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epiphyllous · 10 months ago

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when morning comes (Astarion/Reader) [2]

For what could you be to him, if not a victim, not a target, not a night it's better to forget-- if he holds these feelings for you?

Word Count: ~5k Notes: Astarion/Reader, Paladin!Reader, AFAB, gender-neutral "you", following Astarion romance route in his POV + my hc/additional scenes, [switches to your POV], annoyance to lovers, fall first/fall harder, mutual pining, contains NSFW [Part 1] - [Part 3]

[Act II: Underdark/Shadowfell]

How long has it been, Astarion wonders, since the last time he truly cared for someone other than himself? All he remembers is that it didn't go well the last time; sympathy has no place in Cazador's castle, and mercy for his victims does not go unpunished.

It was kill or be killed. Just as he was afforded no quarters, he never allowed himself to feel for another one of his victims again. It is why when he finds himself in the rare position of being cared for (you and Karlach are particularly eager at showing him as much together), caring for others still does not come easy to him.

Or so he thought.

Worrying for your livelihood comes almost instinctively, a panic wrought midst an adrenaline-filled battle when he sees your motionless body on the floor. “No!” He hardly recognizes his own voice like that, a scream full of horror. “You can't die. Get up, goddamn you!” He flits across the battlefield, avoiding enemies with the help of Karlach to reach you. He lets go of a breath he was holding when he sees your face grimace in pain, eyes flickering open dazedly.

“Astarion?” You mumble when you see him, and a volley of emotion rushes him. Anger: the damn Spectator doesn't like to play fair, does it, attacking them on sight. With an eye as big as a target as it is, Astarion cannot wait for payback. Frustration: why must you always plow your way forward with abandon, refusing to bow down from danger?

Then–

Worry: your breathing is shallow, eyes unfocused; does he have a healing potion on him? And relief: you are hurt but you are alive– thank god you are alive. (Irritation: he swears if he must strap you to Karlach to stop you from running ahead, he is certain the tiefling would be on board with his plan.)

Astarion cannot help the scowl on his face even as he quickly untops a healing potion and helps you drink it, a hand behind your head. “Stand back up and start killing something,” he tells you bitingly, and you smile at him gratefully, which he can only look at for so long.

“Got it,” you say, taking a moment before laying healing hands onto your chest. You breathe out in relief and Astarion finds himself quietly doing the same. “Thank you, Astarion. Let's hit ‘em hard this time.” You raise your crossbow and imbue it with holy light before taking aim and firing.

His arrows join yours right after, and the Spectator wails in pain, interrupting its thrall over the petrified drow. “Say less, dear,” Astarion says. “Just make sure to die on your own time, hm?”

Your laugh is a strange thing to hear amidst battle but not an unwelcome one.

Ever since they started traveling in the land of spores and shadows, you have given him blood every night, noticing fairly quickly the lack of vermin or animals to feed on. You are always woozy in the morning, lightheaded at best and exhausted at worst. It is particularly bad whenever he feeds on nights you have suffered injuries, but still, you offer.

Astarion had suggested to only feed every other night if only to spare you from tripping up in battle. He tells you he has little desire to resuscitate you in the midst of it. (And even less of one to see you fallen in battle in the first place. One time was plenty enough.)

He's been eyeing the small population of duergar that so conveniently became their enemies anyways, so feeding would not be quite so dire. He would also feed on the dark gnomes, dislikable creatures that they are, but he has a strong inkling you would greatly disapprove. (You were strangely friendly with that dark gnome you saved on the windmill, but you have done stranger things that still boggle him. He's learned to live with it. Begrudgingly, of course.)

Even then, you insisted on letting him have your blood despite Shadowheart's exasperation. It shows the cleric's affections for you and (a surprising show of) trust for him that she almost offers her own blood, if only to temporarily sate his appetite. You wave away the discomfort though, thankful for the members who are able to restore you from bloodlessness but otherwise willful in your decision to let him feed on only you.

Astarion is thankful– of course he is. He would never say no to a truly good meal; and you are right for the most part about not having much to eat. But as good as he is with words, Astarion is beginning to feel his debt to you accumulate.

There is not much he can do for you in return, really. It's not as if you need protecting, though he does ever so often help keep you hidden among the shadows when you're hiding or snipe an enemy before they even think of aiming at you. But you have always done that for him. It's something you've relayed to him early on: you have his back as long as he has yours.

The protection is mutually beneficial, but giving him blood is a gift. He owes you– among other things. He has always found blood appealing due to his... affliction, but he is finding that your expression during battle, the blood that you bathe in as a result of it leaves him feeling hungry for a completely different reason.

(Astarion finds that he hungers for you similarly when you are otherwise at peace. When you gaze into the campfire with a look of innocent awe at the flickering flames or when you wave him over eagerly for him to sit near it with you, happy to have him close as though it were a rare occurrence and not a near nightly thing. It is a quiet type of hunger-- a yearning-- that often goes ignored. For what could you be to him, if not a victim, not a target, not a night it's better to forget-- if he holds these feelings for you?)

It is easy to come to the conclusion that he can offer his body to you as compensation. Astarion is quite certain you enjoyed his performance before, and he admits he feels... closer to you as a result of the first time. There is nothing wrong with building an even closer bond with you- to ensure his safety, of course. And most importantly, sex is enjoyable with you; he imagines himself less and less being able to propose the same to the others in camp, no matter how strong or reliable they are as allies.

He does suspect none of them would be willing. They seem to view him and you as something exclusive. Astarion doesn't remember establishing anything of the sort, but something about the two of you must allude to it.

Astarion doesn't mind; it makes it easier to seduce you thoroughly. And, if his plan has worked, breaking your heart by straying to others sounds like a terrible idea considering the fact the camp would rather break their own legs than betray you.

