hargreeves siblings questionable advice [10/?]

an obiwan/anakin plot where astarion and ur muse are best friends but the ascension changes and they have a battle or something

Do y’all ever read your partner’s reply and it’s just… so beautiful, so well-crafted, you really just have to sit back, and read it a couple more times, and wonder how in the heck you got so lucky to write with someone THIS talented??

stargazing.

i feel like when it comes to creating stories and building on characters, video editing is my first choice of medium and writing is def second. i get so much muse from editing. so here's one of a ship w. @divinelght of astarion and aurora in the ascended verse :')

BRUH ITS BEEN A HOT ASS MINUTE. Reviving my boi this week and owing replies. If I owe u a reply pls let me know I’ll be reblogging this with tags once I have a list sorted. I sowwy for disappearing dldjdksjs

will also be reviving @beyondplanes

I can't with this man and his precious eyes...

Astarion  had  spent  the  day  drowning  in  the  sea  of  his  own  thoughts.  That  morning,  he  had  successfully  cleared  his  presence  from  her  side  before  she  had  awoken,  but  the  night  was  spent  similarly.  His  eyes  had  stared  blankly  at  the  canvas  of  his  tent  as  he  lay  completely  still  as  Aurora’s  body  steadily  slept  on  his  arm  throughout  the  night;  unaware  of  his  warring  thoughts  and,  her,  unbothered  by  the  stillness  of  his  body.

The  day  had  gone  on  like  any  regular  day.  It  wasn’t  too  out  of  the  ordinary  for  Astarion  to  keep  to  himself;  nose  deep  in  his  book  as  this  day  was  a  day  of  rest  after  unending  quarrels  and  strenuous  travels.  He  had  kept  to  himself,  idling  here  and  there,  with  calculated  avoidance  of  possible  spots  where  he  would  run  into  Aurora.  He  had  eventually  sought  solitude  in  the  old  cabin  that  sits  above  their  camp;  filled  with  dusted  furniture  and  century-long  neglect,  with  faded  memories  that  echoed  deep  in  the  floorboards.

The  distant  sound  of  Aurora’s  laughter  managed  to  curl  around  the  folds  of  his  mind  and  momentarily  eased  him  back  into  the  blighted  reality.  It  was  difficult  to  remember  the  stagnant  ruin  that  cast  on  these  lands,  when  her  presence  brought  radiance–one  would  mistake  the  blessing  they’ve  received  at  the  inn  had  illuminated  from  her,  instead. 

Once  evening  settled  upon  their  camp,  Astarion  took  one  sharp  breath  in.  He  was  well  aware  his  distance  would  become  noticed  had  he  decided  to  stay  away  any  longer.  He  left  the  ruined  structure  and  paved  the  path  toward  his  tent;  each  step  taken  with  purpose  and  intent  as  internal  words  of  encouragement  drove  him  to  do  what  he  knew  he  must  do. 

The  dust  and  musty  air  stuck  to  the  threads  of  his  clothes;  sinking  into  each  stitch  which  first  moved  him  to  reach  for  a  new(er)  set  of  clothes  to  dress  into.  Once  done,  he  rubbed  the  inside  of  his  palm  with  his  thumb  as  he  stared  blankly  at  the  exact  spot  he  stared  at  for  the  entire  night  before  as  his  lips  moved  to  orchestrate  what  he  was  to  say,  but  there  was  no  way  he  could  practise  without  it  feeling  disingenuous. 

He  soon  needed  to  accept  that  he  needed  to  speak  from  the  heart,  and  it  was  something  that  wasn’t  going  to  flow  out  easily.  And  with  one  truth  revealed,  more  must  be  unveiled:  The  cynical  plan  he  conjured  up  in  the  very  beginning  from  when  he  first  guessed  there  was  attraction  between  them.  Once  it  had  been  brought  to  light,  he  sunk  his  claws  so  deep  in  the  situation  with  intentions  to  keep  her  close...centuries  of  surviving  influenced  all  decisions  then,  but  it  was  different  now.  Everything  was  different  now.  His  plan  was  squandered  the  moment  he  realised  he  cared  deeply  for  her.

