#he’d be a bard with no instrument

[gamerhamlet]

my love for armani & jude flips wildly depending on which one I’ve played most recently + where I’m at in their playthroughs but I just KNOW I’m about to go stupid for my resist!durge

[eebeewrites]

Band Nerd! Elf BF x Vocalist! Chubby Reader Part 1

Synopsis: It’s your sophomore year of college, and becoming a bard was much more involved than you originally thought. Learning how to utilize the magic you were born with, alongside growing as a musician, frequently kept you busy. You’ve been given an assignment to re-arrange a piece of music, but with some odd requirements; It can’t be two of the same instrument, one part must be performed by yourself, and your duet partner can’t be someone in your class. Being a vocalist, you quickly realize you don’t actually know a lot of instrumentalists, and need to find a duet partner quickly. When you see a familiar elf from your literature class in the music building, you get an idea. 

Tags: 18+, modern fantasy, college au, music major au, switch/vers reader, switch/vers love interest, fem chubby reader in mind, bard reader, nerd love interest, smut with plot, first time, inexperienced love interest.

WC: 4.3k

I wrote this alternative series for my OC Taleisin while my blog was taken down. I don't know if I'll continue it, but I had a lot of fun with it and still wanted to post it! You can read his original series here. If people like this I'll continue this as I have some ideas to tie different things together, but I'll still keep writing his original series too o7

‘Why the fuck did I do this?’

10:00 AM didn’t seem that early when you first scheduled for classes. Yet between last night’s choir rehearsal ending thirty minutes late, along with trying to find ideas for your arranging project, you were exhausted. 

Some may have been overwhelmed going to such a large school; your required literature class had at least one-hundred students filling the bustling lecture hall. With this many people, it was easy to blend in, and that meant it was easy to fall asleep unnoticed.

‘This is the last time’, you thought. With all the rehearsals and projects, you knew you were lying to yourself. Still, that didn’t stop you from resting your head on the table and drifting off to sleep. You woke up to find class was over, people awkwardly shifting past you as you stirred in your seat. You lifted your head, only to see a sheet of notebook paper next to you. You looked it over, the page filled with notes on today’s lecture. In the margin was a note, right next to what looked to be a doodle of a cat.  

‘I hope you’re able to get more rest! Hope this helps :D’

You looked around, trying to see if whoever left behind the notes was still there. It had to have been from whoever was sitting next to you. You didn’t know his name, you had looked over at him a few times, but you hadn’t spoken to him throughout the first few weeks of the semester. You took the page and made a note to thank him next class, assuming he’d sit next to you again. 

You made it through the rest of your classes, and decided to take another look at your arranging project, setting your things down at one of the sitting areas within the music building. Relaxing within the quiet hall, you re-read the guidelines; 

Must be a duet, with one performer being outside of the class. 

Both parts must be different instruments.

Must include piano accompaniment. 

It felt needlessly gratuitous. You didn’t know many people outside of other vocal majors, your magic related classes not starting until next semester. You sat at the table, looking over a few potential options. You had already had the assignment for a few days, but still couldn’t even decide on what to rearrange. The deadline was approaching quickly to get the first draft completed, and you needed to figure something out. 

Slowly but surely, the hall got louder, more and more people walking towards one of the large rehearsal rooms. You checked the time; sure enough, this was when the marching band held their rehearsals, the loud sound of rain keeping them from going onto the fields. The entire hallway was quickly crowded with people moving in and out of the room, waiting for their rehearsal to start. The sounds of horns, drums, and woodwinds leaked out from under the door, a symphony of unorganized noise as people practiced and conversed; some of the band students were just as loud as the instruments they played. 

You thought about getting up to leave; after all, a school this big, the marching band had hundreds of people in it, there was no sense trying to get work done here. On the other…perhaps you’d work up the courage to ask one of them to be your duet partner.

You looked around, trying to see if there were any familiar faces. There were a few people you had seen around the music building before, but no one you particularly recognized. You were just about to give up when you saw another boy walk in, and immediately you recognized him. It was the boy who you sat next to in your literature class, the one who had to have taken notes for you. An elf, he seemed sweet; a bit awkward in how he carried himself, wide-rimmed glasses covering his face as he held an instrument case in his right hand, but he didn’t seem unapproachable. 

You stood up, walking over to try and meet him before he walked inside the rehearsal hall. You made eye contact with him for a brief moment; this was your chance to call out to him and ask if he’d help you. Yet as soon as you figured out what to say, he nervously looked away from you, walking towards the door a bit faster. 

You called out, following him. “Hey, wait!”

This time he stopped, looking back at you. He looked terrified.

 “I, uh,” he stammered over his words, “are you talking to me?” 

You nodded your head, “yeah! You’re the guy who sat next to me today in lit, right?” 

He looked a bit embarrassed. “I mean, I sit next to you everyday, but…yeah, that uh, that’s me.” 

Had he really sat next to you every class? You hadn’t noticed until now. “Oh, well…thank you. I mean, I’m assuming you’re the one who took notes for me today.”

“Yeah, no problem, I know you’re tired a lot… I mean I don’t know that, but you sleep in class a lot, so I just assumed…I’m not trying to say you’re lazy or anything like that, but…” he trailed off, as if just now realizing how much he was stuttering on.  “Sorry, I uh, I just wanted to help.”

Perfect. 

“No, no I appreciate it. It’s sweet. Actually, I was wondering if you could maybe help me with something?” You asked, glancing down at the instrument case. “What do you play?”

“Saxophone. Well, alto saxophone, if it makes a difference.”

“Cool, so I have this project for my arranging class, and I need a duet partner who—”

You were interrupted by the sound of the band director’s voice calling out; it was time for their rehearsal to get started. He looked behind him, “I’m really sorry, I need to get going but…I can take a look at it.”

You rushed back to the table where your things sat, quickly grabbing a sticky note and a pen. You scribbled down your name and phone number. “Here,” you handed it to him. “Just uh, text me when you can, and I can explain it. I hope your rehearsal goes well,” you smiled, giving him a wave and walking off, not wanting to get him in trouble. You looked back, and he was still just standing there, dumbfounded by the interaction before one of his friends dragged him inside the rehearsal hall. 

You headed back to your dorm room, finding yourself glancing at your phone every few minutes to see if the boy had texted you. You weren’t sure when rehearsal ended, and part of you worried maybe you had come on too strong. You didn’t want to scare him; you hadn’t even heard you play, but…you sort of knew him. Sort of. Things moved so fast you hadn’t even learned his name. 

🧡: Hi! It’s the saxophone player/the guy that sits next to you in lit :D my name’s Taleisin by the way

🧡: what song are you doing? 

🩷: thank you for messaging me! I actually don’t know yet…I’m a vocalist and I need to rearrange something. For voice and something else, but I can’t have my duet partner be someone in the same class or another vocalist, and most of my friends are other vocal majors 

🧡: ohhh, that sounds tricky

🩷: yeah, it’d be easier if I played an instrument tbh

🩷: but I haven’t even started yet, I know it wouldn’t be a lot of time to practice ;-;

🧡: sure! Sounds like a fun challenge :D just let me know when you have the music done

🩷: thank you so much!! I’ll have it done by our next lit class

Now that you had a duet partner, it was time to find an idea and get to work. 

You watched as he looked over the sheet music, the paper still warm from printing it out just before class. He looked over it carefully, and you couldn’t help but be nervous. ‘Does it look too difficult? Does he think it’s bad?’

“This shouldn’t be too tricky,” he nodded. “Sorry I took so long, I just wanted to make sure I could actually do it,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I don’t want to mess things up for you.”

“No, no, not at all! I’m just glad you’re willing to give it a shot at all. Do you have a class after this one?”

“Not until 1:00, no.”

“Would you be able to practice after this class, maybe? I have access to the practice rooms.” 

“Sure, I’d just need to go grab my sax, but I only live like, five minutes away.” 

You made plans to meet at the music building, asking him to text you when he had arrived so you could let him inside the practice rooms. Once class was done, you parted ways, and headed to the music building to get set up before he’d return to campus. You warmed up, looked over your music, and met him in the hallway once he messaged you. 

You led him back to the hallway of practice rooms, shutting the door behind you as you walked back inside. You waited patiently as he unpacked his instrument, trying to make small talk to fill the silence. “So…how long have you played it?” 

He shrugged, “awhile, kinda on and off for the past uh…fifty years? Something like that.” 

Your eyes widened; you had noticed the pointed ears and angular face, but based on how he dressed and carried himself, you assumed he was around your age, even if he was an elf. “That’s cool. I’ve only been singing for…uh, I’m not sure actually, pretty much ever since I was a kid. I guess it was just something I always wanted to do, so I did it.”

“Like, a calling?”

“I guess so. What about you?”

“Honestly? My parents used to take me to orchestras and ballets a lot growing up.”

“Oh, that’s cute.”

 “Well, I fell asleep a lot.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, “you’re not the first person I’ve heard say that.”

“Now I get it, but…there was this movie that came out around then, and there was a song with a really cool sax solo in it. So…I decided to give it a try. I was really bad at being consistent with it, but I figured if I finally went to college I’d need something to do, you know, a way to make friends I guess, so…I kinda just hyper fixated on it until I was good enough to play the music for the audition. It’s kinda dumb-”

“Not at all. It’s more interesting than what I said.”

You got started, and things were going well on a technical level. Occasionally one of you would miss a note, or go ahead of the other, but for a first run-through you were happy with it. You practiced a little longer, before both of you were happy with your progress. 

For the next few weeks, he’d come to the music building and practice with you. You had to tweak the arrangement a few times, but the hard part was over; now, you just had to practice. 

You learned more about him in the time you spent together; he was a computer science major who lived alone in an apartment off-campus. He played in the marching band and the jazz band, and most of the people he hung out with were other non-music majors within the ensembles he participated in, rather than people in his actual major. He was the same year as you, a sophomore. Maybe he was a bit shy at first, but his eyes seemed to light up whenever he talked about anything he was passionate about; computers, games he played, music and movies he enjoyed, and even telling stories about his friends. You went from hardly noticing him in your lit class, to talking to him nearly everyday. Sometimes, he’d even bring two energy drinks; giving you one to make sure you stayed awake in class. 

It was the last day you had to rehearse with him, the performance of your arrangement in two days. You stood outside the door to the practice rooms, only to find your ID card wasn’t working. You’d slide it through the slot in the door, only for the light to blink red instead of green. 

“Shit,” you mumbled, giving it another try before the light stopped blinking altogether. “I don’t know why it’s not working.” You had to practice today, this was your last opportunity to pull everything together. “For some reason my card isn’t working,” you mumbled. 

“Oh. Uh…is there somewhere else we could practice?” 

You looked over at him, awkwardly avoiding making eye contact. He told you he lived alone. You could go practice over at his place. That’s when the intrusive thought hit you.

It came and went quickly, but the vision that flashed through your mind was enough to give you pause. The thought of you on top of him, kissing him and making him whimper from the feeling of your body. You hadn’t known him that long, but you liked talking to him. He was sweet, attractive in a dorky but cute way. Maybe he was a bit of a loser, but he was much nicer than most other guys you had spoken to on campus. From the looks of it, he’d be lucky to have someone like you interested in him. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, noticing you zoning out. 

“Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking…you said you live alone, right?”

He nodded, “yeah. We could practice there, if you wanted.”

You smiled, “that’s just what I was thinking.” 

He drove you to his apartment, and you couldn’t help but be a little nervous. Would you actually make a move on him? ‘If he's the type of guy with a gross room and just a mattress on the floor and nothing else, then maybe not…’ He led you inside, and you were happy to be proved wrong. It looked…surprisingly normal, when you first stepped inside the apartment. 

“Sorry it’s a bit messy, I haven’t cleaned since the last time my friends were over,” he mumbled. 

It wasn’t messy at all. Lived in maybe, but far from the horrors of the frat boy bedrooms you had seen before. “It’s okay. Sorry I had to make you come right back here,” you joked. 

“It happens,” he shrugged, setting the instrument case down. “I guess we should get started then, right?”

‘I won’t make a move on him until we run through it successfully at least once, we still need to actually practice,’ you told yourself. ‘Worst he can say is no.’ 

You managed to run through the piece a few times, both of you feeling confident. Yet you couldn’t help but look at him, noticing him stealing glances at you out of the corner of your eye. Then again, you were doing the same thing. Maybe he had the same idea, maybe he just caught you staring. 

You were just about to wrap up your practice when you worked up the courage to say something. “You have class at 1, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“If you want I could just stay here and hang out until then. That way you wouldn’t have to go back and forth.”

His eyes widened, “sure, if you’d like to. I mean, if you want to go back, I don’t mind, but if you wanted to stay-”

“Cool,” you smiled, putting your music away in your backpack before sitting back down on the couch. He moved to take apart his instrument, his back to you. That’s when you got an idea. 

