotten better at that.

With your mind churning, you turned around and saw Astarion walking back to camp, watching you with a smirk.

“What?” you asked as your path crossed his on your way to the next tent. You inwardly cringed at your tone. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.

“Nothing,” said with his usual smarm. “Unless you were looking for praise from me as well.”

For a moment, a singular, split-second of a moment, you let your craving for praise show on your face before you locked it down.

But you had already revealed too much.

“Though you’d need to impress me first,” he replied, breezily walking past you toward the campfire to join the others who were still awake.

Never mind, he deserved that tone. Damn noble.

Out of spite, you neglected to cast warmth on his tent. Let him freeze for one night, see how he feels about being condescending to you tomorrow.

***

“It was awfully cold last night,” Astarion commented in the morning.

The others looked at each other, then they all looked at you.

You immediately got up, unable to stand their curious stares. “I need to check the fishing nets,” you said quickly as you stalked away toward the water.

You could hear Karlach distantly. “I thought my tent was fine.” 

Once you reached the water’s edge, you knelt down and tugged at the nets, but your mind was elsewhere. Now that you were faced with the consequences of your actions, you regretted your petty revenge. Sure, you could have lied your ass off and gotten away with it. But since you had panicked and bailed without giving a good excuse, it was pretty clear what you did, or rather, didn’t do. What would everyone think of you now?

“You didn’t run very far, little hearth witch.”

Still in the middle of your existential crisis, you immediately stood and whirled around to see Astarion walking towards you.

“Now, I would have assumed you just forgot about poor me if you had just lied about it,” he said in a tone that clearly implied that he wouldn’t have believed a damn word out of your mouth. He stepped closer, and with the water at your back, you had nowhere to go. So you stood your ground and stared at him until he was practically toe to toe with you.

“Instead,” he continued, tipping his head, “you ran away, guilt written all over your face. Whatever could I have done to warrant being singled out like this?”

Seeing his smug face brought your previously squashed annoyance bubbling to the surface. You glared as you hissed, “You held a knife to my neck!”

“But I apologized for that, and I explained myself, didn’t I?” He tipped his head the other direction, looking like a kicked puppy. “I thought we were square.”

You bit your lip. Yeah, you knew he was faking it, but regardless, you did feel guilty. A moment of petty vengeance, not just against him, but against what he represented. The nobility.

It wasn’t fair to him. You knew it wasn't a fair thing, a night of discomfort in the cold for one snarky remark that you could have just ignored. You were better than that. And you knew not all nobles were bad. There were quite a few that were good, upstanding folks. One bad experience in the past should not have soured your outlook on an entire class of people.

You swallowed. Looked up at him. Remembered that he too had his own fears and shadows. Maybe he just had a bad day. You always prided yourself on being able to consider the situation of others before acting, and to have failed in doing so stung pretty damn hard. The guilt gnawed at you until tears began to well up in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you said sincerely. “That wasn’t fair, and… you didn’t deserve it.” Your voice had grown shaky with emotion. You hated that you sounded like a trembling kitten.

A self-satisfied grin spread on his face. “Well, I accept your apology.” 

When you continued to silently cry, he began to look uncomfortable. “I’m not mad,” he said as he looked over his shoulder, starting to look a little panicked. “It’s not a big deal. The others will think I’m a monster if they see you cry. So stop.”

You were crying more out of anger at yourself and not because of him, but you had to admit, you felt some schadenfreude from seeing him so anxious. “Say please,” you joked through your tears.

He sighed. “Fine. Please.” Then he leaned in a little closer. “Please,” he repeated, quieter, gentler.

You looked up at him, surprised by the change in his tone. “Alright,” you said, your voice still a little shaky.

Astarion smiled at you then, and your heart skipped a beat. Dammit, he sure knew how to use his attractiveness to his benefit. 

“Good girl,” he said before patting you on the head and walking away.

You touched your head where he had patted you. There had been a sense of satisfaction in his touch, but you weren’t sure if it was for you, or himself.

***

Late that night, you were awoken by the soft sounds of cloth moving around. You opened your eyes to quite the sight at the campfire, so you lay in your bedroll, feigning sleep so you could watch surreptitiously. 

It was quite the contrast to Astarion’s usual day time persona.

He was shirtless, sitting cross legged by the fire pit. His profile was lit by the slowly dying light of the campfire and the full moon, his brows furrowed in concentration as he slowly sewed together the damage on his undershirt. You could tell from the toned muscles on his bare torso that he wasn’t just eye candy. He could hold his own in a fight, and from the past couple of days, you got the idea from the others that he was a little extra gleeful when he got to stab someone.

He hissed when he pricked himself with the needle, his brow furrowing even more. He brought the shirt closer to his face, examining the tear from different directions. His movements seemed a bit slow, as if he was exhausted from the day’s activities.

Maybe if he ate my fucking food, he wouldn’t be so tired.

You shook your head of your ire and sighed. You couldn’t watch him do this any longer when you could easily fix this with your cantrip. Rolling out of your bedroll, you quietly crawled over to him.

He looked over at you and promptly looked away.

“What, come to mock my sewing skills?” he asked. His usual sass was only half-present, as if he was too drained to defend himself.

