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mooshywrites · 3 months

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If requests are still open: may we have hcs about how the bg3 boys react to bard!Tav serenading them? I just think it would be so cute

A/N ~ I love this idea so much, I just know it deserves frantic bard writing ;-;

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Serenade

Gn!Reader x BG3 men

Masterlist

Art commissions

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Astarion ~

Astarion thought bards were utterly useless until he met you. He had never put that much stock into music either. But the day you sat in front of the campfire with him, plucking your lute to all of the songs you knew, his heart melted.

As the soft melody of your voice filled the air, Astarion found himself captivated by the enchanting sound. His skeptical gaze softened, replaced by a glimmer of curiosity and wonder. The flickering flames of the campfire danced to the rhythm of your fingertips, casting mystical shadows upon the surrounding trees.

Lost in the embrace of your music, Astarion closed his eyes and let himself drive sea. Your voice, like silk, wove together tales of love and heroism. With each note that danced upon the night breeze, he felt a newfound appreciation for the artistry that had eluded him for so long.

Unbeknownst to you, Astarion’s icy exterior began to slowly thaw beneath the warmth of your melodic gift. The walls he had built around himself slowly crumbled, revealing vulnerabilities long buried within.

As the lullaby reached a gentle conclusion, a momentary silence settled over the campsite. Astarion opened his he’s, finding himself gazing into the depths of your own. In that instant, he saw a reflection of his own longings and desires. The connection between you, forged through the simplicity of this moment, was as delicate as a spiders web.

Without breaking eye contact, the pale elf reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. In that simple touch, a current passed between you, a sliver of magic that pulsed through your veins.

Wordlessly, Astarion leaned closer, his breath mingling with yours. Time slowed to a standstill as the world around you faded into insignificance. The flickering flames cast their golden glow hook. Your faces, illuminating the unspoken words hanging in the air.

And then, with a emotion in his voice that you had never heard before, Astarion whispered,

“Play for me again?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Gale ~

Gale always knew there was a magical quality to music. He saw you as a mirror image of himself, being hopelessly in love with a type of magic that would never love you back with the same intensity.

Though he’d never admit it to you, he silently hoped every evening that you would unwind by playing a song. As dusk began to fall, the sunset painting strokes of red and gold, today’s hope was no different.

You sat by the edge of your tent, your fingers absentmindedly plucking at your lyre as you tried to think of a song to sing. You caught Gale’s eye and smiled, his gaze finally giving you inspiration to play.

Your fingers began to dance effortlessly across the strings of the lyre, coaxing out a gentle melody that floated on the evening breeze. The magic of your music filled the air, intertwining with the vibrant colors of the sunset as they painted the sky. Gale watched enraptured, his eyes never leaving you.

As Gale watched on, the wizard felt a deep longing stir within him, a longing for something he couldn't quite put into words. In that moment, he realized that his admiration for you went far beyond your musical prowess.

Unable to resist any longer, Gale rose from his seat and made his way toward you. As he approached, the song you played seemed to weave its way into his very being, tugging at the strings of his heart.

You looked up as Gale drew nearer, a soft smile gracing your lips. The notes from your lyre seemed to synchronize perfectly with the rhythm of his footsteps, as if they were guiding him towards you. The music wrapped around him like a warm embrace, filling him with a sense of belonging he had never experienced before.

Finally, Gale stood before you, his eyes shimmering with a mixture of vulnerability and admiration. You hesitated your playing for just a moment before Gale’s broke out in a grin.

“Surely you weren’t singing about a special someone, were you?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Halsin ~

Halsin was probably your favorite person to play music for as of late. When he had first joined your camp, he only sat and watched when you brought out your guitar. It seemed to you that he was lost in his own mind most of the time, not allowing himself even the smallest of happy moments.

When you finally where able to heal the deep scars of the shadow curse, Halsin’s tune changed dramatically. Suddenly he was sat by you in the camp at all times, asking about what instruments you could play, requesting certain songs, trying to sing along to your gentle melodies.

What he loved most of all, however, was challenging you. He loved to see how quickly you could create a song. How easily you could string a line of lyrics about any topic under the sun. Tonight, he had a very simple ask.

Sing something that reminds you of the beauty of nature.

You could tell by the look in his eyes, the shyness in his tone, that his question had much deeper meaning to him than just that of a pretty song. No, he wanted to connect with you on a deeper level but couldn’t think of a way to make it meaningful for you both.

Despite all of that, you decided to indulge him.

As the moon cast its gentle glow over the camp, you took a deep breath and let your fingers dance across the strings of your lute. The melody flowed effortlessly from your fingertips, each note carrying the essence of nature's beauty.

You sang of sweeping meadows bathed in sunlight, where wildflowers bloomed in a riot of colors. You spoke of ancient forests, their branches intertwined like lovers, whispering secrets to the wind. Your voice soared, echoing through the night, as you conjured images of cascading waterfalls and shimmering lakes that reflected the starry sky above.

Halsin closed his eyes, completely absorbed in the enchantment of your song. It was more than just music to him; it was a bridge connecting his wounded soul to the world around him. As you sang, his spirits lifted, his heart opening up like a flower basking in the warmth of the sun.

When your song reached its final notes, there was a moment of comfortable emptiness. Halsin opened his eyes and looked at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. The silence that followed your song was filled with the lingering echoes of your melody, as if the very air was reluctant to let go of the magic you had created.

And then, Halsin spoke. His voice was barely above a whisper, as if he feared that any sound would shatter the fragile connection between you both. “Thank you,” he said, his words carrying a weight of gratitude that touched your heart.

“For so long, I had forgotten the beauty that resides in nature. The curse had consumed me, turning everything around me into shadows and sorrow. But through you, I have found solace and hope once again.”

Tears glistened in his eyes as he continued, his voice trembling with emotion.

“Sing it again?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Wyll ~

Wyll adored your music. It took him a few days to work up the courage, but it wasn’t long before he was asking you to sing while the two of you were dancing. His dancing lessons had started out with just him humming a simple melody, but soon, it was your voice carrying the timing of the song.

Those nights meant a lot to you, the ones where he’d sweep you into his arms, begging you to sing for him. Tonight, however, wouldn’t be one of those night. Wyll had taken a bad hit in a battle today, his injury burning every time he took a step.

He was in no shape to dance, and yet, he still found you by the stream that evening, ready to try anyways. It took a scolding and a few pleas, but he finally agreed to postponed that night’s dancing lesson, settling for hearing you play him a few songs instead.

His eyes drifted shut as you started to weave your magic tune, transporting him to a world of serenity and solace. The melody danced delicately in the air, casting a soothing spell over his weary soul. He leaned back against the moss-covered boulder, surrendering himself to the enchantment of your music.

As your fingers caressed the strings of your instrument, Wyll's mind drifted away from the pain and turmoil of battle. Images of lush meadows and cascading waterfalls began to form in his imagination, replacing the harsh reality of the war-torn realm they inhabited. He could almost feel the gentle breeze brushing against his face and hear the distant chirping of birds as they celebrated the arrival of a new day.

Lost in the ethereal sounds that resonated through the forest, Wyll's features softened, and a serene smile graced his lips. The worries and burdens that burdened him melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of peace. In this moment, he found solace within your music a refuge amidst chaos.

You brought him so much peace.

As the song came to an end, Wyll sighed happily, looking over to you with affection across all of his features.

“If I could only put into words as beautifully as you spin a song, I’d tell you what you meant to me.”

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 5 months

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Ok but for the “astarion makes noises anyway becasue it’s funny” part of that list do they also make bets over which companion won’t look them in the eye the next morning and/or complains about it?? Cause I feel like that’s on brand

Oh absolutely.

If it’s a matter of who is going to say something first, Astarion puts his money on Lae’zel to complain while Tav is fairly certain Karlach is going to give them a high five.

As for who won’t look them in the eye, Astarion puts his money on Wyll even going to far as to steal one of his romance novels only to give it back to him the next day and apologize saying, “just looking for inspiration” ;).

