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moonselune · 2 days ago

Note

Hi! May I request dealers choice on the crew + Astarion with a VERY minimally verbal, minimally expressive Tav and them realizing that Tav is actually /incredibly/ sweet and kind and understanding, they're just a lil strange and extra quiet <3 if this request doesn't interest you then feel free to disregard

I did the boys for this one and I love the concept!!

Gale:

The evening was quiet, the kind of stillness that comes after a hard-won victory. Gale sat beside you near the campfire, the flames casting golden shadows on his thoughtful face. It had been a long day of travel, and the others were scattered about—some chatting, others already asleep. But here you were, seated together in a comfortable, companionable silence.

Gale had always been one to fill silences with musings or stories, often eager to share his thoughts with those around him. But tonight, he found himself glancing your way, curiously watching as you poked absentmindedly at the fire with a stick. You were so quiet, so restrained, and it fascinated him.

He had initially mistaken your silence for indifference, or perhaps shyness. But as the days stretched into weeks, he had begun to see the subtleties of your demeanor—the way your gaze lingered on the stars when the camp was asleep, the gentle attentiveness in your movements when someone needed help but didn’t ask. And tonight, as you sat beside him, he saw it again: that quiet care in the way you positioned yourself slightly closer to him than necessary, as though offering your presence without demanding his attention.

“I’ve noticed something about you,” Gale said softly, breaking the silence but keeping his tone gentle.

You turned your head to look at him, your expression unreadable but curious, your eyes reflecting the firelight like pools of still water.

“You’re… different,” he continued, choosing his words carefully. “Quieter than most. But not unfeeling, not cold. If anything, I think you might be the kindest person here. It’s just—well, you show it in ways I wasn’t prepared for.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, as though unsure how to take the observation, but you didn’t interrupt him.

He gestured toward the campfire. “For example, you always make sure the fire’s built just right so it lasts through the night. And earlier today, I saw you stop to pick up Karlach’s glove when she dropped it—she didn’t even notice, but you made sure it was back in her pack.”

Gale hesitated, then smiled. “And you brought me a cup of tea yesterday without saying a word. Just placed it beside me and walked away, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.”

Your lips quirked into a faint smile, one that he might have missed if he hadn’t been watching you so closely. You looked down, fiddling with the stick in your hand, clearly unused to such direct attention.

“It’s… endearing,” Gale added softly. “You’re endearing. And I think I’ve come to admire you all the more for it.”

For a moment, you didn’t respond, your gaze distant as you considered his words. Then, in your own quiet way, you leaned closer to him, just enough that your shoulder brushed against his. It wasn’t much, but for you, it was deliberate—a gesture of connection, of trust.

Gale felt his chest tighten, a warmth spreading through him that had little to do with the fire. He had expected words, perhaps an explanation or a deflection, but this—this understated act of affection—spoke volumes. You didn’t need grand declarations or elaborate displays. You simply… were. And that, he realized, was what made you so remarkable.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with sincerity. “For being you.”

You glanced at him, your lips curving into a small, soft smile, and nodded once before returning your gaze to the fire. Gale felt a grin tug at his own lips as he settled back beside you. In that moment, he understood: your sweetness, your kindness—they were there, just waiting to be noticed. And he would spend however long it took learning to see every quiet, wonderful part of you.

Astarion:

The night was calm, the camp quiet save for the distant chirping of crickets and the crackle of the fire. Astarion sat nearby, nursing a goblet of wine he’d stolen from the cellar of a long-forgotten ruin. It was more for the ritual than the taste—old habits, as he’d said with a faint smile. You were nearby, as always, your presence an anchor in the strange and often chaotic life the group led.

He wasn’t sure when he started speaking. Perhaps it was the comfortable silence, the way you sat there, calm and unhurried, that encouraged him. He’d been thinking about Cazador again—he so often was—and without quite realizing it, the words began to spill out.

“I suppose it’s strange,” he mused, his voice light but carrying an edge of bitterness. “Being free after so long under his shadow. It feels like… I’m still carrying him, in some way. Every decision, every thought—I can’t seem to separate them from him.”

He glanced at you, half-expecting a response. Most people, he’d learned, couldn’t resist cutting in. A platitude, a suggestion, a counterpoint. But you didn’t. You simply looked at him, your expression calm and open, as though urging him to go on.

It was unnerving at first. He was used to fighting for attention, for control over conversations, to prove he was clever or charming or worth listening to. But with you, none of that seemed necessary. He paused, testing the silence, and when you still didn’t speak, he continued.

“You know,” he said, his tone softer now, “when I first escaped, I thought freedom would feel… lighter. Like I’d cast off some great weight. But it’s heavier in some ways. The choices, the possibilities—they’re endless. And I’m not sure I trust myself to make the right ones.”

