#my tav is a self insert of myself

[horridgoblin]

ok, serious lore implications aside. but why does tav look like theyre saying "he said no PICKLES"

[tavs-tressym]

I made myself so I can boink the vampire man.

[transkingcobra]

I remembered Nix’s height and

That man’s poor organs are rearranged regularly

[imperial-agent]

tavarru, half-orc, wild magic barbarian

[an-actual-floof]

aw man. someone baldur-ed my gate

[beecreeper]

I haven’t posted anything about Molli yet because A) I haven’t actually started playing her yet and B) she’s especially self indulgent, self insert-y, and cringey but I DO love her and she’s going to be my next playthrough. She’s a bardlock Tav with a *coughcough*history with Gortash because I am a man POSSESSED

[wurstigdurstig]

i am Obsessed with Untitled and how u characterize astarion and also a little bit in love with taras...... do u have any fav tav/astarion fics from other writers? i trust your taste and need more good astarion content

hope this doesn't come off as too creepy but i think ur cool :)

Ahhh thank you very much 🥰

I unfortunately do not read much other Tav/Astarion fanfictions - I Do Look at some fanart. It’s partly bc the Tavs need to belong to my friends for me to be invested haha and most of them don’t write fanficiton. Because of how the game is, many Tavs are self-inserts (WHICH IS NOT A BAD THING!) but I just won't be super interested in further content for them.

I can recommend some Tav and Emperor from on AO3 Hinu it is very explicit haha

I am very partial to Wyll/Astarion so I also recommend nothing is safe

[zagreusm]

I hate him a lot *draws him with hearts during class*

[yo9urt]

started playing ball dur's gait 3

[kellerybird]

ok but where are the fics where tav can’t or won’t have children

I see so many fics about or implying tav can have/wants kids and that’s great i’m not trying to crap on those sorts of stories

but what about a tav who can’t or won’t? not even like a “hurr bdurr I hate kids” kind of thing but that’s just not something tav ever wanted for themselves or can’t have despite wanting it?

[devotedlystrangewizard]

im not doing dark urge as my first playthrough im not doing dark urge as my first playthrough im n-

[minnaci]

🔮 LESSONS IN CONTROL

contents: ascended!astarion x gn!reader (tav), dubcon, hand-wavey mind control magic, heavy possessiveness, master/pet titles used, canon-typical objectification and condescension of tav/self-insert by ascended astarion, reader is needy and also smitten, fingering, penetrative sex (reader receiving in unspecified hole), praise kink, lovey dovey sex depending on ur interpretation of whether or not astarion genuinely loves tav/self-insert (if it helps, i wrote it with the mindset that he does love you)

a/n: wahoo!! second week let's go! please accept my first bg3 / astarion fic <3 he's so... so... i wanna kis his FACE!! as always, rbs & comments are appreciated!

you will never tire of the way that astarion looks at you, even now. there’s a covetous kind of adoration that shines in his eyes, a sort of smug, devoted possessiveness that makes your skin ache to be touched by him.

“there’s my little treat,” he purrs, welcoming you into his lap. his hands come up to rest on your hips, where they belong. “my sweet, darling pet… whatever is the matter?”

“i miss you.” you press up against him, petulant in the way you know he loves to indulge. “will you come to bed with me?”

“oh? surely, i have not been neglectful.” he doesn’t kiss you as much as he possesses you, licking into your mouth with a single-minded desire that makes your head spin. “after all, it was only last night that i took you until you could barely breathe from the pleasure.”

“but i could never have enough of you,” you say, punctuating your words with sweet kisses. “i’m addicted to you, master. i can’t help myself. whenever you’re not touching me, i ache for you.”

“needy,” he clicks his tongue. the taste of his condescension is sweet on your tongue. it drips over your skin, sticky and golden as honey. this is what you live for— this love, this obsession, this subjugation. “but far be it for me to deny you. where it is it that you ache, my dearest? is it… here?”

he dips his head, leaving a trail of warm, sloppy kisses down your neck, over your collarbones, down to your chest. the subtle point of a fang grazes against your nipple, and you gasp as his lips follow, suckling at your chest. neither of you have been warm-blooded or warm-bodied in centuries, but heat still shoots through your body at the way his mouth feels against your skin.

“l-lower, master— i need you, i—”

“lower?” his fingers trail down your stomach, slipping between your legs and rubbing at your leaking hole with well-practised grace. “here?” 

