#He hates cazador for this reason

[mistercrowbar]

Obviously Aldiirn would never bring harm to a respectful client

But is there one person where all bets are off and he'll throw hands with (not out of self defense, just purely out of spite)

Violence is the last thing Aldiirn wants and there are far worse things that could be done to others without being traced back to him

Aldiirn only really holds grudges against people who misuse resources and tbh if he does anything at all its just, putting those resources to good use. A little theft is just resource management, making sure everyone is doing their part whether they want to or not.

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Soft Astarion Jealousy

Now with part 2!

I love Ascended Astarion because he's horrible but the sweetness of the other end of the spectrum is impossible to deny. He's just so in love and grateful I can't 🥺🥺

So here's some jealousy that isn't psychotic. Well it is but not as bad:

Astarion never expected to be the jealous type. He always thought...well. In all honesty he never thought about the reality of having a relationship. He didn't even think it was possible for him, let alone the idea that he would actually want it. Even with you, even after he admitted a fraction of his own feelings to himself, he never thought that he would be so... possessive. Though admittedly, he had very good cause for it.

Because you were frustrating. So, so frustrating. For some idiotic reason, you simply didn't understand how alluring to others you really were. You were a pretty little thing, yes but that wasn't the problem. It was so much more than that. And he knew that the others wanted you. Every last one of them. Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Wyll, Karlach, Gale, Halsin. All of them like moths to a flame. And that wasn't even counting all of the strangers you had met on your journey, the extras that thought they had a shot with your greatness. They all wanted you in ways that made Astarion seethe. And the desire from others wasn't even the kind that he was used to, the kind he understood like the back of his hand. Because you didn't need to seduce to cultivate desire. All you needed to stoke the flames was merely your presence. Experiencing you was all that was required for people to know they wanted more.

Astarion knew that the others weren't just looking for a bedmate, they wanted you for the same reasons he had grown to. Your empathy, your desire to understand those around you. Your fearlessness, your infuriating habit of always trying to do the right thing. They wanted you for your laugh, the way your eyes would crinkle in the corners when your smile was too wide. Your silly jokes, your endless hopefulness for a future. It felt as though everyone around saw you for the gem that you were and it was... concerning. Extremely concerning.

Astarion hated thinking about things like this. He loathed admitting the truth to himself even more. But he was...terrified of losing you to someone else. Especially since it could so easily be done. He was so very lucky that you weren't the brightest, or at least not when it came to matters of the heart. You could do so much better than him, a fact that was incredibly obvious to everyone around you. Everyone but you, a luck that Astarion did not take lightly. But how much time did he have before it ran out? Would it ever?

Perhaps it was delusional, but he was starting to think when all of this was over, assuming neither of you perished anyway, that...it could just be the two of you. Living together, exploring the world, even if it had to be under the cloak of night. Maybe... maybe the two of you could even find a cure for his unsavory condition. The thought itself was incredibly stupid, but then again, it was just as idiotic to believe that there was a cure to the Mind Flayer parasite. But here they were, closer then ever. And if that was such an impossibility turned into reality, perhaps a vampiric cure wasn't so impossible. Or maybe even finding an alternative method for immortality for you, without the downsides of his own. Anything that could just keep you both together, for as long as possible. It was an unrealistic dream, that would never come into fruition. If anything it was dangerous, so very dangerous to even entertain the thought of forever. Especially when your connection was so tenuous.

Astarion would never be stupid enough to thank Cazador for anything but...he'd be lying if he said he wasn't appreciative for his own lack of subtly when it came to seducing you. Even if it originally was for distasteful reasons, it still got him ahead of the pack. If he had been less calculating, less astute, there was a sincere chance that you would be warming someone else's bed at night. Callousness would never be without it's uses, even if it led to uncomfortable situations like his current infatuation.

What would he do when you inevitably wanted to leave? How could he survive after having something so...good. Someone so caring, someone who for some very horrifying reason liked being around him. And the sex... it was fabulous. He was a massive fan of your intimacy, when he was capable of participating in it. He adored it, he adored you, your beauty, the sweet noises he could coax from your mouth, the europhia of being inside of you. Then there was the fact that you could be intimate without any traces of it devolving into lovemaking. He had never been gifted with the ability to say no before, so often and so freely without a single fear of punishment. If anything, it felt like he was rewarded when he was honest with you, when he would share his sudden fits of discomfort in his own body, the memories that plagued him and doomed him to staying stubbornly soft. You would never get angry, never even disappointed. You would just listen and smile, always adorable when you would ask, "But I can stay for a cuddle, can't I?"

An extremely silly question, considering the two of you hadn't spent a night apart from each other since you'd made it to the Shadowlands. Yet it never failed to make him melt.

It was getting worse, these feelings. He just wanted you around, by his side, constantly. Constant enough for him to get the ridiculous urge to hiss at anyone else who dared to come near you. He felt an intense need to protect the closeness the both of you had cultivated, the kind that he had never been allowed before. He had no interest in sharing you with your own friends when it came down to it, let alone another lover.

Which is precisely why his original, mild distaste for Halsin turned into a full-blown hatred the night he had the gall to proposition you.

It had felt like a shard of ice going through his chest when you bounded over to him, laughing about one of his greatest fears coming much too close to reality, "You won't believe the conversation Halsin and I just had-"

"Ah, I was wondering when you were going to ask me about that," Astarion laughed, purposefully interrupting you. He had no desire to hear the specifics of that conversation. He didn't even want to be having this conversation, where you were inevitably going to ask if it was okay to explore someone else.

The answer was no. Never would he be okay with it, allowing someone else to be close to what should have been his. But he needed to think strategically here. To say no could be disasterous. If it became a game of choice between him and Halsin... he's almost certain he would lose. Halsin was everything he wasn't; caring, giving, sharing in your worldviews in a way that Astarion never could. He couldn't risk it, he wouldn't. Having you at all was better than nothing.

"But I'd never even consider something like that-"

"It's fine," Astarion interrupts again, the fakest smile he can muster plastered on his face. The pain was worth the risk mitigation, he was sure of that. But... he still had to ask, "But is this because we haven't...y'know, in awhile?"

A sick part of him prays that you'll say yes. Because if that's the reason, he could do something about it. He could force himself if need be to always tend to your needs. Especially if it meant keeping you to himself. It was such a small sacrifice in comparison to the rest of his life. He would do it in a heartbeat if you demanded, anything to just make you stay.

But that was not the answer he received. Instead you frowned, looking him up and down, "What? No, I-Astarion no. Please don't think that. What we have together is so special to me. The physical part of it is lovely, perfect even. But...it's not what we are."

It's almost comforting to hear you say that. But then why did that make the situation feel so much worse? If it wasn't sex you were after then that certainly meant you wanted more with Halsin as well, did it not? But it was too late to rescind it now.

Astarion nodded, a confused mixture of hurt and gratefulness swirling through him, "I just needed to know. But if you're satisfied with me and just want to explore, go right ahead. I'll be here when you're done."

You nodded slowly, brow furrowed when you asked, "So...we aren't exclusive then?"

"No, of course not," Astarion confirmed, ignoring everything inside of him that was screaming for him to take it all back, "We can be as open as you'd like."

"I see..." You said, trailing off with a frown. You coughed into your hand, looking up at him sharply. Sharp enough for him to be sincerely confused, "Does this mean that you'll be speaking to me before you explore your other options?"

"I-yes? If you want?" Astarion answered, a new type of unease settling in his chest. You didn't seem very happy with this conversation, despite his best attempts to give you what you wanted. Where had he gone wrong? Was he already working to throw you into the arm's of another man, without even trying?

You were still frowning at him, your look cold in a way that made him feel particularly ill, "Please do. I'd like to know everything. I'm going to speak to Halsin, get this all sorted. We can talk later."

And then you were spinning on your heel and marching away, like Astarion was the offensive party here. It made no sense. He had done it all right, hadn't he? Agreed to it immediately, didn't make you feel guilty, had tried to be what you wanted. How had he failed?

He didn't wait around to see you go to Halsin. Instead he went straight back to his tent, closing the flap as he laid down. Great. Fantastic. Now he would have to be aware, perhaps even hear you being with another, while simultaneously reliving that horrid conversation in his head for the entire night. The hurt and worry was making his mind wander to uncomfortable places. Perhaps...Halsin could be dealt with in another way if things became too serious between the two of you.

Would poisoning the man be too extreme?

But before Astarion had the time to start thinking of a more detailed plan he was interrupted. Suddnely, moonlight was filling his tent, with your silleoute shining in the darkness.

He blinked up at you, confused, "What are you doing here?"

You frowned at him, looking hesitant in the entry way, "Should I not be? I thought-I can go if you'd like."

"No!" Astarion blurted out, loud and desperate enough to make him cringe. He cleared his throat, trying again, his voice still a touch too pitiful for his liking, "No, no, come here darling. Of course you're always welcome. I just assumed you would be busy."

To his relief you listened, crawling into the bedroll next to him. Astarion didn't waste any time in wrapping his arms around you, relieved to humiliating degrees that you had chosen to come back after the deed. Though...you didn't quite smell as he had thought you would. There were no traces of the floral, woodsy smell of the druid on your skin. Just the sweet, pleasant scent that he had grown so fond of.

You sighed as he tucked you against him, the warmth of you enough to make him relax for the first time that night. You laid together in a pleasant quiet, one that Astarion was actually scared to disturb. Despite the fact that he desperately wanted to know what happened between the two of you.

But you broke the silence for him, muttering into his chest after the two of you were settled, "I'm...sorry for being snappish earlier. I shouldn't have been. You didn't do anything wrong, and I know I don't own you. I shouldn't have assumed."

Astarion frowned, pulling back to get a proper look at your face. You looked hurt, sad even. Like you were the one who had gotten their heart broken. He could feel a curl of distaste settling in his stomach, annoyed that this felt as though the situation was being placed back to him. He had played his part, perfectly. What more could you ask for? What was there to assume?

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," Astarion carefully said, his eyes fixed on every micro expression on your face, "What did I do that could have been construed as incorrect?"

"Nothing!" You rushed to say, shame coloring your cheeks, "I was being stupid. You never promised me anything. I just...assumed. Wrongly that we were something we aren't."

That didn't-he-what? Astarion frowned at her, his confusion evident on his face, "What did you think we were?"

You looked uncomfortable, avoiding his gaze when you answered, "I thought that we were...together. Alone. Just us. But if that's not what you want I understand. It's fine-"

"What in the hells are you talking about?" Astarion blurted out, his anger and pain bubbling to the surface, "I haven't done a thing. And we were just us before you decided to galivant off with a bear of a man!"

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. So much for playing things safely. No, he couldn't even have the self-control to stay quiet. He always had to ruin everything.

But surprisingly, you didn't look angry. If anything you seemed just as confused as he felt, "What? I didn't-we didn't do anything! When did I say I wanted to do anything with Halsin? You were the one saying you didn't care!"

You weren't making any damn sense, "Well why else would you ask me about it?"

"I didn't!" You huffed, glaring at him, "All I was going to say was that he asked me. And I wanted your help on how to best turn him down! And then you jumped at the chance to push me onto someone else-"

"I did nothing of the sort!" Astarion seethed back, "If it was up to me you would never look at another man again! Or woman for that matter!"

It was an odd feeling, to be arguing while holding each other so closely. But Astarion had no intention of letting you go anytime soon, even if he could feel you squirming against his ironclad grip when you fumed at him, "Then why would you say it was okay?!"

"Because I don't want you to leave me!" He shouted back, loud enough to snap him out of his own anger. All of his fury was instantly replaced with fear. Gods, why had he felt the need to say that? To lay his biggest insecurity out on the line. Why not just hand you a stake while he was at it, since he was so eager to give you the tools to destroy him.

But you were still seething, hissing back at him, "Why praytell, would I leave the man I've been in love with for months? Hm? Please, explain it to me!"

Astarion couldn't. He was too busy being shell-shocked at the confession, feeling too many emotions at once. Joy, relief, somehow even more fear than before. You so freely said the words that he had done his damndest to bury, to ignore. But now they were out there, filling him with a horrifying joy.

He wanted to say it back. He did. But he couldn't get the wrecthed words out. Instead he was just staring at you like an imbeicle, his mouth hanging opening at the confession.

But his silence didn't make you falter. Instead you looked determined, near fierce as you grasped his face into your warm hands, "I love you Astarion. You don't have to say it back. That's not what this is about. But I want you. And only you. If you want the same of me then you must tell me. Now."

Astarion let his hands flutter over your wrists, humiliating tears prickling at his eyes. But at least his vocal chords allowed him to answer you this time, "I do. So much more than you know. I want us. Just us. No one else."

The words were flowing out of him, too fast and sincere for him to make the appropriate edits in his head. He was saying too much, feeling too much, giving too much. But the way your eyes brightened at his words, the way you grinned at him before pulling him in for a sweet kiss made it suddenly feel like he wasn't giving anything up at all.

As much as he loathed to admit it, Astarion was exceedingly grateful for Halsin's existence after that night. He would never have had the gall to demand you to himself without a trigger, without the anger you both shared at being misunderstood. Because now, you were his. His alone, the proclamation coming from your own lips. And he was free to stop hiding how much he had wanted it. How willing he was to do anything to keep it. He let himself off his own leash after that, leaning completely into the mutual ownership you had of each other. No more would he silently sit back and seethe as a stranger flirted with you. No, now he'd be upfront and center, with a possessive hand around your waist as he glared them down, more than prepared with a confidence-shattering quip on his tongue.

He started to let all of his urges seep through, taking full advantage of your willingness. If Wyll looked at you for too long at the fire, with a touch of something that Astarion didn't like in his eyes, he'd effortlessly pull you into his lap onlookers be damned as breathed you in. If Gale suddenly had a suspect offer to teach you some new magic in a secluded location, Astarion would invite himself, impervious to any glares sent his way. And when he felt as though all of them were being a bit too flirtaious, he was more than happy to put them in their places at night. Spending hours upon hours making you scream his name in bed from pleasure, loud enough for everyone to hear and know exactly who you belonged to.

He couldn't care less if it added to his own unpopularity amongst their merry-band of rejects. Their opinions didn't matter. Not when you were eating all of the sudden attention up.

You let him do it all because you understood him, in ways that no one else had bothered to before. You knew who he was, what he wanted, the extent to how much he craved your attention. And you let it all happened, reveled in it even. The intense shows of affection. Because you loved him. And he loved you. And one of these days he'd allow himself to admit the obvious.

But for now, he had what he wanted. What he needed. And in the first time in his life, even with disgusting tadpoles squirming his his brain, Astarion was actually...happy.

[feyascorner]

Hear me out! Hear me out!

From Astrion's pov

A Tav who hates physical contact.

But then one night when it's pouring rain Tav comes to Astarion's tent feeling scared and ask if they can stay and then one thing leads to another and suddenly the two of them are cuddled together and Astarion is like "I thought you didn't like being touched" and Tav is like "Normally I'm scared people will hurt me when they touch me. But you are different. I feel safe with you. I trust you."

a/n. I’m going to collapse they’re everything to me AHHH THIS IS SUCH A CUTE PROMPT

Astarion, by nature and by the two-hundred years he’s spent as a vampire spawn, is a touchy person. It’s instinctual. A habit he can no longer break. It’s not even sexual, half the time. It’s simply how he conveys the words that he struggles to say, even if his vocabulary is filled to the brim with flowery verses of love straight from a romance novel.