Maybe it was a bit bold, but it’d certainly get the point across quickly. You listened as he spoke about the weather, unsure if it’d rain or not for marching band practice later in the day. You took your shirt off, your tits still covered by your bra as he continued. “Yeah, they don’t really cancel practice ever, since we can just go inside, but there was this one time last year where—” he turned around and stopped, staring at your breasts. “Uh…you took your shirt off,” he mumbled, still unashamedly fixated on your cleavage. 

“Mmhmm. Is that okay?” 

“Uh, yeah, totally, for sure. I uh…” his tan skin flushed. “If it’s like, hot in here, I can turn on the air conditioning or—”

“I wanted you to see them.” 

He paused, wide eyes blinking back at you. “I…huh?” You watched as it finally clicked for him. “Oh…I get it, I think. I-I’m not really sure what to do now though. Or if I’m missing something.” 

You shrugged, “what do you want to do now? Or…is there something you want me to do? I can put it back on, if you’d like.”

“No, no, that’s…that’s okay, this is…this is good,” he stumbled over his words, still standing in front of the instrument case. “Could I uh, could I still sit next to you?”

“It’s your place, go ahead,” you giggled. He sat down, still keeping a bit of distance, but close enough to touch you. “I can take more off, if you’d like to see.”

“Only if you want to, but…I’d like to. To see, I mean, if you’re okay with that.”   

You reached behind your back and unclipped your bra, your breasts fully visible for him to see. He seemed entranced by you, watching your movements as he shifted his legs closer together. You were smart enough to know what he was trying to hide. He was speechless, looking you up and down. “You’re…” he mumbled, “you’re really pretty.” 

You smiled; you had him under your spell. “Thank you. You know, you could touch them if you want.” 

“A-Are you sure?”

You nodded, “I’m sure.”

He moved slowly, his hands shaking as he put your hands on your chest. You winced at his touch, his hands cold. He pulled away fast, startled by your reaction. “I’m sorry! Did…did I do something wrong?”

You let out a quiet laugh. “No, no your hands are just cold, I wasn’t expecting it.” You put your hands over his, gently guiding him back to your chest. 

“Sorry, I haven’t ever done this before. Or…anything like this, before,” he said as his hands touched you once more. From what he had told you, he was much older than you, despite looking the same age. Had he really gone through decades of life without even touching a girl? On one hand, it was a little pathetic. On the other, that meant you’d get to be his first. 

“That’s okay. If you want…” you moved your body closer, moving onto his lap as your plush thighs hugged him. “I could kiss you.” 

He looked up at you in awe, his hands still touching your chest. “Yeah, that…that would be cool, sure,” he stuttered, nodding his head. 

You leaned in to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck as your chest pressed against him. You started to grind back and forth on the obvious bulge in his pants, deepening the kiss. Every time you moved, you could hear his quiet little moans, sneaking out between breaths. You started to move faster, and his moans only got louder. He didn’t try to hide his pleasure at all, and that made you only want to go further. 

He wasn’t the best kisser, but there was a certain charm in his lack of experience. He didn’t know where to move his hands, awkwardly moving them to the side as you pressed against his chest.You kissed him deeper, slowly slipping your tongue into his mouth, and he followed your lead, whimpering through the wet kiss as you grinded your covered wet pussy against his cock. 

You pulled away, catching your breath as you both looked back at the other. His face was flushed, he looked exasperated. He covered his mouth with his hand, “fuck, sorry if I made too much noise, I don’t know if that’s weird.”

“I liked it,” you grinned, “I think it’s cute.”

“Oh. Then I’ll…keep doing that, I guess.” 

You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, “we can stop here, if you want. Or…we could go a little further.”

He paused, thinking it over. “I’m…I’m not sure. I mean, I want to, I just…I might not be any good. I don't want to disappoint you.”

You caressed his face with your hand, “I’m sure you’ll be wonderful. I could just take the lead, if you’d like.”

“That’d probably be best.” 

You moved off his lap in between his legs, running your hand along the outline of his cock. ‘Is he really that big?’ you thought. You undid his belt, looking up at him. “Can I take it out?”

He nodded his head, biting his lip. You unzipped his pants, eyes widening. You weren’t sure what you expected from a guy like him, but it wasn’t something so long and thick. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just…” you offered him a reassuring smile. “It’s a lot. But I can do it.” You weren’t so sure of yourself, despite what you told him. Precum was already leaking out the tip, the boy gripping the edge of the couch before you had even done anything. You took his cock in your hand, slowly stroking it back and forth. You rubbed the tip with your thumb, watching as he let out a breathy moan. 

“That…that feels good…”

You smiled, “I can show you something even better.” Before he could formulate a response, you started to lick the tip of his cock, letting out another whimper. 

“Holy fuck, that-” he couldn’t finish his sentence, overwhelmed by the sensation of your tongue moving up and down across his cock. “That’s, that really feels good,” he moaned. His cock now wet with your spit, you took the head of his cock in your mouth, still teasing him with your tongue as you started to lower yourself down, taking his cock as deep as you could. 

“Oh shit, you feel so good,” he moaned, watching as you eagerly sucked his cock. You struggled to take the full length in your mouth, choking at the base of it. “You don’t, you don’t have to do that, I’m sorry.” 

His cock left your mouth with a satisfying pop as you came back up. “I want to, though.”

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself, even if it feels…really good.”

“Trust me, I’m fine. Just…try to relax a little, okay?” 

He nodded his head, mesmerized by the sight of his cock right by your face. “I’ll try.” 

You quickly got back to work, bobbing your head back and forth on his cock as you felt it start to twitch in your mouth. You couldn’t stop, the sound of his moans and whimpers only making you want to tease him further.

“Wait, I think I’m gonna cum, hold on,” he cried out. Yet you kept going, undeterred. “I can’t, I can’t go anymore, fuck!”

The bitter taste of his cum flooded your mouth. You kept your mouth on his cock, lapping at the tip as he came. When he finally finished, you swallowed it all; he must’ve been quite pent up. 

He covered his face with his hands, sounding as if he was about to cry from the embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, I just, it felt really good, I tried to hold back, I-”

You crawled back onto his lap, shutting him up with a kiss as he was still catching his breath, tasting himself on your lips. “I wanted to. Don’t apologize for giving me what I wanted,” you grinned. 

He seemed almost dumbfounded by your response, “I…uh, well, you’re welcome then, I think. That was…I had a lot of fun,” he said as he rested a hand on your side. 

“We don’t have to stop if you don’t want to,” you wrapped his arms around his neck, giving him another kiss. “I don’t mind having a little more fun while we wait for you to get hard again.”

“I’d…I’d like that, I just,” he glanced over at his phone, looking at the time. “Oh fuck, I’m late!” He panicked. You got off of him reflexively, watching as he stood up and quickly tried to put himself back together. “I’m really, really, really, sorry, but I’m late for class, and I can’t miss it, I’m really sorry-”

You wiped the spit away from your mouth. You understood the panic from being late all too well. “No, no, it’s okay, but…you have my number, if you ever wanna do something like this again,” you said with a reassuring smile. 

He stopped in his rush, the panic subsisting for just a moment as he looked back at you. “Yeah. I’d…I’d like that. Maybe…if you’re not doing anything tonight? We could do…the rest of it? I mean, the rest of like, what we started, unless that’s all you wanted to do, which is totally fine by the way, we could just hang out,” he trailed off, unable to think of any more words to fill the silence. 

You walked back over and gave him another quick kiss, one he eagerly returned before you pulled away; if you kept going, he might’ve forgotten he was late all together. “I’ll text you my address. Pick me up at eight. Does that work?”

He nodded his head quickly, “yeah, yeah, I can do that.”

“Good,” you said as you ran your fingers through his hair, making him look just a little less distressed. “I’m looking forward to it. Now come on, let’s head back to campus.”

All in all, it was a very productive practice session.

Part 2

SO my blog got taken down and I still wanted to write something for him while it was gone, so I wrote this. Now blog is back, but I still wanted to post it as I really liked it. I know I mentioned rewriting stuff, and it wasn't a super popular idea, but I wanted to still post this with the idea of continuing the original series as one that's more light-hearted, while making this one a bit more plot/worldbuilding/lore heavy, as I have a few other OCs in this setting as well, and I didn't plan on using my own worldbuilding from the get-go of his original story.

I also wanted to write him being a bit of a loser baby sub for a bit longer too so...yeah :D

If this is my first work you've read, then hi!! I like elves and I like modern urban fantasy and im a slut. thats abt it.

I HOPE YOU LIKED IT! Thank you for reading :D

Taleisin Taglist (Ask/Comment to be added!): @sketchlove @madam8 @shimadalluvia @crimsonflameproxy @mimi-sanisanidiot @damnitimasimp @dlikesdandelions @skeletonea @mysexy-anxiety

[avocado-writing]

I got a request for bg3, how about a tav who is a bard and the companions falling for them mid-performance, thank you and have a nice day!!!

Your hands are so clever, thinks Astarion. Just like his. They work the strings of your violin ever so gracefully, nary a finger out of place. It is a dance between you and your instrument, one which he has grown appreciative of; no, more than that, fallen in love with. Your eyes, so far closed in concentration to block out the world save for you and the music, peep open - when you spot him looking directly at you, you wink. And oh, he is done for.

Gale watches the way you write music. Scribbled little bars in fine ink, or soft pencil, or charcoal if there’s nothing better. He observes the charming way you chew on your lip as you hum a melody over and over to yourself, desperate to seek perfection before you note it down. If you see him watching you, you give him such a radiant smile that he finds his cheeks heating from the sight of it.

The feel of your drumbeat matches the rage inside her. Karlach roars as her muscles tighten and her grip nearly shatters the haft of her axe, she begins to maul with expert precision as you slam out war song just for her. The blood in her ears provides a harmony to it. She realises, behind her bloodlust, that the two of you are perfect two halves of a whole. She’d never part from you.

Shadowheart watches you pluck the strings of your lute and fantasises about what your fingers could do. Where they’d explore on her body. How deft they’d be if they walked along her sternum until they could undo the laces of her bodice, free the plains of her skin to you. When you notice her red cheeks you tease her, and she snaps something back… but doesn’t look away.

He could listen to you play the lyre for hours. The way you keep it snug against your body is near-envy inducing, but Wyll won’t let himself be jealous of an instrument. Instead he sings along with you, happy to provide a counter-melody, made weak for the way you light up when you find there’s another performer at your side. He realises then he’d do anything to keep you smiling.

Lae’zel has never been a lover of music before she met you. It was pointless, to her ears, just another waste of time. But then she noticed the way you always sang when you were happy. It was easy to tell from then on when things had you feeling sombre. And, when you stopped singing as you saw someone suffering, her hand went to her sword as she decided to rectify the issue and earn your praise in one fell swoop.

[grimm-writings]

HIIII i LOVE your blog!! could i request a bard reader performing a song in front of the party, and it slowly dawns upon chilchuck that the song is about loving him? 🥺

a way with words

…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, reader is a bit of a poetic shit <3, reader plays a string instrument (envisioned a lute or mandolin but i don’t specify!)

…wc! 1092

…notes! OH MY GODDDD this is so cute. what the hell. we need more bard representation in this got damn dungeon. (i know thistle could technically be one but one in a party i beg)

To me, some parties employ a bard if they plan on going on ‘legendary’ outings into dungeons.

Somebody needs to be there to document their exploits through the written word – how else are legends made?!

You probably stumbled on the party with the intent to write a song of legend.  Eating the dragon that ate one of you sounds pretty legendary after all, right?

Safe to say if you’re not exactly humble about your profession you get on the nerves of a certain union man.

Even if your reason for joining the party was… less than virtuous, you did bring a certain joy to the party that they all appreciate.

If journeying is getting tiring, all you need to do is pluck a few strings of your instrument and hum a travelling song.

Sometimes you’d make a little ‘game’ out of it.  You know using the drunken sailor melody to make your own songs?  Well…

“What shall we do with a big red dragon, earl-ye in the morning!”  Your voice rings out, bouncing off the walls of the dungeon around you.  You eye the party around you before your gaze lands on the half-foot seeming disinterested in your performance. Well, that simply won’t do! You lunge, dragging him back by the shoulders, eyeing him expectantly.  He only gives you a wide-eyed look of surprise for a second before realising everyone is watching.  He’d hate to interrupt the song, so… “Tie it down and eat it for dinner?” he suggests, only guessing the rhythm vaguely.  To his surprise, you seem to really like it.  You laugh and pick up the music once more to sing his lyric once again. He has to admit, at least you’re having fun.  He doesn’t realise until you reach a stop that he’s been singing along at the end.

I imagine half-foots have a cultural appreciation for music.  It’s a big scene!  They have drinking songs, travelling songs, work songs…  I wouldn’t be surprised if most bards are half-foots!

