#ASTARION . | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonselune · 1 day ago

Note

Hi! Could I request something? I just saw you accept new request again! I was thinking of yearning. Them yearning for oblivious tav.

I just love a good old yearning prompt

yesssssss the yearning the pining the dramaaa

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Karlach was trying her best to keep it together. As she sat by the campfire, her eyes kept drifting toward you, her massive frame leaning slightly forward as if she could somehow close the gap between you just by willing it. You were tending to a few weapons you’d scavenged earlier in the day, completely oblivious to the way her molten eyes lingered on you, the way her hands fidgeted with a piece of stray leather to distract herself from the ache in her chest.

Wyll, sitting nearby with a mischievous grin, had noticed. Of course, he had noticed. The Blade of Frontiers had a knack for picking up on unspoken emotions, and Karlach was as subtle as a roaring forge.

“You know,” Wyll began, his voice low and teasing as he leaned toward Karlach, “if you keep staring at them like that, you’re liable to set the poor one on fire.”

Karlach froze, her cheeks flushing as embers flickered to life along her horns.

“What?” she whispered sharply, her voice cracking. “I wasn’t staring! I was just—”

“Yearning?” Wyll supplied with a grin, leaning back casually.

“I don’t yearn,” Karlach snapped, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Oh, come now,” Wyll said, his tone smug. “The sighing, the pining, the tragic glances when he’s not looking—it’s downright poetic.” He tapped his chin theatrically. “It’s almost enough to compose a ballad.”

Karlach shot him a glare, her flames flaring slightly around her shoulders. “Wyll, I swear, if you don’t shut it—”

But it was too late. Her embarrassment sent her infernal engine into overdrive, and the flames on her body surged. The sudden flare caught your attention, and you glanced up from your work.

“Karlach?” you called out, your voice filled with concern as you stood and crossed the campfire toward her. “Are you okay?”

The sheer earnestness in your tone made her heart lurch painfully in her chest. She quickly tried to wave you off, her hands fanning at her shoulders as if she could dampen the flames.

“It’s nothing! Just—hot, you know?” she stammered.

“Well, yeah, you’re always hot,” you said, grabbing a nearby waterskin. “But this seems worse than usual.”

Karlach froze, her eyes going wide at your words. Did you—did you just call her hot? Surely, you didn’t mean it like that, right?

“Here, let me help,” you said, uncapping the waterskin.

“No, no, really, I’m fine—”

Too late. You doused her with a splash of water, and instead of calming her flames, it only made things worse. The steam hissed around her, mingling with her rising panic, and her flames flared even brighter.

“Gods, I’m sorry!” you exclaimed, looking horrified. “Did that make it worse?”

Karlach buried her face in her hands, groaning loudly. “No, no, it’s fine, just—don’t worry about it.”

Wyll, watching the scene unfold, laughed openly now. “You’re really outdoing yourself, Karlach. I think the entire camp will see those flames soon.”

You shot Wyll a confused look. “What’s he talking about?”

Karlach peeked through her fingers, her flames dimming slightly as her mortification reached its peak.

“Nothing! He’s just… being a prat,” she said quickly, glaring at Wyll, who only grinned wider.

“I’d call it encouragement,” Wyll said lightly. “After all, someone here needs to take a hint.”

You blinked at him, clearly puzzled, but before you could ask what he meant, Karlach stood abruptly, the ground under her feet crunching as her weight shifted.

“I’m gonna, uh, go check on—anything else,” she muttered, stomping off toward the edge of camp.

You watched her go, bewildered, before turning back to Wyll. “Did I do something wrong?”

Wyll chuckled, shaking his head. “Not wrong, no. Just oblivious. Don’t worry—you’ll figure it out eventually. Maybe.”

You frowned, glancing back toward where Karlach had disappeared into the shadows, her flames still faintly flickering in the distance. You didn’t know what you’d missed, but something about the way she’d looked at you before she left lingered in your mind, warm and unexplained.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The campfire crackled gently, casting a warm glow across the assembled group. You sat on a log, sharpening your blade, blissfully unaware of the undercurrents running through the evening.

Minthara, sitting a few paces away, had her sharp red eyes trained on you, a faint furrow in her brow. Her usual composed demeanor was slightly off tonight—her movements a touch too deliberate, her glances toward you lingering just a second too long.

Shadowheart, one of the resident camp gossips, noticed. She always did.

“Why don’t you just say something, Minthara?” Shadowheart drawled lazily, her lips curling into a smirk as she toyed with a loose strand of her hair. “It’s not as though subtlety is your strong suit. Or theirs, for that matter.”

Minthara’s sharp gaze snapped toward her, irritation flashing across her face.

“I do not need your advice, cleric,” she said coolly.

