Did you ever make a version of the "it's you, despite everything it's still you" meme if one of your Tavs and astarion? Because I thought I remembered seeing that a while ago and I can't find it anywhere
I am so sorry for the late response! I donât go on Tumblr much so I only saw your question just now đŁ
I havenât gotten the chance to use that audio yet, so sadly itâs not my work youâre thinking of. Sorry it took so long to let u know đ
Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Good Dark Urge (OC!Zurge)
Warnings: Spoilers for Baldurâs Gate 3
Parts: 1, 2
Word Count: 1,719
Summary: Several centuries have passed since the groupsâ fight against the Absolute. After saving the world, they each went their separate ways. Some stayed in touch, but they all eventually drifted apart. Especially due to the merciless passage of time.
Astarion wanted nothing more than to reunite with Zurge, but after the mistake heâs made, he canât bring himself to interfere with her life. Now that the 700th year since their separation is approaching, he canât help but wonder what happened to that elven mortal - the only one he has ever truly loved.
Note From Author: This fanfic is largely inspired by the popular "You came, You called" meme I'd often see on almost all social media platforms. I only recently learned it was from a series called, "The Sandman" and ended up watching an extended clip of the scene (episode 11, for those of you wondering). That's when this idea came to me, so please enjoy!
The title may change (it's a work-in-progress).
Part 2 - Relief
Drip, drip.
It was the loudest sound that echoed in the darkness.
Drip, drip.
The cold stone floor. The whistling of the distant wind. And the sound of water that never seemed to end.
Drip, drip.
It was enough to drive a normal person insane. But sadly, the sole tenant of this place had already been broken, mended, then broken again. No amount of torture seemed to be enough to shatter her sanity. Not yet, anyways.
Drip, drip. Rattle.
A new sound. Metal clattering against one another as a figure twitched. The sound of chains scraping against stone. A familiar noise.
Zurge stirred from her spot on the ground. Her hands moved forward, slightly trembling from the lack of strength. They waved around, sweeping the ground, in an effort to make sense of her surroundings. She had resisted the effects, time and time again, but it seems she was effectively blinded once more for the next few seconds.
Shading her eyes, Zurge squinted at where she assumed the cause of her condition lay. The Blood of Lathander. Her once beloved weapon, now used against her for⊠How many years had it been? She had lost count after the first few decades.
Her body collapsed back down onto the cold, rocky ground. Some of the sharper pebbles cut into her raw flesh, but she had long since grown numb to such sensations. Instead of wiping away the blood from the cut that had already begun to heal over, she placed a shaky hand to her matted, disheveled hair. Her fingers caught in all of the tangles, painfully pulling at her scalp, but her face did not contort in pain. After so many years of torture - after all the anguish she had grown used to - her facial muscles now barely moved. Barely even twitched.
She blindly felt how long her hair had gotten. How much it had grown. Perhaps it would have been a good indicator of how much time had passed, had they not hacked it all away at one point during her imprisonment. For fun, they had sneered. Because they were bored. But their taunts fell to deaf ears. When she didnât react how they wanted, they changed to other, crueler acts.
No part of her body was left untouched. She felt the grime that covered her. The blood that had dried and caked all over her skin and clothes. All the bruises that littered her body. All parts of her limbs. Her hips. HerâŠ
Zurge closed her eyes, trying to suppress the memory. Her jaw clenched, but even that much proved to be painful to her weakened body. In exhaustion, she relaxed her muscles and lay silent once more. How long had it been since she had last cried? Last tranced? How long had it been since she last fed?
Perhaps it was better this way. Although the hunger was maddening, it was bearable. The first few decades of it, Zurge may have acted unhinged. Like a crazed beast, only able to think about the next meal. But now⊠She was used to that too. And compared to everything else she had endured, torture through starvation was like a breath of fresh air.
However, in endless silence, the mind can prove to be the worst companion.
Memories flitted back into her mind. Like a curse, all the horrors she had experienced played back in vivid detail. She curled herself up, only feeling the cold from all around her, as she tried her best to quiet her thoughts. The phantom touches that seemed to brush against her skin. The wave of nausea she felt anytime her captors did more than just physical violence against her. And the utter helplessness she felt when first being thrust into this situation.
When Zurge opened her eyes, she could see again. Her vision had returned to her as she successfully resisted against her weaponâs blinding light.
Her captors had found the light just as unpleasant as she now did, but they had decided to keep it in her cell to cause her discomfort. They knew that if she had her way, she would have used it to end her life long ago. Just her weapon. Just one spell. It was all it would take to end her miserable existence. And that was why it remained so close to her side. Placed just out of reach, to constantly show her the hopeless predicament she was in. And a never ending reminder of what she had become.
