#Verse: BG3

[dalishborne]

tidbit headcanons for bg3!revenelan:

although i get the sense that there isn't really a "wrong" way to worship silvanus/uphold druidic values (correct me if i'm wrong), revenelan has it instilled in her mind to embody the true neutrality of nature. as a vastly emotional and compassionate person, she struggles with this. has a hard time accepting difficult situations as "part of the natural course", or dark/evil people as embracing their nature, but really tries to do so.

highly dislikes the undead, very wary of creatures like vampires. her experience with both are limited but she can't wrap her head around the complexity of either. they are simply the antithesis of the natural world, at least she feels so at first.

as any good druid, she is highly protective of animals and other beasts (especially since people tend to treat them as secondary), however she does not treat all animals as "innocent creatures." she knows animals to have as much personality, vices and virtues, as humanoid people. they can be kind, rude, belligerent, etc. if she had a choice, she would choose animals over people any day. you'll see her interacting with animals similarly to people.

just as in her DA verse, she is especially partial to cats and has many cat-friends back in her grove, some who live with her. she does make a special effort to befriend and talk to cats she comes across on her journey.

her favourite wildshape form is also, surprise surprise, a cat. she genuinely enjoys the cat-typical affections she might receive from others: chin scratches, pets, and being held. in battle situations, she likely utilizes a panther form the most, though she switches it up depending on the situation.

given that she's spent her entire life in her grove within the High Forest, she is a little naive to, though curious about, the outside world.

[diverse-hearts-ocs]

@crownshattered asked for a Starter

It wouldn't be the first time in which the young girl would wake up from an obviously troubled dream, a scream breaking through the campsite, before she'd promptly placed her hands over her ears, trying to ignore the laughter that came from Lucas, a laughter she now could understand no one else could hear. He was her sin to carry....but that didn't make it any easier...as cruel as Mother had been, at least she could chase away these nightmares...

"Sorry, sorry...", she whispered into the darkness of the night, hands slowly lowering to rest within her lap instead, deep slow breaths taken to calm her racing heart, her gaze finally lifting to the nearby dark elf, "...I apologise if I woke you..."

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

“You won’t last long if I don’t stop the bleeding.”

She doesn’t say it with any malice — in fact, concern laces her tone as she kneels down. Light mauve hair cascades her frame, tidied in a braid as few strands break free. There’s a certain tender she holds in her blue eyes, matched with a gentle touch to his forearm. Xildi bows her head, a gentle yet nervous breath as she whispers a prayer in her native tongue.

“I.. am no professional,” far from it, but she certainly chooses to omit that detail for now. “Yet this I can tend, least temporarily, until we find a proper cleric.”

═══ UNPROMPTED INTERACTIONS ═══ BG3 VERSE @agonizedembrace

Her hand is warm against his skin as he finds the world spinning and dark around hin, a dizzying blur of the town he had found himself in. The pain is nearly unbearable as waves of throbbing heat crash against his injury, nerves bare and open to the world - the last thing he wants... to be heard in his genuine screams of anguish. To be real. And ever yet they leave him, spilling from his mouth and sludging up the air until he forces himself to focus on her eyes. Blue... Blue like the dawning of a new day, how he wished he'd survive to see such a beautiful visage, of tomorrow.

"W-Wait - "

He expects her next touch to carve misery into his skin but the sensation fails to deliver, carrying instead the light caress of a dove's feather; something to soothe his despair. Two tears slid from his eyes as he watched her as if she were the very stars that twinkled within the Gods' eyes, he bathed in warmth and comfort within that moment. Although it was short lived, his mind clung to it even as his lids began to flutter shut; far too much blood had spilled from him and while he was stable... Well, keeping awake was a far more daunting task than he would have first thought.

[okruchlodu]

@recitedemise

dude trust me *lying, manipulating*

[starbvund]

Bob won't be a tadpoled member of the party nor a Tav. He can be stumbled upon on the way to Baldur's Gate. Hunting around near the swamp for mushrooms and taro. He's recent off his last adventure with his friends Samuel, Augustine, and Chelsea. He was on his way home to Podunk, but can be easily persuaded to help.

[pellelavellan]

“He looks miserable, poor soul.“ / @faebhaal

"Yes well that's what happens when a hunter sets a trap and abandons their prey." he commented. "poor creature, I wonder if they ever intended to return for them."

Whether they did or not mattered very little to the elf. He intended on setting the injured creature free. The snare had missed the rabbit's neck and so hadn't strangled it, but it had caught itself around it's leg. The rabbit had been frightened by the trap and tried to chew it off, taking some of its own flesh with it as a result.