Again, he stopped, waiting. Your eyes met his, steady and clear, and though you didn’t say a word, he felt understood. It was a strange sensation, one he hadn’t experienced often—if ever. You weren’t dissecting him or trying to fix him. You were just… there, present and listening.

“You’re awfully quiet, aren’t you?” he said after a moment, tilting his head as he studied you. There was no malice in his tone, only curiosity.

You shrugged lightly, the movement almost imperceptible. When you finally spoke, your voice was soft, measured. “I like hearing you.”

He blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of your words. “You like hearing me?”

You nodded, your gaze unwavering. “You have a lot to say. It’s worth listening to.”

Astarion stared at you for a moment, unsure of how to respond. People had listened to him before, of course—but it was always performative, a game of courtly flirtation or manipulation. They listened to what they wanted to hear, not to him. But you… you listened like his words mattered, like he mattered.

A slow smile spread across his face, softening the sharp angles of his features.

“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?” he murmured, almost to himself. “So quiet, so… strange. But kind. Far kinder than I deserve, I think.”

He expected you to deny it, to reassure him, but instead, you simply offered a small, almost shy smile. It was disarming, the way you gave so little and yet managed to say so much.

For the first time in a long while, Astarion felt no need to fill the silence. He sat back, letting it settle around you both, a comfortable sort of quiet that he hadn’t realized he craved. After a while, he glanced at you again, his expression thoughtful.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said, his voice lighter now, a hint of teasing in his tone.

You tilted your head slightly, a silent question.

“Most people are so… loud,” he explained with a wry smile. “Always trying to prove themselves, to take up space. But you—” He gestured toward you, the motion almost reverent. “You don’t need to do any of that, do you? You’re just… you.”

Your smile widened just a fraction, and you gave a small shake of your head, as if to say you didn’t know how to be anything else. Astarion chuckled softly, a sound warm and genuine.

“I think I’m beginning to like it,” he admitted, leaning back against the log he’d claimed as his seat. “Though I’ll warn you—I’m not used to people being so sweet to me, or me reciprocating. You might ruin my reputation.”

Your eyes sparkled with amusement, though you didn’t reply. Instead, you simply reached over, your hand brushing lightly against his. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes—offering comfort, understanding, and a quiet kind of care that made Astarion’s chest ache in the best possible way.

For the first time in years, he felt seen. And it was terrifying, yes, but also… wonderful.

Wyll:

The camp had grown quieter as the evening stretched on, the crackling fire the only sound breaking the stillness. Wyll sat a little apart from the group, his polished boots resting near the fire’s warmth, his arms draped loosely over his knees. His usual mask of confident charm was absent tonight, replaced by something quieter, more introspective.

You sat nearby, as you often did, a steady presence that didn’t demand much from him. For weeks now, you had been close in proximity but distant in words, an enigma of sorts. Wyll wasn’t quite sure what to make of you at first—your silence had seemed aloof, even uninterested. But gradually, as the days bled into nights, he began to notice the things you didn’t say.

You didn’t speak over others in conversation, but you always seemed to listen deeply, your gaze steady and intent. You rarely offered compliments, but when you did, they were startlingly heartfelt. And when Wyll had stumbled in the aftermath of a fight, bruised and frustrated, it was you who had handed him a bandage, your hand brushing his briefly before you moved on without a word.

Now, as he sat by the fire, you approached, your steps soft but deliberate. You didn’t ask if you could join him—one of the many things he appreciated about you. Instead, you lowered yourself onto the log beside him, sitting close enough to feel the fire’s warmth but not crowding his space.

“You’re quiet tonight, reserved,” he said after a moment, his voice breaking the silence but staying low. "Well, more than usual."

You glanced at him, your expression unreadable, then nodded once. A faint gesture of acknowledgment.

Wyll let out a small chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “That makes two of us, I suppose. A rare thing for the Blade of Frontiers, isn’t it?”

The title rolled off his tongue with practiced ease, but there was a flicker of something behind his words—weariness, perhaps, or a longing for something simpler. People were always eager to heap praise upon him, to listen to his heroic tales of vanquishing monsters and saving the innocent. They admired him for his bravery, for his charisma, for his relentless drive to do good. And while he appreciated it, there were moments when it felt like a weight he couldn’t set down.

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes fixed on the fire. But then you reached into your pack and pulled something out—a small, neatly folded cloth. You placed it on the log between you and gently nudged it toward him with your fingertips.

Wyll blinked, curious, and unfolded it. Inside was a simple piece of bread and a chunk of cheese, nothing extravagant but clearly set aside with care. He glanced at you, his brows lifting in surprise.