(Lae'zel would break his legs for any discretion despite how blasé she is with romantic relationships. (You had gained her stalwart friendship through hard-earned battles against an entire créche– this is not to be taken lightly.) Wyll would be more than happy to have been proven right all along, with how convinced he is that Astarion's heart be as cold as ice. Gale would lecture his ear off, which is a threat on its own, and he is convinced Shadowheart has learned how to torture given her Sharran background. Karlach would probably just give him an equally upset and disappointed look, and that would discomfit Astarion more than anything.

In summary– the odds would not be in his favor. Which works out for him; best be in your debt than anyone else's if there's to be a debt at all.)

After helping the myconids get rid of their enemies, they camp in the safe spore refuge after reaping their rewards from the fungi's makeshift prison. Astarion waits for you to come find him, doing another futile attempt to read the Book of Thay as you make your rounds and check in with everyone. It seems that you have gotten into the habit of saving him for last, knowing how long the conversations might last into the night. It works out perfectly for him, because when you come over to him, eyes bright, he sets out to proposition you again.

"Here's my little treat with their cheeks all flushed." Astarion lowers his eyes and looks up through his lashes coyly. "You will come to my bed tonight, won't you?"

You blink at him. "Are you hungry?" You ask, which is an odd way to start flirting back. "Do you not like coming into my tent for a bite?"

Ah. Right.

Astarion can't stop the unbidened sigh. "No, dear, I was suggesting something a little... more. Though, I am always open to being fed."

"Oh," you say. "Oh!" And like magic, your cheeks darken with color. "Sorry, I- well, you called me your 'treat' so I automatically assumed, you know, food."

"You want something better? It'd be my pleasure," he teases, clearing his throat lightly before continuing. "How about this one: when I'm with you, I feel practically alive, yet I crave only to die again with you."

You let out a little laugh and he is quick to continue. "Why, your laugh is nearly just as sweet as when I tasted you."

Your smile wobbles in half embarrassment and flattery. "Astarion," you say, halfheartedly chiding.

"Let me give it another go, hm?" He makes a show of putting his hand on his chest. "Every part of your body whispers temptation," he tells you, "as if the Gods made you just to ruin me."

Astarion earns himself what he believes to be an endeared shake of the head, a permanent smile on your face. "You're ridiculous," you say warmly.

"I can go all night with the flattery, but is that really all you want?" He says, putting a finger on his lips, pretending to think. "What if I said these three little words, everyone's favorite." He looks into your eyes and delivers his lines. "I love you."

He hears you laugh again, but it is short and loud, as though you forced it out. It is unlike your usual, genuine laughter, and when Astarion searches for the truth, he feels as though your smile does not reach your eyes… or not. He cannot be sure. For someone who can never find it in yourself to lie to your companions, you make for an impeccable poker face when you need it.

"Looks like you're having fun," you tease, and Astarion starts to think he was simply imagining it.

"Of course," he says, surprisingly honest, "it's hard not to with you." He falters when your countenance brightens at his words, and he clears his throat to collect himself. "Now, as much as I relish standing around and saying all my favorite lines at you, I'd much rather we got to experience each other's full portfolio of talents once again."

"I'll come find you?" You ask as a response, and Astarion smiles.

"I hoped you would say yes. I have missed you," Astarion finds himself admitting. He recovers quickly though, seduction in his voice. "And now you'll be all mine, and I'm all yours. Until morning at least."

There is that little tug of your lips again, gone as quickly as it appeared. Astarion may not fully know what the tic means, but he does know that in some capacity, you are lying to him. It disturbs him more than he can place.

"Until morning," you repeat, giving him an equally quiet smile before turning.

Astarion watches you walk away, heavy with the feeling that he has missed something important.

When he meets you later tonight, you are as playful as ever in bed, eager to touch him and please him as you have been before. You roll your hips into his lap as you hold him from the front, neck tilted up and eyes closed as you loam in the pleasure. A trickle of blood runs down your body, proof of an appetite satiated. He tongues at your skin, following the trail up as you let out a pleased hum.

Astarion has always thought this in one way or another, but you are a vision. Breathtaking in your battlelust, stunning in your resilience, and beautiful in the throes of passion.

It is always a plus, he thinks, to be attracted to you. It makes it a less unpleasant experience, if nothing else. With you, it makes a long night of love almost a cinematic experience; there is so much to watch unfold, so much of you to see.

"Any ideas how we'll know when it's morning in the underdark?" You ask him breathlessly, hands carding through his hair.

"After I have you seeing stars, naturally," he says easily, and you let out a huff of laughter at his words.

"You're so silly," you tell him in the fondest way you can. His heart involuntarily skips a beat as you brush your hand over his cheek before pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips. "Maybe it'll never be morning here," you say, "and I could have you forever."

A thought violently comes to him, holding his heart with a vice grip: you genuinely sound like you're in love with him. Astarion should be elated; his plan is working. Instead he feels dread's cold fingers curling around his neck for a completely new reason.

Before he can process, you grind your hips down in a move he knows you learned the last time around, and he groans, hands on the small of your back to hold you back. "Why, darling," he breathes out, "you're beginning to get as good as me."

He feels your smile on his lips, warm and real, and the dread is soothed-- if only just for a little bit. "I could never," you whisper into him, and he falls onto his back, another time for him to remember.

When he wakes up, your warmth in his arms, his nose buried in your hair, he finds that morning does not come in the underdark like he expects. And his simple plan to seduce you is quickly falling apart in ways he never thought imaginable.

Astarion does what he has always done when things go awry: he disengages. Or he tries to, anyways, but you have a knack about wiggling your way into interacting with him, not at all deterred by his attempted nonchalance. He gives up on that plan quickly one night when he tries to refuse your help to read his scars.

For one, he actually does need someone else's help to visualize the markings on his back. And all things considered, you are the one he is most comfortable to help him, having seen his back once already. Secondly, trying to push you away does him no good in terms of his original plan; spurning you can only build resentment, which works against him in terms of your protection. (Or not, he thinks. You have always defended him even if you were irritated with him that day because of a fight. Your trifles with him never affected how you felt for him in the long-run.)

