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mahoushojo-chan · 7 months

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Astarion x Tav || bed sharing

one forever won't be enough

synopsis: it's a habit they picked up from travelling together. every so often, astarion came to tav at night. it turned into something that he needs sometimes, even if he'd really rather not admit it. instead of lying in his old bunk, astarion chooses not to be alone.

an excerpt of "'cause my love (is mine, all mine)"

word count: 1203

pairing: astarion/tav

other tags: f!reader, bed sharing, tooth-rotting fluff, hurt/comfort, non-sexual intimacy, romantic tension, late night conversations, friends to lovers, song inspo: where do i begin by Egg

ao3: here

concept: bed sharing

At night, Astarion lies in his old bunk. It’s rough, grating, and it creaks every time he shifts, and he’s pretty sure he couldn’t enter trance even if he tried. It’s telling that he would rather lay on a bedroll laid over hard rock than ‘his’ own bed, but the last time he laid in this bed, he was still a slave. Just Cazador’s spawn.

Somehow, it feels even emptier than back then. He doesn't have Petras sleeping in the top bunk, snoring loud enough for him to kick the mattress above. He doesn't have Dalyria in the bunk beside him, hiding a light underneath her sheets while she dove her research into the next topic. There isn't Leon in the corner, whispering sweet comforts to his little girl, Victoria. It’s too quiet all on his own.

Then, even with his new companions, he can't hear Gale patronizing Wyll about this or that kind of magic, he can't hear Karlach playing with Scratch or the Owlbear, and there is no occasional thump of Lae’zel’s late-night training. He had gotten used to all of it as some kind of white noise for the next dawn.

Besides, he thinks, he should get used to his nocturnal schedule again, so staying awake wouldn’t be too bad. It would keep the nightmares away, at least. He had enough of Cazador. He thinks of Tav, who he hopes is sleeping peacefully away.

In the dark, he has to confront the reality that he and Tav are worlds apart. He wonders if she’ll be able to adapt to this schedule.

The door to the Favoured Spawn room opens, the room that Tav had taken, with a quiet creak that only Astarion would hear. Then, the mattress dips, and a hesitant arm wraps around her waist and pulls Tav in as someone nestles in close.

“Mm… still awake, Star?” She mutters, though he’s more surprised to hear that she’s still awake.

“Yes.” Astarion replies in a whisper, because it feels like the night calls for whispers, even when the entire palace is empty.

It’s a habit they picked up from travelling together. Every so often, Astarion came to Tav to sleep. Tav knows that it first started after he first drank from her and she found herself exhausted enough to slip unconscious; but it turned into something that he needs sometimes, even though he’d really rather not admit it. Tav thought it would end after Astarion made it clear that he wasn’t ready for a relationship, and she decided to be friends, rather than lovers. It seemed to be what he needed at the time, but she also knows that this—whatever this is, lying in bed together, in the dark, holding each other and whispering—isn’t really something friends do. Astarion has never had any friends, but even he suspects this is something that is beyond friendship.

But this isn’t sexual, either. He can't think of a single conquest who he had done this with because this felt too vulnerable. This felt like a different reality, reframing what it meant to find comfort in the dark.

With a sigh, Tav turns around to face Astarion. He sees her eyes, heavy-lidded with sleep, and he brushes some hair out of her face. It’s never as awkward as it should be.

“I’m not sure if I’m ready to face them.” Astarion whispers, truthful and defeated, because holding Tav in the darkness brings about a whole different world around him; one where he can tell Tav anything.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to, Star.” She says, and it does something to his chest when she whispers his nickname in that tone, with that softness of sleep tinging her voice.

Astarion huffs out a whisper of a laugh. “I do want to. They’re… something like family, after all. They’re the closest thing I have to love.”

“I love you,” she protests, her voice still quiet. He knows this is not what friends do. They are in bed holding each other, now declaring love for each other, in the comfort of darkness. Astarion has never had anyone he had been this intimate with, even in the throes of passion, and he feels that he should think more about what this means.

“Fine, then. They’re the closest thing, other than you.” He drawls affectionately, feeling a tug at his lips even as he rolls his eyes. “But still, they’re not like you. I’m not like you. I can’t be good like you, and I’m afraid they know that. It feels like I’ll have to solve all of this world’s problems to be worthy of forgiveness, and even then, they would be right not to give it to me. They might never forgive me.”

“Then they’d be fools, the lot of them.” She says, and though she still sounds asleep, her eyes look at him with a sincerity he knows. If there’s one consistency about Tav’s behaviour, it’s that she has no patience for fools, and he can’t help but laugh.

A silence passes through them for a moment. “Do you think I’m evil?”

“No.” She says. “Even I’m not nearly as good as you think I am. Out of the two of us, you’re far more special. You make me think anything is possible.”

It’s odd because he can imagine saying the exact same thing to her. He wonders if she was just reading his thoughts and saying the words out loud, and if it was some sort of byproduct left by the mind-reading tadpole. But then again, he can’t at all understand why she would think he was special, and if they did still have the tadpoles, he would wish to see himself through her eyes. He wants to see what she sees in him—this brave, dashing, kind, supportive, heroic man, capable of love and goodness.

He wonders what would happen if he kissed her.

Not that he was particularly sexually attracted to her, though he admits that objectively, she is attractive. He has a working pair of eyes and a good sense of taste, after all. And honestly, he doesn’t even know if she’s attracted to him—he thinks she might be, because Astarion hadn’t met many people who weren’t, but she also never asked him for anything sexual. Even their first night together, he always wondered if she had truly wanted it, or if he was just taking advantage of their desperate, life-or-death situation. All her intimacy seemed strictly… well, not exactly platonic, but not sexual, either. And it didn’t feel quite romantic, either.

But he wonders what she would do. What might she see? What might she feel?

He compromises by resting the crown of his head on hers, and quietly, he whispers, “Thank you for loving me.”

“Of course I would.” She replies, sounding fond, before closing her eyes. He can tell that sleep is about to take her again as she sighs, “Don’t worry about who you think you’ve got to be. Just be Astarion. It’s good enough.”

Her breaths even out, and he does his best to match her, taking in the air she exhales. He runs fingers through her hair again as she drifts to sleep.

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mahoushojo-chan · 5 months

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Astarion x Tav || bathing

when you wash your hair

synopsis: She soaks her hands in water and finds herself surprised to learn that it’s warm, with a sweet, heady scent. Astarion’s prepared dozens of bathing supplies on the side, freshly-washed towels and lotions and other She cups the water in her hands and pours it onto the back side of his head, letting her hands through his hair, and he closes his book before leaning back into her touch with a sigh. Both of his arms fall over the edge, and he lets the book fall to the ground in favour of relaxing.

A quiet moment where Tav gets to wash Astarion's curls.

an excerpt of ‘cause my love (is mine, all mine)

word count: 2224

pairing: astarion/tav

other tags: f!reader, hurt/comfort, bathing, slight angst, non-sexual intimacy, romantic tension, friends to lovers, washing astarion's pretty hair, not being used to love or loving, help these idiots please

now listening: when you wash your hair - matt maltese

ao3: here

concept: washing hair... and reviewing books, a little

Tav stabilizes herself by quietly singing a soft melody as she undresses herself, wrapping a towel over her chest and carrying her wicket basket to the tub.

“You tried to be someone you are not,” she sings, her voice echoing off the lavatory walls, “Now the morning sweeps you up, you take your evening outfit off, you run—”

She freezes, her voice raising sharply on the last note upon seeing the occupied tub—or rather, seeing a very handsome elf leaning against the edge, one pale arm draped around the edge and the other carefully holding up a book above the steaming waters.