His defeated tone saddened you a bit. Looking closer, you noticed that there were mends all over, and the stitching appeared to be a bit haphazard. You reached for the shirt, only to have him suddenly yank it away.

“Don’t. Touch.”

You blinked. Then you looked at him, truly looked at him. He was frowning, his body almost curled defensively. He was holding onto his shirt like it was his only possession in the world. Under your gaze, his glare changed to a tired expression.

“What do you want,” he asked in a deadpan tone as he slumped a little.

“I just wanted to help,” you said sincerely. For all the attitude you had given him before, you didn’t hate him. It wasn’t his fault you disliked most nobles.

He tipped his head and considered your offer. Slowly he held out the shirt to you, his eyes staring into yours. “Can you fix this?” he asked in barely a whisper.

Taking it gently, you examined it in the dim light. It was hard to see, so instead you ran your hands over all of the material and realized that it wasn’t haphazard stitching. It was layers and layers of thread, as if he had carefully mended his clothes over and over again. He was a noble, wasn’t he? Couldn’t he just buy new clothes? Why would he go through the trouble of repairing something that was worn out to such an extent?

Your fingers carefully searched for what seemed to be the oldest mend. From old to new, you told yourself. Contrary to how this spell was taught, you had figured out that reversing the order would strengthen the repairs of the newer section by unraveling everything down to the core and rebuilding it anew. It was a slower, more meticulous process, but it made for a stronger repair. 

You focused closely on the fabric and began to hum. It was an old song, a song from your childhood. A song that made you think of sunlit evenings and aurora midnights that lasted but a moment, of moonlit days and months of snow. The cloth unraveled slowly, and then came back together, the old threads falling to the wayside and then woven back into the cloth as if they had always belonged there. The scars from the past make up the skin of today, so it must be incorporated back in, not discarded nor removed. At least, that was how your cantrip worked.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him leaning in closer, but you ignored him as you continued to work. It was critical to maintain the song, maintain the flow, otherwise you would have to start all over. And somehow, the importance of this was understood, since Astarion sat by quietly as you worked. You weren’t sure how long it took, but when you finished, the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon, and your throat was dry from the constant use of your voice.

Finally, you looked up and blinked. Your vision was a little blurry, but you could see Astarion looking at the shirt with awe in his expression.

He seemed far away as you handed the shirt back to him. His hands ran over the places that you had worked extra hard on, where several patches and mends had occurred, overlapping each other.

“It’s… perfect. As if it were brand new,” he murmured.

You were insightful enough to know that this shirt meant much more to him than he let on. So you quietly stood and left him to his musings.

He suddenly grabbed your hand. You were surprised to feel a deep gratitude before he let go, his expression vacillating from something softer to awkward before settling on his habitual sneer. “I suppose you’ll be wanting some coin for your trouble,” he said, his usual snarky tone returning.

You shook your head. “I just wanted to help,” you repeated, and meant it. You decided to just begin your morning chores, but not before glancing back to see him touching his shirt with a reverence that made your heart clench in sympathy.

What would make a noble cling to a simple piece of clothing so earnestly?

---------------------------

End Notes: More cantrips, more singing. Hope y’all don’t mind, as it's going to be a theme here. I re-wrote that internal monologue that Hearth Witch is having in her head while she’s standing by the water so many times, so I hope the emotions came through. Next week, the chapter that most of you are probably looking forward to - let’s get close to Astarion. Really close.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion #astarion x F!Reader #slow burn #female reader #baldur's gate 3 #writing #your hearth is my home

[whatacaitastrophe]

Is It Over Now - Chapter 7

Previous Chapter

Chapter Song Inspiration: "Burn Butcher Burn" - The Witcher, Season 2 Soundtrack (performed by Joey Batey)

Chapter Warnings: none!

Spotify Playlist: Here

Chapter Notes: if you have read this fic, liked it, reblogged it, or left comments THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart. keep the comments coming bc i love hearing your feedback (and like tinkerbell, i need applause to live).

Chapter 7: I Hear You're Alive. How Disappointing

The next two days fly by without incident, unless you count Wyll making Fallon cry because she has to do one hundred crunches at the end of their final training session before the ball (Fallon counts it). At least when he leaves the morning of the ball he promises he will not be at their door bright and early tomorrow, because he intends to take the next day off. It’s a sure sign of how Wyll expects the evening of revelry and celebration to go. 

After their conversation, Fallon and Astarion fell into an easy rhythm. The first night, they stayed up talking about everything and nothing, only taking breaks to exchange sweet kisses. They still haven’t properly had sex yet, but that’s something Astarion is perfectly ok with. When it comes to Fallon, Astarion wants to do this right. He doesn’t want Fallon to feel like he poured his heart out to her just to bed her (and maybe, just maybe, he’s still the tiniest bit insecure and worried that Fallon had done exactly that). 

Somehow, despite the past two days being some of the best of his life with Fallon, Astarion is incredibly nervous for this ball. He loves a good party, especially one where the attention will be cast upon him, and he’ll be given the opportunity to charm an entire room full of aristocrats, but the anticipation of this night has him pacing around the suite. 