With  the  usual  vigilance  he  garnered,  he  had  missed  the  approaching  footsteps  outside  the  tent  as  he  made  for  an  exit.  As  he  moves  the  threshold  aside,  he  stops  his  steps  the  moment  he  sees  a  startled  Aurora.  If  he  had  a  working  heart,  it  would  have  skipped,  or  stopped  for  a  moment  at  his  own  surprised  reaction.  His  mouth  feels  dry  as  he  desperately  tries  to  find  words  to  address  her,  but  silence  instead  takes  place. 

This  was  it.  He  needed  her  to  know.

Astarion’s  mouth  hangs  open,  but  her  question  abruptly  wedges  in.  His  eyes  widen  as  his  body  shifts  back  a  bit  before  fully  processing  the  question  that  befell  her  tongue.  His  lips  subtly  move  with  an  instinct  to  laugh  initially,  as  he  took  the  notion  of  his  avoidance  as  it  being  the  result  of  her  ‘wrong  doing’,  but  he  bites  his  tongue.  The  tension  in  his  shoulders  relaxes  some,  as  the  growth  of  guilt  takes  shape  in  the  depths  of  his  stomach  as  he  realises  his  distance  hasn’t  gone  totally  unnoticed.  It  puzzled  him  to  think  how  long  she’s  been  wanting  to  ask  the  question,  but  the  nature  of  how  it  was  asked  led  him  to  believe  it  may  have  been  all  day. 

The  elf  sighs.  “No,  it’s–nothing  like  that,  my  dear.  I  just,”  he  stops  himself,  as  he  found  himself  immediately  routing  his  words  towards  lies  as  he’s  so  instinctively  done  many  times  before.  It  was  either  now,  or  never.  And  with  how  she’s  selflessly  been  at  his  side  through  even  the  toughest  cards  that  have  been  dealt,  he  owed  her  that  much.  That  was  certain. 

“Aurora...I…I  think  we  need  to  talk,”  he  finally  managed  to  speak  in  a  single  breath,  before  holding  it  once  again.  His  eyes  drift  off  to  the  side  for  a  brief  moment,  as  he  attempts  to  think  back  to  his  practised  performance,  but  retention  fails  him.  The  elf  looks  back  to  her.  Eyes  emptied  of  any  evidence  of  a  constant  wall  that  was  once  present  to  conceal  any  trace  of  vulnerability,  leaving  only  sincerity  mixed  with  dread.

“I  feel…well…awful,”  he  begins,  fighting  all  instincts  to  retract  immediately  as  he  was  laying  out  whatever  unshielded  self  he  had  to  give.  He  attempts  at  a  smile  and  a  vocal  effort  to  keep  the  topic  light,  but  it  would  soon  be  revealed  that  there  was  nothing  light  about  what  he  was  about  to  confess.  He  clears  his  throat  as  he  adjusts  himself  to  be  more  composed.  “Listen…I  had  a  plan.  A  nice  simple  plan:  Seduce  you,  sleep  with  you–manipulate  your  feelings  so  you’d  never  turn  on  me,”  he  continues  with  an  obvious  force  chuckle.  “It  was  easy,  frankly…instinctive.  Habits  from  two  hundred  years  of  charming  people  kicked  in.  All  you  had  to  do…was  fall  for  it.”

He  pauses,  as  the  grin  falls  along  with  the  rest  of  his  curtained  facade.  His  eyes  once  narrowed;  squished  up  by  grinning  cheeks  were  now  rounded  as  his  silver  brow  moves  up  wearily.  “And  all  I  had  to  do…was,  not  fall  for  you.”