“Don’t stop on my account. If I can close my eyes, I can almost pretend I have the luxury of a personal serenade.” She hears him say.

Normally, she would meet his banter by asking if she’s a pet songbird, or perhaps tease that he can receive a personal serenade from her anytime, but she’s still a little embarrassed, so she turns away. “Sorry, I can—”

“Nothing you haven’t seen before. No point in playing the blushing virgin now,” he adds, voice dropping into temptation.

“You don’t mind?” She asks, turning her head but not quite looking yet. It was his call.

“I don’t.” Astarion replies, and finds himself mildly surprised by his response, then, with a tilt of his head, he asks, “Do you?”

“Are you joking? You’re beautiful.” She tells him, and she hears his flattered sigh. “You probably won’t want to share with the sick, though.”

He’s silent for a moment, pensive. But then he tells her, “I’ll be out soon enough. Just a little longer.”

It’s not an insult for him to reject her. In some ways, it makes her rather happy to know that he knows he is free when it comes to her. So, with a grin, she offers, “Then can I help?”

“What?” Astarion asks, surprised. He lowers his book slightly.

“You’ve taken care of me this whole week. It’s the least I can do.” She says, looking for an accommodation. She folds her hands behind her back, waiting for his response.

“You don’t have to,” he reassures.

“I want to.” She replies simply, but doesn’t approach him yet. Then, she modestly asks to remind him his choice, “Will you let me?”

“Who am I to deny such a gracious offer?” Astarion answers as nonchalant as he can. “That is… you’re welcome to… I mean to say that… I’d like it if you’d stayed, as well.”

He hates admitting it, more to himself than to her. Sometimes it feels that whenever he’s starting to pull away, she’s always there to bring him back.

He can hear her little jump of excitement as she finally stops holding back and bounds towards him, moving a stool away closer to the tub before taking a seat on it.

She soaks her hands in water and finds herself surprised to learn that it’s warm, with a sweet, heady scent. Astarion’s prepared dozens of bathing supplies on the side, freshly-washed towels and lotions and other She cups the water in her hands and pours it onto the back side of his head, letting her hands through his hair, and he closes his book before leaning back into her touch with a sigh. Both of his arms fall over the edge, and he lets the book fall to the ground in favour of relaxing.

Astarion had been soaking for a long time, his bath long due, and this was his first time to relax in days, to little avail. Mostly because he hasn’t been able to get Tav off his mind. Actually, he had begun reading his current novel to distract him from her.

Finally, she takes a bar of soap and lathers her hands with it before working the suds into Astarion’s hair. His thoughts dissipate as she runs her hands through his curls. Her nails scratch against his scalp lightly, and he’s pretty sure if he were capable of melting, he would have from her touch. Icarus he was not, but her touch is warm and comforting and the water laps at his chest gently and the balance between the two feels so precariously pleasant that when she finally pulls away, he can’t help but pout at her.

All she’s doing is getting a comb for him.

While she lets her hands absentmindedly card through his hair, smoothing out the tangles. His hair curls, wild and free, even when sopping wet. He ends up looking a little shaggier, and although he detests looking anything less than perfect, he doesn’t seem to mind when it comes to Tav.

Her skin is flushed after a few minutes, hovering between a pink and scarlet colour, though he can’t tell if it’s from him or the heat of the tub or her fever.

But then she asks, “What were you reading?” and he feels like he’s about to lose it because of how engrossed he is in the book.

“It’s the most ridiculous drivel I’ve ever read!” He exclaims.

“You seem rather fond of it. You were reading it while I was sick, weren’t you?” Tav asks, giggling slightly. “What’s it about? What do you hate so much about it?”

He scoffs. “Where can I start, darling. It’s told from the point of view of a sidekick, at best. They frame it as his ‘best friend’, but they’re leagues apart from each other. I mean, the main love interest, and the supporting main character, is such a beautiful, incredible and invigorating immortal hero. He’s an absolute god of a being, and he falls in love with the main character—this slave boy, a vague nobody, barely characterized by his devotion towards his saviour.”

“Hmm. It sounds tragic,” she says, empathetically.

“Don’t give me that! I take you for someone with better taste than this.” He says. “It’s hardly romantic.”

“You seem personally offended,” Tav notes.

“Well, I have rights to speak on this matter, as an immortal myself.” He explains. “I mean, what reason would this hero have to fall in love with a slave?”

“Do you need a reason to love?” Tav asks him quietly, fingers carding through his hair.

It sounds like she has her own thoughts on the matter, but wants to hear Astarion’s opinion, which takes him aback for a moment. But because she’s listening to him intently, he explains, “Even so, surely the immortal would get bored of a slave after a while, no? The hero finds it endearing just because the ordinary is so new to him, but how could an attraction founded on a novelty, at best, last?”

He cuts himself off, because he doesn’t want to explain how he relates to the piece any further, because in his eyes, he sees himself in that little slave boy, though he resents to admit it. That comparison alone makes him think too much of his relationship with Tav, because he can’t help but think if they hadn’t been abducted together, someone like Tav would have never been interested in him.

Then Tav stops massaging his scalp. At first, Astarion worries he’s been caught brooding and self-deprecating again, and he knows Tav always feels some personal duty to relieve him of it, so he quickly asks, “What’s on your mind?”

She shakes her head, and looks down at him with a reassuring smile. “Just… the heat is getting to me, a little.”

“Don’t give me that. Did I—did I say something wrong?” He asks, shifting a little in the bath.

“No, no. I’m just thinking about the book,” she assures him, but he knows that’s only half the truth. “I just found myself empathizing, that’s all.”

“Do you see yourself as the immortal, all-loving hero, then?” Astarion asks, a little worried. The last thing he wants to do is encourage her to leave him, but then—

“No. If I am any character in your book, I would likely be the slave.”

Her admission surprises him, and he turns back towards her. “You? There’s nothing ordinary or plain about you, and you’re hardly someone that needs to be rescued.”

She doesn’t explain any further, but she knows she is the slave in his story.

It is always like this: when she stops being useful or interesting to him, he will discard her. The second she becomes a burden onto him, the moment that the effort it takes to keep her surpasses her usefulness, she will be nothing at all to him. She feels like this is true, even if he won’t admit it. This is how most relationships were, even if people didn’t realize it.

She’s happy that it’s so straightforward with Astarion, though. He doesn’t do a very good job to conceal his goals or selfishness. She likes his honesty. She would resent it if he ever came to lose his boundaries, fall back into servitude or people-pleasing habits.

“There have been times that I have, but no one did end up saving me. Sometimes I think it would be nice to be saved.”

Astarion can’t say anything, because he understands her well, but at the same time, he actually did end up being saved, by her.

After a moment of silence, save for the occasional dripping of water as Tav finishes washing the suds out of his hair, Astarion finally parts from her touch to stretch. “Well, that’s enough for me. Best leave before the water turns my hands into prunes.” He says, then turns around to Tav, raising his eyebrow scandalously. “Shall I wash your hair, then?”

He doesn’t really expect her to decline, but she gives him a small, strained smile and says, “I really would like to be alone right now. I’ve been waited on hand and foot for the past week. You’re not my butler.”

But Astarion looks at her with such sympathetic red eyes, more honest and affectionate than anyone would expect from him, and it almost seems like he might reach out and hold her. If he shows her any more love tonight, she might fall apart entirely, and she doesn’t want to admit how much ability he has to unmake her.