“Oh, I think you do,” Shadowheart said, undeterred. “Because whatever it is you’ve been doing clearly isn’t working. They haven’t even noticed.” She tilted her head toward you, who were now carefully oiling your weapon, oblivious to the tension building around you.

Minthara’s grip on her dagger tightened, her knuckles turning white. “They have other matters to attend to. The fault lies not with my approach but their… distraction.”

Shadowheart chuckled. “Distraction? They’re so dense they probably think the moonrise is flirting with them. You’ll have to carve it into the side of their tent before they catch on.”

That was the last straw. Minthara stood abruptly, her dark cloak billowing behind her as she marched across the campsite toward you.

“Minthara?” you said, startled as her shadow fell over you.

Before you could say another word, she grabbed you by the front of your tunic and pulled you to your feet with a surprising amount of force. Her crimson eyes burned with frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“You,” she snapped, her voice ringing out across the camp, “are impossibly blind.”

“W-what?” you stammered, your mind racing to figure out what you’d done wrong this time.

“I have fought by your side,” she began, her voice rising. “I have trusted you, protected you, respected you. I have given you every sign imaginable, and yet you remain oblivious to the fact that I—” She stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath, as if even saying the words aloud were a battle she needed to win. “That I desire you, you fool!”

The camp went silent. Even the fire seemed to crackle a little softer as everyone turned to stare.

You blinked, utterly dumbfounded. “You… you desire me?”

Minthara groaned, her head tipping back in exasperation before she fixed you with an incredulous look. “Yes! Must I spell it out further? Or perhaps I should inscribe it on your blade since that seems to be where your attention is always focused!”

Shadowheart, who had been watching the entire exchange with barely suppressed laughter, finally burst out into an uncontrollable giggle.

“Oh, gods, this is better than I could’ve hoped,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye.

Minthara turned her glare on her, her lips curling in irritation. “If you say one more word, Shadowheart, I will—”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupted, holding up your hands. “Everyone calm down.” You turned back to Minthara, your voice softening. “I’m sorry if I missed the signs, Minthara. I honestly didn’t realize.”

Her anger seemed to waver, replaced by a flicker of vulnerability.

“How could you not?” she asked, almost to herself. You hesitated, then placed a tentative hand on hers, still gripping your tunic.

“Because I’m an idiot,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But I’m an idiot who’s honored and… maybe a little thrilled by what you just said.”

For the first time that evening, Minthara seemed at a loss for words. Her lips parted slightly, her sharp demeanor softening as she searched your face.

“Thrilled, you say?” she murmured, the barest hint of a smirk returning.

“Thrilled,” you confirmed, your cheeks warming under her intense gaze.

The tension in the air shifted, no longer charged with frustration but with something warmer, something promising. Minthara released your tunic, smoothing it out almost absently. “Then perhaps next time, you won’t require such… dramatic measures to understand me.”

Shadowheart made a kissy noise behind you, and you shot her a glare over your shoulder. Minthara, however, ignored her entirely, her focus solely on you.

“Now,” she said, her voice back to its usual measured tone. “Shall we continue this conversation somewhere with fewer interruptions?”

You nodded, feeling a grin spread across your face. “Lead the way.”

As you walked off together, Shadowheart’s laughter echoed behind you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. For once, the fog of obliviousness had lifted, and you were exactly where you wanted to be—at Minthara’s side.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Lae’zel had always been a force of nature—her sharp tongue, battle-hardened demeanor, and unyielding confidence left no room for doubt. And that’s exactly how she preferred it. To anyone observing her, she was the epitome of githyanki discipline and control. But deep down, behind the steel exterior and fiery eyes, she was at war with herself.

She had a massive, undeniable crush on you.

It was maddening. Every time you smiled at her or even so much as glanced her way, her heart would race—a sensation she would have sworn was impossible for her kind. She had tried everything to make her interest known: sparring sessions where she pushed you to your limits (and a bit beyond), blunt declarations of your 'adequacy' in her eyes, and even offers to 'crush your enemies together in glorious combat'. But somehow, none of it seemed to land.

Instead, you remained oblivious, flashing her that infuriatingly kind smile and treating her like a valued ally rather than someone she desperately wanted to claim as her partner.

One day, during a training session, Lae’zel’s frustration reached its peak. She had you pinned beneath her, her blade at your throat, and instead of fear or admiration, you chuckled.

“Nice move,” you said, your grin wide. “I’ll have to remember that one.”

She grit her teeth and growled, pressing the blade a little closer—not enough to hurt, but enough to make her point.

“You do not take me seriously!” she snapped.

You raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? You’re one of the most serious people I know.”