But he understands the aversion for touch. Because he’s spent so much of his life hating the touch of strangers against his skin, he understands when you recoil when one of your companions attempt to hug you, or someone tries to shake your hand. Even if yours doesn’t stem from the similar situations where he had to set out on a victim under Cazador’s orders, he understands what it’s like to simply dislike it.

He doesn’t touch you, even if his hand itches to brush the stray strands of hair out of your face. Even as he has to yank his arm away when he feels it nearing yours as you walk alongside one another. Even as all he wants to do is drag you to the nearest corner and beg that you just hold his hand.

So when you appear at the flap of his tent, barely shielding yourself from the thunderous weather outside, asking if you can stay, his jaw physically unhinges.

He coughs, gathering himself quickly—or as quickly as he can manage.

“Come here, darling. You’ll freeze away with that mortal body of yours.”

He doesn’t even know how it happens. Well, he does, but he doesn’t really believe it’s happening. Only fifteen minutes later, you’re snuggled in under his blankets, pressed tightly against his side. He stares up at the ceiling on his back with wide eyes, slowly turning to look at you.

“Is this…alright?” He asks, and you peek out from one eye, adjusting your head on his arm. He can smell your shampoo from so close—lavender? No, maybe another blasted flower he doesn’t know the name of…

“What is?”

“This,” he waves his free arm between the two of you. “Don’t get me wrong, darling, you know I’m never against a cuddle, but I thought you—well—“

You stare at him expectantly.

“I thought you disliked physical contact,” he says, softer. “Not just with me, obviously. In general you seem rather opposed to the idea.”

The thunder rings from outside and your brows crease deeper. The light from a lightning strike illuminates your faces briefly before it’s a dim darkness again, with nothing but your own eyes able to adjust just enough to make out one another’s features. He’s sure he sees more than you do, considering his familiarity with the dark, and uses it to notice the way your lips purse at the intrusive sounds coming from outside.

He also notices you leaning closer to him, but hesitant. Your movements are unsure.

If he had a heart, it would’ve been pounding now, surely.

So he curls his arm closer, pushing you into his chest in the process. You tense briefly, but melt into the feeling, and he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Are you afraid?”

Your voice is but a whisper. “Not anymore.”

There’s a comfortable silence hanging in the air for what seems like hours, but he might consider them to be just a few minutes. The rain pounds relentlessly against the tent, but here, even through the thin fabric, he doesn’t even notice it anymore.

“You’re different from everyone else,” you mumble, and he looks down at his chest to see your eyes halfway shut, clearly about to doze off. “I know you won’t hurt me…there’s no reason for me to avoid touching you.”

He blinks, and you bury half your face into the fabric of his shirt.

“I want you to touch me.”

For the first time in decades, Astarion finds himself at a loss for words. He’s said worse things, sure, but coming from you?…

After filing through a dozen possible responses, he settled on one, opening his mouth to respond, but your breath is already heavier. You’ve already left to a dream world he cannot follow you into, and you’ve left him in a state that he would’ve considered humiliating with anyone else.

He stares at the ceiling again, listening to the soft rhythm of your breathing.

“You can’t just say that and then fall asleep you fool…”

[bolognamayhem117]

Hot Take: Astarion does NOT hate flowers. You just missed a few subtle hints through Act 1 and early Act 3.

Astarion's negativity is directed toward just about anything remotely pleasant as you move through early act three, starting the moment you leave Wyrm's Rock. First thing after Gortash's coronation he marvels near tears at the colors of the city in daylight. If you ask if he's alright, it pisses him off.

There's other instances I can't quite remember but he's a straight crank throughout early Act 3 and it took me several hours of gameplay to have a lightbulb moment about his newly crappier attitude.

He just spent the last two hundred years seeing everything in the overwhelmingly warm dim tones of indoor lighting via sconces, rushlights, and braziers, or the dingy blue gray of moonlight outside. Daylight colors are something he had more than a lifetime to forget and now that he has a chance to remember that vibrancy in his own home town, he knows he's going to have to forget it all over again either by death or by remaining a vampire spawn forever. The worm isn't going to live rent free in his head forever, and killing Cazador to ascend in his place likely feels like an insurmountable and impossible fight against a literal titan who could stomp him flat without a corm of effort.

He doesn't hate flowers, he hates EVERYTHING right now because it's all going away very soon and if he convinces himself he hates everything then he won't miss it when it's all gone again. He was denied this for two hundred years and he's PISSED at what was stolen from him and PISSED it's all going away again.

He behaved similarly in Act 1 about anyone besides him enjoying physical intimacy. Some of this content was cut, to my best knowledge, but the overwhelming majority of his dialog addressing the PC romancing anyone but him are negative or backhanded. This is for two reasons, I think. A: his Simple Plan just dissolved right before his eyes when you chose someone else which in his mind means he has zero safety net, and EVERYONE gets to enjoy sex (key wording being ENJOY, not simply having) except him... And it pisses him off.

He also gleefully interrupts the bug bear and the ogress, I think for the same reason as the above paragraph, being: If he doesn't get to enjoy intimacy neither do they.

He reacts with anger and disgust at anything he's being unfairly denied. Which... That's fair. His feelings are valid, but his reaction to it is pretty shitty and meanspirited.

The other companions I tend to keep in my party, (that is Lae'zel, Halsin, Karlach, and Wyll) however, are actually appearing to behave pretty patiently with him in Act 3 which I find interesting.

In the instance with the flowers Karlach doesn't bother trying to convince him otherwise of his opinion, she just tells him how they make her feel instead and rather than getting snippy or doubling down he more or less agrees to disagree. I also don't recall anyone disagreeing with Astarion during Gale's last quest tasks when he mentioned that he quit praying to gods who wouldn't hear him a long time ago but to be fair, I think the gods did everybody in this crew dirty and they all know it. It seems like they're consciously giving him the space to be mad about things, is what I'm saying.

Everyone I know including myself who crawled out of a long-term hot garbage situation kinda went wild for a bit with freedom, spoke poorly, behaved strangely, had extreme emotional reactions to things, and made some particularly terrible choices. I think that's just a part of recalibrating yourself, healing and learning how to be okay again.

Point is, I wouldn't conflate too many of the turbo-negative things he says with how he actually feels about anything. We certainly know what he says and what he feels are two very different things.

[jayktoralldaylong]

Thinking of Astarion and his relationship with beauty.

Astarion is a very vain and arrogant spawn, absolutely pompous when it comes to his looks, it's the first thing anyone knows about him. 😂 But you know.... Astarion doesn't even remember what he looks like. He's never seen himself in a mirror since he was turned, and that's 200 years ago. So how can someone like that be so vain?

The answer is so simple, so sad, so heartbreaking.

It's because he was told.

Over the course of 200 years, the one message that never died, no matter the torture or the pain, was everyone remarking on how pretty he was.

His victims would tell him as he led them to their deaths. The dungeon master told him each time he was tortured. Cazador would remind him every time he did the most deplorable things to the vampire spawn. Slowly and surely, Astarion then began to tie his worth around his beauty.

People gave him things because he was pretty, people would do as he asked because he was beautiful, they would not hesitate to succumb to his charm simply because he was appealing to the eyes, and he always would be. His beauty was also the reason he suffered so much. The reason he would always be Cazador's favourite, the reason he found no peace or rest, and Cazador reminded him day and night that he would lose all of his worth without his looks.

There must have been a time when Astarion probably hated his looks. They did him no favours. They just made him Cazador's favourite tool. He could not live, he could not die.

Astarion hated that people would look at him and see only his beauty, only a toy that they could shape to fulfill their own desires, and he dared not correct them, playing the part that would keep him alive.

Astarion's really warped relationship with beauty is an interesting study, because Astarion's love language is words of affirmation, but the kind that goes beyond his looks. The kind of words that makes him feel like he matters outside of them. The love that sees through the mask of perfection to the terrified elf hiding underneath.

Astarion is beautiful. It has been a blessing because it has kept him alive.

Astarion is beautiful. It has been a curse because it has kept him alive.

[wolfish-trickster]

Red eyes seeing green

Astarion x f!reader/Tav

Word count: 3.8K

Summary: A long time ago you've told Astarion what your ideal type is, which is an exact opposite of him. Since then he has won your heart and accidentally you've won his. All would be well if it wasn't for Halsin, a literal embodiment of all physical traits you like on men, joining your group.

Warnings: angst if you squint, pure fluff

A/N: i know the devs confirmed he's fine with you (tav) and Halsin but i really wanted to see him jealous. Also the plot may be all over the place since I took a break from it and finished it like three weeks later😅

Astarion POV

It's been couple of weeks since Astarion's been infected with a tadpole. A nuisance really, until he felt sun rays on his face for the first time in centuries. Only then did he see it as a blessing in disguise. Even more so after he has met you and you've recruited him into your little "fellowship".

In the begining he couldn't care less about anyone. They either distrussted him (understandably after threateing one of them with a dagger on their first meeting), ignored him or down right hated him. It took a while for them to simple be 'meh' about him, a welcome change. Afterwards he started observing everyone, looking for the leader. Karlach was his first guess. Strong, ferocious, not to mention the contrast with her personality. His second guess was Gale. Only because he overheard him mention how a certain event happened before Karlach joined. He seemed to be in the group the longest. His guess was only logical.

But not in a million years would he guess you as a leader. Kind, loving, certainly weak looking. If you told him birds braid your hair every morning he wouldn't even question you. And yet you were the head of this little group of weirdos.

Plan was simple. Seduce you. Make your heart beat only for him. Secure a safe existence by your love-blind self. Profit.

Well, almost.

Despite your sweet and almost innocent personality he had a hard time seducing you. It was fine, Astarion liked a good challenge and he has had harder nuts to crack before.

"You can recite flirty lines all night Astarion, none of them will work," you giggled.

"Oh really," he smirked. "How can you be so sure when I haven't even used my best lines yet?"

"It's not about what you say, but how you look like," you smiled sweetly at him, almost mocking him. "You may not have a physical type but most people still do."

Ah, an appearance. One of his weaknesses. He knew his eyes were red, and when his hair grew long enough to see he could observe snowy white locks. His face must've been attractive as well. Based on how successful he was when fulfilling Cazador's orders. Same could be said about his toned body.

"Are you suggesting my dashing self isn't to your taste?" He said half teasingly with his usual bravado. How could anyone look at him and turn him down?

"Exactly," you answered.

Oh. That's how.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, you look good, but," you looked to the side, a slight blush covering your pointy ears.

"If only you had dark hair, long enough to braid. I always loved men with long luscious hair. Bonus points if they style it half up half down. There's just something about that hairstyle," you bit your lower lip.

"But they had to be clean shaved. My friends used to tease me for being a hypocrite," you giggled, lost in memories of your youth. "I just don't want to feel like i'm kissing a hedgehog, you know? And scars," you sighed dreamily, "I once knew this one stable boy when I was just entering my teenagehood. He had this huge scar across his nose and cheek. From a stalion that kicked him. He looked so good," you almost moaned when memories of your first ever crush rushed through your mind.

Astarion listened to your ramblings and for some reason started to feel... uneasy? Anxious? Hard to name a feeling he hasn't felt in a long time. Could it be because he doesn't fit any of your 'requirements'? Or could it be because a certain wizard fit your describtion almost to a t? But Astarion relaxed, Gale would never shave that dead squirrel on his face.

He forced out a high pitched laugh. "Good luck finding anyone that fits all your describtions darling. I pity you though. Being this picky robs you of lots of fun."

You shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe," you stepped towards him, making his undead heart beat a bit faster, to his surprise. "Maybe I'll have way more fun with my dark-haired, half-updo having, clean-shaven, scar-faced future lover than with a horny vampire," you booped his nose and walked away, leaving him stunned.

How in the world will he ever fulfill his plan?

Turns out he didn't need to. For the first time in his life his body was totally useless to his plans. All he had to do to win your heart was couple of deep moments here, some nice deeds there, a cliche rose he saw you stare at a bit too long. Very romantic. Very normal. Very...innocent. And very time consuming as well.

But he couldn't say he minded. Quite the opposite, he enjoyed all the little moments he experienced with you. When you were by his side, talking about absolute nonsense under the starry night while the dying bonfire cracked and all your companions slept in their tents, in moments like that he felt normal again. Alive. He forgot about all he's been through in the past two centuries. For a short while, true, but even that was better than a blessing from any god, if any of them existed.

After another night like that he came to a realization: he loved you. Sincerely.

Which wasn't part of the plan. At all. Maybe it'll pass? Yeah. It will definitelly pass. He has concidered some of his past victims almost charming, but the feeling went away by the time they passed Cazador's palace gates. In this case it will take a day, maybe two.

A whole week passed and his heart only continued beating for you. He couldn't take it anymore. Lying was fun, but not to you. Not anymore.

He came clean. About everything. His manipulation, failed seduction. Everything. It happened on a type of night he has selfishly claimed as only his and yours. Fire cracked, companions slept, stars twinkled and you, just like always, stunned him by hugging him and confessing to him.

He hasn't stopped shoving your love for him in everyone's faces since, especially Gale's. He hasn't gotten to enjoying your body either, but he didn't really mind. You stayed with him despite his trauma, and that was enough for him. Besides, he doesn't want to mentally escape while making love to the only person who unconditionally cared for him. He wanted to be fully present, you deserved it. Who cares if his healing will take a month or a year, or several? You certainly didn't. You were just happy to be with him, and so was he.

His brand new plan of building his life with you, with a side quest of killing a certain bastard, fell apart when you met a druid.

Halsin.

Astarion didn't mind him at first. Even became somewhat fond of him. Until he started noticing the little things. Halsin's lingering looks. Your kind smile. The two of you fighting side by side more often then you fought by Astarion's side.

And then the memory of his first seduction fail came back. Your type. Long dark hair. Half updo. Shaved. Scarred. Halsin ticked every single box. Astarion mentally slapped himself. How could he even begin to think any of this would last? Everything was too good to be true, too dreamy to be exact. Like straight out of one of Wyll's stories.

It became clear to him. Halsin will want to bed you. And you would, understandably, accept. It was just a matter of days till you walk up to him and tell him about Halsin's great proposition. If you'd be generous enough to tell him beforehand, that is. If you were secretely rotten just like the rest of the world you'd tell him only after, either to boast or to rub salt in his wounds. Indirectly telling him you have needs he cannot fulfill.

He really hoped you wouldn't do the latter. Hells, he hoped you'd refuse Halsin altogether and stay loyal to what the two of you have. But what exactly is that? Just two people who cuddle a lot and kiss. A relationship no different from that formed by children.

Yeah. In the end he wouldn't blame you. He really wouldn't. The only thing he wishes for is your heart belonging to him, your love only being reserved for him. If sleeping with Halsin is what it takes for you to stay his than so be it. He's survived worse.

Days came and went. You still cuddled with him through every night. Astarion even started to have hopes he was making all of that up. He would never be happier to be wrong.

Until one day...

"Astarion," came your voice sweeter than honey. "You would not believe the conversation I just had with Halsin."