“Very well.” He agrees, and she gives him a towel before turning around, and he finds it pitifully hilarious how she attempts to preserve his modesty, even when she’s seen everything about him, purely because he wished it. He gets out of the tub and wraps the towel around his waist, collecting his clothes. “If you need me, I’ll be here.” He tells her.

Still, she tells him, “Thank you,” before he hears her disrobe and settle into the tub with a satisfied sigh.

He thinks about her earlier confession: that she doesn’t know how to be loved. He thinks about the way she cried when she received his gift, even though—shouldn’t she have expected it? She had given him so many gifts, did she really believe he would never reciprocate?

“Astarion,” she calls out, and he turns around, looking at her back as she sits thoughtfully in the tub.

“Yes, love?” He asks.

“I need to be someone terrible, soon.” She tells him, and he isn’t sure what she means. “I don’t want you around for it, I think.”

It’s because she sounds hesitant that Astarion assures her, “I’ll always be here. Through thick and thin.”

She lets out a small hum of assent, and sinks into the tub. It doesn’t seem like she’ll say more, so he leaves. He doesn’t stray far—he takes a seat on the cobblestone outside of the bathing area, and opens his book, because although she said she wanted to be alone, he doesn’t really think that’s the case.

With a bit of reluctance, he wonders what it is, exactly, that she’s planning to do.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion romance #fanfic #writing #astarion x mc #astarion fic #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion my beloved #tav x astarion #mahoufiction #hair washing

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mahoushojo-chan · 6 months

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Astarion x Tav || sickfic

can you keep me close? (can you love me most?)

synopsis: her vision is foggy, but she's fairly certain she can discern an angelic figure by her bedside, radiating a brilliant white or perhaps a gentle golden hue, accentuated by the candlelight in the dim room. then, the soothing radiance recedes slightly, and the angel utters, "you're an idiot," with a casual air, the words tinged with a devilish tone.

an excerpt of 'cause my love (is mine, all mine)

word count: 1435

pairing: astarion/tav

other tags: f!reader, bard!tav, half-elf!tav, hurt/comfort, sickfic, non-sexual intimacy, romantic tension, friends to lovers, the usual at this point, song inspo: someone to stay - vancouver sleep clinic

ao3: here

concept: sickfic!!

Tav isn’t really sure what’s happening.

Actually, the whole past twelve hours have been a little blurry—memories and movements kept blending themselves in a non-cohesive way, she kept forcing her limbs to move but they would trail sluggishly behind, and she isn’t sure where she is right now.

When she feels something cool on her forehead, she finally startles.

Her vision is foggy, but she's fairly certain she can discern an angelic figure by her bedside, radiating a brilliant white or perhaps a gentle golden hue, accentuated by the candlelight in the dim room. Then, the soothing radiance recedes slightly, and the angel utters, "You're an idiot," with a casual air, the words tinged with a devilish tone.

Ah, naturally. She had never expected to receive her very own angel. It seemed more likely that the gods would send an eerie, skeleton-like old codger, draped in tattered robes, who would speak in cryptic riddles to assist her, or a dream guardian that, in reality, turned out to be a peculiar, haughty tentacled creature with aspirations of dominating all other races in the world with mind-controlling parasites.

She squints and blinks repeatedly until Astarion comes into sharper focus. He's seated in a chair, legs crossed, arms folded, and appears quite displeased. She vaguely recollects a caregiver mentioning bringing some medicine, and fervently hopes that her current company isn't the result of that promise. After all, her companion is one of the last individuals she wishes to see right now.

The situation is rather embarrassing. She's cocooned in blankets that are overly warm, her hair is in disarray, she can't quite manage to open her eyes completely, and her muscles are protesting, urging her to remain at rest. She's determined not to let Astarion witness her in this state or feel sorry for her.

Her first instinct is to apologize, especially under his scrutinizing gaze. Instead, she insists, “I’m dying. Can’t you be a little nicer?”

“Oh, goodness me. Perhaps I’ll just leave you to suffer this horrible affliction alone,” he offers, hand on his chest in mock offense as he gets up, pretending to leave.

“Good. You don’t need to take care of me—”

She reaches out for her hat and makes an attempt to rise, but Astarion places his hands on her shoulders, gently guiding her back onto the bed. His touch, once more, carries a soothing coolness, alleviating the hot discomfort and muscle soreness. "Oh, no, no, no. Absolutely not. I am not suffering another heart attack because of everyone’s favourite idiot again," he admonishes her, and she blinks in surprise, as it almost seems like he's expressing genuine concern for her.

“I’m not everyone’s favourite idiot,” she protests, weakly, even as he presses her back into the mattress to lie down.

“No, but you’re mine.” He says, perched on top of her. He's leaning above her now, effectively pinning her to the bed. He senses her slight movement beneath him, though it's hard to discern if she's merely shifting or genuinely attempting to break free, given her frail state.

Nevertheless, he gazes down at her from above, her hair splayed across the pillowcase, her face flushed, eyes half-closed, disheveled clothing, and heavy breaths. He realizes the position he’s in and releases her quickly, flustered. He hides this by opting to fetch a drink of water from his waterskin for her.

“You—you could have said something, you know.” He continues, smoothly. “Before it got this bad.”

“You had other things on your mind. Didn’t want you to worry about me,” she mumbles, but Astarion detects the slight slur in her words. He lifts the glass to her lips, eyes lingering on its shape, and she takes a sip of the cold liquid, letting out a soft moan of relief.

“Don’t want you to get sick, either.” She adds, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Thinking your companion is going to die after they randomly collapse is very worrying, so you know.” Astarion chides, putting away the waterskin. “And also, I’m far too dead to contract such a simple illness. Dalyria says it’s from exhaustion—something you’re suffering from more than me, for once.”

He’s really sure that she’s dying now. She does not retort, and against all odds, it seems that she actually managed to fall asleep again. It makes sense to him that her sickness might be getting slightly worse. When he first touched her forehead, it felt scorching to the touch, and she's now buried beneath several layers of blankets, almost swallowed by the bedding.

Astarion takes in the sorry state of the room. There's a soiled towel nearby with remnants of vomit. He observes her shivering, her clothes clinging to her body, drenched in sweat.

Astarion sets out to gather some supplies—more towels, additional water, and some rations. They were running low on food, but as long as she could sustain herself, he wasn't too concerned.

He watches her as she drifts in and out of consciousness, noting her increasing confusion, likely due to the worsening fever. She mumbles about things he can't quite make out as he settles with a book to keep her company while he monitors her condition.

He glances up from the pages periodically as she rests on the makeshift bed, wrapped in old, dusty blankets. Astarion stokes the nearby fireplace to provide warmth, even though she appears to be sweating profusely, so he's unsure if it's the best idea.

She did seem to be relieved by his touch, though. To check on her condition once more, he reaches out and gently brushes her hair to the side to touch her forehead. She initially flinches, and he moves to withdraw his hand—until she grips his wrist. It’s a feeble hold, but she keeps his hand pressed against her face.

He realizes he doesn’t feel repulsed by her actions at all. It’s true, she’s using him—quite literally, as some sort of relief—but it feels like she needs him in this moment. He can’t pretend not to like the thought of being needed, even wanted by her.

He wonders, as an extension of that line of thought, if he would be okay with kissing her. Reflecting on his past experiences with the drow, he remembers the familiar, lingering disgust and self-hatred that typically arose. However, Tav doesn't evoke any of those emotions within him. His hand drifts, and his thumb traces her bottom lip gently. It's not smooth or plump; it's dry and cracked. Somehow, that makes it feel more authentic, and the question lingers in his mind.