“Not in battle, fool!” she snarled, pulling back and stalking away, her blade sheathed with a sharp clang, as you walked bewilderdly back to your tent.

From a short distance, Halsin, who had been watching the training with an amused glint in his eye, stepped forward to intercept Lae’zel. She stopped abruptly, glaring at the druid as if daring him to speak.

“Lae’zel,” Halsin said in his calm, measured tone, “may I offer you some advice?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You may offer. I will decide whether it is worth hearing.”

He chuckled, unfazed. “I’ve noticed your… interest in our leader.”

Her nostrils flared, and she crossed her arms. “And what of it?”

“You are a warrior, and I admire your strength,” Halsin began, “but perhaps your methods of courtship are… misplaced.”

“What nonsense is this?” she scoffed. “I have made my intentions clear. I have praised their competence. I have challenged them in combat. What more is required?”

Halsin smiled gently. “Perhaps a softer touch. Words that reveal your feelings without the shield of aggression. A gesture that shows your care rather than your strength.”

Lae’zel looked utterly baffled, as if he had just suggested she surrender to a mind flayer.

“Softness is weakness,” she spat.

“Not always,” Halsin countered. “Sometimes, it takes more strength to be vulnerable than to wield a sword.”

She opened her mouth to retort but found herself at a loss. Instead, she grumbled something unintelligible and stalked off, leaving Halsin shaking his head with a knowing smile.

The next morning, Lae’zel approached you at camp. There was an uncharacteristic stiffness to her posture, as if she were preparing for battle, yet her hands were empty.

“Leader,” she began, her voice clipped but quieter than usual.

You looked up from your map, offering her that same smile that never failed to undo her. “What’s up, Lae’zel?”

She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. For a moment, she considered abandoning this foolishness and returning to her usual methods. But Halsin’s advice echoed in her mind, and she forced herself to continue.

“I… value your presence,” she said, the words sounding foreign and awkward.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Uh, thanks? I value yours too.”

“No, you do not understand,” she snapped, then took a deep breath to steady herself. “I… value you. Your strength. Your wit. Your… idiotic charm.”

Your confusion deepened. “Lae’zel, are you feeling okay?”

She growled in frustration, her hand twitching toward her sword out of habit before she forced it to her side. “Do I need to spell it out for you, fool?”

“Apparently,” you said, still clueless but clearly trying to follow.

She stepped closer, her amber eyes burning into yours. “I desire you, leader. As my equal. My partner. My… lover.”

The words hung in the air, and for the first time, you saw Lae’zel in a new light—not just as a fierce warrior, but as someone deeply passionate and utterly vulnerable in this moment.

“Oh,” you said, the realization dawning on you. “Oh.”

Her jaw tightened, and she crossed her arms defensively. “If you find this amusing, I will—”

“I don’t,” you interrupted, a small smile playing at your lips. “I just didn’t think—well, I didn’t know.”

“Because you are blind,” she muttered, though there was no real venom in her tone.

You stepped closer, reaching out tentatively. “Lae’zel, I’m flattered. Truly. And… I’d like to see where this goes.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, she looked as though she didn’t quite believe you. Then, with a sharp nod, she straightened her back and let a rare, genuine smile grace her lips.

“Good,” she said simply. “Now, let us prepare for the day. We have enemies to slay, and I will not let them distract you from what is ours.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, warmth blooming in your chest. Lae’zel might not have mastered the art of softness, but in her own way, she was perfect.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart had always been composed, her expression a careful mask of neutrality, but recently, every time she caught sight of you, her calm façade wavered. Her chest tightened, her thoughts scattered, and her usually sharp words became softer, laced with an uncharacteristic warmth. She knew the truth of it: she had fallen for you. Hard.

And yet, despite her every effort to show you her feelings, you remained utterly oblivious.

At breakfast that morning, Shadowheart decided to take another approach. She brushed past you as you prepared the fire, the faint scent of lavender trailing in her wake.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice soft but laced with what she thought was a hint of allure.

You looked up, smiling warmly. “Morning, Shadowheart. Did you sleep well?”

She nodded, sitting beside you with deliberate closeness. “As well as I could, knowing what awaits us each day. And you?”

“Fine, thanks. Just trying to get this fire going,” you replied, your focus returning to the task at hand.

She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a murmur. “You’re very skilled with your hands. It’s… admirable.”

You blinked at her, utterly missing the meaning behind her words. “Thanks! I guess all those years of camping have paid off.”

Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly, but she refused to give up. Throughout the morning, she found small ways to stay near you, brushing her fingers against yours when you handed her something, complimenting you with what she thought was a sultry tone, and even laughing at your jokes—some of which, she had to admit, were terrible.

Still, you seemed completely unaware.