He laughed. Bitterly. "I was wondering when you were going to ask me about this," his voice was aloof, almost sort of cheerful. Disguising his disapointment. Not in you of course, in life itself.

"Did he talk to you about it?" You asked, a bit surprised.

"I guessed. The man can't stay quiet about 'enjoying the freedom of nature's gifts', ha," he mocked Halsin's deep voice. "He would outlaw clothing if he could."

"Aaaand what do you say?" You looked up at him with your bright eyes he loved getting lost in so much.

He gulped down a bitter set of words and put on his practiced smile. "I don't mind at all. Go on, have fun. As long as you return to me in the end."

He watched. Waited for your reaction. A happy squeel, a set of thank yous, a relief, an excitement your urges will be met after such a long time, anything really. But he didn't expect your smile to fall, your eyes darken with something. Anger? No, anger looks different on you. Disapointment? More likely, but not quite that either.

"Are you serious?" You asked, tone cold.

Your POV

You were never desired. Not by your peers, your crushes, random people, nobody. Not that you were ugly, you just blended into the background easily. Sure, after people got to know you they became rather fond, but it always took time. Very few people have that nowadays. If the cover doesn't interest them they won't even bother to read the book.

Then came the disaster, the mindflayers, the tadpole. It would be the most miserable time of your life, if you haven't met your companions. One by one they've made your dull life a bit lighter, livelier.

Especially Astarion. His appearance didn't interest you in the begining. Pale as a chalk, curly hair growing barely past his ears. He had no facial hair whatsoever which could be his saving feature but he was robbed of the hotness a scar could bring him.

However your feelings changed when you started talking with him, getting to know him. He had so much more to himself and his appearance became something that was just there and not the first thing you noticed every time you looked at him.

Funny enough, you've started to notice a slight change in his behaviour towards you. Touches lingered a bit too long, smile became a bit less perfect. And something in his eyes you couldn't really put a finger on.

He confessed to you one night. Not a confession you'd be thrilled to hear. He told you about his plan, his manipulation. It made your heart crack. Of course this would happen. Of course someone would be interested in you only if they could gain something from you. Were you cursed?

You wanted to be mad. You wanted to slap him and tell him to go to hells. But you couldn't. Not after the words that followed next.

He loved you. Even without outright saying it you could sense it. In that moment he was the most sincere he has ever been with you, most open. All his walls torn down, pouring his soul out for you. How could you do anything other than confess your own love for him?

The days that followed had been the best ones yet. No one has ever made you feel this desired. Astarion was still a flirty little goblin but when it was just the two of you late at night he became gentler, a bit more romantic. Well, not quite since he had a twisted view on romance after two hundred years under Cazador, but his efforts always made your heart melt.

Not for a second did you feel the need to do anything more with him besides cuddling. Your first time with him was great, ignoring his cocky and sassy personality he could be an exceptionally gentle lover. But you understood how he felt and respected him and his boundaries. Besides, his big hand wrapped around yours when you walked from town to town, his head laying on your chest listening to your heartbeat while your fingers gently played with the curls you started to love, all of these innocent touches outweigh any need for his body in a more mature way.

Thing have been good, until you met Halsin. Then things became even better. He brought this new atnosphere to your little group. Since he wasn't infected you tried so hard to make him feel welcomed. Not that he looked like he needed it, but old habits die hard.

However he must've misinterpreted your kindness. You tried to hold in your scoff as he proposed polygamy to you. You, the biggest hopeless romantic who has already gotten her prince charming. Not in a way she expected or dreamed about but still. But his words did give her an idea.

To make Astarion jealous. He never showed any signs of jealousy, you never gave him a reason. And yet you still wanted to know what it felt like. Remembering your childhood friends having boys and girls alike fight over them. No one has ever fought for you. No one has ever pulled you into their body and glared at anyone who flirted with you despite your discomfort. All of these scenarios you experienced only through heroines in your romance novels.

Halsin gave you a perfect opportunity to experience it now! It may sound cruel, but you couldn't wait. Astarion has always addressed you as my love, my sweet, my darling, my, my, my. Surely he would be the possessive type. What would he do first? Pull you into him and kiss your mind senseless to remind you who you belong to? Or would he talk you out of a night of passion with Halsin? He does talk a lot but you really hoped he would do what every guy in your novels did. Minus the steamy scenes that sometimes followed, of course.

Oh, how wrong you were.

"Are you serious?" You asked, heartbroken.

His confident mask fell, confusion replacing it. "Yes? Did I say otherwise?"

Tears stung in your eyes. Was he really serious? Did he not mind one bit if you slept with another man? Did he love you so little? Did he love you at all? You knew his thoughts on love and genuine care could be a bit twisted and wrong but to this extent? To just throw you at any man that asks you as if you meant nothing to him. As if your nights together in eachother's embrace meant nothing to him.

Apparently your quivering lip and teary eyes wasn't the reaction he expected. He cupped your left cheek. "Sweetheart, did I do anything wrong?"

You slapped his hand away. "You did everything wrong. I-," you looked away, hoping your tears of disapointment and anger wouldn't fall, "I thought we had something."

"We do! Of course we do. But I can't hold your hunger against you. Trust me, I understand what it feels like, to desire something and seldom acquire it."

"But it's you who I desire!" A tear fell. "And not in terms of sex. It's your care, teasing, love. All of that," you sniffled. "All of you."

Now Astarion was more confused than before. "But... your talk with the druid. You were happy about his proposition. Are you telling me you turned him down?"

You nodded. "I did. I'm not the kind of girl to sleep with people I don't trust. I trust you. I love you. Even without sleeping with you I want to stay by your side. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Well yes, concidering your type."

"My type?"

"Oh please," he sighed. "Look at him for goodness sake. Luscious brown hair reaching his shoulders, a huge scar, no facial hair. Features you were positively gushing about right infront of me."

Realization hit you just as hard as old memories. You remember that night. He has offered you some of his wine and some flirty lines as well. You humored him back then. "You... you remember that?"

He looked away, arms crossed, tips of his pointy ears flushed. "Of course I do. How could I forget the first person not falling for my charm? I simply made a mental note in case we ever come across some shape changing potion so I could fit your standards. It was purely for research."

You smirked. "Oooor, could it be," you took a step closer to him, hands clasped behind your back making you look innocent and almost childishly teasing, "that perhaps you've started liking me by that point?"

He groaned. "Hells woman, I don't know. I've stopped writing myself a diary since lomg ago."

"It's not a no," you said in a sing-song voice.

Before he could turn away you cupped his cheeks and made his pouty self face you. "Listen, if I didn't know either of you and you'd be walking down the street as complete strangers to me, true, I would ignore your pale vampiric ass over Halsin any time of the day."

Annoyed, Astarion rolled his eyes and went in to push your hands away from his face but you held still. You gently place couple of soft kisses over his cheekbones and continued. "But personality plays a big role in who my heart belongs to. If both of you walked down the street now I'd jump into your arms without a second thought. And not because of what either of you look like."

You stood on your tippy toes and kissed his forhead. "It's your sense sarcasm," kiss on the bridge of his nose, "dry and sometimes downright wrong sense of humor," you drag your lips gently along his nose, "your playfulness that keeps your old ass young," he scoffed but let you peck the tip of his nose, "your wit, your charm, your passion. And I do mean outside of the bed," you clarified as you kept giving his face little kisses.

His arms held onto your waist as you listed off all of the qualities he may or may not possess. If he physically could he would be purring like a cat right now. "Darling, you sure do know how to stroke my ego."

"Oh really? Maybe I should stop. I don't want you to become too spoiled after all," you teased but you both knew you didn't mean a single word.

He hummed, which almost did sound like a cat's purr. "Or maybe I should just tease out all the ways you wanted me to react out of you. Was it this?" Without a warning he yanked you into his chest, forcefully but not too violently. One of his hands slowly moved from your waist up between your shoulderblades, carressing your back with just his fingertips, making you shiver.

"Or this?" He leaned down, his nose brushing against yours, cold undead lips close enough to feel his breath on your mouth but too far away for an actual contact.

Despite his torturous teasing you giggled. "Actually, I already got my reaction."

"You did?" He dropped the sauve seductive act completely and pulled back anough to properly look you in the eyes.

"Yeah. I mean it wasn't the same as in my books, and definitely not what I expected. But it was better. It was real."

You snaked your arms around his neck. "Besides, if you did everything as I expect you to, it wouldn't be half as much fun with you now would it?"

Smiling he closed his eyed and rested his forhead on yours. "No, it definitelly wouldn't, darling. Although," his mouth twusted inti a devilish smirk. Oh no.

In one swift movement he scooped you up over his shoulder making his way towards your shared tent. A concept of secluded tents has gone out the window once Astarion realized how wonderful a warm body feels against his throughout the night.

"I'd love to know precisely what kind of books you've read before my glorious presense took over your love life."

You struggled against his grasp a bit but quickly gave up. Not because it was impossible to break free but because, as embarassing as it was to admit, you liked how he carried you. Being manhandled by him wasn't so bad from time to time.

"You'd be bored out of your mind. Most of them were cheesy novels for hopeless romantics."

He entered the tent and gently layed you down on your side of the bedroll. He turned to close the flaps to give the two of your desired alone time and said: "Well, to each their own I suppose. But who knows, maybe I can get an inspiration from some of them. Making your silly childhood dreams of knights in shining armors and princesses become a reality."

After he was done he layed down and assumed his favourite position. Head on your chest, ear right over your heart, arms holding you close to him. Instead of playing with his hair as always your hands cradled his head, thumb brushing his cheek.

"My love, you've already made so many of them a reality."

He chuckled into your chest, one hand coming up to angle your wrist so he could kiss your pulse. "Surely there must be some I haven't."

There were. Those where they lived happily ever after.

But those had time.

[astarionancuntnin]

Nothing But A Dream

summary: you've agreed to take things slow with astarion, only partaking in nighttime activities when he specifically desires them, and this morning, he wants you, but he would hate to intrude on your precious beauty sleep.

rating: E

word count: 1.6k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader)

cw: 18+. MIND THE TAGS! light fluff, established relationship, somnophilia, cnc/mildly dubious consent, light choking, p in v, creampie, cock soaking. full list on ao3

read on ao3

my masterlist

or keep reading down below~

Ever since defeating the Absolute, you’ve been enjoying your quiet life in the Underdark with Astarion. You agreed to take things slow when it comes to sex; he still wanted to experience this with you, but he needed time to feel truly like himself when being intimate. It wasn’t an issue for you, and you were open to take as much time as needed and indulge him in anything he wanted to try, whenever he wanted to, for as long as he didn’t feel pressured by it. You knew how important this was for him, after the discussion you had following the defeat of Cazador, and the last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable. 

Even though he wouldn’t admit it out loud yet, you sensed how he enjoyed the proximity you shared without the pressure of sex. It’s in the way he allowed himself to relax when he was with you, as you laid close on the sofa while you were both reading, or how he insisted to wash your hair and style it afterwards – it drives him crazy how little care you give it –  when you were taking baths together, so he could look at you like you were his masterpiece, but what he told you he preferred were those lazy mornings cuddling in bed naked. He would lay over your chest, skin to skin, listening to the lulling melody of your soft heartbeat. Finding comfort in your warmth reminded him of the sun’s embrace that he missed dearly. Those were the moments he cherished the most, where he was able to see you being at your most vulnerable, on display, just for him. 

You were a heavy sleeper, and with no real responsibilities anymore, you allowed yourself to sleep-in way more often than you used to (you deserved it, after all, who would blame the Saviour of Baldur’s Gate for indulging in a little respite). It’s not something Astarion was able to do, but he had no reason to get up on his own and do anything else. What point would there be of doing anything without you, the very reason he kept on living? This morning was no exception, as you laid bare in the warmth of your bed with Astarion hugging you from behind.

As you slightly move half-awake, you feel his hand ghosting over your hips, and eventually cupping your tender breasts. You happily moan into his touch, loving how his grip held all of you ever so perfectly. It wasn’t necessarily sexual when he did it, rather comforting – as much for him than for you – and you loved how he cradled you as if you were going to slip out from his grasp at any moment, holding on tight to you. There was one thing that felt different today, but in the bliss of your slumber, you weren’t able to quite put your finger on it. You hum, checking in on him as you feel him grab onto you rougher than usual, with his nails digging into the soft skin of your boobs.

“So sorry dear, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, his voice deep, as if he himself had just woken up. 

“Mh, you okay?” You mumble, still in limbo.

“Everything is just fine darling,” he kisses your shoulder softly. “Go back to sleep.”

Astarion’s honeyed voice in the crook of your neck brings you comfort and you find yourself following his words, nuzzling into your pillow as you back up into him further, seeking for more contact from him. In your dazed state, you think you can hear him growl softly, and you pay it no mind at first, until you feel something poke harder at your back and his hot breath upon your shoulder. This, along with his hand kneading your breast constantly, have you feeling a warmth pool to the bottom of your stomach that was becoming difficult to ignore. You try to shift around in your dazed state only to find Astarion holding you tightly in place, stopping you from moving at all.

“ ‘starion?” You mutter, as you finally awaken.

“Shh, you’re alright, love,” he purrs, his voice but a whisper.

“What are you– ah–!”

His hand leaves your boobs to sneak down between your legs, sliding between your folds to find the dampness that’s been accumulating there.

“Aren’t you the neediest little thing,” he groans, his voice becoming darker as his fingers lazily massage over your clit. “You can relax, dear, I just need you to stay still now.”

The stimulation he’s been providing between your legs finally stirs you completely awake, hazy from his touch. He slides his cock just between your folds and that’s when you realize what the firmness in your back was. Instinctively, you spread your legs apart to help him ease in, wanting him to go further, but he closes your thighs back together, uttering in a raspy voice.

“Tsk tsk, I said relax. You need not do anything.”

“Are you sure about this?” You manage to say through your breathy voice.

“Very much so,” his other hand wraps around your throat pulling you back, only applying a light pressure around your neck and a whimper escapes you. “Now, be good for me, will you, darling?”

You nod, as much as you can with his hand around you, and close your eyes, letting him use you as he sees fit. His hand over your waist holds your legs tightly together, as he slides his length between your legs, getting his cock wet from your folds. His rhythm starts slow as he gets accustomed to the sensation, and the friction it creates has you panting, as your own pleasure builds up.

"Oh doll, are you enjoying me using you in your sleep? How depraved," he growls and you feel yourself getting soaked from the sound of his voice and his shaft sliding over your entrance.

It had been so long since you had been intimately close, you had almost forgotten the surprising size of him. You wanted nothing but for him to slide inside of you and indulge in his carnal desires, to use and defile you as if you were nothing but a toy to him, but you let him completely take the reins on this one, let him reclaim his sexual and bodily autonomy the way he chose to, and this morning, it involved fucking you while you were asleep, without you moving as much as a muscle. He chose to focus on his own needs, and in doing so, you discovered a new form of pleasure.

You hear him grunt as his thrust become more erratic, with his nails digging inside the soft skin of your hips, and the wet sounds of your juices slipping over his cock between your legs, and although this was meant for him to focus on his own pleasure, having him handle you this way after many weeks apart brought you close to your edge just as fast as he did. You find yourself contracting the muscles of your thighs together, squeezing around his shaft tighter and at the same time, providing additional stimulation to your clit

“Gods– ah, you feel too good, dear, I won’t last much longer,” he breathes behind you, his growling turning primal now, making him almost unrecognizable. “Can I slide inside of  you? It’ll just be the tip, please, I need to feel you.”