Meanwhile Tav puts their money on Gale because the that first morning after the group presumed they had sex Gale asked if they had “lied comfortably”. The man is simultaneously shameless and embarrassed about sex. (Also I do think Gale had a little crush on Tav at the start of their adventure which makes it even more awkward but that’s a sorry for another day)

Post for context

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x ace!tav #astarion ancunin #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #asexual!tav #bard!tav #astarion x reader #karlach #lae’zel #wyll ravengard #Wyll #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #Gale #astarion x evie

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kohlastercypress · 5 days

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Our Love, Our Adventures ❤ Aster : Human Druid Kohl : Drow Bard Cypress : Warriors Dragonborn

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scarredwithcruelintentions · 20 days

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chapter 3: a desperate revelation

Find the masterlist here!

CW: Astarion talks about his abuse.

W/C: 2,795

A/N: My dog had heart surgery last week... please send all the good vibes for her recovery!

After the arduous fight with the Hag, Astarion wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bedroll. Shadowheart had mended the worst of their wounds with a healing prayer, and your quiet songs of rest had bolstered their energy for the trek back to camp. Once out of the bog, the fading rays of the sun’s light were visible once more.

He paused a moment to marvel at the way they painted the sky in various hues of pinks and oranges, a sight he had long since given up hope of ever seeing again. He tried to convince himself that any day spent in the sun was a day worth having, no matter how fleeting a retreat it might be.

A plaintive sigh escaped him at the prospect of returning to the shadows after being blessed by the warmth of the light.

“Copper for your thoughts?” you intoned from behind him, startling him out of his quiet reverie.

“For nearly two centuries, I’ve known nothing but darkness and pain. To stand in the sun, after so much tragedy and despair, is nothing short of a miracle,” he whispered, afraid that if he spoke any louder, it would shatter the beautiful illusion he’d come to know and he’d instead find himself a psychotic wreck, locked in a mausoleum somewhere at Cazador’s behest again.

He tracked your approach in his peripheral vision, mentally preparing himself to broach the topic of his past, of his Master’s cruelty. You stopped at his side and gazed out into the encroaching darkness with him, listening along as the song of birds gave way to the chirp of crickets. The stars began their winking, and the ambiance of rural night crept over them in a subdued melody.

“Without darkness, there would be no light,” you said quietly.

He peered over at you, watching as the moon started its trek across the indigo sky just above your head. You glanced at him, and your eyes met his for a moment. He did not expect the sorrow that he found in their depths. He opened his mouth, but no sound left his lips, the icy fingers of fear choking him. He closed his eyes and steadied himself, preparing to spill his darkest secrets upon reopening them.

“Come, friend,” your hushed voice met his ears. “We are not far from camp. We may speak there.”

With that, the moment was broken. Astarion opened his eyes to see your retreating form, and silently thanked whatever gods still were for the extra time to gather his strength. ______________________________________________________________

Astarion sat alone in his tent, lost in his thoughts. He could hear the chatter and laughter of his companions just beyond its thin walls, but he didn’t even have the heart to observe from afar tonight. He waited in trepidation for you to come find him, drumming his fingers absentmindedly on the closed cover of the book in his lap. Even reading had proven to be an unhelpful distraction.

“Astarion?”

He recognized the lilt of your soft voice and cleared his throat.

“In here, darling,” he called, unwilling to move, lest his legs were to carry him far from this conversation, far from camp in cowardice.

You parted the flaps of his tent with a small smile, a question in your eyes. He waved at the space in front of him, a silent go ahead to enter and sit. You nodded imperceptibly and sat down, crossing your legs and setting your lyre in your lap.

Astarion raised a brow at the instrument.

“Do you ever go anywhere without that?” he asked, curiosity coloring his voice.

“Never,” you grinned. “It’s the source of my connection to the Weave.”

He scoffed, “A lyre?”

“Well, not the lyre specifically,” you blushed, “but the music it creates. Any instrument will do, but this is my instrument of choice.”

“I see,” he said, though he really didn’t.

“Would you like me to give you an example?” you asked kindly.

“Please, be my guest.”

He watched as your delicate fingers plucked a soft melody on the instrument, caressing the tune from them with practiced ease and fondness. The mellifluous sound of your voice began its harmony, and a sense of peace like he had never known washed over him. He was enchanted by your performance, finding it a strangely intimate experience with no one else to accompany the two of you.

All too soon, the final chord resonated in the cavern of his chest with a quiet hum.

Astarion opened his eyes - not remembering having closed them - and gazed at you. The warm feeling from earlier had returned at the start of the song, and had slowly spread its way through his limbs with each progression until he felt light and fuzzy, an unusual and somewhat dizzying sensation. A slight flush had spread across your cheeks and into the bodice of your nightclothes as he regarded you with a soft expression.

“That was lovely,” he murmured, loath to break the tranquil quiet of the moment.

“A Song of Calm for my tense, toothsome friend,” you smiled, voice lowered to match his own.

“Ah! Well that explains the sudden silence in my mind.”

He cracked a wry smile and delighted in your answering giggle. Stillness enveloped the tent once more, and your expression morphed into one of concerned sincerity.

Here we go.

“Are you ready to talk?”

“I don’t want to say a damned thing,” he bit out, rage and fear laced in his voice. You recoiled at his tone, and it took conscious effort for him to soften it. “But that won’t do anyone any good.”

You remained silent, waiting patiently for him to continue. He heaved a great, mournful sigh, and began.

“Cazador Szarr is a vampire lord in Baldur’s Gate. The patriarch of his coven and a monster obsessed with power. Not political power or military power - I mean power over people,” he said with carefully construed apathy, “The power to control them completely. He turned me nearly two hundred years ago. I became his spawn and he became my tormentor.”

His eyes had fallen to the space separating him from you, avoiding the questions he knew he was sure to find in yours.

“How were you turned?” you asked in a whisper. “Did he attack you?”

Astarion sighed again.

“Not him, no. A gang of thugs, the Gur,” he sneered, “attacked me, angry about a ruling that I’d handed down as a magistrate.”

“I see. Is that why you were on edge with the hunter today?”

“Indeed. They’d beaten me to death’s door when Cazador appeared. He chased them off and offered to save me. To give me eternal life. Given that my choices were ‘eternal life’ or ‘bleed to death on the street’, I took him up on the offer.”

He repressed a violent shudder at the memory and ploughed ahead, “It was only afterward that I realized just how long ‘eternity’ could be.”

“I take it he was rather lacking as a master,” you intoned gravely.

“He had me go out into Baldur’s Gate and fetch him the most beautiful souls I could find by whatever means necessary. It was a fun little ritual of his - I’d bring them back and he’d ask me if I wanted to dine with him. And if I said yes, he’d serve me a dead, putrid rat.”

He could still taste it even now, the fetid blood of overripe rodent corpses. He wanted to gag and retch at the thought.

“Of course, if I said no, he’d have me flayed. Hard to say which was worse,” he shrugged matter-of-factly.

“Astarion, that’s terrible. I’m so bloody sorry,” you sniffled.

He looked up at the sound to see the glistening tracks of tears running down your face in the glow of the oil lamp, more yet unshed making your eyes glassy. He didn’t know what he expected your reaction to be, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“Thank you, but this isn’t about the sympathy,” he continued uncomfortably, “it’s about knowing what we might be up against. The Gur hunter won’t be the only one looking for me, what with his favorite plaything being misplaced.”

“Plaything?” you nearly choked.

“Yes, he always did say that my screams sounded sweetest,” he intoned bitterly.

He did not raise his eyes at the sound of your sharp gasp, fearful of what your face would betray.

“Vampire spawn are less than slaves - we’re puppets. All he need do is speak and our bodies obey. The things I’ve done, seen… felt. Well, there are some things better left unsaid,” he finished, voice hollow.

He looked up again to find tears streaming freely down your cheeks, eyes puffy and nose running with your sorrow, the whimpers and sniffles of your sobs echoing in the silence. He was unsure of how to console you, so he simply looked away, giving you time to gather yourself.

“Fuck, m’sorry,” you garbled, and he looked back to see you dashing tears from your eyes. “How insensitive of me. You don’t need my tears to make this wretched retelling any worse.”