It could also be because Shadowheart arrived at the suite in the early afternoon with a team of hair and makeup professionals trailing behind her to help them get ready for the evening, and as a direct result, Astarion has been left to entertain Lae’zel, who quickly refused the assistance of the small army Shadowheart assembled, declaring she does not need an entire day to become perfect. 

“Astarion,” Lae’zel warns after his twelfth lap around the sitting room in the last hour. “If you do not stop pacing, I will make you.”

Astarion scowls at the githyanki, but he does as he’s told; mostly because he’s still fairly certain Lae’zel could snap him in two if she really wanted to. He picks up the book about the young wizard that he’s still reading, but concentration eludes him and he’s just staring at the pages without absorbing any of the content. 

“My lover has informed me that I need to work on my….people skills,” Lae’zel starts with a huff. “So I am going to ask you why you keep looking at the bedroom door and why you cannot sit still, but please do not mistake my inquiry for actual concern.” 

Astarion snorts with laughter. “I think part of having people skills is showing genuine concern, Lae’zel.”

Lae’zel gives him a stone cold stare, and he almost regrets teasing her. “It’s the first time Fallon and I are going out in public together. As…more than friends.” He clarifies. “So this giant party where everyone is watching, it’s basically our first date.”

“Yes, Shadowheart did mention a romantic development. I did not realize Fallon was finally over the wizard.”

Astarion winces. “Ah, well, not entirely, but that’s complicated to explain and I’m sure you don’t want to hear about the whole sordid affair.”

“That is correct, I do not,” she confirms. “Besides, I’ve heard enough that I think I understand.” 

“Well, that’s why I’m pacing,” he tells her, and Lae’zel levels a stare in his direction. “You asked.” he concedes, raising his hands in defeat. 

Awkward silence fills the suite, and Astarion really wishes he’d thought to turn on the phonograph before their friends arrived because now he’s too afraid to stand up and risk the gith’s wrath by moving around again. “Do you think the wizard will show his face?” Lae’zel breaks the silence. 

“Gods, I fucking hope not. She’s been doing so well…I worry about what seeing him again might do to her.” 

“Maybe that is the real reason why you pace incessantly. You are worried for Fallon, and maybe a little worried for yourself and your romantic involvement with her, should the wizard return.”

Astarion is stunned, and not just because Lae’zel just read him so thoroughly. “Why Lae’zel, I think you may have just shown genuine concern! Shawdowheart will be very proud.” He deflects, as this is a very strange conversation to be having with Lae’zel, of all people. Then again, maybe the warrior is the best person to have this conversation with, because she minces words even less than her girlfriend does, and unlike Wyll or Karlach, or even Halsin, she won’t try to soothe his nerves with false narratives. Astarion defies her and stands to walk over to the cabinet where he and Fallon keep the wine. He pours them each a glass before sitting back down again. “Do you think he’s going to show up?”

Lae’zel ponders for a moment as she drinks her wine. “No,” she declares. “The wizard has not been in contact with anyone for the last year. I believe he is intelligent enough to know his presence would not be welcome.” As backhanded as it is, Astarion is surprised by the compliment Lae’zel affords Gale. 

Astarion winces. “Well…that’s not entirely true.” 

“My assessment of the wizard’s intelligence, or that he has not been in contact with anyone since he left in the first place?” 

“The second part.”

Deafening silence fills the suite again, and Astarion swears Lae’zel does not ever blink. “You’ve spoken to him.”

“I’ve seen him.” Astarion confesses.

More silence. “When?” 

“Months ago…it’s a long story.”

“Does Fallon know?”

“No.” 

“Does anyone?”

“....no one other than you and Gale.” Astarion did not think it was possible for the githyanki’s lips to get any thinner, but they do and she’s glaring at him. “Please don’t tell her.” Astarion begs.

The silence that follows could not have lasted more than a few minutes, if not seconds, but it feels like an eternity while Astarion holds his breath, waiting for Lae’zel to say something. 

“I will not intervene, because it is not my place and unlike my lover, I do not care to gossip,” she sips from her wine glass. “However, I will encourage you to be honest with Fallon, because if she ever finds out you kept this from her, it will not end well for you.” 

Astarion sighs, finishing his own glass of wine and pouring another. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” 

“I’ve never taken you to be a coward, Astarion. Do not start now, as I do not associate with cowards.” 

It might be the nicest thing the gith has ever said to him, and the closest she’s ever come to admitting they’re actually friends. Lae’zel dismisses herself to get ready for the ball, leaving Astarion alone. Astarion sighs quietly and tells himself that he’ll broach the topic with Fallon first thing tomorrow. He doesn’t want to ruin this night for her. Astarion looks at the grandfather clock by the door and realizes that he should probably get ready as well and he heads for the spare bedroom.

An hour later, Lae’zel is the first one to return to the sitting room, followed shortly by Astarion. “Well, don’t you look dashing.” Astarion offers the gith as he takes in her form. The dress Lae’zell chose (more likely chosen by Shadowheart for her), is a simple, black floor length a-line gown with a cowl neckline. The halter top compliments her toned body, and the necklace she’s wearing is a pendant with moons and stars on it. The ensemble is not much different than the one Lae’zel wore to last year’s Winter Solstice Ball, and Astarion is almost certain that Lae’zel not repeating an outfit is entirely Shadowheart’s influence.

