dryaddruidsden

[dryaddruidsden]

The astonishing failure of a simple plan

Astarion x Reader

Summary: Astarion tries to wrap his head around you, when a sudden tumult in camp occurs.

AO3

The concept of altruism had always been quite strange to Astarion.

Doing something solely for benefiting others, without one's own needs primarily in mind – how outrageously foolish. 

And yet, he caught himself considering the idea more often since he had met you. 

You, the soft-hearted soul who always seemed to stumble directly into the next best opportunity to solve the problems of complete strangers that would cross your way – gladly interfering with any sort of personal drama. 

Although you and the rest of your travel companions had been infected with a tadpole to the brain, leaving you in desperate need for a cure to this rather urgent condition, somehow you would always manage to save a child from getting gruesomely killed by harpies, pick a fight with a powerful hag to rescue some random woman you just met or annihilate an entire camp full of goblins to ensure safe travels for a bunch of Tieflings – without at least demanding a proper compensation for all your troubles. 

You just did those things, and it drove Astarion mad.  

Perhaps one of the reasons for your undeniable saviour complex were the recurring thoughts that plagued you. You had once explained it as particularly dark urges, the impulse to hurt and kill spreading its roots inside your brain, evolving into a yearn to act out the most gruesome visions one could imagine. Gloriously kill an innocent to bathe in their blood, crush a squirrel to death with your bare fists or rip off a stranger's hand in need of help – malicious ideas that would otherwise never cross your mind.

The origin of these unwanted desires were unknown to you, but you sensed that it had to be connected to your past somehow – a part of you that had yet to be completely revealed. Of course, you had sworn to give everything in your might to resist them. And luckily for the life of your travel companions, you were mostly able to succeed.

Regardless of these murderous tendencies coming with your affliction, you were still the kindest person Astarion had ever met. A contradiction in itself, and yet you were – well, you.

Lately, Astarion had caught himself just perceiving you. 

Taking in your soft expression as you were mindlessly humming a song to yourself, sitting barefoot by the river, hands elbow-deep in the cold water to wash your clothes, sticking this stupid little melody to his head for the rest of the day.

While resting at camp, he had watched you reading – one of your favourites, the lexicon of bird species in Faerûn – a terribly boring topic, but you seemed to indulge in the lengthy descriptions of a blue jay’s wingspan. You would fetch Astarion a caught smile between slowly turned pages, eyes half-closed, before eventually dozing off in the flickering light of the fire. He had barely been fast enough to catch the edges of your slipping book, saving it from landing in the dirt.

The other day, he noticed you carefully picking flowers from the road, acting like it was the most important task on your schedule. Later, you would sit in silence, brows furrowed in concentration and hands busy with knotting them into a beautiful headband. A gift for Karlach, since you had sensed that she hadn’t been too well on this particular day.

A sickeningly sweet gesture.

And yet, so typically you. Affectionate, always looking after your dearest companions.

He remembered the feeling of you casually squeezing his shoulder after an exhausting battle, the concerned look you would give him as you noticed that he had been injured, and how you insisted on treating his wounds with the utmost care, not leaving his side before you made sure his bleeding had entirely stopped.

There was the sensation of your fingers gently forming circles through his white curls, while he had buried his fangs deep inside your neck, greedily gulping down the blood you had been willingly offered to him. The quickening of your pulse, the little shivers your body would give away as he was feeding on you. 

Your thumb shyly placed against his brow, the tender movement as you traced his features. The sincerity in your voice as you described the outlines of his face to him, after he had shared with you that his lack of reflection had turned the image of his own appearance into a dark shape from his past. Profane vanity was all he had initially seeked from you that evening, listening to you calling him beautiful and stroking his ego, and yet there had been a certain intimacy resonating in that moment. You had described to him what the world would see when it looked at him – what you would see. 

Astarion groaned and pulled his blanket up to his chin, almost covering his bottom lip with the thin woollen fabric.

Gods, how you irritated him. 

How you had infested his mind with your nauseating goodness. 

When you first met, Astarion had decided that precisely this outstanding character trait of yours should be your undoing.

You offered an easy prey, he had thought to himself in a blissful glee, as he imagined all the ways in which he would bargain your trust. 

Luring and deceiving were practically moulded into him, therefore charming you appeared as easy as picking the lock on a broken chest. In order to survive under his former master Cazador, he had become an unwilling adept in these abilities. 

Astarion flinched as the memory of his ruthless tormentor reentered his mind. Cazador had turned him into a vampire spawn almost two centuries ago and made him his slave, forcing him to a life in complete darkness and made him use his body to bring more than thousands of victims to him.

In order to deceive you, Astarion had formed a rather simple plan: Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you would never turn on him – old habits that cemented over the past centuries had kicked in.

Therefore, it should have been easy with you. Instinctive. Following a pattern of studied behaviour, throwing his best lines at you until you would breathe his name between tousled sheets - leaving your body aching for him and trusting him unconditionally.  

All he had to do was follow this nice little plan of his, deepening the selfish bond he aimed to create between the two of you in order to secure his safety. To get you on his side. 

It should have been nothing more than an insurance. A simple transaction, so to speak: His honeyed words for your protection. Performing an act, yourself delightfully unaware of your leading role in this little play of his.

Well, and what else could it ever be? After all, manipulating others in order to get something out of them was the only way he had ever known. 

And yet: with you, things had somewhat felt entirely different.  

At least, his plan had evidently borne fruit by now: Not only were you voluntarily offering your blood to help him with his cravings after he had revealed his past of being a vampire spawn, you had also sworn to help him finding out the meaning of the scars on his back and dealing with Cazador when the time would come.

Still, instead of savouring his accomplishment he found himself distracted with his attempts to wrap his head around you. 

Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to peek inside this little skull of yours, picking your brain until he would satisfy his curiosity with you and determine the reason why you were lingering on his mind of late. 

He wanted to figure out what made him actually want to listen to the things you had to say, admire your wit when you would share a heartfelt laugh over one of your foolish jokes or why he would seek your company after a night spent in familiar solitude. And even worse: Why in the Hells he had caught himself enjoying how your face would light up after you had saved another unfortunate soul in need on your travels. 

Astarion sighed and pushed his fingers to his eyes, hoping that pressing them shut would free him from his vexing thoughts, as a sudden noise distracted him.

The pounding of hurried footsteps and jumbled voices rose outside his tent, growing louder and faster.

He let out another disgruntled sigh.

Gods, what would it be now?

Whoever was roaming around your camp this late at night, screaming like an animal, better had a rightful reason to do so.

His annoyance fell off immediately as he came to understand what the unfamiliar voices were yelling: Your name. Followed by pleas for help.

Before he even comprehended what exactly posed this sudden level of urgency, his feet had already dragged him outside in the dark, a cold breeze brushing against his skin.

“What is going on?” he heard his own voice meddling into the sudden tumult. 

Then he spotted you: Arms and legs hanging lifelessly, brought down on your bedding by one of the Harpers he remembered from the Last Light Inn. You were followed by a few other Harpers who positioned themselves around your tent - they were desperately shouting for a healer.

An icy grip twisted Astarion’s chest as he stormed forward to reach you, stomping through mud and dirt.

“Is she hurt?” His voice broke as he saw your face. You were lying on your blanket, eyes rolling behind closed lids, cheeks all flushed and a thin line of sweat forming on your brow. You looked utterly terrible: Weakened and sick, seemingly in a feverish delirium. 

Astarion had seen you wounded before, due to blood and gore being in the nature of your journey to free yourself from the tadpoles, but never like this: more dead than alive, not moving a single major muscle.

What in the Nine Hells had happened to you?

Astarion swallowed hard before he found his voice again and turned to the ones who had brought you in.

“What did you do to her?” he hissed, readying himself to grab the Harper next to him by the throat and shake him until his tongue would loosen, “Explain yourself, now!”

Before any of the men could open their agape mouths in response to Astarion’s daunting request, Shadowheart broke the heated atmosphere with a soft push to his shoulder and made way to kneel beside you. 

“Let me see her.” She spoke quickly as she felt for your pulse and started to spread her hands protectively over you, encompassing you in a blue radiance. She was already casting a healing spell.

“Your friend, she… she was fighting a shadow creature, and it must have poisoned her,” the Harper that had carried you pressed between quivering lips. “We already sent someone to call for Isobel. She will know what to do.” As he met Astarion’s furious glimpse, he hastily added “They – they should be here any minute.”

Poison? Astarion wrinkled his nose. Indeed, your blood smelled different – somewhat tainted. 