Gathering what little strength she had, Zurge pulled herself upright. The chains that still restrained her had severely rusted due to the poor conditions of the dungeon she had been imprisoned in. Her captors hadnât appeared before her in quite some time. Perhaps they had finally grown bored of her. But she couldnât care less about their whereabouts. Just the fact that her metal bonds were weakening from the passage of time.
Without an ounce of hesitation, Zurge violently pulled her arms away from where her chains were connected to the stone walls. The metal rattled loudly, and an unpleasant screech echoed all around her. Ignoring the sounds, the pain, the blood⊠Zurge pulled again. And again. And again. Until it felt as if her wrists would be sliced off before the shackles broke free. At this point, she didnât care which came first.
Blood now pooled on the floor. She had even gone blind a few times, unable to resist against her weaponâs glow. But she still persisted. Relentlessly. Her eyes never leaving the wall that connected her shackles, regardless of whether or not she could even see them. And then⊠It finally happened.
Crack!
The metal broke free from the stone, clattering loudly onto the floor.
Zurge, regaining her sight, blankly stared at the broken chain. It wouldâve made any person in her situation weep in joy. Perhaps even jump around and cheer. And had it been a few years - centuries - earlier⊠Maybe Zurge wouldâve done the same. Done something. Felt something. Anything. But she didnât.
She just turned away, dragging along the broken metal, as she made her way towards the Blood of Lathander. Yes. Not the cell door. Not towards the exit. But towards the light that had reminded her over and over again, that she was now a spawn. A vampire spawn. And like any disobedient spawn, she was given a command. Just one, single command. To never leave her cell. Her prison. Her cage.
They didnât even bother to lock it. Thatâs how much power they had. And how much she had lost.
âFinallyâŠâ
Her voice cracked from the lack of use. Or maybe her vocal cords had been so damaged from all the screams that this was now what she would sound like. But what was the use of wondering? It was all going to be over soon. So very soon.
The grip on her beloved weapon, her saving grace, tightened as she summoned up the last of her power. A wave of magic flowed into her, her eyes closing from the warmth. The spell was just within reach. She just needed to release its power. To let it all go.
Drip, drip.
Those sounds werenât caused by the water falling continuously from the ceiling of the dungeon. They were lighter. A bit quieter. It was the reason why her cheeks were now wet, her vision blurry from something other than the light. Tears. Tears of sheer relief.
A commotion could be heard just outside the dungeon, creeping closer and closer, but nothing registered to her anymore. Not now. Not when the end was so near. So close.
Zurge opened her eyes, but it was only darkness that greeted her. She was blinded yet again, but she didnât care. How could she? At least now, the dungeon wouldnât have to be the last thing she sees.
Perhaps it was because her death was close at hand, but a face she had nearly forgotten flitted in her mind for a brief moment. But the impact it had on her was so severe that her heart jolted in shock. The pale elf that flaunted a confident, sideways smirk. The sound of his voice, always able to bring a smile to her face. And the look he had in his eyes whenever he looked into hers.
A genuine smile blossomed on Zurgeâs face. Even with all that had happened between them, she was glad that his face was the last thing she would remember. The last thing she envisioned before the end.
With just a thought, the spell from the Blood of Lathander activated. The scorching blaze, the pain it brought on, Zurge welcomed it with open arms. In a matter of seconds, her skin cracked and crumbled to dust. In another moment, she would be reduced to nothing more than ashes. It was exactly what she wanted. What she begged and prayed for with each excruciating day. But she should have paid more attention to the commotion. To the noises that were now just outside her cell. Maybe then, she would have been able to dodge what came next.
âNO!â
A scream, filled with desperation and despair.
Before Zurge could register who it was, she felt her body being tackled to the ground. Her weapon clattered onto the floor, but the spell had already been activated, so there was no stopping the light. Still, whoever was atop her used their body to shield her from most of the damage. Just as she was about to fight back in a panic, to throw whoever it was off of her, a pair of arms engulfed her emaciated, dirt-covered self.
âPlease,â a soft voice begged in her ears.
She froze, unable to move a muscle. Zurge didnât need her sight to recognize that voice. No matter how hard she tried, she could never forget him. This was the man she swore to never forgive. The man who broke her heart. And the only man she would ever love.
Just as her sight returned to her, she finally saw those ruby eyes piercing through the light, peering into her very soul. And just like that, their surroundings seemed to fade away. All she could see was him. Here. Right in front of her. Like an impossible dream.