But he doesn’t need that. He can get physical affection from anywhere. He just… likes this. That’s all it is. That’s all it has to be, right? This is rarer—he wouldn’t give this up for the world.

So he doesn’t allow his thoughts to wander beyond that.

But seeing her reluctance to let him go stirs something within him. It’s a tug at the depths of his chest, an undeniable ache. Well, if he could be of help to her like this, then who was he to deny her? After all, it wasn’t as if they hadn’t shared moments like this before.

He proceeds with caution, making every effort to avoid disturbing her as the bed slightly dips underneath his weight. He pulls the blanket over both of them and he draws her near, and she emits a soft sigh as her arms instinctively encircle him, warming his chest.

In the absence of a clock, Astarion loses track of time as he remains in bed beside her. He devotes most of it to observing her, running his fingers through her hair with a gentle touch. It's an act one might do with a lover, although she remains unconscious. He could murmur tender words, and she would remain unaware. Even if she happened to hear, he suspected her current state of mind would prevent her from retaining the information. No, this is for his own solace, and he finds it strangely comforting.

#astarion romance #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #bg3 #writing #astarion headcanons #astarion x mc #mutual pining #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x dark urge #sick fic #mahoufiction #sickfic #fic ideas #writing prompt

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mahoushojo-chan · 7 months

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Astarion x Tav || Anxiety Attack

gonna be right by your side (no matter what)

synopsis: he's never seen her look so frightened before. she trembles slightly, keeping her hands close to her body. she doesn’t even meet astarion’s gaze. it’s as if she's still focused on the creature, even though it's no longer within her line of sight. her breaths begin to come in starts, and his senses can hear her pulse skyrocketing.

an excerpt of “’cause my love (is mine, all mine)”

word count: 1739

pairing: astarion/tav

other tags: f!reader, bard!tav, hurt/comfort, light angst, non-sexual intimacy, romantic tension, friends to lovers, panic attack comfort, magically induced anxiety attack, song inspo: No Matter What by Zach Callison and Michaela Dietz

ao3: here

concept: panic attack comfort

After hours of traversing the dangerous depths of the Underdark, it finally dawns on Tav that the subterranean caves aren’t exactly suitable for a two-person adventuring party consisting of a bard and her dashing rogue companion. In the process, Tav has expended all her spell slots, save for two level one spells, and has endured not only physical damage, but psychological damage from the amount of whining that Astarion is putting her through.

“Gods, I truly hate it down here. Darling, let’s set a goal to live in a nice, lavish palace full of pointless luxuries.” Astarion insists, and almost enjoys the implication of living with each other in the future enough to forgive his incessant complaints. Almost.

She bites her tongue, because she figures it’s hard enough to give up life in the sun for a darkness he doesn’t truly care for. She’ll pester him about it later, but she knows the wound is still fresh for him right now.

It’s late into—well, it’s rather difficult to tell what the time is. Tav considers taking one more short rest, but she knows that they’re almost there.

“You know, I’ve actually never been to this place.” He says, now that they’re near enough to look for the entrance. Cazador’s entrance to the Underdark lead to some old vampire’s keep, located just to the east of Baldur’s Gate, auspiciously under the Fields of the Dead. “I wonder what wonders could be inside—hm?”

He stops when he notices Tav isn’t moving and narrows his eyes to try to see what she’s looking at. Though Astarion possesses keen night vision, the initial sight is somewhat obscure. At first, it appears as a mere silhouette, and in the Underdark, it's impossible to be wary of every peculiar shadow. Yet, after a moment, he discerns distinct horned features, and the shadowy form takes on the semblance of a horned humanoid, its eyes oozing pure horror, and it points a finger at them.

“Hells.” Astarion mutters, instinctively switching to disengage stealthily. He ducks behind the last corner they came from, and expects Tav to follow—before he turns to see her still rooted firmly in place.

“What are you doing? Get over here, quickly!” He hisses at her, but rather uncharacteristically, she doesn’t respond. He’s used to her fearless antics, and this does look like something she’d be rather interested in, but there’s only so much stupidity he’s able to take. Out of options, he grabs the back of her cloak and pulls, successfully tugging her behind the corner. “Are you insane?” He snaps, but the second he turns his attention away from the creature and towards Tav, he immediately freezes.

He's never seen her look so frightened before. She trembles slightly, keeping her hands close to her body. She doesn’t even meet Astarion’s gaze. It’s as if she's still focused on the creature, even though it's no longer within her line of sight. Her breaths begin to come in starts, and his senses can hear her pulse skyrocketing.

“Breathe, darling.” He instructs, but she isn’t listening to him—more importantly, she still isn’t moving. It’s not that he doesn’t want to comfort her, but he’s pretty sure the monster, whatever it is, is still slowly stalking towards them.

Quickly, as a last-ditch effort, he hoists her onto his back. She’s still heavy, and she’s slowing him down. Even if it might be faster to hide her and look for the entrance himself, when she stutters, “’Starion?” In that quiet, uncharacteristically weak voice, he knows he can’t leave her.

“Right here, my sweet, right here.” He reassures quietly, still looking for the entrance while trying to keep out of the creature’s sight. At the very least, it didn’t seem very perceptive.

Eventually, he sees a crack of firelight in the wall—just enough to reveal concrete slabs behind the layers of rock, and enough to illuminate the edges of a wooden door. He quickly dashes towards it and pries the door open, entering and putting her down before closing the door behind him. He looks through the iron keyhole to see if the monster will pass, but a voice breaks his concentration.

“Astarion,” Dalyria says, sounding relieved.

“Shh.” He dismisses. “There’s something outside.”

Dalyria stays silent for a moment before recognition tinges her voice. “Ah. You mean the Nightwalker. It’s okay, it hasn’t bothered any of us. It seems if we stay out of its way, it won’t go out of its way to hurt us. It’s been a bit of a relief if anything.” She tells him, but Astarion isn’t reassured quite yet. They had stayed well out of its way, and it seemed to target them still.

Still, seeing that the creature has at least stopped chasing them down, Astarion finally ducks down towards Tav, seeing her state once again. He knows something is wrong with her, and not something natural. She was normally fearless—and while he knew that wasn’t entirely true, it was too sudden for her to completely cower at some unknown, shadowy figure when she had faced devils and shades more fearsome than the creature they encountered. He knows it must have done something to her, but now that they are in relative safety, he just needs her to breathe, gods damn it.

“Is she alright?” Dalyria asks, trying to peer over Astarion’s shoulder to see Tav. His first instinct is to bristle, but he knows that out of all his siblings, Dalyria is probably the best to take a look at her.

A little reluctantly, he steps aside. Dalyria observes her for a moment, and takes her hand, but Tav immediately withdraws as though burned. She still can’t speak, but Dalyria discerns, “I wonder if this is its effect on the living.”

“And? Your verdict? What are we supposed to do?” He snaps, but he can’t stand to look at her shivering form anymore, so he turns away.

“You may just have to wait it out,” Dalyria accepts. “I could attempt to heal a physical ailment, but this seems mostly mental. If it’s magically induced, though, it shouldn’t last very long once it’s out of her sight.”

Astarion curses under his breath. He ducks down, and peers at Tav again. Her face is pressed into her hands, and her knees are tucked in. It seems to be more grounding behaviour than anything else. He takes her side.

“Where is everyone else?” He asks Dal, but he doesn’t take his gaze off Tav.