He focused his gaze back to you, suppressing the urge to slap that damned Harper straight across the face. 

Instead of acting out this violent thought, he sank to his knees next to Shadowheart and carefully laid one hand on your cheek. You were burning hot and letting out ragged breaths between your cracked lips.

“I can cast my spells, but I am not versed in the toxins of the Dark”, Shadowheart declared with the most tensed look on her face, her magic still hovering over your body. “We need Isobel – fast.”

Another twist in Astarion’s chest. He racked his brain for a solution, his hand still held helplessly against your cheek. You were in need of healing, desperately, and more adept than Shadowheart could provide. His senses began to blur.

Through the pulsing sound of blood rushing through his ears he could only gather a few scraps of the enfolding conversation between the Harpers and the rest of your companions that had hurried to your aid.

It was enough to paint a picture of what happened to you: During your night watch, you had noticed a Harper being dragged away in the shadows and went immediately to his aid. With a few quick blows, you had managed to kill the attacking creature and save the unfortunate man from his demise, but for its final act it stroked you with its claw, leaving a deep scratch on your right arm – the source of the suspected poison that would flow through your veins. 

Astarion bit the inside of his cheek, spilling blood. His mind was racing. 

Of course you had gotten yourself in danger over saving someone else again. 

In normal times, he would have loved to tease you for your foolish act of heroism and give you an “I told you so”, probably earning a defiant look from you while you would emphasise the importance of helping those in need. 

Hells, he desired nothing more than to listen to your moralising if it meant that he could just hear your voice right now. 

But instead of lecturing him on morality, you were still lying on your mattress, unmoving and probably on the verge of death, and he couldn’t think of a single way to rid you of this terrible state.

He felt numb. Useless. It made him sick.

A gut wrenching thought rushed over him. 

What if you would die right now – just like that? 

Before he could… Well, before he could do what exactly?

The image of your limp lifeless body with dead staring eyes entered his mind.

No. You didn’t deserve to die. You couldn’t die. Not like this. Not now, not ever, not from saving a goddamned Harper.

Then you whimpered. 

Silent, almost inaudible, but enough to set Astarion ablaze. 

The urge of punishing every single one who had dared to lead you to harm overcame him like a ruthless wave crashing shore. He wanted to cut open, to rip apart and to send everyone into eternal hell.

Fire took over his crimson eyes as he bared his fangs, the look of a predator on his pale face, ready to curse those wretched Harpers or worse, as another quiet sound spilled from your lips.

“As… Astar... ion…?”

He froze.

His name – spoken as gentle as a flicker of moonlight glistening through leaves. Not moaned in lust or used to denounce him in anger – just… him being called, in the most faintest way. 

He felt his eyes wet before he even knew it, his mouth opened for a split second only to his lips pressing it shut again, forcing himself to blink before a single tear could make its way down his cheek.

You sounded so fragile. So ... in need of him.

“Asta...rion?”

His chest twisted again.

He wanted to whisper words of comfort to you, chanting them over and over like a prayer, assuring you that everything would be alright.

“Don’t speak,” he managed to breathe in a cracked voice, “I’m here, my sweet.”

Your eyes were still closed and moving fast underneath your lids. You spoke in a fever, and he could sense that you were in pain. 

Astarion brushed a strand of hair off your sweaty brow, using just the tips of his slender fingers. A most careful touch, as if a hint of deeper force would break you. 

Then, there was no more sound coming from you.

“Hells, where is that goddamned cleric? If she doesn’t arrive here any second, I’m going to drag her over myself-” Astarion’s voice was nothing more than a helpless plea. He sounded way less threatening than he had wished for, almost spilling those tears he had to hold back, and seconds before bursting if there would be no aid for you right now.

“No need to shout, my friend. I’m right here.”

Isobel. Finally. 

A fire in his stomach again.

How dared she sound so calm, considering your condition?

With haste, Isobel knelt between him and Shadowheart and opened her pouch, revealing a set of different sized bottles. She began to examine you with concentration, lifting your eyelids to look at your pupils, checking your vitals and thoroughly inspecting the wound the monster had inflicted on you. 

Astarion gritted his teeth in anticipation, a thick lump forming in his throat. 

“Will she be alright?” he eventually demanded, his voice cracking like a violin out of tune, but Isobel ignored him and silently continued her treatment. 

“Astarion, I’m worried about her too, but I think we shouldn’t disturb Isobel right now,” Wyll interfered softly and squeezed his shoulder. 

Taken aback, Astarion pressed his lips together. Of course Wyll would be the voice of reason in a situation like this, but unfortunately he wasn’t wrong. Isobel was the most profound healer available, an expert on the shadow creatures - and unlike himself, she offered the possibility to save you.

“As I thought,” Isobel mumbled after a minute that had felt like eternity and opened one of her potions with a loud plop. “She will need this.”

She then put her thumb on your chin, carefully opening your mouth and pouring in a dark liquid, before she continued to clear your wound. 

Astarion eagerly watched her hands treating you with expertise, still not laying his gaze off you.

“I gave her a powerful antidote,” Isobel began to explain calmly as she spread a colourless balm on your torn flesh, “Such poison needs fast treatment. Fortunately, if dealt with in time, it can still be cured. I’m glad I was able to aid your dear friend before it made its way through her entire body. Otherwise… It most likely would have been fatal.”

Astarion’s muscles tightened and his stomach turned. You almost died tonight.

Isobel seemed to notice his tension, so she quickly added “With this antidote, she will be completely fine in the morning. Her fever might continue through the night, but I promise that there is no more reason for concern.”

“Are you completely sure of that, Isobel?” Shadowheart asked, seeking out reassurance that the treatment truly had succeeded.

“I swear by Selune, she is not at risk anymore. The antidote freed her from the poison and the balm will heal her wound,” the cleric responded confidently, “Her body will do the rest.” 

The tight, dark blanket that had wrapped around Astarion’s chest began to loosen up.  

“I… I’m glad that she’ll be alright,” was all he managed to vocalise as the adrenaline slowly faded from his body.

“Thank you, Isobel,” added Gale, who had been nervously walking up and down your tent as Isobel had tended to your condition. 

Even Shadowheart, a devoted follower of Lady Shar, spared a few words of gratitude towards the cleric following her sworn enemy’s beliefs.

A general sense of ease took over from the strained atmosphere that had prevailed just a moment ago.

“She needs rest and quiet now,” Isobel claimed and gave a telling look to your companions and the assembly of Harpers that gathered around your tent. 

An unspoken demand that it was time to give you some space now.

*

“I will stay with her,” Astarion announced to Shadowheart and the remaining group after Isobel and the Harpers had left for the Last Light Inn. There had been a quick discussion if you should have been brought with them, but eventually it was decided that you were more safe in your own bedroll than being dragged through the shadow infested lands again. 

“Are you sure, Astarion? I’d be more than glad to watch over her myself,” Shadowheart responded, not hiding her surprise over his proposition.

Even if Astarion wasn’t sure about anything in particular right now, he felt the pressing need to remain by your side until you would open your eyes again, ensuring that Isobel had spoken the truth and the threat had passed. 

“Well, I won’t be able to get some more rest tonight anyway, so I might as well just stay over here,” he attempted in a more indifferent manner. “Besides, her tent is by far the most comfortable one our excuse for a camp has to offer, and I’m looking forward to indulging in some peace and quiet after all of this night's terrible trouble.”

Karlach listened to his explanation in slight amusement and gave him a supporting nod. Liar, her smiling face said.

“Well, if you’re sure, and there are no objections… Then it’s fine with me, I suppose,” Shadowheart replied with a raised eyebrow, “But promise to shout for me if something’s the matter, will you?”

“Gods, would you please give me some credit here, you mother hen. I got this,” Astarion said and rolled his eyes. On the inside, he was still shaken up, and he could only hope that the slight pitch in his voice wouldn’t give him away. “So hush hush everyone, off you go now. Get in some  beauty sleep, as you all are evidently in need of it.”

“Chk!” Lae’zel interfered in the most angry whisper she could muster, “Leave Astarion to look after her for the night if he insists. I’m certain he knows the fate that will await him should she come to harm under his supervision.” Lae’zel’s very own way to express that she came to care about you.

“Charming as ever,” Astarion replied at this implicit threat, still holding no intention to move merely an inch from his spot next to your bedroll.

“You see, Shadowheart? There seems to be no need to worry about our dearest friend,” Gale added with a slight chuckle, “I suppose she’ll be in good hands for tonight.”