And Chilchuck is no exception.  Have you seen his little jig?  Of course he likes music!

He has great hearing so he’ll also pick up on little accents in your music and singing others wouldn’t really get.

If you’re performing a campfire song, Chilchuck will likely join in (especially if he had a bit of drink).

It’s nice.  He seemed to be relaxing around you, and you seem to be becoming more of a friend to the party rather than a glorified biographer.

You have to admit that the half-foot has been growing you a considerable amount.  What a complex individual.  So much to read into and inspire… 

It would be one night when you’re on night watch that Chilchuck’s sensitive ears end up waking him up. ..

The half-foot was going to hiss and complain about you being too loud at this time in the night, when he realises you’re playing a melody and mumbling words to yourself. …Huh.  Are you writing a song?  Chilchuck tries to remain still with his eyes closed and listens closely.  It’s handy having such keen senses sometimes. He could only pick up a few words; brown, warmth… something about a kind soul? Chilchuck figures you might be setting up for the party’s “legendary” song.  Maybe you’re focusing on Falin.  Her hair is a very pale brown, and she’s a kind soul if a bit of a people pleaser. He rests easy, listening to your gentle plucking of your strings.  It’s a different melody from usual… he likes your softer side he can identify through your music.

He never tells you he listened to your little jam sesh.  If you knew he’s using your music as a way to fall asleep easier…  He can see your smug smile now, and it makes him endlessly frustrated (or flustered rather).

Chilchuck’s feelings are something he never really… knew.  They just sort of existed, and he let them.  It’s not like anything will happen.

Sure, he gets more red in the face around you… and MAYBE he gets a softer look in his eyes as he looks at you… and perhaps he thinks your singing voice is one of the prettiest sounds he has ever heard…

So what?

It’s a colder night when you take out your instrument and announce you finished writing a song.  It took you a long time to complete it, you admit, but you put a lot of heart into it.

A unique starter, the party might think.  Usually you write for fun.  Specifying putting heart into your music is something that rings an alarm in their heads.

You start playing a melody.  It’s a type of sombre, deep sound.  It resonates a less folksy mood and something more… personal. With eyes closed, you don’t notice Chilchuck perking up in familiarity.  That’s the tune he heard you playing weeks ago.  You only just refined it?  At least he can actually hear what the words are. Your eyebrows are furrowed as you sing about a character that has a kind soul, with deep brown eyes.  His warmth is something that you find yourself wanting to bathe in once a journey ends.  Chilchuck listens with a small smile. It’s only when you start mentioning things like silver strands of hair you wish to weave through your fingers, things start to fall into place.  Wringing his hands too often for a well-prepared man is a lyric that is too specific to merely be about some fictional character. He doesn’t say anything even as he joins in the applause at your finished peace, pretending the heat in his cheeks is from the frosty temperature.

That night, he catches you alone refilling your waterskin.  The atmosphere is thick with a kind of calmness.

Where Chilchuck is usually so stubborn, he finds the words escaping his lips in a soft voice.

“Are you in love with me?”  You don’t respond instantly.  He expected as such.  He follows your form with his eyes as you widen your eyes and glance away with a small laugh. “Wow.  Wasn’t as subtle as I thought,” you dryly tack onto your chuckle. He laughs along, approaching you.  He doesn’t do anything drastic, instead offering his own to you. “It’s okay,” he tells you, surprised at his own lack of embarrassment despite the situation.  “The fact you notice all that about me is… flattering.  You really have a way with words.” You return the grin he gives you and take his hand, squeezing it. “How could I not notice, when you are my intimate muse?”

[ipostdumbthings]

Romantic Headcanons for Bard Reader with BG3 Companions

Astarion

Well, won’t you be the easy target? What could be easier to seduce than a bard? Honestly, he probably could just wait for you to try to seduce him first. Too easy. At least that’s how he thinks about it at first.

It’s not hard to choose you to seduce, of course, not only are you capable and competent, you also provide a little taste of civilization and creature comforts in the way of making camping more pleasant. Your music and aesthetic skills are the sort of luxuries Astarion loves to indulge in whenever he can.

In some ways he’s a little more guarded with his feelings around you, at least to start with. Bards have a reputation, and he finds your company just so pleasurable, that he realizes how easy it may be for him to slip. So until he is forced to confide in you, you’ll find he defaults to flowery praise of your talents as a tactic to avoid having any meaningful discussions.

When he does have to actually let you in, the thing he feared, being connected meaningfully with you proves to be almost immediate. After all, he just enjoys you so much. You’re fun. When you accept him for all the struggles, he finds himself vulnerable in a way that he may actually enjoy. He quickly becomes more willing to have these conversations with you.

While playing your music in camp, you’ll often spot him just watching you with the most lovely smile on his face.

Shadowheart

Shadowheart distrusts you, well, she trusts you initially because she has no choice, but she’s aware you have expert skills in deception. Something she herself trades heavily in, and that being the case, she knows she has to be careful taking you at your word. She does respect you for it though, she respects a well executed lie more than anyone.

Actions help her trust you, but honestly what really does it is being on the same side of the deceptions. She often finds herself fancying you as a partner in crime of sorts, you two having the same interests and needs has made you someone she can count on.

She doesn’t seem interested in your music at first, in fact, she’s often hanging in her tent while you are playing for everyone else. She can hear it from there, and does very much enjoy it. Just privately.

Once you two are on the path to romance together, though, you’ll find she’s the first to ask you to start playing. It’s one of the rare things that gets her happily interacting with the rest of the team.

She’ll tease you for it, but she does genuinely love the songs you write for her. Especially if they’re dark and mysterious sounding, it makes her feel understood and flattered. But to reiterate, she won’t actually tell you that. You’ll just have to realize it from the look on her face as you perform for her.

Gale

Gale finds himself smitten by you quite quickly, as a matter of fact. He’s a verbose man, and there’s few skills outside of magic that he respects as much as verbal cleverness.

So he quickly seeks you out during the evenings at camp for stimulating dialogue. You’ll likely have to endure quite a bit of him prattling endlessly about his passions, but if you engage with him on those subjects enthusiastically, he falls hard.

He may come off condescending about your magic at first, he kind of is, but the more he hears of your experiences the more impressed he is with what it is to you. For you magic is your art, it’s an expression of passion, skill, and freedom. He finds that so very charming.

He’s a bit shy at first sharing his poetry with you, more so than he’d be with others. Afterall, you’re sort of an expert on such matters. In the same breath, your approval of his work carries so much more weight. You’ll never see his chest puff out with so much pride as you do when you tell him you like one of his poems.

The next several he writes are all about you.

Lae’zel

Lae’zel finds you frivolous at first, and why would she not? She’s carving through the enemy with blades while you play an instrument.

It doesn’t take her long to figure out just how talented and useful in fights you are though. Be you casting a quick spell to patch up an ally, or rendering your opponents weak with a well delivered insult.

In fact your devastating burns are the thing she may find most appealing about you. You can do with a few well chosen words what others have to do with weapons. That’s a skill she doesn’t take lightly.

It’s this that causes her to reassess all your talents she’d deemed worthless to begin with. The way your fingers pluck at a lute speak to a dexterity and an expert level of skill. While she may not appreciate music the way others do, she often finds herself watching you play with admiration for your well honed craft.

She’ll tell you as much when she’s trying to entice you into sex, she’s always quick to highlight your talents as proof of your worthiness.

Wyll

Before there’s even the hint of feelings caught on either side, Wyll makes it known he’s very much a fan of your work. And that means the music, the magic, the skills, all of it. You’re a person that has a solution to almost every problem, and that’s something truly special about you. You’ll get no bard jokes from him.

He finds himself quickly picturing adventures with you. Imagine the tales of a bard and the Blade of the Frontiers! It’s just so easy to see a future with you where the two of you ride off into the sunset, righting wrongs and saving the day.

He actually finds himself nervous of your response when Mizora turns him, wondering if that could jeopardize that wonderful future with you. Your acceptance of his new form means more than anyone else’s. 

In fact he feels similarly about the dancing, a bard's disapproval of his skills would cut so much deeper than anyone else’s. You are worth the risk though.

Karlach

Finally, someone to actually perform the music for her dances. She adores you the second you first catch her dancing and immediately pull out your instrument for her. It even encourages her to test out new dances to see what songs you supply in response to them.

You are her fun, you are the lightness and the joy that she so desperately thrives on while dealing with such horrific circumstances. In that way, you’re her safety from the misery. 

Whenever you two are connecting and discussing those horrific things, she always asks you to play a nice song when she’s ready to move on from the subject. When you do, the softness in her eyes make her affection for you all the more obvious.

She’s very defensive of your instruments, she won’t let anyone in camp touch them when you aren’t around. She’s sweet about it. But firm.

Her favorite moments in camp are when everyone’s around the campfire while you play your music and laughs are easy. Those will be the moments she turns to when she handles her most trying moments.

Halsin

Halsin makes it clear very quickly how highly he thinks of your musical abilities, especially since it’s something he lacks. He’s quick to thank you for songs you play, and he always stops what he’s doing to listen and enjoy your music.

In fact, he finds the most beautiful and romantic moments between the two of you to be when you take your instrument for nature walks. He loves to find a place to sit and enjoy nature, as well as your talents. He could honestly do that for hours, especially if you’re cuddled up beside him while playing.

He’s just as impressed by your charm and magical talents. He loves watching your games of verbal chess in situations, and is honestly just so impressed with how much you can accomplish with your wit alone.

He’s probably the one that first most respects and values what bards are truly capable of, and he considers you a fine tribute to the profession. He has fewer preconceived notions about bards and their antics, and as such you find it easy to simply be yourself around him.

[leighsartworks216]

request if you feel like it:

i've been thinking a lot about astarion coming up with some unique pet name(unique as in not on his usual list of what he calls everyone) for tav and their brain just short-circuiting a little when they first hear it

“another (again no pressure): tav writing a song about astarion? or them absent-mindedly playing something that was inspired by him? and his reaction to that”

I assume these were both by you, anon lol I combined them because I felt like they worked really well off each other

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: references to sex, anxiety

Word Count: 989

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

As a bard, you were no stranger to performing for audiences and putting on a good show. Smiling and going on with the show in spite of the stage fright. You’d rubbed elbows with nobles and sung ballads to their wives - you shouldn’t be as anxious as you are.

And yet, as you sit Astarion down on a pillow within your tent and pick up your lute, your fingers shake and you feel short of breath. Even when you sit down across from him, you cannot seem to settle down. You performed this a hundred times by now to make sure it was absolutely perfect, but it felt like your fingers had never held an instrument before, and like your voice was entirely gone.

Cold fingers brush your knee. He looks worried. “Are you alright, darling?”

You nod despite the forced smile you put on. “Yup! Never better! I just, uhm,” you reach over for your journal and hurriedly flip through the pages, “need to make sure I’ve got this right.”

Your eyes read the notes and lyrics over and over and over, but process none of it. You try to jumpstart your brain by placing your fingers over the frets, but your nail catches a string and makes a rather terrible noise. You both wince. Astarion leans forward and takes your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Darling, breathe. Imagine I’m just another drunk tavern patron.”

You huff a nervous laugh. “It’s hard when all I see is the man I love.”

He smirks, but the softness of his eyes ruin the illusion. He pulls you forward and meets you halfway to place a kiss on your forehead. “Breathe. I won’t laugh if you mess up.”

“Liar.”

“I won’t laugh excessively if you mess up.”

He pulls away, stroking your cheek with his thumb before he pulls away and leans back on his arms. He’s so open and inviting like this. You want to toss your lute aside and crawl into his lap, bombarding him with hugs. But, you need to share this with him first.

You close your eyes. You imagine you’re just in some dingy inn, playing for scraps and discounted rooms. This song is just like any other you’ve written. The notes are at your fingertips, ready to be released. You breathe in, imagine the song in your mind, and breathe out. You’ve got this.

You avoid looking at him as you close your journal and set it aside - you fear doing so would ruin the illusion you’ve painted for yourself. Your fingers glide smoothly along the strings, as familiar as a lover’s caress, and settle on the first chord. The words climb up your throat, lining up, ready to leap out. You try not to choke on them. You close your eyes again and start to play.

You spent countless nights composing it. Ever since you chanced upon him looking in the mirror and he’d called your descriptions of him “poetry”. To you, poetry was one in the same with the flattery he so desired. Maybe he understood that now, now that you were together. And that is exactly what this song was for.

You sang about his eyes, his hair, his smile, his hands - preening him and his apparent beauty. But you sang about his heart, too. The tenderness he shared in quiet moments, the way he sought your hand out by hesitantly brushing his pinky against yours, the delicate way he peppered your neck with kisses before he bit down as gently as possible. You poured your heart into every note, into every word. You meant every single one.