By midday, Shadowheart was frustrated beyond measure. She found Karlach near the edge of camp, inspecting her weapons, and stormed over.

“Karlach,” she said, her tone clipped but tinged with exasperation.

Karlach looked up, her fiery heart pulsing warmly. “What’s up, Shads?”

"Please don't call me that," Shadowheart crossed her arms, her frustration bubbling over. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve been dropping hints—no, practically throwing myself at them, and they just… don’t notice!”

Karlach blinked, then grinned, clearly enjoying the situation more than she should. “Wait, you’re talking about—?”

“Yes,” Shadowheart snapped, her cheeks tinged with pink.

Karlach let out a hearty laugh, her flames flickering slightly brighter. “Oh, this is rich. You? Pining? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Shadowheart glared at her. “This is not amusing. I need advice, not mockery.”

Karlach wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. “Alright, alright. Let me think. So, you’ve been… what, flirting?”

“I’ve tried everything,” Shadowheart admitted, throwing her hands in the air. “Compliments, proximity, even subtle touches. And nothing! They treat me the same as everyone else.”

Karlach hummed, tapping a clawed finger against her chin. “Maybe they’re just really dense. Or, y’know, not used to someone as… uh, mysterious as you.”

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow. “And what do you suggest I do? Write it out in blood on their tent?”

Karlach snorted. “Hey, that might actually work. But no, maybe you need to be more direct. Like, ‘Hey, I think you’re cute, let’s share a bedroll tonight.’”

Shadowheart stared at her, aghast. “I am not saying that.”

“Your loss,” Karlach said with a shrug. “But seriously, just talk to them. Be honest. I bet they’d love it.”

Shadowheart sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Honesty. Of course. The one thing I’ve been avoiding.”

“Hey, they like you for you,” Karlach said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Well, they would if they had half a brain and knew what was good for them. Go get ’em, tiger.”

Later that evening, as you sat by the campfire, Shadowheart approached you with purposeful strides. She was determined to take Karlach’s advice, even if it made her heart pound and her palms sweat.

“Can I join you?” she asked, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.

“Of course,” you said, shifting to make room for her.

She hesitated for a moment, then sat beside you, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

You turned to her, your expression curious but kind. “What is it?”

Shadowheart opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she let out a shaky breath and looked into the fire.

“I… I care about you,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, completely misunderstanding. “I care about you too, Shadowheart. You’re a great friend.”

She groaned inwardly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No, I mean I care about you in a… different way.”

Realization dawned on your face, your eyes widening. “Oh.”

“Oh?” she echoed, feeling both vulnerable and absurdly exposed.

“I didn’t—Shadowheart, I had no idea,” you said, your voice filled with genuine surprise and warmth.

“I noticed,” she muttered, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

You reached out, gently placing a hand on hers. “I’m sorry if I’ve been clueless. I guess I just… never thought someone like you would feel that way about someone like me.”

She looked at you, her expression softening. “And why wouldn’t I? You’re… remarkable.”

The sincerity in her voice made your heart skip a beat, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Well, I guess that makes two of us, then.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You… feel the same?”

“Yeah,” you said, your cheeks flushing. “I guess I was just waiting for a sign.”

Shadowheart laughed softly, the sound lighter than you’d ever heard from her. “Apparently, I need to be less subtle.”

As the fire crackled between you, the tension that had been simmering for so long finally gave way to something warmer, something real. And for the first time in weeks, Shadowheart felt at peace.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

Jaheira was not a woman who pined. Or so she told herself. A High Harper, disciplined and pragmatic, she had weathered countless battles and heartbreaks. Yet, here she was, sneaking glances at you across camp, her chest tightening whenever you smiled or laughed. It was maddening. How had you managed to worm your way so deeply into her thoughts?

Despite her years of wisdom, Jaheira found herself at a loss. She didn’t know how to bridge the gap between the two of you, not without risking her pride or the delicate balance of your group.

The worst part was your complete and utter obliviousness. She’d tried subtlety—lingering conversations, offering you extra help with tactics, even sharing stories of her youth that she told no one else. You simply smiled warmly, thanked her, and went about your day as though her heart hadn’t been laid bare in every word.

One evening, after another frustrating day of yearning and getting nowhere, Astarion finally had enough.

“Jaheira, darling, may I have a word?” Astarion said, sidling up to her as she sharpened her blade near the fire.

“What do you want, Astarion?” she asked, her tone brusque.

He smirked, clearly unbothered by her irritation. “Oh, nothing much. Just to offer my… expert services in matters of the heart.”

Jaheira blinked, her sharpening stone pausing mid-stroke. “What are you talking about?”

