#me anytime I see astarion

[soonaa]

Had to draw my baby girl

[invinciblerodent]

I'm still borderline eating drywall over thinking about what things might be like for Davrin and Verbena

Like I love a good tank/support, frontliner/spellcaster ship, but... ngl, I bloody love a good warrior/warrior ship too

Watching each other's backs, wincing every time they hear a blade clatter off the other's shield...... taking hits meant for the other, the blood running cold in their veins each time the enemy calls out "the warrior first!", wishing with teeth grit that they meant them, and not their beloved...

Helping each other put on that cumbersome heavy armor, and making sure each piece is properly fastened on, as just another part of protecting one another... tapping each buckle and clasp with exaggerated care, just to know for sure that it won't be going anywhere in the heat of battle, that no mistake is going to leave them vulnerable...

On the flipside, methodically unfastening each one of the other's armor pieces, setting it all aside in a neat pile, lifting padded coats and chainmail over heads... marveling at the gorgeous creature they're unwrapping from under layers upon layers of protective material, like they're emerging from a cocoon, sweaty and exhausted but alive, alive, alive...

Massaging each other's sore muscles, and coating strong hands in soothing poultices before running them along tender, bruised skin untouched by the sun... trying hard not to think about how each mark on their lover's skin is a time they weren't fast enough, good enough, strong enough to protect them....

And of course, being unable to stop themselves from pushing their bodies just a little bit harder, doing things just a little bit flashier, a little more recklessly, just to impress one another, to show themselves in the best light, to prove themselves...

I'm very normal about all of this and everything about them based on the very, very limited information that's out about him and the game

[coreene]

I've seen a few videos and pictures here that people put Gortash's god awful coat on Astarion. Pls don't xD

[conflictedenthuasiast]

So I have been told it is in fact NOT normal to buy merchandise and read fanfiction and basically consume content for a game you haven’t played yet,,,

In my defence your honour I didn’t plan on getting this deep into it at all!!! I wandered around like a lost child that got attracted to shiny sparkly things!!!

[reverieblondie]

Could I request headcanons for Gale, Halsin, Wyll, and Astarion with touch starved gn s/o?

I ended up rewriting these a few times but I hope you enjoy reading it! Last Bullet point is NSFW!

Haarlep and Raphael with thouch starved S/O HERE

Halsin 

Halsin would never say you were obvious, but figuring out you were touched starved was relatively easy to tell. Especially with the game you were playing, it was clear after the nth time you asked for healing from him from a mere paper cut on your finger. Though, could anyone really blame you? After spending so much time on the road, with no friendly touch for weeks, then when Halsin came to your aid to heal you from a particularly nasty hit from a goblin, That was the start of it, the aching for him; you had been healed by others before but…nobody did healing like Halsin. Most healers hover their hands over you, but Halisn would hold you, pressing his large but tender hands to your skin, letting his healing magic flow through from him to you; the touch would send tingling shivers through you; some would argue that it was from the magic…But you knew it was from his touch. Halsin was more than willing to help heal you every time; in fact, the consent wanting his touch helped you two connect. Halsin hoped you would confess you wanted him to hold you one day. But you never did. So when you came for healing from your “terribly painful stomach ache,” he knew he would have to make the first move. “I think I know the perfect solution to your problem,” he whispered before he wrapped you in a tight hug; every ache and pain melted away from his touch. It is truly the perfect medicine anytime you feel touch starved.

Every party of Halsin is perfection in your eyes. Oak father really did a fantastic job when it came to making him. However, the one place you’re always grabbing onto the most is his arms. It’s not hard to see why; it’s nearly impossible to keep from clinging to his massive limbs, snuggling into them, running your hands over his thick forearms. Halsin, the sweetheart, doesn’t seem to mind your clinging, even if he is busy carving away. Now that Halsin has noticed your fondness for his arms, he may or may not start to flex them subtly when gesturing or wearing shirts that expose them so you can see every slight rippling of his muscles. Halsin will let you cling to him as long as he can nuzzle into his favorite part of you later tonight…

Now usually you’re the needy one in the relationship, pleading for hugs and beaming every time you get wrapped up in Halsins arms. Today has been different, however. It started when you woke up with Halsins hands creasing your sides and snuggling into your neck, of course you melted at the touch, thoroughly relishing in the attention, but it didn’t end there. Usually, Halsin would walk through the woods for some meditation and to gather herbs and materials for you two, but today, he didn’t leave your side. Of course, you loved it, but a part of you was starting to get worried. When you brought it up, he grabbed your hands and held them to his chest, “I just find myself wanting to be near you, my heart.” You squeeze his large hands back, “Well, let me help you, my love.” rising to your tiptoes, you begin to pepper kisses all over Halsins face. He grabs your waist and lifts you to meet his lips with yours quickly; the kiss only makes him needier. 

He loves every part of you, from your hair to your adorable toes. But his hands consistently linger on your curves. On those days when you are feeling extra needy. Halsin is more than willing to help…In some inventive ways. The contrast is maddening… The smooth honey slips on top of your heated skin, and then Halsins rough tongue licks up the sticky liquid off your stomach. His hands guide your back to an arch as he keeps his hazel eyes on your moaning face. Sucking and licking as his hands continue to run over your squirming body. Halsin doesn’t know what is sweeter, the honey or you; he will spend all night trying to figure it out. 

Zevlor

Zevlor has been around for a while but was never too familiar with the term ‘Touched starved.’ Sure, he had heard it back in his commander days from soldiers whispering about needing attention of the flesh but never truly gave it too much thought…until. The idea came to him when he noticed a particular trait of yours. You had no special awareness when it came to him. Consistently, you were leaning into him quite closely, and when you two walked around during perimeter checks, you would often bump into him or brush your hand against his. Of course, you would apologize for your clumsiness, but deep down, you knew what was happening…Your body was burning for him, his warmth, his touch, and it was seeking it out in any way possible. It didn’t click so quickly for Zevlor until he saw you sparing, and there was no inclination of any clumsiness in your movements; even with others, he never saw you bump or run into anything; your movements were precise and calculated…and that’s when he figured it out you were touching him purposely. Zevlors first thought was, why? Then his second was how can he tell you to only ask him for his touch. Finally, one day, as you two were doing your usual perimeter check, you slowly inched closer and closer to him, seeking the slight relief of his touch. Still, as you went to bump into him for only a moment, you found the ex-hellrider wrapped his arms quickly around you keeping you to his warm chest. Eyes wide, you go to apologize, but Zevlor is quick to quiet your worries, “If you need my warmth…please don’t hesitate to ask me…” After that day, you got a hug from him every chance you could…

Zevlor enjoys the sweet intimacy of your relationship. At first, he was not used to someone wanting to hold him so closely and shower him with affection, but slowly, he is getting used to it and enjoying it immensely. Though, you still find ways to surprise him…For example, when you start paying particular attention to his cheeks and horns, you can’t stop wanting to hold his face so tenderly and whisper soft praises to him. “I’ve never seen beauty like yours, Zevy…” he feels his heart melt at every whisper and every gentle touch to his skin. Then, if you happen to caress the base of his horns? Well…you have never heard such a deep pur.  

