#whY IS EVERYONE HAVING HOTS FOR MY BARD TAV

[rednite-dork]

I'm never drawing 3+ characters ever again

[alpaca-clouds]

Thinking about Power Fantasies and Wishfullfillment

I am thinking about Wishfullfillment and Power Fantasies a lot recently. Mostly because someone has shamed me for writing exactly that. Power Fantasies. Or, let's be more honest, for me writing a rather unusual kind of Power Fantasy. The one, where the power that I fantasize about is not a physical, violent power.

Technically speaking, there are technically like two acceptable types of Power Fantasy within fiction:

Punch real good and get to punch all the bad guys.

Get the hot gal/hot guy.

Genre fiction is usually where this can be found - and yeah, it always is a variation of this. Generally media that is focused more on a male audience will usually go more for the "get to punch stuff real good" power fantasy, while maybe putting in a little "hot gal" for the visuals. Meanwhile, a lot of media focused on a female audience, will focus on "get the hot guy (and fix him)" as the power fantasy, with maybe a bit of "get good at punching". (And yes, this has less to do with "what gets written", but more with "what gets published/made into movies/films/games by big publishers/studios".)

What is noticable about it: Obviously for the most part the romantic power fantasies are very much heteronormative. And yes, the other part of the power fantasy is almost always about physical violence, and about being the strongest, and most influencial person there is.

And here is the thing: That is not really the power I fantasize about. I do not want to use violence to kill the bad guy real good. Sure, if someone handed me a Death Note, you'll bet, that I would see what would happen if I noted down "Elon Musk" and "Donald Trump". But in general it is not the kind of power I would want.

My power fantasy is "to be able to talk people into being fucking reasonable for once". Or rather: "Be able to talk and have people just listen, gods darn it." Which is, yeah, why ever since I started playing TTRPGs more than half my life ago, I had the tendency to play the charisma heavy classes. And which also is the reason why my DnD standard class is the bard.

So, yes, whenever I currently write about my BG3 Tav and he is talking sense into some BBEGs (like Gorts, or Emps) and stuff... Yeah, that is very much my own sort of power fantasy. Just as his "I am gonna make friends with everyone" is very much a power fantasy of mine.

Again, there is a reason for me to play bard.

Yet, a former friend wrote a whole ass essay shaming me for it and how unrealistic it was and how the character "forced his morals" on everyone else. (All my questions on how the person's own characters killing their villains were not forcing their morals on said villains were ignored.) And it created a whole ass discussion, where even more folks then kept shaming me about this - and about my love for Solarpunk with worlds, in which again the world is actually a peaceful one.

And... I think this is really sad, right?

Like, how is it that the only viable variations of writing power fantasies seem to be "violence" or "get to have straight sex"? I find it especially kinda sad, that violence especially is the thing people can fantasize about and it is considered "normal".

Sure, you can say: "Well, some forum discussion is not saying much." But something that I keep thinking about: "Well, I am writing those stories for myself, because there is not a whole lot of that avaible in media." Because most mass media is about characters punching real good and then punching their problems. Sure, I can think of a couple of animated kids media in which the BBEG is in fact defeated by words. Steven Universe comes to mind. And, I mean, ATLA kinda tried, though they still needed to have the big bad battle in the end. But in general it really is the exception to the rule.

Mass media tends to focus on violence to tell stories. Alternatives to it are rarely even considered. If you look at the blockbusters and what not, pretty much all involve a finale that does centrally feature a fight or battle.

Yet, especially in terms of movies I cannot think of a single one, where the main character goes in there: "Okay, bad guy, let's just talk about this", and then does exactly that.

And the same goes about the worldbuilding. Why (outside of the normatilization of the entire "western narratives" thing) do so many people struggle with the idea of a Solarpunk world, where the world itself is fine? Why do they struggle to imagine a utopia where there is no sinister plot hiding and Soylent Green is in fact not people? Why do they actually get super angry at you, when you write stories like that?

Because it is so fucking normalized.

But, like... How is it that you can write a wishfulfillment world where the wishfulfillment is based around how very much at war everyone is - just so that the MCs can be the biggest, most badass heroes there are! Why shouldn't people be able to write a wishfulfillment world, where the wishfulfillment is actually that the world is nice and peaceful and the heroes are just really good at science and politics?

And let's face it: This is very much all about capitalism. It is very much about having a very strange relationship to both violence and anti-violence. And... Yeah, no, we need to move past that.

So, that said? I am going back to writing self-indugent power fantasies about my dumb bard going around, talking people into joining the good side for hugs and cookies, and also having a lot of queer sex. *coughs*

[grapesplease]

bleed me out and hang me to dry

astarion x male! drow! bard! tav

an. sequel to i love you (i'm sorry) its the 3+1 trope! :D full of oc info and astarion fluff! i love these bastards to death! also egregious use of random star shit i learned, probably not dnd lore compliant but wtv

cw. mentions of past torture and abuse

“Why are you giving me that look?”

“You’re really going to help me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” The elf gives Altair a confused look, wondering what was going on in his head, “You, the bleeding heart that you are, promised everyone here help with their problems, and yet you think I wouldn’t help you fight some drow?”

“No? You have no obligation to help me, you don’t get anything out of it.” Altair has an incredulous look on his face, “You- What do you get out of helping me?"

wc. 7.4k

-

1.

Altair let out sharp hiss of pain as Astarion applies a salve to his knee. His pant leg is rolled high, and he knows that he has to roll it higher for Astarion to properly help him.

The elf is kneeled down in front of him; they had just been through a fight with a nasty group of goblins, and Shadowheart was fresh out of magic to heal him. So now his partner (whatever their relationship was) was treating him the old fashioned way, with good ole’ bandages and salve.

He wants to keep his old scar hidden, and against his better judgment, he considers doing it. Thinking that fighting the next few days in pain would be fine.

“Not like it's something I haven't done before..”

“Would you be a dear and roll up your pants a bit more?” The elf asks, glancing up at him through his lashes. “I need to just finish treating you, I promise that no kind of carnal lust is on my mind right now.”

He hesitates, but reluctantly listens to him. There’s a brand on his thigh, given to him by his dear friend Ariadne. A little reminder of how he could never truly escape her, and that he’d never forget who he belonged to.

He could never forget the pain of searing hot metal.

It was a constellation, Ariadne told him that it had the star he was named after in it. She had told him it was a present for being the new quote on quote, “rising star” in the ring. (A bit on the nose, if you ask him.)

He hated how she had said it back then, now that he was seeing everything in retrospect. “Rising star,” his ass! He was just trying to fucking survive! How could she say that like it was an accomplishment, like he should be proud of killing people? When he was barely breathing after every fight?

She was the one who was bringing him back from near death every time, broken bones healing back together and cuts closing in an instant weren't new to him. Ariadne was the one who kept him in the fight, whether he liked it or not.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts by Astarion, who’d started lightly tracing over the scar. Altair flinches, his body stiffening. His gaze meets Astarion’s, and his breath hitches. It wasn’t like he'd never seen it, he just never disclosed who exactly gave him that scar, or what it meant to him.

“I never told you how I got that brand, did I?”

Astarion sighs, bandaging up his leg and setting the salve aside, “No, you never did.” He traces over the exposed skin, thin lines connected with pinprick dots. It was intricate, clear that much thought went into it. “Were you tortured by an astrologer? You have one too many space themed scars, love.”

It wasn't a lie, he had a few tattoos of various constellations, along with a few more star-shaped scars on his back. His jewelry box of star themed earrings and necklaces didn't help much, either.

He chuckles in response, “She really loved the history of my name, apparently.” His eyes look up to the night sky, and he motions for Astarion to sit next to him.

“There it is,” He points to a collection of stars, “the Aquila constellation. It's shaped kind of like an arrow, and the one at the top, the brightest one, is the star I’m named after.”

“How poetic.” Astarion comments, he supposes that it's fitting, as Altair had been a consistent beacon of hope for him. “What does it symbolize?”

“The constellation represents strength,” Altair replies, “I assume my father wanted me to be strong, knowing the hell he left me to live in.”

He shudders, remembering the things he had to do to survive in the Underdark. It was times like these where he cursed his elven memory, wishing he couldn't remember every fight he's ever had, every scar he’d ever gotten.

He wishes he didn't have to remember the desperate looks of his opponents. He knows that the same desperation was mirrored in his eyes.