You’re not even sure if he heard the “yes” you barely manage to voice out, when you feel him plunge inside of you in one strong push, your pussy offering little to no resistance in the state it is.

“Fuckkk, I've missed how you feel wrapped around me,” he groans. “So sorry love, I simply can’t resist your cunt when it's drooling for me like that,” he resumes his thrusts into you, nearing the point of his own climax, when he hears you whimpering. “You've been so good for me, I just need you to hold on a bit longer. Can you do that for me, my sweet?”

You’re way past the point of answering, reduced to small cries and gasps as he rams recklessly into your needy cunt. When you hear him whine your name, you clench around him, hit by the waves of your orgasm. As your walls tighten around him, he finally stills inside, pushing your hips flush against his to shoot his seed deep inside your womb. You feel his cock pulsing inside of you as he unloads himself and the sensation sends an additional wave of electricity through your body.

You’re both left as panting messes, bathing in a mix of your combined sweat and come as you come down from your high. He rests with his forehead against your shoulder as he catches his breath.

“Wouldn’t want to make a mess here, it’d be better if I just stayed inside you, don’t you think?” He says between breaths, and you hum, your voice still out for the count, as he smiles behind you. “I thought so. Now, I believe you have a beauty sleep you need to catch up on, you should try to rest a bit more before we face the day.”

Even if you wanted to get up, you wouldn’t have been able to, as this session got you as tired as if you had never slept in the first place. He snuggles back into the position he initially was, with the additional embrace your cunt was providing around him, and leaves a loving kiss over your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck. As you close your eyes, ready to drift back into a deep slumber, he whispers softly:

“Thank you, my love.”

-

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

tag list (comment or message me if you want to be added!): @grimistheangerinmystares @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @nyx-knox @anacdoce @jwera @annnagennnie @angeldarkness95 @marlowethebard

[michanvalentine]

I don’t remember where, but I think it was right here on Tumblr that I read about a sort of challenge a while ago—to say why we like Spawn Astarion.

Well, since I think it’s a really nice thing to do…

Here are all the reasons why I love Spawn Astarion.

He’s an elf. I’ve always had a weakness for those elegant, slender, and ethereal creatures (no, not you, Halsin, lol). High elves, wood elves, wild elves, drow—love them all. And Astarion is a high elf with the most wonderful stuck-up attitude. I adore him.

He’s a beautiful man. Or at least, I think he is. I love his physicality. Sure, he’s got a great body, but what I especially adore is his angular face. Sharp ears, cheekbones, nose, jawline, chin. I love the elongated and captivating shape of his eyes, and those curls on his head. His hair is gorgeous, and even if he hates poetry (well, after having one carved into his back by Cazador, it’s understandable), I find it absolutely beautiful how his curls wrap around his ears! And also at the nape of his neck and on his forehead! xD

The way he moves and speaks. Of course, this is also thanks to the brilliant performance of Neil Newbon—props to him! I could watch Astarion for hours, talking about this or that, gesturing with those elegant hands and tilting his head from side to side. And when he puts his hands on his hips? Aww. And how can we not mention the expressiveness of his face, shifting incredibly between moments of vulnerability and defensiveness, especially in Act 1. In any case, he’s hugely entertaining, as well as just visually stunning to look at—he truly belongs on a stage, as Shadowheart would say (though maybe not the one with the noose, please!). And those abandoned puppy eyes? End of the world. I can’t resist him.

His sarcasm and dark humor. Lol. He kills me. Sometimes he’s inappropriate, idiotic, or downright an asshole—but apparently, I’m a terrible person because I laugh anyway. He’s such a fun companion, and he never fails to entertain me during the game, especially in his banter with the other party members, which is often hilarious.

His disapproval. Oh yes. I still remember my first playthrough— the more he disapproved, the more I wanted to understand why. And I felt personally attacked, thinking: “Look at this bastard, nothing ever pleases him.” But it added just the right amount of spice to my adventure and my relationship with him. It pushed me to ask questions, to want to engage with him, to understand his reasons and have him understand mine. Like a real person you disagree with. That dynamic always fascinated me—our differences.

Our arguments. I loved arguing with him, even when we saw things differently. I enjoyed playing along when we joked about how we’d prefer to die or which of our companions to feed on. It was fun. And it was even more engaging when things got serious—when we talked about Cazador and how cruel he was, or Astarion’s hunger for power, about bending others to his will, the heroes who never saved him, his willingness to deceive and doom his siblings… I loved every word, every clash, every sharp line, every time he made me grit my teeth. And I especially loved how it made me feel—the patience, the attention, the caution with which I picked every single reply, never backing down just to please him, contradicting him whenever I felt it necessary. And at the same time, the fear of losing him for good if I made the wrong move—because I had sensed how fragile he really was.

The surprise! Yes, when he proposed spending the night together despite all the times we had been on opposite sides. I didn’t expect it, and it made me curious. And sure, at that point in the story there’s a personal motive for Astarion—but we know that the offer only comes if he trusts Tav/Durge enough.

The contrast between the monster and the elf. I think this is one of the most beautiful aspects—his duality. The unbearable dichotomy he’s trapped in. Astarion suffers from being seen and treated as a monster. On one side, he leans into his vampiric nature—his thirst for blood and power (the latter driven by fear as well). But on the other, there’s this deep desire for redemption, for connection, to be understood and accepted, for real intimacy, to belong, to have a place in the world. And all those internal battles make him incredibly dear to me.

He’s morally complex. His view of the world—and the people in it—is very dark, especially early on. Personally, I’m not a fan of the spotless hero type—I usually find them flat and boring, especially when they’re not well written. The Gary Stu kind is just unbearable. Thankfully, that’s not the case with Larian’s characters—the writing is top-notch. But when you combine a well-written character with moral grayness, that’s my perfect character. Again, I love the contrast between good and evil, right and wrong. And Astarion is always walking that razor’s edge, constantly pulled between those two forces that often leave him conflicted. And to be honest, I also believe sometimes the ends do justify the means. Within limits, of course. xD

His backstory. I love characters with tragic, tormented pasts—especially when they manage to reach some form of a happy ending. And even more when they’re written as well as Astarion, with such deep themes and psychological complexity that make him feel incredibly real.

Projection. I won’t go into details, but I’ve been to dark places too, and I’ve had even darker thoughts. I’ve hurt people as well—even if I didn’t know or wasn’t able to do better at the time. I just didn’t have the tools. The positive note is that, like Astarion in the Spawn ending, I’ve managed to accept a whole series of unpleasant events, emotions, and feelings—and learned to live with them. Whether I like it or not, they’re mine, they make me who I am, and I keep them with me. And now I’m in a much better place—safe, loved, and seen for who I am, flaws, strengths, and all. And I love being able to offer my pixelated vampire boyfriend that same opportunity.

The breakdown after Cazador’s death. My God, that scene. That release. The moment where Astarion stabs and screams is already powerfully raw—you feel the rage, the tension, the bottled-up hatred. But then—he collapses to the ground and cries. Fuck. That moment is everything. A whirlwind of emotions so deep and intense I could almost feel them as my own. A cathartic release of everything he had held in for too long—pain, sorrow, grief, relief, hope. God, how I love that moment. And I wish I could hug him, wrap him up, comfort him—but it wouldn’t be right. Because that moment is his. He earned it. And he needs it. Anyone who has suffered that much deserves a moment like that—when it all comes out and slips away, leaving emptiness in its place, as terrifying as that may be.

“This is a gift. Thank you. I won’t forget it.” What can I say? This is a conversation that begins in Act 1, with the first act of trust Tav/Durge offers Astarion, and concludes at the end of his quest—in the good ending. Tav/Durge never saw him as a monster. They always trusted him. They knew he still had so much to give—he could be different. Better than Cazador. And the way I played it, constantly clashing with Astarion from the start over our differing worldviews—hearing those words wasn’t just satisfying. It was everything. Because just as I wanted to know him, understand him, and he became a part of me—he also knew me, understood me, and I became a part of him. And we met in the middle. That, fuck, is the perfect simulation of a healthy relationship between two people. And it’s beautiful. Just thinking about it makes my heart race.

“I feel safe with you. Seen.” It’s pretty self-explanatory, but I’ll say just a couple of things. These are powerful concepts. Especially when we’re talking about someone who has been through everything, and finally finds someone who makes him feel safe. Someone who won’t hurt him. That’s huge. And the concept of being seen? I think that’s the most fundamental desire every person on this planet has. And Astarion waited 200 years to feel that. It’s moving. And so deeply fulfilling to hear.

Spawn Astarion’s kisses. The sweetness. That soft side of him that comes out. The way he looks at Tav/Durge as he leans in—his face relaxed, his eyes shining, that smile on his lips. Love, in its most tender form.

Unique dialogues from Spawn Astarion. I’m referring in particular to the confrontation with the Gur after Cazador’s death, and to the moment when Durge wants to leave him out of fear of causing him harm. I find the way he handles these situations absolutely beautiful—it perfectly shows how much he’s grown, and how willing he is to open up to others, to consider their feelings. Even those he once saw as old, despised “enemies,” to whom he spares the pain of watching their children turned into ravenous vampire spawn. That line always moves me—I think it hits incredibly hard, especially given the context and his history with the Gur tribe. And then, of course, there’s the confrontation with Tav/Durge after the betrayal involving Mizora, which again shows how much he’s grown—even in terms of self-perception, understanding his limits, and asserting his right to say no. And what he says at the top of the Netherbrain, when Durge tries to claim it for Bhaal, perfectly reflects how his priorities have shifted since breaking free from Cazador’s mindset.

Self-acceptance. It's such an important, healthy concept. Astarion is perfect just the way he is. He has nothing to fear in that regard—he can simply exist and express himself. He doesn't need more power; vulnerability is okay, being fallible is okay, being full of flaws is okay. Being afraid is okay. You're still worthy of love. And the world isn't this terrible place where you have to crush others to survive—you can find your place among others, with others, and live with others. And it's beautiful to see how Spawn Astarion begins to internalize these ideas.

Facing his fears instead of indulging them. I’ve done the opposite for so long that I can honestly say—it’s usually a terrible idea. Because most of the time it means running away and giving something up. But Spawn Astarion doesn’t do that—he fights. He chooses the hard, uphill path of self-discovery and acceptance. With all the consequences that come with it—no matter how painful, like losing the sun or dealing with the gnawing hunger. It’s an act of immense strength and courage.

He takes responsibility and makes amends. That’s called redemption. And yes, he couldn’t refuse to obey Cazador’s orders—he had no choice—but when the ritual is within reach, the choice is entirely his. The lives of his former targets and his brothers and sisters are in his hands—an enormous burden on his shoulders. And in the moment he gives it up, he rights a wrong both suffered and inflicted. He saves himself and all the other vampire spawn, freeing them from Cazador’s influence and from the path the vampire lord had laid out for them.

He becomes an antihero. Yes, Astarion is better than Cazador. He’s become kinder, more open toward others, more willing to help, and more optimistic about life. But he hasn’t become a saint—he’s still a bloodsucker, and deep down he���s still the lovable rogue I fell in love with, always ready to say something inappropriate, foolish, or even cruel. And to take advantage of situations when he can. I adore him! But he’s still a charming scoundrel with a whole world of possibilities to explore, and plenty of room to grow—both in his relationships with others and in the one he has with himself.

There’s probably more, but I think I’ve written plenty already—and I’ve got a real life and a family breathing down my neck, lol. Let’s just say these are the main reasons why I love Spawn Astarion, why my relationship with him has become so precious to me, and why it’s so damn hard to romance any other companion in camp when that damned vampire is around. Lol.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Night Terrors

Since reader has alr gone through their nightmare fic Astarion has to have a go too!

Summary: Astarion has a nightmare and visits your tent to get rid of it.

Astarion has always hated trancing ever since Cazador dug his claws into him. Every time he closes his eyes, flashes of grimy walls and bloodied chains flood through his mind, dragging him back to the Szarr Palace where screams constantly tear from his throat and Cazador leers over him, reminding the vampire spawn of his place.

Whenever his body forces him to trance, he feels his undead heart jump to his throat, panic seizing his chest and he always tries to force his eyes open but he can never win the battle. Darkness always consumes him in the end, and so does fear.

Tonight, he wakes up with a scream in his throat, panic rising in his chest and his clawed fingertips digging into the bedroll beneath him. If he still could sweat, his bedroll would be drenched right now, and he can still feel his hands shaking. He hates how weak he feels, how vulnerable he’s being right now and he grasps the collar of his shirt tightly, willing his clammy hands to be still. He inhales deeply despite not needing the air then shakily exhales, telling himself that he is far far away from the Szarr Palace, that he is safe with this ragtag group of weirdos who are considerate enough not to pry beyond what he tells them.

He stumbles out of his tent into the crisp night, where embers are all that’s left of the campfire and everyone is still in their tents, peacefully asleep. His feet automatically take him in the direction of your tent and before he knows it, he’s standing at the flap of your tent, debating whether or not to enter.

His fingers linger on the tent flap, playing with the edges until he works up the courage to enter. Once inside, he takes in the sight before him — you, peacefully asleep in your bedroll, curled up underneath the blanket with your mouth slightly ajar. He wonders if you know you sleep like that, so carefree, so far removed from the pressure of being a leader with saliva trickling out from the corner of your mouth and his lips quirk up into a quick smile at the thought of your reaction to such news. He watches from the entrance of your tent, ruby red eyes piercing the night as you stir slightly, rolling into a more comfortable position before resuming your restful sleep, that is until you feel someone staring at you and you wake up.

“Astarion! You scared me!”

“You don’t seem scared to me, darling,” he smiles, moving over to stand next to your bedroll.

“Why are you here?” You ask, sitting up.

“Just wanted to check how my little snack was doing,” he says lightly, a forced smile playing on his lips.

“Nightmare?” You recognise the telltale signs and open your arms, inviting him in. He hesitates at first, unsure about how much he wanted to reveal to you tonight but in the end he wordlessly nods, accepting the invitation and curls against your chest, feeling your arms gently wrap around him. He stares at a spot on the floor as you run your fingers through his hair, whispering words of sweet nothing and simply cradle him.

His fingers twitch, making their way onto your arm that’s wrapped around his waist and tentatively rest on your forearm. You continue your ministrations, pressing the occasional kiss to the top of his head and hide how your heart breaks each time you look at him. You rarely see him this broken, making you wonder what nightmare plagued him this time but you know it’s not the right time to ask, so you wait, putting his comfort over your need to know and do all you can to be there for him.

He buries his face into your chest, wanting nothing more than to wash away the thoughts plaguing his mind and your warmth helps a little. The night feels less lonely and cold when he’s curled up against you, wrapped in a cocoon of your scent and he can almost forget the reason he came here in the first place.

You slip your hand into his, feeling his fingers curl around yours as he gives your hand a squeeze, a silent thank you for taking time out of your sleep to be with him. He remains quiet, still staring at the same spot on the floor as before, unwilling to divulge anything so you continue to give him space.

