#But Bard is so damn good in this game

[meonlyred]

Lads we can't make merry and jingle our way outta this one!

[bardicblast]

Van der Linde Isaac - "CoS is actually a western" is such a concept ever since i saw somebody pointing that out i kept thinking about it

i rant about the redesign a bit:

so i went ahead and redesigned him to fit the rdr2 setting entirely, i cant give him a full on wolf arm, so i gave him burn scars on his face, that he hides all the time with a scarf or a bandana. hat in the back to replace the hoodie's shape. he is most comfortable using the rolling block rifle plus a knife. he would probably play a lot of five finger fillet.

plus, he gets his arm blown off at one point (not from finger fillet!! i swear), probably during the saint denis robbery, then dies during the guarma chapter, bc there is no way he would survive longer than that

also i cant have him choose sides at chapter 6 when i know he has blind loyalty

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

I Want It All: Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Asexual!Reader, Astarion x Bard!Reader

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Soft!Astarion, Allusion to Astarion's Past (Sexual Assult/Dissociation)

Summary: You and Astarion had been playing this little game of yours for a while; he pretends to care, you pretend not to fall for it. It’s easy, even fun at times. The trouble is, what happens the moment you can’t pretend anymore?

A/N: Holy shit! It's done! Thank you so much to everyone who has commented and reblogged and just...everything. I cannot tell you how much it means to be to know this story has resonated with so many people. I don't have any plans to continue this as a larger story (I still haven't played the game); however, if anyone would like to send requests for small one-shots or headcanons involving Astarion and this Asexual!Tav, feel free to send me an ask.

Also, sorry if I didn't tag you. There were a lot of request, so I stuck to those who asked on the previous chapter.

And as always REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS! I NEED VALIDATION TO SURVIVE!!!

Word Count: 5.2K

You didn’t sleep that night, but what else did you expect?

For hours you simply lay in the dark, staring at the window. The patter of rain was the only source of sound besides your own breathing. Even that small comfort didn’t last as the storm passed leaving behind cloud covered silence.

No tears came to you.  What had you to grieve over? Everything you felt had been a product of your imagination. You knew that.

Still, it ached.  There was a throbbing in your throat you couldn’t swallow down and a constant pressure behind your eyes.  You almost wished you would cry, just to get it out of your system. If you could have a nice little breakdown, there was a chance you could get over this. It would be the slap in the face you needed to accept reality. Maybe then you’d stop doing this to yourself.

All the same, it stayed there, pressing heavy on your chest until the sun teased the edges of the clouds beaconing morning.

You groaned, burying your face into the pillow. You couldn’t lie and wallow the rest of the day. You had things to do, places to be, worms to destroy. The sooner you had something else to occupy your thoughts the better.

With an effort you pulled yourself out of bed and slowly made your way to the dining room.

You were a bit surprised to see everybody already up. Wyll, Karlach, Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Gale were already seated with plates of half eaten food in front of them.  Two seats were still empty, settings ready and untouched. A quick look around confirmed the rest, Astarion had yet to make an appearance.

“Morning everyone,” you said, trying your best to be cheerful as you sat yourself between Gale and Wyll.  

You could feel all their eyes on you, no doubt noticing the dark circles under yours.

“Morning,” Gale greeted. “I trust you slept well.”

He let out a small yelp of pain.

You looked up to catch him glaring at Shadowheart as she shot him a disapproving look.

You frowned. Did she just kick him?

“I mean, ah, did you lie comfortably?” he amended.

“Seriously?” Karlach questioned.

You swore you could feel the heat of Gale’s blush, as he grumbled into his toast. “Damn it, you know what I mean.”

“Do I?” you asked.

“We just hoped you spent the rest of the night…pleasantly,” Wyll tried, and ultimately failed.

Your stomach flipped, as harsh, dreadful realization washed over you.  Yes, of course they would.

“You don’t look well,” Lae’zel noted. “After all his boasting, I had thought Astarion would leave his partners more satisfied.”

You didn’t say anything, deciding to take a bite of egg as an excuse. Now would be a great time for the ground to open and swallow you into the hells. Gods knew it would be an improvement.

“She’s right,” Shadowheart said, sounding a little annoyed to admit it. “You do look tired and not the good kind. Did something happen?”

“Did he hurt you,” Wyll said, his brow furrowing in sudden concern.

“What?! No!” you said quickly. “Nothing happened.”

“How’d you mean nothing happened?” Karlach put in. “We all saw what we saw. How could anyone turn down all of that?”

Fresh embarrassment washed over you, making you wish you could erase the last twenty-four hours and crawl into the nearest, deepest hole. You had spent the whole night worried about what Astarion would make of your vision, you had all but forgotten you had shared that part of yourself with all of your companions. Of course they would have their own interpretations.

“It wasn’t like that.”

A quick look around the table gave away the doubtful thoughts of all.  

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to calm. They weren’t going to believe you if you were emotional about this.

“Look, I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. As I said, nothing happened. We talked, and it became clear that we just want different things. That’s the beginning and the end of it. Now are we done or are you all going to keep chattering on like a bunch of fishwives?”

The silence at the table was palpable as everyone exchanged looks.

Alright, maybe being calm wasn't a realistic expectation, but you hadn’t lied. Sure, there were some details you neglected to share, but that really was the long and the short of it. He hadn’t done anything wrong and neither had you. It just didn’t work out.

The plain truth of it settled in your heart carving out a hollow space for it to lay in.

Gale was the first to act, clearing his throat. “Fair enough, the matter is closed. Please, accept our apology. With such an intimate group as ours, it’s sometimes easy to forget that one’s personal matters can be well and truly personal.”

He looked at the rest of the group, each nodding in agreement to various degrees of reluctancy.

“Just for the record though, if you need someone to knock some sense into that pretty boy’s head, you just need to ask,” Karlach offered. 

Despite yourself, you had to smile. “I’ll think about it.”

You then turned to Gale, who met you with kind eyes and a comforting smile. You let yourself be warmed by it, even if you still felt a little guilty for snapping. He really did understand. It was easy for heartbreak to recognize heartbreak.

“Thank you,” you murmured. 

To your surprise, his first instinct wasn’t to reach for words, but rather your hand as he gave your fingers a gentle squeeze. 

“Anytime.” 

“Good morning everyone. Gossiping without me?”

You whipped your head around to find Astarion standing near the head of the table, a sardonic smile on his lips and a hard glare in his eyes.  No doubt he had heard everything. 

Everybody shifted in their seats, glancing between you and Astarion. You averted your gaze, focusing hard on the table in front of you. 

Gale’s hand still rested over yours. Whatever comfort it had given you, faded as something akin to panic flooded your veins. In the next second, you rose from your chair, scraping it hard against the floor in your hurry. 

“I’ve still got some packing to do,” you said. “Be back down in a few.” 

Coward’s way out? Yes, but after the night you had, you figured you were entitled to it. 

Keeping your head down, you slipped past Astarion, feeling him watch you as you made your way back up the stairs. 

If you had lingered a moment, you might have caught the flash of hurt in his eyes. You might have noticed how his clothes were more rumpled than usual. You might even have seen his hand twitch with the instinct to reach for yours. But you didn’t see, and anything that might have happened disappeared in a brush of air. 

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

The next several days carried on in much the same way.  Not as torturous as that first morning, but still a drudge of avoidance and awkward silences. 

In your defense, Astarion seemed just as keen to keep his distance. Where he used to be your preverbal shadow, filling the hours of travel with idle teasing and conversation, now he kept to the back, his mouth decidedly shut. 

The others caught on and seemed determined to make up the difference. Karlach, Shadowheart and Wyll especially made a point to walk alongside you, telling stories and jokes in an attempt to make you smile. 

You did your best. They meant well, but in some ways they only served to emphasize the absence of another. 

Gale, on the other hand, had the foresight to try a different approach. He made it clear he didn’t expect you to talk, but always made sure you had the best spot by the fire and a little extra of whatever he made for the camp. You had to wonder if Tara had provided a similar comfort to him after Mystra. It was obvious he had the practice. 

Even Lae’zel offered to help you train it off, something about how your, “objectively weak body had left the rest of you vulnerable to attack”. A part of you felt the insult, but the gesture was appreciated. 

Honestly, all of this care was starting to make you feel guilty. None of them were giving Astarion the same courtesy. He wasn’t being shunted exactly, but the message was loud and clear; they were on your side. 

This was met by him taking a step back from the late night conversations. His interactions with the others were kept short and lacked his usual humorous flare. He took his shifts on watch alone and he spent even more time either roaming the forest or in his tent. 

The only person he consistently spoke to was Gale, which should have raised some alarm bells on their own, but you never caught what they were discussing. All you knew was Astarion never appeared especially pleased while Gale gave a look of someone begging the gods for patience. 

All of this was your fault. You just wanted things to go back to normal. Even if you couldn’t be with Astarion the way you imagined, you still valued his friendship.  If this kept up, there was a chance he might decide to leave all together. An olive branch was needed, something to signal you didn’t hold a grudge or expect anything more. 

The answer came to you one early evening as you took note of his haggard looks and less than graceful steps out of camp.  He hadn’t fed on you in a week and there was only so much deer and boar could do. 

You considered simply offering up your neck, but that felt too forward. Besides, you weren’t sure if you were ready to have him that close. The only other solution you could think of was to bleed yourself somehow. 

This proved more difficult than you first imagined. Astarion seemed to have an instinct for where to bite, balancing enough blood for himself without causing any permanent damage. You couldn’t boast the same. It took more than one cut to fill an empty goblet with what you hoped to be the right amount of blood. You’d ask Shadowheart to heal you properly later. Hopefully she’d accept a poorly executed knife trick as an excuse. 

You wrapped your wrist as best you could and, watching to make sure the others weren’t looking, slipped into Astarion’s tent. 

You were immediately hit with the scent of bergamot, rosemary, and aged brandy. A sense of calm washed over you at the familiar combination, settling comfortably in your lungs as you took in the space.

 A single candle remained lit, allowing just enough light for you to appreciate the rich purple and red fabrics lining the walls as well as the sheer number of pillows littering the floor. How he managed to pack so many was a mystery you doubt you would ever solve. The whole set up was down right ornate, but considering this was Astarion you were talking about, you shouldn’t have been surprised. 

It was only then you realized you’d never been inside before. He’d invited you more than once, but you’d always turned him down preferring to keep your feeding session in the open air. You had known, even then, any closer would give the wrong impression; all for naught it seemed.

You pushed the thought aside, pulling your attention back to the matter at hand. There had to be some place you could put the goblet where he wouldn’t knock it over. Why did he have to keep a side table outside the tent?

A shuffle came from just outside. Focusing your ears, you caught the tread of boots on grass transition to the nearly silent carpet just outside the tent flap. You turned using those handful of extra seconds to school your features into something passively innocent as Astarion ducked inside.

His whole body froze, his arm holding the fabric above his head as his eyes went wide. For a long moment, neither of you said anything. 

You took advantage of his momentary shock to examine his appearance more closely. He looked…well, tired and more than a little confused. No blood marked his shirt or his lips. His pants appeared to have taken a tear or two from a bramble bush. Even his hair looked just a bit disheveled in a way so unlike himself.  

“No luck hunting?” you said, unable to keep the concern out of your voice. 

He stared, as if your words were coming from somewhere far away and required extra time to reach his ears.

“I’ve had better,” he finally said. 

You nodded in understanding, shifting awkwardly as your eyes went to the goblet in your hands. 

“Here,” you offered. “No offense, but you look like you could use it.”

He gave a tight smile. “I’d say no offense taken, but this is me we’re talking about.” All the same, he took the cup, sniffing it cautiously. He blinked hard, his brows furrowing as he stuck his nose further into the cup and took a deep whiff. 

“Is this yours?” he asked. 

You shrugged, holding up your bandaged wrist. “Whose else would it be?”

His mouth parted slightly as if to say something before closing it again. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, his tone oddly serious. 

“I know,” you assured. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Once again, he opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead released a breath of a laugh, allowing whatever tension he had formed in those last few seconds to fall from his shoulders. 

“I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but it seems I can’t help it with you.” 

Before you could ask him what exactly he meant, he raised the goblet to his lips and drank. 

