A githyanki chooses only for the good of the collective, but she was branded hshar'lak. Hunted by her own people. Lae'zel was barely a true githyanki anymore, not any more than the so-called Blade of Frontiers with his idealist do-gooding, or Karlach and her metal heart. Lae'zel had nothing to choose for.
shadowzel lovers i bestow a gift upon thee
Soooo I’ve got this picture in my head of Minthara and Laezel training or excercising or whichever and Shadowheart and tav watching and gay panic .
Words: 7,326
Fandom:
Baldur’s Gate (Video Games)
Rating:
Explicit
Warnings:
No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships:
Lae'zel/Shadowheart (Baldur’s Gate)
Summary:
Had Lae’zel a knack for words like Wyll, she might paint a poetic picture of the woman who emerged from the vehicle before her. As it was, however, Lae’zel hadn’t the skill of oration, and so she simply stood, struck speechless, at perhaps the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Coal-black hair contrasted her bright green eyes, and while her attire was casual, the woman stood primly, her expression polite but reserved. She held Lae’zel’s gaze firmly, and Lae’zel felt rooted in place.
~
When Shadowheart arrives at Lae'zel’s ranch, eager to learn how to ride a horse but clearly hiding a dark past, Lae'zel takes it upon herself to uncover what lies beneath the surface of this alluring woman.
Finally remembered to post this lol, here’s a shadowzel horsegirl au <3
We’re so back! @toolateintheday have just posted the new chapter of our Shadowzel bodyswap story. And this one comes with a twist. We hope you enjoy it! <3
You can read under the cut or on AO3. Reblogs, comments, kudos and all of that are more than welcome!
[[MORE]]All You Ever Wanted To Know About Ceremorphosis (And Never Dared To Ask)
“What a pleasantly warm morning!” Astarion exclaims.
In an uncharacteristically cheerful attitude, he jogs – frolics, pretty much, Shadowheart thinks– to catch up with her.
“Aren’t you sweating in those clothes, darling?” he asks, placing a hand on her shoulder.
He’s been oddly chipper lately. And more irritating than usual, too. If Shadowheart were herself, she’d sneak into his tent after dinner with a bottle of wine, ready to get the gossip. Because clearly, there’s something juicy going on.
Instead, she shrugs his hand away and glares at him.
The truth is she does feel quite hot – and not in the nice way.
The robe she wears is too thick for the time of year, but it’s the only thing she has found amongst Lae'zel’s belongings with big enough pockets. Or pockets at all.
For how much Lae'zel goes on and on about githyanki practicality, their clothing is anything but. It’s a mystery to her - how Lae'zel can carry so many hidden weapons when her outfits leave nothing to imagination. Next time they train, she’ll have to ask her why githyanki armour leaves most of her rear exposed.
Regardless of the heat, she has a good reason for the robe. A few hours ago, she snuck into her tent while Lae'zel was in the woods alleviating herself – or whatever she was doing, Shadowheart couldn’t care less.
To her great relief, the mysterious artifact her Dark Lady tasked her with retrieving was still carefully hidden. Right where she left it; in a leather pouch amongst her clean underwear.
That means Lae'zel didn’t find it. A welcome sign that she hasn’t been prying. For all her abrasiveness, she has some respect for privacy – go figure. Though it does mean Shadowheart should probably have a talk with her about hygiene while she inhabits her body. Maybe Lae’zel is foregoing underwear full stop. It doesn’t bear thinking about.
To be on the safe side, she keeps the artifact close. Whilst her companions might go digging around in her pack for health potions, none of them will dare to stick their hand in her pockets.
“I am fine,” Shadowheart snaps.
Gale turns their way, his brow creased. “Are you certain? Feeling cold might be a sign of fever, and I’ve read that fever is a symptom of ceremorphosis.”
“I am not cold!” Shadowheart insists.
Truth be told, it’s satisfying to see the wizard alarmed, mumbling a quick apology. She could almost get used to being this intimidating. Almost.
“You know, Lae?” Karlach says. “It’s alright to admit that you’re cold. We won’t think less of you.”