His guilt doesn’t make him feel any better, but he hopes it serves as some kind of penance. After all, they were the same as him, people who were victims of sick games that drow nobility used to entertain themselves.

“He left me in the Underdark, so that he could live up on the surface with my mother.” Altair says, “They were happy, according to him, but my mother was killed by monsters a few years after they left me.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” Astarion replies, moving to hold Altair’s hand, his fingers running over the back of it. “They traded your freedom for theirs, that's awfully unfair.”

“An eye for an eye, I suppose."

Altair thinks back to when he first got to Baldur’s Gate after escaping the Underdark. He met his dad there, peacefully idling away at a book. Oh, how angry he was to find out that the man that had abandoned him was just living his life, acting like there was nothing wrong in the world.

He remembers that one of the first things he did was slap him, and cuss him out. Gods, he was almost dragged away to jail before his father stopped the soldiers. His father let out endless apologies, but all he thought at the time was that his father looked pathetic.

The next thing he did was ask him questions. “Why did you leave me?” “Why didn't you try to save me?” “What made you think this was fair to me?” “Why did you put me through that?” “Do you regret it?”

“Did you ever miss me?”

They’ve talked since then, argued, apologized, the whole nine yards. He's reconciled with his father, but he doesn't think he can ever forgive him for leaving him in the Underdark. Nothing can ever convince him that his father did the right thing, or that it was the only thing his father could’ve done.

“A woman named Ariadne gave that scar to me,” He admits, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck, “She was the first person I ever befriended down there, she's the one I thought would help me escape. Unfortunately, she sold me out for the mere chance of gaining power.”

“Was she the one who made you become a gladiator?”

“No, but she did sponsor many of my fights, and a lot of my cosmetics.” He motions to the myriad of star-related tattoos on his body. “These tattoos were one of them, along with..” He tucks his hair behind his right ear, revealing how half is cut off, “This lovely parting gift.”

“Couldn't aim for the neck, could she?”

“She fancied herself a killer, but she was pathetically bad with a knife!” He barks out a laugh, “Clearly things have changed since then, because she’s confident enough to try and kill me again.”

“I don't think we should worry too much, if half an ear is all the damage she can do to you.” Astarion chuckles, “Karlach would have her set ablaze before she even got to your tent!”

“I’m sure you’d take a chunk out of her neck before she could take one out of mine.”

“Oh! Such high praise from someone as strong as yourself!” The two are laughing with each other, hands intertwined. Altair wants to savor moments like these, wanting to remember what it feels like to be normal, to care for someone like this.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to ask-” He turns to Astarion, catching his breath, “When we met, you recognized me, where did you first find me?”

“Well, at some shit tavern, no offense to your musical skills, mind you-” He sighs, recalling the moment. “You piqued my interest, being a drow playing the violin and singing. Here you were, a sparkly, singing drow! I even tried propositioning you!”

“Oh, that can’t have gone well.”

(He knows it didn't.)

“You rejected me, very harshly!” Astarion dramatically leans onto Altair’s shoulder, a hand over his forehead. “My ego! Horribly wounded by a sparkly bard!”

“What was it that I said exactly?”

“You said I looked sickly! Like I could barely walk up the stairs! Never mind getting in bed with you! I thought I hid my whole “being dead” thing well- until you came along!”

“Oh yes, it was something along the lines of, ‘Perhaps you should visit a hospital bed before you visit mine.’” Altair snickers, remembering the mortified look that Astarion had given him. “And you left in a huff after calling me a few choice words. In my defense, I was incredibly wasted."

“I mean, I got to bed you eventually.” The elf snarks, “So I guess everything worked out in the end.”

“I guess it did.”

2.

“..aand that's how I bravely defended myself from an assassin!” Altair’s piss drunk, spouting about absolute nonsense, “In fact, that's how I got thiis rapier!” He waves his sword around, laughing.

Astarion rolls his eyes, sipping from his own bottle of wine. He knew Altair had a drinking problem, he just didn't think it was this bad. However, it was certainly fun to see him yelling and screaming. It was a nice change of pace from his usually more put together and cheery persona.

“Wait- hand me my violin!” He slurred out, his arm was wrapped around Alfira’s shoulders. “Alfira, we should play togeth’r, a duet! A duet! You said you wanted to be bard in Baldur’s Gate, riight? I know a great tavern tha’ would be perfect for youu~”

“Now, I think it's high time you let go of your bottle.” Astarion chides, taking Altair’s wine away from him. The drow responds with a groan, and looks up at Astarion with pleading eyes. “Don't look at me like that, darling, you need to be cut off at some point. I don't want you whining to Shadowheart about a hangover.”

“Oh come onn, I know how much I can drink.”

“Oh, you're such a big baby.” He politely smiles to the group of tieflings that had gathered around Altair, and then pries him off of Alfira, dragging him towards his tent. “Apologies for my dear partner, I’ll be taking him off your hands now.”

Astarion sits him down, going off to find a bottle of water for him. Altair watches him attentively, prompting Astarion to turn, raising an eyebrow.

“What? See something you like?”

“You caree about me~” He giggles, thinking it’s the funniest thing in the world. How silly! To think that someone like Astarion would care for him! To think that anyone would care for a mess like him. “Youu care! Hahaha!”

“Only because I know you won't remember it in the morning.”

“I will!” He retorts, flailing his arms about, “I will! I swear!”

“I doubt it, love.” Astarion pushes the rim of the water bottle to Altair’s mouth. “Drink.”

“What are you, my-” The rest of his sentence is cut off as Astarion tilts the bottle, forcing water down his throat. He sputters, pushing it away from his mouth. “ghk- Gods, alright! I’ll drink!”

“Good boy.” Astarion gives him a pat on the head, before settling down next to him. “After you finish drinking that, go to sleep.”

“Aww, but I wanna talk with youu.”

“We can talk when you remember how to speak without slurring your words.”

“Noo, I wanna talk now!” He whines, leaning into Astarion’s shoulder. “I wanna tell you more about myself, s’only fair after you told me about Cazador..”

“Oh, just go to sleep, you idiot.”

“I will if you let me talk to you!”

Astarion groans, but relents. “Fine, if it gets you to rest.”

“Yaaay!”

Altair thinks for a moment about what to tell Astarion, he did want to share something, after how much Astarion had shared with him. Maybe not about his horrible time as a slave, something more lighthearted- but his life was so horribly depressing. What could he even talk about?

His eyes glance around his tent, before landing on his violin.

Wait- He’s a bard!

“Astarion!” He exclaims, grabbing the elf’s hands. There are stars in his eyes, and Astarion feels like he's in for a long night, and not the kind he likes. “Did I ever tell you about how I became a bard!”

“No?”

“I-” He pauses, looking confused for a moment. “Wait, giive me a second..”

Astarion grins, amused at his antics. As Altair is thinking, he shifts, letting Altair rest his head on his chest. His fingers go to thread through his hair, gently running through the strands.

“Don't tell me you don't remember, love.” He softly laughs, “Did the wine erase your memory too?”

“No! I just need a moment..” He yawns, sinking Astarion’s touch. He always loved when Astarion would comb through his hair like this, he felt like could just drift off. “Just give me a second..”

-

What in the hells did he say last night?

Altair blearily wakes up, wiping away the sleep from his eyes, finding that his body was sprawled over Astarion’s. His hair is undone from its usual braid, and is instead tangled in Astarion’s hands.

“What..?” He groans as he pushes himself off of Astarion, carefully untangling his hair from his fingers. “Gods, my arms are sore..”

His eyes flit back over to Astarion, who's still sound asleep. He racks his brain for memories of last night, he got drunk, yelled a little, sang, told some shit story about his time in the Underdark.

Oh.

He told him everything. Or- most of it anyway, just the parts about how he was forced to fight other slaves while starving and only found solace in creating and telling stories. A perfect conversation topic, the best way to reveal your fucked up past! Dammit, did he show him his journal too?

A rustle from behind him makes him snap his head back around, tensing up. He doesn't know if he can talk about it now that he's sober.

“Ngh, good morning, Altair.” The vampire sits up, yawning. “Glad to see you sober again.”

“Morning to you too, Astarion.” Altair mumbles, running a gentle hand over Astarion’s head. “I.. how much did I tell you last night?”