The effect was instantaneous. Your blood met his tongue and any control he had slipped away. His pupils dilated to those of a predator as he guzzled the whole thing down in two deep swallows. He let out a gasp of air before returning to the cup, licking the sides so not to waste a drop. A low hum of bliss came from deep in his chest as he savored the rest, allowing his fingers to scrap the bottom before bringing it back to his mouth. 

The sight should have left you horrified, but in truth, it was encouraging. Things would be different, but you could at least provide him this. 

“Do you need more?” you asked. 

This time his laugh was loud and genuine as he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand before licking the remains; yet another thing you found inexplicably endearing. He really was just a big cat sometimes. 

“Dangerous thing to offer me in this state, darling,” he said. “Luckily for you, I found a nice burrow of rabbits yesterday.” 

Once satisfied there was truly nothing left, he set the goblet down on the ground before turning his attention to your wrist. 

“Let me see,” he said, reaching out a hand. 

“It’s fine,” you promised. “I’ll get Shadowheart to look at it later.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that, give it here.”

Knowing there was no fighting him, you relented, allowing him to unwrap the bandages.  

He visibly winced as he examined the litter of harsh scratches along your skin. “What did you use? A rusty spoon?” 

“I had trouble finding a good vein,” you said, feeling the need to defend yourself. You hadn’t thought it looked that bad. 

“Oh is that all? And here I thought you’d lost an argument with a displacer beast.” 

You pressed your lips into an annoyed line, but Astarion was already digging around his pack, coming back with a salve and potion of healing.  

“Drink this.”

You shook your head, ignoring the pleasant little flutter in your chest at the gesture. “I told you, I’ll just ask Shadowheart.”

“Oh this isn’t just for you,” he said, dryly. “Do you think I want her believing you’d willingly butcher yourself just to give me a proper meal? Neither of us would hear the end of it.” 

A small flush of embarrassment worked up your neck. He was right, of course. The party really hadn’t been subtle in their disapproval. It was the reason you had tried for discretion. 

Without further protest you accepted the potion. 

This seemed to appease him as he quickly got to work on applying the salve. 

He had bought it not long after you had come to your little feeding arrangement. It helped to sooth small cuts and bruises while minimizing the threat of scars. He had initially offered to provide…other services to relieve the pain, but you had declined. This was the compromise. You’d offered to do it yourself, but he insisted, claiming it was the least he could do. In truth, it was all very…transactional. 

This felt different. The hesitation he so often held, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop, was gone. His touch was gentle, his expression focused and his body oddly relaxed. It didn’t feel like an obligation, but an act of kindness, one he was more than willing to give. 

Any nerves that remained slipped away.  You could find a way to live with this. Certainly it was more than others had given you in the past. 

Once he was done, he pulled fresh bandages from his bag and began redressing your wounds with decidedly more precision than you had. 

“I am glad you’re here,” he said, breaking the silence. “I was hoping we could talk.”

A sharp sting of anxiety pressed itself into your skin. 

“Oh?” 

He nodded, tying off the bandage. “I think it’s important.”

You swallowed. The instinct to run pulled at your feet, but you managed to keep it in check. You owed him that much. 

“Well, I’m here so…let’s talk.”

He breathed out an audible sigh of relief, raising his hands up as he took a small step back.

“Just stand there a moment. Don’t move.”

He spun around, rummaging through various bags before letting out a cry of triumph. He stepped back holding what looked to be a violin string glowing with magical golden light. 

Your head tilted to the side as your eyes narrowed. “Is that…?”

“Part of the violin, yes,” he admitted. “Bit of a story. Short version, Gale was able to extract one of the strings. It shouldn’t cause any permanent damage to the instrument, as far as I know.” 

You raised a doubtful eyebrow. “And Gale just let you pluck this from his tent did he?”

Astarion shifted uncomfortably. “Not exactly. I, ah, may have had some trouble understanding how it worked and…inquired as to his assistance.”

“You asked Gale for help?” you asked, astonished.

“Don’t make me relive the experience,” he lamented. “He told me the strings themselves have different magical properties in order to create the effect you demonstrated the other night. Apparently this one alone compels people to tell the truth.” 

He then took the string and carefully wrapped it around his wrist before handing the other half to you. 

Your eyes widened, glancing between him and the offered cord. “What are you doing?”

“Leveling the playing field,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You shook your head, taking a step back. “You don’t have to do that.”

His lips curved into a self deprecating smile. “I think I do though. I haven’t been honest with you and…while that’s not exactly unique to you, the regret I have is. So you see, it really is a selfish action. If I’m to be free of this, I need to know for certain you understand that what I say next is the truth…all of it.” 

Your mouth opened to protest, but the words caught in your throat. The expression on his face was one you had never seen before. While he did his best to hide under his usual indifferent airs, his eyes gave him away. You’d never seen them so open and unsure. 

Slowly, you took the other end, feeling a familiar tingle spread through your fingers. 

“Alright,” you said, cautiously. “What’s your favorite color?”

Flashes of red shot across your vision, moonlit skies and a pair of eyes you only just caught to be your own before the image settled on something else entirely.

“Pink,” Astarion blurted.

Your eyebrows shot up as the start of a delighted smile spread across your face.

 “And orange,” he amended quickly, “and dark blue and…honestly just the color of the sky at sunrise.” He pouted as if annoyed at the words that escaped his lips, but he shook it off. “Alright, you had your little test run. Give me something harder.” 

You considered a moment. It was very tempting to continue on with some more embarrassing questions, but that wasn’t the purpose of all of this. Best to start at the beginning. 

“What did you think of me when we first met?” you asked.

He grimaced, guilt evident not just through his averted gaze but the tug of the string between you. “You were a target,” he admitted. “At best a convenient meat shield. You were just so…open, ready to trust. Manipulating you would be easy.”

You took a deep breath, ignoring the stab of pain between your ribs. You should have expected as much. He wasn’t exactly subtle. 

“And that’s what you were trying to do the other night, manipulate me?”

“Yes.”

Another stab of guilt, a flash of your own back walking out of a candle lit room as a hand that was not your own reached hopelessly outward. 

Your actual jaw clenched. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity.”

“Then what?!” you snapped. “Hells bells Astarion, do you even like me?”

“You drive me to acts of insanity,” he said indignantly, raising up the glowing cord around his wrist as proof. “Do you think I’d willing subject myself to days of Gale’s passive aggressive commentary on my personal life for just anyone? Of course I like you. Gods below!”

You stared, unable to deny the waves of exasperation mixed with the sound of your own laughter as heard through another’s ears. Something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in the chest of the body opposite you making your mind spin, as you tried to re-establish the divide. 

“Why did you ask me to come to you?” you asked. “What were you hoping to gain?”

Astarion took a deep breath. It was only then you noticed how tightly he was holding the chord linking you.

“I was hoping to get back on track,” he said, slowly. “I had a plan when we met. A nice simple plan. Seduce you, bed you, manipulate your emotions so you’d never turn on me. It was easy…instinctive.” 

He met your eyes and for the first time, you felt him fight against the images threatening to breach the gap between you. You caught the barest flashes, memories of half forgotten faces passing by one after another. Shame and vile brushed the edges of your mind, and quickly faded as Astarion regained control. 

“But, you seemed immune to my attempts,” he continued. “I could tell you enjoyed my attentions, but you never asked for more. My simple plan that had worked on countless targets, couldn’t get off the ground. And yet, you still gave me blood, protection…trust. I couldn’t understand it. I found myself wanting to know more, to know you. To anticipate what you would ultimately ask in exchange. And then that night, you showed me exactly what it was you desired.”

Something slipped through. You saw yourself in the center of the tavern with darkness surrounding you. A rise of fear entered your heart as you heard your name called from familiar lips. And then, the world shifted, light came back into the world and it was…beautiful. 

“I thought I finally understood you,” he said. “A poor repressed urchin who had been hurt one too many times. All that was required was a more gentle touch. I could provide that. It wouldn’t be the first time.” 

He paused, his expression softening. “And then you had to do the most inconsiderate thing and surprise me all over again: you asked for my heart, in exchange for yours. I should have been elated. It meant my plan had worked, not the way I intended, but you had fallen for it…for me. The trouble was, I hadn’t accounted for the possibility that I would fall for you.”

You stared, unable to say anything as a well of emotion threatened to burst from you. It was as if someone pulled a bow across your chest, creating a resonating sound that moved in harmony with your very soul. 

It was true, all of it. 

By some miracle, you wrestled back control over your lungs and tongue. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I didn’t know how,” he admitted. “Even if I had, would you have believed me?”

You averted your gaze. It was answer enough. 

“It’s alright,” he said, offering a wry smile. “Smart really. I wouldn’t have believed me either.” 

You nodded in appreciation, your mind still reeling from everything he had just confessed. 

“What are you thinking?” he asked. 

You frowned, unable to shake a question that had been stirring for some time. 

“Do you even want to have sex with me?”

His eyebrows shot into his hairline, his mouth falling open. “I’m standing here baring my soul to you and that’s what you ask?”

“You asked me what I was thinking,” you defended. “Besides, it’s a relevant question.” 

He looked like he wanted to argue, but let it go just as quickly with a huff. 

“Well?” you prompted. 

He made a series of non-commital noises, his mouth half forming words before being wrenched in another direction. The chord between you glowed brighter, twisting just a little deeper into his skin.

“I…don’t really know,” he said, slightly stilted, as if surprised by his own answer. “To be clear, I do find you physically enticing. In that aspect at least, I’d hardly qualify bedding you a chore, but... I spent two centuries using lust and desire to lure people back to him. In that time I developed the habit of taking myself out of my body, looking at it as if it were happening to somebody else.  Even in those rare times it could be pleasurable, I still walked away feeling nothing but disgust and loathing. I don’t want those feelings associated with you. At the same time, I can’t help thinking that if we were together, it would be different. But, don’t take that to mean I expect it. Like I said, I don’t even know if I want it. Honestly, before you said it, I didn’t know saying no was an option.”

You took all of that in, your heart clenching as the full weight of what Cazador did to him settled on your mind.  Red filed your vision, the sympathetic ache replaced with a rush of fury.  He was a dead man. One way or another, you would see Cazador bloodied by the end of all of this. But as quickly as it had come you let the emotion pass. This wasn’t about him.  You wouldn’t let him intrude any more on this moment. 

“What do you want from me then?” you asked, softly. 

To your relief, something familiar and teasing flashed across his face. 

“I thought I’d made that obvious.”

With his free hand, he cupped your cheek allowing his thumb to lightly caress your skin. His scarlet eyes burned not with lust, but something warmer and just as desperate. 

“You showed me the chorus of your heart. How could anyone look upon that and not desire it? The trouble is, the price you asked. I…I don’t know how to pay it. I don’t know how to be with someone that way, but I’m willing to learn. I want it all. I want you to have it all.” 

The connection between you burned hot in your hand, but you couldn’t let it go. It felt so warm, so real. It filled every empty part of you to the point of bursting and still you wanted more. You were insatiable. 

Astarion looked just as lost as you, his eyes glazed over with too many emotions for you to name. His body began to tremble. It was becoming too much. 

In an instant you pulled his hand away, unwrapping the chord from around his wrist and tossing it aside.

He took a sudden deep breath as if coming up for air after being submerged in deep water. 

“Shit,” he cursed, gulping for air. Closing his eyes, he ran a hand down his face as he tried to calm. 

Your eyes widened as you caught the angry marks left behind on his wrist. 

“Are you alright?”

He blinked hard as if clearing spots from his vision. “I’m fine. Wasn’t expecting that is all.” He turned his focus to you with a bewildered expression. “Does it always feel like that?”

“That’s admittedly a first for me,” you confessed. You reached out your hand, glancing at his injury. “Let me see.”

He followed your gaze frowning, as if surprised to note the welts forming on his wrist. Still he stepped closer allowing you to examine them without protest. 

“Does it hurt?” you asked. 

He shook his head. ��Sort of numb, honestly, tingly.”

You nodded, swallowing hard to keep the rise of guilt and fear at bay. It didn’t help. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, quickly. 

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t think a little thing like this is going to scare me off. I meant what I said. I intend to give you your fill.”

“You don’t have to give it all at once,” you promised. “I can be patient when it counts.” 

A sly smile turned at his lips. “I almost hope you won’t. You’re not the only one who's starving.”

Heat spread up your neck, something Astarion undoubtedly caught as he gave a low laugh. 

“Well, now that we’ve cleared the air, what happens next?” he asked. 