 It had been the first day in a long while that you and Zevlor spent most of the day apart. He had promised to speak to some recruits in the city, sharing his wisdom, and you had opted to stay at home. You were expecting him to come home at any minute, so you were working hard to prepare a surprise dinner for him. You missed him being home; usually, you would spend the day working in your small garden together and setting out laundry on the line together. It was lonely without him, so you planned to show him how much you missed him. As you were finishing your stew, you felt arms snaking around your waist. You gasped before his familiar voice eased you, “Be still, my dear, it’s only me…” Your body immediately relaxes as you turn to hug him back. “How was your trip?” Zevlor only hums as he buries his head into your neck. “I missed you…the road was lonely without you by my side…” you rub your hands up and down his arms as they hug you. Then you feel one of his arms part from you and hear the stove turn off; before you can ask anything else, you’re lifted and carried away toward your shared room. “Zev! What- What about Dinner?” “It can wait…I need to be close to you, just for a while…” The stew wasn’t eaten until much later… 

“So beautiful…” his breath is warm as he whispers the complement into your neck. Zevlor’s lips caress your tender skin as he moves to your ear. You cling to his broad shoulders tighten, and your legs squeeze his textured hips. “You’re taking me so well. I’m proud of you.” The moan is involuntary as you feel him push deeper, his lips catching and nipping on your ear, his sharp teeth threatening to pierce, but his tongue soothing you so softly. Moving from your ear, you almost let out a whine before he blows a teasing breath on your neck, causing you to squirm and keen at the tickleing sensation. Zevlor’s fiery eyes look down at you, and that soft smile never fails to melt your core. He leans in, lips hovering over yours, his hands softly gliding down your waist, “I love you…” The vow is then sealed with a kiss. 

Wyll

Wyll hadn’t thought of you as touched starved until you had to tell him flat-out. To his credit, you didn’t make it easy for him to figure out. When Wyll thinks of the term touched starved, he thinks of someone like him. Someone always willing to give out a hug or a friendly pat on the back; if you’re touched starved and in the proximity of Wyll, you were not touched starved for long. Hells, Wyll would risk the burns of hugging Karlach if she so requested. You, on the other hand, would never seem to be receptive to his friendly gestures, having grown up in a home with little affection and living on the brutal road for a while with a pleasant touch would always be a shock to your system. Especially from Wyll, it was like lightning shooting through your body with a new surge of energy you didn’t know what to do with, so you would tense up. After feeling you clamp up, Wyll simply thought you didn’t like to be touched, so ever the gentleman, he stopped. But that only made you begin to grave him…Finally, after days of seeing him touch and hug your other friends, you felt yourself going to pop. In a spur of the moment, you walked into his tent, staring at his confused features; timidness threatened to take you over, so with shaking limbs, you held your arms open with a shaky beg of “Please…” Wyll’s smile would grow so wide as he embraced you. “I thought you didn’t like to be touched?” “I…I like it when you do it…I crave your embrace…” Wyll will never make you ask please for a hug again…but other things, he might…    

You couldn’t explain exactly why you love it so much, but you find you’re running your hands up and down Wylls strong back every time you get the chance. Maybe it was from seeing all its glory when he returned from the river or in the early mornings when he woke up for training. There’s just something about his broad shoulders that lean down to his narrow waist that makes your hands twitch to touch him. Wyll, of course, isn’t oblivious to how you take him in; that might be why he walks around without a shirt more often. His favorite part about liking his back is when you rest your head between his shoulder blades and hold onto him tightly. It never fails to put a smile on both your faces.  

Between the two of you, you’re the one who is always slow to wake. On a typical day, you usually wake up to an empty left side of the bed, but this morning is different. You wake up to your body being held by what looks like a sleeping Wyll. Your first instinct is to worry and check him for a fever, but you find that he feels normal, and when he wakes, he greets you with a lazy smirk. “Are you okay, Wyll? You’re usually up by now?” Wyll hums softly as his eyes lazily roam over your form, “I woke up earlier but found that I couldn’t part from you…” His sweet words always make you blush, and you go to say you're sorry out of habit, but you’re silenced by him gently stroking your cheek. “Well, How about I make breakfast for us? We could eat together.” As you rise, you are quickly grabbed and trapped within his arms, his lips attacking your neck in a plethora of kisses, making you giggle. “You’re not going anywhere…I am not done with you yet…”   

It’s always so slow, his hands sliding up and down your spread legs while your sex grows more and more aroused. One part of you wants to beg him to stop teasing you, but you both know that the loving pass of his hands on your skin is what you crave. Wyll keeps his eyes on yours as his lips press against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. The attention he gives you makes your mind hazy and your sex quiver in a way that only he causes. A moment of weakness causes you to moan his name. He will look down at your flushed face and smile against your skin before finally sliding his tongue on the spot you need him the most.��

Rolan

Rolan is very familiar with the term being touched starved, and from being accused of it by Cal and Lia relentlessly, he was aware of the traits. Not that he thought he ever showed these. Then came you, and it was the end of him being touched starved. Rolan, at first, didn’t understand why every time you were near, your hand would absentmindedly rub in between his shoulder blades or how when you would go out to the tavern, you would sit so close to him, and it wasn’t as if you were unaware of this. No, from how you would look at his curious gaze with a smirk and a sparkle in your eyes, he knew you were messing with him. Though despite this…you two kept hanging out. If anyone would ask you if you longed for touch, you would say you only wanted Rolans and you had no shame about it; you just wished one day he would indicate the touch for once. Finally, one night, Rolan invited you to the tower to do some reading, something you could do at home, but you wouldn’t dream of passing up a moment to be around him. You two had found yourselves on the chaste, sitting very closely, exchanging blushing looks over the edges of your books, and with every passing page, you two would find yourselves inching closer and closer. Then, as your thighs are pressed together, you feel a warmth wrapping around your ankle. Looking down, you see his tail wrapped around you loosely, unsurely. Rolan had finally taken the initiative, and you were beaming. “If it bothers you, I can-” But before he could finish his sentence, you wrapped his arm around you as you curled into him more. You could hear the rapid rushing of his heart, and you could feel how it matched your own. “It doesn’t bother me; I’ve just been wondering what’s been taking you so long…” The teasing only rewards you with a tighter hold. 

You find every part of Rolan to be utterly perfect, from his beautiful horns to his freckled cheeks to his toes. But the one part of him you constantly find yourself playing with is his tail, swaying and twitching like it has a mind of its own. You love to sneak behind him and run your fingers over the ridged base. The shiver and low growl he gives out every time makes you want to tease and touch him more, your hands becoming clammy for it. Today, you’re reading and mindlessly playing with the sharp tip till, finally, he’s curling the tail around your forearm and pulling you closer for a hungry kiss. He says he is being driven mad by your relentless teasing; you can only smile back before whispering, “Then you shouldn’t keep rewarding me…” 

Rolan tries not to let his neediness get the better of him…but some days, he can’t resist your pull on him. Every time he saw you today, his hands roamed over every curve, his nose in the crook of your neck, and he muttered things you couldn’t catch. The attention was well received as you loved his every touch, but when you parted from him to wash up for the night, the look on his face was utter devastation. “I will be quick, then all night I am yours.” Rolan tsked as he let you go, sitting down in his chair where he would wait for your return. You tried your best to hurry into the bath but were not quick enough. As you wet your hair to be ready for washing, you heard the door open and were greeted by the magnificent sight of Rolan in a small cloth wrapped around his waist. He motions for you to make room. He removes his towel and joins you in the bath. You are happy but utterly confused, and Rolan is quick to defend his actions as he gathers soap into his palm, “You took too long, so now I am here to help; now turn so I can wash your hair.” Without any protest, you turn and relish in the feeling of his clawed hands, washing and lathering the soap in your hair, taking the time to scratch your scalp as he cleans you gently. Maybe you should have him wash your hair every time? If you asked, Rolan would be happy, too.  

It started as a pleasant surprise; while you two were working at Sundries, his tail kept brushing against your butt, and when you two would be out of view from prying eyes, his hand would gently caress your ass. These are simple hints of his wants; you are always eager for his touch. Now here you are, pressed against the back wall with Rolan's needy hands grabbing tight handfuls of your butt. Pants are quickly discarded, and he gives you a quick slap to the soft exposed flesh for being such a naughty distraction. You keen and arch, grinding your ass against his burning erection. A deep moan when his nails dig into your flesh as he starts to rut into you deeply. Panting breaths, intertwined limbs, sweaty bodies desperately rocking against each other. It’s the night you learned that the Great Master Rolan is an ass man.  