“Just bits and pieces, most of it was unintelligible to me.”

“Sorry about last night.”

“What for?”

What does he mean “What for?” for just dumping his trauma all over him, especially when Astarion was trying to get him to bed. Gods, he's not a child, he should be able to take care of himself!

“For making you listen to me,” Altair tries to remember what exactly he revealed, was it the torture? The brutal fights? He had to know how much Astarion knew about her. “I told you about when I was a gladiator, right? and that I was..”

A killer hangover has him hissing in pain, holding his head. His memories are still foggy, and his head can't take the strain of trying to remember. It’d take a good couple hours before his mind was clear enough for him to try.

“You told me that you wanted to be a poet.” Astarion says, putting a hand on Altair’s shoulder. “Don't hurt yourself trying to remember everything, I can just tell you.”

“Alright then, what else did I spill?”

“You waxed poetically for a while about how you took solace in art, about how you shadow wrote some songs and stories for a while. You attempted to show me your journal.”

He pointedly looks at the open journal on the ground, some of its pages scattered on the floor.

“Don't worry, I didn't get to read much of it. You ended up crying as soon as you opened it, and I had to calm you down.”

He pauses, hesitantly continuing. “You.. you cried about how you were living in the Underdark, about being forced to become a gladiator.”

“Oh.” Altair shakily sighs, running a hand through his hair, “What did I tell you exactly..?”

“Mostly about the living conditions,” He replies, “You were crying too much for me to understand, so I ended up just coaxing you to sleep.”

“Well, thank you for taking care of me, sorry for being such a child.”

“You don't have to be sorry, love.” Astarion yawns, getting up from Altair’s bedroll, “You listened to me whine about Cazador, it was only fair I do the same.”

“Still, thank you..” Altair gets up as well, following Astarion out to greet the morning. “..for listening to me, when you didn’t have to.”

3.

They’d been in the Shadowlands for a while now, Shadowheart was still talking about Shar and her protection, and Gale was geeking out about how the curse had affected the land around them. The usual day for their party.

He’d just talked to Raphael, shook hands and made a verbal contract, the whole nine yards. Astarion said he was ready to go and find whatever monster they had to kill, ready to learn more about his infernal scars and about how to stop Cazador. All he was waiting on was Altair’s command.

Altair, on the other hand, was more concerned with how Astarion seemed to be slower. They hadn’t lost any fights yet, but none of his attacks had his usual power behind them. He wasn't fit to be in any fight right now, and Altair knew it.

He pieced together why quickly, as he realized that there weren't many animals here for him to eat, the only ones they’d seen had been taken by the shadow curse. He hadn't offered to let him feed recently either.

Astarion was starving.

“Astarion,” Altair stands in front of his tent, arms crossed, “You haven't fed in a while, have you?”

“Well, there aren't exactly any animals here, and I’d hate to take my chances with the rest of the party.” He sends him a flirtatious look, licking his lips, “Unless you're offering that pretty neck of yours~”

His mouth is watering at the mere mention of feeding from Altair- and he does a poor job of hiding it.

“Astarion, I’m being serious, are you alright? I don't want you starving at tomorrow’s fight.”

“I-” Astarion was starving, but he was planning on sinking his teeth into a rat or something. He'd seen a few in the Gauntlet of Shar, Altair didn't have to do this for him. “Well, if you insist..”

Altair nods, the two heading into Astarion’s tent. He lays down on Astarion’s bedroll, letting the elf unlace part of his top. His dark skin is exposed to the frigid air, and he shivers. Astarion’s hands leave feather light touches on his neck as he brushes away Altair’s hair.

Gods, Astarion was already salivating at the sight of his neck.

Altair lets out a gasp, fangs sinking into his neck. Astarion’s tongue eagerly laps up the blood that spills out, groaning. A week without a proper meal leaves him greedy, and Altair can feel himself getting lightheaded.

He gently pats Astarion’s shoulder, “That's enough. Any more and I’m going to pass out.” Astarion whines, but unhinges himself from Altair’s neck. The drow pushes himself up, padding around for his violin so that he could cast Lesser Restoration on himself. “Astarion, I’m going to grab my violin, I left it in my tent.”

“I’ll grab it for you, just give me a moment to fix your shirt.” He motions for Altair to lean forward a bit, and he starts to lace his shirt back up. “You're in such a hurry, darling. Don't go running off topless in front of the party, I’d get jealous.”

“I don't think you should be the authority on decency, Star.” His breath hitches as Astarion’s cold fingers brush against his collarbone. “I think you’ve been seen in more scandalous positions than I have.”

“Oh, are you implying something, love?” Astarion leans in close to Altair, whispering scandalously as he holds the drow’s gaze, “Do you want to be seen when we have sex?”

He pulls the thread of Altair’s shirt tight, sending a shudder through his body.

“No.” Altair breathily replies, “I.. I like being a sight for your eyes only, Astarion..”

“A pity, I’d love to share this..” He drags a finger up Altair’s neck, “..beautiful body with everyone. But you being all mine doesn't sound too bad either.”

He lightly taps Altair’s nose, cheekily smiling at him.

“Astarion..”

“I’ll go ahead and grab your violin, darling.” He pecks Altair on the forehead. “Try and entertain yourself while I’m gone, why don’t you?”

He smiles to himself as he makes his way to Altair’s tent, the face that he’d made when he left was priceless! His cheeks were positively flushed, all the way up to his ears, he was sure that he looked the same though, his pale skin being warmed by the drow’s blood.

Astarion rummages around, spotting the violin behind his pack, as he moves to grab it, he knocks a journal off of Altair’s desk. He mumbles out a few curses, before leaning down to pick it up. It’s open to a page, written in Elvish.

“...ordered another punishment for the Comet, and he came crying to me! He’s a fool, coming to me for help.”

What?

He knows that Altair would hate him if he read it without his permission, especially if it was full of documentation of his torture. But it irks him a little bit, not knowing the extent of Altair abuse.

All he knew was that he was a slave in the Underdark, and that the house he was in forced him to fight in gladiator matches. He’d only made passing mentions of his living conditions, things like being starved or in constant pain, which he could unfortunately relate to.

Sometimes there was mention of a mysterious woman- Ariadne. She came up the most when they were exploring the Underdark, it confused him, as Altair would go from near panic attacks to describing fond memories when talking about her.

Astarion shuts the journal, his touch lingering a bit on the swirling gold embroidery.

Should he talk to Altair about it?

They were getting close to finding a cure for the tadpole, and Altair seemed set on heading to Baldur’s Gate after investigating Moonrise Towers. He didn’t know how much longer Altair was going to stay with him, they certainly had something going on, but he didn’t know if it was enough for Altair to stay with him.

He wanted Altair to stay with him, even after their journey together.

He just didn’t know how to ask him to stay.

He sighs, figuring that Altair has waited long enough for his violin. He heads back to his tent, trying to sort out his thoughts.

“Found your violin.” He sits down next to Altair, who’s reading one of his books, “Oh, I quite like that story.”

“Really? Wouldn’t peg you as the type to enjoy horror.”

“Well, it’s kind of like a comedy after everything we’ve been through. Helps me laugh at it all.” Astarion hands him his violin, “Does it help you any?”

“A bit, but I’ve been mostly laughing at the bad writing. Let me tell you that gladiator fights are nothing like this!” Altair huffs dramatically, “So much talk about honor, and how they describe the equipment? Incredibly inaccurate.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, but how did you escape the Underdark? You don’t have to answer if it’s a sore subject, but you’ve never gone into much detail about it.”

He sighs, recalling the first time that Astarion saw him break down in the Underdark. He was a fool then, trying to pretend like the place didn’t haunt him. Altair holds his violin, gripping his bow a bit too tightly. He should tell Astarion, they were getting close to Baldur’s Gate, and he couldn’t endanger him like that.

“There’s a journal in my tent, it belongs to Ariadne, the person who promised to help me escape. I think I already told you that she betrayed me though. She was cruel, and I wish I could say that I hate her with all of my being, but that’d be a lie.”

He nervously plays with the pegs of his violin, “She was still the first to treat me like I existed, you know? She gave me food, money, and some kind of social interaction. I know that what she did was wrong, and that she was never my friend, but a part of me misses her.”