“They’re trying to calm the other spawn. It’s turmoil out there. So many of them… they haven’t been free in forever. Trying to reel them all in feels impossible.” She sighs. “I only came to check in on you. Should I… leave you, for a moment?” She asks, looking at his companion again.

He heaves a hefty sigh. They had finally come all this way, but… “For now.” He reassures, partially to himself. He glances over his shoulder. “We’ve prepared supplies, but we weren’t able to carry all of it here. The rest should be at the entrance to Cazador’s castle. You can use them as rations for now.”

Dalyria nods in understanding. “I’ll tell the others,” she assures him. “Then, once everyone has fed… please come to us then. We’ll be waiting in the dining room. All of us.”

He doesn’t respond, even as she shuts the door. Instead, he turns his attention back to Tav. He’s glad he can speak freely without revealing too much of themselves. He sighs dramatically. “Come now, love, this doesn’t suit you at all. Stop this, you’re being ridiculous.”

He’s hoping to provoke her into responding, but it seems the magically-induced fright is not something that can just be taunted away. It’s difficult, because he knows if he were under such an effect, she would be able to ward it off immediately. In fact, it was one of her special skills to divert charms and fears with her own.

“What’s that song you normally sing? The song about Heroism, with some drivel less about heroes and more about some saccharine ‘love and friendship’ and whatnot?” He asks, hoping to trigger her memory. She stirs, but it looks more like she’s withdrawing further into herself.

As a last ditch effort, Astarion begins to hum what he knows of the melody. It’s terrible and off-key, and he’s not even sure he’s remembering more than the chorus. To grab her attention, he drums his fingers on the top of her head playfully, approximately to the rhythm of the song that he remembers.

He continues humming, stopping ever so often to prompt her to continue. Eventually, in a shaky, unsupported, quiet mutter, she sings the lyrics to the song as a call-and-response.

Encouragingly, he perks up immediately. He continues his humming, and as they continue, she switches from call-and-response to providing the actual lyrics to the section he hums. She finally raises her head—ever so slightly—to meet his eyes.

When she continues, she continues with the melody, a little more confidently. She takes the opportunity to hold his hands, gripping both his hands with hers. He lets her continue the song on her own, and her fear seems to be dissipating. She garnishes her performance with pretty runs and vibratos, but then she looks at him expectantly—this time, she wants him to follow her lead, and she seems to be expecting more than humming.

Softly, she switches to a quiet new verse of the song, “With all that you were,” she sings.

“With all that you were,” he responds, though it’s more of him talking with a lilt than singing.

“With all that you’ll be,” she adds.

“With all that you’ll be,”

“With all that you’ve won and lost,”

He thinks he understands what she’s singing about. “With all that you’ve won and lost,”

“You will always have me.” She ends the song.

“You will always have me.” He replies, and he sounds fond, though he isn’t sure whether she’s trying to find reassurance in him or give reassurance to him.

At the end, she hangs her head to stabilize herself once more. He opens his mouth to let out a quip, but she speaks first.

“I’m sorry, Star, I just need a second—"

“As cute as you are all teary and needy, you’re absurd if you’re apologizing to me.” He clicks his tongue in disapproval. Then, more comfortingly, adds, “I’ve got you. We’ve got each other."

#tw: panic attack #magically induced panic attacks #mahoufiction #writing #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x mc #astarion romance #bg3 #astarion fic #writing prompt #hurt/comfort #fanfic #friends to lovers #angst

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mahoushojo-chan · 5 months

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Astarion x Tav || dress-making

without any strings attached

synopsis: He traces the edges of the loose, unwoven threads of fabric. He folds the muslin cloth and cuts the edges, unravelling worn patches with his knife. He patches the holes with a beautiful ladder stitch, hems the edges with a simple running stitch. He can ruffle the fabric around the arms to make a batwing sleeve for her. He holds up the chemise to the candlelight when he’s finished with it. It’s fit to the bust and adorned with a ruffled edge. It feels like something is missing—he likes to embroider phrases on his clothes, but he can’t figure out what to put.

Or, Astarion makes a nightgown for Tav.

an excerpt of ‘cause my love (is mine, all mine)

word count: 1817

pairing: astarion/tav

other tags: f!reader, hurt/comfort, sickfic, slight angst, non-sexual intimacy, romantic tension, friends to lovers, dress making, not being used to love or loving, help these idiots please

now listening: two - sleeping at last

ao3: here

concept: sickfic part 2 + dress making

All that occupies his mind is Tav. The dream he had, her blood, her songs, her tireless efforts, her pitiful trembling and perspiration, and the state of her clothes soaked with various unpleasant fluids. The realization of how powerless he is against natural illnesses.

Vampires and their spawn didn’t get sick. He had almost forgotten that was something that most people did. He can’t remember the last time he was sick—what he did, what his parents would do. They all belonged to a time before he was turned, when he was still just an elf. He knows the bare minimum, and Dalyria is ever-present to remind him: she needs food, water, and lots and lots of rest.

Still, he can’t help but think she must be stuffy with all the stagnant air in the keep and her old dusty, road-tattered clothing will help.

If he can’t get her body off of his mind, then he might as well do something with it.

He finds enough material in the wardrobes. There are a number of blankets that go unused due to their poor quality—whether it’s because of stains or tears, but he can’t let them go to waste.

Astarion would like to say that he doesn’t remember this particular skill of his. It feels menial—a task suited for peasants or handmaidens. He never saw himself as someone who fixed things, but sewing was just a small way to keep his luxuries intact. It helps him keep his life sweeter.

How many evenings had stitching, sewing, embroidering, granted him peace and reprieve? How many times had the needle pricked his finger before he could finish a pattern without staining the fabric with red beads? How long had it taken him to make knots that would endure the finest cloth?

He traces the edges of the loose, unwoven threads of fabric. He folds the muslin cloth and cuts the edges, unravelling worn patches with his knife. He patches the holes with a beautiful ladder stitch, hems the edges with a simple running stitch. He can ruffle the fabric around the arms to make a batwing sleeve for her. He holds up the chemise to the candlelight when he’s finished with it. It’s fit to the bust and adorned with a ruffled edge. It feels like something is missing—he likes to embroider phrases on his clothes, but he can’t figure out what to put.

It doesn’t need to be perfect, although he wants it to be. The red seams are a stark contrast against the white fabric and make every mistake obvious. It just needs to be fit for use when she needs it.

He figures he’ll ask Dalyria to bring it to her, since she’s been doing a well enough job as Tav’s bedside nurse when Astarion’s away. He had practically coerced her into sticking beside his companion—but if Dalyria were there, it meant that Leon would not be, which was to Astarion’s relief. It wasn’t his place to intervene, but he knows the temptation after a bite can be excessive, and Tav doesn’t have enough blood to share.

Just as he finishes folding it, he hears the door to the room creak open. He assumes it’s one of his siblings, and they usually let each other come and go without acknowledging the other’s presence.

But the scent hits him quickly. He would recognize it anywhere.

He feels warm arms wrap around his shoulders and a hot breath whispers in his ear, “This is where you were, Star?”

Her voice sends shivers down his spine. His ears are particularly sensitive, and he can’t help but wonder if she’s doing it intentionally as she continues, “Come back.”

“No need for such impatience.” He tuts disapprovingly, but there’s no bite to it. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

As he turns back to face her, he sees her hand reach out to him and he almost flinches. She brushes a lock away from his face, and tucks it behind his ear, her finger brushing his cheek. She seemingly ignores what he’s trying to tell her, and simply looks at Astarion. She bats her lashes up at him. “It was in your face,” she says, matter-of-factly, letting out a little giggle at the end again.