“Unless she’s transforming,” Astarion teases.
“No-one is transforming,” Tav says, trying to keep the peace. “Besides, we’ll be in the druids’ grove in a heartbeat. If anyone is feeling sick, we can always ask their healer for some herbs. It’s probably just tiredness. Gods know I could use a good night’s sleep without hearing a myriad of woodland creatures scurrying around camp.”
The real Lae'zel, who walks further ahead, engaged in a lively conversation with Wyll – not a flirty one, Shadowheart hopes – turns around. Her smirk doesn’t look out of place, but it’s definitely punchable.
“She probably thinks complaining about the temperature is a sign of weakness. Githyanki don’t bow to the whims of the weather, surely?”
That bitch.
Shadowheart has to give it to her - that’s the kind of thing she would say were the roles reversed. Lae’zel is taking her acting very seriously.
“Besides,” Lae'zel continues, “githyanki consider sweat to be an attractive trait. It is symbolic of courage and determination. Like blood, it is associated with battle and is regarded as highly erotic.”
Never mind. So much for taking the role seriously, for Shar’s sake!
“Or so I have heard,” Lae’zel tacks on.
Fortunately, the others don’t seem to care. Only Astarion looks between the two of them, eyes narrowed.
“I bet you have,” he murmurs.
“Quiet, ishtik,” Shadowheart grumbles.
Lae'zel’s face twitches at her mispronunciation. Heh. Good.
As they walk up the rocky cliff, the gate to the Emerald Grove, with its brambles and leaves, stands tall ahead of them.
“Alright, we made it,” Tav says, clasping her hands together. “Now, please be on your best behaviour. That means no fighting, no stealing, and no taking those tiefling kids up on their dares, ok? We’re here to get supplies and that’s it. In and out. Simple.”
///////////////////////
It isn’t simple, of course. Nothing about their group is ever simple.
The supplies they get, no problem. They’re stocked up with enough provisions for the next few days.
It’s when Tav suggests they visit Nettie to see if she can spare any “extra strong healing potions” that things star to go pear-shaped.
As soon as they enter the sanctum, they’re spotted by Kagha, who is not pleased to see them. “Why haven’t you convinced the tieflings to leave yet? Why are you wasting time?” Etc, etc.
Shadowheart zones out as the self-appointed First Druid continues talking. She’d be quite attractive, Shadowheart thinks, were it not for that atrocious haircut. And her readiness to punish small children with the threat of venomous snakes.
Bored, she lets her gaze move across the chamber. Vines everywhere, big suprrise. Old Stone carvings. Large cobwebs that appear vacant but probably aren’t. A vial of something green and viscous on Nettie’s desk. A firefly buzzing between the shelves of the library. Four strange looking-
Library.
Of course. The library would be the perfect place to search for a clue or a cure – something or anything that might help her get her body back.
She looks back to Tav, who is sweating as she engages in a heated discussion with Kagha. Something about an old woman they were seen speaking with last week. Something else about stolen property. Shadowheart isn’t really listening. She doesn’t particularly care.
But it’s a perfect distraction. Not an ideal situation for Tav, obviously – but with the guards and her own companions preoccupied, no one will notice Shadowheart slipping away. And slip away she does, as quietly as she can.
Knowing she has limited time, she makes for the bookshelf at the very back of the room, reasoning that the rarest books might be stored there out of sight. Whatever this is affecting her and Lae’zel, it is certainly rare magic. She’s never come across anything of this nature before.
She scans the books at eye-level. A Fall of Netheril. Calimshan Awaits. Fiendish Bestiary. Nothing helpful.
Her gaze travels to the top shelf, squinting to read the titles there. Arcane and Obscure: Spells to satiate your inner trickster. Now that sounds very interesting indeed.
“What are you doing?”
Shadowheart jumps. Swears.
It’s Lae’zel. Of course it is – standing there with her arms crossed, wearing a scowl. How long has she been there? How does she move so quietly?
“Baking a cake,” Shadowheart deadpans, rolling her eyes. “What does it look like, gith? I’m searching for something to help us. And I may have just found it.”