Gale 

You never thought of yourself as touched starved; sure, you had points when you thought of being held or holding someone, but it was never something you would say you were starving for; well, that was until Gale. It was an accident when it happened; you two had offered to go to the morning market to gather supplies for dinner. The morning market was incredibly crowded, and you two kept getting separated. Gale, always the quick thinker, came up with the best solution. As he walked in front of you like a shield, he grabbed your hand and led you through. The gesture immediately stirred something within you, and as you walked hand in hand, looking at the back of him, you found yourself tightening your grip. During the rest of your time at the market, you two held each other’s hands. It wasn’t until you two returned to camp that you realized you held hands the whole way back. After that day, you reached out for his hand more often. Gale, of course, didn’t seem to mind. He liked the extra company, but getting you to let go so he could cut vegetables was challenging. After a while, you will find yourself craving more touches from Gale. So late one night, you crawled into his tent; when you woke him, he was initially surprised, asking you what you needed. “I…I think I’m touched starved…could…you hold me for a bit?” Gale’s heart nearly burst out of his chest, but he eagerly invites you into his arms, delighted to share in cuddles and maybe a few kisses.    

It should be no surprise your favorite place to touch Gale is his hands. They are perfectly soft and fit perfectly within yours. You find that your hands are interlocked together if you’re by him. Gale finds your need to hold him in some way lovely and ultimately endearing. Gale’s favorite times when you hold his hands is when you are fast asleep curled up with him in his bedroll, your hands interlaced with his. He doesn’t dare move them because he knows you will only start seeking them again in your sleep.   

You’re used to holding Gale’s hand, but on days he’s feeling needy, you find that his hands tend to roam. Today had been one of those days; his hands had started lazily, moving up and down your arms, gently grazing you all morning so tenderly. By the afternoon, his hands had found their way to run up and down your back, moving so slowly to send shivers through your body successfully. Then, in the Evening, they moved to trace your sides as his lips caressed the sensitive skin of your neck. Finally, you asked if he was well, his lips smiling against your skin. “Perfectly fine…just being needy for you…does it bother you?” you feel your skin flush, and your lips curl to an excited smile. “No, I like the attention from you…” Gale is always ready to shower you with attention; you just need to ask…   

The man didn’t lie when he told you he had a practiced tongue, and tonight, you are finding that out firsthand. You felt needy when you crawled into his tent; it was late, and he was surprisingly awake. At first, it was innocent, simple hand holding a kiss or two like other nights before to satisfy your need, but tonight, you’re finding your aching for more, and Gale knows this. All you need to do is ask…Your hands grip tightly to the blankets as his tongue works against you. Gales focuses as his hands grip your thighs, and he sucks and licks more. He’s desperate to taste your release all over his tongue, and with him always being so good to you, who are you to deny him? 

Astarion

With all he had been through, the feeling of being touched had become unstimulating. Astartion had felt every kind of touch possible. Well, at least that’s what he thought, until you. The energy between you two had been electric from the first moment; you were brilliant, and his usual charms didn’t make you bend like they did others. In fact, for all his teasing, you would give back your own. It was like a game between you two, and it only made you crave each other more. Then it hit its peak…You were admittedly getting lost in his words as he spoke to you, but it was different; it was genuine, and you had never felt so close to others. So when you gently brushed back his hair as he talked, you both found yourself looking at each other in surprise. Your weakness shocked you, and Astarion was surprised by someone touching him so gently, as if he were made of glass. Going to take back your hand, it’s quickly caught by his, and gentle lips pressing to your palm sets your skin ablaze. The kiss was as soft as your touch, but Astarion can never pass up an opportunity… “Couldn’t help yourself anymore, hm?” You would accept defeat this once…

Astarion has never been a fan of cuddling…well, not until he met you. And what did you do to make him change his mind on the slow and intimate activity? Astarion loves the way your fingers brush slowly and carefully through his hair. He finds he has gradually become needy for that soft, gentle touch. On the other hand, you love the feeling of his soft locks slipping through your fingers; actually, there are many things you can adore about Astarion; you find the soft touch of brushing through his hair always seems to relax you. You could spend all night with him in your arms like this…and you do. 

You didn’t know if it was your imagination, but Astarion seemed grumpy today. You had tried to joke around with him and even participate in some teasing and flirting, but he wasn’t receptive. Thinking it best to just drop it, you left him alone for the rest of the day, going about your usual task. Then Evening rolled around; you were getting ready for bed when you heard a throat clearing outside your tent. Poking your head out, you saw Astarion looking…bashful? “Do you mind…if I slept here…with you…I’ve…been feeling off…” One part of you wanted him to explain; he had ignored you, and now he wants to sleep in your tent with you? And wait, elves don’t sleep? But something about the look in his red eyes…he seemed…lonely…Gently, you reach your hand out to grab the sleeve of his shirt and pull him in softly. The rest of the night was spent with you sleeping with your head in his lap as he read to your sleeping form. Being around you made him feel so much better; it was as he thought…he was starting to rely on you, and for once, the thought of depending on another didn’t scare him. 

Sometimes, you can not decide who is needer between the two of you. Of course, you two tease each other about it, but Astarion is always the better tease. You’re rolling your eyes in both pleasure and annoyance as he moves his tongue across your chest, your nipples peaked and sensitive to every feathery touch. You try to keep your moans in, but it’s useless; “You make such pretty sounds, darling, keep it up.” His cold hands move between caressing your chest and your skin to find your sensitive nipples. Red eyes look up at you, filled with mischief. Is he satisfied with just a taste? Or will he bite…

[happy-beeeps]

Sweat it out

Summary: tav comes down with a nasty flu, and one of her travel companions begins to worry... and maybe realize his feelings

WC: 1.3k

warnings: none i think! idiots in love

f!tav x reader

It’s quiet outside Astarion’s tent as he paces back and forth. Halsin has been inside with you for far too long, and the lack of communication has him worried. How long has it been since he hasn’t ended the night with your words, your breath near his? Weeks, months?

He doesn’t like to think of it. In fact, he’s doing an excellent attempt at thinking about anything else as he paces, and fails to notice the clatter of their camp members walking over to him.

“Chin up soldier, the rest of us seem okay, it probably has nothing to do with her tadpole.”

“Karlach is right,” Gale agrees, “it seems unlikely that the rest of us would be spared the same fate if this truly was connected to our wormy affliction. She will pull through.”

As much as it pains him to admit it, Gale is right. For all logical sense, this should have nothing to do with the mind flayers—but the thought offers little comfort (few things hinging on Gale’s ideas rarely do.) 

It has started this morning, you had remarked how your head felt wrong. You felt wrong. You had ignored it, had soldiered on. As the day progressed, you complained of aches that had not been there, of chills that ran down your arms. Your skin grew pallor, covered in a sheen of sweat. By the end of the night, a cough ragged at your chest, and you could do nothing f else but whimper to yourself. The slightest motion had set tears out of your eyes, your skin burning itself to rid your body of whatever was happening.

Only Halsin, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart accompanied you now, the two healers were working overtime on an attempt to find your ailment, and Lae’zel was not easily persuaded to leave behind one of her dearest friends.

Astarion thinks of the dagger pressed to poor Wyll’s throat when he kindly attempt to guide her towards a spot nearest the fire.

He’s worried about you. This isn’t new, he’s made peace with the reality that he cares for you, he just hasn’t figured out how to say it. Now, he fears the opportunity may be slipping from him.

It’s Halsin’s booming voice that calms his nerves, he and the other two step out from the tent, his grin palpable even from where Astarion is standing. “She’ll be fine. It’s a nasty virus, I’ve given her a brew to aid in the healing, and I’ve created tonics for the rest of us.”