He sobers a little. Is this her plan to get him to forgive her little excursion out of bed? He reaches out to tame Tav’s hair. “All your hair is in your face,” he counters, trying to push it out of her face, until he’s holding her face from both sides. He looks at Tav’s serene, sleepy eyes, her cutely pillow-tousled hair, and, most of all, her soft-looking lips. She looks back at him, and he feels his throat go dry again. Damn.

When he goes to move his hands away, she reaches up and touches his right hand, leaning into his touch until she’s able to hide her face in it, until she’s all but kissing the palm of his hand.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I was saying nonsense.” She says, and Astarion furrows his eyebrows, unsure of what she’s apologizing for. It doesn’t sound like she’s apologizing for being sick—not anymore, at least—but then she adds, “Are you avoiding me?”

He’s a little surprised because he’s been doing his best to hide it. It wasn’t like he was completely abandoning her, of course, but he doesn’t want to get in between whatever she’s looking for. If she’s looking for more than what Astarion can give, he has no choice but to concede, so he explains, “I just don’t want to get in your way. I mean, far be it my place to tell you what to do, right?”

He had been very careful to sound as neutral as possible, so he’s a little surprised to hear her console him. “You’re not in my way. Why would you say that?” She seems to pout, and her eyebrows scrunch up with worry.

Because I suspect you’re going to find someone better and tire of me any day now, and so I have no choice but to mentally prepare himself, is what he wants to say.

Technically, this isn’t fair to Tav, and he knows it. The only thing she had done was allowed Leon to feed on her, so it would be easy to tell himself that this idea is all in his head and he should just get over it. Feeding wasn’t inherently romantic. She might even have done it just because Leon had been starving himself. It’s just that Leon sounded like he was… fond of Tav, and he knows his older brother is affectionate. He’s willing to sacrifice his freedom for the people he loves.

Tav deserves someone who loves her. Someone who is bound to her through thick and thin. There are times where Astarion wishes he was that kind of person; but he doesn’t know if he is. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to be. He doesn’t know a lot about himself, and surely Tav has better things to do than appease his uncertainties.

“I just…” Astarion pauses, unsure of how to word it. He turns towards the nightgown he made for her because it’s easier to look at than meet her gaze. “I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what you want. I don’t know how to love.”

Surprisingly, she replies, “I don’t know how to be loved.”

Astarion had expected her to say something sweet and comforting, since she always knew the right words to say. She was always so in-control of her thoughts and feelings. To hear her admission feels like it dooms them both. He realizes that her sickness has made her more honest, and she’s probably revealed something rather important with that statement, but it’s such an absurd situation that he can’t help but throw his head back, letting raucous laughter ring before settling down. “Well, fuck.”

She giggles as well, more in response to his contagious laughter than the situation itself.

He sighs, letting the electricity between them die down.

Finally, he shifts his chair backwards with a resounding creak, tipping back on his seat to balance the back legs precariously. “Before you distract me any more, you need to get back to resting. But before that, get changed.” He scolds, and passes her the nightgown he had made. “I’m not overly enthusiastic with the result, but anything’s better than your abused homely clothes.” He points out.

“A smock? It’s a little small for you, don’t you think?” She asks, and he sighs.

“It’s yours, actually. Something clean, for once.”

She reaches out to take it and unfolds it in her lap. He expects her to put it on and then he can escort her back to bed, but she looks down at it incredulously. She takes extra time to trace her fingers over the fabric, paying extra attention to the stitching.

Then her eyes start welling up with tears.

Astarion panics a little at this.

“It’s surely not that awful—” he starts, but then he properly sees her expression when he leans in to take it back from her.

Her tears drip onto the fabric as she looks down at it, treating it as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world. “Y-You made this for me?” She chokes up, though Astarion isn’t sure whether it’s the light cough or the emotion in her voice. She continues, “Th-thank you.”

He figures the cold really must have chipped away at her senses, because he didn’t expect her to react like this. “It’s not that rare for me to do something nice.” He chides, but his hand already reaches to wipe her tears.

“No, no, it’s just—it’s your love.” She tells him, cryptically and poetically as usual, clutching it tightly. He doesn’t understand, so she continues, “It’s the shape of sewn holes, careful stitches and washed cotton, today.”

He still doesn’t know what she means, and it sounds like a bit of nonsense to him. He rolls his eyes, and tells her, “Yes, yes, you can tell me all your maudlin poetry about love once you’re feeling better. Now get changed.”

He turns around so she can do so, and she’s so amazed that she actually follows his request.

When he turns back around, he’s nearly knocked breathless at how well she wears his dress. There’s just something about her beauty, her long, disheveled hair and bare feet, the beautiful white gown fits her perfectly, and it gives an ethereal aesthetic.

“Gods, you’re beautiful.” The words slip out of him before he realizes it, and he sits back to admire her work.

She seems to agree with him, although she doesn’t say so. Her hands keep tracing the hems of her sleeves and the carefully stitched patterns at the end. All she does ask is, “How—How could you think you’re incapable of love?

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion romance #fanfic #writing #astarion x mc #astarion fic #bg3 astarion #cause my love #mahouwrites #mahoufiction #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate tav #baldurs gate astarion

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mahoushojo-chan · 6 months

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Astarion x Reader/Tav || nightmares and wet dreams

when i'm too far gone (can you show me love?)

warnings: 18+, mdni, sexual content, PTSD

synopsis: “Star? Are you okay?” Her voice comes second. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” She tells him, knowingly. She doesn’t need to ask him for his stories and she doesn’t need to seek out reasons or excuses. With his word, she would be gone, and he would no longer be in her embrace. He doesn’t want that.

an excerpt of "'cause my love (is mine, all mine)"

word count: 1318

pairing: astarion/reader!tav

other tags: bard!tav, sexual content, smut, erotic dreams, poetic sex cause it's dream, nightmares, f!reader, friends to lovers, oblivious pining, mutual pining, song inspo: gimme love by joji

ao3: here

concept: wet dreams

Every night, when Astarion is alone, it is the same dream:

It’s Cazador.

(It’s always Cazador.

Always,

always,

always—).

And he is not free from him. Cazador is omnipresent in his dreams, a shadow of his worst nightmare. But then again, Astarion’s worst memory is nothing at all. It’s darkness and hunger and only his thoughts keeping him company. It’s the sound of silence, and he cannot even listen to his own heartbeat (the sound of defeat from a single voice, exhausted and hoarse from screaming). It’s red nails and fingers that do not matter (broken and bleeding from its attempts to pry the damn thing open, but he does not feel the pain anymore). It’s the smell of his own rotting corpse, taunting him.

(He never should have escaped Astarion Ancunin’s coffin. Cazador had been waiting for him to ‘save him’ from the hell he had orchestrated for Astarion. His hand was extended towards him to help him up.)

The coffin is hollow once Astarion has left it. What comes out of it is a hollower man. The light inside him was swallowed by that void, and he remembers that the starlight that people see are often from stars that no longer exist. He is empty, and months later, he is still empty. He doesn’t remember how to use his legs at first, and he falls. There is still no light once he steps out, and he loses his footing, prepared to fall into another abyss.

He sees the world in monochrome, dimly able to make out his Master’s pale skin against the darkness. He is draped in black sheets to preserve his modesty. He is still capable of such a thing—Astarion is laid bare below him.

He never should have escaped Astarion Ancunin’s coffin. Cazador had been waiting for him to ‘save him’ from the hell he had orchestrated for Astarion. His hand is extended towards him to help him up.

