#i don't think these are necessarily canon other than astarion's; it's just what the game is using. headcanon away! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lanaevyssmoved · 10 months

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hi fray bg3 you are one of the only people i trust with bg3. do you have any headcanon ages or heights for the main camp group (+ any extras u are particularly fond of). thank u hugs and kisses

im the worst person because im a day late to this. but yes. i will provide.. the headcanons

now these arent all like solid. im chill. these are liquidy headcanons that may change and be influenced. i would love to hear counter arguments in the replies also hehe

im doing lads first and then lasses for no reason other than im gale insane

gale

age - 45-55, i can entertain 30s if i have to but it's mostly just me being polite. i can also take him older because i fully believe he was chosen of mystra long enough for it to effect his aging. i like to think morena his mother is older than most people put her at (i think of her around her 80s - i love the idea of tara being a 'grandma' figure to gale and she's having her old lady parties with his mum). and that gives me playing room for age to be older, but not necessarily look as old as i put him at. but also i don't think gale's physical appearance is even that help, my ex who was 32 looked older than gale, my ex who was 55 looked younger than gale. my mother looks younger at gale at 59. so !!! i just like to play with middle aged hence the 10 year gap in my headcanon. i also think gale would lie about his age. ALSO!! he's a fucking wizard if you're not fucking about with a wizards age (and gender and sexuality) what are you doing. but also yes if you tell me you think gale is 37 or 38 i will nod and say that's ok. i can roll with that

height - i can put him anywhere from like 5'7" to 5'9"... i can't see him being taller. i just can't. afhiri is also 5'0" so like i gotta be realistic i don't want him to be a fucking tree she needs to climb. he still kind of is like this like i'm being KIND to the man i'm adding inches out of PITY. nah ok so i use the shorter height mod to make afhiri's model 5'0" under the assumption it's 5'7" by default, so when putting afhiri and gale next to each other with the mod enabled, he's roughly around 5'7" and 5'9", give or take because flat services are deceiving in this here video game....... 5'7" feels good though. feels organic.

wyll

age - bro confirms it i don't really have to say anything here. he's 24

height - i wanna give him a respectable 5'10" honestly. no real movement needed it just feels right. he's defo taller than gale for sure but more just feels uncomfortable to me.... but he definitely feels Taller....

astarion

age - 263.. this is just his age in idle champions. i dont fucking know

height - i think hes the smallest of the LadsTM i'm putting him around 5'5" - 5'6". barely anyone, if anyone, will agree with me on this. it's okay if you don't. if you think he's taller, i'll take his knees so i'm validated

halsin

age - once again canon aged at 350

height - well. i'm saying 6'4" - 6'5" i don't have much more to say on this. just feels correct. esp with new wood elf edition lore where "max height" for one is about 6'0" so he has to be big to 6'0". but i don't see it being more than this

minsc

age - well minsc age is weird but i assume he was like 40ish when he was frozen. or late 30s. i reallyyy enjoy the idea of him being so stupid but being at the age where society expects you to be smart. its beautiful to me. like poetry

height - bro is an easy 6'0"-6'1". this is absolutely not for lusty galexminsc reasons. it might be. ok it is. but also its right yknow? its right. im right. moving on

lae'zel

age - she's 22 in idle champs and i also enjoy the idea of her being the youngest in the group but also if she is 22. that means afhiri is older than lae. and i think that could be the cause of some friction... so yeah i can accept 22.

height - ok so. gith are typically very tall. you're gonna see the majority of gith around 6'0" to 7'0". sometimes they can be shorter than 6'0" but that's like rare. ur like insulted for being that small. you the RUNT egg. but i don't see lae'zel being so tall. i can see her being runty. i also talked this over with a friend and she agreed on runty egg. 5'9"-5'10" not entirely runty egg but.. still needs to over compensate for not being usual gith sized.

YEAH BABY GIVE THAT GITHYANKI A COMPLEX OR TWO!!!!!!!!! sorry lae ur dealing with ur young age AND ur small height

shadowheart

age - ive always seen shadowheart as young. she gives such intense teenage girl vibes sometimes like i just. shes not emotionally matured man. shes such a high school bitch when she wants to be. HOWEVER... she is canonically older than 40 because there are 40 years of documents on her life from when she was already giving up memories to shar. however it could just be all her life documented from the second she was taken by sharrans when she was a child. so shadowheart anywhere from like 50-60 years old. ish

height - hmmm around 5'4" - 5'5" ... average shart. :) feels organic. i once again have little to say

karlach

age - soo i've been thinking of this more recently and i change my mind on my original hc for her height. so now i think she was likely about 18 or 19 when she was sold to zariel and spent 10 years there so i'm thinking she's like 28 or 29 ^_^

height - 6'2". i feel pretty solid on this!! mostly because i'm 5'2" and i dated someone who was 6'2" and that height difference just feels Right for how much taller i think karlach would be to me

minthara

age - ouughgh we know she's over 200 years old but i think close to 200 is just too young for how she is. so i'm gonna say 300-400 but i'm more inclined to say she's closer to 400 than not. i think she's "middle-aged" ish for a drow and this is the best i got. drow experts feel free to chime in as long as u don't try to make her young. if u do that i'll eat u

height - well this made me find out that drow are a short race. 4'7" to 5'5" in height. so minthara simply has to be short. i assume she wears heels and stands on boxes to be taller because she likes to feel tall. but she's uh. she's small. i'm gonna say like 5'3" to 5'4". this is So funny to me

jaheira

age - about 150, but could be older! i don't see it being younger. bless someone on reddit writing this for me so i can just copy and paste but..... she says she's a 'small child' during the year of the bright blade so:

1347 DR = Year of the Bright Blade 1368 DR = BG1 1492 DR = BG3 124 years passed between the first and third games. 145 years passed since Year of the Bright Blade. A small child should be about 5 years +/- few years. Therefore, her age should be about 150 years.

thank you random reddit user!

height - 5'5" or 5'6" mostly going by my minsc headcanon and how their height difference looks to me in their cutscene together hehe.........

oh you said any extras i'm fond of.... i do not have the energy to even ATTEMPT to illithid right now so i'm gonna do it for barcus for fun . <3

barcus

age - i'm gonna say my boy is like. in his 60s-70s. :)

height - about 3'4" ish. averageyish gnome height. :)

i like barcus he's so divorced. he and gale are the most divorced men in baldurs gate 3. and theyre going to kiss. anyway

#fray.txt #ask #Anonymous #gales being so long.. im nothing if not predictable

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jynrso · 10 months

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hello all!! i've returned with the long-awaited bite scene + tiefling scene combo. once again, we are playing fast and loose with canon timelines, giving some days in between for travel and rest i've taken some of astarion's lines directly from the game on a few occasions but this fic doesn't follow the canon script for these scenes. i don't own those lines and all the credit to larian studios! i would recommend reading the previous fic in this series for context but you don't necessarily have to. the beginning italicized portion is directly taken from that fic because it leads into this one nicely. there's also a portion at the end taken from a flashback scene in exorcism, so if you recognize that, that's where it's from! read it on ao3!

Despite their tentative alliance, it’s clear that Astarion’s promise to watch her back has done little to endear her to him. Tav is damn slippery, especially now that he’s actively trying to catch her. Any attempt at flirtation has become infinitely more difficult when he can barely engage her in a conversation; when she’s not giving him limited, few-worded answers, she disappears from sight before he can even open his mouth.

All the while, his hunger grows. Their group frequently gets into an inordinately large amount of fights, all of which drain his already low supply of strength. Managing on rodents or the occasional deer alone is no longer feasible; he’s getting sloppy, with too many close calls that would never happen on a proper diet.

All the while, the taste of Tav’s blood haunts him. It hadn’t been much but it had been enough to get him intoxicated off of the taste. He can smell the others’ blood, can guess at what it might taste like (Shadowheart, for example, undoubtedly has a heavy, enigmatic flavor –– but likely much too sweet for his taste), and would be perfectly satisfied drinking from most of them. . .but it’s Tav’s blood he wants –– craves, even.

And so his attempt at a slow, practiced seduction very nearly fizzles out days after it’d formed in his mind. Unable to think of anything other than the hunger gnawing at his gut, he acts on instinct, on impulse, and sneaks up on her one night while she sleeps.

Just a little taste, he tells himself, to tide himself over until he can hunt again. He kneels at her side, mesmerized by the sound of her heart thumping and the heady rush of her blood through her veins, and his fangs slide out unconsciously. Just a taste and nothing more. . .

Tav wakes.

In retrospect, Astarion concludes that attempting to sneak up on one of the more observant members of their party had likely not been the best strategy.

As Tav lurches upwards, his fangs inches away from scraping the skin of her throat, he reels backward, settling into a clumsy crouch. She stares at him, brows pulling together in confusion, and all he can think to say is, “ –– Shit.”

Before he can even begin to explain himself, she twists, rolling him underneath her and pressing her dagger against his neck. Her lips curl back in a snarl, muscles tense underneath her skin. But she doesn’t attack, not yet. Had he been anyone else, he suspects she would have killed him already.

Astarion presses his advantage. “It’s not what you think,” he starts, words coming in a desperate rush to try and turn the conversation back in his favor. He shifts slightly but her thighs tighten around his hips, keeping him pinned to the ground. “I’m not some monster. I feed on animals! Boars, deer, kobolds––whatever I can get.”

Her gaze hardens, though there’s an uncurrent of something else underneath –– fear? “You’re a vampire.”

“Vampire spawn,” he corrects, exhaling as if a giant weight has been put on his shoulders by sharing this secret. It’s difficult to tell what she’s thinking but he feels his best option right now is to appeal to her empathy. “I’m just too slow right now. Too weak. And if I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she hisses. The edge of her blade digs into his neck but she doesn’t make a mark. A reminder that she’s in control here more than anything else.

“I was sure you’d say no,” he admits, having anticipated this situation. “Or that you’d ram a stake between my ribs. No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me. We’re partners –– nothing has to change.”

“We agreed to watch each other’s backs and then I wake up with your teeth against my neck,” she retorts. “ Everything has changed.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, darling,” he rolls his eyes with a huff, irritated that his desperate pleas seemingly haven’t moved her –– literally or figuratively. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’re of better use to everyone alive –– I wouldn’t have killed you.”

Well, probably not.

“It was only going to be a taste, I swear. I’ll be well, you’ll be fine, and everything can go back to normal.” In one last attempt, he says softly, eyes wide and pleading, “Please.”