There, at the very top of the shelf, in the highest, dust-overed corner, a book tries to go unnoticed. A dark red tome with golden letters embossed on its spine: All You Need To Know About Ceremorphosis And Never Dared To Ask.
If nothing else, at least this will confirm or deny Lae'zel’s theory that their predicament is a side-effect of the illithid parasite. Shadowheart is hoping for the latter.
Lae'zel looks from the book to Shadowheart with an indifferent expression. “I have studied ceremorphosis extensively for many years,” she says. “The archivists in K'liir have compiled a vast amount of knowledge from many different sources across millennia. What makes you think it will contain something we do not already know?”
“Did your people raid absolutely every single library in absolutely every single plane?”
“Kainyank,” comes the grumbled reply.
“Whatever. We might as well check whilst we’re here, so are you going to help me get the book or not?”
Shadowheart looks around for a ladder, a stool, anything she can use. Her gaze lands on Lae’zel. Lae’zel, who narrows her eyes and crosses her arms.
“No. I am not letting you climb on top of me.”
“Always so dramatic. Just give me a boost. And Guidance, like we practised. You don’t have to aim for that one, so I trust you can manage.”
“Do not blame this body’s shortcomings on me!”
Shadowheart sighs. “Just help me up already.”
With one of her trademark eyerolls, Lae'zel murmurs the magic word – not bad despite her accent, much better than in their last training session – and then laces her fingers together. She lets out a wince as soon as Shadowheart steps on top of them.
“You are heavy,” Lae'zel protests.
“You are heavy. This is your body, remember?”
“You had better take care of it and not indulge in insubstantial foods, like you used to do with this body.”
Shadowheart pauses, her hands already touching the edge of one of the higher shelves, to scowl down at Lae'zel.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Perhaps if your meals were more nutritious and less self-indulgent your body would not be so weak.”
Self indulgent? Is Lae’zel calling her fat? Probably not, actually – Lae’zel would just come right out and say it.
Shadowheart has curves, sure, but she’s hardly overweight. Githyanki probably consider curves to be inefficient, or uneconomical or some other nonsense term. Shadowheart’s fist clenches, long nails digging into her palm. She keeps forgetting to trim them. It’d probably spite Lae'zel, which is all the more reason to do it.
She shakes the thought away. Back to the task at hand. Someone could walk in at any moment, and they need this book.
A tingle on her fingers makes Shadowheart’s skin crawl. She looks up to see a spider creeping over the shelf.
A wave of disgust washes over her. Unable to suppress a yelp, Shadowheart jerks backwards, losing her balance and collapsing on top of Lae'zel with a thud. A shower of books rains down around them – unfortunately, not the one they need.
Ugh, that hurt. Shadowheart can already feel the bruise forming on her butt. For what it’s worth, hardly anyone will notice it on that green-yellowish skin. And she managed to whack her elbow on the bookshelf on the way down. They’ll be lucky if nobody heard that commotion.
“You possess all the grace of an ogre,” Lae’zel scolds. “And the brains one of, too. What is wrong with-?”
Shadowheart twists around to look at her, assuming they’ve been caught. They haven’t. It’s worse.
She follows Lae’zel’s wide-eyed gaze.
The artifact.
No longer in her pocket, it sits a few feet away near the base of a statue. Out in the open. Mocking her.
As Lae’zel’s face twists with recognition, Shadowheart’s chest tightens with fear. She wills her legs to move and scrambles to her feet, but Lae’zel is closer and quicker; she snatches the artifact from the ground and holds it up to the light.
“These are tir’su runes,” Lae’zel says, her voice oddly cold. Her eyes though, when they cut to Shadowheart, flash dangerously. “This is a githyanki relic. Why do you have it?”
Shadowheart clears her throat. “I was instructed to recover it.” How she manages to keep her voice even, she doesn’t know. “That was my mission. A mission that is highly classified.” A tense moment passes. “I’ll be taking that back now.”
Shadowheart extends her hand with foolish hope. Lae’zel is more likely to win the title of Faerûn’s Most Charming Bachelorette than she is to hand the artifact over willingly.
“How did you get this?”