“please, please stop teasing, master,” the words pour from you, a font of desperation. his presence is overwhelming in the best way. your chest heaves as you try to contain the abject desire that threatens to burst from your heart. “inside. i need you inside. please.”

his smile is a knife’s blade across his face— sharp, swift, satisfied. “how is it that you only grow more perfect for me with each and every day?”

if you were in your right mind, you might answer: of course you’re perfect for him. he’s molded you to fit his desires, rewarded you with pleasure beyond your wildest dreams in exchange for your submission. his love, his control— they’re one and the same. 

love as subjugation. love so strong it rips you at the seams, remodels you in astarion’s image. this is what you crave. this is everything to you—

your mind goes blank as his finger breaches your hole. you’d prepared yourself for him— of course you had— and both you and your master reap the fruits of your labor. he makes a soft, pleased sound in the back of his throat, feeling how pliant you are, how warm you are, and even the barest hint of his approval makes your head spin with heady bliss. 

his fingers stretch you out, stroking along your sensitive walls and easily finding your favorite spots. you let out a soft, shuddery sigh, melting into astarion's shoulder as he fingers you open. he coos and curls his fingers just so— a reward for your easy submission. 

ever since his ascension, astarion has changed— this much is undeniably true. what hasn't changed, though, is his uncanny ability to play your body like the finest of instruments. if he hadn't trained your hole so well, perhaps you'd be satisfied to sit on his fingers forever, drooling your brains out on the fine fabric of his regalia. as it is, your body hungers for more. 

a wordless whine escapes your lips.

“i know, my sweet. i’ve been so mean, haven’t i? i said i would stop teasing, yet here you are, so horribly teased.” he gives you a few more indulgent thrusts, taking his time to enjoy every shudder and shiver he pulls from your willing body. “and you’ve been so patient, too. so perfect.”

he pulls his fingers from your body, making a deep, satisfied noise at the way your walls cling to him, as if loathe to let him go. you mourn the loss, soul singing a requiem. every moment that he is not inside of you is suffering. 

“shh, i know. i know,” he hushes you, soothes you, gently caressing your skin. “let me make it up to you, my love. what does your little heart desire? just speak the words, and i shall give it to you.”

a reward. your master is gracious, kind, and perfect. even being in his presence is reward enough. but, if he truly wants to reward you… there is only one thing you crave. there is only one thing you have ever craved, and you know he craves it, too.

“control me, master,” you plead. “compel me. please. i want you to.” 

“however could i say no?” something sweet and distinctly desirous shines in his eyes, and he captures your lips in a deep, drugging kiss. his control envelops you, familiar and warm as the olympian hearth. when he pulls back, you remain connected to him by a thin, shimmering strand of saliva, and by the twin sparks of lust that burn in your bellies. "my treasure." 

his will wraps around you, diffuses through your limbs, and your mind quiets. there's nothing quite like this— this bliss, this pleasure. it makes you feel so, so good, just to submit, just to obey. 

you feel his commands nudging at your mind, puppeting your body. saccharine devotion rises up within you, and you shudder with delight. so this is the game tonight— he wants you needy, wants you adoring, wants you fawning over his every move. 

you'd give it to him even if you weren't under his thrall. such is the unconditional nature of your love. if he became a twisted, soulless version of himself, you would twist yourself to match him, and you'd pour enough soul into him to sustain him too. 

"love me," he murmurs against the shell of your ear. "give me everything of you, and love me." 

“yes,” you breathe, desperate supplication to the only god you know. if your master’s control had been any less potent, you would believe that you were acting of your own accord. but… this is good, too. just because he’s drawn the words from your lips doesn’t make them any less genuine. “i love you, astarion.”

“there’s my perfect little pet,” he says. something flashes across his face— something you don’t recognize, something that hints at regret. the urge to kiss the sadness from his expression is familiar, and not completely contrived. “i love you, too.”

his hands find your hips, and he finally, finally sinks inside of you. your eyes flutter shut, intent on luxuriating in this pleasure to the fullest. there is no greater joy than when astarion is inside of you, filling you, making you his. there is no greater glory than serving your master.

“astarion,” your breath catches in your throat as he rolls his hips up. his cock drags deliciously against your sensitive walls. he stimulates you mercilessly, making sure to pay attention to all of the spots that make you go weak and dizzy and pliable. you cling to him, melting against his shoulder as he thrusts up again and again and again. “i— i’m— astarion!”

“i’m here, little love,” he purrs. “it feels good, doesn’t it?”