He does his best to keep his expression and posture open as she leans forward and studies him from her position on top of him. A few breaths pass in strained silence. His tadpole wiggles from behind his eye but he waits, not eager to invade her privacy just yet.

“You’re not drinking from me,” she says finally. The dagger in her hand moves away from his jugular but she doesn’t sheathe it. “I don’t care if you drain someone else in camp dry but not me.”

Disappointment tinged with indignant anger curls deep in his gut. After everything he’s done for her, after carrying her to safety when she’s alone and injured, this is the response he gets? All he needs is the smallest, tiniest bit of blood and she turns him down, despite their partnership?

It had been an impulsive decision to try and feed on her tonight, but he’d thought that since they’d had a moment together a few days ago, it wouldn’t be as difficult to sway her into agreeing.

“No,” he sneers. “No, of course. Silly of me to even ask.” Never mind the fact that had she not woken up, he never would have asked at all. He shifts, still pinned. “Now, if you’d just let me go, I’ll get out of your hair.”

Tav’s mouth opens slightly in realization before she practically scrambles off of his lap, clearly eager to no longer be touching him now that she’s uncovered his true nature. Astarion scowls, making a show of picking himself up off the floor of her tent and brushing any dirt, real or imaginary, off of his shirt and pants.

She stands slowly, watching him warily. Her knife remains in her hand. He waits for her to say something but, unsurprisingly, she says nothing. He scoffs, knowing that he should have expected her silence by now . . . and yet, he feels oddly hurt by her lack of reaction.

Just because she’d agreed to a partnership doesn’t mean she’s any different than the rest. It’s a matter of survival, that’s all. She doesn’t have to like you.

As he turns on his heel to go, she finally speaks. “I won’t tell the others.”

“Tch, why not?” he snaps, head turning to face her. There’s an undercurrent of irritation to his voice that he doesn’t intend but he’s tired and hungry. “Don’t want to expose my dirty little secret to the rest of the group?”

“No,” she says simply, but her words are a clear dismissal.

Not sure whether or not to believe her, he just shakes his head and leaves her tent, stalking over to his own and pulling the flaps closed tightly.

Angrily, he runs his fingers through his hair, mussing his perfectly coiffed curls. All the time he’s spent planning over the past few days –– wasted in the span of a few seconds. He’ll be lucky if survives until morning. Pacing doesn’t help but he can’t seem to stay still; in his agitation, he begins to pack up some of his belongings –– maybe it’s best that he gets out of here before someone comes in with a stake.

But something stops him from leaving. Even knowing it’s likely in his best interest to go under the cover of darkness, he remains where he is. He still needs them –– needs Tav –– to defeat Cazador.

It’s a minor slip-up, he tells himself as he tentatively settles in for the night, back to the canvas wall of his tent. He won’t trance, not until he’s sure that it’s safe for him to do so. Instead, he prepares himself for the worst and waits.

----

The next morning comes quietly, with no stakes or screaming mobs in sight. When Astarion steps out of his tent, it’s all as it normally is –– no one comes up to him and confronts him about his vampirism, let alone give him a sideways look or avoid him more than usual.

Maybe Tav had been telling the truth. But why? To what end?

The woman in question sits by herself on the outskirts of the camp, hunched over a bowl of whatever slop Gale has made for breakfast. Though he tries to catch her gaze, she keeps her head down and focuses solely on her food, not looking at anyone. Scoffing and wondering why he’s the one who has to do all of the work, he eventually makes his way over to where she sits.

He clears his throat before approaching her; it’s a formality, more than anything, as she likely had seen him coming long before he’d announced it. But he waits to speak until she raises her head and meets his gaze. “Morning. I hope last night’s unpleasantness hasn’t left a bad taste in your––”

Her eyebrows narrow. Quickly, he corrects himself and changes course, “Well, I hope there are no bad feelings.”

She swallows the mouthful of food she’d been chewing on. “Like I told you last night, I won’t say anything.”

“I was thinking more about our relationship, darling,” he corrects, though the reassertion of her earlier claim to keep his secret does comfort him. With how poorly it’d gone last night, he needs time to figure out how to properly broach the subject to the group in a way that won’t lead to his head being severed from his shoulders. “I just hope you can forgive me for wanting a taste.”

Tav sets her bowl down near her feet, then rolls her shoulders back. “So long as it doesn’t happen again.”

“It won’t,” he reassures her. She doesn’t need to know that he’d tasted her blood already, albeit dried and old. Though he’s disappointed that he won’t be able to try it again (not easily, anyway), he’s more relieved that she hasn’t turned their group against him.

“I’m just glad you’re being sensible about these revelations,” he muses, shooting her a sideways look. “Not many people would take this news so . . . pragmatically.”

“We all have secrets.” She stands as she says it, picking up her bowl in one fluid movement. Then, without another word, she leaves Astarion behind, not looking back once.

Slightly bemused, his mouth closes with an audible click as he watches her leave, unable to offer any parting words or flirtations before she’s too far away. Gods, what a strange woman –– but he’s always enjoyed a challenge.

With that in mind, he stalks back to his tent to plan, prepared to double his efforts to smooth the whole vampire situation over properly . . . and to figure out how to repay her for keeping her silence.

----

“I have something for you.”

Astarion doesn’t startle at the sound of Tav’s voice but he certainly comes close. He shuts his book and turns toward her, marveling that he hadn’t even heard her approach.