“I’m…not sure,” you admitted. “Nobody else has ever given me the chance to figure that out.” 

He nodded slowly, before taking a small step back. His head tilted as if to examine you from every angle. A question started to form on your tongue just as the start of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He suddenly straightened before placing a hand on his chest and regarded you with a deep bow. 

You grinned, matching him with a curtsy of your own. 

He then offered his hand, which you easily took before he pulled you just a little closer. Your other hand found his shoulder while his pressed lightly on your waist. And then you did what was only natural. You danced. 

It wasn’t anything elaborate. There was no fire or sparks of magic. You simply moved together to a song of your own imagination. It stirred in your chest, the barest pluck of a melody, but it was yours and his; the promise of a symphony to come.

Tag List:

@ambrolyer, @cassiecasluciluce, @tamwritesstuff, @hallowedandhungry, @mangomonk, @amefuyuu, @righteous-scamp, @starved-kitten, @tinystarfishgalaxy, @twinkliker3000, @unrestrictedbyreality, @screechingphantommaker, @becksynthetic, @black-sapphic, @dicenete, @isharaneith, @sarcasticlittlebook, @catsandskyrimcafe, @sora-o-kaku, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ka-du-trur, @baldursgateslittlestar, @rakilein

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

hello! i’m not sure if ur taking requests but maybe an astarion x bard! tav who is neutral good? ik in game he hates it when we’re nice, so i’m wondering how you think he’d handle a tav who is not only kind but also not really interested in sex

Oooh, I like this! Time to bring out the bitchy cat energy. Because he is a bitch. Lot of Act 1 in game references here btw. Sfw, but y'know, Astarion sad boy backstory is always looming. Also conveniently ignoring the canon fact that Astarion doesn't know how to swim because I can~~~

~

Astarion supposed he could have come across a worse rag-tag crew of undesirables to associate with. It was made clear, disturbingly quickly, that he wouldn't have made it out here on his own. Not with the goblins and cultists lurking around every corner. And a damn vampire hunter for gods' sake.

Astarion could have done much worse than this merry-band of weirdos. Like laying dead in a ditch for instance. That said, it didn't change the fact that he was quickly growing tired of their leader's antics.

You were just so annoying. So selfless, in one of the stupidest ways he had ever seen. For one thing, why one earth would you ever trust a gith or Shar priestess? Or a vampire spawn for that matter. How no one had stabbed you in the back yet was beyond him, considering how you gave them every opportunity to do so.

Not that Astarion would, or at least not yet. But he could. Easily, considering all the misguided trust you had put in him.

But despite your flaws, he had to admit that you were capable, that much was clear. You were strong, quick, witty, and not above deception to keep the peace. He.... liked that about you, in a way. The extent to how far you would go to save others. It was courageous, as well as incredibly stupid, but he could respect it.

Slightly.

it helped that you were a cute little thing, even with the aggravating sunshine personality. Cute enough for Astarion to start thinking of... certain options. You would be easy to manipulate, he was sure of that. Enough so where his life could become one of your top priorities. You already seemed to like him, without him turning on the charm. It would be so easy to get you wrapped around his finger, with nothing but a few shiny words and some pleasant bed-warming. Nothing that he hadn't done before. And if anything, your absurd levels of kindness could.... make everything a little more pleasant than what he was used to. Gods willing.

And tonight seemed as good a time as any, considering everyone was still on a high from being the tiefling's heroes. You were excitedly talking at him, adorable in a frankly infuriating way. Or maybe the wine was working on him more than he had anticipated, he wasn't quite sure. But... your smile seemed extra enchanting tonight.

Enough so for him to get to the point after you asked how he was feeling, "I'm just looking for a little more excitement. A little more fun."

You cocked your head at him, innocently confused as he continued, "You know, we could always make our own entertainment darling. Get a little closer, so to speak."

"Sure!" You said, jumping on the opportunity faster than even Astarion had expected, "Can we do it now?"

Astarion blinked, pleased if not a bit surprised. He's not wholly against giving the camp a show, though the children still lurking about definitely put a damper on things. But maybe if you went far enough away...

"And can I choose what we do?" You asked, a wide smile on your face.

Astarion laughed, delighted at just how easy this was going to be, "Depends on how adventurous you're planning on being."

He hadn't expected you to grab his hand, easily intertwining your fingers with a smile, "I can show you."

Astarion hadn't been prepared for the quick escalation of events, but he was happy to abide by it. He nodded his head, giving your hand a small squeeze before saying, "Then lead the way."

And lead the way you did, right to the Waypoint of the swamp. Not exactly the most romantic place to be having sex, but Astarion had done worse. That was until you conjured the dancing lights, the dreary darkness suddenly transforming what should have been a putrid bog into a dreamy landscape, filled with flowers and freshwater.

Astarion looked to you, eyes wide, "How...?"

"We purified it!" You announced with a massive grin, "We did it this morning, before the party. Halsin and the other druids came down, I amped up their magic with a fantastic song, and bam! No more stench of the hag. Isn't it pretty?"

That... sounded exactly like something you would do, sweet thing that you were. Astarion nodded as he looked around, a little touched that you brought him here at all.

But as nice as the gesture was, he wasn't here for strictly fun. He had a plan, one that you were doing a wonderful job of putting into motion. Considering how you were in the middle of pulling your shirt over your head.

You looked at him expectantly, laughing a little when he rushed to join you. But before he could get his underclothes off, you were stepping away from him and... jumping into the water?

Astarion stared as you sputtered up to the surface, wiping your face with a loud laugh, "My gods, it's cold!"

"What on earth are you doing?" He called out to you, cautiously walking towards the water, "Are you trying to freeze to death?"

"Oh, hush!" You said, waving your hand in the air with a splash, "If we can kill an entire goblin camp than we can handle some cold water. Now get in already!"

Had he mentioned that you were aggravating yet?

But he hadn't made it this far to back out now. Besides, this was far from being on the list of the worst seduction tactics that he had to endure. Though it may have been the oddest one. Astarion couldn't remember a single time that jumping into a purified water pool led to lovemaking. But there was a first for everything. Though it didn't help that the water was indeed freezing.

"For fuck's sake," Astarion cursed when he came up for air, "This is your definition of fun?"

You giggled as you swam towards him, stopping to wrap your arms around his neck with a smile. Another unexpected move from you, a factor that he hadn't expected, but found oddly endearing.

You were playing with a lock of his wet hair, twisting it between your fingers as he wrapped his arms around you, "Well the fun part hasn't started yet."

Astarion laughed softly, his eyes zeroing in on your lips, "Is it about to start now?"

"I think it is," You whispered back, "You ready for it?"

"More than you know," Astarion murmured, leaning in to finally connect your mouth.

But before he could press his lips against yours you were dodging him, giggling as you whispered in his ear, "Good. Let's race."

And then you were pulling away from him entirely, diving under the water just to show back up a few feet away, a manic grin on your face, "Whoever gets to the opposite bank first wins!"

And then you were off, swimming away. You little cheater. Astarion didn't even think as he want after you, a childish competitiveness taking over. You still won, of course you did with that large of a head start, but he managed to beat you on the second and third try.

By his fourth win you were officially pouting, which only devolved into a splashing fight from there. One that he gracefully let you win.

It was all so stupid. Completely juvenile and beneath him. But then why was he having so much fun?

Eventually, you both got out of the water, opting to sit on the bank as you talked. Just... talking. Nothing more, and about the silliest things:

"If Halsin can turn into a bear, do you think I could learn how to grow an extra finger or two? It would make the lute playing so much easier."

"If you don't mind looking like a freak than sure. Are you thinking of literally growing them or having them attached?"

"If, and just hypothetically, Lae'zel and Shadowheart fought to the death, who would win?"

"Darling in all honesty, I think it would just devolve into lesbian sex."

"If you could go anywhere in the world, right now, where would it be?"

"...I think it would be here."

It was a startlingly fun conversation, one that had Astarion being sincere in ways that made him uncomfortable. But that didn't stop him from participating. The two of you talked about anything and everything until the sky started to lighten, both of you leaning into each other as you watched the sunrise.

That was something Astarion would never tire of, how beautiful the light and sky looked at the start of the day. Part of him still couldn't believe that he was able to see it at all, after two centuries of darkness. But now here he was, sitting on a peaceful riverbank after talking the night away, almost like... like he was a person. A real person who mattered. With someone who somehow thought the same.

You sighed, your head resting on Astarion's shoulder as you watched the pink sky, "We should head back soon. Before anyone starts to worry."

Astarion nodded, his heart clenching the slightest bit when you pulled away to stand. He... didn't want this to end. Not yet. Not when he-actually now that he thought about it, he hadn't done anything in the past eight hours that he had planned. The two of you hadn't even kissed, despite the fact that you had spent the vast majority of the night wet and in your undergarments.

How in the hells did that happen?

Astarion was still trying to figure that out as you tossed his shirt and pants his way. He stood, hastily putting it on while he struggled to figure out what to say next. He was completely off his usual script, at a complete loss as you re-opened the magical waypoint.

You turned back to look at him, that same sweet smile on your face that you had been wearing the whole night, "You ready to go?"

Astarion wasn't the type to stutter, but that's where he found himself when he blurted out, "I- wait- I mean, is that it?"

You cocked your head at him with a tiny frown, one that Astarion wanted off of your face immediately, "Did you not have fun?"

"I didn't say that, but it wasn't exactly the fun that I was referring to," Astarion said as he closed the distance between you, regaining a fraction of his usual forced confidence. Why were you so good at making him feel off-kilter?

He took your hand in his, reverting back to the seduction tactics he knew as he used his other hand to tilt your chin up, "I was thinking something a little more... intimate."

"I know what you meant," You said with a little laugh, giving his hand a small squeeze, "But my way seemed just as enjoyable, don't you think?"

"Darling, that's not exactly the point I was trying to make."

"Oh, I'm aware, but it was mine," You said easily, standing on your tip toes to kiss him on the cheek, "Thank you Astarion. It was fun, and I hope we can spend more time together like that in the future."

And just like that you were pulling away again, letting go off his hand to step into the portal, the feeling of your lips against his skin still lingering as you disappeared. Despite himself, Astarion brought his fingers up to where you kissed him, standing there like an imbecile as new feelings started to course through him. Emotions that he had no names for.

Maybe... this was going to be a lot harder than he thought it would.

[thatfreshi]

I was wondering if you could write Astarion having to tend to a very cuddly drunk female Tav. Possibly having to defend her from other people trying to take advantage of her.

This took me on a very sad adventure

TW - blood and gore, attempted sexual assault, drinking

Recommended Song: Drew Barrymore - SZA

The nice thing about no longer being on wild adventures full of tadpoles and cultists is that you and Astarion can go out drinking like normal people. While your vampiric lover thoroughly enjoys a good glass of wine, he usually stops himself at one. Perhaps he's a little paranoid about you, your safety, but he insists not to have more than one when the two of you are out together. At the house? Sure, he'll finish two bottles with you, the two of you drunkenly laughing by the fireplace, but not when danger could be afoot. You try to tell him he's just anxious, tense, that you'll be alright.

"I'd rather just make sure my love. You indulge all you want darling, I'll be fine."

In one of the more rowdy taverns, you and Astarion sit at a table off to the side, watching people get drunk and dance, bumping into strangers, sometimes fights ensue. As per usual, he nurses his singular glass. You look at him, a gleam of sadness in your eyes.

"Are you sure you don't mind? I can just skip out tonight, maybe we can just drink later, when we get back."

"Nonsense, have your fun my sweet. I insist."

You squeeze his hand.

"Alright then, I'm off to get my second... you can tell me to stop anytime!"

You tease as you slowly walk away, almost backing up into a nearby half-orc. He simply smiles at you, one of those smiles that says everything he's thinking, how he thinks you're precious, how he'd gladly never get drunk again if it meant keeping you. Years ago, he would've never given up a vice for some person. But you, you make this feeling well up in his chest, like he has to hold you close at all times, worried someone will snatch you when he's not looking. You may make fun of him for simply being a paranoid person, but you made it a million times worse.

"I'm back!"

Your voice draws out, and you return with two mugs of beer instead of just the one.

"Already going for three darling? You do remember you're a lightweight, right?"

"I'll be fine. Besides, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor is here to take me home if I throw up on someone."

You lie against his arm, starting on your second drink.

"You did eat before we left the house, right my sweet?"