Astarion gestured dramatically toward you, where you sat chatting animatedly with Karlach. “I’m talking about your obvious pining for our dear leader. It’s positively tragic to watch.”

Jaheira’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned back to her blade. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion said, rolling his eyes. “You practically glow whenever they’re around. It’s adorable, really. But I must say, your approach could use some… finesse.”

Jaheira scowled at him. “I am not some lovesick fool, and I certainly don’t need advice from a vampire with more charm than sense.”

“Perhaps not,” Astarion said, unfazed. “But consider this: have your current tactics worked? Have they so much as noticed your affection?”

Jaheira’s silence was answer enough.

“I thought so,” Astarion said smugly. “Now, listen closely. You need to be bold. Direct. Use your natural charisma and authority to your advantage. And if all else fails, a little flirtation never hurt anyone.”

Jaheira narrowed her eyes. “I am not a charlatan like you, Astarion. I won’t lower myself to cheap tricks.”

“Who said anything about cheap tricks?” Astarion replied, feigning offense. “Think of it as… a strategic maneuver. After all, you wouldn’t hesitate to outwit an enemy in battle, would you?”

Jaheira sighed, considering his words. As much as she hated to admit it, he wasn’t entirely wrong. “Fine. I’ll listen. But if this backfires, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

“Splendid,” Astarion said, clapping his hands together. “Now, let’s start with a little more confidence in your approach…”

The next morning, you noticed something strange about Jaheira. She was… different.

She approached you with a faint smile that seemed just a touch too practiced, her movements deliberate and graceful in a way that reminded you of someone else.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice smooth and measured. “Did you sleep well?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. I did. And you?”

“Perfectly,” she replied, her eyes lingering on you in a way that felt… odd. “Though I couldn’t help but think of our conversation from yesterday. You truly have a fascinating mind.”

You tilted your head, trying to piece together what was happening. Something about her tone, her body language—it was familiar. And then it hit you.

“Wait a minute,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “Why are you acting like Astarion?”

Jaheira froze, her carefully crafted façade slipping for just a moment. “I… what?”

“You’re doing the thing he does,” you said, mimicking a dramatic hand gesture. “The suave, overly charming thing. It’s not like you.”

Jaheira’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned away, muttering something under her breath.

From across camp, Astarion burst into laughter, doubling over as he clutched his stomach. “Oh, this is too good!”

Jaheira shot him a withering glare before turning back to you, her expression softening. “Perhaps I’ve been… trying too hard. Forgive me if I seemed unlike myself.”

You smiled, your warmth cutting through her frustration. “You don’t need to try so hard, Jaheira. I like you just as you are.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Then, with a small, genuine smile, she nodded. “Thank you. That means… more than you know.”

As she walked away, Astarion approached, still grinning. “Well, that could have gone better, but at least they noticed you.”

Jaheira shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Never again, Astarion. Never again.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The late afternoon sun hung low, painting the riverside in warm golds and soft shadows. Gale, waist-deep in the cool water, had his arms crossed in front of him as if the sheer act of holding himself together could quell the maelstrom of feelings raging inside. His crush on you was a storm that refused to abate, leaving him with sleepless nights and days filled with longing glances.

From the riverbank, Minthara watched him with a look of abject irritation. Minthara had ordered him to take a dip in the cold water after he had decided to unleash his love-filled ranting unto her ears as they collected water. She assured him she would be fine to take the water back by herself, and when he thought she had left he keenly stripped and waded into the water. But Minthara had not left, no, Gale's lovesick demeanor had created a vendetta against her and she decided to take action.

"Pathetic," she muttered under her breath. She didn’t think it was possible for wizards to get worse, but Gale was proving her wrong. With a smirk, she moved silently to where Gale had left his clothes folded neatly on a nearby rock. With the swift efficiency of a seasoned tactician, she gathered them up and strode back toward camp.

You were enjoying a moment of quiet when Minthara approached, holding a bundle of robes in her arms.

"The wizard is by the river," she said bluntly. "It seems he’s in need of assistance."

You frowned, glancing at the clothing. "Assistance? With what?"

Minthara’s lips quirked into a thin smile. "He appears… indisposed. Perhaps you should go and see for yourself."

Before you could ask more, she tossed the robes into the fire and strode away, leaving you thoroughly puzzled but intrigued. You could have sworn those were Gale's. With haste, you made your way towards the river and when you arrived at the riverbank, you called out, "Gale? Everything alright?"

Gale startled, his head whipping around to face you, his hair slicked back and glistening in the sunlight. Clearly he had been searching for his robes. "Ah, no! I mean, yes—yes, everything’s fine!"

You raised a brow, stepping closer to the water’s edge. "Are you sure? Minthara said you needed help."