“That doesn’t matter right now. I’ll explain later. Hand it back to me and we’ll grab the book before-”
“Answer me!”
Before Shadowheart can blink, Lae’zel is upon her. She’s pinned against the bookshelf, a forearm pressed against her throat – strategically placed, no doubt, to apply pressure to her windpipe.
“You stole it, didn’t you?” Lae’zel hisses. She’s so close that Shadowheart can see the saliva coating her teeth – can pick up the faint scent of mint leaves on her breath. “You killed for it. Tell me the truth!”
It’s difficult to speak with Lae’zel restricting her breathing the way she is. “I did what I had to do,” Shadowheart chokes out defiantly. “Your people couldn’t keep me from my mission, and you won’t either. Now unhand me.”
Lae’zel’s forearm merely presses harder. But so does Shadowheart’s dagger; the one she slipped out of the sheath on her belt. The one that now rests at the bottom of Lae’zel’s ribcage, aimed at an upward angle.
“How confident are you with that healing spell?” Shadowheart rasps out. “Because I promise it’ll take a lot longer to strangle me than it will for you to bleed out.”
She won’t stab her, of course. It’d be stupid to stab her own body, the body she will eventually return to. No, not eventually – as soon as possible. Hope is a sin against the Lady of Sorrows, but for once, she mustn’t give up on it.
Normally, that would earn her a painful lesson - a shockwave coursing from the back of her hand throughout her whole body.
Instead, she feels her heart thundering in her chest. Heat running through her veins. Every muscle tense and ready to strike.
Why does it feel more like excitement than fear?
Perhaps Lae'zel’s body, a weapon forged by years of abusive training, retains its muscle memories of the joys of battle.
Perhaps it’s because she knows there’s no real risk – Lae'zel may be violent, but she won’t kill her. Not if she has hope they will return to normal.
Perhaps Shadowheart just gets a kick out of pushing her buttons?
Or perhaps, gods forbid, it’s something else. In spite of the anger, in spite of the loathing they feel for each other, there’s something…erotic about this. Not that Shadowheart would be aroused by staring at herself And yet, the warmth of another body pressing against hers, the way the shelves dig into her back…
Lae'zel’s grip on her neck falters. Her face scrunches and a growl escapes her.
“What is this?” Lae'zel exclaims, inspecting the back of her hand. “What have you done to me?”
The wound. Of course! Lae'zel knows nothing about it. No-one knows, except for Shadowheart herself - though Tav tried to question her when it flared up some time ago.
That means Lady Shar is punishing Lae'zel. But…for what? She ordered that the artifact be protected, and that is what Lae'zel is trying to do. Does the Dark Mistress know that her loyal follower is in the wrong body? Is she preventing Lae'zel from hurting her?
Her goddess cares about her, after all. She must have intervened to save her from that vicious gith. That’s-
“Oi! What’s going on here?”
Fuck.
The dagger falls from Shadowheart’s hand, hitting the floor with a clank. Both she and Lae’zel look to the source of the interruption, expecting to see Kagha or one of her druid guards.
But no, it’s worse.
Karlach’s face is a mixture of concern and amusement. Next to her, leaning against the doorway, is Astarion. And he doesn’t even bother hiding how much he’s enjoying the scene – a lazy smirk upon his lips.
Double fuck.
“Can’t you two be left unsupervised for a few minutes without getting into trouble?” Astarion drawls. “You’re worse than children.”
Great. This is exactly what they need. More ammunition for Astarion to tease and insult them.
Lae'zel relaxes her hold but doesn’t step back. Shadowheart would swear her cheeks are flushed. She opens her mouth to make a disparaging remark but Lae’zel beats her to the punch.
“This is not over,” Lae’zel tells her through clenched teeth – leaning in so close only Shadowheart can hear. “I will have answers. One way or another, you are going to talk.”
Lae’zel steps back, then with a final glare, stalks out of the library. Astarion is hot on her heels, draping an arm around her shoulder in an effort to slow her down.
“You know, you two should just kiss and get it over with already. Diffuse all the sexual tens-ow!”