Astarion looks at him sympathetically, understanding how desperate you get for any kind of interaction when you’re isolated. That time he spent stuck in a coffin comes to mind, being trapped in the dark with only his thoughts, nothing but silence for days on end.

He knows that Altair spent most of his life like that, trapped in a stone cell, only let out to be fed or to fight. Altair was able to create stories, and pretend like all his fights were epic tales, but even he admits that much of his time was spent staring up at a cold, stone ceiling. That, and being beaten for not performing well enough in fights, or whatever fault they found with him.

“I finished reading most of her entries, I assume she lost it before getting to Baldur’s Gate though.” Altair says, “She was in the middle of chasing me out of a tavern before I was kidnapped and put on that mindflayer ship. According to her journal, she’d found out where I worked. I fully expect that she found my house soon after I was kidnapped”

He turns to Astarion with a determined look, “I have to go back, I can’t keep running from her. Not to mention, my father is still there, and I don’t know how long it’ll take before she resorts to using him against me. I need to kill her, to finally be free.”

“And here I thought I would be the only one meeting my old master in Baldur’s Gate,” Astarion jokes, “Good to know we’re both on a mission to get revenge.”

“It’s not revenge- I wouldn’t call it that.”

“Killing the person that ruined your life? I’d say that’s the textbook definition of revenge, darling.”

“It’s not- well, it’s more about me being free.” He explains, looking away from Astarion. He knew that Astarion wouldn’t understand how he felt about Ariadne, it’d be so easy to hate her if all she did was torture him, but she didn’t.

“She- She was still nice to me, you know. She was the very reason I learned that there was more to the world than my cell, and that I still even had a father. Ariadne was my first friend, she was a lot of my firsts, even though she ended up wanting to kill me.”

“That journal I found details some things from my enslavement, and it hurts to read sometimes. It only proves how bad of a person she is, that she hated me from the start.” Tears start to fall from his eyes as he relays his emotions to him.

“It’s tainted all the memories I had with her, every single one that I’d go back to when I trance, wanting to remember the better moments of my life. She hated me the whole time. It was funny to her, how little I knew, how even though I was the better fighter, she was still superior to me.”

“Killing her is going to be my way of getting closure, and reclaiming my life.”

Altair is still crying, crying and bloodless, he remembers. His hands shakily move his violin under his chin, placing the bow on the strings.

“Sorry- The blood loss is starting to get to me- I just have to heal myself”

“I don’t think you’re in playing condition, dear.” Astarion gently lowers Altair’s hands, taking his violin and setting it down behind him. “I think you’re in need of a good night’s rest, Shadowheart can take care of it in the morning.”

Altair nods, but looks at Astarion warily.

Why wasn’t he saying anything? No disgust at not hating his torturer? He would understand if Astarion was confused, angry, even. Was he really just going to help him fight some unknown danger?

If there was one thing he learned while in the Underdark- from her, it was that love meant nothing. He loved people, cared for them, only to be hurt. It was always finite, his relationships never lasted, despite the effort he put in, why would this one be different?

He’d help Astarion get rid of the tadpole in their heads, and then help him kill Cazador.

After that, he’d be on his own.

Right?

“Why are you giving me that look?”

“You’re really going to help me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” The elf gives Altair a confused look, wondering what was going on in his head, “You, the bleeding heart that you are, promised everyone here help with their problems, and yet you think I wouldn’t help you fight some drow?”

“No? You have no obligation to help me, you don’t get anything out of it.” Altair has an incredulous look on his face, “You- What do you get out of helping me? My loyalty? Unless I’ve misread something, no one here has to help me- I don’t expect any of you to help me!”

Astarion is a little angry, was he stupid? What did he mean he didn’t expect help? Was he truly that blind to how much he cared for him, to how much everyone cared for him. Did he simply think that the people here wouldn’t fight for him the way he fought for them?

“We- I care about you as much as you care about me. You’ve done so much for the party- for me, and you just expect me to let you charge into a fight alone?”

“Yes? People don’t- they don’t just help for no reason, Astarion!” He stammers out, Ariadne had drilled that idea into his head. She only reinforced it when she betrayed him, and even more so through her journal entries.

“I don't expect help from anyone! I didn’t see why you would be different, even if you said you cared for me. I thought that you were only playing along with my antics, using ‘love’ to get a free night of sex, or someone willing to protect you!”

That comment hurt Astarion. Altair was right, he was the one who’d emotionally manipulated him into a relationship, being nice to gain something. But he’d changed, he started genuinely caring for him. He tried showing him that he cared.

The nights he spent comforting him, listening to him talk about his past? The silly banter they’d have while Altair was healing him? How he constantly- constantly threw himself into danger to protect him? Did that mean nothing to him? Did Altair only see that as repayment for his affection?

Altair still sits there, confused. He wasn’t wrong, he thinks. All his life has been a game of giving. He cares about people, gives them his trust, his words of love and soft kisses, keeps that person happy, until they abandon him.

They leave, and he pretends like all those emotions weren’t real, that nothing happened, he uses the feelings in a ballad or story, and tries to forget. Wash, rinse, repeat. He’s lived like that for 215 years, and he hasn’t had anyone try to break that cycle or tell him he was wrong. It was just life, after all.

“Did everything we do mean nothing to you? Was it all just you playing along to entertain me?”

“No! Gods, No. I care about you Astarion, I do!”

“Then why do you act like everything I’ve done for you means nothing?! Do you think I don’t care about you too, Altair?”

“I..” He holds his tongue, he truly didn’t think Astarion loved him. He didn't think anyone truly cared about him. He’d been alone this long, after all. Why would Astarion be any different than his past relationships?

He’d done the same for all of them, listening to their past, helping them through rough patches. Altair had done everything by the book, he revealed bits of himself to them, but always- always, they'd leave him.

No one wanted to stay after learning that he wasn't a charismatic bard, they didn't want to risk being killed because of his past. Sometimes they were disgusted with what he did as a gladiator. But he’d always understood, why would anyone want to try and bear the weight of his past with him?

His silence is all the answer that Astarion needs to hear, and the vampire frustratedly grabs his hands, moving closer to him.

“I’d follow you to the ends of Faerun, and help you fight whatever horrible monster from your past shows up.” He states firmly, holding Altair’s gaze. “I’d do this because I know you’d do the same for me, no matter how scared you are- I love you, Altair, even if you don’t believe it yourself.”

“I-” Altair looks back at him, fear behind his eyes, “I want to believe you, I do. But I can’t, I don’t know what to do if you just love me, what do I do in return?”

His mind is spinning, relationships never worked like that. It was always give and take and give and take-

He wasn’t worthy of a relationship, a real relationship, he had to compensate for all his flaws. He had to, or that person would leave him.

Just like how Ariadne did.

She would leave him alone in his cell for days on end, sometimes years, if he offended her enough.

Darkvision doesn’t help much when the walls are the same color, and his mind could only entertain itself for so long before it began to spiral. He was never enough, he had to always make up for it. It was the only way he wouldn’t end up alone, stuck in a stone cell.

“You don’t have to do anything.” Astarion softly smiles at him, “You just have to accept it. I’m loving you with no strings attached, dear.”

Was it really that simple?

“Is that really it? I just accept that you love me? Even though it’s..” Altair trails off, vaguely motioning to himself.

“What, like loving you is hard?” He pressed a kiss to the palm of Altair’s hand, cradling it against his cheek, his red eyes looking up at him through his lashes, “Loving you is easy, you just have to accept it."

“..oh.”

It was that simple.

4.

White-hot pain flares up from Astarion’s back, and he feels warm blood dripping down his arms.

It’s him.

A choked sob rings through the halls, as Cazador’s laugh rubs salt in his wound. Tears mix with blood as he white knuckles the carpet below him. Why was he back here? Where did everyone go?

“Did you really think you could escape?” Astarion’s head is forced up, clawed hands digging into his cheeks. “Foolish boy, you know I can find you anywhere. The audacity to even try and run!”

He roughly lets go of his face, moving to a table that he can only assume is lined with tools. Cazador hums as he traces his hands over every single one, and he starts to prattle on about how he’s going to use them on Astarion.

His mind races as he tries to rationalize everything, he's not here, he's at camp, in his tent. His breath hitches when he catches a glimpse of a familiar half-drow.

No.

Altair lays limply on the ground, chained to the wall. He turns to Astarion, and his stomach turns-

His eyes are red.

“Altair!”