Thirdly, and most unfortunately, he actually does… like interacting with you, for all the annoying times you are overly good to others. He trusts you, and perhaps that is all the reason he's ever needed to turn his back to you as you scrawl the markings into the dirt floor. About two hundred years he has lived with this on his skin and never seen it until now. Not that he can read it, but it is definitely a step forward.

He looks up at you to see you staring intently at him. “What?” He says, “what is it?”

“I was just thinking,” you tell him. “Slightly unrelated, but maybe when we reach the city or something, we could have the artist we saved from the Zhentarim paint your portrait so you can see yourself again.” You shrug when he merely blinks at you in confusion. “Just a thought, since you didn't like how I described you last time and writing your markings down reminded me.”

You remembered, he thinks, about what he said about not having seen his appearance in eons. He can't help it--he's a little endeared despite himself. “Darling, last time you described me like I was some decrepit old man,” Astarion replies facetiously.

“No, I didn't!” You fume, and he's amused to see the way your lips form a pout, one of the few things that betray your youth. Though he supposed anyone would be young compared to him. “I happen to like the way you look, laugh lines and crow's feet and all.” You huff as if mortally wounded. “I described you with ‘piercing eyes’ too didn't I?”

“Yes, I recall you called me beautiful as well,” Astarion simpers, and you huff in laughter this time around.

“You really are,” you say, smile on your lips. “Beautiful, I mean.”

Something flutters in his chest. It could not have been his heart, surely, for it hasn't beat since the moment he was turned. And yet… The back of his neck feels oddly warm, the heat traveling up to his ears: was he really embarrassed from something like that? Him, the connoisseur of seduction, master of one-liners, brought down by a- a compliment?

Astarion is quick to turn his nose into the air, letting out a noise of approval at your words as though it were a given. And it is– he must be beautiful, for how else would people fall for him so easily? But coming from you, sincere, without expectations for something more, Astarion is left unequipped to deal with as smoothly as he would have liked.

It's becoming more frequent by the day.

“Thank you, dear. Not enough people say so,” he says. “Feel free to lavish me in flattery at any given time.”

“Okay.” Your eyes twinkle looking at him as though there are all the stars in the world in your eyes. He recognizes that twinkle, though it could range from anywhere from mischief to affection– perhaps both when it comes to him. He discreetly presses a hand into his chest, wondering if his heart had suddenly decided to start beating again. “Whatever you say, beautiful,” you sing.

And how is Astarion supposed to resist being charmed by you when you are like this? If that was all there was though, he thinks as you go set up camp, then there wouldn't be much of a problem. Being fawned over by you should be the easiest thing he has done, but it isn't. He feels… Astarion isn't sure what he feels, and he loathes the fact that it can never be simple with you.

You're supposed to be an end to a means. Why does it matter that you seem to care for him beyond his body? That when you tell him he's beautiful, he knows you mean more than surface-level? And that he feels for you when you tell him as much?

It is a dangerous game he is playing, being so close to you while he comes to terms with what you may mean to him. But Astarion admits he lives for the danger of it all, especially when he finds that seduction is not always a one-way road.

Astarion almost forgives you for helping dark gnomes in droves for how ruthless you are to their slavers. You are a paladin, a protector of the weak, but you are also a punisher of evil. You cleanly decapitate Nere with an impassive expression, and Astarion has never felt so thoroughly turned on.

(He remembers a conversation shared with you in the beginning of your relationship with him– even before you had even begun to see him as a true companion. How would you like to die, he had asked.

It was an odd choice of topic. Vaguely threatening and definitely morbid, but you had answered in earnest. And when you asked, how about you?

He said, Decapitation. One good swing and then- nothing.

Astarion watches as you carefully clean your sword of Nere's blue blood and thinks his answer still has not changed.)

He doesn't hide it well, his eyes trailing after you almost predatorily. Shadowheart notices almost immediately, giving him a side look that would have chafed if he weren't who he is. Lae'zel, for once, gives no comment to his lustful behavior. She of all people would understand the irresistibility of power and bloodlust. It is you who does not notice, too focused on inviting– ugh, Barcus Wroot to the camp so he doesn't inevitably find himself in need of saving again and promising to rescue Wulbren, among other dark gnomes, at Moonrise.

At this rate, you'll have an entire laundry list of people to save at the same location, and you'll probably still think that you ‘might as well since they're all in the same place anyways.’ He can already imagine you saying those words, and it would have stopped him from being so hot and bothered had you not turned to notice him then and look at him like a cat who caught the canary.

“Was it killing the duegar? Nere?” You ask him, amusement dancing in your eyes, “Or is it the fact I still have blood literally everywhere?”

His fangs peek from behind his smile. “Why, darling, don't be so surprised!” He tells you seductively, "Blood is an attractive look on you, you know.”

You laugh at this, hand wiping away at your forehead, smearing the flecks of blood that stubbornly stay. Astarion watches you intently as you thumb across your cheek and then your lips, blood painting them like luxury rouge. It's only then Astarion realizes you're doing this on purpose, and the thought of you- you!- teasing him on purpose is unexpectedly charming.

“You cheeky little pup,” Astarion calls you nearly breathlessly, and you can only smile at him, caught in the act.

(Both Shadowheart and Lae'zel give each other long side looks this time.)

The shadowlands are wrought with a darkness unlike Astarion has ever seen. It must be the silence of such a foul curse because he begins to come to terms about what he can do for the scars on his back. Dealing with the devil is never the greatest of plans, but it is a plan he knows for certain will work.

He must have the luck of the realms to find Raphael in the only place where the dark cannot reach: Last Light's Inn. Like the other times they have made contact with him, the devil is as elusive and lackadaisical as ever, much to Astarion's annoyance. In the corner of his eyes, he sees you fume, stepping closer to Astarion as you pin down Raphael with an unfaltering stare.

"Get to the point, Raphael," you say with a tone of impatience. “Will you help him or not?” Brave but reckless coming from you; you are more often like him than not, preferring to fawn and please your way through, but it seems even the devil tests you.