“It’s quite alright, dear. It isn’t called a sob story for nothing, after all,” he chuckled, trying for levity to lift the stifling gloom of the atmosphere. His attempt wrested a watery giggle from you, so he considered it a success.

Once your sniffling had died down, a comfortable silence settled over the tent. He had gone back to staring at the empty space of his bedroll between you and him, and a new plan slowly began to unfurl in his mind. You seemed to like him well enough, but was well enough going to keep him safe in the dire straits ahead?

He was broken from his musing by the gentle strings of your lyre, a different melody this time but with a similar effect. The dulcet tones of your harmony flooded him with that strange, tingly warmth again, and he made up his mind in that moment. You were an unalienable ally with your charisma and quiet authority, and he needed to do whatever necessary to stay in your good graces.

Resolute in his decision, he listened intently to your music, laying back on his hands and closing his eyes to bask in the beauty of it. Your songs transitioned smoothly from one into the next, and he soon found himself drifting into his nightly meditation with unprecedented ease. He didn’t even register when the music had stopped, only noticing when your hushed voice temporarily disrupted the blissfully quiet calm of his mind.

“Goodnight, Astarion.” ______________________________________________________________

He rose early the next morning and was pleased to find you already awake. You were breaking your fast with some sludgy gruel the wizard was stirring while Wyll regaled you with animated tales of his heroics. He rolled his eyes at the warlock’s prideful display, but noticed you listening intently, gasping and asking questions at all the perfect intervals. The warlock regarded you with a smile far too fond for his liking, and he found himself calling out to you before he was even sure of what he was going to say.

“Darling, a moment, if you please?”

You gave Wyll a sheepish grin and excused yourself, setting the bowl of lumpy porridge on your stool and sauntering over to him. Astarion snickered to himself at the way the warlock’s face twisted.

“Good morning, Astarion,” you said brightly, smile more radiant than the morning sun.

“Good morning, my sweet. How did you sleep?” he asked, laying the charm on thick.

“Alright, I s’pose. You?”

“Vampires don’t sleep, dear, though I’ll say that last night was the closest I’ve come to it in two centuries,” he replied, trying for his most disarming smile.

“I’m glad to hear it,” you responded softly. “If you’d like to dine with me tonight, I’d be happy to lend my neck.”

Astarion could swear he felt his undead heart give a flutter of a beat before going dormant again.

“Why, there’s nothing I’d love more darling! But, are you sure you’re feeling up to it so soon after the first time?” he asked, his portrayal of concern surprisingly effortless.

He watched as you pulled a pendant out of your decolletage, holding it up so that it glinted in the light. He could feel the faint thrum of the Weave surrounding it.

“I went hunting through my things last night when I remembered I had this. It’s an amulet of restoration. Shadowheart confirmed for me that it will counteract the effects of blood loss,” you beamed.

“My, my. Eager little thing, aren’t you?”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, as you noticeably retreated into yourself.

“I only wanted to help,” you mumbled, eyes downcast.

In a desperate attempt to salvage the conversation, Astarion shifted the subject back to the amulet.

“And wherever did you find such a pretty bauble?”

Your answering grimace and accompanying flush was an unexpected reaction.

Oh, this must be good.

“I nicked it from the druid grove,” you said sheepishly.

“Aren’t you full of surprises, my dear,” he responded with a hearty laugh.

“Shut it, Rogue,” you grumbled at him good-naturedly.

“Never! And in answer to your earlier question, I would be more than delighted to dine with you.” He bowed dramatically, earning him a few bright peals of laughter.

“Your tent, or mine?” he purred. He made a show of watching the way your flush deepened and crept its way down into the plunging neckline of your nightclothes.

“Erm, I’d assume you’d be most comfortable in your tent,” you responded, wringing your hands with eyes downcast once more.

Well, that won’t do.

He reached forward slowly so as not to spook you and tucked a finger under your chin, gently raising your face so he could catch your eyes.

“I can make myself comfortable anywhere for you, dear,” he breathed, watching closely as your lips parted in a silent gasp and pupils dilated infinitesimally wider.

Just as he was about to celebrate this small victory, your eyes cinched shut and a pained expression flitted across your face. He dropped his hand instantly, taken aback by the dramatic shift in your reaction.

“S’not you,” you gritted out, confusing him further. You opened your eyes and took a steadying breath.

“Just a bad memory,” you clarified, standing tall in a display of faux confidence.

It was a tactic he knew all too well, and he could see right through it to the rigid way you held yourself. He felt his face fall with a doleful kind of understanding.

She, too, has endured much torment.

“Ah yes, those I am quite familiar with. We all have skeletons in the closet. An unfortunate side effect of living…” he paused, “and unliving, I suppose.”

You chuckled, easing up again.

“I’m taking Lae’zel, Wyll and Gale with me today to look for the missing druid. We’ll let you know what we find,” you changed the subject, meeting his gaze.

He felt a pang of disappointment with the chill of fear quick on its heels and fought to keep his face neutral, but was ultimately unsuccessful. You caught a glimpse of something, however fleeting, in his eyes that turned your countenance steely.

“He won’t have you, Astarion. You don’t need to go back to him,” you said, suddenly vehement in your determination. It only increased his panic.

“You don’t know Cazador,” he relented in a whisper, “He could have spies anywhere. I could be gone long before you make it back. If he finds me, I will have no choice but to return.”

“He won’t find you. You’re safe with me,” you murmured back, reaching out to take his hands. It was an odd sensation, being held, made odder still by your initiation of the contact.

“Then take me with you,” he begged, just shy of desperate.

He could feel your thumbs sweeping over the backs of his hands, no doubt a placating gesture to ease the burn of your next words.

“Not today. You need to rest after yesterday’s events.”

“How rich, coming from you,” he snapped, withdrawing his hands from your grasp abruptly.

He caught the hurt that flashed across your delicate features before you managed to school your expression, straightening your spine and squaring your shoulders.

He sighed in defeat, “I suppose I will see you tonight, then.”

“Tonight,” you nodded and turned to leave.

You took a few steps away from him and paused, turning halfway back toward him.

“And I mean it, Astarion. You are safe with me. I will watch your back, so long as you watch mine.”

With nothing but your parting words for reassurance, Astarion returned to his tent, succumbing to the biting cold of dread’s barbed claws.

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awesomechocolatesauce · 6 months

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Wyll's really trying to get me to dance with him while my man and Gale are in the background asleep.

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rielzero · 3 months

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Sometimes I make low effort scribbles like this when I'm bored.

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she-dwells-within-the-forest · 16 days

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May I have this dance?

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 wyll #wyll ravengard #wyll x tav #wyll x durge #bg3 durge #bard durge

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blackjackkent · 17 days

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Random little Durge moment I've been bouncing around in my head for a bit...

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Wyll pokes his head out of his tent curiously and can't immediately place the sound. Everything else around their current campsite is natural, gentle - the soft babble of a nearby mountain brook, the brush of wind through the trees. Incongruous, then, is this new sound - of a sharp, atonal twanging at irregular intervals.

Rakha is seated at the edge of the cliff where the camp is placed. Her back is to him, but he can see the head and base of a lute sticking out on either sides of her body. Her head is bowed with an air of intense concentration.

Another sharp twang splits the air.

"Is that Alfira's?" Wyll asks gently, moving over to her side and looking out over the mountain vista below.

Rakha grunts noncommittally. She plucks at the lowest string and listens to its resonance, how it echoes back off the stone face opposite them.

"Have you been carrying that all this while?" He lowers himself to the ground next to her, crossing his legs.

Another grunt, a pause, and then, "Yes." Another pause. "It was the only thing I left intact."

He nods slowly and says nothing further, but listens as she slowly plucks out various notes on the instrument. There's no structure to it; she seems to be analyzing the way the notes shift based on where she places her fingers, but it's certainly not melodic in any fashion.

"Do you know how?" she asks him abruptly, after several minutes of this have gone by.