“I want to forget it all.” His voice wavers, tears threatening to spill over. “But I can’t, I can’t forget anything and it keeps coming back whenever I close my eyes.”

You hum softly, gently playing with his silver-white locks. “I understand. It’s always when we close our eyes then does the darkness come out to haunt us, but it’s why we have each other. You don’t have to face it alone, I’ll always be right here to face it with you.”

He lets out a hiccup, tears streaming down his face and clutches your arm tightly. Your words always chases the darkness away, bringing him out of his spiralling mind and grounding him in reality, he really appreciates them even if he never says it. He wants you to say more, to continue wielding the magic infused into your words to drive the darkness that is enroaching on his mind once more and anxiously tugs at your shirt, hoping the action somehow conveys his need to you.

“You can stay here for the night, for as many nights as you want. My tent is always open to you, and so are my ears. You can always tell me anything, I will listen because I care, I care deeply about you.”

Astarion bites his bottom lip, feeling another wave of tears come crashing down on him and lets out a sob. He hates how weak you make him, how you always manage to coax the vulnerability out of him but you never call him out on it.

Silence falls over the both of you as you continue to cradle your hurting vampire lover, whispering how much you love him, how much you care for him as he silently cries, letting everything out. A while later his tears have all but dried up, his shoulders no longer shaking and he finally looks up at you, eyes still wet from his crying session.

“Can I —” He swallows. “Can I trance with you?”

“Of course,” you smile softly, lying back down on your bedroll and he slots himself into the space created, curling into you. You finger brushes over his cheek, lips pressing against his in a chaste kiss and he buries himself in your touch, leaning into the warmth your body emits. He loves moments like this, where you freely give whatever love he needs through your gentle touches, for it reminds him of how loved he is despite everything Cazador has drilled into him.

He cautiously puts his arms around your waist, breathing in your familiar scent and closes his eyes. He’s still nervous, but you begin rubbing circles on his back and he finds himself calming down. He trusts you to be there should he wake from his nightmares, to be there when he wakes from his trance, that you’ll never abandon him to his demons, and with that, he lets himself slip into a much needed trance.

As his eyes close, he locks gazes with you and sees the love that fills your eyes. A small smile graces his features, warmth blooming in his chest and he lets himself drift off, safe in the knowledge that when he opens his eyes again, you will be the first thing he sees.

[tojirights]

okkkkk listen im sure this has been done before but i can't stop thinking abt astarion's bite having an aphrodisiac effect on you sighs. :\ this is completely my headcanon, I do not know what an actual vampire bite in D&D would entail don't hate me 😭

The first time Astarion asks to bite you, you decline for obvious reasons. But the next night he comes to you, he seems unwell, and your heart struggles to still see him as the manipulative monster you know vampires tend to be, and you give in. It was only one little bite, right? You've quite literally been stabbed in the gut before, you figure it's no big deal and it would benefit the whole group in the long run for Astarion to be at full strength.

What Astarion doesn't tell you, and he's fully aware of, is what the after effects of being bitten are. You body immediately heats, pain and an odd sensation of pleasure shoots through your body. Even as Astarion releases your neck, a dribble of your own blood leaking down his lip, you feel warm. Too warm.

Your mind immediately jumps to "oh shit im dying. How could I be so stupid?", but you start to realize that the dizziness hitting you seems to be not only from lack of blood, but the movement of blood down your body. Astarion tries to sneak away but even in your weakened state, you grab his arm before he moves. "Don't." You say sternly, starting to breathe heavily. "What-" Your body shudders. "Is this feeling..?" Astarion almost looks guilty when he sees your forehead start to sweat, clear signs of arousal coming from your body.

"And what do you mean, darling? Lightheaded? Why, that's makes sense, does it not?" His tone is smart, and if you were thinking right, you'd slap the shit out of him. You shake your head, the burning hot heat moving down your stomach before settling in your gut. "You best be honest with me, my dagger has your name all over it right now." You shoot him a weak glare, to which he chuckles.

Astarion leans in close to your ear, his breath ghosting the fresh wound he inflicted just below. "Well... If you must know..." He starts explaining, his voice low in his throat and making your body react in ways you've never felt before. "There's a not commonly discussed after effect that some people experience after being bitten." He watches as your body shudders, taking in the flush on your cheeks. "It can cause... temporary, insatiable lust." He draws out the last words in a whisper, smirking to himself as you squirm.

You groan outwardly, frustration minging in the wake of arousal. "And you knew this would happen?" You ask, but Astarion just hums like he's unsure. "Not really, like I said, it doesn't happen to everyone." He moves over top of you slowly, his eyes locking with yours. "From what I know, this only happens when there's already some strong feelings developed." He teases, enjoying how your face somehow turns even redder. "You're fucking with me." You say flatly, though you can already feel a familiar wetness forming between your thighs.

Astarion smirks as he looms over you, seemingly enjoying your current struggle. "I wouldn't dare." He defends. "Besides, you can't tell me that you aren't... needing some relief." He says in a sultry tone as he leans for the other side of your neck. You gasp when his lips find your skin, his kisses leaving fire behind on your skin. "W-what, no." You scoff, trying to deny your primal urges, but you're not in your right mind. Your hips sqiurm underneath him, seeking any sort of friction.

Astarion's no stranger to this song and dance, but he admits it feels a little more deceitful than normal. He isn't here to just use you and toss you to the side, or even worse, bring you back to Cazador. Honestly, he's not sure why he even crawled into your bed like this at all. Muscle memory, perhaps. But the sight of you writhing under him certainly has his mind a little clouded.

He pouts, pulling away from your body entirely. "Why, of course then dear. I'd never want to push you into anyth-" His sentence ends abruptly when your hands find themselves tangled in his hair, pulling him back to you and kissing him feverishly. "You owe me." You breathe in between kisses, the soreness in your neck a reminder of why you're here. Astarion just chuckles against your lips, the vibration making you shiver. "I suppose you're right." He says in a hushed tone. "Don't worry, I'll take care of this little problem for you darling."

You'd again be furious at him and his smart mouth if you could think about anything other than his hands all over your body. His knee slots between your thighs, shifting your legs further apart and giving you just enough friction that you can't help the moan that follows. Astarion shushes you, his finger to your lips while he keeps pressing his knee closer to your center. "Quiet, my dear." He coos, watching you grind helplessly against his leg. "Do you want our little friends to see you so utterly desperate for me?"

There's a rush of embarrassment that surges through you, knowing to any of your companions, you probably look pretty ridiculous under him, but you can't seem to care as his hand travels down your throat. His fingers lightly brush over his handiwork, watching the way your face gives a quick twist of pain, yet your voice conjures such a pretty noise. Astarion sighs to himself, quickly feeling himself hardening in his sleep pants at the sight of you.

"You really are quite beautiful, you know?" He whispers, almost as if you're not meant to hear it. Your body responds on its own, a quiet whimper leaving your mouth before you can stop it. "Don't make me beg, Astarion..." You shudder, your tone pleading enough to make your needs known. Astarion's own desire starts to overwhelm him, his need to have you all to himself winning over his wants to keep teasing you. His hands slide down your sides, slipping under your shirt to feel the way your muscles tense with every touch.

Astarion sighs dramatically, acting offended to your desperate pleas. "Normally?" He starts, watching you glare daggers at him. "You'd be begging until your voice went hoarse, but since you were such a good girl for me and helped me, I won't keep you waiting." His words make your core ache, your hips grinding against his leg as a groan leaves your lips.

Astarion's fingers dance up your stomach, pushing your shirt up as he moves. His eyes linger a little too long as your breasts come into view, perky as his imagination had guessed, and your nipples hard and just begging for his mouth on them. He decides to indulge, kissing up your chest until his lips find the hardened bud. As soon as he latches onto you, it's as if all your self control flies right out the window. Your fingers desperately tangle into his hair, your back arched into him as his knee forms at least some sort of friction for you.

"My my, I've barely even touched you." He remarks as he watches you crumble beneath him, every single touch pushing you towards an embarrassingly early orgasm. You find the strength to punch his arm, but it obviously doesn't do anything but make him laugh. His tongue swirls your nipple, almost distracting you from the feeling of his hand traveling south, nimble fingers sliding under the waistband of your pants.

You're already teetering on the edge, his teeth nipping at your flesh much more gently than he had latched onto your neck earlier, the sensation causing surges of pleasure to run down your spine. As soon as his hand slips beneath your pants, he can feel your warmth, he knows just how much you've been dying to be touched this whole time. "Poor baby..." He coos. "Is this what you've been waiting for?" Skilled fingers find their way to your clit, and Astarion can't contain his groan as he feels just how wet you've gotten from this.

He's not surprised, of course, knowing your body is processing the effects of his little nibble, but he likes to think you've been pining this whole time, just waiting for him to take you. His mind paints all these pretty pictures of you with your hand down your pants, lip between your teeth as you touch yourself to the thought of him. "K-keep going, I'm so-" You gasp out, Astarion's attention shifting fully to you, the look on your face making his cock throb with need.

Astarion's thumb rubs circles around your clit, almost distracting you as he slides a slim digit inside your pulsing pussy. Your breath catches in your throat as you do your best not to be too loud, but Astarion curls his finger, sending flames through your body as your orgasm rolls over you. "A-Astarion yes-" You whimper as intense pleasure surges through you. Astarion buries his face into the crook of your neck, muffling his groan as he feels you squeezing around his finger.

"Gods, how pretty my name sounds on your tongue." He mutters to himself, lips latching to your sweat slick skin as he works his finger out as your orgasm fades. It did nothing to relieve the burning in your gut, if anything, you feel even worse. "N-need..." You gasp out, barely even knowing how to finish that sentence. Astarion's already shifting, removing his pants just enough to free himself.

"More." Astarion grunts, finishing your sentence for you and lining his cock up with your still needy cunt. Anticipation swirls in your gut, and luckily for you, Astarion's feeling a similar amount of desire, so he doesn't keep you waiting. "I know, darling. You need more." He says in a low voice, barely over a grumble as he finally slides inside. Your eyes lull shut, your mouth open as an incredibly desperate noise threatens to fill the silence of the night as Astarion fills your pussy with an agonizingly slow movement.

His one hand finds your hip, while the other cups your face and covers your mouth. "Keep your lips shut and your eyes on me." The commanding tone of voice forces a whimper from your throat, luckily muffled by his palm. Astarion's control slips from his grasp, his hips meeting yours in quick snaps as he keeps your eyes locked with his. "Yes, darling, just like that." Astarion purrs, watching the way your body accomidates him so well, how your legs seem to open more and more so he can push himself deeper within you.

Every thrust brings you right back to the edge, your mind blanking on everything around you besides him. Astarion's attempt to keep this quiet and subtle falls flat while the slide of his cock in and out of your cunt makes an obscene wet squelch, your juices covering his length enough to be making a mess down your thighs as well. You're sure at least someone is listening, but you're entirely too far gone in the pleasure of it all to even care. "Mmff, I-I'm..." You mumble into the palm of his hand, your body clenching around his cock as your orgasm rapidly approaches.

Astarion groans, his rhythm faltering with the way your pussy tightens, threatening to milk the cum from him right then and there. "How badly I want you to scream my name, to wake everyone from their tents as you come apart underneath me..." He breathes, something dark flashing in his eyes. Your hands grip desperately at his biceps, anchoring yourself as his words push you over the edge.

"That's it, pretty girl." Astarion sighs, recognizing the way you squeezed his finger earlier as you cumming on his cock. Your body shakes with the aftershocks of pleasure, Astarion's cock making you see stars as he angles your hips up. Its only a matter of a few more thrusts, the tip of his cock pressing snug against your cervix for his own orgasm to win over. You moan beneath his hand, feeling as each thick rope of cum coats your insides. "Gods, you're perfect..." Astarion shudders, pumping his hips lazily as your pussy clenches to make sure not a drop is left.

As you both lay, heavy breathing and sweaty bodies, you almost start to laugh. "You really are an asshole, you know that?" You say, yet your words lack any actual bite. Astarion slowly slides himself out, his mind taking a quick mental photo for later as he sees his cum seeping from your cunt, how it mixes with your arousal to make quite a beautiful mess. He chuckles as he reaches for an old rag, making sure it isn't dirty before gently cleaning you up. "And why am I an asshole, exactly?" He hums, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

"If you wanted to sleep with me, you could've just asked." You sheepishly bite your lip, still feeling a low burning flame of arousal in your stomach. Astarion sits next to you, letting you shift to lay your head on his leg. "I- well..." He clears his throat, and you swear he looks embarrassed. "I figured this was a win-win, you know?" He smirks, watching you glare at him. "Thank you, by the way..." He says in a soft whisper. "I feel much better." You roll your eyes, yet your heart flutters to know you did in fact help him.

"Don't ever let me catch you trying to bite me in my sleep again, you got that?" Your eyes shut, exhaustion starting to take you. "Just ask..." You barely get the words out, but Astarion knows. He lets you relax for another moment, your breathing settled into a light sleep.

That went better than he could've expected...

He slinks back to his tent when he thinks you're fully asleep and thinks of how he'll mess with you in the morning when the rest of camp questions that little love bite on your neck.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face, despite his better judgement.

[morallygreychaoticneutral]

Astarion is more than a pretty face.

Sooooo many thoughts on this character. One could spend hours picking apart details and cannons. So here is one of mine.

He is not a "Pretty Idiot"

I don't think Astarion is "unintelligent" at all. Some people argue that certain lines within the game suggest it, such as the mind flayer at the epilogue party saying he has a less wrinkled brain, or his epic plan to kill Cazador.

First, there is nothing that says mind flayers can see your brain through your skull. So the less wrinkled comment is an assumption based off of what the companion knows about him through interaction. And as far as the epic plan goes, there is a reason there is no detail to it. He doesn't trust his own ideas.

Walk with me.

Imagine you have spent two hundred years being told everything about you is worthless. Imagine being asked questions just be torn apart for not answering "correctly". Imagine spending so much time in fight or flight your brain defaults to Neverland just to escape your reality. Imagine having to mask specific aspects of your personality to appease others.

These are all real side effects to mental and physical abuse. And it is game fact that Astarion was seriously abused on unimaginable levels. I'm sure Cazaloser enjoyed taking every scrap of self worth Astarion had and I'm sure he beat the hell out of him with it. And if there is anything a narcissist loves to do, its make sure their victims believe they are stupid and worthless.

I think he is intelligent. He just doesn't trust himself to make the "right" decisions anymore. Not early on anyway. His disassociation probably causes him to "black out" and miss key info about situations most of the time anyway. Also, he probably has a deep fear of being blamed if something goes wrong. So he makes his opinions vague and your idea so he always has a foot out the door if he is challenged. Smart tactic. Manipulative AF, but ..smart.

I also think this because certain things change after you complete his quest and kill the * insert colorful and appropriate adjective here*.

He starts to make definite decisions. Such as choosing you without being vague or making it your idea. He's straight forward and decisive about it.

He starts giving more thoughtful opinions. Such as what he says about Dame Aylin after she feels off about killing Lorrokan. That's a complete and connective opinion. Not just. "Oh, I don't know."

He stops depreciating things he likes. He says he hates puns, but uses them quite often. And puns take a certain level of wit to pull off.