Pairing: Ascended Astarion x good!Dark Urge (OC!Zurge)
Warnings: Spoilers for Baldurâs Gate 3
Part: 1
Word Count: 1,721
Summary: Several centuries have passed since the party's fight against the Absolute. After saving the world, they each went their separate ways. Some tried to stay in touch, but they all eventually drifted apart, especially due to the merciless passage of time.
Astarion wanted nothing more than to reunite with Zurge, but after the mistake heâs made, he couldn't bring himself to interfere with her life. Now that the 700th year since their separation was approaching, he couldn't help but wonder what happened to that elven mortal - the only one he has ever truly loved.
Note From Author: This fanfic is largely inspired by the popular "You came, You called" meme I'd often see on almost all social media platforms. I only recently learned it was from a series called, "The Sandman" and ended up watching an extended clip of the scene (episode 11, for those of you wondering). That's when this idea came to me, so please enjoy!
The title may change (it's a work-in-progress).
Part 1 - Regrets
Why?
No matter how tightly the windows were shut, the noises always seemed to filter through. The bustling streets, the people going about their day, the animals chattering, and the wheels of all the carriages and carts squeaking incessantly. He could hear even the faintest of whispers in the furthest reaches of the city, the meaningless gossip of all those beneath him.
Why?
The rustle of clothes. The shuffling of feet. His servants rushing to-and-fro, making sure to stay clear of his room. The latest spawn resisting their hunger, abiding by the rules he set forth. The guests sluggishly making their way out of his palace as yet another banquet had successfully concluded.
Why?
A cup shattered, decorating the wall with blood and glass. The one who threw it held his head, cursing at the fact that he couldnât get drunk, as the servants outside scurried further away from the room in fear.
âShut up!â
Astarion yelled, gripping his head as if he were in pain.
âShut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!â
But the voice didnât obey. It was one of the few presences that always disregarded his commands.
Why?
He slumped deeper into his bed, the silk sheets doing nothing to alleviate his frustrations. No amount of outside noise seemed to be able to silence the one ringing in his head. Always just one word. One question. Over and over again. It was to the point that it was driving him mad.
Why?
He was beginning to hate the sound of his own voice. It was the one asking the question, after all. Like a broken record, repeating the same thing with no end in sight. As if his former self that he had long since abandoned was constantly questioning him. Nagging him. Pestering him.
Why?
It never seemed to rest, but there were moments it would amplify. Anything she wouldnât approve of. Anything she would find saddening. Anything she would advocate against. Every single time, his former self never failed to ask that same question, forcing him to recall the one that had abandoned him. The one he both wished he could forget but also hoped he never would.
âShut upâŠâ He muttered, covering his face with his hands. âI did what I had to do.â
Why?
âTo be free! To be happy! To have everything I ever wanted!â He replied, standing up from his bed and glaring at the mirror he once adored. Never had he imagined a day would come when he would despise his own reflection.
Why?
It was as if the man in the mirror was not himself. It seemed to move by itself, completely independent from him. It was clear as day who this man was. It was him, but different. Dressed in clothes that were mended repeatedly, rather than his perfectly tailored suit. His past self. The version of him he threw away.
âYou know damn well why I did it,â he laughed, hysteria taking control as his vision blurred from the rage that seethed inside.
His reflection did not respond.
âNow look at me! Iâve played host to every kind of banquet, soiree, and masquerade imaginable. My influence over this city has nearly reached its peak, having authority over those who matter.â
Still, his former self did not reply.
âI have all the time in the world to spin my web, and now all this power is mine. Thereâs still an entire world out there, ready for the taking.â
Astarion peered back into the mirror, waiting for that annoying question to speak up once more. But his reflection was strangely⊠Quiet. It stared back at him, but something was different. As if it was waiting for something.
âTruly a life worth living, right?â
Then why do you regret it?
That startled him. The question his past self would ask, it was only ever why. It had never changed, nearly driving him insane. Since the day it began to speak⊠Since the day his spawn reported Zurgeâs⊠His former self never said a different word. Not even to elaborate on its question.
Why do you regret the choice you made that day?
âWhat-â
Ever since you found out-
âDonât. Donât say it.â
It was bound to happen eventually. Sheâs not like us. She wonât live forever. Wouldnât it have just been better to turn her?
âSilence! Go back to your one-worded-â
Why do you not regret being unable to turn her into a spawn, but you regret your ascen-
âSHUT UP!â
In a fit of rage, his hand went through the fragile mirror. It shattered on impact, but his hand remained free of any wounds. Not a drop of blood was shed. But even with the mirror broken beyond repair, the voice didnât stop.