"I did, once," Wyll says with a slight smile. "My father saw to it all the courtly skills were in good showing - dueling, dancing, music. I never did get much of a knack for it, though. And after seven years, I doubt much has stuck around." He tilts his head. "Do you... want to learn?" he asks cautiously.

She shrugs, twangs out another note. "I did not want to kill her, Wyll," she says.

The hairpin turn of the conversation makes him blink. "So you've said."

"No, I--" She pauses, makes a noise of frustration. "All the others, there was something of me. Some... anger, or fear. Even the squirrel in the grove. I was awake, at least."

"But not Alfira."

"Alfira... my body killed her while I slept." Some complicated emotion works across her face. "I find... the more I travel, the more you teach me... the more it troubles me."

He feels a little flicker of warmth despite the brutality of the subject matter. For everything that she struggles with - and there's a lot of it - she listens to him, she internalizes everything he says, rather as he listened to his father and stored away each bit of wisdom as it trickled down to him. There is a trust in that - in both directions.

"And that's why you're playing her lute?" he asks slowly.

Rakha runs her fingers high up on the fretboard, pulls the highest string and listens to it squeak. "It doesn't bring her back," she says to herself.

Not quite an answer, but close enough. "When we get to the city... there are people who can teach you." He smiles slightly again. "Perhaps I'll pick it up again myself."

A long, long pause. She strums her fingers along the lute from top to bottom, playing out a sharply dissonant chord that makes his teeth ache. "Perhaps."

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #durgewyll #wylldurge #durge x wyll #wyll x durge #durge #bg3 durge #bg3 drabble #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #my writing #wyll ravengard #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #rakha has been carrying around alfira's lute in her inventory for weeks now #purely bc i intended to write this at some point XD #it occurs to me that zenjestrr was suggesting a possible late-game build for rakha involving levels in bard #which didn't actually affect my plan to write this at all but does tie in nicely now that i think about it

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ghost-proofbaby · 2 months

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“By all means, sharpen your axe, dear,” his voice has dropped to a hush, and she feels a shiver run up her spine once she realizes just how close he is now. She hadn’t even noticed his hand creeping up between them until his fingertips were just barely brushing her throat. A hovering grasp, a mere breath away from wrapping around her, “And I’ll ready my hands.”

summary: aruna and astarion begin to have a few interesting conversations, but she can't seem to shake that part of her that craves to keep him close. the part of her desperate to convince her that she knows him.

wc: 5.1k+

warnings: continued memory loss, spoilers for the game (specifically for a conversation that you can have with astarion that isn't triggered by a cut scene or exclamation point lol), talk of hypothetical murder as flirting

a/n: possibly one of my favorite rewrites of a canon scene thus far. will always be mad we couldn't say 'strangulation' as how we want to go. but i digress. also to anyone who is unfamiliar with the game this might seem fast paced, but to anyone who has played the game, this is probably dragging. my bad. anyways, please enjoy <;3 and peep my nod of homage to the way i keep making bard tavs only to abandon them

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The tiefling, Zevlor, had proven to be an interesting conversation.

He wants something in return for a favor. Of course he does. Aruna doesn’t even glance Astarion’s way, because she’s not in the mood to be told I told you so once it’s all said and done. She’d heard every huff and sigh from him as she’d talked to Zevlor, and she already knew he was less than impressed with how the conversation had gone.

The grove is closing itself off. The refugees are at risk of being sent to their certain death. Zevlor wants them to speak to the druids. There’s a healer named Nettie who may be able to help them.

There’s a healer named Nettie who may be able to help them.

Aruna is an optimist, and chooses to focus on that bit rather than the performance she had put on back there. There’s hope yet – they just have to take the scenic route to get to their final destination.

The group explores the grove a little bit, perusing several small booths that have been set up amongst the large caves. They all keep their distance, not yet deciding to approach any vendors, but Aruna still keeps a list in case they need resources: there’s a corner with a frail elderly lady who’s surrounded by tables littered with what Gale can identify as healing potions, beside her is a tiefling stirring some giant cauldron of what must be food as it smells delectable, and across from her is some sort of blacksmith who has a small shop set up with a depleted source of weapons and armor. All people who might be useful to speak to at some point.

But that’s for another day. The elderly lady piques Aruna’s interest for a moment, but Zevlor had said that Nettie could be found in the druid’s grove, and this was decidedly not the actual grove.

Aruna watches Astarion like a hawk through all of it. And he knows that she’s watching him closely, because at some point he even teases her about it.

“Say, shall I just creep over there and snatch one of those healing potions for myself, dear leader? I doubt the woman would notice it missing. I do have quite skilled hands.”

She’d nearly smacked him for the suggestion of theft, and he’d only cackled when she’d started to look around for any signs of guards that might have overheard his words.

Just before they leave back to their camp for the day, for Aruna to mark this place on their map and begin to formulate some sort of plan for finding this Nettie come tomorrow, they find Wyll. Wyll, the human who had joined in the fight at the gate, tearing down goblins easily with eldritch blasts and the flourish of his rapier.

He’s kind enough. Astarion is rolling his eyes when through that tadpole connection (which is once again, not as painful as it had been with the pale elf), a new quest is presented to them. Hunting a Devil with Wyll. Securing his companionship, increasing their numbers. It’s a small cost, Aruna decides, and she invites him back to camp without hesitation, fully agreeing they’d help him track down this Devil soon after speaking to this Nettie.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a bleeding heart?”

Despite an additional body now joining them on their trek back to camp, Astarion still clings to Aruna’s side as she leads the group.

“It’s not a bleeding heart,” she quips back, giving a quick glance to the map in her hands. Less for finding her way to camp, and more for engraving what she needs to draw out once they get back. “He has a tadpole. He needs us as much as we need him – the Devil will just be something to keep in mind.”

“It’s a side quest, and side quests will sidetrack us,” Astarion points out as Aruna finally veers between trees, beginning to stumble into heavier bramble that they have to navigate in order to arrive at their clearing, “It’s going to take years for us rid ourselves of our little problems at this rate.”

Aruna rolls her eyes before stepping widely over a fallen log, “You’re being dramatic.”

“Never denied having a love for the theater, darling,” Gods, his tongue is fast. Always equipped with a new comeback, always readied with a new nickname to make heat flash through her body. “My point is, we don’t have years. Time isn’t exactly on our side, if I’ve been listening to that wizard correctly.”

“Gale,” she corrects him absentmindedly, stopping for a second to gather their surroundings as well as allow the other three to catch up a little bit, “His name is Gale, and… and he’s right, I think. We should be weary of ceremorphosis.”

Astarion waves off the reminder of Gale’s name as if he has no use of it. Which, at the rate in which he only seems keen on speaking to her, he might not. “We haven’t sprouted any tentacles yet. And our flesh has yet to melt off our faces, so to speak. However, I am curious as to what your plan is if any of that does start happening to one of us.”

She starts to head west. Or at least, the direction she thinks is west.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that at the first sign of change, I’d have to stop that pretty little bleeding heart of yours.”

Aruna nearly trips over her own feet.

Is he seriously threatening me right now?

When she turns to look at him, though, he doesn’t look one bit as frightening as she had expected. His hands are far from his daggers, and she swears there’s a smile playing on the corners of his lips.

“I am open to suggestions,” he presses on, meeting her gaze and leaning forward, the face of playfulness, “Knives, poison, strangulation – whatever you’d prefer.”

He’s not going to kill her. There’s absolutely no way that there’s any weight to his words. If someone were going to choose to kill someone, they would not be indulging in this type of conversation with them, would they?

She stares at him for a few moments, completely still and silent as she blinks slowly before finally saying, “You are odd.”

It makes him laugh. A scoff that echoes through the trees around them as she starts to quicken her pace. Camp is near, the rest of their group isn’t far behind – he’s not going to kill her. She’s not worried about that, but she is worried for his sanity by thinking that this was small talk.

“Humor me,” he calls after her. Even as her strides turn longer, he doesn’t struggle to keep up, “I deserve it after being on my best behavior at the grove.”

She’d argue that he hadn’t been on his best behavior, but the more she gets to know him, the more she’s thinking that the way he had restrained himself today was him attempting to follow her rules.