Astarion is ready to take it, because at the very least, it is something. He wasn’t ready before. Before, he would have pulled as far away as possible until the master forced his hand. He would have retched at the thought of contact. (That was the problem, wasn’t it? That was the punishment. His unwillingness to please his Master). Now, the Master’s cold hand could be a refreshing embrace.

It means nothing. Cazador would only grant him pain.

Astarion looks at his bloodied fingers. He wants to feel again. He wants to taste something. He wants to devour himself whole. If he is good (not good—obedient), if he debases himself onto the shadows that prostrate themselves at his Master’s feet, then perhaps the Master would grant him that.

He is prepared for Cazador to lay hands on him. Instead, he feels a warmth lay hands on his fingertips.

They are gentle, as though scared to provoke him to run away, but most of all, they are warm. Each time feels like the first touch he has ever felt. He opens his eyes to see stars reflected in hers. She is bathed in moonlight, the same as the first time he had held her, and it brushes her cheeks and the light linen across her body with a cold blue hue. Her nails match his, dyed in a deep red paint. The room is awash in colour and light.

“Star? Are you okay?” Her voice comes second. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” She tells him, knowingly. She doesn’t need to ask him for his stories and she doesn’t need to seek out reasons or excuses. With his word, she would be gone, and he would no longer be in her embrace. He doesn’t want that.

He presses his lips against her sun-kissed skin in an act of self-immolation. The heat from her body threatens to burn him alive, but he wants more.

He opens her up the way he knows how. He showers kisses on the nape of her neck and waits for her to whisper his name while canting her hips. His actions begin to fall into habit, to practice. He cannot help himself. What Astarion’s body knows best is how to please his master—the parts that the coffin gave him left him with little else.

She arches her back to meet him, but then she holds his face in her hands and says absolutely nothing. He pulls away from her and looks at her. If he looks at her eyes closely enough, he can nearly make out his own reflection.

You can be so much more, he reminds himself. He can become so much more, by choice. He chooses to make peace with his broken-down heart and forget about everything else. He chooses his own desire.

There cannot exist a void in him that he cannot fix himself. He chooses to try again.

He traces a hand over her neck and it is not entirely smooth. It has the uneven texture of dry skin from travelling in the sunlight for so long. There’s a bob of her throat as she anticipates his touch. She is a little ticklish around her throat, and she gives a breathy laugh and breath full of laughter and he wants that—he wants it more than he has wanted anything, so he tries to capture the laugh with a kiss. When he leans in, he’s rewarded with a ricochet of light across the silver bedpost.

“Do you love me?” She asks when he finally parts, and it is the only selfish request she has ever made of him.

He knows the script well enough. Here, he is supposed to say ‘of course’, and dip below her waist to help her forget the lie. That is how he was taught to exist, to serve, to deceive beautifully. That is what he would say when he wanted to inflict himself upon others.

He does not know if he ever learned the answer to the question she asks. There is nothing he can give her that he has not given someone else. His skin is pale enough to reflect the rays that try to heal it. The only unique thing he can give her is truth, so he tells her, “Forever.”

But then she whispers, “You are mine,” in her belladonna tune—a melody that he recognizes differently from long ago. For this moment, he promised himself not to be trapped by his Master’s words.

She says it in the same way that the stars belong to her, the same way they belong to everyone else. The same way they belong to Astarion. The same way she belongs to him, and he makes his claim against her neck when he bites at the same time his hips press into her. He wants to make her fall apart. She is light and heat and the only sun he needs to care about.

He has to lace his red-painted fingers in hers to keep properly hear her pleasure. Out of all the lovers he has taken, this is what he wants. It wasn’t as if Astarion hadn’t had countless nights sweating, shouting, wishing for it all to stop. It wasn't as if he spent a lifetime searching for something to fill the hunger in him, to fill the parts he was lacking, searching for her hair spilled like ink against the sheets, a flushed face and breath coming in starts and an imperfect snort of joy coming with his grin.

As she opens her mouth, the sounds pour into his ears, flow into his bloodstream, and wheel him into a sensory euphoria. This is his love, only this, all of this.

He will not let her choose freedom of him. If he can choose his curse, he chooses her. He will leave his past to disappear. He follows her into oblivion, her name a mantra in his mind.

Tav, Tav, Tav—

Astarion wakes up drenched in sweat, blood at his lips, the front of his pants ruined.

He lies on the bed and he can still smell Tav’s scent, lingering on his mind. He isn't sure if it's actually there or just the vividness of the dream as it replays in his mind, the addicting distraction of the vulnerability of her expression, the feel of her tightening around him, her voice crying his name again and again in his own personal symphony.

For a moment, he can ignore all insecurity and doubt, and revel in the fantasy that he had been granted.

Then reality hits him, and he curses.

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mahoushojo-chan · 6 months

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Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Rating: Mature, may change to not rated Relationships: Astarion (Baldur’s Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Astarion/Tav (Baldur’s Gate)

SUMMARY:

After the Nautiloid crash, it feels like everyone has gone their own way, though there’s still so much to do to help the city. But even more importantly: there’s so much that Tav must do to help her friends. In which Tav and Astarion look to heal a sun allergy, a recovering city, seven thousand bloodthirsty vampires, and maybe themselves along the way. Except there are no shortcuts to healing or learning how to love.

i did get this out at 5am because i INSISTED on pressing it out that night since my halloween plans are BOOKED. i just really wanted to write so in-between 2am sessions of better call saul and waiting for my turn order in bg3, here we have chapter 4. i hope you enjoy--i'll run it through the editing wringer later, but honestly, my motto for this fic is kind of just WRITE AND DON'T LOOK BACK so...???

there's a few cute excerpts that i can pull out in this chapter but this one is truly for the fans i swear this is like 70% relationships and 30% plot but sometimes we just need a side episode

now featuring: astarion's scary dog privilege and lots of misunderstandings.

#mahoufiction #astarion romance #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #bg3 #writing #astarion x mc #mutual pining #astarion fic #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #fanfiction

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mahoushojo-chan · 6 months

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Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Rating: Mature, may change to not rated Relationships: Astarion (Baldur’s Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Astarion/Tav (Baldur’s Gate)

SUMMARY:

first time i'm taking advantage of the M rating on the story, featuring some spicy content and some other, not so spicy and indefinitely more depressing content!

again, only have a couple highlights since most of the chapter was spent apart, but i hope you feast on the parts that are not

#mahoufiction #fanfic #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion romance #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #slow burn #mutual pining #astarion's dysfunctional family #smut #bg3 smut #writing #fanfiction

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mahoushojo-chan · 5 months

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Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Rating: Mature, may change to not rated Relationships: Astarion (Baldur’s Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Astarion/Tav (Baldur’s Gate)

SUMMARY:

no i am NOT dead despite everyone's beliefs i just got really sick for a minute. like tav, i am also a sick bab, but i do not have an irl cute vampire bf to fret over me. i then had to play catch-up at work for a few weeks.

anyways get ready for the usual excerpts because there are a couple to post from this chapter!! but also please help i need more time to be able to do this, with work catch up and the new baldur's gate honor mode out. also a couple more of astarion's siblings acting like siblings

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion romance #fanfic #writing #astarion x mc #astarion fic #bg3 astarion #cause my love #mahoufiction

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mahoushojo-chan · 7 months

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SUMMARY:

chapter one features: flirting, banter, bedsharing, hurt/comfort, painful levels of mutual pining, slow burn.