As he passes them out, Shadowheart walks up to Astarion, who is quickly making his way towards your tent. “You… don’t need a tonic. On the account of you being, you know. Not really alive.”

“You’ve got such a way with words, really,” he breathes, but his eyes flicker to the flap of your tent, “so I can go see her?”

Lae’zel speaks up, placing a firm pat on his arm as she walks by, “she’s certainly been asking for you.”

* * * 

You have two clear, feverish trances.

The first is of your mother. A memory that’s not uncommon, one you drift back to anytime you attempt to rest an illness away. Its familiarity brings comfort as you attempt to sweat this bug out, and ignore Halsin and Shadowheart’s proding over your body. 

The other is… newer. One you hadn’t expected. You’re in a secluded section of camp, feet tapping against the water, skin swathed in moonlight. Your wearing nothing other than a long, white shirt, unlaced dangerously along the neck. This is no more than two days ago. 

You follow the memory along, watch from your eyes as you trace circles along your bare thighs, until you look to your side. Astarion is there, eyes swimming with emotion, as he gnaws on his lip.

Memory Astarion reaches out, grabbing your hand, weaving your fingers together. “I’m glad you’ve convinced me to stick around after our escapades, you are entirely addicting.”

Memory you leans against him, pressing your weight against his. His skin is cool, the chill sending tiny bumps along your exposed legs. “I’m glad you’ve decided to humor me, Star.”

You’re mortified when your eyes flutter open, your mouth in the process of muttering his name, to realize he’s here. Next to you. In your tent. As you sweat through probably a third pair of smallclothes.

“You rang?” He’s cheeky when he speaks, but his hand goes to palm your stomach quickly, as if he’s checking to make sure you’re here, you’re still you. The concern is sweet, and it sends an all new kind of flush across your body.

“Feel so sick, Star.” Shit. Is that tiny little voice coming from you?

He moves then, gentler than he’s ever moved before, carefully contorting his body around yours and pressing you against him. In an instant, it’s like a salve to your soul. You’re covered in him—his smell, his weight, his temperature. The chill itself is a whole other soothe to your aches. 

“I know you are darling, but Halsin said you’ll be better soon.”

“Can’t get you sick,” a cough takes your lungs briefly, “who’s gonna pick the locks for us then?”

He laughs, and smooths a few stray hairs out of your face. “I won’t. Officially medically cleared, according to Shadowheart. On the account of my ‘not being alive.��”

You move to nod your head, but the pain makes you stop. Astarion is quick, and he cushions the movement with his hand before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I hear you were dreaming about me?”

“Maybe. Lots of trances. You know how it goes.”

“Was it particularly scandalous? Is that why my little love is so keen to swear?”

“Don’t have it in me to hit you.”

“You wouldn’t dream of it.”

It’s a calm silence that takes you next, Astarion stroking your hair as you listen to the distant clamor of your friends. You break it, after another moment.

“I remembered my mother.”

You don’t often talk about your family, and he knows this. He moved just slightly so you can see his face, curiosity and warmth covering his eyes. “What was it?”

“When I was little, I got sick, nothing bad but still sick. My mother, she’d rub my hair and sing to me,” you pause to close your eyes, as if you could will her here right now, “she’d go to our kitchens and shoo the cooks out, she’d make me her special soup, and when she brought it to me she’d promise me she’d teach me one day.”

“She sounds lovely.”

“She was. Smart too. She always knew things about me that I didn’t know.”

“Oh, like what?” Astarion’s face shimmers with a laugh and you use the last bit of your strength to attempt a shrug and burrow into his chest.

“She used to tell me she knew I’d end up with someone older. Don’t know if she knew how old.”

After your words, as if in cue, your chest begins its steady rise and fall, and Astarion recognizes the twitch in your fingers. You’re trancing again. Which means he’s stuck with your words and their heavy implications.

Still, with the way your overheating body simmers against his cold touch, he resolved that he doesn’t mind their weight, not at all. In fact, he’d like more of your burden.

You don’t slip out of your trance that night, but feel the briefest ghost of a kiss on your forehead.

When sunlight rolls around, your eyes blink awake. You’re weak, you can feel it, but better. You go to sit up, but realize quickly Astarion’s weight is still against you, one arm cradling your head to his chest, one arm twisted beneath you. 

You’ve never quite felt so comfortable, so held. You don’t remember what you told him last night, don’t remember exactly what he said. Instead, you decided to live in this moment now, and pray to all the gods you’ll get to relive it again soon.

[littlejuicebox]

The Little Things

Summary: Sometime in Act 1, Astarion is beginning to realize he may like you more than he thought.

Tags/Warnings: pure fluff, feelings realization, sexual innuendo, in game spoilers

*

Astarion’s nice, simple plan is falling apart at the seams. He isn’t quite sure when it began or how you slowly wormed your way into his heart like the parasite wormed its way into his brain.

He thinks it must have started shortly after the night you two spent together in the clearing. Perhaps the day you drew his scars for him in the dirt?

You notice the little things about him, and it flusters him entirely. No one else has ever bothered to pay attention long enough to catch all the subtleties you seem to see without missing a beat.

*

You notice he makes tea but never drinks it. It tastes like dirty water on his vampiric tongue, but he loves the smell and the warmth. One day you bring him a cup of tea and urge him to try it.

“This one will be different, I promise.” You say, and you smile at him so sweetly it’s impossible to refuse.

He quirks a brow but obliges. One small sip reveals that this tea is palatable… in fact, it’s actually enjoyable.

“What’s in this? Better not be a sore attempt at poisoning me.” He murmurs with a playful smirk before taking another long sip of the warm liquid.

You grin and show him your finger, where the smallest pinprick can be seen.

Blood. Of course.

His face feels hot, like patches of warmth are spreading across his cheeks. It must be the tea.

“Clever pup,” He chuckles, “I— thank you.”

*

One day you’re simply walking by him in camp, returning from a quick foraging trip in the woods. He’s perched upon a stool, reading a book, and drinking the remnants of his morning tea you’d brought to him just over an hour ago.

It’s a lovely little treat every morning. He’s secretly delighted every time you bring it by.

You pause and smile, “Enjoying your book?”

He hums a soft yes and dog ears the page before clasping it shut to acknowledge you.

“Quite, darling. And you? Enjoying your… digging in the mud?” He asks, cocking his head just slightly as he examines the small basket of potatoes you’d procured from the earth.

“It’s not so bad,” You laugh, and then your eyes flicker to his book, “Oh, I almost forgot.”

You rustle through your bag and withdraw a thin strip of burgundy fabric, offering it to him.

Astarion takes the gift. It’s a bookmark. There’s a delicate letter A stitched in gold thread at the top of the small trinket. He’d spent a few hours last week showing you how to sew and embroider little details.

“I noticed you always fold the corners of the pages, and Gale is always grumbling about it when you return his books, so…” You shrug and smile again, “Plus, it’s a small thank you. For the sewing lessons.”

His face feels hot again. It must be the tea. Again.

“Ah, yes. I shall be sure to use it now, then. Don’t want to risk angering the wizard and getting us all blown up!” He jokes as he places the bookmark atop his book, mostly as an excuse to break away from your gaze, which is causing him to feel flustered. He doesn’t know why.

You laugh softly and step closer to him, “It’s not as good as your work.”

You absentmindedly take his hand and turn it, revealing the inner sleeve of his shirt. Your fingers trace along the cuff, admiring a piece of his own embroidery he’d done a few days ago.

“I saw you stitched these little flowers on your shirt the other day. Can you show me how to do that?” You ask, bringing your eyes back up to meet his.

He swallows. Your hand is still resting upon his wrist.

“O-of course, darling. Anytime.” He responds, still thrown. How had you noticed that? His skin tingles from where your fingers had grazed against him.