“I’m not sure,” she sighs, “How would you like to go?”

Even in her peripherals, she can see him light up as he realizes she is actually humoring him.

“I don’t think that poison is for me. Nor stabbing, come to think of it. I always felt decapitation was a fine choice. One good swing and then – nothing,” Gods, he’s thought about this quite sincerely, hasn’t he? “But we were talking about you. What’ll it be?”

Through the breaks in the trees ahead, she can see the camp. She could choose to ignore him, dart ahead and leave him behind without an answer. But for some reason, she found herself almost enjoying the conversation. There was something in his cadence, in the hand gestures she was only catching the tail end of. If she were going to question his sanity, she might as well also question her own, because she was actually entertaining what he was suggesting.

“You said strangulation was an option?” she stops and turns to him, catching sight of just far ahead they’d gotten from the others. Probably for the best, given their current exchange.

His grin widens. His eyes sparkle in the warmth of the setting sun. He’s beautiful enough to take her breath away if she’d let him. Literally, given what she’d just said to him.

“Strangulation?” he parrots back. She’s taken him off guard, returning the favor of setting him off his kilter, “Can’t say that was the option I’d imagine you’d choose. It’s the least messy, of course, but you did strike me as someone who might prefer a classic knife.”

“Or a goblin bow,” she says before she can even think of it. It rolls off the tongue easily, and the moment the words hang between them, they’re both smiling. She’s almost laughing, even.

Just hours before, she had almost met her very real and very timely death by the exact object of her joking. It hadn’t been a joke then – it had been a real fear, staring her right in the eyes as she had helplessly reached for daggers that she severely needed to grow more skilled with.

And he had helped her. Saved her life, even. The exact opposite of the hypothetical they were posing to one another now.

“Or… that,” he’s so close to being at a loss for words, she’s nearly proud of herself, “But this is all hypothetical, of course. I’m sure tomorrow we’ll find this Nettie and there will be no need for any gore.”

“Or we won’t,” she can hear the footsteps of the others now, not far off, but she’s in too deep to not finish Astarion at his own game, “And I’ll just have to sharpen my axe.”

He takes a step closer to her, lips still curled. She’s glad she’s humored him – glad she can make him smile, make him laugh, even with such morbid conversations. They deserve a little bit of that joy, even if it comes by odd means.

Something inside of her sparks. Yearns, weeps, lashes out as his hand drops just before the other three join them. It wasn’t just his velvet voice or the brush of his breath against her cheek, it wasn’t just the alarming temperature of his hand and the way her body reacted to the mere thought of him putting it on her – it was a strange need for closeness. As if he had belonged there, pressed right against her, staring right into her eyes until she’d grown nervous that he could see straight to all the memories she couldn’t unlock quite yet.

“Interrupting something?” Gale asks, oblivious, once the rest of the group has caught up to the pair. Astarion had moved away at just the right moment; just close enough for them to see they’d been talking about something, but not to catch that innocent movement of his hand that had sent Aruna into a tailspin.

It had felt right.

For a moment, his skin had been on hers, and everything fell into place. As if she didn’t have a brain riddled with holes. As if she hadn’t had to learn her name from some letter. As if she’d known Astarion for two hundred years, not a petty two days. The buzz of the frustration she has battled with since waking on that beach had simply quieted by her space being invaded by him.

She wants him close again. She wants to feel it again.

Instead, she only lies to Gale, shakes her head and pretends like there had never been anything to interrupt. Acts as if her whole mind and soul are there with the rest of them, not lingering on that blip of a moment, stuck in a capsule of time in which Astarion had somehow made her feel whole again. She hadn’t even remembered a damn thing from her past – not a single vision, not a single thought of something as trivial as to what her favorite color might have been before the tadpole – but none of that mattered with the distraction of his presence.

They carry on into camp. She knows she has an endless list of simple tasks to complete before she can fully rest for the night: she needs to speak with Lae’zel, she needs to help Gale ration out their supplies for dinner for the next few nights, she needs to update the map, she needs to curate a plan for the next day.

She does none of the above.

Some pathetic excuse is mumbled out between her lips in a voice she can’t even recognize as her own, claiming she’ll go gather some mushrooms or pick some berries for Gale to utilize for tonight’s feast. And no one stops her as she departs from camp, not even the pale elf who hovers by the fire Wyll begins to build, eyes locked on her in curiosity she doesn’t witness.

He was right. Her heart is bleeding, a gaping wound in the center of it that gushes with every beating of her pulse. But for which it bleeds, she isn’t so sure.

Not quite the tieflings they met today and offered to help. Not quite the companions she’s offered to embark on personal journeys with.

No, Aruna’s heart is bleeding, and she’s starting to suspect that it all begins and ends with the garnet eyes she feels on her long after she’s departed back into the trees.

—

“And I thought I was going to be the broody one of the camp.”

Astarion’s voice should startle her, especially considering it comes from behind her in the woods rather than him approaching her from the rocks leading up to her perch, but it doesn’t. No surprise, no annoyance, no irritation – all she really feels is a deepening of a gaping hole inside of her that hasn’t subsided since her tadpole first connected with his.

Upon her arrival back to camp, she’d handed over a pitiful handful of berries and a small bouquet of mushrooms to Gale, and had immediately retreated. She wasn’t in a talkative mood; she’d glanced around for somewhere to hideaway, and had landed on the small lookout atop a stone cliff not far from where Lae’zel had set up a tent.

Most of her companions had set up tents. Where they’d gotten them from, she has no idea. But each one has found a corner to call their own in the camp, creating almost homey environments, except her.

Her, and Astarion.

She tilts her head ever so slightly as she shakes it, a small tsk falling from her lips, “Nope. I’m afraid that title has already been taken, my friend.”

His footsteps are light as he approaches her side, hesitating before he awkwardly lowers himself onto the ground beside her. She’d offer up space on her rock, but her body was heavier than even the stone below her, and she couldn’t find it in herself to make any movement.

They’re just out of sight from the rest of the camp. A thinner grouping of trees offers minimal coverage, a large boulder her current seat. She could easily walk out onto the stone ledge and expose herself, but she was already feeling a little too seen for the night.

Has anyone ever told you that you have a bleeding heart?

She wonders if someone had, before all this mess, from a time she can’t recall.

“Friend,” he echoes her. His tone isn’t condescending, but rather curious, “I’m not sure I’ve ever-”

And then he cuts himself off, as though he’s caught himself in the act of opening up. He looks as if he hadn’t been in control for a few moments.

That draws in her curiosity well enough. She thought she had been burnt out for the day, beyond the capability to hold conversation, but he’s drawing her into it easily. Like a moth to his flame, like a moon stuck in his orbit.

“Well? Don’t hold out on me now. I’m absolutely on the edge of my seat,” she only sinks into a more comfortable position to add humor to her words, “Let me guess. You never would have called someone such as myself a friend before all this. I understand if that’s the case-”

“I’ve never called someone a friend, period,” he interrupts. He says it all in one breath, and when she looks down at his face, nearly hidden by the shadows, it looks absolutely petrified. As if he can’t believe he’s just said that outloud. As if his mouth had moved without permission in order to spill the words out for her.

The soft ‘oh’ that leaves her is completely involuntary. She isn’t sure how to respond to that – that level of vulnerability, the kind that is making him shrink under her gaze and curl his lips in disgust at himself. It’s not the kind of thing you’d reveal to a stranger.

But Astarion feels like anything but a stranger, fight it as she might try.

“If it would make you more comfortable,” she starts, and his head whips up to look at her in alarm, “I could always refer to you as an enemy instead.”

When he laughs, it’s a symphony. She wishes she were lying, but the music of his joy fills her with an indescribable light, as though she might have just swallowed the sun whole. It warms every joint, every crevice, every shadow she has within her. For just a moment, all the monsters within her are quiet once again, content to sit and simply listen to him with a smile.

It makes her want to run. It makes her breath catch, and a certain resentment begins to build against the way he can have this effect on her so effortlessly. It’s the same gut reaction as she’d had on the beach when Gale had also laughed for her, but more.