Astarion  takes  a  sharp  breath  in  to  readjust  his  composure  once  again.  “You’ve…been  by  my  side…without  certainty  of  the  outcome  of  these  scars…or  what  we  needed  to  do  to  get  answers  for  them.  You  did  it  without  question.  Without  any  thought,  really.”  The  elf’s  gaze  locks.  “You…you’re  incredible.  You  deserve  something  real.  I  want…” 

The  word  ‘us’  hangs  on  his  tongue.  The  sheer  concept  of  the  term  struggles  to  register  in  his  mind,  when  it  comes  to  picturing  himself  with  someone  as  amazing  as  her. 

“I  want  us  to  be  something  real.”

Most nights, Aurora awakens from her sleep with a frightened start, a lifetime of foresight stripped from her dreams, replaced with nothing but horror sequences and gore. It's been like this ever since the nautiloid― since the parasite and her dream guardian had infected her mind. Whether it's the comfort of Astarion's presence beside her or simply her bone-deep exhaustion, Aurora manages to sleep soundly that evening. For one simple moment, she has not a care in the world. When she comes to the following morning, she's alone, save for her little white rat ― Pip, she affectionately calls him ― that had managed to make himself comfortable in the crook of her neck and shoulder somewhere in the absence of Astarion. And, while the fanged elf is a welcomed sight most mornings now, it isn't out of the ordinary for him to leave her to her own devices when dawn (or, rather, the idea of dawn in this blighted land) breaks.

Her solitude gives her time to mutter a quick prayer to the Morninglord, if he can even hear her in this place, and tidy up the bedroll they had shared before stepping out into their protected camp. She knows every moment counts on their journey, but she's afforded the comfort of a day of restoration after Yurgir's demise the evening prior. When she finally spots Astarion and greets him with a little wave, only to be met with indifference from him, she doesn't initially take it to heart. He's got a lot on his mind, she assures herself, before dropping her hand to her side and going about her day.

The aasimar is a burst of color and energy for most of the afternoon, stark in contrast to their bleak surroundings, as she spends her time doing the things at camp she loves the most. Her laughter can be heard in occasional spurts as time wanes on, whether it be while she plays fetch with Scratch or bests her brother in several rounds of copper dragons until he withdraws in defeat. She knows she's needed a day like today. Aurora checks on everyone and helps where her companions need her the most. She stretches out her pristine wings and finds a quiet spot to sketch in, but, when Astarion refuses to meet her stare each time she passes by him, the cold sting of his distance perplexes and ails her a little more each time. Not everything is about you, she scolds herself. She knows something is bothering him, can see it in the tense pull of his shoulders. She also knows he'll open up to her if and when he sees fit. When a hush finally falls over their camp as everyone turns in for the evening, Aurora follows the same path she makes almost nightly. Not to sleep beside him, but to fetch the bedroll she'd laid out on the floor of his tent the evening prior. She's not expecting him to be there. Nor is she expecting to nearly collide with him, just as he's attempting to exit the tent. Aurora jumps back moments before there's any impact , an intake of air sharp in her chest. "Sorry! I was just..." her eyes drift behind him to the bedroll in silent explanation, darting back up to an expression on his face that's practically unreadable. There's no forethought in her mind when she opens her mouth again, courtesy of his crimson eyes on her soft features. The words just gush out of her. "Have I done something wrong?"

writing with ur wp be like:

sitting on the fact that a.starion was caught practicing his lines toward s.hadowheart in one of those party banter while roaming faerun makes me think of him practicing other lines he's going to use on someone hes trying to flirt with or even manipulate. it is said, too, that he also is heard saying 'no thats not funny' when you switch to him @ one point (though I can't recall hearing it myself) which is catching him mid-thought--which is such an interesting observation. because imagine when he first approaches tav to suggest spending a night together, that there's a possibility of him flitting through lines in his repertoire from his past in his downtime, and he's like 'okay this is the script im going to go with' and when tav talks to him, he's like "i'm growing to like the whole package, honestly' [perfectly practiced shy look] 'and you clearly like me too' -- like i believe, yes it comes naturally, as being charming and manipulative is all he's known to survive, but like just picturing him thinking ahead of time on how he would implement it--idk just interesting little details that sits in my head when i think of this elf.