Raphael disappears in a snap of flames with no answers yet, and the lingering smell of ashes puts a foul taste in everyone's mouth. Especially yours, it seems, as you haven't moved away from him yet, stance tense and ready for battle still. Astarion's gaze flickers back and forth between your body language, and he would call it possessive if he didn't know what type of person you were. It doesn't even look like you're aware that you're being protective of him, subtle and unobtrusive as it is.

Astarion recalls his childhood dreams of marrying heroic princes when he was thirteen. He has somewhat grown out of it now, jaded as he is. The thought of being a damsel in distress is no longer as appealing as it was back then now that he understands what it truly means to be helpless. But seeing you as you are, watching over him carefully while trusting him to be able to fight for himself, coaxes the dream back to life just a little bit.

It helps that you are not the perfect knightley archetype of fairytale storybooks. Your imperfections and playful mannerisms help contextualize his childhood's unrealistic expectations into something more real– more suitable for his current tastes. He watches as you get onto your knees and meow at the hairless cat for its attention and thinks he would get rather bored if you were just a princely character.

“At least you purr for me,” he remarks when the cat hisses at you and watches as you throw him one of his favorite looks, a dour expression mixed with amusement.

“Maybe I should start hissing, huh?” You reply with a grin, bumping his shoulders as you walk by to speak to Jaheira.

And there is one other thing he has noticed: you are a physically affectionate person. While he is a master of words, you prefer to communicate through touch--once you have become more comfortable with the people you are with. You brush shoulders with Gale when the two of you stargaze, you hook arms with Shadowheart when the two of you go for walks, and, when you feel that Lae'zel is in the mood for it, you clasp her shoulder for a battle well fought. You are almost reckless in the way you provide touch, hugging Karlach the moment Dammon fixes her infernal engine without fear of getting burned, not afraid to get close to Wyll's new devilish horns, if only to make him more comfortable with the change.

You have never been shy with touch, whether you mean to or not. He gets the sense that you simply want to be closer to him– to everyone– and when words fail you (he has seen you flub a conversation with a rat once), your touch can do the talking.

It's almost awe-inspiring the range in which your actions can convey. Astarion knows well how your brandished sword can intimidate, how your stance communicates confidence, how your gentleness conveys compassion. Knowing you is a strength of its own considering the surprise you gave Marcus when you seemingly go from peaceful conversation to deadly assault. Though Astarion wonders if it is a weakness too when he feels your pinky touch his after the frightful battle, and he understands you almost too well.

“We fight so many demons I'm beginning to get bored of them,” he tells you, and he lets you continue to curl your pinky with his, a small but secure connection between the two of you.

[You are brave but not unafraid, and you are frightened by the idea of betrayal so close to home. You are scared of sudden bloodshed and of repercussions of failure. You are fearful of Astarion getting hurt, and that will always be true, but it is true especially now when you are so close to where this journey all began. You seek him out to make sure he is alright, if only for your own comfort. And if he is fine, then maybe everything will be fine as well.]

“Good to hear,” you say simply. It is all you can find yourself saying in the aftermath, and you stay close to Astarion. It isn't until Jaheira talks about infiltrating Moonrise that you let go of him to speak to her.

Astarion finds himself rooted in his spot, wondering for a brief moment how his heart can be set alight from an innocent touch like that from you.

The night before they infiltrate the heart of the Absolute, Astarion dreams. It is not a nightmare for once, but it feels very little like a dream.

You were in it: crescent moon rising above, sitting on the shore, letting the waves lap at your bare feet. You invite him over to sit with you like you always do in the waking world, and he does– not caring about how the salty waters will ruin the leather of his pants or the fact he has never seen you in the white robe you are wearing now.

The two of you sit in silence for the most part, watching the water stretch out into the distance where the eye can no longer see it. He looks over at you, and as though feeling his gaze, you turn to him and give him a smile he feels himself returning.

“I got you this,” you tell him, holding out a single flower for him. “‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’”

He takes the flower in hand. It is not a rose, but a gardenia, cheerful in its yellow color. Astarion brings it close to his nose, but the flower itself has no scent. “The other flower doesn't smell as sweet, darling,” he says. “Or are you saying I'm the rose in this case?” He lets out a laugh and you only smile wider.

“Beautiful as you are dangerous,” you say, and Astarion is about to comment on how suave you seem to be tonight, but then you stand up and start walking into the water, uncaring of how wet your clothes become. He watches as you submerge yourself halfway before turning to him, unfazed.

Astarion stands too, his feet on the dry sand, unable to follow. The water will be cold, he thinks, and who knows how deep it goes? His thoughts are interrupted by your peals of laughter, and his head shoots up to look at you, robe floating in the waves almost ethereally.

“Join me whenever,” you tell him, eyes bright even in the dark. “I can teach you how to swim.”

And Astarion wakes up, remembering only the thought that it has almost been two hundred years since he last swam. He wonders if he's forgotten how.

*dream sequence symbolism crescent moon - dynamic shift, beginning or end, wisdom, openness to sexuality white robes - protection, purity, clarity, knowledge yellow gardenia - secret love, dreams, thinking of sweetness in the subconscious receiving flowers as a gift - communicating deep feelings, often positive; who is receiving and who is giving? sand - stop in time and lack of growth, waiting; beach sand in particular acts as the border between the unconscious part of you (depths of the water), and the conscious (being on the shore); the cross worlds between your field of perception and the unknown.

#astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion/tav #astarion/reader #astarion ancunin #i need to know how tav and astarion goes from blood bag to ride or die and this is how im finding out #[adds 203139 extra scenes]

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mt-musings · 1 month ago

Text

The Last Silverboughs

Halsin struggles to put his past to rest, but it's haunting him in more ways than he realizes. He'd thought his time in the Underdark was long behind him, an unpleasant pitfall of youthful hubris, but remnants of his captivity remain, the youngest of which unwittingly stumbles to his rescue.

Lythra can't stop running from her past--hasn't, since she managed to make it out of the Underdark. She has no love for Menzoberranzan, or her House, or anything she left behind in the dark. Or nearly anything.