But it isn’t a bad sensation. He quite liked it, actually.

You grin and then hoist your basket back up before bidding goodbye and walking over to show Gale your harvest. Astarion is left befuddled and simply staring as you walk away.

*

That same night you’re by the campfire, and Astarion is showing you how to stitch small flowers on a scrap of cloth. You’re leaning over his shoulder, watching his work intently. The proximity is making his fingers fumble more than they usually would, but you don’t seem to notice.

“You filed your nails today,” You remark, absently, as you watch his skilled fingers work their creative magic.

He blinks and pauses mid-stitch.

His nails? You noticed the length of his nails?

“I wasn’t aware they were so obscenely long that it would be so obvious.” He responds, his nose wrinkling just slightly. Perhaps his standards of cleanliness and appearance had fallen in the wilds.

“Oh, it’s not that,” You reply, your tone almost dreamy as you continue to observe the rogue, “I just look at your hands a lot.”

Astarion’s finger slips and he pierces himself with the needle. He winces slightly as he withdraws the sliver from his hand.

“I— what?” He asks, pausing his work to assess you with wide, blinking eyes.

You hadn’t meant to say that last part aloud. You’d been entranced and disarmed by the steady rhythm of his hands and the smell of Astarion’s freshly washed skin.

He’d started a new bar of soap today. You could tell because he smelled different when he returned from the river. You’d complimented the new fragrance and he’d stared at you for a moment too long, eyebrows furrowed. You worried you’d somehow offended him. And then he laughed and made some innuendo-filled joke about cleanliness being next to godliness.

He’s waiting for you to respond, the metal sliver of a needle held at rest between his thumb and forefinger.

“I…” You start, and you feel a blush creep across your face, “You have pretty hands.”

You finish the statement lamely and with a small shrug.

One, two, three beats of silence.

Astarion’s scarlet eyes are staring into your own; he’s thinking… deeply.

Before you process what’s happening, the rogue has already abandoned his project in the dirt and brought both his hands to cup your face, plunging forward to press a kiss against your lips. His tongue slides into your mouth, urgently dancing against your own.

You two hadn’t been physical since the night of the Tiefling party. He hadn’t propositioned you again, and you were far too nervous to attempt propositioning him. You are entirely caught off guard by his advances but eagerly receive his affections anyway.

When Astarion finally breaks away from you, his face is hot. He knows it isn’t the tea this time.

He wants to show you what else he can do with his pretty hands.

[thatfreshi]

Can I request Astarion x reader and he drinks from u when your standing and your legs buckle and you start to collapse from the blood loss but he catches you and Carries you to your bedroll and takes care of you?

Forgive me if it's rough, still trying to figure out the speech patterns!

Recommended Song: Ivy - SALES

It usually wasn’t often that Astarion asked to feed on you. Sadly, resources have been scarce, wild animals included. Anytime Lae’zel is out scouting she tries to bring something back for him, but to no avail. Recently, he had been asking quite often, and there is always an air of guilt in his question. 

“I’m sorry to ask my love, I just worry the others will see me differently, if I were to feed on one of them.”

It’s not as if your other companions aren’t aware of his situation, or the fact that you have to satiate him every once in a while. You think he simply feels like a burden, having to ask people for the very thing that sustains him. He just feels a little less like a burden when he asks you.

“Of course dear, no need to be sorry.”

You’ve gotten used to how this goes, as you’ve been travelling together for quite some time, and you and Astarion got smitten rather quickly. He’s always quite gentle, even if it does hurt at first. Instead of sitting down however, you continue working on stitching up a piece of your sleep-wear. With powerful magic from the likes of Gale and Shadowheart, you think such minute things could be fixed easily, but alas, they still require a realistic solution.

While you’re busy putting to work the simple stitch he taught you, Astarion moves to drink, wrapping you in a warm embrace. Many would think that the act of being drained of your own blood would be, well, terrifying, but something about it is quite intimate, heartwarming even. You don’t even really think about how your veins start running cold, how you start to feel much worse than normal. Then, you’re on the ground, needle and thread along with you. 

“Darling! I apologize, I should’ve had you lie down first, I should’ve-” 

He cuts off his own words as he scrambles to think. You’re still not fully there, but you want to tell him you’re fine. Sadly, eyes can’t always tell all. Even your parasite seems too drained to connect with him. When you regain some of your senses, you see that Astarion has brought you back to your bedroll, muttering something to himself, pacing the tent.

“I could’ve waited, I would’ve been fine. I-”

He pauses, realizing you’ve started to stir.

“Tav, darling, are you alright?”

You try sitting up, and he quickly moves to support your back, wrapping his arm around you waist.

“Yeah… yeah I’m okay.”

“I apologize, I knew it was a risk to feed on you again so soon. I put you in a terrible position, asking you like that.”

You reach to put your hand over his.

“No, it’s alright. I’ve become so nonchalant about it, I should’ve been much more considerate of the circumstances.”

He’s silent, trying to find another way to blame himself. The truth is, both of you were quite tired from the recent adventuring, and weren’t thinking straight. 

“I’ll tell them all we should stay at camp for another day. Or perhaps they can journey back to the Grove and we can stay for another evening.”

You tighten your grasp on his hand until he finally make eye contact with you.

“Astarion, it’s fine, truly. I’ll be fine tomorrow, come morning.”

You smile at him, despite the nausea caught in your throat. He feels bad enough, no use in making it worse. 

“Here, come lie with me.”

You meet the ground once again, and he joins you shortly after. He still has that look, that dreary mist across his eyes. Instead of trying to tell him in words, you nestle into his side, wrapping yourself around him, a way of saying ‘I still love you, no matter what.’ He leaves a kiss on your forehead, and finally lets the tension go. You close your eyes soon after, exhausted. Astarion never tells you, but he stayed awake and by your side the entire night, unmoving, just in case.

[gaysindistress]

Can I request headcanons for Gale, Wyll, Astarion, Halsin, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor with shy gn s/o who would go out of their way to help others whenever they can please?

This request is so cute and sweet 🥹 I hope you enjoy it my love💓

Bg3 masterlist

Gale

I think he would be the least surprised that you’re the one who always helps others. After all you did pull this mans from an unstable magic black hole without a second thought. He’d also probably get the most excited because he gets to spend time with you and watch you in your element!

He’d tease you about being shy but in a very gentle way with the most loving shy. Please don’t imagine him smiling down at you whilst brushing back a strand of hair and gazing into your eyes as he tells you how kind hearted you are.

On the flip side he’s going to be stern with you if you take on more than you can handle. He will be canceling all plans and making you stay in bed all day if you wake up worse for wear after neglecting yourself in favor of helping others.

Wyll

Wyll would be the most charmed by your selfishness. He prides himself on being the Blade of the Frontiers, the man who signed a pact to protect his city. It would only be natural for him to be someone who matches his level of generosity.

As for your shyness, he would find it enduring that you’re able to sacrifice everything you have for others but you can’t bring yourself to say hello first. Wyll isn’t shy himself but he’s more on the reserved side especially when he’s not ‘working’.

Say that you helped some kid find their parents again and the kid is excitedly telling them how a hero helped them. The kid is gesturing to you who’s standing back and almost shrinking back into the shadows but Wyll won’t let you. I can see him subtly drawing closer to you and whispering into your ear words of encouragement, telling you that you should accept their praise. He knows how much you hate being the center of attention but he also thinks that your actions deserve to be acknowledged.

Astarion

I’m going back and forth between him being drawn to you for this or being lowkey annoyed about it. A part of me thinks your selfishness would be an attracting factor because you have done so much for him. On the other hand though, astarion has a lot of trauma and might see as a threat to your relationship.

At first he would be very upset if you helped others because he doesn’t understand how you can care for him and others at the same time. He’s so used to kindness being a double edged sword that he can’t see how you’re not that way.