His voice drops. Ending sentences on an upward inflection appear less threatening. Like throwing a smiley face at the end of a comment you are worried will elicit a negative response from if you dont. Post kill, more of his responses end on a downward inflection. The mask is dropping. He was smart enough to realize changing his voice would help him stay safe. Hmm...

Not a pretty idiot. Just pretty complicated.

Just my opinion.

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Astarion & Scratch: Compromising for Tav Affection

This idea is entirely from @nairil-daeris and it's so cute!

~

Despite what some may have believed, Astarion wasn't that against associating with animals. He was actually a fan of a few of them, cats mainly considering their penance for cleanliness and independence. Not to mention they were admittedly adorable. And stood as the one type of beast that Astarion never feasted upon.

So no, he didn't hate animals in principle. He only hated a select few, with reason. Like the type that could rip him apart with their claws and fangs. Or the ones that thought that rolling around in their own filth was a worthwhile pastime. All and all, creatures that Astarion didn't have to deal with on the regular. Or at least not until now.

But here he was, stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere, with his ragtag group of merry weirdos. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate his own acceptance into your little group. He did, immensely. By the look of things out here in this hellscape, he probably would have been murdered ten times over if he had remained alone. Or gods forbid, become a goblin's chew toy.

So while he had no intentions of leaving, he was still frustrated. Especially with the pretty little druid that quickly became their de facto leader. Astarion had been vaguely aware that druids had an intense love for nature and all of its creatures. But that hadn't prepared him for how unreasonable that love could be. It felt as though you would take literally every opportunity you had to speak to any lowly pest on the side of the road.

Not to mention your insistence on taking care of a damned owlbear cub, which was an objectively stupid thing to do. Something that he should have fought you on harder but... he wasn't made of stone. The thing was objectively adorable. Even if it was almost certainly destined to grow up and try to kill you all, Astarion kept his mouth mostly shut.

But then came the dog. That god-damned dog. How a singular mutt could make his life so damn difficult, Astarion wasn't sure. But he did know that he was trying to enact a well-thought out plan. Seduce you, foster a protective affection that was strong enough for you to always want him alive, perhaps use you to defeat Cazador if the parasites proved strong enough, and then effectively abandon you for a new life of freedom.

It was all very simple, and he had gotten a great head start. You had spent the last few weeks flirting with each other, always staying close. You gravitated towards each other, a fact that felt more natural than Astarion would have liked. But... he had found himself enjoying his time with you, genuinely. Not that it mattered, but it was definitely a plus for his plan. Being with you was far from unbearable. You were attractive, sweet, a little angel just begging to be corrupted. A job that Astarion was growing excited to start.

He had been so, so close to fully propositioning you, completely confident that you would agree. And then Scratch happened. He hadn't thought much of it when you came across the little mutt. Maybe it would stay with the corpse of its owner or it would be another hanger-on like the owl bear. He hadn't had a horse in the race either way.

But then he did show up to the camp, looking so sad and dejected that even Astarion couldn't be bothered that his arrival completely interrupted his first attempt at asking you to bed. He had watched you pet and whisper to him for the rest of the night, providing a comfort that only a druid could.

Which was fine. Or at least it had been for that one night. That one night that kept repeating. Because suddenly, that damned dog was everywhere. The quiet nights the two of you had together by the fire, talking about anything and everything with your thighs pressed together now included Scratch squeezing himself into the middle.

The orchestrated moves he would do to make you blush, like removing a non-existent speck from your cheek with his thumb or leaning in close to remove a leaf from your hair, were getting harder and harder to pull off. The damned mongrel was always there, and any attempts Astarion took to get close to you Scratch used as an invitation to jump all over him. If he had it to wash his face of dog slobber one more time from the crime of trying to hold your hand, he was going to go ballistic.

And there was zero reprieve. The thing went with you everywhere, even in the most perilous of situations. Worst of all, it actually proved to be useful. Astarion had no idea where the thing was trained, but it was incredibly smart. Smart enough to serve as a perfect distraction when needed, while being clever and fast enough to never get himself killed. He could even function as a spy, considering how you could make sense of all of his whining and barking. And worst of all, the little beast was amazing at thievery, with nothing more than his mouth. No one suspected the adorable dog to be the one stealing your coin purse right off of your belt. He was completely inconspicuous, perhaps even more so than Astarion. A fact that... was not sitting well.

How on earth was he being outclassed by a fucking dog? One that he had no valid arguments to leave behind at camp.

And to top it all off, you even slept with it. You slept with both animals, usually huddled up in a pile beneath the stars. How you managed to not stink of dog breath and owlbear saliva in the morning, Astarion would never know.

How was he supposed to make you fall for him like this? In the past two weeks since you'd attached yourself completely to the thing, doting on him constantly. He had only managed to sleep with you once. The night of the celebration over the goblin slaughter, and what a lovely night it had been. But that was only because Scratch and the cub had been sufficiently distracted by all of the enamored tiefling children. The next night it was back to the same.

And Astarion was not willing to let the night you had together go as a one night stand. Maybe it wasn't necessary. It had become clear that you cared for him, you cared for all of them. Enough to put yourself in danger for every party member's protection. A strong friendship would probably do him just as good as a romance. But... that didn't feel like enough. He didn't want it to be enough. For reasons that he was not going to start examining now.

No, for now he was just focused on getting past your slobbery bodyguard. But he knew better than to bring it up to you directly. You were far too infatuated with the pup to see his side of things.

Gale had made a singular comment on a slight frustration over having to wait around for Scratch to sniff nearly everything he came into contact with, and that had ended in you giving him a half-hour lecture on the importance of understanding one's surroundings. Shadowheart had mentioned, once, just once, that perhaps it was time to start looking for a more appropriate family for the dog, and that had led to you giving her the cold shoulder for days.

No, if he was going to get more time alone with you Astarion would have to try other means. Which had led him here, swinging back a Potion of Animal Speaking with a grimace. It tasted oddly grassy, like he had just swallowed blended up lawn shavings. But he didn't have time to grouse over the taste, not when you were thoroughly distracted with talking about druid mythology with Halsin, Scratch left conveniently alone to dig holes in the back of camp.

And that was where Astarion was going. Because if he couldn't reason with you, perhaps he could reason with the mutt itself.

Part of him could not quite believe that he had to resort to speaking with a dog to further this relationship, but here he was.

Astarion stopped in front of him, swallowing back a grimace at how the thing was digging dirt directly on his shoes. Instead, he smiled down at it, his voice only slightly strained when he asked, "Can you understand me?"

Scratch stopped his digging, opting to sit and stare up at him, an oddly humanoid voice answering, "Yes."

Huh, so that's how this spell worked. It was a little disconcerting to hear a human voice from a dog's mouth, but he would make do. Astarion cautiously sat next to him, perching on a nearby log as he tried to keep a pleasant smile on his face, "Good. How are you?"

Scratch stared at him, his head cocked, "The dirt tastes good here. I like that."

That was... Astarion didn't know. It was his own fault for trying to make small talk with an animal. He cut straight to the point, "That's great to hear. Now, would you mind doing me a favor tonight?"

Astarion had never had a dog narrow its eyes at him before, but that's exactly what Scratch did, "What is it?"

"Nothing serious," Astarion tried to reassure, "I was just hoping that perhaps you and the cub could sneak off for a night so Tav and I could spend some time together-"

"No," Scratch interrupted circling the ground three times before laying down, his eyes still on Astarion.

"Excuse me?" Astarion shot back, his true annoyance shining straight through his voice, "It's not exactly much to ask for! It's one night-"

"I don't trust you around them," The dog said simply, "I think you're going to hurt them."

Well that was just offensive. Ever since this little brat's arrival Astarion had barely had a chance to drink from you. And the times he did he was perfectly in control. Not including the first time of course.

"I'll have you know that not every vampire is some hellish demon with no self-control," Astarion bit out, only the slightest bit amused at himself for being reduced to defending his own disgusting kind, "And why pray tell, would I hurt one of the only reasons I'm still alive."

Scratch shook his head, one eye closed like this conversation was boring him, "Not that kind of hurt. The inside kind, that makes people cry. I don't want them to cry."

That was-Astarion didn't-how in the hells could a dog see through him that easily?

"I have no intention of hurting them," Astarion lied. Or at least he thought it was a lie. It felt... uncomfortably true when spoken allowed, "I just want to have a little fun, that's all. Don't you think they've earned that?"

"Not with you. You don't like them enough," Scratch sighed, "I like Gale more. Or Wyll. Karlach too. They can have fun with them instead."

That was it. Astarion was going to wring this little shit's neck. But before he could give into his more violent impulses, he could hear your voice, calling out to the current root of all of his problems.

Scratch bounded up, his tail already wagging as he started to trot over. But before he fully did he turned around, giving Astarion a once over, "If you can prove you like them, then I'll consider it."

And just like that he was off, running to your side while leaving a stunned Astarion in his wake. Did... did he just get verbally annihilated by a damn dog? How was he supposed to go on after this? Not to mention he was actually thinking about what the creature said. It sounded like a challenge, one that Astarion was suddenly pissed enough to take up.

If the little shithead wanted sincerity, then he would get it. And that's how Astarion found himself willingly opening up more. Even if it had to be in front of the damn dog. He told you more about Cazador, the horrors and tribulations he had endured through centuries. He told you of his regrets, the things he missed the most about being a mortal. He even told you the truth about that first night that you let him drink from your neck. That... that you were the first. How good it had felt to have what he had been denied for so long. And he was rewarded with his honesty. He got to learn more and more about you in turn. Your family, your home, where you incessant love for nature derived from. He was starting to slowly become a Tav-expert, suddenly hungry for every bit of information that he could procure.

They were long conversations, long enough to last well into the night. And for Astarion to be exhausted enough to just... fall asleep in the first available location. Which just so happened to always be in the pile of creatures you liked to sleep with. Though, Astarion had to admit after experiencing it himself, it was oddly pleasant to be surrounded by the warm, furry little headaches.

As for the two of you, things were slowly progressing in regards to his plan. A plan that he continually kept conveniently forgetting about. You were together now at the least, even if Scratch hardly ever let you have a night alone. But you cuddled and kissed, called each other pet names and the like. And... it was nice. Perhaps even too nice. Because Astarion was starting to... feel things that he'd prefer to not.

He was getting too attached, too close. The idea of sex didn't even seem to matter anymore, let alone the idiocy of trying to convince a dog to help him in that department. He was knowing too much of you, and the fact that he seemed to adore everything he saw only made it worse. And then the two of you managed to kill that demon, getting more and more information about Cazador. You risked so much for him, and were willing to risk so much more. He couldn't take it anymore.

He had told you the next night, everything. His plan, his past, how easy it was to revert back into new tricks. But he didn't want that with you. Maybe he never did. He wanted something real, and by the gods above you wanted the same thing. He had half expected you to dump him completely after that little speech. But... you didn't. Instead you hugged him, comforted him for trying and failing to betray your trust. It was a kindness he didn't deserve, but one that he would gladly accept.

Everything felt easier after that. Yes there were still countless horrors hanging over your heads but... he had you. And with you he was starting to think he could get through anything.

Even Halsin's insistent flirting. He was watching you both now as you helped him nurse a dying sapling to health, his eyes tracking Halsin's every move as he pretended to read. While he trusted you more than anything, fully aware that you would never stray, it didn't stop the paranoia. Just one other aspect of being in a real relationship that he hadn't seen coming. Turns out, it involved being terrified of losing it all. Especially to handsome, bulky elf druids.

But before he could fret over it any longer, he felt a tugging on his pant leg. He glanced down, his brow furrowing when he saw Scratch there, his tail wagging and his tongue lolling out.

"What the hell do you want?" Astarion asked, his words completely unmatching his actions as he scratched him behind the ears. Don't get him wrong, he still at least semi-loathed the creature but... he's also not quite sure he would have gotten to this point without his intervention. So a reluctant appreciation for his existence it was.

Scratch continued to paw at his leg, a low whine in his throat as he cocked his head to the right. Astarion followed the motion, only getting more confused when he realized he was trying to point to another potion.

Astarion sighed as he picked it up, “What? You want me to understand a new dressing down speech?”

Scratch continued to wag his tail, letting out a happy bark as a confirmation. As much as Astarion would prefer to not spend an evening getting lectured by a dog, he was more than a little curious to see what he had to say. 

He swallowed it down, grimacing at the taste as he wiped his mouth, “Okay, out with it. What do you want?”

"I like you now," Scratch said excitedly, prancing back and forth in front of him, "And they like you too. Do you like them?"

In moments like this, Astarion really did wish he had the heart of stone that he pretended to carry. Because the unexpected approval from a random pup was suddenly making him feel almost teary eyed. Or it was the bitter taste of the potion, but either way the innocent words were making his heart ache pleasantly. 

Astarion swallowed, smiling down at him, “I like them very much. More than anyone before. And I’m starting to think you might not be so bad either.”

Scratch sat in front of him, resting his head in his lap as his tail wagged, a goofy smile on his adorable face, “It’s because I’m a good boy. They tell me so all the time. Are we friends now? We are right?”

“Yeah,” Astarion smiled as he ran a hand through his white coat, his eyes drifting over to you. You were watching them, grinning ear to ear with a hand over your heart, nearly moments away from swooning. He looked back down at the dog, his smile only widening, “We’re going to be great friends.”

[yourfriendowlbear]

Name Day

Astarion x gn!reader

Summary: It's your name day. Astarion wants to do something special for you.

today is my birthday, so I figured I'd write something a little self-indulgent

It’s your name day, and Astarion has been frantic

He doesn’t remember much about his life before Cazador, but he knows that birthdays are a big fucking deal for elves

And whether you’re an elf or not, he wants to do something. If you are an elf, it’s all the more important for him to celebrate accordingly.

He’s freaking out. What in the hells does he do for you? What in the hells can he get you? 

He’s more than happy to buy you anything–he’s more than happy to steal you anything, but you have everything reasonable that you could want.

Nothing seems good enough for you. He knows that you’ll more than likely love whatever he ends up with, but that doesn’t mean he’s cutting himself any slack.

He’s so desperate that he goes to Gale. He’s got ideas, but he’s just a vampire with limited resources and limited nighttime hours. He knows when he’s at a disadvantage, and though he’s loathe to ask for help, he isn’t willing to fumble this.

So he convinces you to visit Waterdeep and to drop in on your wizard friend, who has insisted on numerous occasions that you’re more than welcome at his tower any time.

It takes a few days, but Gale does manage to enchant something for Astarion to gift you. The wizard had helped him plan it, and he’d basically had to create the enchantment from the ground up. It’s beautiful, and he absolutely cannot wait to give it to you.

The day of your birthday arrives, and you’re at your shared home in Bloomridge, in the Lower City of Baldur’s Gate. The house–like many of the homes in the neighborhood–is built onto the side of the city wall. It’s small but not cramped, with a large, inviting kitchen, a cozy drawing room, and two bedrooms. Two balconies–one off the main bedroom, one off the drawing room–look out over the city and Grey Harbor.

Astarion is nervous, and he’s never been more glad to not have a heart, since it would probably give him away.