Still, she'd rather die than return--a prospect all the more likely with a tadpole jammed behind her eye. But perhaps, with the help of a renown druidic healer, she can go back to what remains of her half-life in the sun.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

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Lythra watched Astarion pointedly file his nails off to the side while their crew caught their breath. They’d managed to steal the barrel of runepowder along with a smaller vial, though not without a fight, and that wasn’t counting the one they’d had to reach her hiding spot. Course, they couldn’t take too much time to dally, considering Nere was suffocating in poison.

She really would love to just leave him to it, but that would mean letting the duegar torture and kill the deep gnomes, and that just didn’t sit well with her. Still, Nere wasn’t popular, and they’s have at least some help riddling him with holes.

A pompous little drow wizard, just like Kel.

She still didn’t know if he’d lived, hadn’t decided if she wanted him to have. She hated him but—she didn’t know. Some part of her wondered if maybe he could be reasoned with, could learn not to be such an absolute asswipe. If he could only just be her brother and not her rival, not her tormentor.

“So, I suppose Nere is next, then,” Gale said from where he sat leaning against one of the crumbling walls, drawing her from her thoughts.

“I still don’t understand why we’re breaking him out just to kill him. Seems like a waste of time, to be honest,” Astarion said without looking up from his nails.

“Because they’ll kill the gnomes, Fangs,” Karlach shot back.

“Why should we care about some stupid gnomes? It’s their fault they were dumb enough to get caught.”

“Think of it as an opportunity to try duegar blood,” Lythra replied. Astarion made a face.

“I bet it’s mostly beer. Ack! Disgusting.”

“We’ll have to be clever about it, considering the open pits of lava. Gale, we’ll need you for crowd control, Karlach, you’ll need to occupy the bruisers and Astarion—just find somewhere out of sight and start picking them off.”

“What about you, short sack?” Karlach asked.

“I’m going to blitz Nere. He’ll come out monologuing—it’s what they do, they can’t help it. So he comes out, orally masturbating at us and then BAM! Susy to the sternum,” she said, flipping the sussar dagger in her hand with a flourish. “Should fuck him up pretty badly and if he doesn’t die, then he’ll have to work through some…performance issues.”

“That is…certainly a way of phrasing that,” Gale said, shaking his head.

“Well, we better be getting on with it, before he does suffocate,” she said, getting up.

“Here’s hoping!” Astarion replied, crossing both his fingers. Lythra just rolled her eyes as he jumped lightly to his feet, staring her down as he slipped her nail file into his pocket.

He sauntered by, trailing his fingers across her cheek as he went. Her heart fluttered in her chest and she looked away.

“Keep it in your pants, Fangs,” Karlach called after him, laughing. Lythra just took a breath, shaking her head. Gale gave her a look, one she didn’t care to decipher.

She was too focused on the task at hand, with what may as well serve as the prelude to her reunion with Kelennar, once she returned to the Gate.

~~~

“You positively reek of blood, my dear,” Astarion said, coming to stand by her side at the edge of the cavern where they’d pitched camp. She didn’t seem to hear him, or perhaps she was ignoring him, her gaze far away. He couldn’t help but notice the way her hands shook, even though they’d returned to camp nearly an hour ago.

She’d never been one to get up close and personal in a fight, much more comfortable striking foes down form the shadows. But this time—this time she’d rushed ahead with reckless abandon that had give even Karlach pause. He’d never seen her behave so viciously, something that he’d watched with a sick sort of delight at the time, though now the delight had faded to something he’d nearly call worry.

Ridiculous, he thought to himself. Why should he worry, when she’d survived just fine? He should be elated, if anything, that his chosen ally had more skill than he’d known before, that she was still full of useful surprises.

“Sweetness—“ he began, hoping to lead her back to camp, to where Shadowheart or Halsin could see to her obvious injuries. Instead she spat something out in what he assumed to be drow and set off into the blackness. He watched her go, disappearing too easily into the shadows of the cavern and shook his head.

Sometimes he regretted allying himself to such an enigma. He still didn’t know why her blood seemed to thrum with such alluring darkness. As if they didn’t have enough secrets with Shadowheart’s mysterious artifact and Gale’s ticking magical time bomb in his chest.

He turned back towards camp with a sigh. If she wanted to run off into the cavernous Underdark with nary a word, that was her prerogative, and he wasn’t about to tear off after her.

“Where did the tiny one go?” Karlach asked as he returned, he just shrugged, rather than voicing his annoyance. After all, it hadn’t been the first time she’d run off since they’d begun their trek to the hidden path to Moonrise Towers. He caught Halsin staring at him as he dropped down next to the fire, judgement clear in the set of his brows before the druid set off in the direction Astarion had just come from.

Off to play hero, he was sure.

Maybe that’s what she wanted, someone to tear after her, to wheedle out whatever it was that had been eating at her since they’d begun their journey underground. He watched the druid disappear, an acidic note settling in his throat.

Perhaps he should have been the one to follow—

No. To the hells with whatever wretched recklessness had possessed her, if she wanted him to know she would tell him, he wouldn’t lower himself to chasing and begging.

He’d leave that for the damn druid.

He couldn’t deny the fact that it was clear the druid had taken an interest in his little morsel, that his eyes lingered longer than they should. He’d thought his interest would fade, once the veneer of rescuer wore off and he realized that she wasn’t nearly as heroic as he thought, but, if anything, he’d just inserted himself more.

Still, he would lose. Astarion could hear her heart whenever he got close, could hear it thunder beneath her ribs at his mere proximity. It never did anything of the sort around the druid.

And yet, she ignored him, ignored his every attempt at flirting and romance. She wanted him, he knew it, he could hear it, he could smell it, he could taste it when he drank from her, and yet she kept her distance.

She couldn’t still be sore with him for the party.

He’d just been rude. He was always rude, and she usually laughed! And she’d just thrown him off, with the whole infernal-rune-revelation.

Perhaps she thought this was punishing him. It would be a rather effective one, if his advances were driven by actual lust and not survival.

As it was, it was merely annoying.