At the mention of her name, Gale groaned. "Of course, she did. And I suppose she also absconded with my robes?" He shot a wary glance toward the shore, clearly trying to maintain some distance.

"Unfortunately so. What’s going on?" you asked, scanning the area. Then you noticed the way his face burned red, his expression a mix of embarrassment and frustration. "Why are you still in the water? It’s getting late. and the river's current is about to pick up, you need to get out, now."

He hesitated, his fingers flexing nervously beneath the water’s surface. "It’s… complicated."

"Complicated how?" You looked around, spotting no immediate danger apart from the increasing current. "Do you need a hand getting out? I can lend you my cloak."

"You don’t understand!" Gale blurted, his voice cracking slightly. "This isn’t about the cold—or the current. It’s…" He trailed off, visibly warring with himself.

You tilted your head, curious and slightly amused. "Then what is it about? You’re not exactly making it easy to help you."

Gale sighed deeply, sinking a little lower into the water until only his nose and eyes peeked out. Then, in a low, hurried tone, he confessed, "I’m afraid my feelings for you have… manifested in a rather inconvenient manner."

Your brow furrowed. "Feelings for me?"

"Yes!" Gale said, his voice growing more desperate. "Feelings. Strong feelings—romantic, longing, entirely improper feelings for someone as… exceptional as you."

You blinked, the weight of his words settling over you like the warmth of the setting sun. "You—wait. You like me?"

"Yes," he muttered, his face practically steaming despite the cool water. "Which is precisely why I can’t leave this river at the moment."

The realization dawned slowly, but when it clicked, a grin spread across your face. "Oh," you said, fighting back laughter. "Oh."

"Yes," Gale grumbled, his mortification complete. "You see now why this is problematic."

You couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped. "So, let me get this straight. You’re saying your feelings are… visible at the moment?"

Gale pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you insist on phrasing it that way, then yes."

You laughed harder, the sound bright and unrestrained. "Gale, that’s not the end of the world."

"Easy for you to say," he muttered. "You’re not the one at risk of a compromising exit."

Still laughing, you crouched by the water’s edge, your cloak in hand. "Come on. I promise I’ll look the other way. Just wrap this around your waist - tightly, and let’s get you back to camp."

Gale hesitated, clearly torn between his pride and the practicality of your offer. The river was rising, and the current becoming less forgiving. He didn't know what would be worse, coming out in this state or having to have you rescue him whilst he was in this condition. Finally, he sighed. "You’re infuriatingly kind, you know that?"

"Only to people I like," you teased, winking at him.

That earned you a small, genuine smile, despite his predicament. Slowly, cautiously, he edged closer to the shore, his blush never fading. You diligently kept your eyes closed, but there was that little devil inside you willing you to take a peak. He wrapped the cloak around his waist, only for you to hear a small, defeated sigh.

"You cannot laugh at me, but please may I request that I carry your shoes back to camp?" He asked, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Wow you must really like me-"

"-The shoes please!"

Still giggling to yourself, you took off your shoes and passed them to him, allowing him to use them as a shield to his nether region.

You were finally able to look at him, his cheeks flushed beet red as he murmured, "I am going to kill Minthara, or at least try to."

"You know, Gale, I think Minthara might have done us both a favor."

Gale groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Never speak of this again. And especially do not encourage her behaviour."

"No promises," you said with a grin, walking beside him as you both headed back to camp. "Perhaps, I might want to get caught short with you."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

Astarion was not accustomed to being ignored, least of all by someone who had managed to captivate him so thoroughly. Yet here you were, brushing off his every flirtation, every lingering glance, every word dripping with a charm that could make others fall at his feet.

You were different, infuriatingly so. Every smirk, every sly compliment, every touch of his hand to your arm was met with a polite laugh, a nod, or—worse—a casual thanks before you moved on as though he hadn’t just thrown his best seductive lines at you.

For someone like Astarion, whose every move had been meticulously calculated for centuries, this was unbearable. He was practically seething with frustration as he watched you across the camp, laughing at something Karlach had said. He sighed dramatically, slumping onto a nearby log, the perfect picture of a man whose heart was in shambles.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand why you might be cautious around him. He wasn’t blind to his own past or the scars it had left on his soul. But this? This obliviousness wasn’t caution—it was sheer ignorance of his very obvious yearning.

And so, out of options and desperately needing help, he did something he never thought he would: he sought out Gale.

Gale was sitting by the fire, absently flipping through his spellbook, when Astarion approached him. The vampire’s usual smirk was replaced with something that looked suspiciously like a grimace.

“Gale,” Astarion began, his voice unusually subdued.

Gale looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Astarion? To what do I owe this… peculiar honor?”

Astarion waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, spare me the preamble. I need your help.”