Pulling a knife from his belt he freed the rabbit and begun healing the wound, mending chewed tendons back together and closing the affected area.

"There," he said, raising his hands from the small creature. "All better, try to be more careful next time."

[inabsentiiarch]

How much faith does Lucan have when it comes to trying to find his sister? And if. ( BIG IF. ) Lucan does find her, what is the first thing he'll do? Big hug?

meme

At first, he had no doubt. His sister was with him on the ship, and though he searched he never found a body after the crash, which doesn't mean it wasn't there or that she didn't die on the ship. But he always had a lot of faith in her abilities. They had somewhat opposite backgrounds, where she grew up on the streets with the thieves guild. She had more survival skills than he did so it wasn't completely illogical to him that she could have landed somewhere else and ended up wandering about. As times goes by it starts wavering though.

Lucan has both possibilities in mind but to think about not finding her seems to cause him too much pain for a while. So he clings to hope regardless of the little voice at the back of his head. It's mostly a self protection mechanism. He doesn't think he can afford to be fragile in the circumstances that he's in.

If he did find her though, he'd definitively give her a big hug, and would likely be clinging to her for a bit. They'd realistically be clinging to each other. Odette was the most distant of the two, but she still cared about Lucan deeply in her own ways.

[lustyargonianmaid]

BHAAL'S ASSASSIN, HIS DAGGER, HIS DAUGHTER.

[diverse-hearts-ocs]

@crownshattered asked for a Starter

One tiny little fire and she'd been more or less kicked out from the grove, the halfling having promptly set ablaze the ivy that covered the groves door...in a dramatic display of maturity. Only the wish to not drag her fellow party members into the middle of her growing dislike of the place, had her from doing more - as she finally decided to head on back to the camp - before her wild magic could kick in and make the situation even dire.

"I was even being careful", she explained to Scratch, who just watched her with what she could only assume was confusion, Cinders allowing a ball of fire to form in her hands, lighting up the campfire with ease, a sigh of relief escaping as the presence of the fire helped to put her at ease, a little light from home, some could say.

Gazing into the dance of the flames, she couldn't help but to allow her thoughts to drift back to those nasty druids...picturing their home bathed in the warmth of her beautiful fire...which is why she squeaked when a shadow fell over her, Cinders having believed herself to be alone - the campfire flaring slightly in strength. "AHHHH!". She was way too used to travelling alone it seemed.

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

6. my muse applying pressure your muses bleeding wound.

✧ ──𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 (TRIGGER   WARNING:   blood,  murder,  death,  violence.    please  do  not  read  forward  if  you  are  easily  squeamish!) ═══ BG3 VERSE ═══

It was like needles stabbing through the threads of his muscles, playing with each tendon and nerve - sharp ivories sliding across and ripping - tearing - at anything they could find. A shrieking melody of pain left the mage's throat as the world turned to night for a moment, the agony nearly unbearable as his body was thrashed back and his pointed ears picked up the panicked shout of one of his companions. The muscles of his shoulders ravaged under the pressure of a tight jaw as the beast seemed to almost hide behind him, a silent threat to use him as a shield against attack they may have. But this thing…this horrid monster had to be put down, the way it chittered and growled only seemed to attract more carnage, what were they to do?

Robin's vision sputtered with dark red while his shoulder tore from its socket and his body was throttled downward, not enough to kill him, but enough to cause his traveling companions to flare up in anger at the abuse his form was suffering through. His eyes caught the rogue approaching, sneaking as if to flank the creature from behind - but a single mistep brought the beast around to face him with pounding breath and curled lips. Sanguine sweetness dripped from its gums and across its mouth as Robin grit his teeth tightly, finally meeting the man's crimson gaze. Instinctually he reached towards him, towards the only hope available to him. That was until the creature crunched down and the searing torture spread across his body, causing his free hand to collapse upon the soil below, feeling…wood?

The visage of his vampiric companion shone within the face of the axe, a blade not sharp enough to pierce the creature's plating but… Another crunch, another rip brought him out of his thoughts as his fingers wrapped around the handle, his eyes flicking up to his companion once more - silently relaying the horrid realization of what was to pass. His white hair pulled on his scalp as he twisted within the creature's grasp, calling outward to another companion of his to begin a spell - something to eradicate this creature permanently. His pulse jumped into his ears as he raised the axehead, feeling the creature tense in preparation for the blow that never came.