The doublet Astarion picked out for himself is black velvet, and the filigree throughout is the same color as Fallon’s dress. Though the development of their romantic involvement is less than a tenday old, Astarion always knew he would be the one escorting Fallon to the ball, and he’d be damned if their ensembles didn’t match, or worse, clashed altogether. Shadowheart calls from the bedroom that she and Fallon are nearly ready, and Astarion begins pacing again. Lae’zel glares at him, but she doesn’t say anything, and Astarion notices that even the stoic githyanki warrior is fidgeting a little in her seat. He does not dare bring it up for fear of losing his head, but it’s sweet to see his friend be nervous about seeing her lover in her dress for the first time. 

The door to the bedroom opens and Astarion freezes in place and Lae’zel shoots to her feet. Shadowheart is the first to emerge and though Shadowheart looks absolutely lovely, Astarion is watching Lae’zel. He’s never seen her look awestruck before. Lae’zel walks over to a beaming Shadowheart and takes her hands. “ Zhak vo'n'fynh duj' : Source of my joy. You are more radiant than the sun.” Astarion looks away when Lae’zel captures Shadowheart’s mouth in a deep kiss (it feels weird watching the gith be this vulnerable), his gaze automatically goes to the bedroom door. 

Fallon steps through the door, and Astarion is breathless. He imagines the look on his face is not much different than that of the one Lae’zel had on her face moments before, but when Fallon smiles at him, Astarion honestly forgets that there is anyone else in the suite aside from the two of them. Fallon walks–no–floats towards him, the chiffon of her dress having the exact effect Astarion and Figaro envisioned together. He meets her halfway and takes one of her hands and Astarion bows deeply to the woman in front of him, and kisses the back of her hand. 

“Well, I must say, whoever chose this dress for you has excellent taste,” Astarion jests as he rises. “You look absolutely exquisite, darling.” 

Blush creeps up Fallon’s neck. “Thank you. For all of it.” He knows she means more than just the dress. 

Wyrm’s Rock is decorated for the season to the nines. Wyll’s stepmother is known for her parties, and this one is no exception. “It’s beautiful.” Fallon muses in awe as they walk in. “I can’t believe I missed this last year.” 

Astarion squeezes her hand softly as he thinks back to this time last year. Astarion and their friends attempted to convince Fallon to leave The Elfsong for this occasion, but their efforts were in vain. When they’d gone to collect her, she was already several bottles of wine deep in the bar with some of the tieflings from The Grove, could barely stand, and was in absolutely zero condition to spend an entire evening socializing with the aristocrats of Baldur’s Gate. They’d all agreed that with the absence of Fallon, and even Gale, it didn’t really feel like much of the celebration it was supposed to be.

The four of them step further into the extravagantly decorated room and are immediately greeted by various members of the court, fawning over Fallon especially after missing last year. Astarion holds his tongue as they fuss and speculate to her face about why she was absent last year, and pride spreads through his body as Fallon fields the question and deflects like she’s been doing this her whole life. This was why she’d become their leader. She charmed people with ease and carried herself with such confidence it was no wonder nearly everyone they met fell in love with her instantly. Eventually she’s able to wave them off, and Astarion leans over to kiss her temple. 

“Gods, those people do love their gossip, don’t they?” Fallon muses with a laugh. 

“Yes, I’d no idea you’ve been out of the city training dragons, do tell me, when shall I get to ride one? You’ve been holding out on me.” 

“Your very own dragon is your solstice gift.” She teases with a wink but expression very quickly changes to surprise and then pure glee. Fallon lets out an excited squeal and Astarion follows her gaze to where Wyll is standing but it’s not Wyll, or even the druid Halsin towering next to him that caused the object of Astarion’s affection to squeal with delight.

It’s Karlach.

Not only is it Karlach, but the tiefling looks like herself. 

Fallon does not bother with proper etiquette, and she gathers her skirts in one hand, takes off towards Karlach at a sprint and leaps into her friend’s arms. Astarion trails after her, and though he definitely is not running as Fallon had, Astarion’s gait is definitely quicker than usual. After sacrificing herself and becoming an illithid, Karlach was forced to lay low after the battle ended. For obvious reasons, illithids were not exactly a welcome sight in Baldur’s Gate, but Halsin welcomed her back to The Grove with open arms. 

“I missed you, soldier.” Karlach is murmuring into her embrace with Fallon as Astarion approaches the reunion.

“I can’t believe it– you’re here! And you’re you!” Fallon exclaims, hugging Karlach again with tears in her eyes. “How?”

“Just a little bit ‘o temporary magic, I’m afraid. Nettie and our pal Halsin made me a potion so I’d look like meself tonight. Not that I ever stopped being me, but, you know ‘ow it is.” 

Fallon greets Halsin next, and the druid picks her up to spin in a circle and Astarion just smiles as the fabric of her dress floats effortlessly around her. He really does have good taste. Halsin was one of the first people to ever suspect that Astarion had feelings for Fallon. The conversation occurred shortly after Halsin confessed his own feelings for Fallon to her, only to be gently turned down after Gale refused the suggestion of an open relationship. At the time, Astarion made fun of Gale for being so incredibly traditional in his way of thinking, but now that he has Fallon, Astarion understands. He doesn’t want to share Fallon with anyone else, either.