“Oh?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. Her coming to him for once? What a surprise. “You shouldn’t have, pet. Now –– what is it?”

She tilts her head toward the forest, a silent invitation. While he would normally take advantage of the opportunity to get her alone, it provides the perfect opportunity for him to stake him. Maybe now that she’s gotten the chance to think, she’s changed her mind; after all, she’d been quick to put a dagger to his throat when he’d waken her up the other night.

In the end, however, his curiosity gets the best of him. Unless she truly takes him off guard, he’s confident he can fend off a stake to the chest, even if it means getting injured elsewhere. When he motions for her to lead the way, she heads off into the night and he follows close behind, watching his own back as much as hers. His dagger is a comforting presence at his side.

As she picks through the underbrush and foliage, leading him deeper into the trees, he takes the opportunity to watch her, eyes dragging up and down her figure. As he does so, his mind moves from murder to sex. It wouldn’t be unpleasant to seduce her, he thinks. Though she’s not the most beautiful person he’s slept with, far from it, she’s certainly not unattractive. That being said, he doesn’t know what she’s hiding underneath all those layers of clothing –– but if it’s truly that terrible, he can still find a way to work with it.

After a few minutes of walking, they reach a small clearing. Tav waits expectantly while Astarion scans the area, looking for the reason why she’s brought him out here ––

“Is that –– Tav, darling, what is this?”

“Food,” she says simply. At his dumbfounded look, she clarifies, nodding toward the man lying in a heap in the middle of the clearing, “For you.”

It takes a lot to shock him but this is one of those instances. Astarion blinks, taking a step forward to get a better look. A few feet away, an unconscious man –– not a corpse, as he’d first assumed –– lies on the ground, his hands and feet tied behind his back. Based on his dirty and disheveled appearance, he seems to be a common highwayman, someone nobody would miss. There’s a bruise on his temple with a small hint of blood leaking out of a cut at the center; at the smell of it, his nostrils flare, his stomach growling.

He turns back to Tav, who’s looking quite proud of herself. Still not properly comprehending the situation, he says slowly, “Let me get this straight. You found this man, knocked him unconscious, and brought him here –– all for me to drink?”

She nods, not elaborating.

“I’m grateful, truly, but . . . “ he trails off, looking back at the body again. “Why?”

Her boot digs a ditch into the ground in front of her. “If you knew how to hunt properly, you wouldn’t have tried to feed off of me,” she explains quietly, crossing her arms over her chest. “So I did the work myself.”

The reasoning behind her words is entirely wrong –– and he does know how to hunt, actually –– but he doesn’t want to get into the mess that is Cazador and his rules. And when presented with this –– this gift, he doesn’t have it in him to be offended at her lack of faith in his abilities.

While he wants to say more and interrogate her further, the smell of blood sparks his hunger once again; his questions can wait until he’s finished indulging. He inclines his head to her in dismissal, saying, “I won’t forget this.”

Astarion sinks to his knees next to the man and grabs his shoulders, bringing his neck toward his mouth. He doesn’t bite immediately, Cazador’s words ringing in his ears –– “ thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures” –– but nothing had happened when he’d tasted Tav’s blood a week ago. If it’s the tadpole’s work, then that’s yet another reason to be thankful for the illithids’ abduction.

He closes the distance and bites into the man’s neck without another thought, too hungry to think about the possible consequences. The taste of blood fills his mouth, hot and rich, though he feels the smallest tinge of disappointment when he realizes it’s nothing like Tav’s. In comparison, the man’s blood is duller, less fragrant. But having fresh blood at his disposal, regardless of who it comes from, is a luxury he’d never imagined having.

So he happily takes his fill.

Finally, after minutes or hours, he pulls away from the now-corpse. He feels . . . full, almost bloated and drunk. Sated. He nearly groans from the pleasure of it, blood dripping down his chin; absently, he swipes his fingers over the mess on the lower half of his face and sucks his fingers into his mouth indulgently, indulging in every last drop –– in every last drop of this gift.

When he’s finally finished gorging himself, he looks up –– and stops, surprised to see that Tav’s still there. Standing a few feet away from him, her gaze remains focused on the forest around them, scanning for potential threats.

Brows furrowed in confusion, he slowly pushes himself up from his knees and stands. This small movement draws her attention. She glances toward him, then at the body on the ground, and then back at him once again. She tilts her head slightly, brow raised, a silent question posed by her body language: Finished?

He blinks, feeling off-kilter. He says dumbly, “You’re here.”

“I was standing guard,” she says slowly, as if it’s obvious.

“Yes, but –– ” he flounders, lost for words for the second time that night. With the way all of the stolen blood has seemingly rushed to his head at once, he can’t think properly; on the best of days, he struggles to predict her, now even more so. She’d brought him this man and watched over him while he fed . . . he’s oddly touched and unable to voice it properly. “You stayed.” When you didn’t have to.

Tav shifts, crossing her arms over her chest. “We’re partners,” she replies after a beat, clearly confused by his disjointed interrogation. “I was watching your back.”

When he’d propositioned her a few days ago, it’d been an attempt to get her in his corner, nothing more. He hadn’t expected this level of loyalty. Finding and kidnapping someone to feed him after just finding out that he’s a vampire spawn –– that goes above and beyond any version of partnership he understands. It puts him on edge, almost making him suspicious; he doesn’t like owing people.