Shadowheart let out a grunt and readied herself to leave with the others, but not before she would lay one last gaze on you, ensuring that you had not gotten any worse over the last few minutes.

*

Astarion watched your chest rise and fall in a soothing rhythm.

What a mess this night had been.

From the moment the Harpers had brought you in it had been like a heavy weight violently crushing his chest over and over, turning him into an angry, scared wreck, and the pressure only began to wear off by now.

Realistically, he knew that you were safe and the danger had passed. But then, why was there such an uneasiness lingering on him?

He had been scared in his life before, probably more times than he could recall, and yet… The fear over losing you tonight had shifted something in him. 

You had called for him in your feverish delirium, as you were lying helpless and in pain. 

It was an image hard to shake off.

Astarion sighed, when he noticed that you were still in your armour. There was no way in Hell he would let you sleep in this reeking dirt-covered piece of cloth, so his dexterous fingers began to peel it off, piece by piece. Carefully not to wake you, he stored your armour aside, until you were lying in your undergarment. Then he took your blanket and wrapped it around you.

With another gentle motion, he let his finger stroke along your brow, brushing over the dampness of your skin. You were still feeling hot. 

His nose wrinkled as he pulled down his sleeve to cautiously wipe your sweat away. There was no need to get up to fetch some extra cloth, and he would be perfectly capable of cleaning his shirt the next morning.

For a while, Astarion would just watch over you, mustering your relaxed face and ensuring that your breathing continued steadily. You seemed to be in a calm sleep, still feverish, but evidently better looking than the moment you had been brought in.

The next morning came to his mind. Perhaps he might attempt to prepare your favourite food for you, a simple but apparently very delicious berry porridge. Not that he had any particular experience on the matter, since his culinary needs were restricted to blood these days, but if someone like Gale was able to cook it, he surely would be too. Maybe he would surprise you with the dog or the owlbear for some morning snuggling in bed, as you seemed to never spend a single day without indulging in some pets on your journey. Well, he probably should bring in both. Oh how delighted you would be, waking up to these furry little beasts, he thought with a grin. 

Then it hit him.

Shit.

His nice, simple plan with you had truly and utterly fallen apart.

What should have been nothing more than an insurance for his safety, a way to rid himself of the tadpole in his brain and offer him a powerful ally to face Cazador some day, had developed into something he never experienced before.

He genuinely cared about you - more than he thought himself to be capable of. You had become most precious to him, and he felt the urgent need to be honest with you. 

You were incredible, and you didn’t deserve to be lured into a selfish alliance.

You deserved something real. 

He wanted things between you to be something real - even if he didn’t know what real looked like. After all, charming and deceiving others was the only way he had ever known. Forming a sincere connection and being close with someone posed an entirely new and remarkably scary sensation. But maybe, with you…

Your faint voice brought him back from his thoughts. 

“Asta...rion?” 

His face softened, not as an act of will, more like a reflex.

You looked at him with half-open eyes, sounding still a little weak.

He bowed his head closer to you and spoke softly, letting his thumb brush gently over your cheek.

"There you are, my little fool. Getting ourselves in trouble over our constant need to do something heroic again, weren’t we?”

“Mh… Is that so?” you asked in a raspy voice, offering a weak smile through glistening eyes underlined with dark circles, your hair pressed damp to your skull. “And you saved me, I suppose?” 

Astarion’s heart grew tight with adoration. To him, you had never looked more beautiful.

“I’m afraid not, my dear. Actually, you have been poisoned by a shadow creature, so you were in need of a more adept healer. Isobel treated you.”

“Mhm.. How bad was it?”

He thought for a moment, the fear he had felt rushing over him for a split second and piercing his chest like ice. 

"Well, not as bad as it could have. I’ll spare you the details for tomorrow.”

“That’s… good.” You hummed, sounding drowsy and still a little feverish. Then, you gave a soft plea. “Astarion… Would you… stay with me tonight?”

There it was again, a pull at his heartstrings. 

Gods, you wicked little thing.

“Of course, my darling. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

A promise, unimaginable honest had it been another time, with another person, but this was now, and this was you.

He gave another gentle press to your hand, carefully intertwining your fingers with his, as if to underline his words.

"Thank you,” you whispered, eyes closed for a second before you let your gaze meet his again. Another quiet mumble. "Could you... hold me please?"

Astarion was overwhelmed by your vulnerability for a second. He wanted nothing more than to provide you comfort, to make you feel safe, but didn't know if he should give in. Even though you had often shared your bedroll these days, this somehow felt more open, more intimate.

Before he realised what he was doing, he swiftly lifted off your blanket to slip underneath and laid his arm around your waist, pulling you in close.

He could feel your hand on his chest. Your head gently resting on his shoulder, fingers loosely clutching around the end of his collar. Your warm body against his cold.

Astarion let his fingers gently caressing the small of your back.

You were breathing steady, already seeming to doze off again. A soothing calmness came over him.

“I hope… I didn’t worry you too much,” you mumbled, more asleep than awake.

Astarion bit his lip.

“Well…” he said and cleared his throat, “I managed.” A complete understatement of events, but this was also a confession for another day. “Rest now, my love.”

Astarion continued to gently stroke your back, his lips turning into an affectionate smile. He never thought his heart to be this full over the failure of such a simple plan.

[dryaddruidsden]

Sunlight

[dryaddruidsden]

Goblins, Mindflayers, and a Feared Creature of the Night

[Astarion x Named Tav]

Astarion should’ve known the boar wouldn’t have been the worst of their problems. The small village of Moonhaven was utterly ravaged and sacked. Not that he cared; now there was plenty left to loot and sniff through- everything left was his for the taking.

It was the goblins that still lounged about that caused the problem. And the bard, of course.

“Praise the Absolute!” Phayelynn dramatically exclaimed.

Astarion closed his eyes and shook his head.

_

(word count:  3,886)

Read on AO3 or below :)

Masterlist for Phayelynn's adventures here

new outfits 💜

Goblins, Mindflayers, and a Feared Creature of the Night

Phayelynn’s cheeks were still flushed as they were well into their trek to Ethal’s.

 It’d been hours since she’d jolted awake, Shadowheart having heaved a wad of clothing and a heavy tangled-up bundle of belts and holsters down at her as she slept, drooling into her bedroll as the sun rose. Despite the rude awakening, Phayelynn had been thankful to shed the ratty rags her clothes had become over the last few days. 

She was also thankful for Astarion’s new clothes, a fact that didn’t remain to herself for long. She didn’t know what was more embarrassing: being caught gawking at him as he exited his tent like a gaping fish or that she couldn’t even muster out a reply as he sauntered over to her, eyes looking her over like she was prey, lips parting and face twisting into an arched expression as he spoke, 

 “My, my, darling,” he had all but purred as he stopped before her. “What is this?” Her attention was brought to his eyebrow-raising at her, his ruby eyes catching her breath. “Who knew you had such a body hidden underneath those piss-poor excuses of clothes you wore before?” 

Phayelynn had choked on her own spit. It didn’t help her embarrassment or decide which was worse. He let out a low chuckle before walking off, leaving her alone in her shame to finish getting ready for the day. 

 It was a compliment, she thought to herself furiously as she walked at the tail end of the group. Astarion’s clearly a flirt. It meant nothing. She frowned, keeping her head down, glaring down at her new shoes.

 Don’t embarrass yourself more than you have, especially after last night. 

 Her cheeks only felt hotter, remembering how he’d approached her last night by the river. He’d acted so strangely, yet she invited it, enjoying the one-on-one time with him, even though it was clear he had some other reasoning behind it than wanting to get to know her. He was intriguing. 

 He was handsome. 

 Her eyes trailed up. Astarion had been walking in the group’s center to Gale’s left. She barefacedly checked him out from behind. He looked good in all black.

 His outfit wasn’t that much dissimilar to her own besides color. The thigh-high buckled laced boots looked better on him, she thought, as they hugged him in all the right places while still looking to feel comfortable. He walked confidently in them, while she felt like she would trip over her own feet if she didn’t put heed in her step. 

 Even with his back to her, his cloak hiding most of his frame, his broad shoulders were only accentuated by the shoulder armor he wore. It didn’t matter anyway. She remembered how the golden clasped shirt fit him perfectly, showing off the body his former outfit didn’t either. 

 She picked at her shirt, averting her eyes back to her shoes. She wasn’t used to dressing like an adventurer. She was used to whatever she and her uncle scrounged up. She wasn’t used to leathers, bodices fitting familiar to pesky corsets that clung to her curves. She liked loose clothes. She liked looking a little slump. 