~~~

Halsin found Lythra not too far away, in a small hollow. She’d tucked herself in a corner, facing the entrance, though her eyes were far away. There was blood splattered up to her elbows, blood splattering across nearly every inch of her armor, which was worse for wear. Her eyes flicked up to his face as he approached, slowly and deliberately, like he would an injured animal.

“Is something wrong, back at camp?” She asked, brows furrowed.

“No. I just wanted to check on you. Gale said it was a trying battle.

“It was fine. Duegar tried to double-cross us, but that’s practically expected, and we still got paid. Should only be another day or two before we ascend for the Shadowlands, just a few loose ends folks want to wrap up.”

Halsin only half listened, stepping forward to gently take hold of her left arm. She winced slightly, though she tried to hide it. There was a great slash through the bicep of her armor, the wound still sluggishly bleeding.

“I thought Shadowheart fixed you all up after you returned?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing—“

“I’m a fairly good judge of what is fine to be left to heal naturally and what requires intervention,” he said, and pushed up her sleeve. She was so young and stubborn—it made his heart ache.

It would cost her, if left unchecked. It had certainly cost him.

He froze, staring at the mess of bruises and lacerations that covered her skin—weeks worth, in various stages of healing, though none as far along as they should be.

“These wounds—they should have healed weeks ago,” Halsin said, glancing up to try and catch her eyes, though she expertly avoided his piercing stare. The lacerations still oozed, grit mashed into seemingly every one. He ran a thumb over a particularly deep one on her arm, carefully prying away the dirt—it was hot to the touch, clearly infected. She yanked her arm away.

“Little one—“

“Don’t, Halsin.”

“I will not be silent on this.”

“You know nothing of it.”

“Then enlighten me, child,” he replied, voice rumbling with a barely repressed rage. Rage that she would allow herself to suffer so, that she wouldn’t come to him when she’d been hurt. Her lip trembled, even as she glared back. Then she looked away without saying anything.

“These need to be washed out and treated. Now.”

“I don’t—“

“This is not a discussion any longer. Stay here, and I will see that you don’t collapse from sepsis before we even reach Moonrise.”

He stalked off to grab his healing kit, trying to repress the anger roiling in his chest. He wasn’t angry at her, after all, not really, not when her behavior spoke so clearly of something larger going on, something terrible afflicted on her. Still, if only she would take hold of the hand he was so desperately holding out to her, if she would allow herself the barest of care—

“The armor needs to come off. Now. I won’t ask again.”

She stared at him for a long moment before complying, though she struggled to lift her left arm high enough to undo the buckles. He sighed before undoing them himself, pulling off her shredded clothes until she was left in nothing more than blood splattered small clothes and he could finally see the extent of what she’d been hiding.

It was the most skin Halsin had ever seen her bear and it made him pause, not for the fact that she was close to naked, but for the scars that covered every inch of her newly revealed skin. They were vicious things, though the majority didn’t look like injuries gained while fighting, instead seeming almost surgical in nature.

Certainly the thickest ones on her chest that looked to be the Y of an autopsy incision.

Her ribs were covered in black bruises, a bite on her shoulder infected and weeping puss. The cuts on her arms were truly the least of it all, the wounds that had demanded treatment crudely sewn together.

“Silvanus, give me strength,” he said, waving his hand over a clean bowl and filling it with fresh water. He began carefully cleaning each of the wounds before healing them in silence, jaw clenched.

She flinched every time he healed her, every muscle in her body taught.

It was a while before he looked up to find her eyes firmly shut, tears dripping silently down her cheeks.

“I hate it down here,” she said finally, in barely a whisper.

“Then why are you inflicting another misery on yourself?”

She didn’t answer, though her face crumpled. He sighed, smoothing her hair back from her face. He handed her a fresh shirt from the trunk which he knew would be far too big, but was clean and comfortable, and passed her his waterskin. She took a few sips, furiously wiping away the tears on her face.

“I’m sorry,” she said, barely more than a whisper as she handed it back.

“I know. Go get some sleep. I’ll wake you for supper.”

“I’m fine, I don’t—“

“You need rest. We need you at your best if we’re to make it to Moonrise, and for that you need to sleep.”