– 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄 ; 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒. #DRUIDHARPER  //    independent JAHEIRA from baldur's gate 3 protected by toto. roleplaying blog . highly selective and heavily headcanoned. au/oc/multiverse friendly .

I don't want him, I need him.

The  cursed  words  groaned  from  Daemon’s  lips  catch  his  attention  for  a  moment  before  his  gaze  returns  to  the  guardian.  He  stood  tall,  hair  white,  and  skin  pale.  The  bridge  of  the  elf’s  brows  contort  into  a  frown  as  he  struggles  to  recognize  the  male.  All  the  while,  Astarion  found  it  difficult  to  retain  any  information  this  figure  had  shared.  It  all  blurred  with  his  incessant  need  to  put  a  name  to  the  face. 

The  moment  shifts  once  he  recognizes  the  dream  figure,  completely  unaware  that  it  was  the  mirror  image  of  himself.  The  face…scattered  in  loose  parchment,  scribbled  in  charcoal  from  when  he  took  a  peek  at  Aurora’s  sketches  without  her  knowledge.  His  stomach  twists  just  the  same  as  it  did  that  very  day  as  the  memory  flashes  to  the  forefront  of  his  mind.  He  had,  once,  been  curious  as  to  who  the  unidentifiable  man  was  in  her  drawings,  though  he  didn’t  dare  to  ask.  He  figured  it  was  a  past  lover…or  someone  of  some  importance  to  her.  Aurora  never  disclosed  to  him  in  their  deeper  conversations  of  anyone  of  the  sort,  though,  he  assumed  it  perhaps  was  a  painful  topic.

But  a  new  sketch  manifested  every  now  and  then;  her  freckled  nose  in  the  sketch  book  she  found  on  their  travels  as  the  camp  settles  in  the  evenings.  Now,  here  the  very  figure  she  drew  stood  in  front  of  her  and  ignited  a  twinge  of  jealousy  that  gnawed  at  his  insides  as  he  watched  on. 

–

Baldur’s  Gate  was  a  mere  day's  walk  away,  and  the  party  was  settling  in  camp  after  a  strenuous  day  that  felt  too  long  before  their  travel.  Astarion  was  sure  to  not  draw  up  any  suspicion  toward  his  newfound  jealousy  on  their  way  back  to  camp.  Though  injured,  he  kept  his  usual  personality  well  composed,  making  mocking  comments  here  and  there  to  other  party  members,  but  there  was  no  hiding  that  things  were  quiet  between  him  and  Aurora.

Upon  return,  Astarion  beelined  for  their  tent,  making  no  point  to  stick  around  for  chit-chat  as  everyone  else  was  tired  after  the  exhaustive  battle.  Once  inside,  he  rushed  to  the  stack  of  her  belongings  she  kept  inside.  It  stood  tidy,  which  matched  the  redecorating  Aurora  had  done  inside  the  tent  the  moment  she  settled  herself  in. 

It  doesn’t  take  him  long  to  finally  find  the  pieces  of  parchment,  scattered  with  sketches  of  the  dream  guardian’s  likeness.  His  ears  perk  at  the  sounds  of  her  steps  nearing  the  tent.  Quickly,  he  orchestrated  how  he  was  going  to  address  this.  Astarion  quickly  moved  to  lounge  in  the  bedroll,  with  the  intention  of  looking  effortless.  He  lay  on  his  side,  as  the  sketches  were  arranged  on  the  bedroll,  as  he  ‘non-chalantly’  looked  through  them  all  the  while  he  hid  any  evidence  of  his  discontent.