 “Shit,” Phayelynn gasped as she collided with Gale’s back. Her face met between his shoulder blades, causing them both to stagger to regain their footing. She hadn’t realized how little attention she’d been paying. She blinked, quickly backing away, “I’m sorry,” 

 “It’s quite alright,” Gale gave her a soft smile before they both turned to look at the cause of their sudden pause. 

 A boar. 

 It was in the middle of the trail.

 Dead.

 “Chk.” Lae’zel hissed, poking at it with her foot, a coiled-up look taking over her features. “Left out to rot. What a waste of perfectly good meat.” 

 She quickly lost interest as she and Shadowheart continued ahead. Astarion moved to follow, only stopping when he realized neither Gale nor Phayelynn had moved from their places yet. His shoulders tightened. 

 “Wonder what got the poor beast?” Gale had said first. “There’s no sign of a struggle.” 

 Phayelynn frowned, jaw slacking, looking down at the creature. Its eyes were still open and familiar. Her heart sank in realization. She remembered this one. This was the boar they had come across shortly after the crash, right when she and Shadowheart had first come across Astarion- directly before he had dragged her to the ground and put a dagger to her throat. 

 “We knew him,” her shoulders stooped, eyes watery. 

 Astarion scoffed, rolling his eyes before letting them dart around, eventually settling back on her and the boar. “It’s just an animal, darling. Were it a human, would you feel any better?” he tried to joke. 

 “It’s still sad, Astarion,” she said faintly. 

 “Well, he’s dead now, my friend.” He came up beside her, his voice a little snapper than intended. He shuffled on his feet impatiently as he watched Phayelynn kneel down. “Come now, gawking at it won’t bring it back, or are you really going to say a eulogy for a pig?” 

 She glared at him from her crouched position, “He was afraid when I spoke to him.” 

 Astarion clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, pinching his lips together. He squinted down at her. His thick black hood cast a shadow over his features, but she still caught it from below him. She turned away from him, frowning down at the boar, giving him a gentle pat to show him one last act of compassion. 

 “You can speak with animals?” Gale spoke up, head tilting in curiosity. 

 “I know the spell.” Phayelynn nodded, giving another pat. 

 “So you are versed in magic?”

 Astarion groaned. He tapped his foot against the ground, crossing his arms against his chest. 

 “I do know some stuff, Gale.” Phayelynn chuckled. “I may not know a lot of spells that could be used in a fight, but I do know some things. I traveled with a druid; she taught me some basics.” 

 Gale nodded, rubbing his chin. Astarion rolled his eyes. 

 “Are we done here? You said your goodbyes.” Astarion cut in, “We’ll never fix these brain worms if we stop at every carrion you find.” He said. Though Phayelynn did not notice, his discomfort was evident to Gale. He’d caught Gale’s eye. And waited with bated breath, still holding it even when the wizard said nothing. 

 Phayelynn pressed her lips together, examining the boar’s body. 

 “Oh, dear gods.” Astarion huffed, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

 The body didn’t seem to have been left to rot for long. He had only been killed within the last few hours. There were also no signs of it being attacked by another animal. There were no claw marks- no open, gaping wounds. No signs of struggle. And no blood. Her face scrunched together. 

 Two clean puncture wounds in its neck caught her eye. 

 “Well? Is it dead enough for you?” Astarion leaned forward, looking over her shoulder. 

 “I’ve never seen marks like this.” She ignored Astarion, looking up at Gale. “Have you?” 

 Gale grunted, his weak knees cracking as he kneeled beside her to get a better look. He let out a sound of recognition, and Astarion felt himself glaring down at the pair of them. He looked up, seeing Shadowheart and Lae’zel hadn’t bothered to wait for them, making their way onto a bridge leading into a small, raided village, shuffling through left-behind supplies. 

 “It’s been drained of it’s blood.” Gale studied the markings. “Goblins, Mindflayers, now a feared creature of the night. This is quite alarming.” 

 “Wait…” Phayelynn took a moment to think about what he said. “You mean- this was…” 

 Her eyes bulged, not shy about the implication.

 “It’s been killed by a vampire, my dear,” Astarion said softly. Phayelynn craned her head back to look up at him with wide eyes. 

She looked back at the boar before pushing herself back up. She wrapped her arms around herself. During her travels, she heard many stories of monsters and creatures that lurked about Faerûn. Vampires weren’t on the top of the list, but knowing that one could be sneaking about in the dark didn’t give her any comfort. 

 “Like…like Count Strahd….” She remembered the book she had read about the Lord of Barovia that had kept her up at night for weeks as a child. 

 “Hmm… I doubt we’re dealing with a vampire at that caliper, but.. we should still keep a lookout at night should we camp nearby.” Gale smiled slightly, trying to ease her nerves, but knew they couldn’t take this lightly. “Maybe put up some garlic around the camp.” 

 Astarion couldn’t help the loud, brash chuckle escape from him from deep within his chest. He cleared his throat, dropping his arms down to his sides with a gentle shake to his head. “They are ferocious creatures,” he eyed Gale, almost threateningly. “But don’t worry, I’ll keep watch tonight. You won’t have to worry your pretty little head about nocturnal creatures. Now, please, let’s go.” 

 He didn’t wait for either to respond, ushering Phayelynn forward with a lax hand on her lower back, slightly pushing her away from the boar and Gale. He didn’t catch the twitch in Gale’s face, his lips pursing in thought. 

———-

 Astarion should’ve known the boar wouldn’t have been the worst of their problems. 

 The small village of Moonhaven was utterly ravaged and sacked. Not that he cared; now there was plenty left to loot and sniff through- everything left was his for the taking. 

 It was the goblins that still lounged about that caused the problem. 

The thought of using the tadpole to trick their way past the goblins without a fight was the first thing to cross his mind. This whole cult of the Absolute was absurd, but he could work it to his advantage. It seemed that Gale and even Phayelynn were thinking the same as the Wizard of Waterdeep cast prestidigitation, mimicking the symbol over the palm of his hand. 

 The bard nodded along, dramatically exclaiming, “Praise the Absolute!” 

 Astarion closed his eyes and shook his head. He heard Shadowheart let out a discontented groan. But at least they were all on the same page. It was entirely too early in the day to start a fight. Their stab at deception didn’t really count in the end, as evidently, they were not all on the same page after all, as Lae’zel squandered any infiltration plans as she surged forward, letting out a battle cry. 

 Astarion heaved a sigh as she lacerated and scored through goblin flesh. Regardless, he joined in the fray alongside her and Shadowheart. Gale and Phayelynn stood behind, the wizard shooting out ranged attacks while the bard shouted words of inspiration and the occasional vicious mockery. 

 It hadn’t been a strenuous battle. No, the Harpies took more out of him than he cared to admit, but he could still feel the ache in his body as it grew weak. He wasn’t used to this. This continuous fighting. The threat of forthcoming doom lingering overhead. 

 At least the payout here paid off. 

 When the scrabble was over and the village now void of goblins, he found himself inside what was left of an apothecary. He poked through bottles and baskets, pulling out various herbs and making a mental list of all the types of poisons he could draft up with what he pocketed. He scarcely cared about what the others were getting themselves into, grateful for the moment alone. A moment of calm. 

 Until he heard a clamorous grunt. His pointed ears twitched. It was too deep, too guttural to belong to any of his party members. It was undoubtedly too low to come out of any goblin. He peered up, glimpsing into the hole in the wall above the table he scoured through. His eyes dilated, not in surprise, because, frankly, he wasn’t; of course, she stumbled into yet another threat to life and limb. 

 His gaze flicked upwards. 

 There, across the way, in another wrecked building, Phayelynn stood about to become an Orge’s lunch. 

 Ugh, he thought to himself, shoulders sagging. Not even a moment of rest. 

 Movement up to his left seized his attention. He followed it, catching Lae’zel stalking slowly atop the roof, waiting for an opening to sweep in to save the dense girl. He rolled his eyes, wondering how often Phayelynn would compel him to do so. He went back to collecting more bottles, throwing them into his pack-

 “Are you friend, or are you food?” the bassy voice emitted, two others following in longing and excitement. 

 Astarion looked up. His hand flexed before clenching into a tight fist as it hovered over a bundle of mugwort. He shot Lae’zel another glance, furrowing his brow as she made no indication of moving as if a better opportunity to intervene would present itself. His eyes darted back to Phayelynn, who took a wobbly step back, which didn’t get her far. The Orge took a burly step forward, thwarting her from creating space between them. She seemed to have said something to the towering creature, but he couldn’t hear her from where he stood. 