It’s better than hearing Gale laugh. So, so much better.

Would it be better to not fight this wonderful blanket of deja vu? If she just loosened her fists, unclenched her jaw, she could let it anchor her easily in an almost comforting manner. Even after the echoes of his amusement had long faded, it whispers to her in the dark.

She’s terrified of the way it feels; it feels as though she’s spent countless nights listening to that laugh. By a campfire, in dark tents, in shared beds. She’s heard it withheld with constraint, free without care, hushed for the sake of others – for a moment, she swears, she knows Astarion’s laugh like the back of her hand. And that, that indescribable feeling, is what stokes all her fear.

“You know, perhaps you’re a bard,” he jokes once he’s calmed down, waving a hand through the air without purpose.

“Ah,” her smile she hadn’t even noticed finally falters, remembering what had happened outside of the Grove. She needed to speak with Gale, as well. She’d just add it to the list. After another moment, she swears to herself that she’ll see to doing all that she must before retiring for the night, “So I see you’ve heard of my little identity crisis.”

He tilts his head back to look at her fully, and she’s moments away from genuinely offering to share her boulder as a seat.

As if to stop herself, she makes another bad joke. Maybe he’ll laugh, and she’ll have no room to say something stupid, like offering him a seat next to her. Letting him close to her again. “Gale is a terrible keeper of secrets – noted.”

There’s still ghosts of giggles on his lips as he sighs, pressing two hands into the dirt behind him and leaning his body into a reclined position.

“Not entirely. Less that he’s terrible at keeping secrets, and more that I’m particularly skilled at learning them. Ask anyone the right questions, and their pretty tongues will always sing.”

He rolls his ‘r’ when he says pretty, and that gaping hole nearly enlarges itself enough to swallow her up.

This surely isn’t how their nights are supposed to go. They’re strangers. Surely, surely, they should be more guarded. Less jokes, more awkward silences. Less revealing of who they really are, and more false pretenses to cover up the truth.

The quiet is nice. It’s exactly what she had been seeking out when she’d sulked away from the others for a moment to herself, and Astarion neither adds nor takes away from the tranquility. He’s just there. If she tilts her head just right, leans back to an even more horizontal angle, he’d leave her line of sight entirely.

She doesn’t. She keeps him there, safe in her peripherals, no longer trying to unknot all her emotions that draw her to him. She knows the letter still waits for her in her pack, and there are conversations to be had, responsibilities for her to shoulder. But for a brief moment, it’s just them – it’s just Aruna, and it’s just Astarion. Two unfortunate souls stuck with tadpoles in their brain, and now each other. No more, no less.

The moment passes eventually.

“Do you truly believe I’m a bard?”

She isn’t sure why she asks that. But she’s handed over her trust to him freely thus far, a few more inches can’t hurt.

“Hm?” he hums, rolling his head on his shoulders, a tension under the surface she only sees glimpses of in the moonlight, “Oh, who’s to say? I’m not all that well-versed in magic, being a-”

“Wait, don’t tell me,” she stops him quickly, scooting to the edge of her boulder, ankles now swinging dangerously close to him.

He peers up at her curiously, brow furrowed, “Don’t tell you… what? That I’m a-”

“Let me guess,” she nearly begs.

The last three days have felt anything but normal. Tadpoles, mysterious letters, lost memories. Guessing someone’s class just felt normal. She needed normal, if only for a moment.

“By all means,” he lifts a hand, flourishing it in invitation, “Be my guest.”

She presses her elbows into the tops of her thighs, studying him intensely as her fists squish her cheeks. And he lets her – he even tilts his head back to the sky, clearly putting on a show as her eyes scan him intensely. He’s used to it. He’s used to being the center of attention, of being something pretty to gawk at. He slips into the role far too easily to not be accustomed to such.

The longer she looks at him, the more she notices.

The surface level is what she drinks in first. Soft, white curls that nearly glow under streams from the moon. Lashes so long that they brush the porcelain skin of his under eyes. Perfectly pointed ears. And a perfectly sloped nose, albeit a little crooked if she were to scrutinize it too long from the side. Somewhere along the ridge, it’s almost as though he’s experienced a break that never quite healed right. Laugh lines that dig in deeply to his cheeks, but that almost fade from existence when his face goes as slack as it is currently. He’s not a young boy, not by any means, but there’s a certain youth to him in this state that could break her heart if she tried to contort it into a perfect metaphor. He’s a devastatingly beautiful stranger. His confidence is well earned.

But his confidence is only the surface of it all. Once she scratches past the way he doesn’t seem to falter under her careful observation, the layers practically reveal themselves. He appears relaxed, she’s been under the assumption that he’s been relaxed this entire conversation, but as she lets her eyes fall to his shoulders, she sees a tenseness that she hadn’t noticed before. One that can’t be brushed off by his current position or the weight his palms are balancing. His neck rolls with it, and she gets the smallest glimpse of his neck beneath the high-neck of his collared shirt – a scar. It flashes for only a second, giving her no time to know exactly the shape nor circumstance, but it’s there. An imperfection. A spanse of skin on him that holds a story she certainly won’t get out of him tonight, not when his shoulders still nearly tremble with that tenseness.

He’s not a damsel in distress. She doesn’t know why the letter insists that she save him.

“Well,” his voice finally startles her, breaking her from her trance, “Are you going to gawk all night at my ethereal beauty, or are you going to guess my class, young bard?”

She’s decidedly not a bard. She knows it the moment he properly refers to her as such. Really, she has no idea what a bard is, but she almost wishes she was if only to let him be right.

“I only know the few classes that Gale has mentioned in passing,” she admits into the night quietly, her voice a whisper.

His eyes flutter open at that. Gorgeous, piercing red.

“And which ones are those?”

She knows now that he’s wearing a mask. Maybe not a heavy one, maybe not a thick one, but he’s wearing one all the same. If she were more clever, she’d put on one herself. Simply for protection. A shield for whatever game the two of them were playing at.

And yet, she can’t seem to find the mind to dig through her arsenal and mirror him in defenses.

Instead, she prattles off the list Gale had rambled on about to her. Sorcerers, wizards, warlocks, druids, clerics. He’d mentioned paladins in passing, but never elaborated. Really, he hadn’t properly elaborated on any of them. He’d simply reassured her again that he had books for her to read back at camp.

None of those books were in her hands, at the time being. All she had right now was Astarion. And surprisingly, he appeared to be feeling particularly helpful.

“I see,” he nods, looking out over the camp. Gale begins cooking for all of them, Wyll rests by the fire, and the other two women of the camp are nowhere to be seen. In their tents, presumably, “Well, I can tell you that I am none of those. I don’t wield quite as much magic as those who are.”

“Quite as much?” she mimics back, a smile creeping up on her lips, “Are you insinuating that you do hold some?”

He chuckles in response, “Of course I do. You aren’t this beautiful and intriguing without having a little bit of magic, dear.”

Something flashes in his eyes when he takes on that tone with her. A faint taunting, a gentle flirtation. But when she looks in his eyes, they’ve lost some of their glimmer. His words are playful enough, but the feeling doesn’t extend beyond his voice.

She wants to poke and prod, pry till her fingers bleed and he’s cursing her name. Because she knows he would. If his little slip ups just in this conversation and his reactions to them are any indicator, Astarion hates nothing more than to offer up any vulnerability. And yet, for her, he already had.

He’s admitted that he’s never had a friend before. It’s a small detail, petty in nature, but it is a stepping stone nonetheless.

Tonight’s not the night. There will be other nights to spill the blood of honesty.

“Oh, of course. My mistake,” she plays along, feeds into his act. The insatiable animal inside of her prefers his company, after all. His simple presence is a soothing balm she can’t quite place, and she’ll do anything to drag out their time, “I’ll keep that in mind during my studies with Gale.”

Speaking of the wizard, she catches the tail end of a cautionary glance from him, his head whipping away from the direction of herself and Astarion. Whatever he’s managed to scrounge for dinner is done, plated to the best of his abilities as Shadowheart crosses camp to join him.

They’ll have to join them soon enough.