Blood poured and bones cracked under the blade's weight, spilling nectared life onto the dirt below as he finally yanked himself free, stumbling backwards into the rogue who helped him back from the slowly heating zone. The mage of their group was quick to set the beast ablaze once Robin was free from it's radius, his adrenaline far too high to notice the way his rosy cheeks had drained. That was until the burning air caught his nerves, bare and nude to the outside world as they never had been before, and his body began to convulse - he could not stop the electrical jolts of misery rocking through him. The bile within his stomach shocked loose and was soon unsettled with his movements, his head swimming with aches and agony.

Usually that would be the end of it, but his shoulder - the sphere had popped out of its holder and it burned like hellfire below. He had been thrown and throttled around so violently that he was surely covered in bruises and scrapes, and the last slap of his form onto the ground surely rattled his brain. He was unable to place together how much of him was leaking, the cut of the axe and adrenaline forcing him to focus on the piercing throb that danced along his collarbone. Had it shattered? Surely that would explain why he felt like a rag doll and why ever single movement was practically unbearable. He heard his name being called, once a delectable voice had turned into one of concern and anger - how could he have done something so reckless?

Bright, teary eyes connect with what once was, seeing his own fingers twich and flick about wildly was enough to spur his stomach forward, lurching and collapsing back onto the ground off of his companion. Misery settled within him, nesting deep in his mind as he realized that his lute and lyre were to never be played again. The one thing that brought joy to his life - ripped away by his own actions, he was alive yes…but, what was left of life when the rest had gone? He barely registered the way he was moved and how his jaw was gripped open, forcing a thick leather belt between his teeth as to not shatter them by how tightly he was wound up.

A quiet numbing sensation fluttered against the wound as he met Astarion's gaze, the man looked beyond what was comfortable - unsure of himself, perhaps disgusted by the bard's actions. A wave of shame crossed Robin's face while their gazes stayed locked, his breath hitched as tears cut clean valleys through the muck and dirt on his face. It meant little though as a cloth was tied and turned around his stump, cinching the arteries and veins shut with a turn and a yank. A sheathed blade was placed within the fabric and turned once, twice…enough times that Robin felt as though he were about to black out from the pain.

Only when the spurts of blood stopped did the fear and terror kick in, lips curling like an injured animal while a vignette of creeping black surrounded Astarion's pretty head. The palm cradling his skull was welcome as his lids grew ever heavier, he wanted to sleep but something in him chided him to keep awake. He had to. Each beat of his heart felt like a clock counting down to the end of his misery and yet he persisted to keep himself awake and stay inside of it. His lips trembled to speak but nothing came, only wheezes and the crinkle of the rubber between his canines. He heard the man shout for a cleric, demanding help from anyone more experienced than himself - his anger sparking the air as a dizzying blur hazed over the injured's frame of vision.

His free hand lifted up slowly, exhaustion causing his very bones to feel like sinking anchors, and yet even now his touch hesitated and stayed far from his companion's cheek. And finally, it fell back down while the world became muddled and dark, save for the pair of sanguineous eyes watching him.

[shishitoren-vc]

Togame expected Azariel to disagree with him, to tell him that the parasites that lived in their brains weren't something to wish for. And yet here the other was telling him that it was natural to feel torn. To admit that the parasites brought great power. Taking a deep breath, Togame debates what he should all say, before opting to simply tell the truth.

"I wasn't a very good person before I got kidnapped-" he speaks slowly, as if picking his words carefully. "-I am... or was... my gang's enforcer, for lack of better terms. Being away from them now, makes me realize how much I hated doing what I did... but I had no choice. If I didn't do it, then who would?"

Azariel is many things but a life coach and poet are definitely two things he is not. Despite being underqualified to help others he has a good heart and he likes to think that counts for something. That and he's relatively good at looking at the glass as half full with another half with potential to be full once more.

"I think it is natural to feel torn. On one hand they bring great power, but on the other said power comes with a price..." his voice trails off as his mind wanders for a moment. He can not tell him what to feel about the parasites, but he can encourage him to consider the pros and cons. "What do you mean by `things the way they were?"

[ashprince-of-bel-air]

Touch Starved Rolan

A/N: I was on holiday and now i have written it! I dedicate this to @scandistar and @sasha199 who commented on my drunk ramblings of a touch starved Rolan!

18+ and very much smut.