Halsin expected her to argue more, but instead she just nodded, hanging her head, returning wordlessly back to camp.

~~~

He found her curled up later, at the farthest end of camp, away from all the others, using her backpack as a pillow and covered in only a thin blanket. He had an extra, in his tent, warm and woolen. He went back to retrieve it, setting it next to her before he sat crosslegged next to her.

She was the only one of their number that didn’t have a tent.

He woke her gently, handing her a bowl of hearty stew. She blearily took it, thanking him while avoiding his gaze.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, noting the small amount of color that seemed to return to her cheeks with a few hours of sleep and a bit of food. She nodded, keeping her eyes glued to the bowl.

“Better. Thank you.”

“You must tell me, when you are hurt. I know it is…a liability, in the Underdark, to admit pain, or ill. But it is more dangerous to allow yourself to allow yourself to be weakened by your injuries and not tell anyone when you need aid.”

Lythra seemed to shrink back, eyes still glued on her meal, though she’d stopped eating it when he spoke. Her shoulders curved inward, back hunched, almost as if she were expecting a blow.

“I need you to tell me when you are hurt. I know that you are not used to relying on others, and I am not trying to treat you as a child.”

“But I am acting as one. That is what you are trying to say but not, right? That this sort of petulance is reserved for children.”

Halsin huffed a laugh, despite himself. “I believe this to be something more than simple juvenile petulance, and I am an ear, should you wish to talk about it. I understand what it is like to be alone, as a youngling. I lost my own family long ago, when I had not yet reached my first century.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, the words simple, but they carried a weight of understanding, a weight matched behind her eyes as she finally looked up at him, if only for a second. He gave her a small smile.

“It has been a long time. Still, should you wish for counsel—I am not looking to undermine, only aid.”

She nodded. “I—I appreciate your kindness. And—and your insistence. I…dislike magical healing. But—but you are right. It is not tactically sound to allow myself to fight at such a disadvantage. I—thank you.”

Halsin furrowed his brow at her stilted apology. It was genuine enough, but she’d been overly specific in which words she chose.

Not that he expected one stern talking-to to fix what was clearly a lifetime’s worth of cruelty and conditioning. To inflict such suffering on a child—his insides boiled at the thought.

“How—how does your shoulder feel?” He asked, tempering his fury so as not to scare her. She rolled it, making a face.

“Stiff. It’s fine though.”

“There’s scar tissue that needs to be broken up. It won’t be pleasant, but it will help. It’d be best to wait a few days, though.”

She just nodded, dropping her eyes to the ground once more. He reached out despite himself and laid his hand on her cheek.

“I can make you a draft, for tonight, for dreamless sleep, if you’d like.”

She nodded without looking at him. He took a deep breath before standing and making his way back to his tent. He caught Scratch as he bounded around, chasing after Lotha.

“Friend!” he greeted, tongue lolling out to the side. Halsin reached down to pet him.

“Lythra could use some time with her furry friends tonight, I think.”

“Is she alright?”

“She will be. But perhaps a cuddle will help.”

“I’ll tell Lotha,” Scratch said, bounding away. Halsin smiled before turning to make the draft.

“So, how is our fearless leader? Better, after your vigorous tending?” Astarion asked, sidling up near-silently to peer at what he was doing. Halsin ignored his salacious tone. He was very obviously looking for a rise out of him because he saw him as a rival to whatever machinations he’d set on Lythra.

“She is,” he said mildly, watching Astarion’s eyes narrow slightly before he forced a smile.

“Well, that’s good to hear. Can’t have the poor thing collapsing in the Grymforge.”

“Certainly not,” he said, turning back to his work. Astarion stared, jaw tight.

“Did you need anything else?”Halsin asked pleasantly. Astarion just gave him a dirty look.

“Certainly not,” he spat and turned on his heel. Halsin sighed and finished the draft. He brought it to Lythra, smiling at the sight of Scratch and Lotha curled next to her.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the cup.

“Of course,” he said, watching as she drank it in an impressive two gulps. She paused, before handing him back the cup.

“It’s sweet.”

“I added a bit of honey to cut down the bitterness.”

“And it really—I won’t dream?” She asked. He shook his head.

“It’ll work in a half hour or so. Do you wish for me to stay until you fall asleep?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. But I will, if you wish. It is not an imposition.”

“If—if you don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I did, little one.”

He stayed with her, until her eyelids fluttered shut, telling her stories about the animals in the Grove, or ones he’d met on his travels. She’d been very interested to hear about the giant ice spiders he’d met in his youth, eyes lighting up with wonder when he spoke of them being as large as a horse.

He stayed a while after, running his hand through Scratch’s fur as she slept, her brow uncreased for the first time since he’d met her. He unfolded the wool blanket before he left, making she she was tucked in and warm. She pulled the blanket closer in her sleep pressing her face to Scratch’s fur.

He left her in the care of her furry friends, still reeling about just how much—and how little—he’d learned about the young woman who’d saved him.

#halsin #astarion x tav #slow burn #astarion #bg3 #named tav #drow tav #halsins family #childhood trauma

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shadowshrike · 10 months ago

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Dark Side of the Spawn

So I decided to scrap a much larger analysis post because I think there are only a couple other people interested in how Astarion can be interpreted as an evil character with some redeeming qualities, regardless of his major choice regarding ascension. There's a lot of interesting stuff buried in various corners of mutually exclusive dialogs or missable scenes that can make for a unique experience which I don't think many have explored.

However, I can't resist sharing one line you might get in his epilogue during the Spawn ending for those who like the ending but also prefer a darker Astarion.

Astarion: Oh no, people can be quite meek after seeing you murder their former master. Astarion: And if they do step out of line, it just takes one or two brutal examples to remind everyone else of their place. Astarion: I'm not a tyrant, I do care for their well-being, I just can't afford to show weakness.

There are three things I find really fascinating about this:

It's a line that would sound completely at home with a villain like Gortash. Pretty much any powerful, evil noble who is tyrannical but willing to justify their behavior as 'for the good of their people'. Astarion also says that their ruins are 'no palace, but maybe someday it will be' which, combined with this, can sound ominously like he's fashioning himself as a new sort of dictator of orphaned vampire spawn.

It shows him as a man who, when given any power, will abuse it, regardless of ascension. He might genuinely not recognize that's what he's doing when he's making 'one or two brutal examples to remind everyone else of their place' because his life for the past 200 years has been following a master who only modeled similarly cruel discipline. He's had no time to personally grow or discover himself before being thrust into leadership (ironically, kind of like Halsin, and we know how that went). Keeping monsters in line requires being a monster, and Astarion isn't afraid to do that. Leading through fear, pain, and feigned strength is all he knows.