You look up at him silently. He just sighs, running his hand through your hair.

"Then why did you need to go to the kitchen before we left?"

You giggle a little.

"To... pre-game!"

The laughter rings out of your throat as Astarion sighs, again, more annoyed this time.

"So you're telling me-"

"Already gettin' drunk Aster, it's a great time."

The more and more you talk, the more he realizes your words are becoming more slurred. Perhaps he should've asked before you left, made sure you at least grabbed a bite.

"Alright, you stay right here, I'm going to get you some water and a little snack."

He gets up, swiftly grabbing the two mugs off the table while you protest.

"Hey, I wasn't done with those!"

As Astarion makes his way to the bar, asking for the classic drunkard's care package, he's suddenly nervous. Had you ever been this drunk in public before? Maybe the two of you should just go home, before you somehow get your hands on any more alcohol. After thanking the barkeep for the water and some bread, he comes back through the crowd, and sure enough you have left the table.

"Gods damn it Tav."

After setting down what was supposed to be your little pick-me-up, Astarion quickly moves through the groups of people, knowing you probably just got up to dance. The bard playing tonight was quite excellent after all. However, after looking through most of the common space, you're nowhere to be found. That feeling of panic starts to well up inside of him, where he's only driven by fear. He knows you can't be far, but he also knows most of the tavern-goers here are slimy, horrific people looking for their next bag of gold. Walking through the crowd again, Astarion comes near the back entrance, and hears a conversation down one of the abandoned hallways.

"A gal like you, surprised you're here alone."

He rounds the corner, seeing you and a bulky half-elf, your arms pinned above your head. You seem nervous, but not conscious enough to realize anything is truly wrong. Astarion stalks up behind the wretched man, wrapping his dagger around the half-elf's throat.

"No so alone anymore, are we?"

Your captor surprisingly doesn't stand down.

"You won't do shit. People know me around here, important people, they'd surely have your head if something happened to me."

"Not if I hide your body well enough. And trust me, I have experience."

The two of them are un-moving for a moment as your wrists start to go numb from the pressure. You groan in pain, only causing the half-elf to grab you tighter. As Astarion goes to press his blade into the man's neck, he whips around, pushing Astarion back. Gods, he's tall. You fall back against the wall, trying to nurse the pain in your hands. As Astarion and the stranger fight, you hear the sounds of blades colliding, but your head is spinning. Perhaps he was right about the whole 'eat before you drink' thing.

You're interrupted from your thoughts when you hear a loud thump on the floor. The half-elf almost knocked Astarion out. leaving him on the ground. The stranger then turns back to you, lifting you back up from the floor, going to open the back door.

"What a find. Can't wait to enjoy you."

In that moment, while trying to get his bearings, Astarion realizes this wasn't just someone threatening you, and that disgusting feeling fills his stomach. He remembers how many times he shared his body against his will, and the adrenaline of that anger is enough to get him back on his feet. As you and the half-elf make it out the door, Astarion rushes him, tripping one foot out from under him. And then he drives his blade into the stranger's back, again, and again, and again, and again, and again. He's covered in the sinner's blood, shaking with both rage and misery. The violent display helped sober you up just a little, enough to make you realize that Astarion has killed someone behind the bar, and that it was clearly deserved. He looks up, locking eyes with you, still holding his blade down, as if the dead man needs yet another plunging strike in his back.

"Astarion?"

You ask, your voice full of uncertainty, the past few minutes still a blur. He begins to cry, putting his dagger in the ground, slowly crawling over to where you've ended up on the ground. He holds you tight, almost to the point of pain. He doesn't say anything, and you simply watch the blood pour out of the man's corpse as he grips you tight. Flooding memories cover every space of his mind, seduction, imprisonment, and most of all, Cazador's death.

"Astarion... you're hurting my arm."

You say softly, not fully aware of just how distraught he is, still far too inebriated. You're sad though, because he's sad, and you can't quite put together why. He lets go, wrapping his arms under his legs, crying into his knees. You try to comfort him, despite your state.

"It's okay, it's over now."

You don't even know what's over, but if someone is dead and Astarion is still alive, he must've ended it.

"I know."

He chokes out those two pathetic words, looking back up at you.

"We need to leave."

The survival instinct kicks in, knowing he can't explain why this man has at least five stab wounds in his back. The second one of the bartenders finds this, it'll be over.

"Come, this way, we're going to take the back alley."

Snatching up your arm, Astarion leads you through the darkness, mumbling things to himself that you can't quite hear. The two of you move quickly through the night as you stumble around behind him. When the two of you get home, he gets you some water, leading you upstairs so you can lie down.

"Are you okay?"

Such an innocent question. He knows you'll remember tomorrow, that it's not like you're blacked out or anything, just confused.

"I'll be fine my dove. Get some rest now, it's alright."

It's as if he's trying to convince himself, but it's enough for you in your drunken stupor. You curl up into the heavy blanket cast across the bed, and he leaves a kiss on your head. Not long after, you're drifting off to sleep, exhausted.

As Astarion makes his way to the bathroom, he thinks of the horrific things that could've happened, of how cruel humanity is. He thinks about how you have to be the only truly good person in all of Faerûn. He'll never get all the blood off his face, not while you're asleep. His mirror, his sun, his everything, and you were almost tainted the very same way he was.

When you wake up the next morning, Astarion isn't in bed. You try to reach out groggily, looking for that embrace, only to be left with cold sheets. Thinking back on the night before, the memories start to filter in. The drinks, the half-elf, the stabbing, and Astarion sobbing. The full picture isn't entirely there, but there's enough pieces for you to realize. That man, he found you drunk in the tavern, and tried to take advantage of you.

You stumble out of bed, walking down the stairs, rubbing your eyes.

Astarion is in the kitchen, drinking some tea, his eyes bloodshot. You don't say anything, slowly walking up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist, holding him tight. He puts his tea down and rests his head on yours.

"Are you alright my love?"

"I'm fine. Are you alright?"

You make some space again, looking up at him, holding his hands in yours. They start to shake again, rage and misery. You move a piece of hair out of his face.

"He didn't do anything to me love, I'm okay."

"Just- the thought of- I-"

He tries to hold back the tears again.

"It's okay, you can cry. It's going to be okay."

With that allowance, the permission to let go, he cries again.

"I don't ever want you to feel like that Tav, the way I felt. It's so, disgusting."

"I know, but it's over Aster. It's over now. You're okay, we're okay."

You wrap around him again, and he continues to weep.

"I love you, so much, and they didn't ruin you, I promise."

That worry, that he'll never be the same, that he's forever fractured now, that a piece of him is gone. Innocence, what a loaded word. Those who are guilty make the innocent feel guilty, and those who are guilty feel powerful, and the cycle continues, always continuing. You stand in the kitchen for a long time, letting him get all of the pain out, your shirt sleeve wet with his tears.

"I just wish I didn't have to be scared anymore."

You frown, thinking on his statement, knowing that no one is ever truly safe. You'll both live in fear forever, of those that think cruelty is accomplishment.

"I know."

It's all you can say, because you can't lie and tell him there's a day he won't have to be scared, that one day all the monsters of the world will be gone. There's nothing to learn, no moral, no mistake to fix, just pain. Pain caused by those who greed after anguish.

"Do you think I've changed? Or am I just as I was, a scared, beaten slave?"

"Gods Astarion, of course you've changed. It's the world that hasn't. We're better than them though, even if that's all we have."

Neither of you reach any resolution, nothing that makes you feel better. Instead, you sit on the sofa by the fire, watching the wood go up in flames, softly speaking about the suffering. You lie in each other's arms, sad. Misery loves company, and the two of you sit in that aura of grieving for a long time, grieving his past, grieving what could have been a kinder world. But here, in this sacred space, where feelings are free to run wild, where you can cry as much as you need, that's the only place you're truly safe. And that's alright, as long as it's together.

[zedecksiew]

What Do Ability Scores Represent?

Recently, Into The Odd and the players in my home game helped me realise something fundamental:

Ability scores represent how good you are at acting under pressure.

STR isn't strength, it's toughness;

DEX really means reflexes;

WIS is more accurately calm or willpower;

etc.

+++

It is convention in roleplaying games that your ability scores / attributes / six stats determine who your character is.

High DEX means your character is spry, capable of acrobatic flourish; a good Willpower generally means you can browbeat others / themselves / reality (if you are spellcaster) into doing what they want; etc.

There is pleasure in looking at a sheet and seeing: Oh! These are the things my character is good at.

But you do run into problems. Does my 18 DEX rogue know they are fleeter than the 17 DEX bard? What if my wizard thinks she is stronger than her 10 STR? What if I have a brilliant scheme but my barbarian only has 9 INT?

How well, in other words, does the map represent the territory?

+++

(Art by Vesha, who is an illustrator! source)

I've got three players in my home game:

Vesha plays the teenaged trader Khabar (and his buffalo friend / parent-figure, Paal);

Amanda plays the monkey warrior Boots-Ra, now going white-furred;

Aish plays Captain Phung.

Phung does not yet own a proper sea-going vessel. Perhaps he lost his previous ship? Perhaps he never had one. (He does have a magic five-person sampan, though!)

He is impulsive. He tends to make dodgy deals with hapless village-folk, pick up dangerous-looking objects, and flirt with dangerous-looking men.

+++

Mechanics-wise, here's how my interactions with Aish / Phung tend to go:

Me: Okay, make a DEX save to duck before the hunter stabs you. Aish: Damn, my DEX is only 6, guess we'll see ... Amanda: Oh, no, Phung!

In a previous session:

Me: Okay, I think I'll call for a WIL save, because the ghost in the goat skull is trying to possess you. Aish: Well, my WIL is 5, hopefully this works out ... Vesha: Oh shit, Phung!

Some sessions back:

Me: The automaton shoves you. Make a STR save? Otherwise you'll be on the ground at its mercy. Aish: Guys I have 6 STR, I may be in trouble here. Me: Wait wait wait. What are your stats again?

So it turns out that Aish had terrible rolls at chargen. STR 6 DEX 6 WIL 5. Just going by ability scores, Phung is an idiot weakling.

+++

Thing is, Phung isn't an idiot weakling.

I've got crafty players; they are pretty good at cooking up multi-part schemes. (Their go-to tactic is bamboozling rival factions to show up at the same place, then benefit from the fallout.)

Phung is generally the face for whatever racket they've got going: he's the most obvious leader (the party is generally "Captain Phung and crew"), and Aish plays him as a capable, charismatic go-getter.

Looking at the character sheet, is Aish playing Phung wrong?

Fuck that. A player cannot play their own character wrong. I reject this notion outright.

What's going on?

+++

Different rulesets try to bridge the gaps between player action, character ability, and abstract math in different ways: eliminating mental attributes; going totally skill-based; etc.

The ruleset that comes closest to "solving" this, for me, is Into The Odd.

Saves are the only kind of test player-characters make, in ITO and its derivatives. This is key.

The ruleset assumes competency on the part of characters; you only go to the dice if you need to figure out stuff that is out of your control.

How badly a straight-up fight goes; whether you can jump aside in time if you've accidentally sprung a trap; whether you can improvise a lie on the fly.

+++

Implicitly, and in practice:

The STR stat in ITO is more accurately toughness---ie: how well you can withstand a physically demanding situation you didn't prepare for.

Ditto DEX, which is an abstraction for how quickly your reflexes trigger.

Same with WIL, which is how well you stay calm under duress.

I can be sharp when I've got time and it is a subject I have experience in. But suddenly ask me to make a speech and I'm toast (low INT).

Some folks have no martial arts training but can hold their own if a brawl breaks out in a bar (high STR).

Captain Phung is a pretty cool operator when he's in control, but tends to seize up when things go off the rails (low WIL).

There's my answer to the conundrum of Captain Phung: he's a genuinely capable guy. He's just not necessarily great under stress. His reach exceeds his grasp, sometimes.

+++

Your ability scores don't represent who your character is. Your ability scores represent who your character is, when under duress.

In other words:

Ability scores are who your character is when they are not in control. Ability scores are your character's reactions.

+++

I do feel slow on the uptake, for only grokking this now.

Chris McDowall probably has a post from the mid 2010s or something where he discusses this aspect design in detail, the clever genius bastard. It is probably internalised play-culture within the ITO-and-descendants community; Emms points out that the current edition of Mothership explicitly talks about stats in this way.

Still!