Part 2

You had caught Rolan masturbating in his tower previously, his deep voice echoed through the door to his office as you listened, feeling flustered as you heard him call your name. You did not mean to listen the first time that you heard him, it was by accident as you were bringing him his supper for the night. Each night after was definitely on purpose, your thighs wet, clenching them together as you could hear his muffled moans through the heavy door, hearing him grunt as he finished. You would have given anything to be the one causing those noises to spill from his lips.

Days pass and each one was torture for you, you did not know how to broach the subject with him, do you walk in mid-session and offer to help him or do you try and flirt with him the proper way? In the end it did not matter, you encountered him in the small stock cupboard in the back of the store by accident, you were there to count the potion vials when you saw him in the corner counting the scrolls. You took the opportunity to count the vials next to him, your bodies brushing against each other.

Rolan’s voice caught in his throat as he felt your soft skin brush against his, in what he thought was an innocent gesture. “Oh… Y/N, I did not know you were going to be in here?” Rolan looked down at you, his eyes landing on your cleavage, why did you have to wear such a low cut dress, is what he thought to himself, groaning internally as he felt his briefs tighten. His eyes were transfixed, he could not think of anything other than his hands and lips around your breasts in this moment, imagining the ways he could touch and kiss you, his mouth around your nipples, kissing you with reverence. He was thankful that his skin was crimson already otherwise a blush would have spread throughout his face.

“Oh no I’m just doing a stock count” Your voice innocent and cheerful, pretending to not know what you are doing as you press your body closer to his slightly, writing down numbers of the vials to make it seem like you are doing your job, when in reality you were taking this chance to rile him up. “Can you excuse me a moment?” You had asked and shuffled your body in front of his, pressing against him, not even waiting for his response.

Rolan could feel your arse pressing against his cock and it made him groan, his hands gripping the fabric of his robes making his knuckles go numb from the force, He had wanted you for a while and to feel you against him was torture, he could feel himself getting hard against the curve of your ass, praying by some miracle that you would not notice somehow.

You turned to face Rolan, smirk on your face, knowing what affect you had on him in this moment. The closeness between you two was enough to make you blush, your bravado escaping you as you were almost chest to chest, feeling his length against your thigh. You gasped his name involuntarily as you finally felt his hands on your waist, his self-control had broken, that was all it took before you felt his lips against your neck. Rolan devoured your skin, kissing and biting it with his sharp teeth, eliciting a delicious moan each time his sharp canines nipped your skin, leaving his beautiful marks all over your neck and collar bone, you moaned even more imagining how they looked on your delicate skin. His hands roamed your body at long last and you craned your neck to let him claim you further, desperately wanting to be his.

As Rolan’s mouth explored your skin, your hand found his thick length beneath his robes, you groaned as you felt the size of it, desperate to feel it stretch you. Your touch was gentle at first, becoming rougher on him as he riled you up, desperate to feel him. It did not take long to feel him tremble against your hand and his eyes tear up against the soft skin of your neck, his load spilling into his briefs, whispering sweet apologies against your skin. You chuckled softly and kissed the top of his head, flattered that you got this reaction by rubbing him through his robes. You bent down and removed his briefs, kissing the tip of his cock gently, not wanting to overstimulate him, as you cleaned him up with your mouth, wanting to taste every inch of him

“Rolan, this is just the first of many times” you teased playfully, on your knees looking up at him through your thick eyelashes.. Rolan moaned softly at your touch and at how good you looked knelt before him, his thick fingers found the crook of your chin and slowly lifted you up, tilting you chin so you could look him in the eye. A devilish smirk crossed his face as a free hand found your clit through your clothes, moving in a slow languid pace, causing you to moan desperately against the torturous pace. You could feel Rolan lean towards you as he touched you, his breath hot against your ear. “It’s rude to tease sweetheart” Groaning deeply as you felt his teeth against your earlobe, almost begging for release, even though you knew he would drag this out as long as he could.

[petit-etoile]

Congrats on 200 followers! :D For drabble ideas, how about one where Tav is becoming overwhelmed from being the leader of their group and they end up having a bit of a breakdown in camp, so Astarion whisks them away and dotes on them for the evening to help soothe some of their worries.

i  am  tired  of  being  brave

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount:  1,036 content warnings: none other tags: canon compliant, introspection, character study, idiots in love, established relationship, gender neutral tav, human!tav archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, be added to the taglist here

summary: All you want is to get away from everything. Astarion indulges you.

‘Enough!’ you shout.

Lae’zel and Shadowheart have the decency to look properly chagrined when they peer over at you, frozen as if turned to stone. Shadowheart’s knife dips underneath Lae’zel’s chin, but the pretense of applied pressure goes away. You have no idea what hour it is or how long they’ve been going at it but the little patience you have snaps like a fine thread.