“This is your fault.” Altair’s head lifts up, gaze boring through him. His voice is hoarse, and Astarion can see pointed fangs just past his lips as he opens his mouth “I should've never trusted you.”

-

Altair sits comfortably outside Astarion’s tent, hands idly plucking a tune on his violin. They were camped outside of Rivington, only a night away from getting into Baldur’s Gate.

“Let him go! Stop!” He turns to Astarion, who’s writhing in his bedroll, tears falling from his closed eyes. “Please..”

“Astarion!” Altair throws his violin to the ground, rushing to his side. Astarion’s having a dream, a kind that Altair is all too familiar with. “You're safe, wake up, come on..”

His voice is soft as he gently shakes Astarion’s shoulder. “Cazador isn't here, you're having a nightmare. Please wake up..”

As if listening to Altair’s pleas, Astarion’s eyes snap open, nails digging into his wrist. Frenzied, red eyes meet his, and he loosens his grip as he realizes what happened.

“Shit- I’m sorry.”

“It's fine. Are..” He wants to ask if he's alright, but he knows the answer. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Astarion stares at him in response, hand still holding onto the drow’s wrist. He was safe, Altair was safe, Cazador isn't here.

“I had a bad dream.” He laughs, ‘bad dream’ would be an understatement, “It was about Cazador. He had you, and you were- you were turned. Gods, I hate this, we're literally on our way to kill him, and he's still tormenting me!"

“They have a way of doing that to you.” Altair rests his hand atop Astarion’s. “Our torturers, I mean. We can never really forget, but we can kill them.”

“Ha, that we can.” Astarion thinks it’s unfair, that he has to live with the memories of torture, with scars that will never fade. All while Cazador gets to die, and never suffers the same way he did. “Funny how that works out, two ex-slaves going to Baldur’s Gate to kill their enslavers.”

“Sounds like great material for a story.” Altair hums, “Maybe I’ll write a little song about us, ‘Astarion and Altair: Free Elves’ has a nice ring to it.”

Astarion groans, laughing. “Gods, no. Don't tell me you're going to be singing that at taverns, Altair.”

“I would never!” He replies dramatically, gasping in mock surprise. “That'll be one of my personal songs, for my ears only!”

“Oh please, I should have some right to hear it, my name is in the title!” Astarion scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Besides, I’ve already seen your whole journal. I assume I’ve seen all of your ‘private’ songs.”

“You've only seen the most recent one. There’s more at my home.” He sighs wistfully, “I’m excited to finally sleep in my bed again, provided Ariadne left the place intact.”

“Personally, I’m excited to finally take consistent baths. I’m tired of smelling like shit all the time.”

They sit in a comfortable silence as their laughter dies down, Altair looks back up at Astarion. Concern still hangs in his mind, “Are you feeling better now?”

“I am.” Astarion sighs, wiping an exasperated hand down his face, “Cazador will know I’m back, and my brothers and sisters will probably be everywhere trying to look for us.”

The worst part about all of it was that he was still scared. Countless ‘what ifs’ run through his head. What if they failed, and he died? What would happen to Altair and the others? They’d gotten a place in his heart, even though he’d never care to admit it, he didn't even want Cazador touching them!

“After we kill Cazador, and the Absolute..” Altair’s voice snaps Astarion out of his thoughts, “We should settle down, you could move in with me, and maybe I could help you find a job.”

“Hm, that sounds dreadfully boring.”

“I think boring is what I need if we succeed in taking down a cult.” Altair laughs. “Besides, it wouldn’t be too bad. I’m confined to the dark as much as you are, I’m practically blind during the day. Stupid tadpole lets me enjoy the day without sun sensitivity setting my eyes ablaze.”

“I wasn't aware that you had light sensitivity.” He knew that drow had a hard time seeing in sunlight, but chalked up Altair’s resistance to him only being half-drow.

“Mm, it was pretty bad. Pretty sure the tadpole made me immune, like you. I’m going to miss not having my eyes fried to a crisp whenever I open my curtains.”

“Oh, but you’ll have me.” Astarion pulls Altair into his bedroll, and pins the drow beneath him. “And I still look just as ravishing in the dark, darling~”

“I-'' A blush graces Altair’s face, and he lightly hits Astarion’s chest, laughing. “Gods, what am I going to do with you?”

“Oh, I’d love to know what you’d do with me,” Astarion teases, earning a groan from Altair, “Or what I’d do to you.”

“Well, I’d love for you..” Altair puts a hand on Astarion’s chest, “..to shut up and let me sleep.”

“I’d love to sleep in your bed, darling. Or in any bed really, but having a handsome drow next to me would be a great incentive to sleep in yours.”

“Gods, no!” He stammers out, “My room is a mess, you’d have to wait outside with the rest of the party while I try and clean whatever is left of my house.”

“Where is your house?” Astarion questions, “I’m sure you aren't living in luxury, but I know you didn't live in the sewers or anything.”

“It's in the lower city, near the Blushing Mermaid. I play a lot of my gigs there, even though the patrons are drunk out of their minds and could care less. Started a lot of bar fights, too.”

“200 years and some things never change.” He sighs wistfully, recalling the years he spent there drinking his misery away, “Though, you were quite sloppy with your kills there.”

“What?” Altair’s eyes widen in shock as Astarion lays down next to him, an amused smile on his lips. “I never told you I was a contract killer!”

“You didn't.”

“What did you see me doing?” Sure, he took a few jobs killing people in Baldur’s Gate, and sure- he wasn't the sneakiest, but for Astarion to have caught him? He was worse at his job than he thought.

“I smelled some blood in an alleyway, and lo and behold-” He makes a dramatic gesture with his hands, motioning to Altair, “There you were, dragging away a body!”

“This is so embarrassing..”

“Oh, but don't worry, no one else saw!”

“But you did! And I was only a hitman for like 20 years!” Altair only became a contract killer because he didn't have many other skills when coming to Baldur’s Gate. Not his proudest moment, he admits, but he did a lot of odd jobs while trying to keep himself afloat, killing people just happened to be one of them.

“Makes me glad that you rejected me back then, otherwise I might've been killed by you.”

“I would never.” Altair scoffs, “Killing someone as pretty as you would be a crime!”

“Exactly!”

Astarion laughs along with Altair, but his mind wanders.

They could've killed each other 200 years ago. He knows that some people had caught onto his vampirism, and that Altair very well could've taken a job to kill him.

Conversely, he could've seduced Altair, and brought him to Cazador; he had tried and failed, after all. He thinks about that possibility, if Altair hadn't refused him so harshly, he would’ve been another victim. If Altair was a mercenary for longer, he could’ve killed him.

He grimaces at the thought.

“Well, hopefully we get a few years of peace after this whole cult fiasco. But knowing you and your bleeding heart, we’d be off on another adventure right after ending a cult!”

“I’d like to spend at least a few decades with you before we're whisked away, maybe get married or something.” Altair chuckles, but his head snaps over to Astarion when he realizes what he said. “I mean- only if you want to..?”

“Well, why not?” Astarion brushes a hand across the half-drow’s cheek, cracking a small smile at his flustered face. “There isn't anyone else I’d like to spend my eternal life with.”

“Oh.” He’s laughing, tears in the corners of his eyes, “Gods, this isn't how I wanted my proposal to go.”

He wipes at his tears, face flushed. “I was going to serenade you, and give you a ring and everything! It was going to be beautiful.”

“For a bard, you aren't very good at keeping your composure.”

“I swear I’m better on stage!”

Astarion laughs, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead, “Sure, darling.”

[momonica05]

Jack Jack - my tav for the "jack of all trades" achievement!