“How do you do it?” Halsin asked him whilst sitting by the fire one evening. 

Astarion looked up at the druid in confusion. “Do what?”

“How do you cope with the ache in your heart, watching Fallon and Gale together day in and day out? I only ask because I’ve not been in this group very long, whereas you’ve been here since the beginning. When does the pain of watching her love another fade?” 

Astarion stared at Halsin, mouth slightly open. “Are you suggesting I have feelings for our dear leader?”

“Am I wrong? I’ve seen the way you look at her when you think no one is watching.”

Astarion frowned. “I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

Halsin gives him an understanding smile. “Then perhaps I misread the situation. My deepest apologies.” 

“No apology needed, friend.” Astarion replied before turning back to his book, ignoring the very ache Halsin just spoke of.

Halsin lets go of Fallon, approaching Astarion. The druid offers him a strong handshake and claps him on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you, friend. I am very glad to see the two of you together. She looks happy.” 

Astarion looks over to Fallon and then back to Halsin. “She does, doesn’t she?” Waitstaff pass buy and offer each of them a glass of champagne, and Fallon eagerly listents as Karlach regales her with stories of the grove, seeing Arabella again, and learning how to live among druids as an illithid, and learning how to live as an illithid in general. 

“I mean, I thought that emperor bloke was joking when he said he ate brains, nope. It’s truly the most horrific part of this ‘ole thing. ‘Course I don’t eat people or anything–” Karlach stops speaking suddenly, and her facial expression shifts to complete horror in an instant. 

“You owe me twenty gold, mate.” Wyll tells Halsin, and his tone can only be described as disappointed anger. Halsin also looks very unhappy, and a sickening feeling begins to form in Astarion’s stomach as he realizes that Halsin’s unhappiness has nothing to do with owing Wyll money. 

“Well, this is quite the reunion, isn’t it? Leave it to The Winter Solstice to always bring old friends together.” An omnipotent voice comments from behind Astarion’s back, and Astarion whips around, willing his fingers to not ball into fists at his side as he tries to remember to breathe. That annoying, condescending voice only belongs to one person.

Fallon spins around to face the owner of the voice and she gasps. For the first time in over a year, she speaks the name of her ex-lover, and her voice is shaking. 

“Gale.”

Chapter List

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale #astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfic #female tav #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #gale x tav #astarion x gale x tav

[bladesmitten]

(anon about Wyll getting hells-tormented and transformed in front of everyone) I'm just going insane about him and think I misremembered his first dialogue after the scene a little dkjsk (got mixed up with another backstory line perhaps? about how he doesn't regret the pact and would do it again? or another one maybe it's been a minute since I played :((( ) BUT STILL

just!!! Mizora keeps dishing out torments and he keeps taking it and keeping up his brave heroic face!! and he keeps trying to be as good as possible no matter the sacrifice and augh my heart HE WAS WILLING TO GET KILLED!!!!

and everyone in camp just watching that happen like.. that's Quite A Moment for him to go through right in front of a bunch of people he's only known for (usually) a handful of days at most? and Karlach is right there realizing he was 100% willing to get killed by his patron for her to live! and everyone else in camp is also witnessing all of this!

it's kind of an insane thing to meet a guy and go "oh he's cool and hot and has the tadpole he can come with :)" and then find out the "devil" he's hunting is actually another tadpole buddy and then shortly after that you watch his patron torture and transform him in the middle of your camp and he gets back up and keeps going!! and you're standing there like,,,,, your man just got marinated in all the hells at once,,

and you can talk to him afterwards and reassure him and all but listen. listen.. I just think people who talk about Karlach or a tiefling Tav (or the grove tieflings? do they talk about the grove tieflings?) helping him out with horn care are onto something I think he could use a little more... is the word 'aftercare'? just wouldn't his skin and muscles hurt after all that... what if he needs a little massage :( a gentle head rub :( he needs to go to a spa in Baldur's Gate (and it goes without saying that he (and every one of the tadfools yes but this ain't about them) could use a good therapist)

(technically Mizora was "within her rights" to give him whatever punishment wherever she felt like it but she should also consider dying a thousand deaths and letting him have nice things and leaving him alone forever) (I'm taking him away from her and holding his hands tenderly and– ahem)

...hmm that was more words than I meant to,, I was trying to be hinged and levelheaded in the first ask but then I thought about him more and that just... it happens when you've known him for a couple of DAYS... idk thinking about it made me go feral a little. hope you have a good one I love seeing you on the dash btw <3

no i get it LMFAO wyll's rotating around in my head 24/7 like a perpetual microwave

it really is kinda crazy to think about all that happening, esp if you also recruit karlach on the same day you meet him 😭 you've known him for less than 24 hours at that point and he just up and makes a huge sacrifice in the name of doing the right thing. just another tuesday for the blade methinks! (also, obsessed with the wording on that - "marinated in the hells" 😭)

honestly, no wonder wyll sulks at the beach during the tiefling party. he has had no time to process everything that's happened - from hunting karlach in avernus, to getting tadpoled, the nautiloid crashing, saving the druid grove from goblins, helping the tiefling refugees, sparing the person you swore to kill, getting transformed into a devil, infiltrating the goblin camp, killing the three goblin leaders, rescuing halsin only to find out they have to go to moonrise towers anyway. all in - what? a week or two? not to mention he has a mindflayer parasite, the threat of mindflayer transformation looming over everyone in camp.