It’s evening. The two of you have just gotten up. You’re sitting out on the balcony, curled up on the outdoor settee. There’s a lantern hanging on a hook above you as you read. Astarion’s arm rests around your shoulders, a book clasped in his other hand. You’re nestled into his side, a barely held together ancient tome in your lap. Scratch lays on the ground in front of the settee, head on his paws.

A raucous laughter pierces through the foggy evening. Karlach and Lae’zel are the first to appear on the stairs.

Leave it to your merry band of misfits to disrupt the peace of your little neighborhood.

You’re off the couch and at the front door in a flash. Scratch gives a confused woof before trotting off after you. Astarion can hear you laughing as you let them all in.

By the time he can see you at the door, you’re being squeezed by Karlach. Gale stands, grinning, in the hall. Wordlessly, he nudges a package into Astarion’s hands.

Wyll has brought a cake. Lae’zel carries something that looks strangely like a sword wrapped in paper. Shadowheart has a little box.

As you lead them all in, Gale hands you a large bottle of Blackstaff wine.

You drink and laugh with these people who, over the course of only a few months, became your best friends. And as much as Astarion hates to admit it, he loves them for showing up for you.

Eventually, Karlach pushes you to open the presents they’ve brought. 

As expected, Lae’zel has brought you a Githyanki sword, a traditional gift for warriors on their name days. Shadowheart has brought you a necklace that she’s blessed.

Astarion saves his for last, sliding it into your lap when you’re laughing at something Wyll has said, your voices all a little louder from the wine. You look at him, a little confused, but you tear the paper off anyway.

You’re even more confused when you discover six stone tablets and wooden styluses inside.

Gale takes pity on you, and picks one up, using the stylus to write ‘happy name day, tav’ on one of the slates. You gasp when it appears on the other five almost immediately.

“So you can talk with everyone when you need to,” Astarion explains. He hates how soft his voice sounds, but gods above, he put a lot of thought into this. He so desperately wants you to like it.

But his fears evaporate when you launch out of your chair, your arms wrapping around his neck in a tight hug. 

He laughs and hugs you back, relieved that, for once, he could give you something nice, something you deserve, so that he could show you just how cared for you are.

[bitethedevil]

Why does Raphael hate Mephistopheles and why does he live in Avernus?: Raphael as an outcast

(It has been a little while since my last analysis post. I would like to remind everyone that what I’m talking about is purely my own theories and I always love to hear other people’s thoughts on them no matter if you agree or not <3.)

As we know, Raphael lives in Avernus and not in Cania where Mephistopheles rules. All devils essentially somehow serve an archdevil. The Nine Hells is a super hierarchical place and everyone below the archdevils are basically little worker bees who live to serve their respective archdevils in one way or another.

Raphael collects souls, so one can expect that his job is to some extent to harvest souls for whoever is above him. One would expect that the archdevil he serves is Mephistopheles, but he indirectly helps us rob his father of quite a lot of souls by telling us about Cazador's ritual. That seems like an incredibly stupid and risky move if he worked for Mephistopheles, so I am not quite sold on the fact that he serves his dear old papa.

We know from the Archivist that Zariel’s people keep a bit of an eye on him and comes and goes in his house. Given he also lives in Avernus, it would make more sense that he is forced to serve Zariel at least to some extent. My money is on the idea that his official superior (or his boss, if you will) is Zariel and not Mephistopheles, though I think he might have once served Meph.

Here is a super interesting piece of information that I found about Avernus (this is from the Fiendish Codex II):

“Avernus is home to the outcasts of Baator, also known as ‘the rabble of devilkin.’ Few lesser devils survive more than a few moments as outcasts, so this group is composed almost exclusively of unique devils who are equals of any duke.”

My theory is that Raphael is an outcast and that’s why he’s in Avernus. Perhaps his father got tired of him and got rid of him, fully thinking that he would not survive. I am almost certain that cambions would fall under the ‘lesser devils’ category, or at the very least they are not on the level of dukes. I feel like it’s also often said that Raphael is pretty OP compared to a simple cambion, which is most likely the only reason he has survived (I’ve also heard people talk about him as a duke, which fits into this little theory as well).

There’s more though, and this is where it gets really kind of speculative:

“Some outcast devils, such as Azazel and Dagon, have been stripped of their original names to reduce the chances that they will be summoned to the Material Plane.”

Now, Raphael is a cambion, so he can move between planes regardless, but it would still be a very shitty and dehumanizing thing to strip someone of their name. Mephistopheles being Mephistopheles probably would do something like that if he was pissed at someone.

I have always thought a lot about his name. “Raphael” is a name that we would mostly associate with angels, and not devils. It furthermore does not really sound like any other devil names I’ve come across. It literally means “God’s healer” or something along those lines.

Wouldn’t it be so in character for his dramatic ass, who loves to play human and to play benevolent savior, to choose an angel name for himself? At the Last Light Inn, he literally says that Mol would not believe that he’s a devil because of his “angelic complexion”.

Finally, there’s this:

“Treacherous and scheming, the outcast dukes constantly seek ways to either reclaim their former positions or ranks in the Nine Hells or to destroy or displace the current order. […] Either way, they serve as important pawns between feuding archdukes and dukes.”

Now that definitely sounds like someone we know. I would very much say that wanting the Crown of Karsus to take over the Hells falls under “destroying or displacing the current order”. However, Raphael still has mentions of his father around his house and he has a portal to Cania.

It would not surprise me that Mephistopheles started to show interest in him again after he survived and thrived in Avernus. It would also not surprise me if Raphael, despite all the hate for what his father has done to him, licks Mephistopheles boots to gain favor with him behind closed doors (or at the very least to gain information to give to Zariel behind his father’s back).

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.

[feyascorner]

11 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. In his honest opinion, the artist who drew your portrait should be fired, even if he’s no expert in the arts. Your softer features are far too sharp, and your sharper features are far too soft, in what he supposes is an effort to ‘enhance’ your appearance, but now it just looks plain uncanny. They also forgot to take into account the scars of battle on your skin, a part of your hair that he remembers sticking out more, the sheepishness of your smile looking straight at the painter, the two puncture wounds on your neck…

Ah. He wonders if you still have those. The last time he saw them, they’d nearly faded. And nowadays, you make it a point to keep your neck tucked under your collar, which leaves everything to his imagination.

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. it's been a while! this isn't the longest of chapter but it's to kick my creative juices back into gear :) thank you sm for your patience friends <3

He knows he hasn’t returned your cloak yet. Unfortunately for you, Astarion has taken a special liking to the dull fabric.

Despite its dreary grey shade and the tears from being worn relentlessly, it’s of surprisingly good quality. It’s the only reason it's survived this long, he reasons, and also why the sun can never pierce through its sewing job and burn into his own skin.

When he felt the tadpole leave him, he thought he would never see the sunlit streets of Baldur’s Gate again. But this cloak of yours has brought him a new sense of freedom he hadn’t had before—free of Cazador, free of an unwelcome visitor in his skull, free of the looming fear of death…and most importantly, free of his fear of the sun.

Being “stuck” in your home has given him too much time. Too much aimless staring at a book he’s already read four times over. Moreover, the others have become somewhat accustomed to his presence again…meaning some (Gale, specifically) don’t mind leaving Astarion by himself. And as much as he hates admitting it, Astarion would rather Gale’s incessant lectures rather than the boring silence you leave behind at the break of dawn.

An outing or two couldn’t hurt, surely.

So he embarks. Where to, he doesn’t know. But he leaves the house, making sure to lock the door behind him when he remembers how Shadowheart had scolded you for the mistake of not doing so. It’s not that he’s afraid of the cleric, of course. He’s a damn vampire, for heaven’s sake. He’s only being cautious.

The cloak makes it feel as if he were in an oven, especially with the weather becoming more sunny by the day, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he’s finally standing in the middle of a bustling street, staring unblinkingly while others rush past him, all seemingly having a place to be. A newspaper boy here, a maid there, a circus performer somewhere there. He suddenly feels surrounded by too much life, and it’s not much help when he begins noticing fleeting glances in his direction. Wearing a thick winter cloak in the middle of the summer isn’t exactly common, after all.

“Baldur’s Mouth? They just started printing papers again, if you’d like a peek.”

Astarion glances down at the newspaper boy with squinted eyes, and his voice sounds snarkier than intended—not that he cares. “Who in the hells would pay two silvers for a newspaper that sucked up to Gortash just a few months ago? Does anyone really pay for this abomination?”

The boy frowns, crossing his arms. “If you didn’t want one, you could’ve just said so.”

“Really? Your incessant yelling around the market says otherwise,” Astarion snatches one of the papers, much to the boy’s distaste. He eyes the front cover for a split moment before realizing the very front page has a supposed ‘Exclusive Interview from the Hero of Baldur’s Gate! Never seen before!’

He finds himself reading.

“Mister, if you’re going to read, you have to pay!”

Though Astarion gives him a sharp glare that has the boy swallowing the lump in his throat, he relents, tossing one silver coin in his direction. Not without a click of his tongue, however, and the coin lands in the boy’s palms with a plop. “It’s two silvers.”

“I’m fully aware, don’t worry.”

The Baldur’s Mouth is full of cheap stories, surely paid off by its snotty writer as always, but Astarion acknowledges improvement where it’s due. Gortash’s death must’ve struck some sort of moral chord in the newspaper because a few of its columns are filled with mundane updates on the rebuilding of the city, even if they don’t provide as much entertainment as it surely could’ve if they stretched a few truths. He doesn’t read much into them, though, because he’s soon found himself a corner in Elfsong Tavern where he’s practically boring holes into the damn paper. The cover, specifically.

In his honest opinion, the artist who drew your portrait should be fired, even if he’s no expert in the arts. Your softer features are far too sharp, and your sharper features are far too soft, in what he supposes is an effort to ‘enhance’ your appearance, but now it just looks plain uncanny. They also forgot to take into account the scars of battle on your skin, a part of your hair that he remembers sticking out more, the sheepishness of your smile looking straight at the painter, the two puncture wounds on your neck…

Ah. He wonders if you still have those. The last time he saw them, they’d nearly faded. And nowadays, you make it a point to keep your neck tucked under your collar, which leaves everything to his imagination.

He wonders if you’re ashamed of them as he’s ashamed of the ones on his own neck.

Astarion tears his attention away from your portrait and resumes reading the actual paper.

The questions the interviewer asks are laughable, almost. They’re painfully boring or painfully intrusive, with nothing in between, resulting in awkward short answers or whatever filler the writer put in place of your answer. Half your words, at the very least, must’ve been altered, as they don’t sound much like you.

One question catches his eye.

‘So what does the hero of Baldur’s Gate plan to do after the city is rebuilt?’

Astarion lifts the paper closer to his face.

‘’This city is my home…but I don’t think I could stay here any longer than I have to. I’ve made some precious memories here, but I’ve also made ones that I’d rather move on from. People I want to move on from. For that reason, as much as I love this city, I’d have to embark for elsewhere.’’

His eyes widen. You’re leaving? When the hells did you decide that? 

‘Truly a sad day for the citizens to see their beloved bard leaving. Knowing our readers must be curious as to what their next step is, we made sure to discuss more on this matter.’

‘’Where will I go? I mean…I guess I’d just wander. Explore. Faerun is a vast continent. I’m sure I’ll have plenty to do. Plenty of people to meet.’’

Astarion’s gaze reaches the end of the page. The rest of the sentences babble on in flowery language praising you, which he doesn’t even bother reading before shoving the newspaper into one of the pockets of your cloak. He’s not sure if he would’ve preferred simply not reading the damn paper, but he tells himself that this is an improvement. A reason for celebration, even! Without you, he won’t have to tiptoe around the city any longer, nor will you need to worry about having to continue a months-long argument with him.

This is exactly what the two of you need. Space. For a while. Maybe forever. He stares at the beer stains on the table. Forever sounds like a long time, even if it’s only a few years to him and the rest of your life to you.

Forever sounds too long, yet not long enough.

He’s always wanted to be immortal. Even before he’d grown fangs and his eyes turned red. Sure, the path he took to get here…left a lot to be desired, but with Cazador gone, he supposes it’s not so bad, being a vampire—-besides the whole ‘not-being-able-to-see-the-sun’ fiasco. Sure, he has nightmares every other night about his time spent under his master, but without him, he’s essentially invincible as long as he doesn’t find a cleric who specializes in radiant magic. Sure, wine tastes like vinegar. Sure, he has to wear this suffocating cloak everywhere, but is it really so bad?

He sighs. It could be worse. He could be dead, for all he knows. Actually, dead.

Astarion stands to leave. This damn tavern is even more suffocating than his cloak, especially filled with patrons already half passed out from booze before noon. There’s a reason why he’s always preferred wine over whatever’s filling their cups.

He paces toward the door, but just as he’s halfway there, it swings open. And much to his horror stands a familiar cleric who nearly chucked a fork into his eye just this morning.

“Shadowheart,” the bartender smiles, ceasing his hand midway, polishing a cup. “What brings you here this morning?”

She certainly won’t miss her mark this time if she sees him out in public.

Astarion immediately turns on his heel and heads for the stairs. He practically shoves through multiple patrons in the process, but he manages to get there just as Shadowheart joins Alan at the bar, her arms looped around two large fabric bags as she greets him. They’re just within earshot, even as the spawn scrambles to get upstairs. “Just picking up our attire for the celebration and your tavern was on the way back. My friends and I do apologize for our inconsistent appearances…”

He doesn’t wait to hear the rest of their conversation because he’s already trying the doors to each of the rooms to figure another way out of the building. Most doors are locked shut, but there’s one he tries that slides right open.

Much to his distaste, it’s occupied.

He slams the door back shut just as the woman shrieks.

He peeks out the window. He could jump down, technically, but there are far too many people on the street in broad daylight to go unnoticed. And if there were to be a commotion, no doubt the damn cleric would come rushing out, thinking it’s another attack. So, instead of returning downstairs, he opts for the ladder leading to the rooftop, higher up into the building.

The warm air of the summer breeze hits him like an axe to the face.

Still, he climbs out, grateful to even managed to have escaped the same room as Shadowheart. Thank the heavens. And for a moment, he thinks he’s alone, until there’s another shrill voice rushing at him.

“There you are, Tav! I’ve waited days to see you here agai—" the tiefling stops, her smile dropping. "You’re not Tav.”

Way to state the obvious.

Clearly, he wants to spit back. But he’s too occupied trying to figure out why she looks so familiar to do so. He merely squints at her, which some might consider rude, but she doesn't seem to mind at all. Noticing his confusion, she blinks. “Wait, you’re Tav’s friend!”

Friend. He hasn’t been considered your friend in a long while.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on house arrest?” she tilts her head. “Did you maybe make up with Tav?”

Ah. You must’ve told her about his—peculiar arrangement.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Alfira. We met at the grove and Last Light Inn, didn’t we?” she offers him a smile, which he doesn’t return. She doesn’t wait for an answer either. “I wasn’t expecting you here…Did Tav send you?”

Astarion scrunches his nose as she squints at him, hands on either of her hips as she gauges how he seems to sink further into your cloak, hesitating to kiss the sun’s radiant glow. She doesn’t seem to think much of it, though, as she taps her foot impatiently. “Well?”

“I—yes,” is all his damn brain can spit out.