The last note fluttered into the air, and in the void it left behind came your anxiety. You were scared to open your eyes. To lose this moment would destroy you. If he hated it… Gods, you didn’t know what you’d do.

Cold hands hold your face again, but before you can open your eyes, his lips are on yours. He kisses you with a burning passion. Gratitude and love and a million more emotions, all vying to be expressed in this one act, like he can’t leave them to fester in his chest any longer. When the kiss slows, when he can bear the weight of the remaining feelings, he pulls away so gently. You pant to catch your breath, and you can feel it fanning against his skin and back at you from his proximity.

“My wonderful little song bird,” he hums. Your eyes shoot open to stare at him. He can feel your pulse as your heart skips a beat, soaring with the new pet name. He pecks your lips again briefly. “Only you would take my words and turn them against me in song.”

You chuckle breathlessly. Your mind is still trying to catch up. “You wanted flattery, and I excel in poetry - it only made sense to combine them for my favorite muse.”

He smiles wide, fangs peeking out beneath his lips. “I think I can make an exception,” he teases. “As long as you only sing about my good features.”

You cup his cheek and guide him down until you can kiss his forehead. “All of your features are good features, my star.” You lift his head again to press your forehead to his. “I can’t admire a bow and ignore its arrows - you’re not you without all of your qualities, good and bad and middling.”

“Fine,” he sighs, “but I’m to be your first audience with each one.”

“And if I write something truly scandalous?”

He smirks devilishly. “Then I’m to be your only audience, and,” he leans forward to whisper in your ear, “I intend to act out each phrase.”

You hum. “I should get to writing, then.”

Fangs tease at your lobe. “Allow me to provide you some inspiration, my precious song bird. It’s only fair, as your favorite muse.”

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnloveslokiredacted @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog

[feather-blue]

The Execution of Feather Blue

<< < VII. > >>

The fading light reflected dully off the scuffed wood as Jannik turned the instrument over in his hands.

"Mighty fine for a twopenny bard such as you," he mused, running his finger along the curved body.

Behind him, the guards exchanged amused glances. The lute looked like it had seen better days. Thin scratches ran down its back, and some of the pegs had been reinforced with twine. Only those who'd been fortunate enough to catch the tail end of the Feather's recital earlier knew not to be fooled by appearances.

Jannik, of course, would not have cared either way. He grasped the lute by it's neck, and with a casual flick of his wrist, he smashed it on the floorboards.

That, finally, made Feather Blue flinch.

Whatever sound she might have made was tuned out by the twang of broken strings and the splinter of wood. Her fingers flexed once in the plush of the carpet; her jaw twitched. That was all.

By the time Jannik looked back at her, she was composed again.

She did not look up.

Why would she have? Blue already knew the glint in Jannik’s eyes when he found something he’d been hunting for. She knew what strings looked like when they snapped, and the way that wood could splinter like a hollow, gaping ribcage.

Feather Blue didn't watch as the crown prince of Anselm reached into the carcass of her lute. She didn't watch as he drew out the impossible length of steel she'd hidden inside.

If she had -

Maybe she would have seen how, when his fingers closed around the hilt of the sword, his face momentarily softened into relief.

[bingeate-r]

Greatings from afar my queen I have a request for ya

So actually I am deeply sorry for disturbing your peace my great queen ' but you humble servant here ask for general dating headcanons or anything you brilliance has cooked inside her great mind with zenji from Tokyo debunker, I am desperately in need for some context of this man because he is the sweetest thing ever , Hope the inspiration light guide you and you never get a writing block ever my dear

farewell my Majesty

THIS HAS ME SCREAMING. WHOEVER WROTE THIS YOU HAVE ME GIGGLING AND SHOWING MY HUSBAND THIS MESSAGE.

I would be absolutely delighted to share my take on Zenji, and what dating that funky lil ghost bard would be like! My deepest apologies if it is a little short, but regardless I had fun writing for Zenji and hope to get more requests from you in the future! Hope you like it!

Zenji Kotodama/Taro Kirisak

Zenji, a man driven by the desire to create, finding beauty in every detail around him, would have been a fool not to fall for you. One look at your sweet face and his brain was overcome with melodies, stories, and any beautiful word he had in his arsenal that he could attribute to you. Each day spent with you was a whirlwind of ideas, inspiration hitting him harder than the clash did.

You’d leave for the day, and Zenji would pine as if he lost his lover for eternity. Hands furious and frenzied as he scrambled to get his thoughts down before they were replaced with new ones, dozens of books now filled with lyrical nonsense on your beauty, and the way he longs for you.

He’d follow Haku all day, lingering over his shoulder, singing lines he wrote about his ethereal goddess/god of a muse, looking for pointers on how to make them better than the last.

“When your gaze falls upon me, my dear, I feel as if my soul has once again touched the earth, breath filling my lungs for the first time in years.” He spoke, reciting the seventieth line Haku had heard that day. Haku nodded along, his brain elsewhere. The poor boy could only listen to so many love declarations a day.

Zenji is the type to leave love letters, detailing the way he wishes he could feel your soft skin underneath his fingertips; how even just a day spent away from you is enough to shatter his aching heart, the pieces unable to reform until he was in your presence again. He’d of course make you read most of the letters in his presence, a prideful bubble in his chest as he took in your reaction.

“I apologize, my dear, I often find it hard to find the right words to describe just how deeply my soul aches for yours.” He’d breathe, mind already swirling with thoughts of how to make the next letter even more romantic.

If you play musical instruments, he’s begging constantly for duets. If you don’t, the begging is equally as furious, but this time he wants to teach you how to play the biwa, wanting nothing more than to share his greatest passion with his greatest inspiration. After all, every word he wrote was with you at the tip of his tongue.

“Just like that, darling.” His voice rang out softly as he watched you pluck a chord, fingers gliding to the next string to repeat the action. His encouragement and praise went hand in hand, eyes bright and intent as they stayed locked on you.

So long as it doesn’t phase you, being a spirit hardly phases Zenji. He pushes the limits constantly, testing just what he could and couldn’t do, the goal in the end always being the same: do whatever it takes to be with you.

[inkwingsinc]

Darkfluff Outtake #1: bit my gun with my black-gold gums

[ this is a drabble outtake from my ongoing darkfic, still might sneak it into the story somewhere ]

Fandom: Dune

Character Focus: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Female OC (established relationship)

Parent Fic Rating: Explicit (written by an adult, for adults)

Drabble tags: domestic "fluff", brief mention of past child abuse, humorous reference to dismemberment, unedited

Word Count: 592

To combat writer's block and darkfic fatigue I write little "fluffy" scenes using the same characters to freshen things up a bit. This is an unedited barebones sample, just for funsies.

Full Story w/ Context:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54217396/chapters/137290048

Scene: Feyd-Rautha has...an interesting taste in music.

The first time Laera saw him put on music had been the first time he’d engaged with anything cultural that could be considered art. He was fond of moving around; often, he’d pace around his quarters while he read the reports his advisors would bind for him, or he’d take to his pull-up bar, or roll easily to the floor to curl himself into endless, controlled sit-ups. He read voraciously, but the texts were always dry nonfiction. He sharpened his blades. He contorted himself into series of endless stretches, rotated through solo training exercises, and would mutter to himself endlessly. Always moving. Always noisy. Constantly following Laera from room to room, never content to allow her moments to herself.

One morning after breakfast he ordered his attendants to bring in a musician.

The House bard was a small, frightening woman who had entirely blackened eyes and wicked, mangled scars roping over the dome of her pale skull. Her fingers were strange, being completely without fingernails, and she carried an instrument that Laera didn’t have the learning to recognize.

The music of Geidi Prime, Laera soon found out, was horrible.

“What is that, exactly?” Laera asked her warden, cringing at the metallic, shuddering moans the bard coaxed from the strange instrument. The bard wore an odd attachment over one hand, fondled a trio of metal balls, and caressed her other hand overtop with precise, slow movements. Electricity was involved, but Laera was far too disturbed to ask how it worked.

“It’s a hand theremin. Electrical harp,” Feyd-Rautha murmured up at Laera from his post on the floor. He held himself in a horribly rigid plank position, every muscle from his neck to his toes flexed. Beads of sweat gathered in the deep furrows between his shoulder blades and just above the dimples on the small of his narrow back. “Isn’t it lovely?”

Laera struggled not to laugh. “It’s…it’s something, alright. I think the sound is what a spark plug would sound like if it had the ability to scream.”

The bard turned her face to look at Laera sharply for her comment. Laera gave an apologetic shrug.

Feyd-Rautha’s rasping bark of laughter felled him from his plank, and when he hit the floor, he lazily rolled to his back on the cool stones, hard body coiling like a languid snake. He caught one of Laera’s ankles in an idle hand and pulled his foot to his chest, cradling it there. “I was taught to play as a boy. Used to play for the Baron while he bathed.”

Laera pulled her foot back, uncomfortable at mention of the Na-Baron being anywhere near his naked uncle. “Were you any good?” she asked. Good was relative, she guessed. The music still sounded like eerie, haunted-house spookytunes to her unfamiliar ear.

“I was terrible.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Feyd-Rautha rolled to his feet and collapsed on the lounge chair beside Laera, who had abandoned her book to gape at the bard and her alien little instrument. "Sometimes this music is accompanied by singing. Don’t insult my harpist, pet, or I’ll treat you to battle hymns. If you think the melody is bad, just wait until I serenade you.”

Laera snorted, amused. “Battle hymns? I can imagine the lyrics now. I bet Harkonnen lullabies even include references to ritual dismemberment.”

“Only two of them do.”

“I see.”

Unfortunately for Laera, Feyd-Rautha found her distaste for the hand theremin to be amusing. She was treated to many, many renditions of “songs”, for many hours.

She even grew to like a few.

[greyjoy-girl]

Salt and Snow: Part IX

Summary: After Balon Greyjoy's uprising fails, a young Theon Greyjoy is taken to Winterfell as a ward and hostage. Within the castle's looming stone walls, he meets Lord Stark's bastard daughter, a sharp-eyed girl who seems to look straight through him. As the years pass, their shared loneliness transforms their childhood rivalry into a complicated bond forged from shared loneliness and feelings of isolation. As tensions rise in Westeros, war breaks out and Theon is pulled between Pyke and Winterfell, testing the strength of their bond.

Pairing: Theon Greyjoy x Snow! Reader

Warnings: Theon is a raging misogynist

Length: 2.2k words

Notes: Theon is on a downward spiral

Masterlist

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━─━────༺Part IX༻────━─━

299 AC— Early spring, Winterfell

         They were arguing again.

The air in Robb’s tent is heavy with smoke and the smell of damp wool. Robb leans over a map, one hand pressed to his forehead and the other supporting his weight. Catelyn sits near the stove, her eyes angry and tired. Theon stands against the tent fabric, arms crossed, trying to feigning disinterest.

“He can’t be trusted, Robb,” she says, pointing towards him. “He was raised alongside you, but don’t mistake that for loyalty.”

“I’m not. I’m trusting his name. His claim.” Robb is desperately trying to convince his mother, no longer the confident commander he acts as in public.

“You’re gambling with the war. With your sisters’ lives.”

Theon clears his throat to remind them he’s there. Catelyn Stark doesn’t even blink at him. Robb looks between them, eyes anxious. “The Westerlands are vunerable,” he says, pointing his finger at the map. “If the Greyjoys strike from the sea while we strike from the east, we could—”

“Balon Greyjoy is no ally of yours.” Catelyn cuts in. “You think he’ll fight for your crown? He wants his own.”

“I know what he wants,” Robb says, voice low and hoarse. “But Theon’s his heir. He’ll listen.”

Theon stands up straighter. “He’ll listen,” he echoes, though he’s not sure. It had been near a decade since he’d seen his father. A decade. He forces a smirk. “He’ll want to see who I’ve become.”

Robb meets his gaze. “Will you go? To Pyke?”

Theon lets the silence sit, relishing in the feeling of control. When it feels right, he breaks the tension. “Aye. I’ll go.”

Catelyn’s disapproval is clear on her face, but she doesn’t speak. Robb looks relieved, though Theon suspects the Young Wolf’s argument with his mother isn’t yet done, just temporarily paused. “Then I’ll arrange for your escort,” Robb says. “You’ll leave for Seagard in the morning.”

Theon leaves the tent and leaves Robb to convince his mother.

That night, he doesn’t sleep. He thinks of Pyke, the salty air, the waves crashing against its stone pillars. He’s going home.

═══════════════

299 AC— Winterfell

         The Great Hall is the fullest it’s been in nearly a year. You’d helped decorate it yourself, stringing garlands of oak leaves and woven bundles of golden wheat above the high table and along the walls. The smell of roasted onions, apple-stuffed pork, and brown bread topped with melted cheese fills the air. Musicians tune their instruments, the Glover men with their bladder pipes and harps, wandering bards with sweet voices and lutes.