“so good,” you say. it comes out as a soft little sob. “i— you— wait, astarion, i— oh!” 

he shifts your weight in his lap, and the slightest change in angle lets him slip just a bit deeper. the tip of his cock kisses a painfully sensitive spot deep inside, and your eyes widen, shock quickly giving way to pleasure. he’s so deep. you’re so full.

“there it is,” he coos. “that’s right. look at you, taking me nice and deep. i can practically taste it, you know. how good you’re feeling.”

your body is his. he owns it. he controls it. the barest hint of a command nudges at the corner of your mind, and you let go of the lingering pain. your gaze goes unfocused, and your jaw slackens. you have never believed in an eternal paradise, but if you did, you think it might feel something like this.

“that’s it. you’re really feeling it now, aren’t you? just keep feeling good for me, darling.”

you slip in and out of lucidity, after that. your body is a livewire of sensations, melting under astarion’s gentle, sensual caresses. nothing matters besides him. it doesn’t even matter if you cum, though you’re sure you do. astarion would never let you feel anything but pleasure. he would never let you go unsatisfied. you love him, after all. this tender dance of flesh and bliss is what lovers do.

re-emerging into reality is like breaking through the fog of a lovely dream. you come to with your cheek resting against his chest, body clean and dry and delightfully sated. though you know he hasn’t had a pulse for several hundred years, you swear you hear the gentle thud of his heart beating as he traces absentminded patterns over your skin. 

“did i love you well?”

“you were perfect.” a soft smile pulls at his lips. warmth floods your chest, followed by a pang of… of something. something aching, something hurt. you brush it aside. there is no room for hurt in his arms. you have loved him well. you have pleased him.

“thank you,” you murmur, a tender prayer against his skin. the last of his influence drains from your limbs, and you’re once again in full control of your own mind. the loss of his familiar presence in your mind hits you like waves crashing upon the shore. “i miss you already, master.”

he considers you with an inscrutable expression, and he sighs, warm and playfully exaggerated. again, you catch a hint of that odd, misplaced resignation. it almost makes you pout. is he unhappy with you after all? is he dissatisfied?

the need to reassure, to be reassured, drives you forward, and you pepper chaste kisses over the elegant curve of his jaw, the hollow of his throat. your sloppy adoration draws a soft laugh from his lips, and satisfaction settles in your heart once more. 

“you’re so needy, darling,” he says, nuzzling his nose against yours. “but i love you for it.”

the declaration soothes you— a healing balm for all of your little aches and pains. he always knows just what to say to keep you wrapped around his finger. 

“i’d do anything for you,” you say, and you mean it. “i’d give anything for you. everything, all of me, for you.”

the words darken his gaze, snuffing out the spark of regret you’d sensed in his expression for good. your heart flutters. this is how your master should look— confident, powerful. satisfied. happy.

a smile curls, smoke from the ashes, on his lips. it’s sharp; it bleeds at the edges, dark and possessive. “i know, little love. all of you, for me. just as it should be.”

[thefangdomcryptid]

So apparently besides assuming every Tav is a self-insert because gods forbid people don't want to play as themselves for whatever reason, we are now gatekeeping which characters' trauma we are allowed to relate to??? I naturally blocked this person because the question was apparently not asked in good faith but to start an argument, but it just doesn't sit right with me.

Like, fine, we get it, you don't like Astarion. Fine. You don't get why he's so popular, also fine. You don't have to understand why people like a character, because sometimes you never will.

What isn't okay is to talk down to people because they find Astarion's trauma relatable and through his journey find a sort of closure of their own, because we all have our own Cazadors to deal with, but we can't always confront them, so this is the next best thing.

Yes, all the character have their own trauma, Karlach, Wyll, Gale, Shadowheart, Lae'zel. But I can't relate to them. Do you know why?

Because in the height of my C-PTSD I was not nice. I was not helpful. I was a shitty person that made shitty decisions and treated people around me and myself like shit. I was NOT a good person. So yeah, I can see right through Astarion's mask. Just like him I felt alone, and no "heroes" came to save me either.

It's also why I don't really enjoy Ascended Astarion because he feels like me at my worst. I mean obviously not exactly the same, but hurt people DO hurt people. It doesn't mean everyone does, but some do.

Anyway, if you relate to Astarion because of your trauma, or even Ascended because it's a way to deal with yours, you are valid. If you relate to Wyll or Karlach or anyone else for that matter, you are also valid.

And if you can do one thing in Fandom, then be kind.