Am glad to have a regular TTRPG group again, and I have them to thank for my epiphany!

(They are kickass. I ran them through Whirling Mummy a while back and it was a RIOT)

[bl3ss3dbyt1amat]

misc bg3 companion hc

this is so much. i have no idea and im also sorry. all of the origin companions included under the cut

astarion:

i feel like he claps funny. like hes clapping but its that specific way thats meant to be like quieter? like clapping on the palm of his hand. this might be projection but i feel like hes also the type of person to do like a little clap or a spin or his trademark ridiculous giggle whenever hes happy.

i think that hes prone to dramatics like. like pretending to fall on the floor and die if you say hes actually not on your mind 24/7. oh whats that? you dont think im the prettiest princess in the entire world? well astarion has dramatically fallen to the floor

in the early game astarion most definitely practiced his lines loudly and publicly (in camp). he cant even see himself in the mirror but hes trying to look all suave and being like "shall i compare thee to a summers night" while lae'zel and shadowheart both shout "NO" from across the camp. (can be interpreted as bloodiedblade/wyllstarion but i think wyll would be amused and even finish the quote).

wyll:

this man is probably good with basic medicines and ill die on this hill. hes got aloe vera type shit on him at all times. sure, hes not a cleric or healer or even a bard, but he'll stay with you and try his damned best to cheer you up when youre hurt or sick.

on a related note i feel like wyll would be absolutely DELIGHTED by a bard tav. he would just be so amused and filled with whimsy. never gonna complain about playing, even if its like 2am. just occasionally putting in song requests. hes so incredibly enthusiastic like spinning tav around like "THAT WAS BRILLIANT!!!"

wyll probably keeps houseplants. (minor blazingblade but i feel like karlach would accidentally kill one of the plants and actually begin weeping. once she gets her engine fixed wyll tries to teach her how to garden. this goes weirdly) furthermore i think he like goes around his house like humming merrily and watering his plants and crap

gale:

i dont think hes coordinated at all. like this man is tripping down the stairs on a daily basis. he is dropping his tea, his book, his body, ect. to the point that hes got a habit of just hugging the railing for dear life every time he has to go down a staircase. this made traversing shit like the underdark actually literally horrible. every time he falls karlach is so overly concerned and probably offers to carry him. astarion, to everyones dismay, dies laughing each and every time

pretty sure wyll and shadowheart have a conversation about weird book porn. i am here to say that gale was holding back his power while that conversation happened. gale has read so much book porn and if you knew the real scale of it you would be concerned. tara is concerned at least.

shadowheart:

especially during early game, i feel like shadowheart was literally clenching so hard to avoid admitting cute things were cute. like "oh.. a stray mutt... charming I MEAN IN LIKE A GROSS WAY". she was trying to hard to be all scary and into shar and shit but she just really likes puppies and other animals and crap

if she were modern i feel like she would really like pixar movies (inside out comes to mind for reasons i cannot explain) and wear long jean skirts. i cant explain any of this but it is fact in my mind. even in the bg3 setting i do feel like she would wear very long boxy type skirts. sort of plays into her whole "dark priestess" sort of vibe

shadowheart was sitting in her tent with scissors fucking losing her shit with anxiety trying to cut her own bangs without a mirror. it is a literal miracle from selune that they dont look like complete and total shit. no wonder halsin was surprised. (minor silverheart/shadow'zel: when she first like actually properly noticed what shaodwheart did with her hair, since the initial joke is she cant tell what changed, i think lae'zel was very impressed. she even likened it to like a sort of war paint against shar. also we KNOW lae'zel likes silver)

(can be interpreted as bladeheart/,,, do wyll and shadowheart have a ship name yet? HM. well anyway i think that in conjunction with the previous headcanon about wyll gardening, he and shadowheart garden together and he specially grew her night orchids)

lae'zel:

ever since i looked at her stupid little mindflayer training dummie in camp ive had the image of her in my head very angrily and intensly carving up a turnip to look like a mindflayer. draws a little mean face on it like the worlds most violent six year old. every time she messes up on her little DIY project shes muttering curses in tir'su.

lae'zel will take any opportunity to infodump about githyanki culture. specifically red dragons. if she met a red dragonborn or even maybe a follower of tiamat or some shit she would be so hype. in her "i hate everyone SVAH" way ofc. but like. trying to casually slide trivia into battle conversation or party banter with all the subtlety of an owlbear. "yes... the battle preparations are proceeding as expected... as expected a red dragons hibernation cycle..." and everyone just has to turn their head and ask what the fuck shes talking abt

(can be thought of as silverweave: lae'zel and gale talk in draconic about dragon history and the celestial plane. hes so tickled to have a mutual interest with lae'zel)

no one hears lae'zel laugh but when they do its so weird. like its some weird like hissing sort of sound and everyone has to do a double take and make sure theyre understanding what the fuck is going on for a second. lae'zel is incredibly defensive when people notice it but theyre not trying to be mean

karlach:

before her engine gets fixed but like early on to where shes not used to it, karlach keeps trying to touch things and keeps breaking them. this fills her with genuine despair and she will start crying (everyone in camp has to go on a group effort to calm her down). she just thinks the world is so beautiful and is so sad she cant interact with it

she likes to dance but in like a boot stompin way. karlach is probably just an absolute party animal when she gets her freedom back because honestly in her situation who wouldnt be. SHE JUST GOT TO NOT BE ON FIRE LET THE GIRL PARTY

once shes been fixed to the point where she can touch people, she just never stops. manhandling everyone in the party constantly. oh whats that? tav is on low health? dont worry karlach is sprinting over to put tav on her shoulder. literally any problem can be solved by karlach hugs and i wont be taking feedback on this

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Promises Five: The Hunt

Dark!Morpheus x (female)reader, fantasy/medieval AU, 18+

Master List

Dream of the Endless had been promised a bride.

A/N: I'll offer song recs to folks who are interested in asks! Still dealing with some mental health issues, but pushing through. HOLY SHIT THE NEXT CHAPTER. 0,0 Liking is sweet, commenting is divine. Talk to the lonely hermit, people. Her dog is tired of her shit.

The hounds sang after the hinds, and their masters followed them under the trees.

In the distance, the high castle sat like a toy house from which all the dolls had escaped, spreading their games and pageantry through the forest with bells and horns to warn away the deer and fox. Huntsmen released other deer, fox, and fowl from prearranged cages out of sight of the king and his swarm of courtiers, so the dolls could play pretend at feats of skill.

The bard kept to the back, holding a tight rein on her grey mare – who didn’t understand why she couldn’t stop and graze if the bard insisted on moving so slowly – in the company of the ladies Alder. Eilwyn, who’d visited the bard’s chamber two nights past, glimmered and glowed, illuminated like a piece of art in the dappled sunlight and the eyes of a few dozen would-be suitors. Officially, no one could pay court until the Endless had his pick. Unofficially, Eilwyn had received six declarations of love, five bad poems about her eyes, one good poem about her hair, and an uninspired puzzle box containing a gaudy necklace without a single gem of value.

Eilwyn loved it all, of course.

But as the younger woman amused herself snaring hearts for her collection, the bard conversed with the Dowager Alder, Eilwyn’s grandmother.

“The city lights are unbearable,” the elder Alder insisted. “My eyes are bad enough as it is, but when every street and tavern glows like the moon, I can hardly make out the planets with my telescope, let alone the fainter stars. With the travel time, I’ll lose whole weeks of work, and gods know if I’ll be alive to note my calculations this time next year.”

Manly shouts and howling dogs suggested something ahead had died, or was about to. The bard wondered how many of these fools in their fine furs would discover the material cost of bloodsport when they couldn’t scrub the stains from their velvets in the morning.

“You say that every year.”

The Elder Alder, on her aged palfrey, squinted at the green canopy shielding her beloved sky and tutted.

“And one year I’ll be right, like I always am in the end.”

The woman was an astronomer, a mathematical magician, and the idea of death hadn’t scared her since the bard first met her as a young maid. The wheel of the heavens moved before her, and it would move after, and that was well enough if she could just understand the damn thing before she shuffled off this mortal coil. She’d written books, and papers, and more books, and the bard wondered if Death would really hold off until the universe held no more mysteries. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Of course, Lady Alder.”

Arthritis had long-since gnarled the lady’s hands, and they twisted over the saddle pommel and a hank of her horse’s main like knobby cypress knees, straining with the roll and sway of her palfrey’s gait.

“How far is the damned camp?”

Another lady – one of the fools hoping to wed her daughter to the Endless riding very far ahead near the king – seized the reins of her precious child’s horse and passed the odd trio. She did not look to the side. She did not look at anything. She lifted her nose far too high. And she nearly trotted over her own servants in passing.

The bard waved, and the daughter gawked with wide eyes as she was spirited away from poor influences and dangerous words. Really, any damage was already done, and fleeing the scene of battle only showed weakness. What kind of lesson would the girl really learn besides the fact that her mother enjoyed making a spectacle of her piety? Parents really had the strangest ideas about children.

“Grandmother!” Eilwyn exclaimed, clearly delighted.

The bard, equally delighted, couldn’t help herself. “Such language from so fair a lady. Shocking.”

The Dowager shifted in her saddle, face puckered in discomfort. “Hush, the both of you.”

Oh, if only she could. She laughed to imagine how much pain and trouble might’ve been saved. And how many adventures missed. They never would’ve been friends at all if the bard kept her own counsel.

“You expect a bard to hold her tongue?”

“The sun will freeze first.” The Dowager made a point of staring down her granddaughter, though, and her granddaughter made a point of smiling very prettily in reply. A lord several lengths ahead called for Lady Eilwyn’s attention, and she brokered an armistice by riding out of her grandmother’s line of sight entirely, leaving the two old companions to fight their own wars.

“My old bones are not made for riding.”

A jolt of pity seared the bard’s belly like the pain after eating a rotten fish. She’d rather purge it and be done, but the prickling discomfort would only grow with age. There was no course but to swallow it down and imagine it hurt much less than it would in time.

“Why didn’t you take the coach then? It could’ve brought you in comfort.”

Swollen knuckles flexing, the lady scoffed. “With the rest of the invalids? Don’t insult me.”

“But it’s so much fun, old friend.”

“Old,” Lady Alder muttered. “Yes. I am that.”

The bard shifted in her own saddle, wondering if she could stomach any of the inevitable banquet awaiting them.

“That wasn’t the word I’d hoped you’d echo.”

An eye sharper than any hawk’s pinned her from the side, and she felt like a child caught sulking. “If you need reassurance as to that, then you are not half so clever as you make yourself out to be.”

She seized on the opportunity for levity and smiled with all her teeth. “You’ve known me for a fool many years, have you not?”

“Aye, but a clever one.” The lady considered. “Most days.”

“Such praise you give me.”

“You fished for it so often the lake is empty.”

“Unfair but not untrue.”

The lady hummed her affirmation, welcoming in a moment of calm as they road in the wake of the hunt’s chaos.

Ahead, those most eager to prove themselves brought down smaller prey on their way to the day’s camp. Once all had a chance to refresh themselves with wine as their horses grazed, most would sally out again in the name of dead beasts. Dusk would bring them back, and they’d spend the night drinking, feasting, and debauching one another just outside the safe ring of torchlight, pretending to be very daring and wild for fucking someone in a bush.  A bit more hunting in the morning for those who could still sit straight in the saddle, and then all would return bloody and victorious to the castle.

The bard struggled to understand those who found the prospect of a royal hunt… thrilling. None worried to go home hungry, and the creatures they met in the wood came hobbled, with teeth filed and tusks blunted.

Rushing down a winding stair risked greater peril.

Bored by the day’s excitement, she let her thoughts spin out in wider and wider passes, circling the crux of the drama.

What did the King of Dreams dream of?

Revenge, she suspected. Vengeance on the king that may boil over on the land he ruled, and she must guide her favorites out of the flood’s path. Those practical answers satisfied the part of her that always craved a direction, a purpose, the next challenge to conquer, but the Dream King’s retribution sat like a wax seal over a longer letter. She would very much like to read that letter, even if it was dangerous, and unwise, and entirely reckless.

The Prince of Stories must have depths unfathomable, millennia upon eon of secrets and experiences carved into his bones. She wanted to dismiss her curiosity as nothing but interest in a vision of her future. Would she be like him in another thousand years? No. She’d still be human, and he was Endless. All the lifetimes of the Earth couldn’t teach her to understand one such as him.