Bran enters on Dancer, his head high and his new jerkin gleaming in the torchlight. You hardly notice his twisted legs that hang limp against the pony’s side. The room stands to greet the Stark in Winterfell, the way they did for his father before him.

You’re next to Beth and Ser Rodrik, a few places away from Bran’s spot. On the other side, Rickon is already up to something, having stolen a heel of bread and sneaking bites to Shaggydog. Once Bran arrives at the table, everyone takes their seat and the feast begins.

Rodrik is leaning in to listen to Lady Hornwood, a older woman, recently widowed. Her face is grim as she speaks. “He’s gathering a host,” she warns. “The bastard at the Dreadfort. He says they’re for hunting, but there are too many men.” Rodrik’s thick brows crinkle and he nods.

You don’t hear the rest, but you know who they’re speaking of. Ramsay Snow. Roose Bolton’s bastard, you’d heard of him from servants with loose tongues.

But it’s a feast night, you don’t want to spoil the fleeting moment of joy by thinking of looming dangers. You let the voices in the hall, the laughter, the music carry your thoughts away.

Wyman Manderly had brought a retinue so large you swear White Harbour must be empty. Not just his knights, but their squires, lesser nobles, servants, musicians, even a juggler. Lord Manderly is a plump old man with a catching smile. You think he spends more time laughing than eating and his presence is welcome after the rough times in Winterfell. He’s generous, too, offering to provide funds and ships for Robb.

Big Walder and Little Walder sit across from Rickon, arguing over their claim to the Twins. You give them a thin-lipped smile, not wanting to get involved. Rickon likes Big Walder, but the games they play together always cause fights you’re sick of breaking up.

You sip on the spiced wine, savoring the clove and nutmeg flavors. Before you know it, you’re on your third—you think it’s the third, but who knows—glass and your head is a bit fuzzy. You feel warm and your laugh comes easy and free. Cley Cerwyn approaches you before the musicians finish their song. Awkwardly, he reaches his hand out to you. “You look bored,” he says, “Come on.”

You laugh, the stiff way he’s standing endlessly funny to you, but take his hand and bound down to the open space in the middle of the hall. For someone who looked so serious, he’s much better at dancing than you’d expected. You hear him counting steps under his lips and giggle. “Don’t get much practice, do you?” you say. He just smiles in response, spinning you around and around.

You finish your dance with Cerwyn and head back to your place. Alebelly approaches Bran, announcing that the Reeds had arrived to confirm their loyalty to the Starks. You look at them, the boy and the girl both short and thin with brown hair. The boy, Jojen, has a young face but his green eyes look like they know all the secrets the world has to offer.

 You return to your drink, losing interest quickly. You’re halfway through the glass when a tall blonde boy approaches you. You know who this boy is. Benfred Tallhart, from Torrhen’s Square. He’d punched Theon in the face, you remember. Now that you’ve seen it, you can’t fault him, the boy really does have a stupidly large neck. He smiles, waits to speak. “Dance with me?” he asks, voice loud and plain.

You blink at him. “You’re… the neck one,” you say before you can stop yourself.

He looks puzzled. “What?”

“Sorry. That came out wrong.” You raise your glass as if to blame the wine. “Just, heard someone say you had a big neck once.”

He looks betrayed for a moment, before laughing. “Gods, the Greyjoy? I haven’t thought about him in years!”

You shrug, already heading back to the floor. “It’s a secret!”

You dance until you’re breathless, changing partners with every song. You’re finally free, maybe thanks to the wine, but it’s a welcome feeling. Spinning, spinning, spinning, everything is spinning and everything is beautiful and loud and bright and perfect. Your cheeks burn and your throat is sore from laughing and it’s the most perfect and beautiful day in years.

Later, long after the music ends, you make your way back to your room. Someone, you can’t remember who, had given you another glass of that irresistible wine near the end, and your braid had come half undone. The halls are quiet now as you return to your chambers, your feet already sore from your dancing.

Your room is still and silent. You kick off your shoes, shrug off your cloak, and throw yourself face first onto your bed. Warm. You stretch your hand out in front of your face, flexing your fingers and inhaling the lingering smell of nutmeg from the feast.

You close your eyes. The faces of your dance partners flash in your face. It feels good to be seen, to be wanted. And then, like it always does, your mind goes where it shouldn’t. Theon.

Stupid faraway useless boy. He hasn’t written. You’d known he wouldn’t, but it doesn’t hurt any less. You roll onto your side, looking at the empty space beside you. You hate how badly you want fill it. Just for tonight. To forget.

The feast is still on, distant laughter echoing across the stones, a comforting hum. You let the sounds of the alive-again castle carry you off to sleep, closing your eyes and entering a heavy slumber.

═══════════════

299 AC— On the road to Seagard

The way to the Seagard was a long and damp path, running along the ragged veins that carve through the riverlands. Theon rides with Jason Mallister, who’d killed his brother Rodrik (not that Theon blames him), and his son, Patrek.

Patrek warms to him quickly, being around Theon’s age and sharing his interest in drink and women. They still drink together, swap stories, visit women Patrek’s met on his prior trips. It’s easy with Patrek. Simple.

When Lord Jason noticed his son was growing close to Theon, he’d took him aside and reminded him that Seagard was built to keep people like him out. Ironborn. Greyjoys. Not to be trusted. Fine then, Theon thinks. He’s been sent personally by Robb Stark, their King in the North. Let them think what they want.

After that, the journey is quieter.

Finally, they arrive. Seagard rose over the horizon, the Booming Tower’s enormous bell gleaming in the sunset. Theon stares at it from the hillcrest, his jaw set.

No longship awaits him at the ports, Lord Jason says Robb’s ravens announcing his return must have been lost. Theon forces himself to believe it. They send more birds, but he has no time to lose.

Theon hires a trading cog from Oldtown, captained by a large old man. He’s going home. Finally.

═══════════════

299 AC— Mid Spring, Lordsport

The Myraham rocks in the grey waters of Lordsport, her sails fluttering in the wind as the crew tossed shore lines. The air here smells of salt and fish, bringing back memories from his childhood. Theon is home. He stands on the shore in his finest doublet, emerald wool and golden krakens, every inch of him calculated. In the distance, he can see his uncle, Aeron.

Behind him, the captain’s daughter hovers with his pack. What was her name again? Mariah? Meryl? It didn’t matter. She looks stupid when she smiles. But she had been entertaining, at least.

“I brought your things,” she says, her voice hopeful.

He doesn’t look at her. “Good.”

She steps towards him. “I love you,” she whispers. Gods. He really cannot do this right now.

When she reaches out to touch him, he steps aside smoothly. “You belong on the Myraham. My place is on Pyke.”

Her eyes are blinking and wet. “M-my father will call me names… h-he’ll hit me,” she says, reaching out to him again.

“Tell him you might be carrying a king’s bastard,” he says, a mix of charm and venom. “He should be grateful. Not every man has such honor.” Theon turns and walks down the gangplank before she can say anything else.

He feels like he might have been a bit too harsh. She’d been a maiden. That’d surprised him. A girl her age, looking like that, all splotchy and soft, far too old to be untouched. Still, she’d bled on his sheets, clung to him, begged him to take her away as his salt wife.

He sneers to himself. A king’s bastard would be a gift to a girl like her.

And then, for no good reason, a thought forces its way into his head. Was [Y/N] still a maiden? He shoves the idea away. Stupid to wonder. Stupid to care.

I could take her as a salt wife, he thinks briefly. I’d take her as a rock wife if I could.  The thought vanishes before it can settle, leaving a gnawing emptiness behind. No use in thinking about it. She’d never want him now. Not after the things he’d done, the things he was going to do.

But still, he wants her. Wants to be wanted by her. Wants to deserve it. And he never will. He lets the bitterness fester; it makes things easier. He’d stopped pretending he was meant than more than fleeting pleasure and hungry touches. The clingy, desperate ones suit him just fine.

He squares his shoulders and walks toward Aeron. The wind is damp and cold, chilling him to the bone.

“You’re late,” his uncle says. When he’d left Pyke, Aeron had been fond of songs, drink, and women. The man standing before him is grim and grey, his hair and beard woven with seaweed.

“I’m here now.”

Aeron doesn’t say anything for a moment, looking out to the sea, before fixing his black eyes back onto Theon. “Do you pray to the Stark gods now, boy?” he asks, a dangerous edge in his voice.

Theon shakes his head. He doesn’t pray much at all anymore.

Aeron nods, satisfied. He pulls a waterskin from his damp robes. “Kneel,” he says, and Theon listens. Aeron pours the contents of the waterskin over his head, the cold shocks him like a slap to the cheek, the salty water stinging his eyes.

“What is dead may never die,” he intones.

“But rises again, harder and stronger.” The words are tasteless in his mouth.

With that, Aeron turns and heads toward the Great Keep. He climbs alongside him, salt dripping from his hair, down his brow, and onto his collar.

Pyke looms ahead.

He smiles, sharp and cold as a blade.

═══════════════

PREVIOUS PART || NEXT PART

[clippetty]

white haired men and their homosexual tendencies

astarion x drow! bard! male! tav

an. a short fluff piece for my tav and astarion! mostly so i can write about altair in act one because that man was so not okay (alcohol withdrawal symptoms) ending is a bit rushed, but it's cute anyway

cw. mentions of blood (it's astarion, it comes with the vampire fic)

“I mean, we could’ve tried getting Gale to heal you. I don’t know if you want him of all people healing you, though.”

“Eugh, Gale? Healing? I’d rather you let me die.”

Altair rolls his eyes. “You're so dramatic."

“You love me for it.”

“Unfortunately.”

wc. 1.3k

Astarion smelled blood and thought of home. 

(If he could even count Cazador’s mansion as a “home.”)

It's a mix of his blood, some of the party’s, some of whoever they’d just killed. The scent is strong as it wafts towards him, unpleasantly combined with dirt and whatever poison he’d had on his blade. Its warmth creeps into his shirt as he bleeds out.

Strange how his blood is so warm while his body is ice cold.

His arms are as heavy as lead, his body is sore, he thinks he’s dying. Again. 

He’s dragging himself across the rough ground, blood seeping from his wounds and teeth grit. He can’t muster up the strength to push himself off the ground. 

Shadowheart is saying something unintelligible to him, and he’s vaguely aware that the fight is over. He's drifting in and out of consciousness. The last he sees is a pair of boots running towards him and his party’s concerned faces. 

-

He wakes up to the soft playing of a violin.

Altair.

“Can you stop playing? My head is killing me.”

Astarion groggily props himself up, feeling the stiffness of bandages wrapped around his arms and chest. Altair’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, a few feet away from his bedroll. How long had he been out?

“It's only been a few hours, if you want to know.” 

“I didn't ask.”

“Figured you’d want to know.” He smiles, shrugging halfheartedly. Altair had a horrible knack for being able to read Astarion perfectly. 

His smile only worsens his discomfort, his eyes shifting away from Altair. Talking to him always felt less like talking to a person and more like a cheerful brick wall. A cheerful brick wall who knew exactly what was wrong with him and would try his hardest to fix it.

At first his overeager personality and unfaltering smile made Astarion think that Altair must’ve had some kind of hero complex- but he soon realized that he was just a doormat. Always wanting to please everyone in the party, going as far as it took to keep them around him. 

He’d completely change his personality without hesitating if it meant that they stuck around him.

It unnerves him.

“I sent Karlach and Gale for a supply run a while ago, we're gonna have dinner when they get back. Unless you want to feed now?”

“I can wait until they get back.” He prods at the bandages. “Why didn't you or Shadowheart heal me?”

“Out of magic.”

“You and Shadowheart?” He scoffs. “I thought your magic came from your instrument?”

“The magic comes from the violinist, not the violin.” He retorts. “I mean, we could’ve tried getting Gale to heal you. I don’t know if you want him of all people healing you, though.”

“Eugh, Gale? Healing? I’d rather you let me die.”

Altair rolls his eyes. “You're so dramatic.”

“You love me for it.” 

“Unfortunately.”

“Love” might’ve been a strong word to use for their relationship, if he could even call it that. They had sex a few times, shared flirty banter (much to the dismay of the rest of the party), and he’d opened up begrudgingly about his past to Altair. 

Regrettably, he thinks he’s falling in love with Altair. Despite his never-faltering smile and inconsistent personality, his actions were becoming a genuine source of comfort and security. 

“Knock knock, hope I’m not interrupting?” 

They both turn to Shadowheart, who's peeking through the flap on his tent. She takes Altair’s smile as an invitation, and sits on the floor next to his bedroll. 

“Hello, Shadowheart.” Astarion starts, “What brings you to my humble abode?”

“Healing.” She curtly responds, sighing tiredly as she sits beside his bedroll. 