My urge to info dump about an oc won so now please, meet my son: Jack Jack (I don't know how to make a good blog post on tumblr, so I apologize if the images are a little too big)

JJ wasn't born a tiefling. He actually came from a family of humans, but he has no recollection of it outside of his father and grandparents, whom he hates with all his heart

At the age of 6, his father disobeyed his patron (for a good reason, but he doesn't know that, hehe). But instead of punishing his father directly, JJ was the target. He was turned into a Mephistopheles tiefling that day, and his family was horrified. He remembers the look of pure hatred and fear from his grandparents, shouting at him, saying he was now a devil. He doesn't remember his father's face, but he remembers his fingers, pointing at the door, and his husky voice "get out"

Since then, he had to live at the city of Baldur's Gate all by himself. He had some friends, partners, and even a mentor (which the dream visitor had taken form of)... but he never got back what he lost that day: love and identity

He spent a good portion of his life, mainly his adolescence, trying to "fit in". He even cut his horns off, which he regretted later down the road as he's now more confident in who he is. Beeing cursed by a devil at the age of 6, as one might imagine, was no easy feat. And aside from gaining an appearance that everyone deemed as "hellspawn", he also gained powers. Powers in which he can not control very well, but powers nonetheless (sorcerer wild magic)

After a whole life of stealing, performing, trying out magic and needing to run because uh oh you accidentally sumoned a troll in a bar! He... well, his life continued shit, but he never gave up. He had some not so trustworthy friends, but hey, as long as they're not a devil or a warlock, he's a very social guy!

Before he was captured by the mindflayers, he was actually planning on traveling around! He wanted to get all his skills worked on. Maybe study a bit more of his magic, as a wizard.... maybe becoming a bard with his musical talent... hell, maybe he'd finally accept his calling for the rogue life! The opportunities were endless!

That is until, of course, he got a tadpole in his mind... but eh, he was planning on traveling one day anyways, so why not use this as an excuse? (definitely not frightened at all haha what do you mean?)

So far, he's really enjoying his adventure! Here's what he thinks about each companion:

Lae'zel: heh, she wants to kill me! (nervously sweating and trying to do what she says because he's terrified, but also really likes her interrogation methods!)

Shadowheart: she's hiding something. She ain't fooling me...

Astarion: he's also hiding something, never EVER trust the snobs from the upper city.... unless, of course, you want their money/sleep with them. (thinks Astarion is a less hot version of him, with how similar they act. Except JJ actually has a soft spot for children and little rascals, so he'll always help them. He's more chaotic good)

Gale: i really liked him and wanted him to teach me how to do magic safely, but never mind! He just ate my magic spear, which doesn't seem very safe...

Wyll: he makes me angry with how he challenges my morals, okay? you shouldn't be nice! You're a warlock! (has a mental breakdown watching Wyll get transformed like he did and wonders if his father was a good man like Wyll all along)

Karlach: I was deadset on killing her... turns out she's not a devil! just a person like me! i really like her (wants to kill Zariel and enter rage like Karlach one day)

BONUS:

He knew damn well what he was getting into but opened the door anyways and said he was gonna write a smut about it (he's batshit insane)

Anyways... I guess that's it. That's all I have for now, I haven't progressed much into the game... sorry if his information is a little scattered around, I don't have it organized and probably didn't mention somethings (he chose his name, for example)

[saltyowlet]

Some Tav lore dump cause I'm on that good brain rot. Introducing my main Tavs, Eve and Olive. Spoilers for Act1 and 2

Eve:

Chaotic good; doesn't have a plan but got the spirit

Druid, Circle of the Moon. Fav wild shape is bear and spider. She likes to look intimidating. Multiclass eventually as a barbarian as she's gotten more Angier and short fused cause a certain goddess

Is quite a fan of Halsin and his work. May have fangirled when she first met him. Doesn't hurt that he's so beefy and hot

Polyamory but fell for Gale enough where she isn't bother about being monogamous. Plus, she's too busy trying to fight Mystra.

Would have punched Mystra if she ever saw her. What do you mean you told your Chosen to kill himself???

Totally hooked up with Astarion that one time but ended it with him cause the man had googly eyes for the leader of the pack. Actually became a good friend of his cause of how earnest she was

Fell head over heals for Gale. She likes smart men, plus, listening to him talk and lecture is hot to her. She's not the smartest person, so it's nice to be with someone who is. Gale's way with words? Mr. I've got a practiced tongue? She was a goner

Mighty insecurities about how others respond to her looks. She knows she's pretty, but it annoys her that it's one of the only things people care about.

Looks sweet and innocent but regularly digs through dead bodies and viscera for supplies. Her circle regularly studied dead animals and people for information and understanding of nature ethically. She would be a doctor or mortician in another life.

The type to respond to a dare by upping the ante.

Sleeps top less much to the chagrin of the camp. Nudism was a common thing in her former circle. Gale is not bothered by it at a certain point.

Olive:

Said leader of the pack. Reluctant cause why is everyone going to her for advice and decision making???. She just helped a few people, and now everyone decides she was the leader?

Monk, Way of the 4 Elements. Possible multiclass as a rogue cause Astarion influences. Plus, really good dex

A durge trying her best to stop being so stabby. Regularly throws up and self hurt cause she really is disgusted by her thoughts. She moves her tent far from camp after a certain night in Act1.

Neutral good or True neutral.

Initially, she was not into helping others besides her camp cause turning a mind flayer is kind of dire, but if helping someone benefited them with finding the cure, then fine, she'll help.

However, after seeing what happened to the tieflings in Act2, she became more assertive and vowed to get them safe. It becomes a turning point in how she responds to conflicts and her role as the leader of the camp. Talked her way through all the bbg in Moonrise

Most actions are done for the good of the camp or by guilt. Altruism isn't her Forte, but it doesn't hurt to do if it's on the way. Miss. "I'm not being nice I'm being efficient."

Fuck the gods.

Confession immediately after the orthon fight was cute cause she talked her way out of orthon encounter. Astarion found it extremely terrifying, impressive, and kinda hot. She was a sobbing mess after confession, she had fallen hard for him and didn't know how to deal with happiness. They started sleeping in the same tent from then on.

Enemies to rivals to lovers Astarion. Mostly cause of trauma bonding. Didn't care about him cause she doesn't like overly flirty people. But after bard death, her guilt gave way to sympathy for Astarion's own problems. More lax about his "evil" side so long as it's within reason and doesn't go too far. She knows he's mostly all talk

Astarion had some competition cause everyone in camp ended up having some form of a crush on her. Plus, she had a crush on Wyll but squished that after the bard night.

Never cared for sex. Likes makeouts and the occasional Astarion whispers of sweet nothings. Only slept with him 1 time before confession cause she could tell Astarion needed to, even if she didn't know why.

Ngl, my art doesn't do justice on how beautiful Eve

Olive is a bit easier but her tattoos are difficult. I do like how her skin tone can go from light blue to green depending on the lighting in the game

[sanguineslave]

HI HELLO I SAW YOUR POST ABOUT GIVING U A PROMPT AND I LEAPT TO SUBMIT THIS

so uhh is it ok if you write some fluff about my bard Tav, Severin (he/him) having Astarion as the muse for his music? except Astarion doesn’t know this until after he shows the camp a song he wrote (and i didn’t add gale because i didn’t think to, i got the other main ones in cano though lmao). also this is Severin

tysm for reading this!!

Okay, I sort of went overboard with this because I haven't written anything longer than a few paragraphs in AGES, and I've literally never written fluff, but I hope this is alright! Your Tav looks so cool 👉👈 I was kinda afraid to write about him too much cuz idk his personality eksjejsjj

Misunderstandings

Content style: angst, fluff (???), comedy, probably ooc

Content warnings: mild references to violence and problems with sexual boundaries

Astarion is used to people staring at him. The past two centuries of his life had been filled with wanton gazes; his life's purpose was to attract attention everywhere he went, and he did it very well. He knew he was beautiful, tempting and handsome. He even revelled in it.

...So why was Severin's stare sending chills up his spine?

It had been going on for a few days, now— this awkward little situation. Astarion would sit and read, or pretend to read and eavesdrop on others' conversations. This was the routine he'd adopted since he first arrived at camp. But, now, anything he did was accompanied by fleeting little glances from the camp bard. At first, Astarion figured the man had fallen head-over-heels for him, that he was hot under the collar and desperate for some attention. Now, he's not sure if Severin is crushing on him or plotting his murder. His gaze is too fiery, too trained on the features of his face to be lustful. He never directly approaches him, either; just watches from behind his tent flaps, crossed legged and only ever looking away when Astarion meets his gaze.

Confronting Severin about all of this had crossed his mind, but he'd decided against it. Avoidance, Astarion figured, was probably the best course of action, at least until Severin finally snapped and put a blade to his throat. After all, he couldn't exactly prove that the bard had murderous intentions. Maybe he was just shy. Maybe, he was working up the courage to ask for a fuck and had no idea how ridiculously creepy his staring was. He wouldn't be the first man to be so oblivious...