“Right,” he says weakly. Still scrambling for the upper hand in the conversation, he shifts the direction of it. “So if any of our companions had stumbled across this gruesome scene, you would have –– what?”

“I would have taken care of it.” Her voice is firm.

Why? Astarion wants to shout, wants to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. I’ve done nothing for you –– I barely know you. I’m a monster. Why are you so bloody loyal? But he says none of that.

After examining him for a few seconds, she exhales but doesn’t push the matter any further. “If you’re done, let’s get rid of the body.”

“I’ve got it, darling,” he brushes her off with the wave of a hand. “You’ve done so much already, giving me this gift. I can take care of a corpse.”

Besides, it’ll give him some time alone to think. He desperately needs it after the evening he’s had.

Tav nods and heads back toward their camp without another word.

He watches her go, eyes fixed on the spot in the forest she’d disappeared into even after she’s gone. Then, shaking his head slightly as if to remind himself of the task at hand, he bends down, grabs the corpse underneath its armpits, and drags it into the underbrush.

----

Despite having repeatedly told Tav that he can hunt for meals on his own, Astarion isn’t opposed to her company when scouting out new targets. His partner has proven remarkably useful in finding and subduing potential victims, and, as a result, he rarely even gets dirt underneath his fingernails. Her personality is –– fine, he supposes, though barely there and usually unamusing; at least she doesn’t bother him with constant inane chatter.

Many of their other companions are deep in the wetlands, searching for a hag. It’s a fight he’d been vehemently uninterested in, though held his opinions to himself until Tav had voiced hers. Having already pegged her as the hero type due to her actions at the goblin camp, he’d been resigned to slogging through the muddy waters in the wetlands; however, when asked, Tav had declined to go along, a decision that he quickly seconded.

(“Not enough children for you to save in the middle of a bog?” he asks, curious despite himself.

She shrugs a shoulder. “Mayrina made her choice. I’ve made mine.”

That had been the end of it –– and he couldn’t agree more.)

It’d been easy for the two of them to sneak off and leave the wetlands with the excuse of scouting. Shadowheart hadn’t cared and Lae’zel hadn’t even spared the pair a second glance when they’d left an hour earlier.

Crouched behind a boulder, he watches a lone raider wander away from his campsite to take a piss. After a few seconds, he glances over to Tav and raises an eyebrow, silently asking her what she thinks.

She pauses, glances over at the rest of his group, gauging the distance, then nods her approval. It’s not that he needs her to do so, but she had been the one to insist that he does the incapacitating this time to prove that he actually could hunt for himself –– as if she hadn’t seen him in the middle of a battle.

Silently, he takes the long way around to sneak up on the man, unsheathing his dagger as he does so. Once in place, all it takes is one quick motion for him to stand and slam the butt of his knife against the man’s forehead in an attempt to knock him down quickly and quietly.

But for all his earlier bluster and confidence, his hit doesn’t immediately take out the raider, who seemingly had a thicker-than-usual skull. Instead, the raider bites down on a cry of pain and surprise, turning around as he does so; in an attempt to silence him before he alerts his companions, Astarion acts on impulse and slits his throat to quiet him.

The man drops like a rock, blood pouring from the wound on his neck. The life leaves his eyes rather quickly after that.

Cursing under his breath, he drags the body back over to where he and Tav had been hiding earlier. At the sight of him, her eyebrows jump up, and she prods the man with the toe of her boot.

“Yes, yes, I know,” he hisses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t say a word –– I don’t want to hear it.”

The one time he wants to her remain quiet is when she decides to speak. Raising her arms to demonstrate a chokehold, she remarks, “You should have just cut off his air for a few seconds.”

As if he has the strength for that. He scoffs, the bitterness of failure sitting heavily in his chest. “Is the thief telling the vampire how to hunt?”

She shrugs a shoulder, though the spark of amusement in her eyes says all that he needs to know. He’s already ready to abandon this little venture but when Tav reaches down to grab the body’s feet, he groans and rolls his eyes before picking him up by the armpits.

In response, she only shrugs, though there’s a spark of amusement in her eyes that says she feels otherwise. Yet she does as he says and remains quiet as she grabs the body’s feet and helps Astarion haul him to a safer decision.

Upon reaching an outcrop a little farther away, she’s the one to break the silence. “Can you even drink from a corpse?”

“I don’t see why not,” he says, dropping the corpse down with a grunt. He’s never tried, but a dead body isn’t considered a thinking creature in the same way that someone alive would be. “Here’s to trying, I suppose. We can always go back to the camp and try again.”

That seems to be a good enough explanation to her. She once again nods and wanders off a bit, likely to give him privacy that he doesn’t need to feed, though her thoughtfulness is oddly . . . touching.

When he bites down, he can immediately taste a difference. Unlike the hot rush of liquid he’d gotten from feeding on someone alive, a dead man is limp and dull in comparison, like water from a stagnant pool rather than a rushing river. It’s still edible, though he’s not lost in the taste of it.

And it certainly doesn’t compare to Tav’s. To taste her, right from the source . . . It’s easy to lose himself in that fantasy, even drinking stale, rapidly cooling blood.

Suddenly, he hears footsteps approaching behind him and steel being drawn from a sheath. He lifts his head from the corpse and turns around, not bothering to wipe his mouth, only to be faced with the startled faces of some of his traveling companions.