“Your little paramour has that sad look on his face, wouldn't leave your side ever since you got knocked out. You’re lucky that I like Altair- and that I have the energy to heal you.”

“I didn’t have a look on my face!” Altair retorts, crossing his arms. 

Astarion rolls his eyes, chuckling. Altair’s only- what, a couple decades younger than him? Certainly not young enough to act like a child! 

“You're a fully grown 200-something year old drow! Stop looking like a kicked puppy when someone gets hurt!” She starts shooing Altair away. “Gale and Karlach are back already, get some food. I’ll heal Astarion and then you can both have dinner together.”

“I’m 215, for your information!” He indignantly huffs. “Fine, I’ll go and walk my fully grown ass outside to get food. I’ll be back.”

They watch as Altair begrudgingly slips out of Astarion’s tent. What a silly man.

“He’s only like that with you, you know.” Shadowheart turns back to him, her hands hovering over his bandaged wound. 

“Whatever could you mean?”

“Clingy.”

“He’s not like that with everyone?” 

“No.” She scoffs, “I don’t know if it’s because he likes you or if it's something else. He's just much more clingy with you, constantly has that kicked puppy look whenever he’s separated from you. It’d be cuter if he wasn’t a fully grown man.”

“It's a little cute.” Don't think about this any harder, he’s not supposed to get close- he's not anything more than protection. Oh my gods- stop it. “He’s just a little romantic, isn’t he?”

“That's one way to put it, I suppose.”

Shadowheart wipes her hands, looking into Astarion’s eyes tentatively.

“I know we haven't known each other for long, but Altair is a good person. I hope you don't hurt him in the future, Astarion.”

“I’m not planning to kill him or anything!”

“You know what I meant.” She stands, “He’s a good person; better than both of us at least- you know that. Don't hurt him, alright?”

“Yes, yes” He flippantly waves his hand, “You can go now, if you're done prodding at my conscience.”

She leaves, and he sits in silence waiting for Altair to return. Great, she has him thinking about the scenario where Altair and him actually become something real. He has to make sure that it never happens. He doesn’t even know if he’s ready for something real.

He's not even sure if he can face the guilt of confessing this shit to Altair. If all goes as planned, then he won't ever have to- right?

-

It’s been a few decades since his plan miraculously failed and their relationship became something “real"

Astarion thinks it went pretty well, considering Altair didn't just ice him out on the spot when he confessed all those years ago. 

They got married about a decade after the reconstruction of Baldur’s Gate. He moved into Altair’s house (not like Astarion had a house of his own anyway), got “normal people” jobs, opened a business, and just settled down.

It was dreadfully domestic.

Not to say that he preferred his life before, living on the road was a dirty affair (not the fun kind, mind you), and he doesn't even want to mention Cazador. He just didn't expect his life to end up being so peaceful.

He sits on their couch, Altair is sprawled out next to him. It’s some time in the evening, he’s not sure. He's sad that he is once again restricted to the night, but Altair trying to match his sleep schedule had made it more than bearable. 

The fireplace crackles in front of them, and he decides that it’s about time for them to start their night. He softly bookmarks his page, shutting his book and setting it down on the coffee table. 

His hands gently shake Altair, who lets out a groan as he wakes up. He shifts as Altair sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“You couldn't let me sleep for a few minutes longer?”

“I was hungry.” He replies, shrugging playfully. “Besides, it's about time we got our night started anyway.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever.. Have your breakfast first and then we can go and buy stuff.”

He grins as Altair moves his hair aside, exposing the tender skin on his neck. His fangs sink in, the taste and smell of Altair’s blood is intoxicating.

“Ah, this is the smell of home.”

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Hi! Could I perhaps get a DC and BG3 matchup?

I'm 18, use she/her, and would prefer a guy:)

I have shortish brown hair, sort of butterfly cut thing lol, brown eyes and glasses. Kinda midsize.

I'm starting school for journalism soon, dream job since I was like 12, maybe a little very inspired by all the female journalists in comics lol.

Aside from that, I love music, I play a few instruments and have an absurd amount of playlists, I made one for everything.

I'm an ENFP, and I'm very into going out and doing things. I'm a social person, although being alone with strangers let's the anxiety kick in, but as long as I have one person I know I'm fine.

Leaning more to bg3, very bard energy (friends words not mine).

All in all, I'm uh the best most awsome person ever/j

Anywho tysm if you do this, you're a very talented writer and I look forward to all of your posts💕

Hi!

And thank you!

I am so very happy that you like my work!

I would love to write you two romantic matchups, one for DC and the other for BG3!

<3333333

I hope you like your matchups!

Enjoy!

Romantic Matchups; DC and Baldur's Gate 3

~~~

Romantic;

~~~

DC;

Garfield Logan (Beast Boy) -

(Using 21 Beast Boy before he was reaged in newer comics/shows.)

You met Garfield at a pizza place - your favorite spot to unwind after a long day.

You had your headphones on, scrolling through your absurd number of playlists, when suddenly, a green-skinned guy slid into the seat across from you.

"I have to know what you're playing? Because you got this whole ‘main character’ thing going on right now, and I’m intrigued.”

You blinked at him, startled, but his easygoing smile and bright green eyes made it impossible to be annoyed.

Turns out, he really wanted to know what you were listening to.

A conversation sparked, and before you knew it, you were laughing like old friends.

You both bonded over music fast.

He was fascinated by how you had a playlist for everything, and he made it his mission to guess your next song's vibe before you even played it.

Garfield immediately became your go-to partner for spontaneous outings.

You’d text him something as vague as, “Feel like getting lost in the city?” and within minutes, he’d be at your door, ready for an adventure.

Karaoke nights became a thing.

You’d both dramatically belt out songs in the most ridiculous voices, much to the suffering (and amusement) of your friends.

If you ever got nervous in social situations, he’d notice immediately and make a joke or create some ridiculous distraction to pull the focus off you.

He absolutely loves hearing you talk about journalism. The way your eyes light up when discussing your dream stories? He hangs onto every word, hyping you up constantly.

He’s terrible at being serious, but he will sit with you at 3 AM while you stress over an article, offering moral support (and pizza delivery).

Garfield didn’t realize he was in love at first.

He just knew that being around you felt different.

A good different.

It hit him one day when you were sitting at a café, talking excitedly about a lead for a new article.

You were completely in your element, and he suddenly thought, "Wow, I could listen to them forever."

His teasing got softer, his glances lingered longer, and he found himself wanting to impress you - not in a showy way, but in a “Hey, look at me, I can be cool too” way.

He started playing your favorite songs on his guitar, acting all casual about it, but you knew exactly what he was doing.

You caught feelings too, but neither of you made a move - until the confession.

He wanted to make it big.

Over-the-top.

Grand romantic gesture-type stuff.

But in true Garfield fashion, he panicked and blurted it out in the most chaotic way.

"Okay, so, I was gonna do this whole thing where I turn into, like, a swan or something romantic, but then I realized I don’t know how overdramatic that is, and then I thought, ‘Hey, maybe a cat, everyone loves cats,’ but then I freaked out because what if you’re a dog person, and - oh, man, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

You just stared at him, trying not to laugh, before finally saying, "Gar, what are you trying to say?"

He froze.

Blinked.

"I like, like you."

You laughed, grabbed his hand, and said, “Awe, I like, like you, too!"

Garfield is the most affectionate boyfriend.

You’re getting bear hugs, forehead kisses, and hand-holding constantly.

He steals your glasses playfully and puts them on, pretending to be a “serious journalist” before dramatically tripping over nothing.

You know, because he can not see in your glasses.

Movie nights are sacred.

He lets you pick the films, but he insists on providing the snacks - 99% of the time, it's pizza.

Late-night drives with your playlist on shuffle.

Sometimes, no talking - just vibes.

Other times, deep conversations that make you both fall even harder.

He LOVES writing little notes and slipping them into your notebooks - doodles of himself saying "Go get 'em, ace!" or dumb jokes that make you roll your eyes but secretly adore.

If you ever have a tough day, he turns into a puppy and just leans against you, resting his head on your lap until you feel better.

You help him organize his chaotic life (somewhat), and in return, he helps you loosen up and embrace the fun in the moment.

Garfield makes breakfast - badly.

You’ve caught him trying to flip pancakes midair, only to have them land on his face.

He absolutely insists on playing music while you both cook together, dramatically singing into utensils like it’s a concert.

He tries to read your journalism drafts but gets distracted halfway through.

He’ll 100% start doodling in the margins instead of giving feedback.

He'd try his best to give advice though!

Lazy Sundays involve lying on the couch together, sharing headphones, and listening to whatever playlist you made that week.

If you ever fall asleep on the couch, he carefully moves you to bed - unless he falls asleep next to you first, in which case, you both wake up tangled in a mess of limbs and blankets.

He hypes you up constantly.

Even if it’s over the smallest thing, he’s clapping and cheering like you just won an award.

He shows up at your favorite coffee shop just to surprise you with your go-to drink.

He remembers the little things - like what song calms you down or which snacks you crave when you’re stressed.

He makes sure you never feel alone in a crowd, always sticking by your side in unfamiliar places.

You keep him grounded when his chaotic energy gets too out of control.

You make him personalized playlists, each one reflecting a different mood or moment you share together.

You help him work through self-doubt, reminding him that he is enough, just as he is.

You patch up his torn uniforms after missions (and sneak little encouraging notes in the pockets).