"Tonight, we feast!" Wyll's booming voice rips Astarion from his thoughts, head snapping around to see what the warlock was fussing over. Beside him, Lae'zel holds up an elk by the antlers, the creature's eyes lifeless and clouded. There was an arrow sticking into its neck, weeping blood fresh enough to smell on the air.

"Fuck yes! I'll start the fire," Karlach rubs her hands together, the heat generated between them enough to create flickering embers.

"I'll fetch our wine," Shadowheart adds.

All at once, everyone is bustling around the camp, grabbing pots and emptying baskets to find fresh vegetables. Everyone except Astarion, of course, who bristles in place. A camp get-together was the last thing he needed; declining the invitation would make him look sulky in front of his companions, and joining them would entail a night full of Severin's awkward stares. The Hells was he supposed to do?

"Astarion?" Wyll calls his name, pensive. He hadn't realised he was scowling, fangs just barely peeking out from under his lip. "I was going to leave a hunk of the meat raw, in case, you know..."

Aha! An opening!

"Oh, no, dead meat is of no use to me. I like my food... Very fresh. I'm afraid I'll have to hunt for my own meal tonight." He plays his best pout, eyes gleaming with insincerity. For once, his vampirism was a benefit; it was an excuse to hunt, to leave camp for a few hours while everyone else talked amongst themselves. Moreover, Severin wouldn't be able to chase after him with everyone else around him, watching. Most likely, he'd be the night's entertainment, strumming songs on his lute until his finger pads were raw and everyone was full of stew. Yes... Yes, this was the perfect excuse to get some peace and quiet!

"You're not joining us tonight?" Severin's voice is like honey, smooth and warm. There's a hint of... Disappointment? Sadness, perhaps, in it as well. Astarion regards him with a courteous nod, jaw clenching slightly. How could such an innocent face belong to a killer? Well— actually, that was a stupid question. Everyone in this camp was a killer; everyone had killed goblins and bandits and gods-know-what-else along their journey. Astarion mentally rephrased his sentence: how could such an innocent face, a face that had so openly welcomed his vampirism weeks earlier, be planning his demise? The idea seems preposterous now that he's up close to the other for the first time in days. Hells, there was no way it was true.

If he had the ability to, Astarion might've blushed in embarrassment. This paranoia was unbecoming of him; it was childish, something his siblings might've engaged in. Of course Severin wasn't planning on killing him!

"...not tonight," is all he manages before scampering away.

---

A small boar and a few hares. The forest was almost empty tonight. Lae'zel, all brutish and ugly as sin, must have chased all the game away in her hunt earlier...

Or, maybe, he's just sloppy tonight.

Astarion can't think of much besides Severin. Like many a man and woman before him, he was enchanted by his looks. Unlike most, though, he wasn't direct enough to proposition him for sex outright. He was more like a blushing maiden, or one of those gruff, bearded Gur he'd find in taverns— too scared to approach a man for pleasure but clearly interested in the idea. Confessing his vampirism must've put him on edge, blinding him to reason. Guilt pools in his stomach. Not only had he made assumptions about an ally, but he'd been depriving him of a service he wanted. What a horrible person he was.

---

The walk back to camp is more like a shuffle, his feet heavy and slow. Part of him hopes that everyone will be asleep when he returns, but he knows that chance is slim. And, sure enough, when the gleam of their campfire comes into view, he hears bouts of boisterous laughter and drunken conversation. Astarion steels himself, paints a confident facade over his face.

Before he can step into the clearing, Severin interrupts him.

"Alright, alright, I'll play it for you. It's not finished yet, though, so you mustn't judge it!"

Then, a gentle, melodic tune thrums to life through the strings of his lute. Astarion pauses, watching through thick tree branches. He sings gently, quietly— like he's embarrassed of his own work. The lyrics are hard to make out from behind the camp, but a few words make their way to his ears.

They make his jaw slacken.

Sanguine eyes, hair of silver, something something... Adventures, tales of legend, something...

Astarion kicks himself internally. He'd never been so wrong about someone. The tadpole in his head, clearly, was eating away at his intelligence and leaving him stupid. Of course Severin, a bard, was using his environment as inspiration for his music. The staring, the lack of conversation... It was all because he was observing him from afar. Every arrow he let loose, every book he nestled into after a long day— he was being immortalised in song, in poetry.

He releases a breath he didn't know he was holding. A deep dread, seated in the bottom of his unbeating heart, evaporates all at once and he feels a little lighter. Happy, even.

When Severin finishes, Astarion comes into the firelight and claps slowly, his usual confidence restored with a renewed vigor.

"Bravo, bravo! What an inspiring performance, darling!" The others seem to agree with him, nodding their heads and cheering with varying degrees of sobriety. "If I were a goblin, I'd lock you up like that Volo character and have you sing about me all day long." He makes sure to hold his gaze with those words, eyes radiating a sincerity he can't portray through words. Thank you, they say. Thanks for what, exactly, he isn't sure. But he's thankful nonetheless.

Thank you, Severin.

[desiredcrescent]

So ya like BG3 Characters?

I got encouragement from one (1) person and im ill with oc thoughts so here we go ✨ Maybe more characters to come but we're dealing bg3 here!

Always open to discuss characters with others, receive asks and the like! I just get very distracted so it might take me a few days to get to you 😅

have some memes before walls of text ✨

Farryn, Tiefling Wild Magic Sorcerer (25 years old)

If you think there's a favourite here on the blog ur right. this is my babyboy. He occupies my brain most of the time. First bg3 tav realness. (the art is by my lovely partner bwee)

- Romancing Astarion and Halsin

- Besties with Karlach

- Dancing around emotions with Wyll (The potential that larian purposefully stood in the way of actually makes me ill fr,,,, why did i not get the dance scene besties.... what did i do wrong...)

~~~

- Glass cannon who's willing to push himself to the limit (magical fatigue themes my beloved) to guarantee his survival. He IS reckless but he will make sure everyone gets out alive.

- He's a city boy stumbling around out here, Perishing at the rough and tumble camp life but he is also in awe of the natural world.

- He mostly acts with self preservation in mind, leading to him being largely non-combatitive whenever possible, or at worst making bold but necessary sacrifices for his and his companions' safety.

- Hates the idea of gods being these fonts of absolute rules and fate being prewritten. Hated everyone being on their god related bullshit.

- He will claim to be a hater!!! he is lying with his 20 CHA score!!! he is in fact a lover at his core. He has so much love for his companions and the world around him despite how it's treated him.

- he's kinda vain in that rich kid way, he has an appreciation for dance and fashion, definitely has standards when it comes to meals eaten too.

~~~

Farryn is the 3rd child to an influential Baldur's Gate family. He was raised in complete secrecy from the prying eyes of the Baldur's Gate elite due to him being born a tiefling. It'd simply ruin his family's image. His family were deeply devoted to the God of Fate, Savras, and in turn all were either skilled diviners, or various clerics in His service.

When he turned 11, he awoke to his magic in a display of chaos, and gifted the slight gift of being able to take control of the wheels of fate. His family then suddenly doted on him, believing him to be the potential chosen of Savras, and this being a blessing for new followers. Their dedication and warped ideas of Farryn lead them to trying to canonize him as some sort of figurehead on the day of his 14th Birthday. After the failure, they bide their time until Farryn's 21st, to try again. But this time he ran, and has been since trying to live in a world where he never truly existed.

~~~

Daeris Cylian, Half-Drow PalaBard, Oath of Vengeance/College of Swords (57~ Years old)

So he was conceptulised as: how fucked up would it be to play a dark urge paladin who fights so hard to keep his oath and yeah. answer is pretty fucked.

- Romancing: Undecided! the allure of Wyll romance is true,,,

- Besties with: Lae'zel, he likes her forwardness and devotion.

- He's not taken his bard levels yet but we're getting there guys. Fic incoming.

- Resisting the Urge (i might be splitting saves to have him break beneath the urge but shh not rn)

~~~

- Soft spoken and gentle mannered, until he's on the battlefield.

- Being a durge he's perhaps a bit too comfortable being covered in blood

- His two instincts being 'kill' and 'be killed for the cause' creates a guy fr.

- He'll never wield a shield, but he'll put himself on the front lines to take the hardest hits. He believes that if he gets hit, its one hit that hasn't landed on someone else.