But that didn’t mean she had no desire to try.

From farther up the line, a runner came jogging, peering up at the faces of the mounted company. He looked from one to another, seeking the right address to receive his message. The bard paused, recognizing the Everard house colors on servant’s tabard. Her horse stamped, whickering around the bit as her rider leaned out of the saddle to catch the young man’s eye. He saw her and darted to her side quick as an arrow.

“Is all well?” the bard asked.

“My lady Alis Everard and my lord Tomas Everard request you ride with them.”

The bard looked to Lady Alder. She hardly needed her friend’s permission, and none of the Alders were the sort to cherish grudges over perceived slights. But the bard didn’t want to leave her to ride alone, either. She needed good conversation and someone who cared enough to notice if she swayed on her horse.

“Oh, go tend to your nervous foal.” Lady Alder waved her off. “My own proud filly will see you pass and return to keep me amused. We favor different arts, but she has a sharp enough eye to see trouble riding by.”

“Thank you.” The bard pulled out of the column of riders, careful to avoid the servant at her side. “I’ll see you at the camp.”

Whatever Lady Alder replied was lost to the wind. Finally given her head, the bard’s mare leapt into a canter, her hooves thumping a second heartbeat that rattled up and through her rider. Old loam and the sharp green scent of freshly broken twigs gathered around her like a cloak as she moved just left of the path, removed from the rock and dust of the road.

The bard knew what colors to look for, and she let all definition blur as she moved past lords, ladies, knights, and their scores of attendants. They all looked so strange and out of place in the tunnel of green woods, dressed to stand out in a part of the world where blending in more often preserved life.

Near the front of the cavalcade, she found the Everards. Alis stared with wide eyes as the bard pulled even with her, mare prancing and snorting in frustration as her run came to an end. Her dramatic entrance pulled other eyes, and the king – only a few riders ahead – glanced back with frustrated disgust. Perhaps she should apologize that she wasn’t a stag. For all of the ruckus she’d heard from afar, she saw precious few carcasses dangling from the hunters’ belts.

“Thank you for coming in such haste,” Lord Everard said. Stifled amusement plucked at his lips, trying to lift them into a broad, laughing gale. It would be bad manners to laugh too loudly too near the king over a jest to which he wasn’t party, but Everard clearly struggled.

She answered with the grin he’d tried to school away. “Best way to travel. Now, what is the matter?”

Lord Everard gestured to his daughter, and she in turn tried to sink into the mud of the forest track. She hunched low, like she could melt into her boots. Her complexion had gone pale, despite the flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck, and her gloves creaked as her dainty hands squeezed into fists. The bard let the merriment fade, looking and listening beyond the girl’s silence.

Alis’s doe eyes flicked towards the shadow who rode beside her king, and the bard understood.

Dream of the Endless wore his customary black, with the blood-red ruby shining on his breast like a heart he’d ripped from his prey. His nightmare mount had teeth where it ought to have eyes, and it laughed with a man’s voice. He carried a raven on his shoulder rather than a hawk on his glove, and anyone who hadn’t met his sister may mistake him for an aspect of Death. Or something worse, perhaps.

Lord of Nightmares indeed.

“He frightens me,” Alis whispered, leaning close. “I’ve had nothing but bad dreams since I came to the castle.”

As she should. A glance at her father confirmed he thought the same. Just because he’d been forced to bring his child to this storm didn’t mean he didn’t fear the lightning. He had too much sense for this farce and too big a heart to let the girl suffer. If his wife were not busy running the estate, she’d be here to shelter and comfort their little girl, but in her absence, he must ask the bard to fill the role, and she gladly pulled Alis’s attention from bad dreams to simpler truths.

“And you’ve never had a nightmare before?” She didn’t chide. She reminded. Even in the security of her own bed in her own home, the girl had touched the darker shores of the Dreaming. Its king would not reach out to swallow her now, even though he prowled so near in the Waking. “Alis, believe me, you are safe.”

Alis pulled her spine straight, taking a deep, intentional breath that shuddered on the way in and trembled on the way out.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise that if I’m wrong, I’ll find a convenient sword to fall on, and you can say you told me so. Does that make you feel better?”

“A little.” Realizing what she’d said, Alis blanched and rushed to add, “But only because I know you’d come back!”

This time her father did laugh, and the bard reached to reassure her with an honest to gods giggle, when chaos erupted at the front. The king and his companions came to a dead stop, and without warning or order, those who rode behind struggled to halt in time. Rearing horses and shouts of alarm rolled down the line like a breaker, and in the wave of confusion that followed, the bard once again left the road to circle forward.

They’d reached the camp.

A glory of golden stitching over swaths of emerald, the vast tents might cover an entire town, and smoke rising with the smells of rosemary and stewed venison hinted at the delights within.

The display paled behind the entity waiting at the edge of the woods, however.

Golden eyes like licks of flame from the sun’s heart smiled over ruby lips. Welcoming and menacing and all-too pleased with themselves.

Power perfumed the air, like honeysuckle and ambergris, clashing with the winter-cold snap of Dream’s clear displeasure. The King of Dreams had lost the veneer of humanity, and he set himself against the intruder like the deepest hour of the night resisting the dawn.

Few creatures could stand up to the king’s guest. Even fewer commanded the presence of function beyond personification. The bard did not know who the stranger was, but she knew what they were.

Another fucking Endless.

Every inch screamed of passion, romance, obsession. Golden hair and loose-fit silks that flowed like water into a garment that was neither tunic nor gown inspired sensual curiosities. They rode a unicorn, a bay mount with cloven hooves, a lion’s tail, and a goat’s beard. The russet horn glinted with flecks of gold, like treasure winking through a smear of blood.

The King of Dreams sneered, lip curling as he shared a frigid greeting.

“Sibling.”

The Endless in their path laughed, bright as bells and smooth brandy. It sounded to the bard’s ears like trouble. “I hope you don’t mind if I join in your hunt. Big brother.”

[j-l-kepler]

I Turned My BG3 Tavs into Fake Origin Characters

CUZ NOBODY'S STOPPED ME YET

So here I was, scrolling through the BG3 tag when I come across a fantastic BG3 Template made by the extraordinary @dvgsart! Couldn't mcfreakin' help myself, I tell you.

So I took my 5 active non-Durge playthroughs (3 of which are 2-Tav saves) and slapped them in! Had a blast doing this, I tell you. All the beautiful Tavs I keep seeing just make me wanna gush about my own silly Tavs. Life's too short to not have fun.

[Putting the ART and everything below the cut because this is gonna be loooooong and y'all should get to opt out]

Yeah okay maybe I've written Companion Guides for 6/7 of these guys. I've had a lot of time at work lately, okay.

I call these guys the Stacked Seven because all of them have massive badonkadonks and I'm in desperate need of a new hobby. I can't help the fact drawing tits is very fun and I am horrendously bisexual.

ANYWAY lil bit of preamble you can skip -- I based their stats and weapons on what they'd be as Companions or Origin runs, not what their actual in-game stats are. Romantic Partners / Besties / Weapons are who and what they'd probably default to if they were just in ya party. I also put them in their Companion fits, not their in-game fits. AIGHT LET'S KICK IT OFF, IN ORDER

Eckhart Markolac

The Infernal Twins

Ayyy it's my guy, you might've seen my guy before! We're starting off in familiar territory. Also he's the only twunk here. RIP.

Eckhart is one roguish half of the whole known as the infamous Markolac Twins. He and his sister Emerleigh have spent years of their lives dedicated to paying off a debt they owe to the Undercellar through smuggling, cons and other life-threatening crimes. Now that the Nautiloid has picked them up and dumped them a long ways away from the Gate, he's faced with the consequences of his actions and the kind of freedom he never expected to grasp in his lifetime.

Eckhart shares a companion quest with Emerleigh - get these tadpoles outta their skulls and get back to Baldur's Gate! But will he return to face his debtor, go on the run for the rest of his life, or forsake a future he doesn't think he's good enough for?

For those who haven't met my angst machine of a rogue, Eckhart is a sarcastic, witty and vaguely sleazy guy who's basically your classic rogue. He comes complete with a detached attitude, lower (but not too low) moral standards, and a heart of gold under layers and layers of self sabotage and emotional dysfunction. He's just bad at hiding it.

Eck and Em would be recruited at the exact same time, and their tadpoles would make it so they cannot live for very long without the other. How? Why? Because I don't wanna write a whole freaking branch where one of the twins dies and the other just has to deal with that. Game branch logic is HARD TO WRITE, DAMN YOU.

Emerleigh Markolac

The Infernal Twins

Heyyy girl, it's Em, it's my girl!

Emerleigh is one bardic half of the whole known as the infamous Markolac Twins. She and her brother Eckhart have spent years of their lives dedicated to paying off a debt they owe to the Undercellar through smuggling, cons and other life-threatening crimes. Now that the Nautiloid has picked them up and dumped them a long ways away from the Gate, she's more determined than ever to hold onto this newfound freedom... more terrified of returning than she ever thought she could be.

Emerleigh shares a companion quest with Eckhart - get these tadpoles outta their skulls and get back to Baldur's Gate! But will she return to face her debtor, go on the run for the rest of her life, or deny herself the future she so desperately wants for her and her brother?

If you haven't met Em, she's your classic dramatic bard who speaks in poetry, prose and academia! She's friendly, mischievous, and has so so so many things she hasn't given herself the space to contend with emotionally. She's a pretty lady used to having a perfect mask demanded of her, craving a chance to speak bluntly and openly instead of wrapping herself up in layers upon layers of what other people want from her.

I've already written plenty about Em and Eck. The twins' stories are very interconnected, with the quest playing out the same beats from the perspective of whichever twin the player is playing/romancing/keeping in their party.

Canary Highfall

Child of Light

My other major 2-Tav playthrough I have yet to mention, and the first modded class I've played!

Canary's life has been dedicated to the pursuit of truth -- consequences be damned. Reuniting with her possessive estranged father has caused a lot of roadblocks for her, but her divine heritage won't stop her from her latest fascination: Mind Flayers. Specifically, the strange tadpole specimen she intercepted in her father's study. Her pursuits, assisted by her bodyguard and trusted friend Leryk, have resulted in the two of them playing host to those very same tadpoles! The questions are piling up, with one weighing heaviest on her mind: why did her father of all people have this specimen to begin with? And what does that mean for her and Leryk?

Canary's quest is separate from Leryk, as the first part of her companion quest is finding him. If the player completes the grove or tries to move to the next region without him while keeping Canary in the party or at camp, he'll just show up at their camp. They're a package deal from Act 2 onwards, so the player can either dismiss them both or keep them both. She's not going anywhere without her closest friend!

Canary is a feverously academic person with a focus on abnormal biology. Her noble position and all the restrictions that come with it are a recent development in her life, and one she only engages with for the resources it affords her when possible. She's extremely distrustful of authority and how nobility has a chokehold on academia, so finding out her estranged father is a hyper-paranoid aasimar descended from Lathander himself doesn't exactly help her faith in higher powers -- be they the divine or the political. She's a bit of a smartass and gets wrapped up in what she's doing so completely that she often doesn't consider the consequences. Despite her outward confidence, it's very easy to get her to start rambling or turn her into an absolute mess. Though she hates when Leryk treats her like a princess, she trusts him with her life and would do just about anything for him.

With Canary, I liked the idea of a Companion with a specific interest in Mind Flayers and a personal stake in the conspiracy much like Wyll does. She wouldn't be able to tell the player anything Halsin can't already say in much more detail since she hasn't made a lot of headway in her tadpole-specific research, though.

Leryk Coppperlot

Knight of the Dawn

He's the only one of my active saves that has a skin tone other than "human". Good job, Keps.

Leryk's life hasn't been very long so far, but very little of it has been uneventful until recently. Saved from his life as a ruthless mercenary at the age of 19, he's devoted himself to the Son of Lathander. When his savior's recently-discovered estranged daughter was placed in his care, Leryk then devoted his life to her. Duty blossomed into friendship, but Leryk's blind faith in Canary's father persists despite what Canary has to say about it. Now that they've both been tadpoled and whisked far away from the safety of the Gate, Leryk is determined to get Canary home no matter the cost. But can he face the horrific truth Canary is on the cusp of uncovering...? And what about the truths she's been hiding from him?