“Astarion!” Karlach exclaims, eyes wide with panic. “Tell me you’re not –– you’re not eating that dead guy, are you?”

Ah. Shit.

“Is this what you call scouting?” Shadowheart asks, dismayed.

“Gods.” Gale.

But his attention isn’t immediately drawn to Karlach and the others, who have either already pulled their weapons or are looking at him in various states of disgust. Rather, it’s Tav who catches his eye first –– Tav, who’s standing in front of him with both of her knives drawn, lips curled back in a snarl, and seemingly ready to defend him from their companions before he’d barely even moved.

Quickly, he stands, raising his hands as he does so, and takes a step forward so Tav is no longer covering him with her body. His voice is soft, oddly so, when he addresses her, “Thank you, darling, but I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Then, he faces the rest of their group, surveying their reactions. Wyll is the one he’s most concerned about, the self-proclaimed monster hunter, but none of them have moved to cut him down just yet. At least he’ll have Tav on his side if this goes sour, but he first needs to do everything in his power to diffuse the situation.

“Well, yes, but not like that,” he corrects, grimacing at the thought of cannibalism. “The thing is –– I’m a vampire. Spawn. I was merely drinking his blood, nothing more.”

Tav stays silent and unmoving at his side but he can practically sense the tension in her body without looking. It’s almost as if she’s waiting for his signal to attack, like some sort of bodyguard.

He’s barely even done anything and his plan is working better than anticipated. This kind of loyalty was not something he’d ever expected from her. Once he sleeps with her, that will lock everything in, mind, body, and soul.

Gale is the first to speak, looking apprehensive but not outright murderous. “So we’re traveling with a vampire, are we? A word of warning, Astarion: I taste absolutely awful.”

Astarion wrinkles his nose at the thought. Even without the orb trapped in the wizard’s body, he wouldn’t dare. “As if I would ever try, darling.”

“I just better not wake in the middle of the night to find fangs at my throat,” Shadowheart remarks.

He purposefully does not look at Tav when she says that.

“He gave me his word,” Tav rasps instead. At the sound of her voice, he chances a glance in her direction; her face is completely serious, with no hint of any of her earlier amusement. “I trust him. He says that he won’t feed off of anyone in camp and I trust him.”

He hasn’t said anything of the sort but if that’s what it takes for them to believe him, then so be it. He and Tav have had enough luck on their own, anyway.

“You knew?” Karlach asks Tav. She doesn’t sound angry, just bewildered. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Not my secret to tell.” The matter is simple enough to Tav but it means everything to him.

The rest of their companions slowly nod in agreement, coming to some sort of silent consensus between them. So long as he doesn’t try to attack any of them, he is free to stay. The relief he feels at this revelation is dizzying, even more so that Tav has spoken up in his defense. If he can sway her to his side, surely he can get the others to help him take down Cazador. It . . . it might actually be doable, now.

Eager to change the subject away from his vampiric nature, he claps his hands together once and plasters a bright smile on his face. “Shall we go? There’s a long day ahead of us.” With a bounce to his step, he sidles up next to Wyll, striking up another conversation. To his surprise, the other man doesn’t step away, just nods in acknowledgment. “Now, tell me all about that hag, my friend.”

He pointedly ignores Shadowheart’s half-hearted whisper from behind him about getting him to wear a bell at night so they can hear him coming, and he very much pretends he doesn’t hear Tav’s quiet, barely there chuckle in response.

----

Has Astarion truly fallen so low that he grows jealous of children?

Scowling into his cup of wine, he watches as Tav amuses the tiefling children with thinly veiled disdain. Even Mol looks entranced by her sleight of hand, despite all efforts to pretend as if she doesn’t care.

When he’d told Tav to come and meet him later that night, prepared to put the next stage of his plan into motion, he hadn’t thought she’d make him wait this long. Maddening woman. She’s likely doing this just to annoy him.

Though he sees Shadowheart approach him off to the side, he doesn’t say anything in welcome, waiting for her to act first. Luckily for him, she (unlike Tav) doesn’t make him wait.

“Anyone with eyes can see how intently you’re tracking her,” Shadowheart remarks, raising a brow. “Give it a rest, Astarion. If she wants your company, then she will come over eventually.”

He scoffs, lips curling back into a sneer. What an idea! “Of course she wants my company. Everyone does!”

Shadowheart’s hum in reply is decidedly unconvincing.

He’s about to tell her to leave him alone if she finds his presence lacking –– he has brooding to do, anyway –– when she speaks again.

“I can’t read her,” she says thoughtfully. “I mean, she’s clearly a skilled fighter and I’d rather have her with me than against me. But out of everyone in this camp, I know next to nothing about her.”

It’s a not-so-subtle attempt to gather intel on Tav, one that even the most socially inept person could easily recognize. Though he too is in the dark regarding most things about the other rogue, he has no intention of sharing any of his findings with anyone else. After all, they all have secrets –– she’d kept his, so he’ll keep his observations to himself.

He smiles lazily, fangs flashing in the firelight. “I find it more fun to go in blind. After all, what’s pleasure without a little risk, hmm?”