Once  he  notices  her  entry,  Astarion  looks  up  at  her  with  a  wry  grin  and  raised  brows.  “So…~”  he  greeted  in  a  sing-songy  way  as  he  held  up  the  pages  in  his  hands.  “...who  is  he~?”  he  asks.  “Tell  me,  have  you  also  fallen  for  your  dream  guardian,  or  has  your  visitor  merely  taken  the  form  of  a  past  lover,  hmm?”  Astarion  raised  a  brow  with  a  slow  tilt  in  his  head  as  he  awaited  an  answer,  completely  blinded  by  the  fact  that  her  dream  guardian  was  the  exact  image  of  him.  Though,  falling  short  of  knowing  what  ones  reflection  looks  like  barred  him  from  coming  to  that  conclusion.

Before  he  could  give  her  the  floor  to  speak,  he  drops  the  pages  back  onto  the  bedroll.  “Either  way,  matters  not  to  me,”  he  chimes  as  his  eyes  drift  from  her  figure  in  the  entryway  as  the  folds  of  his  practised  composure  briefly  fall  a  moment  to  shed  some  light  on  his  true  feelings.  “You  share  this  tent  with  me  every  night…and  the  dream  visitor  is…just  a–oh,  whatever  in  the  hells  he  is–is  stuck  in  that  relic.  So–”  Astarion  scowls  for  a  quick  moment  at  himself  for  tripping  over  his  words  so  easily.  “Whoever  he  is,  doesn’t  matter.  I  don’t  care.”

If she wasn't certain of it before, the weight of how much Astarion truly means to her settles in her chest then, a warm and pleasant feeling, stark in contrast to their dreadful surroundings. She's overwhelmed with it, lets herself feel it as she steadies herself by way of her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes do not linger on one spot for very long, darting to the next in an attempt to discern the severity of his wounds. Aurora is close to frantic, silently bearing down into his armor as her heart slams into the cavity of her ribs. She's not sure if it's her adrenaline waning or her body coming to terms with everything they'd just played witness to, but his hands curling around her elbows makes her whimper ― like his touch is the only assured thing keeping her from dropping to her knees in front of their entire party. I'm not strong enough for this, she thinks. I can't do this. Aurora lets his touch root her to reality. Despite Astarion's penchant for manipulation and Aurora's doe-eyed naïveté, she knows he's feigning nonchalance the moment he opens his mouth. She's a cleric, after all, and she has half a mind to remind him of that when her dual-colored eyes rise from fresh blood on his cheek to finally meet his stare. His eyes, soft and relieved, are disarming. He doesn't have to tell her that he was worried for her; she can see it on his face. How can she argue with him now? With what little energy she has left to offer, Aurora reaches up to gingerly cup his cheek. "You're right. Myrkul was no match for you, my love," her tone adopts an affectionate air of teasing just before her eyes flutter shut in focus. It takes a moment, long enough that she feels the tug of her guardian at the edges of her mind, but she pools all of her strength into the palm of her hand anyway. Aurora doesn't flinch, doesn't acknowledge the dream guardian until a warm glimmer of golden light finally emanates from her fingertips and bathes Astarion in the remnants of her healing magic. She knows it's not enough to cure him, but enough to ease whatever pain he's in. It'll have to do for now.

She drops her hand to his chest and keeps it there, reluctant to move from him when an impatient twinge, one that does not belong to her, splits over her mind. Ketheric's Netherstone is in his armor. Take it. A frown plays on the corners of her lips, subtle enough for only Astarion to see it, before she's turning away from him and dragging herself over to the platform she'd bested the apostle on. She hoists her weight onto it and kneels into flesh, slicing the gleaming Netherstone from Ketheric's armor with ease. For all of the evil he'd been responsible for, she can't help but feel a wave of sorrow wash over her when she gazes down upon his corpse and sees a man corrupted by his grief. She doesn't have time to fret over him, courtesy of her dream guardian ― a carbon copy of the elf now peering up at her from below ― emerging from a portal behind her. Aurora swears she hears her brother huff a, "Oh, for fuck's sake," under his breath, to which she narrows her eyes. "Remarkable, truly. And now the picture comes together."

A white haired cat pets a cat.

Look, I'm not a "details" person, all right?