 Again, he saw movement, but to his right, just outside the torn-off door of the shop. He didn’t turn his attention that way long, seeing only Gale and Shadowheart emerging from wherever they had ventured. 

 Good, he thought with a pleased smile. He may not have to jump in then. He reached for the mugwort again. 

 “Hmmm...” the Orge bore down at Phayelynn, licking his lips brutishly. 

 Astarion let out a curt wince as he felt a tug from behind his eye. Panic. Fear. A need for help. It all washed over him in waves. He was being drowned by it. He let out a soft string of curses, grasping at his

head. Phayelynn was reaching out to them through the tadpole. It was like when they had first met. That jolting yank as their minds become one. 

 “A delicacy waiting to be tasted,” the Orge took another step, and Astarion now felt Phayelynn’s repulsion. “Unless that is, if you bear the mark, of course.” 

 Lie.

 He forced himself over her growing fright.

 Astarion wanted to yell at her. To scream at her to shatter their connection as her mind raced, making himself teeter forward as he was bombarded by the flurry of emotions she felt. He could hear the blood pumping from her heart up to her ears as she tried to figure out how to cast the mark Gale had earlier. She’d only caught a glimpse of it before Lae’zel had bolted to cut the goblin who’d bore it down. 

 She was stammering, that much he could tell, as her arms started to flap about as she continued to walk back. 

 Stop!

 He shouted through the connection, but it was too late. Phayelynn fell, landing harshly on her behind, letting out a huffing ‘ooof’ after tripping over a loose floorboard plank. 

 “Food.” the other two Orgs smirked, clutching their clubs tighter. 

 Phayelynn was frozen in dread as they all took a step closer. 

 “Htak’a!” Lae’zel hollered, lunging out of concealment, bow raised and notched with a blazing fire arrow. The Orges didn’t even have the chance to look for the Githyanki before she rained down on them each. 

 “Flagra!” 

 Then, with a flash, Shadowheart made her and Gale’s presence known with a guiding bolt. The leader of the three was her mark, and the bolt of radiant energy struck sharply across his face. His strangled roar nearly shook the ground, but he didn’t falter in his stance, instead edging another foot closer to the fallen bard. 

 Asterion’s feet were bringing him up and out through the hole in the wall, dashing towards her just as Gale discharged a trio of magic missiles to push the Orge back. It was almost instinctive. He snatched his bow off his back, reaching into his quiver with his other hand, and pulled out a thunder arrow. He had to create more distance between them, as Gale’s magic only pushed him back so far. Even with the Orge’s disorientated state, he didn’t want to lose the upper hand. 

 “Come now, love, get up!” He shouted at her as he took a defensive stance, pulling back on the bow string. “If you plan to keep starting fights, you could at least have the common curiosity to participate.”

 She blinked, snapping out of it. With a scoff, she started to scramble up. “Hey! I help!” she put her hands on her hips, “In every fight, actually!” 

 He craned his head back to eye her, giving her a look that said to try again. Her face reddened, shutting her mouth momentarily. Her heart was hammering in her chest. 

 “Okay, almost every fight. Every fight beside the crypt, but-” 

 Phayelynn didn’t finish, halting any further defense she could spew as Astarion aimed and shot, eyes still locked on her. She gaped as he somehow managed to hit the Orge straight in the chest, knocking him back. He landed, shaking the room, and when he didn’t get up, it was clear he was dead. 

 “Okay, that was really impressive.” 

 Astarion rolled his eyes. 

 She gulped, blinking a few more times before nodding, “Right- fighting, yes.” 

 She looked off to the left, catching a glimpse of a crack in one of the support beams, holding what was left of the second floor up. It was rickety as Lae’zel moved about, more arrows being let loose from her hand at the last two Orges. They bellowed in rage, intent on avenging their fallen brother. She had an idea, one that Astarion would indeed yell at her for, but it was an idea. And he was adamant about her participation.

 “Lae’zel!” she shouted as she ran closer to the beam, gaining the githyanki and the Orges’ attention. “Get out of the way!” 

 “Chk.” Lae’zel had clicked with her tongue but knew better than to hesitate. 

 With a huff, she jumped, using the strength in her legs to land below, a handful of meters away from them all. She stood in the wall’s opening, the forest backdropped behind her. She holstered her bow, taking hold of her great sword and holding it defensively. 

 Phayelynn didn’t wait a moment longer, reaching behind her for her lute. Raising her hand up, she slammed it down, nails strumming a striking chord, 

 “De Torno!” 

 The wave of purple energy was more concentrated this time, more robust now, knowing the name of the spell, thanks to Gale. The beam snapped, splintering and bursting in an explosion. Shards of wood impaled the Orges as the wooden floorboards from above came crashing down, pilling on top of them. 

 It didn’t keep them down for long and only seemed to enrage them more. Phayelynn took a step back, swallowing hard. As one of them moved towards her, the other to Lae’zel, it brought up it’s club, preparing to bring it down on her. 

 But it never came.

 Instead, it crashed down onto a golden, shimmering shield that had formed around her, Shadowheart. The cleric had rushed to her, maneuvering Phayelynn to stand behind her as she held up the shield of faith. She grimaced her grip on the spell, flickering as the Orge brought down its club again, and again, and again, as Astarion’s arrows and Gale’s bolt of fire did not seem to hit. 

 The fifth time the Orge brought down his club, the shield gleamed, dissipating, leaving the two open for attack. 

 “No!” Phayelynn exclaimed, reaching a hand out for Shadowheart as the Orge’s club bludgeoned Shadowheart unconscious. Phayelynn moves to strum another deadly chord but cries out as she’s snatched up by the Orge and tossed to the side like a doll. 

 She rolled, landing in a heap towards an old, worn, and fallen fireplace. Her body groaned, but she couldn’t care about that. Her focus was cast down on her lute, the neck broken, and strings snapped from the force of her landing. Her eyes widened, ignoring the shooting pain in her side, where her dagger had jabbed into her from where it was holstered. 

 She reached for the instrument, the hair on the back of her neck raising. 

 “No, no, no, no-” she repeated, hopelessly trying to press the pieces together as if it would fix it. 

 Astarion moves fast, seeing Phayelynn entirely oblivious to the Orge approaching her. He let out a snarl, jumping up, piercing both daggers into his back, using them as leverage to hold on, as the Orge now focused on him, attempting to jostle him off. He grunted, holding on, driving the knives deeper within, giving them each a satisfying wrench. 

 The Orge bucked, trying to reach back to hurl the rogue off of him, but the flex of his muscle only ripped a terse howl out of him. He tottered, stumbling before smashing down onto his knees, dropping forward onto his stomach, his head landing mere inches from Phayelynn, who finally tore her gaze away from her lute in horror at how close that had been. 

 Astarion gave one last thrust with his knives before pulling out and sliding off the Orge. Behind them, Lae’zel finished off the other Orge in two swift, lacerating swipes of her blade. 

 “Are you alright?” Gale was the first to speak, reaching Shadowheart as she started to stir. 

 “Yes- ah,” she winced, clutching her head, pulling her hand back when she touched a large gash. “I just need to heal myself and rest perhaps....” she muttered, whispering a healing spell. She felt her magic growing weak, and it only did so much. 

 “Allow me to help,” Gale was too kind, Astarion noted, watching the display apathetically. “We should make camp. Rest before journeying any further to Ethel’s.” 

 “I saw some farmhouses right outside the village gate. We could hide out in there,” Phayelynn suggested. 

 Gale nodded, helping Shadowheart stand, knowing what Phayelynn was speaking of. Lae’zel let out a hiss, muttering that this was all a waste of their time before following Gale and Shadowheart. Astarion stood silently but waited for Phayelynn to stand up as well. 

 She took her time, biting her lip as she gave another look at the instrument in her hands. Her eyes were glossy. Was she going to cry? Astarion didn’t know what to do, chest tightening and eyes darting around for help. 

 “You don’t happen to know a mending spell, do you?” She finally spoke as she gathered the neck in one hand and the body in the other. She wore a slacked frown, already knowing the answer. Her grip tautened. “Damn it. This was---this was a gift.” 

 Astarion shifted on his feet uncomfortably. Phayelynn didn’t notice or comment on it, giving a last glance at the three Orges. Pursing her lips, she nodded towards him. “Thank you for saving me.” 