As soon as she realizes this, she has another realization, looking down to find Astarion watching a nearby tree with vexed interest, “We’re going to act like this conversation never happened come morning, aren’t we?”

We’re going to pretend like you never opened up for a fraction of a second. Like I didn’t let my guard down as well. Like we didn’t sit in the forest like two well-acquainted souls, protected by the moonlight as we shared laughter and a kinship forgotten.

We’re going to pretend like the thing ripping apart my chest doesn’t know you, somehow, someway.

“I suppose so.”

She hops down from the boulder, keeping her balance easily as she turns to offer him a hand. But he’s already standing back up, completely ignoring her offer as he brushes away the dirt on his legs and palms.

She swallows hard, nods slowly. “That’s fair, I suppose.”

It was nice while it lasted.

Even after the dust has long since been discarded off his body, he makes no move to walk down the slope of the miniature cliff and rejoin the other companions. He’s waiting – waiting for her to take the lead. Just as the others had during their travels thus far.

She’s selfish. So, so ardently selfish. But before they leave this space, before they abandon the serene moment they’d been granted, she has to learn one last thing about him. If nothing else, she’d like to say she knows the very basics of who he is.

His name, the fact that he’s never been privy to friendship before, that he is a very guarded individual with a superior skill at hiding that mask, and whatever his class is.

And that she has to ‘save him’. Apparently. Allegedly.

“What is your class?” she asks, voice steady and head held high as she only looks at him. She doesn’t care if Gale spares them any more side glances.

His head tilts curiously towards her, “What? Giving up so quickly?”

“Well, if we’re to pretend this conversation never happened, then-”

“I’ll tell you what… bard,” he starts, but when she shakes her head, he’s quick to correct himself, “Or… not bard? Regardless. Once you’ve figured out your own class, see if you can then figure out my class, hm? Read those dreadful books our camp cook has assigned to you, and then get back to me.”

She knows what that is.

It’s more than playful banter. More than him hiding away secrets.

They won’t be pretending that this night never happened – not even close.

taglist:

@emmaisgonnacry @writinginthetwilight @moonmunson

#ghost's stories #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x oc #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #also heyo we finally have wyll in the party!!!#slight spoiler but astarion only goes along with the bard bit because that man KNOWS she isn't a bard #really preying on her ignorance there mister pale elf #the moon will sing

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blighted-elf · 5 months

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Baldur's Gate 3 - Avernus Trio Update

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thunderwavesolveseverything · 5 months

Text

Worth

Masterlist for my ongoing Astarion x Tav fic <3

Phayelynn was only a bard. She was trained to regale tales of brave adventurers of Faerûn. To write and sing praises of their heroic conquests. The excitement and amazement- the romance of it all. She never wanted to be the subject of songs. She didn't have what it takes to be a hero, no matter how hard she tried to be- a fact that was quickly becoming apparent to her newfound companions as they desperately searched for a cure for the Mind Flayer parasites taking up occupancy in their skulls.

The Baldur's Gate brain rot is alive and well, and I'm obsessed, and want to novelize my playthrough. 💜💜💜

---

(on Ao3)

Act One

The Being in the Dank Crypt

Self-Preservation

The Little Thief of Emerald Grove

A Bard & A Harpy's Song

The Night We Met

Goblins, Mindflayers and a Feared Creature of the Night

Sanguine Hunger

The Morning After

I'll Take Your Secret to the Grave

Playing the Hero

Pick Your Friends Carefully

Magic Lessons and a Sleepover

If I Knew It, I’d Cast Heroism

Words of Mine Will Turn to Ash

Down by the River

Mighty Booyahg

Devil with the Heart of Iron

Secrets and the Voice of the Absolute

Personal Cost

The Devil's Call

Unique Appetite

It's A Plan

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abysskeeper · 7 months

Text

There's just something about Wyll's final quest in Act 3 and its parallels, especially if you're romancing him. The way he can immediately be given the mantle "The Heart of the Gate". The way he immediately asks you to remain at his side, the way he says he's proud of Tav, the way he calls them a shining star and a beacon.

A shining star...like sailors used to navigate. A beacon, surely like the founder of a port city. And Tav isn't a founder, but they're becoming the next best thing...a savior, enabled in large part due to the help of the one inside their head.

Just...damn. History doesn't always repeat exactly, but it does echo. It reverberates until it can harmonize with itself.

#don't mind me #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #wyll ravengard #bg3 wyll #wyll x tav #tav x wyll #having a completely normal one tonight #anyways uh...he fucked that dragon #ok really I want to chew on this #because I picked up on it immediately and my little bard #trained as she is in storytelling #picked up on it too #and also now has to deal with a lot regarding the emperor

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 4 months

Note

My brain is melty but something something “you want to bet on it?” Not exactly astarion and Tav but like. The rest of the camp talking about them?

Feel better soon!

A/N: This was actually a lot of fun! You didn't specify so I decided to go with Ace!Tav AKA Evie for this prompt. Hope that's okay.

Consider this a continuation of this headcanon.

Astarion x Ace!Tav (Evie) Masterlist

“You know what? I don’t think they’re fucking.”

Gale choked on his drink, following Karlach's eye line to a familiar corner.

Astarion and Evie had found their own little piece of no where, as was becoming habit with them at this point in the evening. Astarion had an arm wrapped about them and he whispered something in their ear, causing them to laugh. Astarion answered this with a playful nip of their neck which is right about when Gale averted his eyes. They were entitled to some privacy.

"My ears would beg to differ," he said, dryly. "I swear I didn't get a wink last night."

"Well that's just the thing innit?" Karlach pressed. "I mean, I can understand getting that riled up every now and again, but every night?"

"Astarion is a vampire," Wyll pointed out. "Even a spawn is liable to have higher than average...stamina."

Karlach let out a snort. "You read too much. Besides, even if that was true, doesn't stop E from being human."

"Why though?" Gale said. "What would be the point of pretending engage in such, ah...enthusiastic intercourse? I mean, we all know they're together. Why the extra show?"

"I would not be surprised if Astarion is putting on, as you said, an extra show," Lae'zel said. "He has boasted many times of his prowess in giving carnal pleasure. Not to mention, he likes to make clear what is his. Ravaging sex would accomplish both quite easily."

"Still doesn't explain E's half of all this," Karlach insisted. "It does take at least two, last I checked."

"Trust me, just two is enough," Gale grumbled. "If you want proof for yourself, I am more than happy to switch rooms."

"No good. I'm just below them."

"Oh for Gods' sake!"

"You've been oddly quiet, Shadowheart," Wyll interrupted, giving the cleric an assessing look. "Care you share your thoughts."

Shadowheart shrugged, carefully setting down her glass of wine. "I don't see what more I have to add to the conversation. You all seem set in your opinions."

"And I am curious to hear yours," Wyll pressed.

She rolled her eyes. "I think you all are putting a lot of thought into something that is frankly none of your business."

That got Gale's attention as he turned to her suspiciously. "Do you know something?"

"Nothing of importance. Besides, weren't you the one who said that some personal matters should remain personal?"

"Certainly," Gale said. "But when they are shared so openly, they can hardly be considered wholly personal."

"Well, that clenches it for me," Karlach said. "They're not fucking."

"I would be inclined to disagree, although now, I'm not so sure," Gale said, his brow furrowed in thought.

Lae'zel gave an exasperated huff. "Is it common in this realm to over analysis something as simple as mating?"

"It's extremely common," Wyll said, with a smile. "I take it that means you think they are, mating?"

"Obviously."

"Would you put money on that?" Karlach said.

Lae'zel raised an eyebrow. "A wager?"

"Sure. Ten gold says if we open the door on their room tonight, they're doing something stupid like moving furniture. And if I'm wrong, that's ten gold for you and spit in my eye."

The gith's eyes narrowed, before giving Karlach a stiff nod. "A fair wager. Although, I do not think spitting in your eye in necessary."

"I wouldn't go that far," Wyll said. "Depending what's on the other side of that door, it may be very necessary."