Leryk has that frantic "rookie soldier" energy. He's extremely combat-experienced, but he's terrible at wrangling in Canary since he's very easy to sway through enthusiasm alone. He's blindly devoted to Canary and even moreso to her father, but otherwise can be quite shrewd and cautious of others. Misjudging one's character used to mean death for him, and he learned that when his old mentor tried to turn him in for a bounty on his head. Leryk, despite this, has learned a lot from the kindness afforded to him and does his best to repay it. "Caution, but not discourtesy" is his motto.

Leryk's quest is separate from Canary, as the first part of his companion quest is finding her. If the player completes the grove or tries to move to the next region without her, she'll just show up at their camp. Since they're a package deal Act 2 onwards, the player can either dismiss them both or keep them both. Canary's his best friend and he is literally her bodyguard, after all.

I love devoted bodyguards. I love him so much. I like the idea of some Companions knowing each other or having pre-existing relationships. You know he's having a panic attack and is going to find her just chilling in the Goblin Camp like it's no big deal.

Briar Lockren

The Weary Ranger

okay so Briar was actually a fan companion BEFORE she was a Tav. I recently restarted her run in a 2-Tav where the other Tav is actually Default Dark Urge because this girl's perception proficiency is worthless if she hasn't slept enough. And she never sleeps enough.

After three years of wandering the Sword Coast, Briar has settled in Cloak Wood in hopes of outrunning her terrible luck. Her past involvement with one of Cyric's cults has left her branded with supernatural-levels of misfortune and nightmares plaguing her every time she falls asleep. She's basically a walking-talking tempest. Having fallen in and out of the Feywild and caused towns to burn without her say, Briar thought being picked up by the Nautiloid was simply another instance of her shit luck. So imagine her surprise when she got the first nightmare-free rest in three years. Free from the eyes of the one who cursed her, Briar's luck has suddenly changed.

Briar is a somewhat ditsy individual prone to taking inopportune naps just about anywhere. Originally from Luskan, Briar's time wandering and falling into ridiculously terrible situations has made her a pretty difficult person to rattle. She's kind and gentle despite all she's suffered, but blames herself for wandering around the way she does and causing trouble (settling down with her luck is impossible). Her passivity is what led to her situation, however, as the one who cursed her was her childhood friend-turned cult leader-turned Chosen of Cyric-turned ex-boyfriend. It's messy. Briar's very used to messy life situations.

Briar's probably my most developed Tav in terms of a Companion story since she was originally written to be one. I also will acknowledge her being half-drow but not LOOKING half-drow is partly due to my own personal cowardice, but it's also the result of her complicated heritage. Lotta drow in Luskan. The fact she doesn't look like her full-drow father should tip you off as to why he might not have especially liked his child, therefore neglecting her and giving her very few chances to adopt the cult's teachings for herself. Kinda hard to teach a child to become a religious narcissist when you keep telling her she's just inherently inferior.

Scarlet

The Scarlet Scourge

My longest-lived Tav... heeeey girl, hiiii~ I'm probably gonna play her in a campaign one of these days. Siiigh.

The Scarlet Scourge strikes fear into the hearts of the greedy aristocrats that call Baldur's Gate home. A street urchin whose life was ruined time and time again by those who have far too much money, Scarlet's dedicated her life to taking from those who won't miss it and giving to those who need it. But Scarlet's been stopping the plans of the corrupt for a long time, and it all began with some dangerous blueprints. Blueprints she quite literally carries within her soul. Now that she's crashed far beyond the anonymity the Gates afford her, the one she stole the plans from has a chance to find her all over again.

Scarlet is a highly confident and highly competent master thief. She takes great pride in her ingenuity and artificing skill, and won't let you forget it. She's fiercely independent and keeps people at a distance, even hiding her real name from those she gets close to. However, like every Robin Hood figure, she revels in her legend and genuinely adores the people she does it for. Scarlet may act arrogant, but she has the skill to back up her confidence and risks her life for altruism. Get her in front of a gadget, however, and her brain goes a mile a minute. (She's going to be fucking pissed when she sees how cool the Steel Defenders are and the awful ways they're being utilized)

Who doesn't love a Phantom Thief? I think she and Wyll would absolutely be besties if they didn't already know each other before the events of the game - they both love the people of Baldur's Gate, have super hero names, and are archetypes of a class they don't belong to (Wyll is a Paladin in a Warlock's body while Scarlet is a Rogue in an Artificer's body).

Rohku Eddervyn

The Oathbroken

My OTHER longest-lived Tav, and the oldest character of my active Tavs. He's the oldest of them as well in terms of character age.

Rohku has been given many titles over the years, but none of which he's found suit him. After awakening to his Oath in the wake of a Sharran attack during his time as an Acolyte, Rohku was once known as The Sun of the Seventh Dawn for reasons he'll spare you for now. But years of tracking down and slaughtering Dark Justiciars began to take their toll. When grief and rage gave way to emptiness, he understood the pull of Shar. Unable to hunt down those he now saw as victims, his Oath shattered. But his devotion remains. Now, as he searches for new meaning under the Moonmaiden's gaze, he tracks down an artifact said to have fallen into Sharran hands...

Rohku is a mature and quiet man, jaded by the world around him. He's tired of battles between good and evil, and now lives for what is kind -- in any form that takes. He's patient with people and thinks very little of what others think of him. His wisdom and experiences make him an excellent leader, and an even better listener. He often chooses to resolve conflict through his words rather than his blade, but his deadpan demeanor makes that difficult. But he can handle that when it's his own ass on the line. But Zweihanders aren't shields.

Rohku was the first masculine character I played in BG3 and I fell in love. He's so tired and sweet. He's kind of Halsin-esque in that he was thrust into leadership without his say and acts as a calming presence for those he makes camp with. And big. He's a big boy.

~~

Hee hee hee self call-out time! Yes I have noticed 3 of them have black hair, 3 of them are tieflings, 5 have a different hair color streaked in there (with 2 of them specifically graying at a young age), and only 1 of them is above the age of 30. Because I Am A Coward. Pobody's Nerfect.

Hope you kinda enjoyed my little Tav sound-off! If you have questions about them or wanna see more of them or, heck, even draw or write about them yourself, go craaaazy! I don't know how much of these ideas are, like, solidified. IDK I'm still playing around with them.

God I put too much work into these. I can't believe I do fan fiction now. Wild.

[toxinoire]