Shadowheart rolls her eyes at his answer. “I won’t tell you to be careful, because if she does anything to you, Gods know you probably deserved it,” she says, eyes crinkling in mirth as she finishes her drink. Heading toward the keg, she adds over her shoulder, more serious than before, “But be careful with her. We’ll need her blades in the days to come.”

Astarion frowns in mock offense, throwing up his hands dramatically. It’s what he’d expected from the other members of their group –– he hasn’t exactly tried too hard to make them like him –– though the lack of heat behind her words surprised him. It sounds like a joke between friends, gentle ribbing meant to provoke laughter rather than true outrage.

It doesn’t make sense for Shadowheart to view him in that light. He clenches his wine goblet tighter, the liquid splashing around the interior of the cup at his rough movements. He must have misheard her –– she must have said it with more malice than he’d originally heard.

On the other side of camp, the tiefling wizard lights up the sky with his amateur fireworks, with scattered applause from other refugees. He finishes his horrid wine with a frown, setting his goblet haphazardly on the ground and searching for another bottle. If Tav’s going to make him wait, then he might as well try to enjoy himself in the meantime.

Hand curled around the neck of a bottle, he straightens, only to see the other rogue finally heading in his direction. As she approaches, he pops the cork off and takes a swig, grimacing as he does so.

“You know,” he starts casually, turning toward her as if he hasn’t been waiting all night. “I never thought I’d be the one they toast for saving so many lives. After all, it was you who did all the hard work. The rest of us just cleaned up afterward.” He waves a dismissive hand. “And now that I’m here. . .” He drinks again, swallowing with effort. “I hate it. This is awful.”

Tav crosses her arms over her chest, shrugging a shoulder. As she speaks, she glances over at the burly arch-druid. “We did what we needed to do to save Halsin.”

“Ah yes –– Halsin,” he sneers. “Who has done next to nothing to help us with our little tadpole problem yet, after all that.”

She tilts her head in what he takes as an agreement, so he continues on, “But after all that, the only thing I get is a pat on the shoulder and vinegar for wine.”

“Should have asked to see Mol’s stash, then,” she remarks matter-of-factly as if he’s supposed to have known that. “She hid the good stuff.”

“All I want is a little fun. Is that so much to ask?” He glances at her now with heavy-lidded eyes. It’s too easy to slip back into this persona, even though he’s gone so long without. When he takes a step closer to her, she raises her chin to better meet his gaze instead of stepping away. Relief sparks in his chest –– it’s working. “We could always make our own entertainment, darling. Get a little closer, so to speak.”

It takes her a second to process his words, her eyes darkening. But instead of enthusiastically agreeing to his proposition, she says, “I wanted to talk to you. About . . .” she glances around to the rest of the camp, noting that the party’s slowly dying down. “Well. Maybe not here.”

Well, he can work with that. With a flourish, he gestures for her to enter his tent. “Lead the way.”

But she shakes her head. “I don’t want to be overheard.”

“A screamer, are you?” Underneath the shadow of her hood, her cheeks redden at his words. But he acquiesces to her proposal –– if she wants to be fucked up against a tree rather than in his bedroll, then who is he to deny her anything? It’s certainly not the strangest place he’s bedded someone.

Not bothering to designate him with a response, she strides into the forest, looking over her shoulder once to make sure that he’s behind her. A few minutes later, they’re in the same clearing where she’d given him the gift of an unconscious body; he almost expects to see another lying somewhere close.

Before she opens her mouth, he interrupts whatever thought she had planned to say. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmurs, stepping closer. The final pieces of his plan start snapping into place. “Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you.” A breath. He’s only a breadth away from her now. “Waiting to have you.”

But instead of melting into his arms, her eyes widen in panic. She steps away from him, shaking her head. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips before she says, “I just wanted to talk.”

His brain scrambles for an answer now that she’s gone off script. “Talk? We can talk. We can also –– ”

“About food. For you.” A rush of words pour out of her mouth, interrupting his flirtatations. “I was thinking. There’s not going to be a lot of –– options in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. And I want you to be at your best.”

Tav trails off. He does his best to fill in the blanks. “Trying to tell me you have another body stashed away somewhere?”

She huffs out an irritated breath. “I am offering my blood. Now and if you need it before we get to Moonrise.”

–– Oh. Now that is something.

For a few seconds, he’s lost in the possibility of tasting her blood straight from the source, his eyes unconsciously seeking out the curve of her throat, hidden from view by her leather armor. His fangs poke at his bottom lip uncomfortably, mouth filling with saliva in anticipation. Now that she’s reminded him, he is hungry. . .

But first, he wants confirmation that this is actually something that she wants. Not what she thinks that he or their companions need –– because he can manage, albeit unhappily –– but something that she wants him to do.

“Not that I’m uninterested,” he says lowly. “Because I am . But is this something you want, Tav?”

In the darkness, he watches the way she shivers when his tongue curls around her name rather than an endearment, though she remains silent as she considers his question. He adds, “I can hunt for myself, you know. Even in the Shadow-Cursed Lands.”

If she declines, then he’ll let her go without protest. She isn’t obligated to do this, just because they’ve agreed to watch each other’s backs –– partners. Ultimately, he doesn’t need her as much as he wants her. But if she agrees. . .

“So long as you won’t take more than you need,” she replies finally, shifting her weight to her other foot.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

After a beat of hesitation, she pushes down her hood and begins untying the leather gorget from around her throat.