“My help?” Gale blinked. “What kind of apocalyptic disaster requires my assistance? Surely not something involving a certain someone we both know?”

Astarion’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes. Them.”

Gale set his book down, his interest piqued. “Ah, I see. You’re pining.”

“I am not pining,” Astarion snapped, though the blush creeping up his pale cheeks betrayed him. “I am… strategically pursuing. Subtly, I might add.”

Gale snorted. “If by subtle, you mean utterly transparent, then yes. You’ve been as subtle as a fireball in a wheat field.”

Astarion scowled. “They don’t see it that way. They think I’m just… charming. Which, of course, I am, but there’s more to it than that.”

“And you want my advice?” Gale leaned back, crossing his arms. “Me, the man you’ve spent weeks mocking for my ‘tragic romanticism’?”

“Yes, yes, revel in the irony if you must,” Astarion said impatiently. “But you’re annoyingly good- most of the time, at all this grand gesture nonsense, and clearly, I need a new approach.”

Gale chuckled, a little too pleased with himself. “All right. Let’s see. The key here is sincerity. You can’t just charm your way through this one. You have to show them how you feel.”

Astarion frowned. “And how exactly do I do that?”

“Think of something meaningful to them,” Gale suggested. “An act that demonstrates you understand them, that you care about them deeply. And,” he added with a smirk, “maybe tone down the smirking and innuendo for five minutes.”

The next day, Astarion put Gale’s advice into action—or at least, his version of it. You were sitting by the riverbank, enjoying a rare moment of peace, when Astarion approached you, holding something behind his back.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, his tone softer than usual.

You smiled up at him. “What’s up, Astarion?”

“I, uh… I noticed something the other day.” He cleared his throat, looking uncharacteristically awkward. “You mentioned how much you missed those silly little biscuits from Baldur’s Gate, the ones with the sugar glaze.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I did?”

“Yes, you did,” he said quickly. “And, well… here.” He produced a carefully wrapped package and handed it to you. Inside were a handful of the biscuits, slightly crumbled but still intact.

Your eyes widened. “How did you…?”

“Don’t ask questions,” he said, his smirk creeping back despite his best efforts. “Just enjoy them.”

You looked up at him, touched by the gesture but still utterly oblivious to the deeper meaning. “Thanks, Astarion. That’s really sweet of you.”

He stared at you for a moment, waiting for something—anything—to click. When it didn’t, he sighed dramatically and flopped onto the grass beside you.

“Are you truly this dense, my beautiful fool?” he muttered under his breath.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” he said, flashing you a too-bright smile. “Enjoy your biscuits, darling.”

From a distance, Gale watched the exchange with a shake of his head, muttering, “Some people are beyond help.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

Wyll was not used to being ignored, especially when it came to matters of the heart. He prided himself on his charm, his courtly manners, and his ability to woo with a single smile. Yet, when it came to you, all his gentlemanly gestures seemed to bounce right off you like a deflected blade.

He would offer you his hand to help you over rough terrain, only to receive a simple "Thanks, Wyll!" and a cheerful pat on his shoulder. He’d bring you breakfast, perfectly arranged, and you’d compliment him on his “team spirit.” He’d even tried a few subtler lines, but you always brushed them off as his natural charisma, as if his feelings weren’t entirely focused on you.

So, after one particularly frustrating evening where you didn’t even notice how his gaze lingered on you by the firelight, Wyll decided he needed help.

And who better to consult than the camp’s most direct and fearless member, Lae’zel?

Lae’zel was sharpening her sword when Wyll approached, his usual confident demeanor slightly crumpled under the weight of his unspoken affection. She glanced up, her sharp eyes narrowing.

“Wyll,” she said bluntly, “you look as though you’ve swallowed a blade sideways. Spit it out.”

He cleared his throat, glancing around to make sure no one else was in earshot. “It’s about… them,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lae’zel’s expression didn’t change. “Ah, the object of your obsession.”

Wyll winced. “It’s not an obsession.”

“Call it what you will,” she said, shrugging. “You pine for them like a fledgling seeking a mate. What of it?”

“I don’t know how to… tell them,” Wyll confessed, his usual eloquence failing him. “They seem entirely immune to my advances.”

Lae’zel snorted. “Perhaps because your ‘advances’ are weak. Soft. You dote on them like a mother hen, not a warrior. If you want their attention, you must assert dominance.”

“Assert dominance?” Wyll repeated, looking increasingly alarmed.

“Yes,” Lae’zel said firmly. “Challenge them. Best them in combat. Show them your strength. Then, when they are weak and trembling, you proclaim your intent to claim them as yours.”

Wyll’s face turned scarlet. “That’s—That’s not how courtship works!”