so the one time the party finally has time for rest and relaxation and celebration - that's the time it all hits wyll. he's permanently changed. because he did the right thing. he can't bring himself to celebrate despite all the good he's done. will the people still trust him to protect them? or will they only see a devil?

and AAGGHHH there really should've been more [tiefling] dialogue for wyll... comforting him... giving him advice on horn care... or even as a flirt option to just offer to take care of it for him. yknow. he deserves it and more!!

#ask #Anonymous #i think a lot more people should be unhinged and feral about wyll. in the good way obviously

[the0verboss]

I can't believe the first piece of ficlet I'm gonna write for this is fricken Sad Gale Hours. I keep debating continuing this narrative from other companions view points

Gale POV angst/abandonment, Major character death(not Gale)

Gale/ Cleric Male!Gith Tav (it's Iss'tav'in let's be real but he's not named or described for the most part)

✨☀️💀🌙✨

His beloved leaves their home in Waterdeep so soon after they return from Wither’s party Gale can hardly mount a defense against it. He wonders if he should have expected this, if he’d missed signs of this on coming meteor amidst the revelry. When his mind cycles through the memory, it seems obvious. He and the others had sat around the table eating and feasting, Wyll and Astarion taking turns telling grand adventure stories while Shadowheart and Karlach heckled them. Gale’s darling husband had spent the night tucked away in a corner with Lae’zel after making the rounds. Gale hadn’t wanted to begrudge his githyanki love a chance to catch up with his kin, to hear how the war against Vlaakith was faring, to speak in his mother tongue with what might amount to his sister.

He is certainly begrudging him now.

They fight. Gale tries to argue from a logical stance at first. They have a life that requires they be present, responsibilities to the Academy and to the the Spires. His mother expects them both to be in attendance at her next soiree, newlyweds that they are. Gale’s continued research on the orb, dormant as it is, requires his attention. Surely they can take some time to prepare for a voyage of this magnitude.

He runs out of gentle patience quickly in light of his husband’s pre-arranged plans. The man has taken leave from the temple for now, and of course he doesn’t expect Gale to join him. Someone must stay and care for Xan.

It feels utterly patronizing and for the first time, since they shared a night in a conjured bed under false stars, Gale thinks back on his time with Mystra. The feeling is sickenly familiar. He thinks of his mother, her place in the Dekarios clan, noble as it is, but alone. He thinks how everyone always says he favors her, in looks and demeanor.

They do have a child he reminds his love, righteous and growing furious. Xan needs a good githyanki role model. He's still so young, and Gale has only a passable knowledge of tir’su.

And when even this pleading falls of deaf ears, then, there is anger.

He rages, throws things, yells, says things that he knows he'll regret later. While his husband continues to pack the last of his travel bag Gale can feel his composure unravel. It feels ugly. Worse than that even, he feels volatile,a yawning chasm where his breaking heart resides. Dark, desolate and afraid.

“Gale, I love you, but I'm going, my people need me. Lae'zel would not ask lightly.”

“You can't just abandon your family on a lark!”

But he does. The last Gale sees of him is a cape draped back, glowing Blood of Lathander in one hand, shimmering gold helmet tucked under the other. Then he's gone.

They don’t kiss good bye, though Gale imagines that would be difficult with the way he was snarling.

Gale stands in the open door of their, no, not theirs, not anymore. He stands in the door of his tower long after the love of his life has gone. Fists clenched, eyes wet, but silent save for the occasional sniffle. The sea is quiet, he can hear no gulls as the sun begins to dip beneath the waves.

He doesn’t hear the baby crying til Tara comes through her cat flap of displacement and bites him on the hand.

“Mister Dekarios, Gale, what's happened?”

“He left. He just….left us.”

“Well, I never…is he coming back?”

As Gale cradles the small githyanki baby in his arms, rocking and trying to soothe him, he chokes on the answer.

Yes. No. I don't know. He says he is.

The orb feels hungry again for the first time since they defeated the brain. But if his heart feels broken and consumed as he stands in his tower clutching the small body of his son then, it's nothing to what he feels months later.

It's nothing compared to the unexpected agony of seeing Lae’zel standing, blood drenched and solemn, on his balcony. She’s alone, a shroud wrapped bundle under one arm, glowing with divine light. Under the other a familiar shimmering gold helmet.

#bg3 #bg3 fic #gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 tav #angst #iss'tav'in

[saltyowlet]

BG3FicFeb Day 6

Lockpicking Lessons

Word Count: 947

No beta so mistakes will be made

Monks have high dexterity so might as well use it for unlawful things.

"If my memory serves me correctly, you were the one who asked me to teach you."