He’d say something flirtatious if he could even think, but all thoughts fly out of his head the moment he sees the expanse of skin she’s just bared to him. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, eyes darkening at the possibility of feeding.

And then he sees her neck –– properly sees it for the first time without anything obscuring his vision. A large scar covers the expanse of her throat, jagged and uneven, curling up toward her jawline. If he had to guess, someone had gotten behind her with either a dagger or garrote wire, and she’d fought back, if the messiness of it is anything to go by.

She’s a survivor. He’d known this already, having seen the scrappy and dirty way she fought, and this only confirmed his prior assumptions. Oh, but this makes her so much more ––

“If there’s not enough room, just bite somewhere else,” she mutters, her voice cutting through his internal musings. She looks away from him, jaw clenching, clearly misunderstanding the path his mind has gone down. Her eyes harden. “Maybe this is a mistake –– ”

He strides over to her, takes her chin gently, and nudges her face up to meet his gaze properly. “There is plenty of room,” he purrs, practically ravenous at the thought of sinking his teeth into her neck. But there’s a line he won’t cross, not with her. “If you’re. . .still willing?”

She searches his gaze for something he can’t quite identify but she evidently finds what she’s looking for after a few beats of scrutiny. With a determined glint in her eyes, she tilts her chin back and exposes more of her throat to him. She warns him again, “Only a taste.”

As if he could ever be satisfied with only a taste of her.

Having anticipated this moment ever since he tasted her dried blood stained onto his clothing, he’s eager to jump to the chase and sink his teeth into her skin. But with Tav presenting herself so willingly to him, waiting and ready, he can’t help but take his time. Who knows if he’ll ever get this opportunity again?

His lips brush the side of her neck in a barely there whisper, ghosting along the skin underneath her ear. She trembles minutely but doesn’t say a word, not even when he steps forward and tugs her into his arms. The hold is loose enough that she can break free if she’d like, one hand on her waist and the other splayed against the other side of her head, cradling it as she leans back to give him better access to her neck.

Astarion is close enough to her that he can feel her breath against his skin, can practically hear the blood rushing in her veins and her heart’s steady beats. How has he never noticed how filled with life she is? So devastatingly alive.

“What are you doing?” she whispers, body tensing under his hold.

He pauses in his ministrations. If she asks him to stop, he will, but she’s said nothing of that sort nor has she pulled away from him. He clicks his tongue, finding a spot next to the beginning of her scar that is practically begging for his attention. “Patience, darling.”

“Just –– fucking bite me.” Her voice trembles slightly.

“If you insist,” he replies, slightly put out that he can’t continue his exploration of her body but eager to dive into the main course. And with that, he bites.

Tav’s small gasp of pain goes unnoticed as the vibrant, heady taste of her blood fills his mouth. Immediately, he groans in pleasure, surging forward and pressing her body tighter to him for better access. It’s everything he ever could have dreamed of and more ––

He feels –– powerful. He feels alive.

Her dried blood on his shirt sleeves had only been a pale echo of this. To taste right from the source is an inexplicable luxury; it is only Tav –– her blood on his tongue, the feeling of her skin against his lips, the press of her body against his. He does not enjoy being a vampire spawn but at this moment, he can’t help but savor the experience that only he can have because of it. Unsurprisingly, the front of his pants are tighter than usual, and he struggles not to pull her closer, warring with the instinct in his head that tells him to take her here and now.

It’s only because he’s had practice drinking from other individuals that he’s able to stop himself from taking too much. Though he’d love to drain her dry, that would be a one-time thing. If he plays his cards right, he might be able to convince her to give him another taste in the future.

Regretfully, he pulls away, laving her neck with attention with his tongue until he’s gathered up every last drop of blood. Tav’s hands fist tightly in his shirt, clinging to him. Her eyes remain closed. Does she trust him, he wonders, not to take advantage while she’s vulnerable? He could so very easily end her existence now . . . had he not still had use for her.

When he finishes, he detaches himself from her and steps away, watching as she takes a shuddering breath and does her best to steady herself.

“This is a gift, you know,” Astarion says lowly, unintentionally echoing his words from so many days previous. In more ways than one, she has proved her loyalty to him –– perhaps it is time he does the same for her. “I won’t forget it.”

Her hand goes to her neck, pressing against the puncture wounds. “Did you take enough?”

His eyes darken, his voice lowering to a purr. “More than enough.”

After a small delay, she nods once. “Good.”

The strangest urge to kiss her suddenly takes hold of him, an impulse he almost indulges. He leans toward her without thinking, dragged into her orbit unconsciously. The way she meets his gaze is electric, heat sizzling between them. It would be so easy to . . .

“Darling –– “ His lips part. He has half a mind to take her right now, in the middle of the forest, proper seduction plans be damned.

“Goodnight, Astarion,” she says abruptly. “I look forward to seeing you fight.”

With that, she turns on her heel and leaves, practically running out of the clearing and back toward their camp.

Astarion blinks. It takes him a minute or two to process what had just happened, the feeling that had washed over him. For a few seconds, he hadn’t been thinking about his plan at all, just how nice it would be to press his lips against her –– for no reason other than because he’d wanted to.

The taste of her blood lingers in his mouth when he curses under his breath and follows.

#astarion/original character #astarion/tav #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #bg3 fic #baldur's gate 3 fic #baldurs gate 3 fic #my writing

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