[simpforminthy]

I got brainrot tonight about a tav (similar to my current one) who is overwhelmed by the idea that Minthara sees her as a source of strength after they kill Orin / this tav has a bit of a penchant for self loathing (SELF INSERT LOL?)

a few words of fluff/light smut idk

—

Minthara was nuzzling at your neck as you both lay in her tent’s hammock, the light of the glowing mushrooms and gems outside illuminating your bodies.

You turned your face toward her, one of her hands rubbing your back as the hammock gently swayed back and forth. You couldn’t believe how lucky you were. You felt… unworthy.

Her nose trailed up your neck and she brought her lips to yours, drawing you in.

As she bit your lip and swirled her tongue around yours, her hands finding purchase on your hips, you got the feeling she sought to explore every inch of you, taste you as thoroughly as possible. This was a kiss more intense than any you had shared before: full of devotion.

"It is because of you," she said, in between kisses and more nibbles down your neck, "that I am determined to live." Her fingers beginning to fiddle with the band of your underwear. "That I may do so as an unbroken woman. As myself. I want you to know this.”

Her words overwhelmed you, heating your lower stomach. You knew she'd find ample evidence of your yearning if her fingers descended any further, and your eyes flicked downward, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

She pulled your chin up to look you in the eye.

"There cannot be shame or doubt, my love," she said almost admonishingly. "You are my strength. You are worthy of my devotion. Let me show you.”

Your eyelids fluttered as she began to explore you, her words washing over you and soaking into your skin. For her you would try to be brave, show every part of you. For her you would try to believe you were everything she said you were.

[tiafrye]

It's against my own rules to let this side of discourse into the shipping tag so it will stay clean. Yesterday, regarding infamous Valentine's Day vid from Larian, I was essentially asked:

"Doesn't it bother you that people associate BW with AA?" (allegedly)

The short answer is - I don't give a single fuck.

But why? I asked myself, and with a bit of a digging came up with an explanation.

Disclaimer: I don't participate in Spawn/Ascension war, I don't understand it, you do you. People who do, they usually have their Tav or Urge to ship with Astarion and do I need to tell you that it's a self insert most of the time? So, people's feelings about the topic usually come from their own likes/dislikes or experience.

When it comes to shipping origin characters I (and many more) view them not from own perspective (mostly) but from the dynamic these canon characters (not ours) have.

Being narrative foils of each other, Gale and Astarion can affect one another's perspective on their shared Want - to be in control of their lives once again. And ascension for both is an obvious way out. What they Need, however, as any book on screenwriting will teach you, is something not quite obvious.

This leads to Negative and Positive arc of a character respectively. Would they recognize their truest deepest wish or continue on the path of something they can clearly see but suffer downfall in the end? Either way it's a story, it's content.

And I'm here for content. Whatever it might be.

Hell, last week I saw someone's playthrough gone wrong and both Gale and Astarion failed to ascend. The screenshot that person have posted from epilogue with Astarion on his knees alone at the reunion party was heartbreaking and still it was a peak representation of BW.

Shippers gonna ship. And in game such as BG3 with so many paths to travel do you really think that just because it's not someone's happy ending people gonna collectively pretend it doesn't exist?

Watching characters corrupt each other, destroy each other or failing at it is as juicy as watching them heal each other and finding their happiness in terms of the story because there's a fully realized arc behind it. It is essentially a quality collaboration between authors of both characters. Not a quick tumblr fanfiction.

In the end - we all want to see our favs happy together. I mean, look at majority of the fanart. People are fine. But denying yourself many possibilities of other paths?

Well, it's your money.

[sasha199]

Gale/ Rolan Drama Part 11

Gale/ Rolan drama pt. 11

(Fem Tav, human, self insert)

Y’all…this game hits different when your Tav is a stand in for yourself.

My sister and I are playing a multiplayer as ourselves, as sisters. I was romancing/flirting with both Gale and Wyll. Sister is pulling both Astarion and Shadowheart

(I’m Sasha, sister is Marlie.)

Astarion's laughter is infectious, there's no other way to describe it. Once he starts giggling it's only a matter of time before everyone around the camp fire joins in. And if he's decided to make you laugh, nine hells help you, there is no resisting it. 