You make sure he’s eating properly because left to his own devices, he’d live off tofu pizza alone.

~~~

Baldur's Gate 3;

Gale Dekarios -

The moment you pulled Gale out of the rune portal, something shifted.

There was an immediate connection, an unspoken understanding that lingered in the air between you both.

He was breathless, not just from nearly being stuck in a magical rune but because of you.

His first words, instead of a graceful ‘thank you,’ were an awed, “Ah… Well, I didn’t expect my rescuer to be this stunning.”

You might have brushed it off with a laugh, but Gale meant it.

From the moment he met you, he was utterly captivated, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Even as danger loomed, he found himself stealing glances at you, charmed by your wit, your warmth, the way you radiated energy and life.

He had been a man lost in darkness for too long - and suddenly, you were there, pulling him into the light.

Gale is endlessly fascinated by you.

Your enthusiasm, your social nature, your knack for turning even the most mundane things into an adventure - it’s like he’s watching a fire burn bright and warm, something he thought he had lost.

You, on the other hand, find Gale’s grand, poetic way of speaking ridiculously endearing.

He talks like he’s composing a love letter to the universe every time he opens his mouth, and you can’t help but tease him about it.

He adores your love of music.

He’ll watch you play instruments with rapt attention like he’s seeing a spell be woven in real time.

If you let him, he’ll attempt to play along magically - conjuring small, shimmering notes to dance in the air as you play.

Late-night storytelling sessions by the fire.

He tells you tales of magic, of old legends, and in turn, you share your stories - real or imagined, it doesn’t matter.

He hangs onto every word.

Your love of journalism?

He admires it.

He sees it as a pursuit of truth, of knowledge, of uncovering the hidden wonders of the world.

If you ever talk about your dream of becoming a journalist, he’ll wax poetic about how it suits you.

“A seeker of truths, a weaver of words… Ah, but the world is not ready for the stories you will tell.”

He is impeccably attuned to your social nature.

If you’re at a large gathering and feel overwhelmed, he notices immediately and gracefully maneuvers you into a quieter space, keeping you engaged in conversation to ground you.

Gale falls for you fast.

Faster than he expected, faster than he probably should.

And yet, there is no hesitation, no second-guessing.

It is undeniable, like magic itself.

He would be completely enchanted by the way you move through life - bold, passionate, unapologetically yourself.

He writes about you in his journal, attempting to capture you in words, but finds himself frustrated because nothing he writes feels worthy of you.

His touches become lingering - his fingers brushing against yours when he hands you something, the lightest of touches at your back when he stands close, the way he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear when the wind blows it into your face.

He finds himself worrying for the first time in a long while.

Not about himself, but about you - about what would happen if he lost you if he was not enough for you.

The Weave trembles at his emotions, flickering between longing and fear.

Gale’s confession is not subtle.

It is grand, poetic, and utterly heartfelt - because how could he love you and not make it something worthy of legend?

It happens one night under the stars.

He’s watching you - laughing, radiant, utterly you - and something inside him snaps. He cannot keep it inside any longer.

“I must confess something, and I fear if I wait another moment, my heart might combust - though, given my condition, that is not entirely impossible.”

He smiles, but his eyes are soft, reverent.

“You have bewitched me, body and soul. Every word you speak, every note you play, every moment you exist - it is as if the gods crafted you with the sole purpose of making the world brighter.”

He doesn’t just say he loves you - he makes it feel as though you are the very force keeping the stars alight.

Gale is the epitome of an affectionate, devoted partner.

You are his heart, his muse, his greatest spell ever cast.

If you ever feel overwhelmed, he’s right there, grounding you with a touch or a whispered joke.

Love letters.

So many love letters.

If you’re ever apart, expect beautifully written notes filled with longing and poetic musings about the incomprehensible depth of his love for you.

He tries to cook for you.

He really does.

It… Doesn’t always go well, but he is so proud when he gets something right, and you make sure to shower him with praise.

He’ll craft small magical gifts for you - a floating orb that hums your favorite tune, an enchanted quill that writes as fast as you think, and a spell that makes your favorite flowers bloom at a touch.

Reading together - curled up in a quiet space, sharing excerpts of whatever book has captured your interest.

He loves it when you read out loud; your voice is a melody he never tires of.

Dancing in the kitchen - no music needed, just the two of you swaying as he murmurs about how lucky he is to love and be loved by you.

Support your dreams unwaveringly.

Your journalism aspirations?

He’s your biggest fan, offering encouragement, helping you refine ideas, and always being ready to discuss the world’s grand mysteries with you.

If you’re ever nervous about interviewing someone, he’ll happily be your practice subject, giving you the most grandiose, over-the-top answers possible until you’re laughing too hard to be anxious.

If you ever have writer’s block, he’s there with inspiration - offering wild magical theories, poetic metaphors, and a ridiculous amount of snacks.

He would learn to play an instrument just so he can duet with you.

It’s clumsy at first, but you guide him, and he treasures every moment.

Remind him that he is more than his past mistakes, more than the burdens he carries.

When the weight of the orb presses on him, you remind him of his humanity, of the love and light he brings to the world.

Encourage him to chase joy - not just magic, not just power, but simple, ordinary joy.

Play music for him when he can’t sleep, lulling him into dreams filled with warmth instead of regret.

Be the one person he knows will always see him - not as a wizard, not as a ticking time bomb, but as Gale, the man who loves you beyond words.

[galpalaven]

WIP Whenever

someone give me the motivation and creative burst to go back and finish this fenhawke fic

The first time Fenris feels himself begin to fall, he’s holed up in a corner table in The Hanged Man, slightly drunk on cheap beer and surrounded by people he has tentatively come to acknowledge as his friends.

It’s been a strange few weeks at this point. Hawke had gotten back from the Deep Roads about a month back, and had since spent most of her time moving her things from Lowtown to the estate she’d bought with all of the earnings from the treasure they’d recovered. He’d even helped a bit with some of the larger things, to which she’d laughed and offered him something that was deliciously fried and coated with cinnamon and sugar as a thank you. But she’d been spending most of her time in Hightown, busy with things for her mother or out purchasing new furniture for the estate, and so he hadn’t seen her nearly as much as he had in the weeks leading up to the expedition.

Tonight, though, everyone had come out for their first real get-together in a while. He wonders if it’s the holiday season creeping up on everyone—as Harvestmere draws to a close, Satinalia is nearly upon them. The city has begun to decorate for the celebrations that will likely cover the city. Sparkling twine wraps around the lamps on streetcorners, ribbons and glittering ornaments following suit, hung from strings tied across entryways and even across the streets themselves.

He has vague memories of Satinalia in the Imperium, but most of them were unpleasant. Holidays meant that Danarius would host grande parties for the other magisters, and parties meant that Fenris would be paraded about in as many unpleasant ways as Danarius could concoct in that despicable head of his. 

More than once, Fenris has found himself wondering what it will be like to experience the celebration of the holiday like other people experience it. He’s almost apprehensive about it as it draws near.

“Hawke!” calls a stranger’s voice, somewhere on the other side of the room near the bar. She turns from where she’d been leaning against the wall beside him, laughing at the story Isabela had been regaling them with, and the stranger waves. “Play us a song, will you? You’ve not been here in months!”

A song?

Fenris frowns as he looks over at her, only to find her rolling her eyes.

“With what fiddle, Gideon?” she asks dryly, leaning on the table and raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t bring anything with me!”

“I keep one in the back just for you,” answers the bartender, producing an instrument seemingly out of nowhere.

Hawke just laughs as the bar erupts in cheers, the bard up on the stage seemingly excited at the idea just as much as the rest of the crowd. Isabela shoots her a grin, shoving her shoulder playfully as Varric laughs and says, “Better give ‘em what they want, Hawke! I don’t think they’re gonna take no for an answer.”

“They never do,” she sighs. Fenris glances at the faces of their other companions, but they all seem to be smiling knowingly, like this is something he should know about as well.

Well, they’re all smiling except for the newest addition to their group—an elf that the ex-Warden apparently knew from his time in the Wardens and, if you believed her, a hero of the Blight. He’s still trying to decide how he feels about her after finding out she’s a blood mage from one of the refugees in Darktown, but from what he’s gathered, she’s far more on guard about spirits than the Dalish elf Hawke had befriended, and though they’ve only spoken a bit, she seems far angrier about the state of the Imperium than either of the other mages in Hawke’s company.

His reverie is cut short as Hawke sighs, shooting him a bright smile as she stands and crosses the room, snatching the instrument and a bow from the bartender as she goes. He watches as she steps onto the little stage the bards use, fitting the instrument under her chin in such a way that it almost looks second nature. Her fingers settle against the strings, and she draws the bow across them idly, testing the sound to see if it's tuned.

The sound the instrument produces is beautiful—there’s no other word for it.

The room erupts into more cheers, and the new Warden, Surana, shares a bemused look with him as Hawke rolls her eyes again. 

“Alright, alright, settle down,” Hawke calls, raising her voice to be heard over the room. “What song am I playing you lot? I’ll only play a few tonight—I came here to drink, not perform.”

Chaos breaks out as voices call out the names of songs Fenris has never heard of—though he’s aware that isn’t exactly a feat—and Hawke laughs in response, tossing her head back in mirth. The movement bears the length of her throat, long, dark hair cascading over her bare shoulders in waves from where she’d pulled her braid loose earlier in the night. 

It… does something strange to his stomach, the sight of all that beautiful, tan skin on display. 

The tips of his ears feel suspiciously warm, and he hides part of his steadily warming face behind his hand, resting his jaw on his palm. 

“I’ll just pick, then, shall I?” she says, humming thoughtfully. “Ah, I know.”

She murmurs to the bards standing beside her, on the drums and the lute, and they nod eagerly in response. One of them begins to count softly, and the drummer starts to play. The two bards begin to hum, the patrons breaking out in excited murmurs. He watches on, intrigued, as some of the patrons begin to dance, while others start to sing along in a language he doesn’t recognize.

The sound of the fiddle breaks the stuffy bar air, singing loud and clear over the clatter of boots on wood and raucous laughter, and Fenris finds his eyes snapping right back to Hawke.

Kohava stands tall on the tiny stage, fingers running lithely over the neck of the instrument. She seems far more comfortable than he’d have expected, dark eyes glittering in the lantern light as she watches the patrons dance and sing to her music. Her full lips are turned upwards at the corners in the ghost of a smile as she takes in the sight—

—and then her eyes catch his, and something in his chest squeezes painfully.

The way her face brightens shouldn’t make him feel like squirming in his seat the way he does. She grins at him, biting her lower lip as she plays a little more passionately, leaning into the performance, swaying with the movement as the music builds to a crescendo, leading into a fiddle solo. Her eyes shut as she plays, eyebrows lifting towards her hairline as she draws the bow across the strings in time with the beating of the drums.

When her eyes open again, she seeks his gaze out immediately—and Fenris desperately tries to convince himself that the flustered flush on her cheeks is nothing more than the flush of the heat in the full bar.

Hawke stays up on the stage for another half hour, playing songs with the bards and laughing at the antics of the drunken patrons. At some point, Anders pulls Surana into a drunken jig with some of the other patrons. The atmosphere is warm and bright, and Fenris almost feels like he’s watching the entire thing through clouded glass. It doesn’t feel real in the sense that much of the last ten months or so hasn’t felt real.

This tiny, tentative life he’s built in Kirkwall feels like a fantasy—a bubble, ready to shatter at any moment. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, and for everything to come crashing down around him like it always has, but…

…but as Hawke slides back into the chair next to him, grinning and breathless, bumping her knees against his under the table, he finds the feeling slipping between his fingers. 

He’s smiling back at her, in a way that feels almost foreign on his lips, when his eyes catch Isabela’s a seat over. Isabela, who is grinning at him in a way that very much says, I saw you looking and I know what you’re thinking.

Fenris glares at her, to which she just smirks more and winks, but he can’t stay annoyed for long.

Not when Hawke is sitting next to him looking like that.

—————————————

“Andraste’s tits,” Kohava hisses, groaning as she stretches her hands above her head and several joints pop in her spine, “is it already last call? Ugh—I still need to walk all the way back to Hightown. I hate walking home this late by myself.”

“I can walk with you,” Fenris hears himself say before he even properly thinks to say anything. Hawke’s eyes open lazily, looking over at him curiously. He clears his throat, straightening in his seat and trying to appear slightly less intoxicated. “I mean, I live there, too. We can walk together.”

Her answering grin is easy, and it makes it easy to smile back. “You’re such a gentleman, Fenris,” she sighs, pretending to swoon a little, fanning herself with a hand. “Whatever am I going to do with you?”

“I’m sure he’ll like whatever you think of,” Isabela murmurs, smiling when Hawke laughs and Fenris shoots her a Look.

“Mm,” Hawke hums, rising to her feet. Fenris follows after her as she sighs, “Suppose we’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

Fenris rolls his eyes, ignoring the quiet laughter of the two women as he strolls towards the door. He’s glad that he isn’t too tipsy that walking a straight line is impossible, unlike the few times he’s seen Isabela stumble off to bed, swaying so severely one would think they were in the middle of the sea. He pauses when he reaches the entryway to the bar, turning to look over his shoulder while Hawke says her final goodbyes to their friends.

His eyes catch for a moment too long on the lacy stockings hugging her thighs, visible in the gap between the hem of her inner skirt and the tops of her boots. His already alcohol-addled mind supplies him an image of his own hands tracing the flowery designs in the lace, the soft flesh of her thighs dipping beneath the press of his fingers. He’s just started to tear at the lace in the vision when Fenris manages to drag himself back to reality when Hawke slows to a stop beside him, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet to smile up at him.

“Ready?” he asks, just to have something to say.

[delusionbound]

“Amanita Szarr, and the two assholes who adopt her”

mild tw for brief mentions of possible sexual trauma and childhood abuse

summary: literally brainrotting over amanita, tav and astarion rn. this is all self indulgent. basically just my thoughts on how tav x astarion would work with amanita as their pseudo kid. found family ensues

you’re in act 1 after learning about astarion and his relation to cazador. a young girl shows up in the middle of the night, awkwardly trying to talk to you. if you pass an insight check, you see that she’s hiding something behind her, she’s nervous, it’s like she hasn’t talked to anyone in a while.

whether you fail the check or not, she fails her attempt. she fails to stake astarion in the chest regardless, and after a series of confusing attempts to talk you learn about who she is.