If you regretted it so much, it sneered, why didnât you go to her when she was still-
âI couldnât!â
It was the first time he had been truly honest with the illusion, but he couldnât sit still. He didnât want to come to terms with what it was about to say next. He couldnât bear to think about it, so how could he let it say it out loud?
âThere, are you happy now?â He chuckled, stepping on the broken glass as he made his way to his desk. âI couldnât. I couldnât go to her. Not with how things ended. Not after what Iâve done.â
Are you content that she may have gone on hating you until the day she-
âYes.â He interrupted again, settling into his chair and resting his arms on his desk with his head hung low. âI am content simply knowing that she is⊠Was happy.â
Is that why youâre searching?
âWhat?â
Is that why youâre searching for it, after all this time?
Astarion knew what his former self was referring to, but he couldnât bring himself to answer. If he did, it would become too real. And once it became real⊠How could he bear the pain that would follow? The emptiness?
Before he could formulate a response, a hurried knock came at the door.
If given the chance, would you like to see her again?
A foolish question. One that didnât need an answer. It had never changed since the day she left him. Why would it be any different now?
âEnter.â
He ignored the voice, focusing on the real world, not the voice that festered in his mind.
Do you still love her, even when you chose power over her all those years ago?
Another foolish question. Why would his former self feel the need to ask when it was the very embodiment of the regret he had for choosing to ascend? If he could turn back time, he would have listened to her. He wouldnât have betrayed her. And she never wouldâve left his side.
He tried to delude himself into thinking that all this power made him happy. He amassed so much of it to continue the charade. But his former self knew how miserable he truly was, so why did it still bother to ask?
The door swung open, waking him from his thoughts, and he heard footsteps rush towards him. In a fluid motion, the steps halted and he heard the familiar sound of someone kneeling. Such a greeting was common amongst his children. It was one of his commands, after all. Now, what could be so important that a mere spawn would come all the way to his room to report?
âSpeak.â
Believing it to be unimportant, like all of the other reports he periodically received from his spawn, Astarion glanced up from his desk towards the kneeling servant. But the moment he laid eyes on the figure, he knew exactly who this was. The realization made his cold heart flinch for the first time in a long while. He⊠He wasnât ready. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.
âWeâve found-â
âStop.â
He interrupted the spawn. Astarion immediately understood why they were here before they could even say the words. This was one of the many spawns he had commanded to search for⊠To find Zurgeâs grave. But, regardless of how desperate he had been when giving the command⊠He just wasnât ready to hear the results. He wasnât ready to confirm what he knew would eventually come.
âReport the location to me later,â he sighed, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion as he reached out to pour himself another glass. âYou are excused.â
âBut Master-â
âI donât want to hear another word about her grave,â he warned, a crack running up the cup in his hand before even a drop of blood could be poured.
It was a testament to how much he was restraining himself. A threat to make sure his child didnât say another unnecessary word.
âIf you have nothing else to report, leave. Thatâs an order.â
Would you go to her if she called for you?
The strange question made him freeze in his tracks, unable to reach for another cup. What did the voice mean, if she called for him? It knew better than he did of the news his spawn was bringing. They had even tried to say it several times, but he had interrupted the impudent child. Was his former self trying to give him false hope? Was the voice trying to break his sanity through cruelty now?
âMaster.â
His spawnâs voice brought him back from the self-loathing spiral he was about to drown in and he quickly recollected his thoughts. Before he could become annoyed that the spawn was still here, despite his command, they continued.
âThere is no grave.â
The words he was about to say quickly got stuck in his throat. Silence filled the room. Why did it seem like he couldnât understand anything? First his former self. Now his spawn. Why didnât any of them seem to make any sense today?
â... What did you say?â
Perhaps he misheard. He was delusional from the hope his inner voice tried to ignite. Yes, that was the only logical answer. How could it possibly be anything else? Too many years had passed to allow for such a hope in his eternal life.
But reality seemed to still have miracles left for him.
âZurge⊠Sheâs alive.â
Or karma had finally caught up to his wretched self.
I'm going to switch to posting just once a week (or at least try to). I haven't played BG3 much since I've began posting drawings/animations and I'm starting to run out of ideas...
I needed a break, so I recently got into playing BG3 again! Couldn't really focus on Zurge's or Evangeline's playthrough, so I ended up making a whole new character đ Here's Lilith! Idk if it's her dark makeup, but all my screenshots of her show so much attitude XD