i wanted to write a story, but i also wanted to frame it like a dnd campaign!! i also wanted to keep notes on my blog for how i write things, partially for me to keep track of (in terms of world building, how it interacts with forgotten realms, etc, and characters and my own personal headcanons!)

and as i wrote, thank you, bg3+community, for being incredibly accepting of self-insert characters and self-indulgent shipping 🙌🙌

#mahoufiction #writing #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion x mc #astarion headcanons #fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #im back bitches #slow burn #mutual pining

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mahoushojo-chan · 4 months

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Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Rating: Mature, may change to not rated Relationships: Astarion (Baldur’s Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Astarion/Tav (Baldur’s Gate)

SUMMARY:

A chapter with a surprising lack of fluff, but a good amount of plot cause i put the hurt in hurt/comfort ha

it was actually completed last night but i went straight to bed instead of tumblr like a good, sane individual (i finished writing fanfiction at 5am)

note the changing tags, and a darker chapter! i am proud of myself for thinking up poetic ways to murder people though so a win is a win

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #fanfic #astarion romance #astarion x tav #writing #astarion x mc #astarion fic #bg3 astarion #astarion headcanons #mahoufiction #bg3 fanfiction #fanfiction

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mahoushojo-chan · 3 months

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lifeblood || Durge & Orin, pre-BG3

synopsis: For a second, she fleetingly wonders if there is beauty in the living.

It's a blasphemous thought. A Bhaalspawn only murders and murders more; there is no room for the living, because there is hardly room for all of the dead.

pairing: none. tav/the dark urge & orin, platonic... ish. as platonic or familial as two murder-god spawn serial killers can be, I guess.

other tags: tw: gore, tw: death, tw: murder, I mean you've got the two murderkids talking

concept: talking about death, beauty, and life.

a very small short of tav's life, pre-nautiloid, inspired by the conversation of how Orin and Durge used to be close, but kept arguing about their different views. Orin kept speaking about the beauty of ritual sacrifice while Dark Urge just would murder for murders sake.

thought it would provide an interesting insight to Tav, the Bard. Bards are supposed to represent beauty and style. At the end of the day, the dark urge was always bhaals favourite.

Blood drips from the ceiling. Tav tries to focus on that sound over Orin's incessant ramblings.

"It is beautiful. Masterful, even, the way you strung up his innards so."

Orin marvels at the corpse that has been tied to the ceiling by his intestines. He was a wealthy fool that indulged much in his own gluttony, and she figured that since fools and smoke both liked high places, it was a fitting place for him to die.

Tav herself doesn't particularly care for the flair. Death was death. It was only by Orin's suggestion that she had bothered to alter her methods, and Tav decided that she shouldn't do something so unnecessary next time.

It would have been much more efficient if she had poisoned the wine. Then all of the gluttons would have died—drunk themselves silly to their own deaths. Instead, she had to carefully disguise herself, poison the lord specifically, then lure him under a false guise in order to gut him properly and quietly.

So much ado about nothing.

"What will yours look like when you are torn apart? Ripped to shreds? Nothing but flesh and bone once more, incapable of creating any more than decay and rot?" Orin asks, gleeful. It seems that Tav's work had inspired her, somehow.

Tav would normally threaten Orin at her comment, because she is supposed to threaten her. If she leaves Orin out of check, it's only a matter of time before she makes due on her promises of gutting Tav.

But because she feels pensive, she thinks. Plus, this outing was meant to entertain Orin, so she might as well stick to it. She supposes that if she is killed by Orin's hand, nothing would happen. Orin might not even bother to dispose the body, simply leave it on an altar to their father.

But in a world with familial bonding, where they could be as sisterly as they could be, Tav hums.

"I would want you to bury me under a garden." Tav says, after a while.

"Disgusting. Such a plot of land is full of life and... oh, is that your hope? That your cursed blood might poison the land? You are clever, truly." Orin grins, widely.

It would be full of life. Life that she could kill, or life that could simply just... be.

Well, not that Tav would care. She would be in the Hells, or on whatever plane her father wished for her soul to rot in, should she ever fail and die. Her body would have no more use to her.

For a second, she fleetingly wonders if there is beauty in the living.

It's a blasphemous thought. A Bhaalspawn only murders and murders more; there is no room for the living, because there is hardly room for all of the dead.

Still. Perhaps if there is no use for her body for herself, and no use for her father to use her corpse anymore either, maybe he would just let it be.

Then, in death, the body that had taken so many lives would support the growth of many more. The soil could absorb the nutrients in her body, and erode her flesh to create blooms of all kinds.

It sounds nice. She doesn't care for it, but it sounds nice.

"You have such a beautiful way of thinking." Orin compliments, referring to Tav's earlier statement of wanting to be buried under a bed of flowers.

"You always go on about beauty and style. I doubt Bhaal cares." Tav tells her, leaning back on her chair. She hears Scleritas shuffling in the background now—wanting to help clean up the mess, but also wanting to stay away from Orin.

Tav sits up, sucking the blood off her finger. This method was messy, too. She feels bad about making Scleritas clean up so much. They could probably leave the corpse here for the watch to find. She clicks her tongue. "All of this was unnecessary. I don't understand why you enjoy it so."

"Did you not feel the joy in presenting father a work of art? Was there no beauty in the way that his flesh ripped, in the recognition people will have when they realize this was in Bhaal's name?" Orin asks.

"I think he is a quantity over quality gentleman, myself." Tav replies, shrugging. Then, she snaps her fingers. "Fel, come. We're leaving."

"Ah, yes, of course, my Dark Lady." He says, clasping his hands and shuffling after her.

Orin looks at the gremlin and scoffs. "You still keep around the little one? Oh, I cannot wait until my thumbs are pressed against his irises before I feel them cave into the pressure of my nails and—"

"Goodbye, Orin," Tav interrupts, even as her servant grimaces at the other Bhaalspawn. "I would say it's a pleasure, but neither of us killed each other, so I doubt you're having much fun."

Tav wonders if she should kill Orin. Bhaalspawn were rare these days, and she doubted he would be pleased with her if she drove them to extinction—

But then, whenever she thinks about it, she feels her cursed blood boil in excitement. She thinks of slitting Orin's throat with her own dagger, or strangling her and seeing nothing but the whites of her eyes—would they turn colour, or would they remain white irises and pupils—

"I hope you never lose to her, Master." Scleritas mutters. "I would be very sad if you did."

Tav blinks, because there's that again. The idea of her life having more value than her death.

Is it life that gives death value? She always felt like it was the other way around, and she had no reason to change her thought process now.

Still, Fel wouldn't want her to think that, either. So she playfully tips his hat over his eyes, and he stumbles backwards as she keeps walking.

It isn't as though he truly cares. The only reason he wants her alive is so he also stays alive, and she knows this. Whatever his reasons, she's grown rather fond of him.

"I don't plan on killing you yet, Fel. So unfortunately, it looks like I'm stuck in this mortal coil." She teases, hands behind her back. "Anyways, there are plans that I can't give up yet. Have you told Envy that I'm seeing him today?"

"Yes, my lady. He will be expecting you this evening," he explains, bowing.

"Good. He has excellent music." Tav muses. Scleritas disappears.

She walks back into the city, noisy and bustling with blurred faces that rush by her. The death they're about to discover will hardly shake one person, much less the city. She wishes for a silent city, most of the time. That was why she started all this.

But some part of her has grown a little fond of the noise, too.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #writing #mahoufiction #orin the red #bg3 orin #orin #baldurs gate tav #bg3 dark urge #dark urge #bg3 durge #durge #bhaal #bg3 bhaalspawn #short #scleritas fel

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