Because of boredom, here's some Superfriends(+Supercorp, Brainia and Dansen if you squint) headcannons (Miraculous season 6 please just release I'm begging, Heathers The Musical please come back)

~~~~~

• Kara is actually scared shitless of the dark, but due to xray vision she doesn't mind it. So when she solar flares she tries to sleep with the lights on. Lena found out about it and made her a nightlight.

• Brainy, Nia and Esme definitely watch Miraculous.

• Lena refers to them all as greatest friends, however she refers to Nia as her favorite nuisance and Alex as her least favorite nuisance (she loves them tho)

• Nia and Esme made Kara and Lena binge watch Miraculous all the from season 1 with them once and now they're attached to the plot. (Kara and Lena had to pause and breathe soooo many times during that night they watched it for the first time because holy shit why is everything similar to them)

• Kara actually really loves listening to cover artists like Annapantsu, Lydia The Bard, Chloe Breez, Reinaeiry, Caleb Hayles, Will Stetson, etc. (Yes, Will Stetson mostly does English covers but have you heard that man's voice?)

• Kelly made Lena listen to the singer Malinda Kathleen Reese's songs because of the fact that she uses Irish style music and oh no, Lena's playlist is overflowing now.

• Lena's bi, but she's into women more (specifically Kara)

• Kelly is the mom friend

• Brainy and Nia went on a date to the cinema to watch the Miraculous awakening movie and they have been annoying ever since they watched it. "Guys, stop singing those damn songs (Stronger Together and Now I See specifically) you're making Kara and Lena cry" -Alex and Kelly

• Someone Kara accidentally introduced Esme to Heathers The Musical. And while Alex and Kelly love the musical Esme is too yOUNG FOR THAT-

• J'onn: These are my dysfunctionial Earth- Brainy: Some of aren't from Earth- J'onn: Earth children.

• Lena never wanted to admit that she's in love with Kara out loud in fear that the universe might take it all away from her.

• Kara's always been in love with Lena, she just never realized until Alex and Kelly's wedding.

• Esme: Auntie Kara and Auntie Lena are just like Marinette and Adrien! :) Kelly: Aaaaand there's the cry of outrage. Alex: The question is, who's it from? Kara or Lena?

• Once a Valentine's Day, Brainy made Nia a little funko pop of herself as Nia, not Dreamer. And whenever she taps on it's head it makes a "boop" noise. Nia loves it so much.

• Kelly once baked Alex a blueberry cheesecake because she remembered that Alex said she loved those once during a game night long ago. Esme has never seen her mom cry so hard.

• Nia found the book "Vertigo Peaks" in Lena's stuff once and decided to read it. Lena was horrified, and Nia teased her endlessly about it.

• Kelly and Lena once got into a debate of whether or not escapism is a good coping mechanism, and both of them had valid arguments PLUS cited their sources of information. Color Alex and Kara scared, but they're also attracted to this.

• Esme's favorite aunt is Lena and aspires to be like her. When they found out, everyone was like "awwww" but Lena was like "...Bad idea. Esme, honey, bad idea-" then everyone else was like "Don't listen to her."

• Alex, Kelly, Nia and Brainy once tried to convince Lena to be in the battlefield with them but Lena was like "Yeah no, someone needs to stay and be the brains of the operation." Kara then said "YEAH" because she doesn't want to see Lena get hurt and she knows she's abandoning the villain the second she sees Lena get hurt so no distractions allowed. Then Esme delivered the final blow by saying "Someone needs to stay and make whatchamacallits so you all don't die :)"

• Kara is extremely self sacrificial, but Esme unintentionally gave her a reality check by saying "But Auntie Kara, everyone won't sleep if you're in danger! Health is important!" and it sounds so innocent but deep down Kara is like "Oh right they will actually bend over backwards to save me and neglect themselves ah I need to stop"

• Lena releases all her pent up rage by walking onto the roof or balcony, taking a deep breath and scream.

[roxykisser]

through altercations known only to me rereading my lalonde wizard post has made me think about what class each of the kids would play in dungeons and dragons, so i’m subjecting my 2 followers to it.

john: fighter. i’m sorry but i can’t see him picking anything else besides maybe like… ranger. he mostly sticks to the default subclass but jade probably made him try rune knight at least once for a one-shot. he found it too complicated but relented to branch out into more subclasses afterwards.

dave: i’m torn between rogue and hexblade warlock. mayhaps some sort of cursed multiclass of both. he seems like the type to look up game guides to get the most broken character build possible and make up a backstory on the fly but he ends up actually quite attached to his pcs.

rose: probably a warlock. my first instinct was wizard, but i think she’d enjoy the flavour of warlock more, considering her gothic tendencies. she started out with the great old one patron but then discovered homebrew and became unstoppable. that one player who sends 10 pages of backstory, but it’s actually enjoyable to read

jade: the dungeon master. she’s the one who can most reliably engage all the players in the game without overcomplicating the plot and probably excels in juggling everyone’s game preferences. though when she does get to play she probably has no set character type and just makes a character depending on what strikes her fancy that day

jane: my first instinct was a city ranger build, since that’s probably the closest you get to a detective in dnd, but hear me out.. paladin. the strict code of oath. the angsty backstories. the heroic persona. jane spent a lot of time pre-game playing damsel in distress. i think she’d enjoy playing the knight for once. she probably tries it just to try it at first but ends up liking the mechanics so much she just sticks to it

dirk: right. we have a few options here. the first one is specifically cavalier fighter, because they get a mount. obvious choice. but for some reason he also strikes me as someone who would play sorcerer. it has some of the most fiddly mechanics in the game and it’s one of the closest classes we get to not-newbie-friendly in dnd. he’d like the challenge. then he looks at the set up of the rest of the party, sees they have no healer, and begrudgingly picks cleric/druid

roxy: is there really a question here? she would play wizard. she might branch out into warlock for a one-shot or something when she sees rose play it but she would probably prefer the versatility and sheer volume of wizard spells. i swear opening the wizard spell list is like spinning a wheel of fortune every damn time. also it means she gets to have a familiar and obviously she would make mutini (i mean, excuse me, moutani)

jake: i’m imagining his character creation went a little something like this: “So which class will let me do some pistol action?” “well, technically any of them, if you have the right proficiency!” “Okay but are there any that are like, really good at it?” “i mean… there are gunslingers and technically artificers…” “Great! i’ll play that then” before jade can explain gunslingers are actually sort of really complicated to play, especially for newbies. eventually he switches to bard

bonus: terezi plays barbarian. you can’t convince me otherwise.

[hotcocoabuns]

Today I bring you… *drumroll*

Edit: I forgot to tag the lovely artist that inspired me write these. @levionok, ask and you shall receive!

Teacher!Hob headcanons (mixed with an aftertaste of dreamling because I’m mentally ill about them)! Plus a bonus, mildly NSFWish, bit because, as much as I insist on writing sexy shit about them, I’m shy in front of an audience

Teacher Hob headcanons

Hob drives a motorcycle to university. it’s very important to me, ok? (picture him in a well worn leather jacket, distressed blue jeans and taking his helmet off/putting it on 😭💦🥴)

Hob’s outfit game slides from the most “cleans-up-nicely”, contemporary style, to the “just woke up with a migraine this morning after pulling 3 all nighters grading essays” half-made bun and T-shirt. His students can tell at what point of the school period they are depending on Mr Gadling’s looks alone.

Some of Hob’s literature students have taken to playing a game consisting of making him rant about William Shakespeare. He’s become scarily good at keeping his thoughts about the playwright to himself through the ages, and he can manage entire classes teaching his works without issue (maybe Will is still important or whatever). Still, once every blue moon, a student is able to get him riled up enough to trigger one of his signature “Shakespeare’s overrated” monologues. They have kind of a formula figured out: Bring up the topic of the bard’s possible inspirations, or the possible muse for Sonnet 130 and you’re pretty much a winner. He gets… passionate about it, to say the least.

Hob writes short quotes on the board at the beginning of his classes, hinting at the topic of the day. He makes his students try to guess it. He can be quite creative, which makes guessing more difficult. So, if they get it in the first three tries, he let’s them leave a bit earlier. As a treat.

He’s a MASTER storyteller. It’s one of the reasons why his lessons are so in demand and almost always full. His intonation, rhythm and body language are captivating. Sometimes, he’ll wear full-on costumes (with props and everything, the sweet man) to make his lessons more entertaining and interactive. Mr Gadling may be a little exotic, but that’s part of why he’s so popular at uni. (Something something, Dream’s rather private, but the pride that swells in his chest at Hob’s narrative abilities is undeniable).

Hob showed his students an antique fire weapon once (it was one of his, from the 17th century) and proceeded to baffle them after. demonstrating how to safely dismantle it, quickly put back it together, charge it and shoot it in record time. Like he’d been there when they first were made… Hey, Mr Gadling certainly has a variety of interests, huh?

So many faculty members have a crush on Mr Robert Gadling. He’s damn handsome and his easy smile melts even the coldest of hearts. He never seems to return anyone’s romantic sentiments, though. He insists there’s someone in his life already, but no one’s ever seen them?? And Hob won’t even tell their a name??? (He’s still a bit possessive about Dream’s name. It took him 600 years to get it, for god’s sake).

Cue the entire university slowly getting invested in Mr Gadling’s love life.

Bonus NSFW!

Dream enjoys visiting Hob at the uni. Sometimes, he’ll materialise in lecture halls, wait for him at the door, at the halls, at his office… Hob’s prudence is constantly hanging by a thread because Dream has taken a liking to showing up with nothing but his pitch black robe on and getting Hob to push him against the wall and maybe fuck him on his desk, if they have time.

[evilwickedme]

Gail's Blorbo Showdown

One boss up against another, smh

On the contenders:

Lois Lane is primarily known for being Superman's girlfriend - now wife, in the comics - but she's got so much more to her than that. She's in this bracket mainly for Erica Durance's portrayal in the TV show Smallville, which is witty and charming and charismatic and who has an insane amount of chemistry with Tom Welling's Clark Kent, but I have to give it to comics!Lois, who's everything Erica Durance portrays and more, including being a badass mom and a Pulitzer winner. Blorbo feelings can truly transcend medium fr!!!

Jaskier (also known as Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount of Lettenhove) is a recurring character in the Netflix show The Witcher. He's a bard and a pretty damn good one at that, and basically Geralt's PR team to boot. He's played by Joey Batey who himself is a talented musician (check out The Amazing Devil, for real) and who gives the character that lil fruity subtext we all enjoy. I am talking specifically about the Netflix version, because I only managed to read one book and my computer can't run the games.

Blorbo Showdown masterpost here

[bigfan-fanfic]

Writing Game 1.2: Disappointment

Prompt: Disappointment Pairing: Geralt/Link

Hope y'all are enjoying these! Drop a comment or an ask if you want me to start up another poll to do another one!

So, this Link is sort of an amalgam of all of them, though most closely linked (pun not intended) to the Breath of the Wild or Twilight Princess ones.

Geralt knows, deep in his soul, he can never let Dandelion know what he's thinking at this moment. Knows the bard would be oh-so-giddy to know that Geralt finds himself perplexed and uncertain at times when his companion remains so silent.

"Oh, looks like the shoe's finally on the other foot, eh, Wolf?" he'd say, perhaps. Or worse, he'd compose a ballad on how the quiet, stoic witcher met his match in the silence provided by the young swordsman he traveled with.

Link sits, staring into space with more than just his usual silence permeating the air between them. If it were normal silence, Geralt could easily tolerate it, but the lad was... if he weren't so stoic, Geralt would have thought he was distraught. Something in him had a kindred spirit in the Hero, though he was just a wanderer who stumbled into Hyrule, into a legend not his own. Geralt knew what it was like to be entangled in the games of Destiny, and he resolved then that the lad would not be alone in her grasp.

"Another one of those damn temples cleared. A good sign of progress." he began neutrally. It was still so awkward to be on this side of the silence. Geralt was beginning to feel some sense of sympathy for Dandelion. "And yet you seem... unsatisfied."

Link turned his head to look at him and sighed softly.

"You thought you'd find her there." Geralt states. It's not in his nature to dance around the point. "Your princess."

A nod. Geralt wonders if his own eyes can convey such a feeling of being lost. Wonders if he's ever mirrored the lad's unspoken need for a companion, a friend.

"I've had my share of lost people. And that... that ache of missing them. Every corner you turn a fresh disappointment. A reminder that you're still... incomplete."

Link's eyebrows furrow, but he's turned fully to face Geralt across the campfire, across the pot that the witcher still isn't sure how Link managed to make a wonderful meal from (Geralt has eaten better on the road with the Hero of Courage than ever before and he isn't sure how to feel about that).

"But... I still found 'em. In the end. What I'm trying to say is that while it hurts like hell, while you can feel the separation and distance in the hollows of your bones... it doesn't mean you're a failure." Geralt's hands move as he speaks, as if trying to help impel the words and impress them on his companion's heart. "I'm not... good with words. I know it all sounds like the shit anyone would say to try and make you feel better..."

Link chuckles a little at that. Geralt forestalls the tide of words and lets out a soft chuckle of his own.

"We'll find her. And we'll make them pay for it."

The smile becomes a grin - a little violent, but at least the gloom was dispelled. Geralt nods, pleased.

Link's smile softens, and then turns to a curious look. "Your... lost ones. You found them?"

"Yeah." Geralt cracks his neck, stretching. "Dandelion tells the story better. My Child Surprise. My... daughter."

"Surprise?" Link raises his eyebrow, lips quirking in amusement.

"Oh, great, now I have to explain the Law of Surprise..."

The night passed in story - though gruff, Geralt was not a poor storyteller by any means, and finally there was an audience that could relate with him. And Geralt chased the lad's disappointment and heartsickness away with his own stories, sure that one day their goal would be within reach.

[blorbologist]

Treat, Grog and the gnomes

Awww yeah, the besties! <3

--

“Can you teach us to play?”

Twangggggg.

Scanlan glances up, strings humming against his shock-still fingers. Takes stock of things. Pike is absolutely fucking wasted, leaning against Grog’s leg and swaying even when he’s steady as a stone pillar. Grog’s the one who asked, though, and he’s got the earnest, slow voice he has when he really means something and has been thinking about it a while.

“Sure,” he says too easily. Then, because he’s curious and just a smidge wary: “Why?”

“‘Cause you’re just so good,” Pike slurs.

Yeah. That’s not exactly news to a bard. He’d be dead if he wasn’t this good. 

Scanlan opens his mouth. Pike, drunk and loud, steamrolls over him: “How do you remember them all? All the songs? There’s so many, so many more than in the church, and you always nail them.”

Grog adds, “Or make ‘em better!”

“Yeah, yeah! And - and you just make people feel things. Without even trying! And. When you do…” She leans heavily into Grog’s knee, blinking up at Scanlan with a dopey grin. “Wow.”

“How do you do it?” Grog sits down on a chair that wails in protest, places Pike on the table with a hand to keep her from toppling over. “I just haveta hit things and they die. You’ve got all these lil’ threads and words to get right!”

Well, gods be damned. 

They’ve made him blush.

Scanlan clears his throat. “I - well! It’s a hard-earned skill, one I can do my very best to share.”

He pulls his lute from its spot on his lap, padding at the strings carefully. Squints at Grog’s massive, powerful fingers.

“... let’s start with Pike first,” he decides.

(Pro tip: do not let Pike handle any delicate instruments this drunk! How did she bend it in half?!)

🎃For my trick or treat ask game! [No longer taking prompts, thank you so much for the fun!] 🎃

[tyrantisterror]

I'm having too much fun with these.

Some context:

I did research on the Dark Urge route before playing it, because I'm the kind of nerd who feels the need to plan out their strategy for Role Playing Games before heading in, and ultimately decided to keep the default race of the Dark Urge as a white dragonborn while changing his class from sorcerer to paladin - the former because the evil albino snake aesthetic is pretty killer, and the later because I think playing a capital H hero with a code of capital H honor while dealing with a supernatural urge to be an evil murder man is thematically fun.

But I also had an ulterior motive in keeping the white dragonborn option - you see, if you romance Karlach, she'll ask you to try to figure out a way to cool her down, and being a white dragonborn gives you the option to blast your girlfriend in the face with ice breath so you can smooch.

I made intelligence and dex my dump stats since I knew Astarion would cover the later for me while Lump the Enlightened would cover the former. Thanks for the Flowers for Algernon crown you man-eating bastard!

I spent one section of the game adventuring with Lae'zel and Wyll in place of Astarion and Shadowheart, because there were two storybeats I thought they'd be well suited for (Karlach remained for obvious reasons). Eventually there was this dowry hidden in a hay bale that NONE of my characters spotted, so I quick went back to camp and swapped Wyll out for Astarion to get some fresh eyes on it. Well, when we go back to the main map, Astarion is inexplicably on the roof of the building and won't leave of his own volition. So I take control of him and make him jump off, which deals a significant amount of damage to him (which I imagine is why his AI wouldn't make him jump on its own) - and worse, during the five seconds or so I was controlling him, the Dark Urge and Karlach jumped on the roof and now have to be made to jump off. It became a very stupid back and forth for a bit and I like to imagine that's why Lae'zel doesn't go out on that many missions with the gang.

One last, "serious" comic about this run after the cut.

(well, last for now I suppose, I might make more of these if the mood strikes me)

So, like I said before, I initially tapped out of this playthrough when I hit the moment where the Urge unavoidably kills Alfira, because I grew to really like her in my Tav playthrough and it kinda fucked me up to see her, you know, die by my hands. I just didn't have the stomach for it.

But as my brainrot sketching has shown, the hook of this playthrough struck a chord with me. There is something so damn compelling about a Dark Urge trying so damn hard to be a good person, to be helpful and kind, all the while his own instincts and even the omniscient 3rd person narrator conspire to make him look at everything through a lens of cruelty and violence. I didn't want to kill Alfira, but I didn't want to abandon the Dark Urge either.

So I read up on the work around where you knock Alfira out cold so she doesn't show up in camp - the game compensates by having ANOTHER bard show up, establish her own distinct and likable personality, and get killed by you instead. Which I guess means that if I had to kill someone, I'd prefer it to be a stranger than a person I know? I don't know, it's emotionally affecting either way, but at least Alfira's alive.

We're going to get through it, Durge my buddy. We're gonna get you the help you need.