Olive groaned in frustration at the elf's belittling but kept her eyes focused on the locking mechanism. It had been a few days since she mustered up the courage, or rather, push down her pride to ask him about lockpicking. She always noticed how fast Astarion disarmed and broke into chests and wondered if she could do the same. Maybe she could put that skill on her belt. It at least be one of the few skills she would know where it came from, unlike the others from her foggy past.

What Olive didn't realize was how insanely bad Astarion was at teaching. With every turn of a knob, every stab with a pick, Astarion found something to scrutinize. He always had a condescending tone, no doubt that... but couldn't he at least tone it down??? Could he at least say "good job" for once? So far, she managed to pick at anything he threw at her, so why was he so damn demeaning. If it were for her pride and some sort of respect she had for Astarion, Olive would have quit by now. Hells, anyone would have.

"Counter-clock wise, my dear," Astarion muttered softly. Olive didn't dare turn around, just to see that look he would have when he was being a tad more of a prick.

"Oh, for the love of the hells, I KNOW!!!!" She heard a quiet chuckle. The sound itself was enough to make her cheek flush. From embarrassment or something else, she didn't want to think too deeply.

"Usually, people in my tent scream with me, not at me. So please keep in mind that others are around and we wouldn't want them to have a wrong impression of us, do we?" Astarion murmured. Olive didn't know whether to throw the tool kit at the still locked chest or at Astarion's face. Though if she had thrown it at him, then she would have seen a look of someone quite impressed of her efforts.

When the tiefling had asked him to teach her locking picking, Astarion outright laughed at her face. When he saw her nervous smile turn into an insulted frown, Astarion felt a tinge of regret at the pit of his stomach. To be honest, Astarion didn't even think about the fact that anyone would have noticed his lockpicking skills. One would assumed that lockpicking was a given for someone like Astarion. He wasn't exactly used to others coming to him to learn.

Well, learn about pleasure, undoubtedly. Learn about how to break into a locked door, usually told against it.

Even more surprising, it was Olive who was asking him. The monk wasn't 100% a driving force of light like Wyll, thank gods for that, but she wasn't about to maim some gnomes for gold either. She still had that righteous air about her that Astarion could not stand. So color him surprise at fact that Olive wanted to lockpick.

Color him even more surprised that Olive was a natural. Of course, nothing compared to his own flick of the wrist, but Olive managed to break through most of the locks he threw at her, and he only had been teaching for so little time. Astarion knew he wasn't made for teaching, so all of this choked up to be Olive's own skill. She didn't have the hands of someone who had done this before, Astarion could see that easily, but her hands moved like someone who worked with finessing. Due to her amnesiac conditions, it probably be a while until the reason manifested

"Almost there.....and-!" With a soft clunk, the chest flipped out revealing small trinkets and items that Astarion had collected over time. Olive jumped up from kneeling to turn to Astarion with a please grin. Astarion felt something in his heart but couldn't make out what it was or if he wanted to know what it was.

"Hah! Suck it, Astarion!" Astarion gave Olive his signature seductive look.

"Oh, I intend to, darling~" Olive rolled her eyes, but her smile still remained on her face. She put a hand on Astarion's arm, giving him a warm look.

"Thanks, Astarion, for teaching me. I know you are going out of your way to do this, so sorry if I get riled up easy."

And there it was, the one big reason Astarion was so willing to teach Olive. Despite their differences, and frankly, their antagonism towards each other, Olive never fell short in showing appreciation for Astarion each and every time he pushed her limits. No matter how critical Astarion was or how much Astarion expected from her, Olive took it all and still made sure to let him know how grateful she was. Her tenacity and drive to learn from him, despite her misgivings about him, it was enough for Astarion to give her a chance. And, even if he didn't want to admit it, it was nice for once to have someone in his tent without having to play up the flirtation. Doesn't mean he won't flirt time to time.

"If you wanted to rile me up, all you have to do is ask, darling," Astarion grinned. Olive sighed, exasperated, and gave him a playful punch.

"For once, could you give me a normal compliment?" Olive complained. Astarion gave her a knowing look. "If I were to compliment you, I rather it be with our bodies intertwine, clothes thrown on the floor."

Olive put her face in her hands and groaned irritably. The soft look and smile Astarion gave her went unnoticed by her and Astarion himself.

#BG3FicFeb #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 dark urge #bg3 durge #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #dont know how much or how long ill do this challenge but i like the prompts #def not going to have art as often #im so rusty at writing a fic its been years

[kittenintheden]

There's a bunch of people residing in Baldur's Gate that makes you sort of regret saving them because they're such jerks to you or to other people, like the painter, the flying elephant, the guy polluting the water, and this made me think on how Astarion's been stuck in the city for 200 years and used to seeing or seducing these types demanding help, while also being ungrateful or corrupt, that it would lead him to think helping anyone in the grove or in the forge is pointless (in addition to the ticking time bomb in everyone's head). Like, "those city folks demanding help probably deserved it, so it must be the same outside the city--why bother?" Plus if he thinks too deeply it would come back to his situation so I guess for him it's better to be dismissive until he's forced to confront his reality with his new traveling buddies.

you are so right, anon. I think this game does a really great job generally of showcasing that you should imagine people complexly. like the REASON we get so attached to our companions is because we spend the time with them to really delve into their history and motivations and personalities. we understand that, in so many ways, ALL the main companions have been manipulated and used as tools to some degree. it's not even subtle.