 Astarion blinked, unsure what to say. She hadn’t allowed him to say anything as she followed the other. He ran a hand through his curls, his hood falling off during the battle as he watched after her. He didn’t take long to follow them himself. Of course, he paused to trifle through the fallen Orges’ things. 

[dryaddruidsden]

:)

Mako (my oathbreaker paladin + drow + durge) and Astarion

[dryaddruidsden]

I just read your headcanons about Astarion, they are so good!! And since he is the hardest for me to understand I'd love to read your headcanons/input about: Him trying to manipulate Tav into liking him, but she simply doesn't get it and thinks he is just after her body and blood (of course she never says that unless he would challenge her)

Alright, I had this sitting in my inbox for a while mostly because I had to give it a good think, my dear. And I'm really digging the idea that Tav is just super oblivious to his manipulation tactics, so have some

Headcanons about Astarion trying to manipulate a completely oblivious Tav

Astarion starts out flirting with Tav just the same he's always done with everyone: trying to pick up on a few things to work it into his routine (even if it is stupid)

"So, darling... knives, eh? I bet you're even sharper than your weapons, my dear." (spoiler alert: obviously this is not the case...)

Or maybe it is just, that you see through his games immediately and were prepared to help him from the start

He really, REALLY puts his back into it but his tactics just won't work with you, you don't seem to pick up on any of the flirting

In turn though, you really don't need to be manipulated, you just offer help "You know, Astarion, if you need some of my blood you can just tell me, it doesn't bother me."

And that makes him very suspicious of you because no one has ever reacted like this, this is not how this thing works! "I bet our sweet little leader very much has an agenda of their own, if you ask me." "And what would that be, Astarion? Go for world domination while the worm slowly devours my brain? Is it so hard to believe that people maybe just want to do the right thing." "Yes actually, oh valiant, noble leader, it is hard to believe - at least for me!" And you see the pain in his eyes as he says that

So the flirty behaviour turns into mean sass very quickly, he snaps at you at every given opportunity - because why would anyone just offer help to a vampire? Nobody could be this good, right? And then also: why did it take so long for him to meet someone like you?

But when you keep offering help and just support him, he breaks at some point; first because he has no other option it seems but later on he allows himself to believe if only just a little and he dares to have just a tiny fraction of hope

Later on when he confesses he was trying to manipulate you and fell for his own trap, you just wrap him in your arms and softly tell him, that he doesn't have to worry about stuff like this anymore; "I just want you to be happy and safe, Astarion, that's all."

And he might not fully or even partially believe you in this moment, but a seed of hope and love is surely firmly planted

So basically, just slam him with support until the sassy little vampire falls in the pit he dug himself, hehe.

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @azukiel

[dryaddruidsden]

“wah wah all girls care about is astarion wah” yeah you know what? i cant imagine why women gravitate toward a character who feels like they are only worthy of attention if they’re sexualized and are under constant pressure to be a sexual being due to a traumatic experience that made them think that they’re only good for sex and really cannot perceive himself outside of being objectified and serving others. cant possibly have any idea why girls like astarion you know

[dryaddruidsden]

hi!!! i play a drow/dhampir warlock, how do you think astarion would react if durgetav was a dhampir?

This is a very interesting take! Besides, I and @marcynomercy are obsessed with Dhampirs. Since I have a separate request for Drows, I will make this one solely about a Dhampir Tav

Who has serious body image and acceptanace issues because like many dhampirs Tav can't stand neither vampires nor vampiric ancestry.

Astarion x Dhampir!Tav

You are an outcast.

You spent your childhood as a normal child, but at the of 16 you felt a terrible bloodlust.

The fangs grew, replacing canines.

Your mother taught you all your life that vampires are monsters and disgusting creatures.

But apparently, she slept with one of them.

Since you are a god forsaken dhampir.

You are scared. You beg for mercy.

But your mortal family throws you out, threatening to murder you if you ever dare come back.

You run away. Alone and scared.

Maybe, vampires can answer your questions? Maybe, your father - whoever he is - can help you?

Alas, no family reunion for an outcast like you.

The vampire who fathered you is a disgusting evil creature who knows nothing but violence.

He doesn't recognize you as your child. Moreover, he doesn't even understand what you are.

You lock him in silver chains and drag him to meet the sun one last time.

You are a dhampir. The only thing any vampire must be afraid of.

Immune to vampirism. Fast and dangerous. A stepchild of the night.

You are embarrassed of your ancestry. You cover your mouth and explain your pale skin by a rare skin condition. But people still fear you, even more than vampires.

You wish you were never born like that.

Eventually, you become a renowned vampire hunter.

One day, you get a request to murder a certain Vampire Lord in Baldur's Gate along with all his spawns and thralls.

You are ready to do such a job pro-bono.

But... The gods have other plans for you.

The moment you meet Astarion, you know who he is. No vampire can hide their rotten nature from a dhampir.

But there is something about him, something about what and how he tells his story, that makes your feel pity.

He doesn't look like those morons who wanted to be vampires. He doesn't look like he enjoyed what he was doing on his master's orders.

He is a victim.

The night he wants to bite you, he realizes your blood tastes weird - it's not like he can't drink it, but more like... he'd better not.

"I am half a vampire, Astarion. Don't push your luck."

You agree that you won't have any problems with him drinking blood if he doesn't hurt the companions and useful people.

You know your own bloodthirst. Astarion has its much worse

You gradually fall in love. Maybe it's your own desire to embrace your dark nature.

Upon arrival at Baldur's Gate, you make a decision - you will destroy Cazador and all his spawns, leaving only Astarion alive.

But - you won't let him ascend.

Otherwise, you will be his mortal enemy. And if ascends, you will kill him instantly.

You kill Cazador - but something changes inside you. You see other spawns, miserable and sorrowful. You've never thought you could feel compassion toward them.

Astarion is different, after all. No vampire is like him. But others... You suddenly see so much in common with them.

Your dark family, your blood, your kind.

Astarion also makes a choice. Ascension means losing you. He will be able to subdue everyone to his will, but not a dhampir.

But you warn the spawns - you will not hesitate to kill them if they lose control.

Post-game, you together do what you do best.

Monster hunting.

You are immune to necrotic damage, he is a literal vampire. You are unstoppable together.

You help him with nightmares and body autonomy issues.

He trusts you. Even though he must be afraid of you.

Sometimes, you love-bite him with your fangs, and, gods, he likes it.

His skin regenerates, and you pierce it once again.

You also learn to love your own body. Your pale skin, your fangs, your dark hair.

It's difficult to hate yourself when Astarion adores you.

You are both fast and deadly.

And you are going to be together for many centuries - dhampirs live as long as elves. 

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

[dryaddruidsden]

I’d like to think that once Astarion’s grown comfortable with physical affection, he gets a lot more affectionate with you. Especially when it comes to casual or subtler gestures.

Like an arm draped over the back of the couch when he’s sitting next to you. His arm isn’t actually touching you, but he’s got his thumb hooked just under the collar of your shirt resting idly in the soft well of your clavicle.

Hooking his foot around the back of your ankle or letting his knee press against yours under the table when he’s sitting next to you (which he always is because who else is he supposed to sit next to? Gale??)

Keeping a hold on you when you’re in a crowded space. Holding your sleeve, your wrist, linking your pinkies. Anything to make sure he doesn’t lose you in the chaos.

Always having a hand on your waist, your back, your hip. Part of it is born out of wanting to keep close to you, part of it is born out of a little bit of possessiveness — A subtler way to show you off as his.

Thumbing dirt and grime off your cheeks, adjusting your collar when it’s fallen crooked.

I feel like once he’s stopped doing it out of habit, he’s not super duper into PDA (Still loves on you, obviously. Just more casually), so it doesn’t happen super often when you’re around others, but he’ll peck your cheek or temple every so often as a greeting. Especially when you’ve been apart for short while.

If you’re wearing pants with belt loops, I feel like he’s def the type to pull you to him by them. Just loops a finger through and tugs until you get the hint.

Idk I just feel like he’d be pretty affectionate once he’s warmed up to non-sexual intimacy. Not always, he still has off days as everyone does. But even then, he usually still wants to be close to you.

[dryaddruidsden]

They will never be you.

A small drabble set post-Cazador, pre-epilogue.

What if Astarion’s not the only insecure one in the relationship?

Angsty-ish with a happy ending. Enjoy!

The drow who was now half draped over his arm was stunning.