“Oh,” her face softens, and a soft small stretches across her lips. How gullible. It wasn’t even a particularly good lie. “You should’ve just said so. In that case, I must ask you how they’re doing…I haven’t seen them in weeks. Are they well? Have they started reading up on my lyrics? Have they got a message for me? Ah, scratch those, where are they right now?”

Hells. He’s already itching to jump off the roof.

“Does your head ever implode with all those questions racked inside of it?” he grumbles. “And I’m afraid I don’t know half the answers. Sorry to disappoint.”

Alfira’s shoulders relax as she leans back on her heel, eyes falling to her shoes before she looks back up. “...Well, that’s a shame. Then, what brings you here?”

This time, he’s prepared.

“Seeing the state you’re in, my appearance was warranted. They only wished for me to ensure they’re doing well. It’s a busy time of year, you see, and they haven’t had the time to indulge your—-outings up here.”

“That’s good to hear.”

An awkward silence hangs in the air like a deathtrap, and he wishes he could say something—anything else about what you’ve been up to, but it comes up empty. It’s not like the two of you are on terms to sit down and have a chat every week over tea, but he’s not sure if he knows any more about what you’re doing than this bard standing right before him. You don’t play music anymore. You don’t frequent the bars as much as you used to. You don’t do a lot of things anymore. But what do you do?

It irks him: not knowing, that is.

He only realizes moments later that the bard has been talking this entire time.

“---and I’d really appreciate it if you could take it to them. I can’t imagine anyone else using it as well as they did,” she reaches behind her bag perched against the stair rails, and lifts something in his direction. He’d be a fool not to recognize it anywhere. It’s a pretty thing, the lyre. Your lyre. “I don’t know how I managed to find this at the market, but I like to think it’s fate. Tell them it’s a gift for helping with my songs.”

Astarion stares at the instrument. He runs the tips of his fingers against its familiar strings, taking note of indents he’s all too familiar with and the chips from months running in the wild. The last time he’d held it like this, it felt like it brought him closer to you. Now, it only feels like the cold dead wood it is.

“Were you looking for it?”

“No. Like I said, it must be fate.”

How cheesy.

His lips quirk downward even further, if that’s even possible, as he narrows in on a multitude of new dents and cracks in the wood. The lyre is yours, without a doubt, but it’s clearly seen a different level of care than what you would’ve given it even while fighting to the death. He glares at a particular blemish, and Alfira sighs.

“It’s seen better times, I know. But I’m sure they’d appreciate it even if it’s not how they left it.”

Wouldn’t you? No. He doesn’t know if you’d appreciate it. Why would you? You don’t even play the damn thing anymore, much less produce any music. He contemplates just tossing the object, but the second Alfira sees the glint of hesitation in his eyes, she pounces, shaking her head.

“Please,” she pleads. “Give it to them.”

His brows pinch.

And because he doesn’t want to entertain this tiefling any longer than he has to, and because he’d much rather get out of the sun and no other reason, he huffs. “Fine. I will.”

The smile she gives him doesn’t prompt him to do the same.

Months prior, he could see himself in the reflection of the gloss glazing over the wood. At least, that’s what he thinks because he could see your own expressions reflecting off it when you played it in the sun. It doesn’t hold a glow anymore, much less a reflection.

The lyre weighs heavily in his hands.

“I won’t pry,” Alfira says. “They never really told me what happened between the two of you…I respect your privacy, so I won’t ask. But whatever it was…I do hope it won’t happen again.”

It’s a weak one, but it’s a warning. He’s had plenty of those to figure it out.

“It won’t,” he mutters. 

He’ll be long gone before it can.

Sleep is a luxury you can't afford nowadays.

Surely, the bags under your eyes are enough of an indication if it weren’t for the sluggishness of your every step. Still, you manage to offer your guest a lopsided smile out of respect. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, I’m alright. Thank you, though,” Yevir says, eyeing you up and down, obviously noting your disheveled state. “Is now not a good time?”

You shake your head, straightening your back against the dining room table with a cough. “It’s alright. I’m only tired. With the preparations for the celebration next week, I’m a bit overwhelmed. I was meaning to speak to you again anyway.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, but you can’t be bothered to deny your exhaustion further.

“You’ve been busy. I’ve seen the dead spawn that they retrieved from the Blushing Mermaid.”

Quite frankly, you feel terrible for the folk who own the place. A hag and then a horde of vampires in their basement in the span of a few months? You think it’d be a sign to close the tavern down.

Your tone remains grim. “Were any of them the woman you were looking for?”

He shakes his head, and a breath of relief escapes your lips. “No, she’s…I still haven’t found her.”

And maybe it’s the fatigue getting to your head, but your mouth moves before you can stop it. “You would think she’d try to meet someone she was so close to.”

It’s insensitive, and you wouldn’t blame him if he promptly stood to leave, but all he does is hang his head, dragging his hands over his face. He doesn’t seem like he’s gotten much rest recently, either. “Trust me, I’ve been wondering that for weeks now.”

“And have you come up with anything?”

“No. None. Zero. All I get are nightmares that I might get to one of my patrol shifts, and I’ll find her dead body lying on the ground somewhere,” he groans. “Well, deader body.”

“Maybe she’s afraid.”

“Of what? Me? Who in the hells would be afraid of me? Certainly not her, I must assure you. She’s always been stubborn, and she’s far more determined than myself, believe it or not.”

“Not you, but of herself. Vampire thirst surely can’t be so easy to control, and let’s be honest…” you point at your own neck, and the place where two puncture wounds should be on your wrist burns. “You’re practically a blood pot being offered to her.”

He frowns. “Is it so hard to control their thirst? I will admit that I don’t know much about vampire spawn aside from the obvious…”

You half snicker to yourself, almost in disbelief. “Believe me, they’re beasts when they’re ravenous.”

“Beasts?”

“Do you blame them? To them, blood is essentially liquid gold,” you shrug. “It tastes nothing like actual blood on their tongue. Sure, it might be a bit adjacent to drinking iron, but if they get their hands on prey, they really like…it tastes sweet to them. Would you deny a treat if you spent decades cooped up inside a dungeon cell, starving?"

Yevir’s face pales.

“See?”

His brows furrow as you sigh into your chair. “I’ve done my own share of research, but books seem to overexaggerate things most of the time…Can I ask how you know so much about them? Even if I manage to find her, I’d want to find some way to make her new life more tolerable…it’s not much, but it’s the least I could do.”

You blink.

Shit. You’ve said too much.

What are you supposed to say? You dated a vampire? Let him ravage you on the forest floor and spent months in his tent? That you kissed him just weeks prior, and he’s living just beside your own room? That he told you what your blood does to him, and reveal the bite marks on your skin?

You stand, your chair legs scraping against the ground.

“I have a book you might like. Let me grab it for you. And some tea, maybe,” you smile almost too widely. Fortunately for you, Yevir only nods.

“I’d appreciate it.”

You essentially grab whatever vampire-related book you have shoved under your bed and rush back downstairs to the kitchen. There isn’t much to learn from the thing with how much you already know, but you’re sure it must contain something that he might consider helpful. You know how horrible it felt to be kept in the dark about vampirism, even more so when you realized just how terrible the relationship between master and spawn tended to be…so a small push certainly wouldn’t hurt. Especially with Yevir's own problems with his beloved spawn. This is how you reassure yourself as you pour whatever tea Gale’s left on the stove into a cup.

If you were in Astarion’s shoes, you’d think becoming a spawn would have been the worst turning point of your life. And for a while, you thought he’d felt the same. A part of you thinks he does. But in the time you’ve spent with him and the stories he’s told you sparingly of his life before Cazador, your gut tells you differently. Especially when he’s drenched in the blood of your enemies, holding the immortality he’s long wished for with a sickening smile stretching on his lips. Guilt pools in your stomach for even bringing up the thought, but you can’t deny it, either.

You wonder if it hadn’t been for Cazador’s leash tying him down, he would’ve turned out differently. More twisted. That he would’ve indulged in the most corrupt parts of him as a magistrate. That maybe he wouldn’t have learned the value of a life. That he would’ve become more alike to him—the man he would’ve become if he’d ascended.

That small voice in your head is what stopped the ascension, for you feared he would lose everything he’d gained in his time as a spawn, no matter how trivial he believed it to be.

You hear the front door opening and snap out of your self-tangent. No use dwelling on it now. What’s done is done. No matter how strange the situation between you and the spawn is now, you’d rather have this than what could’ve happened if you hadn’t listened to your gut. You remain firm, no matter how much he hates you for it.

You pour Shadowheart an extra cup.

But as you step back into the living space, you realize the occupant doesn’t drink tea at all.

Astarion stands in the middle of the room, eyes wide as he stares at your guest with an undeniably bloody sack clutched in one hand. His large, red eyes seem glued to the ones of your guest, who stares back even more appalled as he takes one look at Astarion’s pale skin, the shade of his eyes, and the very bloody bag containing what you assume to be his dinner.

You drop the two cups onto the ground, tea splashing against your feet.

“You—Is he—” Yevir stumbles over his words, yet his instincts as a guard have him reaching for his weapon. “He’s—”

Astarion sneers, though his expression strains as Yevir’s hand reaches his sword. “Now, let’s not do anything that could ruin the wonderfully tasteful furniture in here...”

The Fist snaps his head in your direction. “He’s a spaw–!”

The back of a sword hilt hits the side of his head with an audible ‘thud,’ and he’s out like a light.

You stare at the unconscious body slouched over your dining table for a brief moment in utter shock before you gawk at the culprit. Of course. Lae’zel huffs, awfully pleased for someone who just caused a concussion to an innocent man. “Your soldiers are such children.”

Astarion barks a laugh, though it sounds more of a mix of disbelief and amusement.

You wish you could go one day in this house without another headache to add to the growing list.

Tags: @ayselluna @littleenglishfangirl @bg3obsessedsideblog @iwillpissyourpants @cyberpr1m3 @snowlotr @road-riot @spacekidnova @madislayyy @lordfishflakes @nicalysm @djarinsway @tinystarfishgalaxy @brainz00 @hopeful-n-sad @ohdeerieme @madisban @chrismarium @chonkercatto @fanfic-share @bitterbeanren @sleepyred1703 @miskouly @ravenswritingroom @iamlowkeycrying @deezus-roy @spiritraves @mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc @whisperingwillowxox @bdudette @misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @marina-and-the-memes @kiwi-mansanas @woosaaghh @cminr @everybodystaycalm @divineknightmare @bangtanbecks @carolinelec @aelieknox @bluelovesleep @catching-fire-in-the-wind @moonlight-stay @thatbeanieboss @atotalmess-lol @lavender-romancer @roguishcat

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Nightmare

Astarion x Y/N - drabble - 886 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: enemies to lovers, night terror, fluff, soft Astarion

---------------------------

“We are not sharing.” Astarion said with a snarky tone and roll of his eyes. 

You huffed and ignored him, taking the key from the innkeeper. “Suit yourself.”

Astarion’s eyes watched you as you walked up the stairs. “Fine.” he muttered to himself as he crossed his arms over his chest and made his way to the room. He caught the door right before it closed completely. 

You loosened your pants before dropping them, letting your lengthy shirt unravel. You hopped into the bed, too exhausted from the day to care about Astarion’s negativity. 

“Taking the bed? Selfish.” Astarion said with a scoff. 

“We can both use the bed.” you mumbled out sleepily.

Astarion huffed and rolled his eyes. He took his shirt off before climbing into bed, facing the ceiling. He watched the moon rise slowly. He listened to your heart beat. Eventually you rolled to face him. Your body moving closer to him, searching for something. You rested your head on his shoulder, holding his arm to your chest. Astarion looked at you shocked, before he realized you were still asleep. He studied your face. He hated to admit it but you were beautiful. His eyes traced the curves of your face, memorizing them. He watched you like that for what felt like hours. 

That's when he heard it. Your heart beat was speeding up. Your breathing picked up, little pants and whines coming from your lips. Your grip on his arm tightened. You nuzzled your head into his chest, like you were trying to escape something. Your face scrunched up. Astarion had half a mind to wake you up but decided against it. You jolted awake a moment later, looking around frantically. You looked down and met Astarion’s worried eyes. Yours softened when they met him. You hugged him instinctually. The dream was so real. Cazador torturing Astarion in front of you, and you are helpless, unable to reach him. Like him or not, you didn’t want to see him in pain. 

Astarion hesitated before hugging you back, you were shaking slightly. “Darling, are you alright?” he said softly.

“I’m… just happy you’re alright…” you sniffled. 

Astarion’s eyes softened; you dreamt of him? He knew your dislike of each other was surface level, not having any real reason to dislike each other. You were suspicious of him and he didn’t appreciate that you didn’t fall for him and his little “protection” plot. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice was genuine.

“Yeah… sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you…” you said as you finally caught your breath. 

“I was awake anyways. When you’re not being completely insufferable your face is quite beautiful.” he teased you but you felt the sincerity in his words.

“Thanks.” you rolled your eyes at him, smirking. 

You laid back down, scooting away from him.

“Where are you going?” he said, opening his arms for you.

You blushed, “Are you sure?” 

“Of course, my sweet. Everyone deserves a cuddle after a nightmare.” 

You nodded in agreement, cuddling into your previous position. 

You felt his hand gently caressing your head, “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

You tensed slightly, “Cazador was… hurting you and I - I couldn’t stop him.” 

Astarion saw the way your eyes teared up, you truly cared for him beneath all the petty arguments and squabbles. He pulled you closer to him, “So you dream about me?” he said, trying to diffuse the tension. 

You let out a watery laugh, “So vain…” you mumbled.

Astarion smiled; he cast dancing lights. You watched the illusion sleepily. They were almost hypnotizing, lulling you to sleep. 

You leaned up and kissed his cheek softly, “Thank you.” you said shyly.

You drifted off, but Astarion stayed awake. His thoughts are consumed by you.

-------------------------------

You woke up to the sun in your eyes, the curtains doing nothing to shield your eyes. You leaned up slightly, realizing you were laying on Astarion’s chest, you moved away quickly. You felt so embarrassed and somehow weak for being so vulnerable in front of him. Almost as if you thought he would use it against you somehow. Yet when you looked at him and found his eyes, you found nothing but understanding, kindness. 

“I’m sorry about last night…” you said looking down.

“I’m not.” he said, tilting your chin up. 

You smiled softly at him, leaning your cheek into his hand.

“You should rest a little longer, you didn’t sleep much.” Astarion said gently pulling you back into him.

“What about the others?” you whispered.

“They’ll just have to survive without you.” he said, a smirk in his voice. 

You chuckled, nestling back into a comfortable position. 

Astarion rubbed comforting circles into your hip. His touch warmed you, your skin tingling with delight. 

“Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.” he said looking down at you. 

You blushed as you leaned up to kiss his cheek. Astarion caught you at the last second, connecting his lips with yours. You pulled back, gasping for air. “Cheeky.” you muttered.

Astarion chuckled before closing his eyes trying to fall into a meditation as you drifted off. You smelt Astarion’s distinct, honey-like scent. He was good in every aspect, you thought to yourself. Your mind focused on the circles he rubbed into your hip, drifting off.

-----------------------------

Naboo's Note:

Love a one bed, forced proximity, enemies to lovers moment. Hope ya'll enjoy. Thanks for all the love <3 XOXOXOXOXOX!!!!!!!!!!