Our sleep cycles are starting to get wonky after being in the Underdark and then these Shadow Cursed lands. There's nothing for it, so we all collectivley decide to sit at the camp fire until we can't keep our eyes open any longer. Marlie passes around the wine bottles and before long a game has started. Karlach and Wyll are always the most enthusiastic, it's great fun to see them become childlike and competative. I usually prefer to cheer from the sidelines, but tonight I'm all in. The past few days have lit a fire under me, and I don't want the fun to end. 

As the mirth dies down and everyone stars drifting towards their bedrolls, Karlach catches my eye. I stifle a yawn as I make my way over to her tent. 

"Pop a squat, soldier." She has Clive, the bear, tucked up under one arm. I sit criss-cross at the end of her bedroll leaning back on a pile of miscellaneous clothing.

Karlach stretches out on her side, a fiery hand propped under her chin. "I noticed something when you came back to camp," her voice is low, for my ears alone. 

I raise my eyebrows, my eye lids feel heavy. They keep drifting shut as I get comfortable, but I try my best to pay attention

"It's nothing I expect anyone but me to pick up on, " she says, "and I'm not trying to pry. I love you and I just want to check in."

"Of course, Mama K," I reply smiling, "I love you more."

"Have you been...marked?"

My eyes fly open, "What?"

Karlach inhales deeply through her nose, she takes a moment as if planning her next words carefully. "I'm not trying to sniff around, but I noticed it. There's a...sort of scent."

"Sorry," I mutter, "I do need to wash more."

"No!" she laughs in an exasperated way, "we're all a little grimy from sleeping rough, but it's not that kind of scent. I'm not saying you stink, I'm saying you smell...different."

"Is it...uh a tiefling thing?"

Her yellow eyes focus on me for a moment, I know I've told on myself but I am curious. "Well, not ALL tieflings do it. And it's nothing negative, truly. I don't want you to worry. But...you have gotten...physical with one recently haven't you?"

I look down at my lap, my hands are folded there. I touch the two scratches on the back of my right hand. They're still red, the swelling hasn't gone down much.

"What does it mean?" I ask.

"Well, it's slightly different for everybody." Karlach's eyes follow Wyll as he exits his tent in his ragged camp clothes. He kicks some extra sand on the fire pit as he passes. She turns back to me. "I've never marked anyone. Maybe I will, now that I've got my ability to touch back. If I meet someone that is."

"It's not something you'd do to a...a friend? Or an enemy?"

Karlach shrugs, snuggling Clive closer. "I mean, I wouldn't. Thing is when you mark someone, it's like leaving a bit of yourself with them. Any other tiefling who spends time with that person will pick up on it after a while. Some more old fashioned folks would say it's a claim, but I think it's much more...nuanced. It’s a pretty personal thing."

"N-nuanced?" I'm trying so hard to keep my face neutral, but I needn’t bother. Karlach is miles away, caught up in her explanation, she subconsciously picks lint off Clive as she continues. 

"My parents would do it. Dad would have to hit the road for work and I'd notice a mark or two on him before he left. Nothing salacious, you understand. It can be a very sweet thing, but there is usually a level of...intimacy involved." She turns her head up to look at me, "I just want to make sure you're alright."

I sigh and rest my head in my hands, rubbing my temples. Her eyes flick away from mine for a second, and a knowing grin blooms on her face. I hold out my right hand. "This?"

"Oh Sasha," Karlach's eyes go tender, her voice softens. "That's a lovely mark."

"Looks like scratches."

"Really?"

"What do you see?"

"A lot."

"A lot of what?"

She takes my hand in hers and examines the two parallel lines. "Hard to put into Common." She says after a moment.

"Is there a word in Infernal?"

"Yes."

"Well what is it?"

Her cheeks burn red, well redder. "Maybe they should be the one to tell you."

"I'm pretty sure that's not going to happen."

"And why not?"

"Couldn't you just tell me? As a friend?"

Karlach purses her lips and gives my hand back. "Well, it's not as meaningful coming from me, but the closest translation I can think of off top is: a bittersweet longing for something that may or may not have happened. It could be something you’ve loved and lost or something you only thought you had." She glances at my hand again, "There's a melancholy around it, like this thing you long for has passed, and may never happen again."

I close my mouth. "Wow."

"I told you. Nuanced. The infernal word is dalqulq."

I don't even try to say it. "Well, thank you Karlach. You've uh, given me a lot to think about."

"If you get some looks at Last Light, you'll know why."

I glance at her sideways, "Aren't you going to ask me who it is?"

"If you want me to know you'll tell me."

"You already know don't you?"

She smiles, flashing her fangs, "I think I've known for a while, soldier."