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x ace!tav #astarion x evie #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion ancunin #karlach #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #wyll ravengard #lae'zel #shadowheart #5 sentence fics #asexual!tav #ace!tav #bard!tav

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hiddenqveendom · 14 days

Text

*𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔩𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰.

Title: Under the Moonlight Type: Fluff Ship: Wyll and Laverna (oc) Word Count: 1,450 Summary: Wyll leads Laverna away from camp one night to confess himself to her and the pair romantically dance together under the moonlight.

Taglist: @kentaroranda @erraticrandomficwriter, @jewishbarbies , @sgtbuckyybarnes , @decennia , @veetlegeuse, @arrthurpendragon , @raith-way , @scootermcooter , @stanshollaand , @chrissymunson , @foxesandmagic , @eddiemunscns , @waterloou , @endless-oc-creations, @kingsmakers, @https-svnshine, @daughter-of-melpomene,@dyhlanobrien, @fragilestorm , @nolanhollogay , @carmens-garden , @impales , @emilykaldwen, @darkwolf76, @princessmadelines, @iloveocs, @nectarinesrule , @nyrafireheart , @rebloggingocs , @conaionaru , @eddysocs , @xoteajays, @thatmagickjuju

After the adventures of the day, Wyll and Laverna return to the camp to rest and prepare for the coming travels.

Both of them were exhausted after the excruciating journey, but nevertheless they took some time to enjoy the fresh air in the evening, as there was a gentle breeze blowing on their faces.

As the night sets in, the sky was filled with bright stars, shining like a thousand jewels in the sky. Wyll took a moment to admire the beauty of the night sky, and then turned his gaze towards Laverna.

Suddenly, Wyll takes her hand and leads her beyond the camp, away from the fires and noise towards the forest edge.

The couple moves slowly, their steps synchronized and their eyes locked upon each other as they walk hand in hand. The moonlight casts a soft, romantic glow over the pair, creating a timeless moment between them.

As they approach a secluded spot within the grove, Wyll stops, and looks intently into Laverna’s eyes. His expression is soft and sincere, filled with pure adoration for her.

Wyll gently pulls her closer to him and they stand face to face, their eyes still locked together.

The tension between them builds, as if each of them is waiting for the other to make the first move. Wyll slowly leans ever-so-slightly towards her, his breath warm as it brushes against her face.

Slowly and gently he begins to speak, his words are like an intricate poem flowing from his lips.

“Laverna, there’s something I have been meaning to tell you…”

Laverna doesn't reply, merely gazing back at Wyll with eyes brimming with a longing that’s matched only by his own.

For another long moment, neither dares to speak, both of them lost in their unspoken emotions.

Wyll slowly draws her close to him, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her into his embrace. They stand there for a while, enjoying the warmth of each other’s bodies.

Wyll pauses for a moment, gathering his courage and struggling to put his feelings into words.

Laverna looks up at him, waiting patiently for him to continue.

With a shaky breath, Wyll finally speaks, “I have been hesitant to admit my true feelings for you, but tonight my heart is overflowing with emotions I couldn’t dream of not putting into words.”

“Laverna…” he whispers softly, “I-I think I have fallen in love with you…”

Laverna gasps in surprise, her heart pounding in her chest as she stares up at Wyll, shocked by his words. The two had clearly been drawn to one another both physically and emotionally. However, the half-elf never expected such a powerful admission from the Warlock.

Wyll keeps her close, their faces inches apart now, and stares into her eyes, willing her to respond.

Laverna is breathless, unable to find the proper words to express herself. Her heart says yes, but her mind is racing.

Wyll can see that she’s struggling, and his grip on her tightens with the desire to make her understand. He draws her even closer, his hold on her tightening slightly.

Laverna can feel his heartbeat hammering against her own, their bodies pressed together.

Wyll caresses her face with his hand, tracing a gentle path along her jawline as he gazes into her eyes.

Laverna closes her eyes, savoring the feeling of his touch on her cheek.

Her chest still pulsing with emotion, she leans into his hand and tilts her head, allowing him a better angle to stroke her face.

The pair stands there, locked into a quiet moment of intimacy, savoring the feeling of their bodies pressed so tightly against one another.

Wyll continues to stroke Laverna's face gently, letting his fingers trace across her cheekbones and down to the detailed tattoo on her neck, his gesture becoming more affectionate with each touch.

Laverna lets out a slight sigh of contentment as she relaxes against his hand, her body yielding to the sensation of his touch. They stay locked in this position for a beat, neither of them wanting to break the silence.

Wyll moves his free hand to Laverna's hips and pulls her even closer to him, pressing his body against hers with more intensity.

The handsome Warlock’s body is now pressed firmly against the Bard’s, the heat of their combined bodies making the air around them feel thick and heavy.

Laverna can't help but notice the way Wyll's body trembles from their close proximity.

Wyll's hand on her hip grips her tighter, pulling her lithe body into his.

The two of them stand there, locked in this position, their breaths becoming more shallow and quick as their hearts race faster.

As Wyll draws Laverna close to him, she feels a warm sensation spreading throughout her body.

In spite of the intense physical attraction between them, Wyll decides to break the tension with a different type of movement. He pulls Laverna even closer to him, but instead of immediately trying to initiate more intimate contact, he slowly begins swaying them both from side to side in a gentle and rhythmical motion.

The pair start swinging side to side, their movements in sync with each other, their bodies now moving in a pleasant and hypnotic rhythm.

Wyll’s hands remain firm and steady on her waist, his grip tight but not uncomfortable, as he continues leading the dance.

Laverna looks up at him, her eyes glazed with wonder as his steps guide her around the small clearing with a pleasant gracefulness.

Wyll’s face wears a slight, affectionate smile, and he maintains a steady and gentle rhythm with each movement.

As they sway, a light breeze picks up, causing the trees and plants around them to move in sync with the pair.

Laverna lets out a slow, contented breath as the air around them moves with them. The red haired beauty feels her heart beating faster and faster with each beat, her body filled with joy and excitement. Giggles escape her lips as she stares at him fondly.

Wyll gently pulls her in closer, bringing their bodies into even tighter contact with every sway. He brings one of his hands lightly up to the back of her neck, letting his fingers rest softly against her skin as he guides her with the other hand on her waist.

The gentle dance creates a cozy ambiance, made even more beautiful by the sound of the nearby crickets chirping in the soft, night air.

The pair keep swinging together in their slow and pleasant rhythm, their bodies now moving as one, the distance between them now so close that one could hardly call it so.

Laverna can feel Wyll’s breath against her skin, as he guides her movements, his hand still remaining soft and gentle on her back.

The night sky above them is filled with stars, glowing brightly against the backdrop of their dancing figures.

The breeze continues to pick up, causing the leaves of the nearby trees to sway in the same rhythm as them, the sight and sounds of nature becoming a calming soundtrack.

The pair sway side to side, their steps slowly becoming a hypnotic and sensual rhythm.

The night air is getting a little chillier now, so Wyll carefully pulls her even closer to him. His arms now wrap around her, his hands on her back and waist. His grip is warm and gentle, almost like a protective embrace as he guides her through the dance.

The gentle dance slowly comes to an end, with one last spinning movement putting them face-to-face with each other.

Wyll slowly and gently guides Laverna into a dip, their faces just inches apart. They stare lovingly into each other’s eyes for a moment, the atmosphere filled with passion and chemistry.

Wyll gently pulls Laverna back up to face him as their faces move dangerously close toward each other. Before she can hesitate again, Laverna leans in to kiss her lover passionately.

Laverna’s lips meet Wyll’s in a much anticipated kiss, their bodies pressed closely together, their movements and breath interwoven together.

Laverna’s heart skips a beat as she feels Wyll’s warm breath, his lips gliding across hers.

The kiss lingers on for a few moments before they finally separate, panting lightly and staring into each other’s eyes.

A rush of emotions flood through Laverna’s body as she looks at Wyll, feeling the intimacy of their moment.

They stare deeply into each other's eyes, still feeling the rush of their heated passion. The pair remain there for a moment, breathing heavily, and feeling their combined heat radiating between them.

With their bodies pressed against each other tightly, the feeling of their combined warmth, makes the moment feel utterly timeless...

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