‘We have only gotten this far because we trust each other,’ you snap at them, pulling your nightshirt tighter around your shoulders. ‘But if you want to ruin that, leave me out of it!’

In what is likely the silliest mistake to make, you turn around and march to your bedroll to pick up your hunting knife and then march beyond the outskirts of camp  —  beyond Halsin and Jaheira and Gale and Wyll and Karlach, and Withers who seems to be musing over the situation with faint interest.

If Shadowheart and Lae’zel want to fight to the death, let them! You’ve done all that you can to get the group this far. You’re tired, you’ve been woken up two nights in a row, and you’ve had it with the drama.

You plunge yourself through the nearest bush you can find and sit next to running water, your arms pulled across your chest to keep the breeze from chilling you to the bone. You’re miserable beneath the moonlight. You can’t remember the last time you’ve slept more than four hours.

You almost doze off in the underbrush beneath a tree, but then there’s a hand sliding over your mouth and a body behind yours, somehow wedged behind you once your eyes closed. You gasp and try to reach for your knife, but Astarion tuts and continues sliding between you and the tree. It would be annoying if you weren’t relieved it was him. You relax back against him despite the feeling that your heart is going to leap out of your throat.

‘You shouldn’t fall asleep in the woods,’ Astarion warns you. ‘There are terrible beasts that have made this place their hunting ground.’

You shiver. ‘I didn’t mean to fall asleep,’ you say. ‘I just needed to get away.’

He hums. ‘Did something happen back at the camp?’

It doesn’t do any good to keep secrets, and your other companions had already witnessed it. You tell Astarion about Lae’zel and Shadowheart’s never ending fight. It doesn’t make sense to keep attacking one another, especially since the Artefact is the only reason the worms haven’t burrowed deeper into your skulls. It wears you down every day to keep making decisions for everyone when there are people with better experience. Everyone looks to you no matter how much you wish they’d look elsewhere. You never wanted this fellowship to hang on your every word. You just wanted allies.

‘It’s hardly fair,’ Astarion agrees. ‘To have the weight of this…Absolute sitting on your shoulders. I can’t imagine what it must be like to wrangle us all into cohabitation.’

‘Some discomforts are easier to resolve than others,’ you say. ‘It was easy making everyone throw their stakes away.’

‘I’m fairly certain Wyll kept his,’ Astarion snorts.

‘Yes, but he doesn’t wake us all up holding it at your neck,’ you say, elbowing him. ‘They don’t have to become friends or lovers or anything of the sort. They just have to get along until we arrive at Baldur’s Gate.’

Baldur’s Gate still seems so very far away. Acknowledging this drags you down more than you wish it to. You’re tired of walking and fighting and lying your way out of every other conflict. You miss your family and your life before the worm. The only good that’s come of it is Astarion. He lets you lounge on him when you please in exchange for some blood, and…

It’s more than that.

Astarion lets you do whatever the hell you please as long as it doesn’t annoy him. You’re free to nap in his tent or sit at his side while he reads, and he’s even allowed you to style his delicate curls with pomade. He lets you kiss him if you ask, holds your hand. If you asked him to kill someone for you, you’re certain he would without question.

Reluctantly, you sit forward. ‘I should probably head back,’ you admit. ‘I should make sure everyone is still alive.’

‘To the hells with it,’ Astarion disagrees. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you back. ‘You close your eyes and sleep. Let them come looking for us if it troubles them that much.’

‘And if Shadowheart kills Lae’zel?’

‘I’m almost certain Lae’zel would win,’ he says. ‘But, I have no doubt they’ll behave. You, on the other hand, are being naughty.’

You laugh but you do as you're told. You worm further in the roots and lean back against him. It’s chilly, but having someone else there does wonders for how willing you are to fall asleep. It’s almost nice how secluded you are away from the drama and stress. You almost wish you were a vampire so that you could sneak out and use hunting as an excuse.

The respect for all you do is nice. Sure, Halsin and Jaheira have both commended you for how hard you work for your age, but it isn’t the same. You still stand in the middle of camp trying to handle things on your own. The planning, the decisions. They somehow fall on your shoulders. A little more input would be nice, or a sign from a god that you’re doing the right thing. You try not to think about it as you feel sleep edge toward your consciousness. Astarion hums softly in your ear, and though it’s uneven, you can’t help but think it’s so off-tune that it’s lovely.