the reason we can look at Astarion and understand why he's so embittered and angry about a helpful/good Tav is because we're around him enough to understand that it's all of the reasons you stated, and also because no one ever saved HIM until mindflayers yanked him up and tadpoled him. he says so, point-blank. no one ever looked out for ME.

and gradually we can see the other companions picking up the concept of imagining the people around them more complexly, too. Wyll becomes far less black-and-white in his views, Lae'zel sees her indoctrination for what it is and develops a sense of kindness and respect, etc.

it's really interesting to see how there are all these really pretty crappy people in the world and still save them because 1) no one is 100% shitty all the time, and 2) people can AND DO change if they're given the space and support to do so. the game really intentionally sets up situations where you're not just killing random cannon fodder all the time, you have to choose whether to help or kill people you've interacted with on some level. maybe you make the decision to kill them anyway, maybe you choose to help them despite their bullshit, maybe you walk away altogether.

in the end, it's the people themselves, the casual background NPCs you never even speak to, that pick up arms and work together to defend themselves, each other, their city. it's a really good portrayal about how everything, on some level, is shades of gray. you just have to decide, as the player, where your personal line is.

#ask box #kitten rambles #bg3 meta #astarion meta #bg3

[prophetandprincess]

Baldur's Gate Scene

Not me appearing after months/years of no new content to provide you with a little Baldur's Gate scene. I am here to feed the Wyll fans because the lack of love I see for him is criminal.

*

“I don’t understand how you can bear to be with me, seeing what I am,” Wyll waved to his horns. “I do not regret what I did, but that does not change the fact that I am indebted to Mizora, that she watches everything that I do. If she sees that…This is not a good idea.” 

“Wyll, we have tadpoles in our heads that can transform us into mind flayers at any moment, I don’t think we’re playing by the normal rules of engagement right now. We will figure out what Mizora wants and we will get you out of your debt. She does not scare me.” Tav said taking a small step forward. 

“And that’s the problem,” Wyll sighed, though he gave her a sad smile. “You don’t seem scared of her at all, but I have seen what she can do, and I cannot let that happen to you. I will not let it happen to you.” 

“Wyll…” Tav had so many emotions in her chest and wasn’t sure what to do with any of them. “I have survived being abducted, a Nautiloid Ship crash, and taking out an entire camp worth of goblins who wanted to sacrifice me to a new god that I know nothing about. Together we have saved the tieflings and the Emerald Grove, and we are on our way to help the rest of the Sword Coast. Together, we can manage Mizora, I am sure of it.” 

“I wish I had your confidence and your optimism,” Wyll smiled for a moment, but then it fell. “Still, it would be selfish of me to pull you into danger just because…” 

“Wyll, you are not pulling me anywhere, I am here willingly only asking for you to take my hand and let me come with you,” Tav took another step so that they were only a few inches from one another. 

“Why?” Wyll asked with such softness and confusion that it almost broke her heart. 

“Because you see me, Wyll. You have always seen me. I’ve never been the unwanted third daughter of a Lord of Baldur’s Gate or a woman with a blade and a tadpole in her head, or the possible agent of destruction for the absolute or the world, to you. You see me. Just me. Even when I was a fifteen-year-old child, scared at her first ball, attempting to disappear behind a potted plant. You saw me, you were nice to me, you asked me to dance even though I was terrible at it and you cared for me when you had no reason to. So please, Wyll, please…” Tav reached out and grabbed his hands. “Don’t push me away, because I see you too.” 

Wyll blinked a couple of times before a soft smile spread across his face, “I didn’t think you remembered that dance. You are not as bad as you remember.” 

“Oh, I am sure I was worse,” Tav smiled back as she tentatively, glad that he hadn’t pulled his hands out of hers. “I am not asking you to do anything you don’t want to do, but I want you to know that I am here and I see you, Wyll. No pact or son of a Duke or anything else, just you and I care for you.” 

Wyll squeezed her hands lightly, sending a tingle of warmth through Tav’s whole body. After all the things she had seen and done, somehow this man holding her hands made her feel like a love-sick teenager again. The look in his eyes, a mixture of warmth and sadness was enough to make her melt if he just said the word. His lips parted for a moment and she thought it would say the words she wanted to hear so badly. That he wanted her as well, that he would risk all the pain and danger so that they could be together. 

Instead, he lifted her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles, looking up at her as he did. While it wasn’t what she wanted, the look and the chaste kiss were enough to fill her stomach with butterflies. 

“You’ve had a long day, I think it’s time you get some sleep, my lady,” Wyll said, his warm breath tickling her skin before he pulled away, but he didn’t let go of her hands. “Sleep well.” 

“You too, my Lord,” Tav said, though her voice was more breathless than she would have liked. 

Wyll held onto her hand for a second or two more, his eyes flickering to her lips for a second, before he let go and took a step back. Tav knew when she was being dismissed but as she made her way toward her bedroom, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that Wyll was watching every one of her steps. 

#baldur's gate 3 #wyll ravengard #bg3 wyll #wyll x tav #my writing #ficlet #fanfic