After some time (and therapy) he’d be able to understand that this is just how you are and it doesn’t mean you love him any less. Obviously there are days where this is a struggle for him but overall he’s less threatened by it the longer you’re together.

You bet your ass that this rouge shit head will tease you endlessly about being shy especially if you make him help Dribbles the Clown. He’s out here convincing people that you have the cure to smelly armpits because he thinks it so funny to see your reaction when they ask you about it.

Halsin

you can’t tell me that this Druid doesn’t find your selflessness the most attractive part about you. Not only did you save the grove but you also helped him lift the shadow curse. He refused to put himself above the shadow curse until it was lifted but that entire time he’s P I N I N G over you. When he is able to confess his feelings to you, he’s down bad for you and the shy little smile you have whenever someone thanks you.

Since the request didn’t ask for suggestive hcs, I won’t go into full detail about this one but you’ll get the point. Anytime Halsin sees you doing something kind for a stranger, he’s whispering into your ear that you need to return to camp with a strained voice.

Your shyness isn’t something he even thinks about most of the time. He’s reserved much like Wyll but he’s also an observer. He’d rather be in nature or simply away from people so he’d be the type to ask you if a day at home would be okay rather than going into the city.

Dammon

Dammon radiates blue collar golden retriever energy to me and maybe that’s because he’s a blacksmith or maybe it’s because he’d be making you anything you asked for. You need some iron rods to reengineer your neighbors’ chicken coop so predators quit getting in? He’s on and it’ll be ready by noon. Your dagger is dull because you’ve been too busy helping the older lady across the street to even think about? He’ll wait until you’ve fallen asleep to sharpen it and you’ll find it all shiny in your sheath the next morning.

Out of everyone hes the most concerned about your safety. We know that he’s not the strongest or even a fighter so he’d be worried about you helping people without much hesitation.

Your shyness may also make it harder for you to deny people if they ask for help which only adds to his concern. There may or may not have been a few times where you’ve agreed to lend a hand when you really should be staying home and relaxing.

Rolan

anytime you tried to do something for him prior to your relationship, he took personal offense to it. I honestly don’t think he would be react well to someone like this. I think he would get upset if he noticed you going out of your way to help someone but would also get upset with himself for feeling this way. He wants people to mind their own business however it’s very kind of you to do so selfish even at your own expense.

He might see your shyness as a weakness and think that that is the reason why you’re out ‘doing other people’s dirty work’ as he puts it. At first he might be a little too harsh about it and would unintentionally hurt your feelings but over time he’s come to understand that this is simply who you are.

Secretly he thinks you’re brave for being this way but he’ll probably never tell you outright. He’ll be subtle and try to drop hints by complimenting you or telling others about your good deeds.

Zevlor

*dreamy sighing* the paladin is constantly in awe of your quiet and calming presence. He admires how your shyness doesn’t stop you from being a good person and helping others. Often times he’s congratulating you after all is said and done with a proud smile and kiss to your forehead.

This is also how you met so I think these attributes of yours are among his favorite. Without your willingness to stick your neck out like that, you would’ve never met and he doesn’t want to even think about that.

again since the request didn’t ask for suggestive hcs, I won’t go into full detail. Zevlor is good with words, he was a commander after all but they do fail him from time to time. So when this happens, you will be spending the foreseeable future in your bed being worshipped by this paladin.

[moonselune]

Can I get something about a gn reader x Astarion who has a scar on the bridge of their nose and is kinda ashamed of it

I kept this one quite brief but I hope you like it!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Asatrion x gn!reader | Scars

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The night air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves around the camp. You sat by the fire, fingers lightly tracing the scar on the bridge of your nose. It was a constant reminder of a battle hard-fought, but one you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about. Lost in thought, you didn’t notice Astarion approaching until he sat beside you, his presence a comforting familiarity.

“What are you thinking about, love?” Astarion’s voice was soft, his eyes glinting with curiosity.

You hesitated, fingers stilling on the scar. “Just... this,” you admitted, gesturing to the mark. “I can’t help but feel... ashamed of it.”

Astarion’s eyes followed your gesture, and he let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, a hint of hurt flickering in your gaze. “Am I, now?”

Astarion’s expression softened, and he reached out to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing over the scar. “Yes, you are,” he said firmly. “This scar doesn’t make you any less beautiful. If anything, it adds to your allure.”

You snorted, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “That’s rich coming from someone as vain as you.”

Astarion’s laughter rang out, genuine and warm. “Oh, absolutely. I am vain, and I take great pride in my appearance.” He leaned in closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “Which is why you should feel extra ridiculous. If someone as vain as me can see the beauty in you, scar and all, then you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his logic, the tension easing from your shoulders. “You have a way with words, you know that?”

“I do,” Astarion said, his tone teasing yet affectionate. “And I mean every single one of them.”

His fingers traced the scar again, this time with a tender reverence. “This scar tells a story. It’s a part of you, and I wouldn’t change a thing about it. Or about you.”

A warmth spread through you at his words, and you leaned into his touch. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

Astarion smiled, his eyes softening. “That’s my job, isn’t it? To remind you just how extraordinary you are, scars and all.”

You leaned in, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss, pouring all your gratitude and affection into the touch. Astarion responded in kind, his hand slipping to the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, your heart feeling lighter than it had in days. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Astarion’s eyes sparkled with affection. “Anytime, my love. And remember, if you ever doubt your beauty again, just come to me. I’ll remind you as many times as it takes.”

You smiled, a genuine, unguarded smile, and kissed him again, knowing that with Astarion by your side, you could face any battle, scarred or not.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

[heartfluttered]

i love bg3, and i love being in the fandom but also. i have never felt more alone as someone who also happens to be chinese like.

i don’t like cazador. i don’t think the majority of bg3 fans do. but the fact that i’ve never seen the same amount of grace given to cazador that is given to gortash or even raphael, by fans or in the game, just fucking hurts.

consider gortash and cazador: both gortash and cazador have been hurt, and choose to perpetuate this cycle of hurt. gortash is widely crushed on and shipped with durge. in game, karlach (gortash’s victim, no less) expresses sympathy when she realises what was done to gortash. nothing remotely resembling this sympathy is given to cazador, regardless of in game or in fandom.

i’ve always gotten upset seeing people hate on cazador without allowing space for nuance, and haven’t been able to explain why until now—

characters like raphael and gortash can be loved, regardless of / including all the atrocities they commit. they’re pined after, and shipped, and loved. anytime someone likes cazador, on the other hand, fingers are pointed and everyone goes ‘but he’s an abuser!!’

and that’s just it: cazador is just ‘the abuser’. hatred towards the only memorable asian character never goes challenged or questioned, because he was quite literally written to be the most evil, most abusive character of all.

yes, he’s a terrible person, yes, he’s an abuser, yes, asian people can be abusive just like every other person on earth. it’s understandable why one would hate him, because he’s literally written to be, but the fact that he’s the only asian character i can name in bg3 just really fucking hurts.

fans who love raphael (me included) or gortash (me not included) are much more likely to be ‘excused’ or accepted, whereas any fans who even express an ounce of love for cazador immediately get shut down. why do you think this is. think about the implications of the only memorable asian in the game being the most abusive and most evil. (no, asian side characters and npcs with two lines of dialogue don’t count. no, the one asian face option for tav also doesn’t count)

again, i love bg3, and its changed my fucking life, but its just deeply upsetting to me that this character was written specifically to be hateable with no room for grace or remorse or empathy. nobody questions the blind, pure hatred for him. nobody questions why this hatred isn’t expressed quite as strongly for literally any other evil white character in the game.

i’m not asking for people who sympathize with / relate to astarion’s storyline to like cazador at all— that’s not the point of all this. i’m not telling you which characters to like or dislike. but racist beliefs / predispositions / inclinations do not magically become less racist when the character of color in question is written to be abusive, not to mention the fact that he’s the only asian character in bg3 that i can even name or remember.

growing up, i’ve always wanted to see myself in the fantasy stories that i loved. i’ve given up hoping that i will, but i’m really sad and disappointed that the one character who remotely looks like me in this game that i love with my whole heart is just evil. not nuanced, not tragic, not even a fucking person to most fans or even the creators, regardless of his canon backstory and his morally wrong similarities to other characters that are loved like gortash and raphael.

i love this game and this community so much, but i just feel so . i don’t know, stupid? LMAO maybe i’m just reading too much into it, but i just feel terribly alone in feeling this way

[mahoushojo-chan]

Astarion x Tav || bathing

when you wash your hair

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

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

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

word count: 2224

pairing: astarion/tav

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

now listening: when you wash your hair - matt maltese 

ao3: here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to,” he reassures.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You seem personally offended,” Tav notes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, love?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

[astarion-approves]

Drabble Request: Now That You've Done Astarion With A Short Reader, How About You Do Them With A Tall Reader? Like A Goliath Or Firbolg Type Reader?