You watch from across the room, your dinner half-eaten and abandoned, as he smirks at her and not so coyly puts his hand over her knee. Part of you wants to just storm over and ask him what the hell he was playing at, but the larger part of you thinks that this was to be expected.

After all, how was someone like you expected to match up to someone like him? Someone who turned heads wherever he went, who without any conscious effort stole the hearts of whoever was foolish enough to look at him for too long?

And you? You’re just you. You’ve never turned heads. You were never first choice.

Sure, he had chosen you. But really, weren’t you chosen because of circumstance? You were his first. You had chosen to protect him. You had saved him. How can you not be chosen?

You like to think you were special because you had seen beyond his physical beauty. Had loved him for more than that. However, you know it could have been anyone. Anyone in your position could have also done the same thing.

You weren’t chosen. You just happened to be there.

The slam of your mug down on the table makes everyone stop what they’re doing and look over at you. It would be embarrassing, if you weren’t so consumed with your thoughts.

“I’m retiring for the night. If Astarion looks for me, let him know.”

With that, you leave your half-eaten food and rise from the table, leaving all of your companions stunned.

The only companion not on the table however, misses it. He’s still hand in hand with the drow, whispering into her ear.

The door to your room opens an hour or so later, snapping you out of your nap. You glare as he steps in, and to your surprise and extreme annoyance, he looks giddy.

“Darling, the others told me you left early! You missed-“

Astarion narrowly dodges the shoe you throw at his head. He blinks, the grin slowly disappearing off of his face.

“What’s wrong?”

You stand, trying to not show any sign of the internal anguish you feel.

“I know you’re a bastard, but you could have at least broken up with me or said something before you start picking someone else up in front of my face!”

He blinks, then realization dawns on his expression. He moves quickly, and in a second he’s right by you. He offers you his hands, keeping them close but not pushing to touch you.

“It’s not- that’s not what it was,” he says quietly. “I thought you’d know I was putting on an act.”

“Act or not - it hurts.”

A moment to steel yourself. You don’t really want to open this can of worms, but it needs to happen.

“Look. If you’re done with this. Us. You could just say so, like a normal person,” you say, the sound of defeat inevitably present in your tone.

“And why would you think that?” Comes the reply. He moves to sit by you on the bed. “I trusted you to know that it was just an act. I saw something, and wanted to have it.”

Your mind goes to the worst possible option, naturally.

“Well, did you have it? Did you have her, then?”

With Cazador’s death, Astarion had began to rediscover his sexuality and reclaim it. You are happy for him, of course, but now you wonder if he’s shopping around for better options than you.

He laughs at your words. It is a little incredulous.

“If I wasn’t talking to you, love, I would have thought you insecure,” he begins, but as he finishes his sentence the truth hits him: you are.

You’ve always been the calm, collected one to him. You’ve always seemed so secure and so sure of your relationship. He was the insecure one. He was always frightened of the day you’d realize you could find better.

Now he sees the truth you’ve never really let slip.

He takes a deep breath, unsure how to approach this. Then, he digs inside his pocket and quickly shows you what he has in there. An aquamarine ring, set in an intricately carved band.

“I spotted this the moment we walked into the inn. And I had to have it,” he murmurs in a very different tone. “I got it for you.”

You exhale roughly, and pick up the ring from his hand. “So you decided stealing it by flirting with the drow was how you’re going to show your love?”

It felt ridiculous, but when was he not?

He chuckes. “That was the idea. The execution could have gone a bit more smoothly.” He figures he should have told you of his plan, but then again, would you have even agreed? And he did so want to give you something nice.

You are silent for a few moments, and then you nod.

“All forgiven, then. Just let me know next time.” You’d rather just sweep everything under the rug, since you were proven wrong. And you don’t really want him prying into..

“Did you think I was going to replace you, darling?”

Shit. You wince. “Yes.”

The truth needs to be said. You face him. “Look. I’m just me. I’m your.. whatever I am, because I was there. Had it been anyone else, then it would have been them. I’m-“

“Does it matter who was there? Who was first, who was not? I agree. It could have been someone else. But it wasn’t. It was you.” Astarion shakes his head. “And that is the end of it.”

“And if one day, you tire of me? If you realize you could have a more beautiful, more desirable partner who would also understand and love the real you? If you realize that you could literally have the most beautiful-“

Your words die as lips are pressed against yours, insistent but not rough. He pulls away.

“I needed to shut you up,” he says. “You’re speaking nonsense about my darling, and I will not have it.”

“I’m not special,” you hiss, at last finally managing to get the words out. This venomous thought had been in the back of your mind ever since you had gotten together, but was only voiced now. It was never just him who was insecure about the relationship.

“Right you are,” he acquiesces, “but neither is anyone else.”

“No one deserves better. We aren’t owed anything.” This he knows from experience. His hand finds yours, and takes the ring back. He holds it between thumb and forefinger, peering at it.

“But you are the one who was put in my path, darling. You’re the one I love. None of those other what ifs matter,” he adds, his hand taking yours and slipping the ring on.

You glance down at the ring and sigh. It is indeed, gorgeous.

“I won’t find someone better. Someone younger. Someone- whatever-“ he waves a hand dismissively.

“One, we’ll find a way for you to live forever. Two-“ and he holds up a hand.

“They will never be you.”

Taglist: @elora-the-slutty-songstress @spacebarbarianweird @tragedybunny

[dryaddruidsden]

He really speaks to my soul

[dryaddruidsden]

thanks @fangsandfeels :)))

[dryaddruidsden]

putting the “romance” in necromancer

[dryaddruidsden]

"We don't need to do anything. We can just be."

Happy bi/pan visibility day (it's everyday for me). Also a sprinkle of ace and a dash of survivor and to top it all off- other expressions of intimacy, affection & connection taken seriously. I'm doing an Astarion origin playthrough and I ship him with Karlach like FedEx, your honor.

[dryaddruidsden]

i am NOT normal about this man AT ALL YO

[dryaddruidsden]

The world is ours for the taking. So, what would you like?

I want to see the world, with you at my side.

Then you shall. We'll travel the lands together, tasting everything Faerûn has to offer.

[dryaddruidsden]

Ways in which I think Tav shows Astarion love: (SFW)

*Tav is gender-neutral*

Gentle touches to the face.

Cue Tav walking up to Astarion in camp; Astarion greets them with his usual flirtatious greeting and a smirk, asking them if they need anything. Tav just raises their hand and gently brush a loose strand of his hair out of his face and cups his cheek, telling the vampire how they just wanted to see how he was doing.

Astarion is caught off guard, not used to intimate physical touch, ones that don't come with him eventually bedding the other person.

But he relaxes into it, enjoying the warmth of Tav's roughened palm. "I'll alright, now that you are here," he purred.

Hugs, feeling the way Tav wraps their arms securely around his torso.

Since his confession, Tav would occasionally come up to him and ask if they could hug him, always mindful of his consent.

At first, he had no idea as to what to do with his hands when wrapped up in his lover's embrace, uncomfortably stiff. But Tav gently guided his hands to the cusp of their lower back. If Tav is taller than Astarion, they cup the back of his head and leads him to lay it on the top of their chest, right where there heart is. If Tav is smaller, they cradle his face into the side of their neck, chin on their shoulder. Soon, Astarion would need no motivation to snuggle into his lover's chest/neck.

He secretly enjoys Tav's back hugs the best, once he is comfortable enough to let them to approach him from behind. Tav laying their chin on his shoulder and sneaking a cheek kiss if they are taller, or snuggling their face into the back of his armor/shirt with a smile ... It brings a love-sick genuine smile to his pale lips.

Trailing touches along his arms.

Tav usually does this to let him know they are coming up alongside them without causing the vampire to flitch back at their unexpected movement. He likes it even more when he's in his camp clothes and his shirt sleeves are rolled up, allowing him to feel the lingering warmth of their fingers on his cold skin.

Laying beside each other on his and their bedrolls.

They don't even have to say anything, just the two of them staring at each other, memorizing the little details of their faces. Astarion enjoys when Tav runs a finger across his cheekbone and jaw, playfully biting at it as the digit trails over his lips. His favorite feature of Tav's at times like this are their eyes. He can see the affection and love in their eyes as they look at him. It almost makes his undead heart start beating again.

Sleepy cuddles.

Most of the time he's the small spoon, either with his head directly on their chest, their heart beat lulling him into a trance, wrapped up in Tav's warm arms and legs tangled together. Sometimes it's the other way around, with Tav snuggled into the crook of his arm, leg thrown over his and hand on his chest, one of his hands on their lower back. Cuddle sessions tend to happen after a feeding session, even before his confession in Act 2. It eventually starts to become a nightly routine, even if no feeding is involved.