You yawn so hard your jaw pops, and Astarion hushes you, kissing idly behind your ear. It lulls you into an ease you haven’t experienced for a while. You melt into the touch. If you could purr, you would.

‘This,’ Astarion says, ‘is what you deserve. To relax here in my arms. Sleep now, and we’ll deal with what shall come in the morning.’

[pellelavellan]

❝   well, of course it doesn’t make sense when you say it like that.   ❞ / @faebhaal

He was just trying to understand. It never occurred to him he might have been a bit sheltered by his mother. He may have read about and studied a myriad of topics, but reading and experiencing were two very different things he was learning.

"I don't think it makes sense even if I rephrased it. You--always have a thirst for blood?" he supposed so did vampires, but for them it was food, what was it to a bhaalspawn? "How do you go about you know--your day to day life like that?"

[shishitoren-vc]

There was certainly no thoughts that were going through Togame's mind that weren't worry and concern of some kind. Every bit of his being was focused on Osian and the injury that he had sustained thanks to Togame. If it weren't for him, he wouldn't have been injured so badly... it should have been him, not the wood elf. That spell had been meant for him, after all.

if anything, Togame's opinion of Osian sky rocketed.

"Don't thank me... its the least I could do," he murmurs, helping the elf to his feet with careful movements, not wanting to rush him and potentially hurt him further. Once Osian is on his feet, Togame lets him go... though not for long.

"Do you need help walking?" Togame asks, hovering closer to him in preparation to help if need be. Was it guilt that fueled his actions? Certainly to some point it was... how could he not feel guilty for the injury that the wood elf sustained?

"Why did you do it?" he asked after a moments pause, looking to Osian as they walked, still hovering close by.

The wood elf could barely open his eyes without causing a shire insurmountable amount of pain to return to his face. His salted tears were like tracks of flames, reigniting the agony down his skin. Everything had fell reasonably quiet once the battle had ended. Somehow, that felt eerie. The wizard was still not used to battles - to death. But something worse had flooded through him.

They all knew now. They were all staring at him - he could feel their eyes on him even if he could barely see. Oh Gods, what were they saying? Their whispers so soft in his heart-beat throbbing ears he couldn't hear them. Gods, they were demeaning him weren't they? Ashamed of him? They would tell Finn for sure how he crumbled at the slightest of pressures.

He could hear Thekian's words echoing from their mouths from here. Useless. The Inept Wizard. He will be left behind while the others soared - that was for the best, right? Drop the dead weight. Gods...what kind of wizard couldn't counter a single spell?!

Unbeknownst to him, his mind spiralling, his body was reacting separate from himself. He instinctively drank the potion, but he was struggling to keep his breathing steady. Feeling the benefit of the potion, and Shadowheart providing further healing spells, he could feel the swelling easing away and he was able to open his eyes again. But he instead kept them shut and scrambled to his feet, only opening them again when he turned his back to them all. He couldn't bare to confirm what he had imagined...

"T-thank you..." He turned to Togame, gesturing in Shadowhearts direction as well to apply it to both of them, before quickly hiding his shaking hands by folding his arms. "That really helped b-but let's not linger... That devil will... he'll...um..." Gods they were all staring weren't they?! Why couldn't he breathe? "Let's go."

[mercymaker]

this has been on my mind for literal months now, resurfacing, then floating around that pool a bit and then sinking into the depths again, but maybe i should just write it down and get it out of my system idk

but i always found it a bit chilling how once ascended, astarion calls tav the consort, the closest thing to a family he has. sort of.. painting them as 'the wife' or 'the husband' and i know that a lot of people find it endearing and as a sort of a 'proof' that he still loves them and trusts them, yet all i can think about hearing those words (especially with the context and other things he can say to spawn tav) is how cazador called the seven spawn his 'children'.

how he created this 'family', specifically named them as such (when he could've just as easily treated and called them as what they truly were to him, just his slaves), only to then horrifically abuse them, shape them into what he wanted them to be through torture, both physical and psychological. this sort of.. oxymoron in motion. and if it wasn't bad enough with all the abuse, he knew (for hundreds of years) that these poor souls, his children, are going to be consumed for the ritual to grant him the powers of the vampire ascendant. the sort of.. devouring and annihilation of his own 'family'.

and it always made me wonder if that's the eventual story for spawn tav and ascended astarion as well. if them being 'the consort', in the whole picture, means the same thing 'children' meant to cazador? if he could heartlessly torture and abuse his own 'children', then astarion could eventually do that very same thing to tav?