:)

Astarion x GN! Tall reader

Fluff, silly, slightly OOC, touch of angst, mostly SFW (referenced first time together), no beta, and very lazy proof reading.

----------

From the beginning, every glance you caught from Astarion was filled with hunger. Something that you would later think was because of his craving for your blood—

But from his comments alone, it was definitely something else.

And it was endearing.

“Oh, my—“ Astarion stepped back, giving himself enough distance to meet your eyes for the very first time. He sounded intrigued, excited, and the way he looked you up and down was enough of a sign that he was interested in you…

Because you’re tall.

Astarion would find any excuse he could to have you flex your height. Grabbing apples he wouldn’t eat from the hardest to reach branches, asking you to throw him things from a far distance, even going so far as to fake a hurt leg and demand you carry him back to the campsite.

And eventually… he became even more forward with you.

“I want to climb you like a tree.”

“Are you looking down my shirt…? No? Why not?”

“You know… we’re all the same height.. lying down.”

The desperateness truly began once you gave him to him, after you spent your first night together, when you bent down to crash your lips against his and he let out the softest content sigh—

Often, during your travels, Astarion would wander ahead of the group in search of something to stand on. It was silly really, watching this strong rogue skip ahead of you any time he saw a rock or a crate that might bring him closer to your height. He would pose atop of it, pretending as though he was trying to see further down the path—

And when you would approach, he would beckon you over for a quick kiss.

“Not a single soul ready for slaughter, I’m afraid,” he would say with a pout. “A kiss would make me feel better. Unless you’ll allow me to stab Gale—“

A kiss it was. Time and time again. This short elf climbing ladders and waiting at the top, walking along the rails of the bridge to ‘fall’ into your arms, asking Gale to make him float through the air and in your direction.

Each time ending with his lips on yours.

“Astarion,” you began while picking yet another basket of apples.

“Yes, love?” He was gazing up at you, offering a soft smile as he held the fruit he would dump into Shadowheart’s arms later.

“If you… if you ever want me to kiss you, you can just ask.”

He scoffed. “And just what the hell are you saying? I’m perfectly capable of kissing you anytime I want. You’re not that tall, fuck you very much. As if I’m that desperate for your lips.”

You shrugged, “I’m just saying.”

“Well next time, don’t.”

You continued picking the apples in silence, Astarion’s snarky remark burning in the back of your mind. Maybe you were wrong and you were the one eager to kiss him… Not that you would deny that! But this was an obvious form of rejection, and one that made you feel small.

“Oh, stop pouting,” Astarion dropped the basket to the ground, ignoring how some of the apples slipped out and rolled away. “Fine! I admit it! Yes, I’m short. Yes, I love you. And, yessss, I can’t get enough of those lips of yours. Kiss me, please.”

You smirked and bent down, closing your eyes and giving him a soft kiss. “Was that so hard?”

“Yes. It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done……. Kiss me again.”

[deconstructivesurgery]

listen i haven't posted seriously in long-form about bg3 in a hot minute but i've been getting back into it bit by bit and i'm still on my gale and astarion shit.

not the "they hate each other but they love each other" stuff or the "toxic yaoi" (although it is funny to me sometimes) dynamic people seem to typically slap onto them, but rather just- whether you wish to see it in a romantic light or not- the pure potential for a true bitchy wine aunt relationship that lies there.

not only do i think they genuinely like each other in a surprisingly uncomplicated way at times despite how complicated both of them are personally, i will die on the hill of them just being... a bit snobbish together. bitching about wine or food that astarion can't even taste (won't stop him from insulting something based on look alone), reading and reviewing books together, perpetually remaining pretentious about architecture and style in distinctly different ways (grand and gothic versus the absolute hullabaloo of softer maximalism that i can see gale enjoying).

i can see in their good endings an outcome where once in a blue moon a vaguely irritable Newly Minted Adventurer/Locally Morally Dubious Hero Astarion Ancunin occasionally manifests his merry little self at one Prof. Gale Dekarios' door because what IS he there for if not to serve as a free-to-access resource of magical aid anytime he encounters some sort of odd curse or magical foe or what-have-you that he isn't well-versed in. who else is going to gleefully and without question provide him with enchanted weapons that most people would look at with concern. to boot, who else is going to provide said things while also being a good conversation partner.

if he happens to dredge up odd magical shit once in a while while he's romping around the country and drops it off at gale's doorstep (chance of spontaneous combustion, mad howling emanating from a haunted amulet, etc. be damned) every so often, it's only fair.

people love the drama that comes with a less stable outcome to their relationship, and that's entirely fair if that's the dynamic that you prefer out of these characters, but i think the potential for just genuine non-spiteful banter and connection is often overlooked. i think, at very least, that they could and should be good lasting friends. send tweet

[feyascorner]

Okay now hear me out HEAR ME OUT… this might get a bit angsty

But if astarion had romanced an elf tav, since elves reincarnate in dnd lore and retain some memories of their past life surely astarion would wait, right? Wait for them to come back to him, right??

Well most of us know that already 😋 but one thing I found interesting was; if astarion did find tav again (maybe he confirms it’s them through small mannerisms, maybe they meet at a tavern and this new tav laughs in the same melodic way, or he overhears tav talking about an interest they had in their past life) after confirming it is indeed tav again, how would astarion even feel ☹️

Because yes yipee you found them!!! But now are faced with the task of having to not only explain everything to them again (maybe fill in some of the gaps that are missing in their elf trances) but also have to deal with the impending doom that they’re going to have to die all over again 😭 like a cruel never ending cycle of having each other but never forever. (“I love you forever”, “oh darling our forevers don’t match up”)

OR OR OR if we’re feeling extra cruel, astarion finds tav over and over but each time tav dies gruesomely and it’s never preventable. A classic #timeloop lmao.

Ok enough rambling do with that as you wish

I LOVE TIME LOOP TROPES SO BADLY IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY...i dont really like how this came out but i love sad astarion so!!! not proofread so pls excuse that!!

Astarion, of all people, should love blood.

But when it's yours, all sticky and warm on his hands, he's repulsed by the crimson red staining his pale skin. Your lifeless body lies in his arms, head tucked into his chest, but your own no longer rising and falling in rhythm with your breaths. Your lashes are specked with flicks of red, and your eyes shut almost as if you're sleeping. It's only in moments like these, where you're truly like him, yet not like him at all. Dead, but not undead. Even in death, he thinks you're beautiful.

Just a few years, he reassures himself, despite the wet tears on his face. Just a few years, and you'll be back, as you always are.

And he does find you. After so many years of wandering aimlessly into bars you liked, places you enjoyed spending free time in, and spending most of his time in your previously shared home, he finally comes across you in the city square.