Her name is Amanita Szarr, and she’s on a mission to kill every vampire she finds despite being one. And she plans to kill a man named Cazador. She’s blunt, she’s honest, and she’s furious.

She’s wearing a crisp and wrinkly old dress, she has blood shot eyes and poorly chopped hair, she looks angry. not just angry, but vengeful.

over the course of a month you learn she’s cazadors fucking niece. although she would keep most of what she’s been through unknown. this would absolutely rock astarions perception of what was already an incredibly traumatic situation. how much was he hiding from him? How the fuck did he miss a kid being locked in an attic being turned into either a true vampire or dhampir due to a wonky transformation.

can you imagine the sheer abuse she went through? the severe isolation, and the possible sexual trauma (due to the type of ppl were dealing with here, although this is just speculation) and neglect for all of her adolescence.

astarion can understand it way more then he’d like to admit.

amanita and tav would start out with a general distrust for their respective reasons, but eventually grow a mentor and student relationship, after all she hasn’t been shown much basic affection. Although she’d be distrusting she’d be quick to latch onto someone…Astarion and her would be a very different story though.

amanita and astarion would hate each other initially. both terrified to confront the memories they want to block out, and both being complete opposites. she’s spent the entirety of her life locked in an attic, she’s shit with people.

she doesn’t know how to manipulate people and she doesn’t want to. Astarion has adopted it out of survival instincts. And needless to say he’s not fond of kids, even if they are over 100 years old. but slowly they both gain a begrudging sense of exasperation for eachother, but it’s fond.

it takes a long time no doubt, but they both share some things in common. They both want one particular asshole dead, and they’re both willing to hurt people to survive.

Id like to think that she’s a witch, a ranger, or a bard, she was incredibly academic due to how much time she had on her own. Maybe the only thing to occupy her time was an instrument and song writing. Maybe she just got really good with daggers and her only contact was with animals outside. But either way, she’s good at what she does and she’s willing to kill to survive.

It’d start with Astarion teaching her a few knife tricks. Slowly they’d start to talk about books. The turning point from a begrudging companionship to actual friendship would be when she shares one of her favorite books with him. he can see the doodles and annotations as he reads and slowly starts to see her as less of an annoying kid and more of an apprentice.

and as months passed, all three of you began to form this odd sort of trust. and that became something neither of you expected

a family. an unconventional and messy one full of people who were working through their problems, but a family nonetheless. after everything is said and done, the epilogue might consist of all three of you or just you and astarion, depending on how the story plays out and depending on whether or not she continues to hunt vampires (she’d also leave if he ascended in my opinion). and it’s the nicest thing she’s had in a long time

[panur]

Radskier snippet

Snippet for a fic that’s so far into the future I may as well share as its own thing until I decide to use it (if it ever happens). dedicated to @flootzavut as most Jask tit-centric chats are.

-----

“I missed this.”

“My tits?”

Radovid makes a thoughtful noise, rubs his cheek against the other man’s chest like a contented cat. Blame it on being spread over a beautifully bare (and somewhat sticky) bard.

“If I say yes, would you kindly pretend I said something suave, mayhaps even romantic? I’m afraid you’ve left me too spent for much else.”

He can feel Jaskier chuckle under his ear, which is somehow just as lovely as the rest of him. “You’re in luck. As it happens, I've always considered compliments to my cleavage a pivotal part of the whole romancing process.”

“Is that why you wear your shirts open halfway to your navel?”

Radovid tries to lean away so less of his weight is on the other man, but his hair gets caught on one of Jaskier’s necklaces. The bards’ deft fingers untangle it before he can try to do so himself. He tucks the traitorous strand back in place.

“And why should I deprive the continent of one of my many charms?” His hand moves from Radovid’s hair and to his jaw, stroking gently

“Oh, trust me, I felt many things the first time I saw you,” Radovid pauses, for both effect and to steal a kiss “- ‘deprived’ was not one of them.”

It might as well have happened in another lifetime, but that did not mean the former prince could forget the first time he’d set eyes on a man he’d so deeply admired and hoped to meet– only to find him only half dressed and in the process of having most of his worldly possessions thrown at him out of an irate lover’s flat.

After so long, Philippa’s insidious presence is almost easy to drown out by other, far more pleasant parts of these memories. The shock of catching a flying instrument before it brained him. Realizing what he was holding and who it belonged to. The most outstanding eyes he’d ever seen, turning to look into his. 

And of course, the bard's barely-covered—how had he put it?— charms. 

Jaskier eyebrows waggle. He seems to have a sixth sense for the carnal musings of others, particularly the ones where he was the lead. “Hmm, should we try for ‘depraved’?”

“I think you should try ‘dreadful'.” Radovid sighs, moving to lay next to him “Considering that was quite so.”

The waggle intensifies, somehow.

“I can’t help but notice a suspicious lack of denials coming from your end, my dear,” the bard purrs, leaning to face him.

“Remind me why I find you charming?” Radovid asks, trying not to blush.

“The decolletage is very persuasive.” Jaskier points, traces an entrancing path down his clavicle to the center of his chest with a finger, then flicking at Radovid’s nose when his eyes predictably follow the path.

“Among other things, yes,” he agrees, meeting Jaskier halfway when he leans to kiss the smile on his lips.

[karniss-bg3]

With all the talks about Kar'niss as a bard, I was wondering if you could write something with Tav and Kar'niss dancing together? (though I guess given how tall Kar'niss is, it might be difficult)

The air was thick with the aroma of burning wood from the nearby campfire. A blanket of stars spanned across the sky, twinkling from a far off distance. Tav had broken away from the group for some quiet time, wandering toward a nearby stream so they could bask in the crisp night air. Once they settled on the shore near the forest line they pulled out their violin from it’s case. They took time to tune the instrument, desiring a moment to play a pleasant tune for their pleasure. Tav sensed eyes on him from the nearby treeline, their head turning to see the familiar silhouette of a drider lingering between two trees.

“You’re welcome to join me if you’d like. I’m not opposed to the company,” Tav said.

Kar’niss froze once he realized he had been spotted, his hands clasped together to rub them in a nervous fashion. He emerged from the underbrush and wandered over to where Tav was seated, maintaining a small measure of distance.

“What are they doing?” Kar’niss asked, peering over their shoulder at the violin.

“Taking a moment while we have it. I haven’t had the chance to play for a bit, now seemed like a good time. Do you play any instruments?”

Kar’niss’ brows knit, mulling the question over. “We...used to. Don’t anymore.”

“Oh?” Tav perked up, interest piqued. “What instrument?”

“Violin, flute at times. Long time ago, doesn’t matter now.” Kar’niss waved a hand dismissively, turning his face away from Tav.

“Well, would you like to with me? A duet sounds fun. We have an extra violin in camp.”

Kar’niss scoffed and reared his head back as if insulted. “We cannot play anymore. We would ruin your music with our screeching.” Tav chuckled while pushing themselves up to stand. “I doubt that. Just give it a try. If you hate it then you aren’t obligated to continue. Please?” Tav leaned forward and boldly bat their eyelashes at the hesitant drider.

His cheeks puffed out with indignation. “Are they mocking us?”

“No, not at all. I’d just like to try something with you, that’s all.”

He growled under his breath, tapping a single leg against the ground while considering the proposal. “...Fine. One song only. If the instrument breaks it is not my problem.”

“Wonderful! I’d not worry much about the violin honestly. I think Astarion stole it from some merchant or another, won’t be much of a loss if it snaps. I’ll be back!”

Kar’niss watched Tav scurry back to camp to retrieve the item. He crossed his arms tight against his chest, his pedipalps trembled in place, betraying his anxiety for the performance soon to come. He’d not have to wait long. Tav had been swift in their retrieval of the instrument, they ran up to Kar’niss and held it up for him to take.

“Phew, there you go,” Tav panted, wiping a bit of sweat from their brow.

He lifted the violin and bowstring into his clawed hands, looking over each piece as if he’d been reunited with an old friend. It felt strange in his grasp and the jagged nature of his fingertips made either item a challenge to grip. Tav stood back and let him become adjusted to them, watching as he plucked a few strings to test their muted chords in succession. His nose wrinkled with some concern.

“What is it you wish to play?” Kar’niss asked.

“Have you heard of the waltz of the feywilds? It’s a bit complicated but it is one of my favorite songs.”

Kar’niss squinted and mulled over the request, his tongue darting out to swipe over his lips. “We are not certain. The title sounds familiar, it has been too long since I have played it.”

“Tell you what. I’ll start playing solo and if you catch the rhythm feel free to jump in as you wish. How does that sound?”

He hummed and nodded. “Very well.”

[Music]

Tav tucked the butt of the violin under their chin and rested the bow over the strings, straightening their posture. Kar’niss mirrored this, relearning the proper stance. It was a bit awkward as his chin now had an extra layer molded over top via the hardened chitin but he managed to adjust well enough. Tav positioned their fingers over the proper strings on the violin neck and began to play, a gentle melody rising from the instrument into the night air.

Kar’niss closed his eyes as Tav began to play, opting to focus with his pointed ears rather than his sight. He listened to the first notes of the song and honed in on it, digging deep into the recesses of his memory in search of something he’s heard before. It took him a moment but he soon willed himself to play the first note, sliding into Tav’s solo to turn it into a duet. At first he struggled, his fingers larger than he was accustomed to which made hitting the right strings a struggle. He’d strike off key or hold a note for longer than it was meant to be but Tav didn’t seem to mind.

“You’re doing great, keep going,” Tav insisted.

He exhaled his nerves and stuck with it even if he felt the urge to drop the violin and walk away. Steadily, he became accustomed to the added bulk of his chin and fingers, shifting the instrument in such a way that it worked for him rather than against. Once he did so the notes flowed smoother, in line with Tav’s own contribution. This made Tav smile, their body bobbing up and down on their knees once the music started to hit their core.

Their playing continued, gradually picking up pace into an uplifting harmony. Even for as stiff as Kar’niss could be he felt the draw of the music seep into his skin, pulling him back to a different time in his life. As his comfort levels grew his confidence in manipulating the instrument to his will increased, playing with a bit more passion than at the start. Despite his best efforts he found himself swaying from side to side in time with the beat, his long legs curled while rocking his large body like a pendulum. Tav took notice, unable to wipe the growing grin from their face. They chose to join him by shuffling their feet on the grass below, stepping from side to side to match Kar’niss’ rhythm.

He tipped his head to the side slightly at the sight of the display, deciding to up the ante a notch. He lowered his front half toward the ground, extending his pedipalps to drum against the dirt when he felt added percussion was needed for the melody. Tav unleashed joyful laughter due to Kar’niss’ improvised antics, finding them clever. They stepped forward and began to dance around the drider while he tapped at the ground, spinning and skipping around his impressive abdomen, soon returning to his front. All the while the two continued to play, their song growing in intensity as they progressed.

Kar’niss had become lost in the duet, the faintest of smiles threatening to stretch his mouth. The ballad increased in pace and came to a high pitched mid point, the pair putting their all into assaulting the strings with determined ferocity. Kar’niss closed all of his eyes and tipped his head back, matching Tav tit for tat. Once the mid point had passed they would side step to and fro while facing one another, Tav spinning around in place and Kar’niss following suit. Albeit his turn was slower thanks to his extra girth, but he still managed to do so with grace. Tav stepped toward their partner and Kar’niss stepped in to meet them before both walked back to restore distance between them. His legs stamped at the ground in sync with the anthem, his torso bending into the violin as he leaned into the more fast paced tone. His rounded abdomen swayed and rocked concurrently with his legs, putting his entire body in motion.

Both continued to prance from one side to the next in unison with one another, turning around in place at proper intervals, lowering their bodies into a crouch then springing upright. The smile Kar’niss had fought came out victorious, fully visible on his expression. It was a toothy grin that was both endearing and haunting at the same time. Despite his impressive size Tav wasn’t intimidated with his dance partner, rather savoring his enjoyment knowing how rare such a treat was for him.

The pair were reaching the crescendo of their song, the very apex building in urgency between the pair of them. As the final elongated note was shared between them, Kar’niss lifted his body upward while he held the high pitched sound, pushing until he was balancing on his back four feet. The other four extended outward alongside his pedipalps, opening wide as if he were in a defensive stance and yet that was far from the case. He tipped his torso back until his hair fell from his shoulders and dangled freely in the air, Tav watching the display in awe of his beauty in that moment.

The lengthy note was dropped, the final chords played afterward in rapid succession to end off the song with a flourish. Both Tav and Kar’niss played the final refrain in a quick strike and once finished they dropped into a low bow in front of one another. Their arms extended outward, bow string and violin clutched in either hand jutting from their grasp. They held the lowered position for a moment to catch their breath, Tav the first to lift their head to find they were eye level with Kar’niss; A rare thing indeed. Their gazes met, the drider offering the smallest of smiles in Tav’s direction, his hair a mess across his face.

“You did it,” Tav whispered.

Before Kar’niss could respond the pair heard the sound of clapping nearby. Tav stood with a jolt, looking behind them to see others at camp had gathered around. Wyll in particular seemed enthused by the performance.

“Well done, well done!” Wyll called out.

“Got an encore in you??” Karlach shouted.

Tav smiled sheepishly at the pair and shook their head. “I doubt it, but glad you enjoyed it.”

Kar’niss made a face at the unexpected audience. He dropped the bow and violin, backing away as he felt a tingle in his cheeks.

“Kar’niss, are you alright?” Tav asked.

The drider growled ever so slightly and then turned, quickly scuttling away from Tav and the others. He fled back into the underbrush of the forest and disappeared from sight, having none of it.

“Ah shit, did we scare him off?” Karlach asked.

“We’re sorry Tav, we didn’t think it’d be a bother.” Wyll added.

Tav exhaled and wandered over to retrieve the discarded instrument, looking it over with some fondness.

“No, nothing to be sorry for. I think he is a bit more shy than he lets on. Give him time, he’ll return when he’s ready.”

Kar’niss wandered back into the forest and climbed into the tree he picked to call home for the night, complete with scattered webbing throughout the area. He’d settle on a thick branch, his arms crossed as he worked through his temporary embarrassment. Part of him was still in disbelief that he’d done that at all, that he still could. The feeling of an instrument in his hands felt better than he dared admit aloud. Once he started to calm down he turned his gaze to the stars, a sight he often favored while alone. The tips of his pedipalps began to gently tap at the branch below, one, two, one, two. He bobbed his head from side to side and before he knew it he was humming the song they had just played. He continued to do so while training his eyes on the sky, his wobbled smile making a return.

For now at least.