- He tries to see the best in people, but the second they're responsible for another's suffering?? thin ice.

- Hot. He's hot.

- He plays the lute and violin but he doesn't know that. (calloused hands perhaps better suited to the delicate playing of an instrument, rather than the brutal grip of a heavy weapon)

- Martyr complex off the CHARTS. He will throw himself into every situation possible with little to no regard for his safety. He'll always take the opportunity to suffer in place of someone else.

- an "I'd die for you" kinda guy if that wasn't super clear.

~~~

Daeris awoke on the Nautiloid with the prayers of Ilmater rattling in his head before even his own name. He fought through the nautiloid, horrified at what was going on but unable to save anyone else or lessen the pains they were experiencing. As he awoke on the beach in the wreckage, he swore an oath of vengeance for those who perished on the nautiloid, to hunt down those responsible for... well everything.

Being quick to dedicate himself to Ilmater, he remembers pretty much the core beliefs, about shouldering the suffering of others and acting as selflessly as possible.

~~~

Cress, Tiefling Circle of Spores Druid/Gloomstalker Ranger (20 something, they never really kept track)

- Romancing: No one yet but they have eyes for Karlach

- Best friends with: Lae'zel and Wyll

- Not sure the split on Ranger/Druid levels just yet, I'm not a min-maxer with this stuff and its mostly based on vibes.

~~~

- Happy-go-lucky to a fault! They're so energetic and trusting but this comes with its issues.

- They're SUPER trusting of their 'guardian' and are grateful for some direction.

- Due to their mostly spore-based connections with the Myconids, Cress doesn't love talking. Their voice is often hoarse from disuse, and they definitely prefer any psychic or magical means of communication.

- They're in LOVE with the flora of the surface, they have no idea how to garden but they're so happy to learn.

- They're a psychical touch kinda person, purely because of the lack of it they had growing up.

- If we got one guy who hates gods (Farryn) and a guy who's whole thing is abt his relationship to a god (Daeris), Cress is the guy who simply is a bit clueless on the gods. They live under a rock in those terms. They've read books on some gods but that's probably as far as they've gotten.

- They literally want everyone to like them sooo much.

~~~

Cress is a tiefling who, after being abandoned by their parents at a young age, found themselves scared and alone in the Underdark.

They were just a child stumbling around, and happened upon the Myconid Colonies. Being a child who didn't particularly understand, they just saught shelter and community. And the Myconids offered them this, wearily at first, but as soon as it was clear this child wasn't really going to mean them harm, it was an easy enough transition. Being raised by Myconids was a strange one, perhaps distant in a way but Cress only yearned for acceptance, which they offered freely.

As they grew older, they conversed with outsiders and assisted adventurers and acted as the go to for vibe checking those who wished to temporarily stay in the Myconids' company. They also became an expert navigator for lost adventurers, only asking for seemingly meaningless trinkets from the surface. On one such trip up to the surface, they found themselves snatched up by a nautiloid, and the adventure begins from here.

~~~

Honourary mention to my bastard (affectionate) Serene- I'm just eepy otherwise I'd do a full breakdown.

He's a Knowledge domain cleric to Mystra because i want to menace Gale personally. He's in my co-op game with my lovely partner and between the two of us we've made our tavs the good ol Excited Labrador and Black Cat friendship. Serene is relatively fearless which doubles up as his greatest flaw. idiot for the sake of research and curiosity. the weird hateful yaoi they could have with gale is definitely compelling

~~~

[moxley]

Tell me about your Tav!

oh boy

my first tav is a hot mess bard named fflewddur; he has no idea how he wound up in this situation, and he's too trusting and slightly malicious in the same moment, leading to the kind of idiot who trusts the emperor and keeps accepting tadpoles into his brain, but also who sold the githyanki egg. his brain is literally swiss cheese. he sleeps with everyone he can, and he's poly with halsin & astarion.

then my second tav is annatar, a dark urge paladin who gives into every compulsion that he so much as thinks of. he doesn't know why he's following through on everything awful, but he is. he's with astarion, although shadowheart fell in love with him too, for some reason. he is going to destroy the world out of ignorance for why he wants to destroy the world.

i also have a half-orc monk, rhin, who is also dark urge, but is going to try and do her damned best to save the world and romance shadowheart.

and then i have just tav, a draconic tiefling who is going to multiclass into everything and romance gale.

[lastlight-inn]

💜🩷🤍 🫶

💜 Purple: Name one song you're listening to while writing your next/current fanfic. How or why does it help the writing process?

HAHAHAHAHAHH oh, anon you've opened up the biggest can of worms😈

SO one thing to get out of the way is that I do NOT have an ear for lyrics. My partner makes fun of me for it, frequently. But given I started writing a bard-centric fanfic, I wanted what I included to make sense in some capacity (esp with the WIPs I haven't published yet for reasons people will hopefully see before I die).

Writing has been very hard atm so I don't have one song I've been focusing on for You're At The Top of My Lungs. But! I do have songs that I've been listening to for WIPs and also some fun stuff for future chapters that have already been written for YATTOML.

So...for the WIPs? It's still Very loosey-goosey atm AND this song literally just came out but "The girl, so confusing version with lorde" by Charlie XCX has been on repeat the past few days because it's a bop but also because I've been associating with a Modern AU with Gale x Tav but they WEREN'T childhood friends beforehand. The lyrics have nothing to do with it, but the song feels linked to them, now. It be like that sometimes.

Similarly, for YATTOML a song that accidentally became attached to a chapter is Femininomenon by Chappell Roan. I'll probably mention it in the chapter notes once the chapter is posted, but I have yet to decide if I'll put it in the fic's playlist or not. Again, lyrics have nothing to do with it but there's a lot of action in this particular chapter where the flow and energy of Femininomenon just fits.

Lastly, there's a Modern College AU that I've been trying to solidify that I have an entire album that's...perfect. But if I had to share One song it's Love by Hana Vu. I recommend her whole album, Romanticism to everyone. I like imagining that Poppy could have written this album, it fits her so well.

anyway...that's ONE question lmao let's get to the others.

🩷 Pink: Do you find a certain character (or characters) easy to write? More difficult -- and if so, do you avoid writing that character (or those characters) when possible?

Honestly? I have a hard time writing most of the rest of the party. I think I've said this in an AO3 comment or tumblr tags or something but I find it very difficult to Not start every sentence Karlach says with "Hey Soldier!" and every sentence Astarion says with "Darling." This can be fixed if I go on youtube and watch dialogue videos for all the other characters but I just...don't. Maybe the lack of Lae'zel in my fic also shows how idk how to write her 💀. I try to include the group as best I can because Gale x Tav doesn't happen in a vacuum but I definitely avoid writing the others lmao. I just want to listen and stare at our resident wizard hehe.

🤍 White: What's a fanfic scenario or idea you'd like someone else to write so that you can read it?

Gods. Hrm. So many of the scenarios I have in my head are so Poppy x Gale centric that I can't imagine other people writing them. But generally I would love more Modern AUs. There's a lot of Gale x Tav bg3 story/game playthrough fics out there and (if I can share a hot-take) an over-saturation of them. A little ironic/hypocritical coming from someone writing one of those very fics but ah whatever. No shade at all to anyone trying to write those fics, please please do it. The best thing I've done for myself this year is start writing about my Tav and Gale. Get those words out. Post it. Keep writing and keep posting. Don't let one millennial on the internet tell you what to do lmao.

Most of the Modern Gale fics I've seen are professor Gale x student Tav. Granted, I don't expand my reading horizons into many other relationship combinations (I read some Bloodweave here and there) but that's the go-to Modern AU because his good ending in bg3 is Gale becoming a professor (and professors are HOT!!). It's why I'm excited about my Modern College AU. I've very recently been inspired by The Season by Linnetagain and have been considering Actor Gale x Musician Poppy for that aforementioned "Modern AU with Gale x Tav but they WEREN'T childhood friends beforehand" I've been thinking about with Charlie XCX in the background. I have a hard time with making other Modern AU situations happen because of reasons I'll get further into in the next ask I have in my inbox (coming shortly) but in short, Poppy is a Very Very old OC and she has Always been a musician. I have a hard time inserting her anywhere else.

Anyway, PUT THAT WIZARD IN SITUATIONS!!! Gimme that yummy Modern AU goodness.