Only then does he realize you haven't gathered all of your past memories yet. On the one hand, he's ecstatic he found you when you have more time left in your elf lifespan, but on the other, it pains him to see you look at him in a gaze that's void of your usual adoration. But no matter. If something as trivial as this were to break his spirit, he would've rotted away years ago.

It takes time, but you manage to remember him again fully. When you do, neither of you wastes any time in restoring the remains of your previous lifetime together. You redecorate your old shared home together, toasting to a new lifetime together afterward. You give him that soft smile of yours, and he thinks he could not be happier than this. With you having so many years left, and him being infinite, he has no need to worry about being separated from you anytime soon.

For a moment, he's almost glad he was turned into a vampire spawn, because of what it means for the two of you.

"I love you forever," you say one day, pressed up against his chest with your legs entangled. "Even through all my lifetimes."

"Quite the grand gesture, my love," he grins, and you return the sentiment. "While I have only this lifetime to give you, you can have all of it. You can have what's my eternity."

You press a kiss against his lips. "...And half your closet?"

He snorts. "Everything except that."

It's okay, he tells himself. He has time. He won't have to watch your lifeless body lowered into another grave again until he's readied himself---though it seems he's never truly ready. As long as he's careful, you'd be okay.

He's always joked that your heroic tendencies would be the death of you.

There had been a storm. A large one, in fact, causing large waves to crash against the harbor and sending its occupants fleeing inward toward the city.

He should've begged you to stay.

"It's dangerous."

"It's far enough from the harbor, I'll be fine," you insist. "People need help fleeing and our neighbors are going to help out. I should too."

"Then I shall go with you-"

"It's still daytime. We can't risk it," you shake your head, squeezing both of his hands. He smells the whisk of your shampoo as you do. "I'll be okay, Astarion. I'll be back in an hour or two, I promise."

You never do.

By the third hour, the storm has already calmed, and he impatiently throws on a clock and bursts out the door like a madman. He flies past the dozens of people perched on the streets as they try to recover from the hellish storm, and despite how many there are, he doesn't see you. None of them even know where you are.

"They saved my son. Jumped into the water into those nasty waves and got him out, but they...they didn't make it."

Astarion can see the fisherman's mouth continuing to move, but he can't hear him anymore. He feels like he's suffocating, eyes wide as they slowly turn to the calm ocean that now acts as your grave. But there is no tombstone, and there is no place for him to lay down your favorite flower.

He was supposed to have time. You were supposed to have time.

And this time, he doesn't even have the opportunity to kiss your pretty face goodbye, left with nothing but the murky waters of the city that extend past what his eyes can see.

It's times like these that he hates his own eternity.

He's numb by the time he reaches the house again, just as you'd left it. When he enters the bedroom, he realizes that neither of you bothered to make the bed this morning, and sees your pillow crumpled messily against his own. And beside it, your messily tossed pajamas lying with no owner anymore.

He grabs the shirt, staring down at it with dull eyes.

He can't even cry anymore.

Astarion spends the next few decades as a ghost of the city, holding himself hostage in the confinements of his own home. He doesn't touch anything, he doesn't move anything, and he doesn't even dare to open your closet door out of fear that your clothes will lose your scent. He's sure they've already lost it, but it comforts him to know that he's left everything exactly as you had.

Time passes, and as usual, it only leaves him behind.

The criminals lurking in the shadows are the ones who face his wrath. He hunts them down viscously, barely drinking half their blood before they're already dead from the wounds he inflicts on them. He gives no more mercy, because the world has not shown him any in return. Today is no different, as he corners his victim for today in the darkest alley he can find that has a dead end.

The man begs for his life, but it doesn't even register in Astarion's head before he's dead.

The blood tastes like nothing as it slides down his throat. When he releases the man and his body collapses to the ground, Astarion wipes at his mouth, glowering blankly at what remains. A corpse. Even filth like this could leave something behind while you were lost in the sea, forever forgotten by everyone but him. It's not fair. It's not fair at all.

"Astarion?"

His head whips around, able to recognize your voice anywhere, regardless of how much time has passed. It relieves him because he'd begun to fear that his mind had grown foggy in regards to your voice, but the worries seem to have been misplaced because you sound exactly as he remembers. Your hair is a different length now, your face void of the previous scars you've had and replaced with new ones. But no amount of change can stop him from recognizing you. Not even death itself.

"Darling."

"I knew I'd find you here."

As you run into his embrace, he sees color again. He can breathe again. He can live again. And for the first time in decades, he lets himself cry again.

No matter how many times he does this and how many times you die, he'll wait. Even if it crushes him to watch your demise every time.

[brain-rot-central]

This stems from an idea I had yesterday of Jaheira being Astarion's surrogate mom.

He and Tav just had a baby and she's being fussy. He's doing his best to swaddle her in a blanket to calm her down, but she begins crying louder the tighter he wraps the blanket.

Jaheira is watching his struggle from afar and comes over to assist. "What is the trouble, Astarion?"

"Ugh, I... I don't know!" He knits his eyebrows and clicks his tongue. "She's just been fed, she does not need to be changed. I cannot get her to stop crying!"

Jaheira chuckles and extends her hands toward the crying babe, Astarion stepping slightly out of the way. "Oh Astarion, you truly are just a boy." Astarion scowls as she watches Jaheira pick up his daughter, cradling her against her chest.

"I'm older than you, you know. Stop talking to me as if I'm your child." He places a hand on his hip and shifts his weight to one leg.

"Not by much," she retorts. Jaheira turns her attention toward the small child in her arms, turning her head to kiss the babe softly on the forehead. "My little cub, forgive your father," she says softly to the child. "He does not yet know you as Grandma Jaheira does." Jaheira stands in place, slowly bouncing on her knees to help rock the child to peace.

The babe coos in her arms, a tiny hand coming up to grasp the hem of Jaheira's shirt. She begins to settle, until all that can be heard are soft grunts. A smile graces Jaheira's face, and she returns your attention to Astarion.

He's staring at both his daughter and Jaheira, disbelief evident on his features by how quickly she was able to soothe the child. "How did you-"

"Babies are simply creatures, Astarion. There is no need to overcomplicate the matter." Jaheira adjusts the baby so she is laying across her shoulder, a hand coming up to cup the back of the small infant's head. She continues to bounce on her knees, rocking side to side. "They are only in need of two things, the first being food." She dips her head forward, "Tav takes care of that."

Astarion nods hesitantly and steps closer. "And what is the second thing?" he asks hesitantly.

"Love," she tells him. "Holding them against your chest is enough to help them feel secure."

Astarion shifts uneasily on his feet, casting his eyes toward the floor. "Jaheira, I-" he starts but his voice trails off into a soft whisper. "You do realize that my heart... stopped, long ago." Jaheira nods. "And that my skin is... cold, yes?"

Jaheira nods again. "I do, little vampire. Though I have faith that she knows your scent well enough." Jaheira shifts to cradle the babe in her arms again, extending them slightly toward Astarion. "Here, come hold her as I am."

"Jaheira, I-I don't think she accepts me," Astarion protests as Jaheira places the babe within his arms. He looks down at the child in his arms, and sees her beginning to become uneasy again.

"Lay her across your shoulder, so that she may breathe in your scent." Jaheira aids in adjusting the child into position against Astarion's chest.

The babe's face rests near the nape of his neck, and he feels the infant begin to settle. He closes his eyes and raises a hand to cup the back of the child's head, resting his cheek against her forehead. He sighs heavily in relief.

"See? She is quite pleased," Jaheira tells him with a smile. "Believe me, Astarion, she knows who her father is. And she loves him just as much as he loves her."

The child coos softly in his arms and he meets Jaheira's gaze. "Thank you, Jaheira," he says.

The druid waves a hand toward him. "Anytime, Astarion. Please, I'm more than happy to help you and Tav with the little one."