“For me?” he asked softly.

You nodded, your expression still calm but your gaze steady. There was no grand explanation, no flowery words about why you’d thought to do it. Just the quiet act itself, unspoken but deeply thoughtful. Wyll found himself smiling, something warm unfurling in his chest.

“You know, people often throw grand gestures my way,” he said, turning the small meal over in his hands. “Praise, gifts, promises of favor. But this… this feels different. Better, somehow.”

Your lips quirked faintly, the smallest smile, and you gave a slight shrug, as if to say, It’s nothing.

“No,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “It’s not nothing. It’s… exactly what I needed.”

He tore a piece of the bread, savoring it as much for the taste as for the gesture behind it. Then he glanced at you again, his dark eyes filled with something unspoken.

“You’re not like anyone I’ve met before,” he admitted. “And I think that’s a gift, even if it’s one I’m still learning to understand.”

You tilted your head slightly, considering his words, and then reached out—tentative, deliberate—to place a hand briefly over his. Your touch was warm, grounding, and though you pulled away quickly, the gesture lingered in the space between you.

Wyll chuckled again, softer this time. “You don’t need to say much, do you? Somehow, you always seem to know exactly what to do.”

For a long moment, the two of you sat there, the fire casting flickering shadows over your faces. Wyll found himself relaxing in a way he rarely did, the weight of his heroic persona slipping away. With you, he wasn’t the Blade of Frontiers or the hero of ballads. He was just Wyll—a man who had been given a moment of peace in your quiet, steady company.

Halsin:

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the forest clearing. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the earthy scent of moss and pine. Halsin stood by a small stream, his hands resting on his hips as he watched the water bubble over smooth stones. He had led you here, eager to share one of his favorite places—a spot untouched by the chaos of the world, a place of pure serenity.

You sat nearby, your back against the wide trunk of an ancient tree, watching the interplay of light and shadow as the sun filtered through the canopy. You hadn’t said much since arriving, but then, you rarely did. Halsin had grown accustomed to your quiet nature, though it had taken him some time to understand it. At first, he had worried his stories or insights were unwelcome, his efforts to connect unreciprocated. But the longer he spent in your company, the clearer it became that your silence was not indifference but something else entirely.

You simply… listened. And you noticed things—details others might overlook. Like now, as your gaze lingered on a cluster of wildflowers swaying in the breeze, your lips curving into the faintest of smiles.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Halsin said, his deep voice gentle as he followed your gaze. “I’ve always admired how the simplest things—flowers, sunlight, the song of a bird—can bring such joy.”

You turned your head toward him, your expression calm but thoughtful. Then, without a word, you stood and stepped toward the wildflowers. Kneeling carefully, you reached out to brush your fingers over the delicate petals, your touch reverent.

Halsin watched you, his heart swelling with something he couldn’t quite name. It was rare to find someone who shared his love for the natural world with such quiet intensity. Most people saw beauty in nature, yes, but few seemed to feel it the way you did—as though you were attuned to its rhythms, its quiet wisdom.

After a moment, you plucked one of the flowers—a pale blue blossom with a star-shaped center—and stood, turning back to him. You held it out, your movements unhurried, and waited for him to take it.

Halsin blinked, surprised, before stepping closer and accepting the flower.

“For me?” he asked, his voice touched with warmth.

You nodded, your eyes meeting his briefly before drifting back to the stream. There was no grand declaration, no explanation for the gesture. Just the flower, freely given, and the quiet companionship of the moment.

Halsin turned the bloom over in his hands, studying it as though it were a rare treasure.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “It’s… beautiful. As is this moment.”

He meant it. There was a simplicity to your company that he hadn’t realized he needed. So much of his life had been spent in action—protecting, leading, fighting. With you, there was no pressure to be anything more than himself, no expectation to fill the silence with words.

“You have a way of seeing the world,” he said after a moment, his gaze lingering on you. “A quiet reverence, as though every small thing matters. It’s… humbling. And it reminds me of why I do what I do.”

You glanced at him again, tilting your head slightly as though considering his words. Then, without speaking, you gestured toward a patch of sunlight filtering through the trees, where a family of deer grazed in the distance.

Halsin smiled, following your lead. Together, you stood in silence, watching the deer move through the clearing. The world felt still, alive yet peaceful, and he realized how rare such moments were.

“You’re a gift,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Not just to me, but to the world around you. You see it for what it is—whole and sacred.”

Your gaze flicked to him again, and this time, your lips curved into a soft, fleeting smile. It was a small thing, but to Halsin, it felt like a gift in itself—a glimpse of the sweetness that lay beneath your quiet exterior.

Hope you guys enjoyed this and it wasn't too repetitive, I did try to differentiate them - Seluney xox

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