“Of course it is,” Lae’zel said, waving a dismissive hand. “You prove your physical and sexual prowess through battle. What better way to ensure compatibility?”

Wyll sputtered, his composure unraveling. “I—I don’t think they’d appreciate being ‘claimed’ like a prize after a fight.”

“They would respect it,” Lae’zel insisted. “And likely find it arousing.”

“Lae’zel!” Wyll’s voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands, his flames of embarrassment rivaling Karlach’s.

From across the camp, you noticed the commotion and Wyll’s obvious distress. Concerned, you got up and made your way over. “Wyll? Are you okay?”

Lae’zel’s smirk widened as Wyll’s blush deepened. He scrambled to his feet, fumbling for words. “Ah—Yes! Fine! Everything is fine!”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. “Are you sure? You look like you’ve just lost a sparring match.”

Before Lae’zel could open her mouth to make things infinitely worse, Wyll quickly grabbed your hand and pulled you aside.

“Just a minor… disagreement,” he said quickly, his voice cracking again. “Nothing to worry about.”

You gave him a curious look, but his obvious flustered state distracted you from pressing further. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

Lae’zel watched you go with Wyll, shaking her head and muttering, “Coward. They would have respected a proper duel.”

Meanwhile, Wyll was doing his best to calm his racing heart and come up with a less mortifying way to tell you how he felt—ideally without Lae’zel’s "help."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

Halsin prided himself on his control, his connection to nature, and his ability to remain grounded in even the most chaotic of circumstances. But when it came to you, all of that composure seemed to dissolve like frost under the morning sun.

You were utterly magnetic to him—your presence so compelling that his heart would stutter every time you entered the same space. He found himself enchanted by the curve of your smile, the warmth in your voice, the kindness in your touch. And it was unbearable. Literally, because every time you touched his arm or leaned in to speak to him, his instincts would flare wildly out of control.

The first time it happened, you’d brushed some stray leaves off his shoulder after he returned from foraging. “Halsin, you’ve brought back half the forest,” you joked, smiling up at him.

Halsin opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a rush of heat overtook him, and— bam—he was suddenly a large, startled elk.

You jumped back with a yelp of surprise, staring wide-eyed at the animal in front of you. “Halsin?”

The elk gave a deep snort, its head hanging low as if mortified.

It happened again not long after, when you touched his hand while passing him a flask of water. This time, he transformed into a wolf, looking up at you with ears pinned back, practically radiating sheepishness.

“Halsin,” you laughed, kneeling down to scratch behind his ears, “you’ve got to warn me if you’re going to do that.”

By the time the third accidental wildshape happened—this time as a squirrel after you had simply smiled at him—Jaheira had had enough.

The older druid cornered Halsin after dinner, arms crossed and an unimpressed look on her face. “You’re a leader, Halsin. A figure of strength and wisdom. Yet here you are, hiding in fur and feathers because of a crush.”

“It’s not just a crush,” Halsin muttered, his deep voice unusually uncertain. “It’s… consuming. Every time I try to speak to them, I lose myself. They are radiant, Jaheira. I can hardly stand near them without—”

“—turning into livestock, yes,” Jaheira interrupted, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re a druid, not a child. Get a grip, Halsin. They won’t notice your feelings unless you make them clear. And for the love of Silvanus, do it without shifting.”

Halsin sighed heavily but nodded. “You’re right. I must face this head-on.”

Jaheira clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. Now go before you sprout wings or something ridiculous.”

Halsin found you sitting by the campfire, a jar of honey and a piece of bread in your hands. The firelight danced across your features, and Halsin felt his heart thrum painfully in his chest.

“Is everything okay, Halsin?” you asked, looking up at him with a concerned smile.

Halsin cleared his throat, forcing himself to remain steady. “Yes, I… there is something I need to tell you.”

You tilted your head, some honey glistening on your lips. “Of course. What is it?”

And that was it. The sight of your lips, the gentle curve of your expression—it was too much. Despite every ounce of willpower he had summoned, Halsin’s body betrayed him. With a flash of light and a muffled groan, he was suddenly a massive brown bear, sitting heavily on the ground.

You blinked, staring at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Halsin! You did it again!”

From across the camp, Jaheira let out a long, exasperated groan, throwing her hands up. “I give up!” she muttered, stalking off.

The bear lowered its massive head, letting out a low huff of frustration. You reached over and gently placed a hand on his fur.

“It’s okay, big guy,” you said, grinning. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

If Halsin could have blushed, he would have. Instead, he let you pet him, resigning himself to the fact that his feelings were much harder to control than he’d ever anticipated.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was so so so so so much fun to write !! Especially Gale's icl hehehe. Hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

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