Lae’zel delivers an elbow to his ribs that makes him double over. Good. He needs to learn when to shut up. A lot of drama could be avoided by him simply keeping his mouth closed.
Besides, what on earth is he talking about when he says sexual tension? The only tension between her and Lae’zel is a simmering undercurrent of violence that threatens to spill over like a rapidly boiling pot. The fact they’re unable to harm their own bodies is the only thing keeping them alive.
It’s only then that Shadowheart notices Karlach is staring at her – quiet concern etched across her features.
“Everything alright, Lae? Things didn’t look too peachy just now.”
For a second, Shadowheart considers confessing everything to the gentle tiefling with kind eyes. It would be such a weight off her shoulders. Karlach would offer some words of comfort…if she didn’t freak out.
It’s too risky. If their companions don’t kill them, they may desert them. Or at the very least lock them up somewhere.
No. She is Lae’zel. Lae’zel is her. They’ll find a way out of this soon. They must.
“Peachy?”
“Yeah,” Karlach scratches her head. “Like good, y’know? Peachy keen.”
“Oh. Yes. Everything is…peachy. The cleric simply has a temper. Petulant.”
“Ah, she’s alright is Shads. She can be a little standoffish but I think it’s just a front. We all have our moments don’t we?”
Shadowheart answers with a grunt because that’s what Lae’zel would probably do. Then she remembers. In all the commotion, she forgot to get the godsdamned book.
“Would you do me a favour and get that book for me please? It’s up there on the top shelf – the dark red one?”
Karlach gives her a quizzical look. Then her face breaks into a wide grin.
“Sure. Seeing as you said please.”
Shit. She did. Lae’zel would never say please.
Regardless, Karlach reaches up and retrieves the book with ease. When she places it in Shadowheart’s waiting hands, the cover smokes slightly – singed but not burned.
“Sorry it’s a little hot,” Karlach chuckles. “Still good, though.” A beat passes. “You, erm, you doing some research? I thought your people knew all there was to know about ceremorphosis?”
Shadowheart falters for just a second. “Whilst it is unlikely this istik tome could add to my vast knowledge, I would prefer to cover all bases. I may as well pick the author’s brain. No pun intended.”
Karlach gives her that strange, amused look again. “Riiight.”
“Anyway,” Shadowheart clears her throat, very much wanting this exchange to be over. “Thank you, Karlach.”
“You’re welcome, Shadowheart.”
shadowzel hours again tonight and i’m telling y'all to go read Bruising of the Heart by @gunpowdercarousel it’s a very quick read and they capture Lae'zel’s terrifying mix of emotional constipation and constant complete sincerity perfectlyyyyy
The invitation to the archduke’s coronation party was clearly a power move, but hey, they might all die tomorrow, why not have one night of fun?
(I can ship anyone with everyone, take these as platonic or not, idc, I just wanted to draw pretty people being pretty)
Colored in + rendered version of my Shadowzel art from a while ago. Censored it a little bc I’m not sure what I can get away with here.
Watched Zootopia 2 the other day and loved it so here they are but fur-ified. Next post is big and will be on or right around Christmas :3
Trying to get timelaspes to upload but they just don’t work. Soon hopefully!
Chapters:
1/?
Fandom:
Baldur’s Gate (Video Games)
Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings:
No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships:
Lae'zel/Shadowheart (Baldur’s Gate)
Characters:
Shadowheart (Baldur’s Gate), Lae'zel (Baldur’s Gate), Arnell Hallowleaf, Emmeline Hallowleaf, Karlach (Baldur’s Gate), Gale (Baldur’s Gate)
Additional Tags:
Anxiety, Anger, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Whump, Mommy Issues, Past Torture, Cuddling & Snuggling, Memory Loss, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Summary:
Shadowheart thought the hardest part of reconnecting with her parents would be physically freeing them from Shar’s clutches. As she’s now discovering, she could not have been more wrong.
MAKE FANTASY AGE GAPS MORE PROBLEMATIC
ShadowHeart is like 50 (before you ask, half-elf genetics), and Lae'zel is 22. C'mon, people, make this weird.