"I like it when you stay with me. I feel safe with you," Tav told him one time when Astarion questioned them on it. Astarion swears he could hear his undead heart beating again.

Tav's fingers running through his hair.

This of course tended to happen when they had their nightly cuddle sessions and during the act of feeding. When feeding, the feeling on Tav's fingers in his hair would ground him as he gave into his sanguine desire, reminding him to not take too much. When cuddling, Tav's fingers served to relax him as the motion of their fingers gently racking across his scalp lulled him into a trance. The act also filled his chest with warmth, which he finally realized was love and admiration after he confessed to Tav.

Waking up next to Tav.

This tends to happen after a feeding session and the subsequent cuddle session (after the confession in Act 2). In the morning, he's either wrapped around Tav with his head buried into the valley of their neck, slowly breathing in their signature scent (not just their blood, but the natural scent on their skin), or he's encased in Tav's arms with his head buried in their chest as they cradle him close. Astarion wants nothing more than to stay in their shared tent together like that all day, but sadly they have to separate or else they will never get those tadpoles out of their heads.

Feeling safe whenever he decides to sleep with no shirt and bare his scars.

The raised flesh on his back where his master carved his sadistic poem - which he then learned was part of an infernal contact that he was going to be sacrificed for - was by far the most traumatic and cruelest torture Cazador inflicted upon him. The slightest touch on his scars would cause him to flinch away and he refused to let anyone touch him there. Taking off his shirt, even in the confines of his own tent, was out of the question.

But with you, he craved the feeling of your fingers trailing shapeless figures on his bare chest, not just over his sleep shirt. He wanted to feel the warmth of your fingers to heat up his cold pale skin over his heart, almost as if it would seep deep into the organ.

When Astarion decided he could lay himself bare to you (figuratively speaking in this sense), he was practically shaking, desperately trying to calm his nerves as Tav slowly brought a steady hand to the spot above his heart. He didn't flitch at the first contact, sighing in content as Tav continued their ministrations.

After this first step, Astarion found that this act played into their cuddle sessions, usually right before Astarion and Tav start their day or before they feel asleep, regardless of a nightly feeding session.

Slowly letting Tav touch his scars.

This would probably take years for him to do, but luckily the both of them have time after the end of Act 3.

It would start with allowing Tav to gently caress the upper edges of his scars closest to his neck and by the small of his back closest to his hips.

For the longest time, that's all he could handle without him having flashbacks to the time they were created and cowering away from Tav's touch.

But Tav understood; they never pressured him nor did they expect to fully being to fully touch his scars. They were content with just skimming lightly across the back of his hip, tracing the spot where his neck met his back. If this is all they were allowed to do, then so be it. They would never push Astarion's boundaries and verbally told him to tell them if they accidently did.

Reading together in silence.

When not off adventuring, Astarion could be found rustling through whatever book he had on hand. Tav noticed this and decided early on to spend some of their downtime to read something quietly alongside him. Astarion teased them about this at first, saying something about how desperate they were to be in his company. As their relationship blossomed, this act continued, with Astarion sitting on a stool scraped up from an abandoned location, book in hand, while Tav lounged against the vampire's pile of pillows outside his tent, a nameless tome also in hand. When this started to become a frequent thing, Astarion frequently caught himself peering over at Tav from the top of his book, silently watching as their eyes skimmed at the runes on the page, the way a finger was used to hold their place in their reading, mind focused on the story in front of them. Astarion liked the sight of them this relaxed and their quiet presenance. After the end of their adventure, when the two decided to remain together, this act becomes a staple way they spend their quality time together. In a townhouse in Baldur's Gate, the two of them could be seen reading quietly next to each other, cuddled in each others arms as a fire rages in the main room's fireplace.

Playing with his fingers and hands.

Whenever they are bored, whether they be at a tavern or listening to a mindless conversation, Tav ends up gently playing with Astarion's hand as it sits idle. Astarion raised an eyebrow the first time he noticed Tav doing this, in which they were silently comparing the sizes of their palms and digits. He never knew gentle touch before, so he was still learning the many different ways Tav show affection through harmless contact. Eventually, he gets used to it, paying absolutely no mind as Tav takes his hand and starts trailing along the roughed fingertips or caressing his knuckles. He finds it comforting, the act silently letting him known that his lover was there for him. He finds it especially humorous when they decide to take a playful nip at his digits, an amused smile on his lips as he jokes "Don't make me return the favor," and returns with a peck on their mouth

Brushing of fingers as they walk side by side (mainly when in the city).

The city of Baldur's Gate was quite populated, making their usually close-quartered party have to repeatedly be cautious as they tried to make their ways through the crowded streets without losing a party member as they occasionally get cut off by passersby.

Astarion was edge the moment they got closed to the city walls, even more so once they made it to the Lower City. He was Cazador's territory now and though he and his spawn could not go out in the daylight, there were other minions of the vampire lord that could be hiding in the busy streets.

The numerous Baldurians constantly impeding their groups way did nothing to help this, as it meant someone usually was temporarily separated from the others and was lagging behind before they could meet back up with the group. Astarion tried to keep a constant eye on Tav, but sometimes they too got swept up in the crowds.

Tav didn't like this either as they too grew slightly worried whenever they lost sight of Astarion as they tried to file through numerous crowds, wanting to keep an eye on the vampire spawn as they drew nearer to his master's residence.

So, whenever they were near each other, Tav made it a routine to gently brush their fingers against Astarion's knuckles to let them know they were beside them, regardless if he could see them or not.

The gentle carassess acted as a soothing balm, calming his heart as he felt the briefest warmth of their fingers on his skin. Sometime he longed to outright take a hold of their hand, but he knew they both needed their hands free in case they were attacked. But he knew one day, after this adventure was over, he would be able to do hold their hand in his as they trail downt eh numerous pathways the city harbors without a care in world, safe from vampire lords and death cults alike.

Cleaning his face after a tough battle.

This man gets dirty after a battle. Blame it on being a vampire or him being a dastardly rogue with a penchant for daggers, but his face is usually covered in blood. Astarion usually just washed his face himself, after sampling a couple of drops onto his tongue, but after their little deed at the tiefling party, Tav has come up to him with a wet rag or sponge to gently wipe away the grim once they made it make to camp. "Here, let me do it for you," they would say. Astarion would try to argue with them, flirtatious jokes and compliments coming out of his mouth, but Tav wouldn't hear it. "Just let me do something nice for you. And how else do you expect to get everything without using a mirror?" Astarion shut up after their little mirror comment, knowing they were right. Also, this nice act being performed on him without expecting some form of repayment? Impossible, surely you want something from him. Yet, it kept happening, again and again, without Astarion having to repay this kindness by sleeping with Tav. And a part of him secretly enjoyed the way the cool rag or sponge gently wiped away the grime on his brow, the scent of berand rosemary filling his lungs as he breathed the mixture of scented oils on the rag/sponge. Though, he would let them know it, until he confessed to them once he realized his true feelings. Then he return the favor, along with peppering Tav's face with numerous kisses to boot.

Words of affirmation, specifically complimenting him on other things than beside his looks.

As he spent nearly 200 years using his good looks and body to seduce victims to bring back to Cazador, the last thing Astarion wants to be reminded of is how handsome he is. He's sick and tired of being seen as nothing but just a pretty face, even if he flaunts his looks to get what he wants. It's more of a bad habit, knowing nothing else but than to manipulate to secure safety. With Tav, they try to remind him that he is more than this, hence the constant affirmations and complements.

For example, his embroidery skills. He's constantly patching up his clothing and once him and Tav officially become a couple, it is likely he starts doing the same for their clothing. Tav gushes over his fine craftsmanship, whether he's embroidering a complex design or just hemming a tear in one of their lounge wears.

Other skills of Astarion that Tav constantly fonds over: his locksmanship ability; his journey to becoming a better man; his soft spot for children and pets; his sass and dark humor; his exceptionally good taste in wine; his genuine laughter and little giggles. This man is usually left speechless at Tav's words, unable to do nothing but leave a flurry of kisses across their face as a soft smile graces his lips.

In all these ways, Astarion has been "I love you" without hearing those 3 magic words from Tav. But it's all he ever need.

[dryaddruidsden]

Commission for @ladyofrosefire of Astarion and their Tav, Ria!