Spawn Astarion does much more rationalization and talking around his questionable behaviors than his ascended version. Lord Astarion is unmistakably evil, yet nothing he says about his plans sounds half so foreboding to me, perhaps because he's so unapologetic about his 'hedonism, clandestine deals, and the occasional disappearance' to 'build up my influence over those who matter'. The spawn version needs to hedge that he's not actually a tyrant because he 'care[s] for their well-being' (something heard from many a horrific authority figure), that anyone being eaten by a vampire is 'on them' because the spawn only eat people who attack them (directly contradicted by his idle dialogue 'If I get back and they've killed another gnome, I swear - someone's getting impaled.') or that he only murders the 'right people' which means no one cares in the Underdark (which given the warring drow clans and overwhelmingly evil races down there, doesn't exactly inspire confidence).

Note that this dialogue does not appear in every version of the epilogue and includes a lot of inferences, so this isn't me saying, "Spawn Astarion is definitely this way" or anything like that. Enjoy your soft, sweet, happy endings with this character. It's undoubtedly the intended reading of most of his possible epilogue lines.

I just think it's neat that they left in some tidbits for those of us who prefer him as a fundamentally evil-aligned character. Terrible people can be victims, too, after all. I like having the option of telling a story that says someone doesn't have to become 'good' to be worthy of helping within the bounds of 'goodness'. Also that taking someone who's been enslaved and tortured for 200 years and then making them responsible for 7000 people the second they get free, while also losing a handful of other freedoms, might have some unfortunate consequences.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #mini analysis #astarion

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thetavolution · 3 months ago

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OC SMASH OR PASS

Tagged by: I was tagged once and then ran amuck

Tagging: Any of you who want to do it!

Rules: Include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. The “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idk).

Sebastian

QUICK FACTS

Height: 4’9”

Age: 25

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Gay

PROS

He's a talented artificer and great with explosives. If you need to blow up something, he's your man.

He generally loves taller guys. No hate to the short kings, he is one, and they're not out of the running. He's just a sucker for someone who towers over him.

He'll fix anything around the house and possibly make it better than it was before.

Seb will participate in group sex/swinging, but his partner has to be present.

He likes being tied up. It actually brings him some comfort.

He is a sub through and through.

He's a great fit for someone looking to settle down to have a family.

He has a killer poppyseed cake recipe that he always busts out during holidays or potlucks.

He could be a magistrate for how good he is at finding loopholes. Some say he missed his true calling.

CONS

Dude always smells like smokepowder.

He's physically weak. He's not the kind of person to be on the front lines of a fight. He prefers to feel protected in his relationships. (He does protect his allies in return as best he can.)

While he'll fix anything, he also loves to take things apart to study them. His partner will have to put up boundaries on what he's allowed to tinker with.

While he will participate in group sex with his partner, he's not polyamorous. He's also way too nervous to do it on his own without someone with him.

He grew up in an abusive household where he was the golden child, and it fucked him up. He carries a lot of guilt and believes he doesn't deserve nice things.

He struggles to make eye contact with people.

He sucks at keeping in touch with people. He also assumes everyone hates him so he'll deliberately distant himself thinking he's doing the other person a favor. He needs a lot of reassurance.

He is a stickler for rules... to a point. Whenever he bends or skirts the rules, it's more that he found a loophole. As a child, following rules was how he ensured his mother would continue loving him. It carried over into adulthood.

DETAILS

He's no-contact with his parents. He's trying to reconnect with his older half-sister, Ingrid. They're awkwardly and slowly building the sibling relationship they wish they had as kids.

He's half-forest gnome and half-deep gnome although he doesn't have any physical deep gnome traits. He can't quite blend in with them the way Ingrid can. He does have heightened darkvision compared to most forest gnomes though.

He grew up in the Underdark since his father is a deep gnome. His mother (Ingrid's step-mother) was a forest gnome who relocated. He has no interest in ever going back.

Sebastian knows a lot about history, magic, and the law.

While I had to make him a wizard in BG3, he'd ideally be an artificer. Depending on how patch 7 goes, I might make that dream a reality.

The man sucks at solving his own problems, but he's a great sounding board for everyone else.

When it comes to clothing, he's very practical. He doesn't really worry about being too fashionable.

The one song I always think of for him is This Year by the Mountain Goats.

#sebastian #smash or pass #bg3 oc #bg3 tav

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hedgiestail · 11 months ago

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I wonder what spawn-Astarion will say in new "after" scene when you kill other spawns and not release them? 🤔

btw I won't argue about it and please don't take offence. In no way this is to shit on anyone who enjoys it!

I am OPEN to discussion, just not the "4chan" or reddit or Twitter understanding of discussion. Let's be civil and respect each other's opinion.

After all we are here to have fun!

Also, please, kindly note that I haven't finished act 3 with patch 5 yet and seen only few spoilers with Astarion lines about spawns.

I think that this is one of the thing that Larian done bad in Astarion's quest line.

Too idealist and fairy tale like to release 7000 driven by hunger vampire spawns in the Underdark without any consequence. With none, not a single one, wanting to take revenge upon the ones who doomed them to suffer. To live in a small cages, butt-to-butt, without food, without hope, accompanied only by the screams of the new victims.

"Ah, sorry, we made it because Cazador ordered" won't be the good enough reason to not kill someone who inflicted years, decades of the worst of the nightmares upon you.

How many of them actually have sound enough mind to try and learn how to live without hurting the living? How many of them will go the Cazador way because of the power and revenge?

Also, releasing them to the Underdark... A lot of them would have died in the first few days. Can you imagine this? Finally be free from the nightmare just to be torn apart by some beast

Looking at the vampire children all I can think of is that they will be like that forever. They will never grow up. Thank you, Interview with the vampire, for scarring lil me to the point I can't not think about the tragedy of the vamp-child.

And why no one care about the amount of animals that need to be killed daily for spawns? Astarion alone can suck bear dry, what about 7000 hunger driven spawns? And no, regular humans don't eat a bear or boar per day.

Astarion jokes about them killing another gnome... If it is a joke

So yeah, while it's the horrific choice to make, scary, awful, I believe it's better to kill them(and my boy defenetly got totally wasted after, crying his heart out, as do I)

(I really don't like killing them. Kids especially)

And damm would it be mature if Larian showed some of this consequence

But no

We apparently have a Disney fairy tale

A shame truly

Also what is upsetting is that we can only interact with kids, who are freshly turned and Sebastian

And that's it

I wanna see cages full of cachectic looking spawns trying to catch Tav&Co to feed on them

Don't tell me about Cazador's horrors, show me!

#astarion #bg3 #Baldur's gate patch 5

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demonwebs · 5 months ago

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soo , yeah , vhaalkrin is 100% brainwashed , and he will likely always discuss/paint menzoberranzan and its politics and social structure in a positive light .

while he's capable of recognizing it as an imperfect system , he does genuinely believe it is the best way to live / things just function like that because they should . he truly , honestly buys into the system that he was indoctrinated into since birth , even though he spends a lot of time on the surface , he's not yet (?) changed his mind about this , even after experiencing the freedom living among elfs while infiltrating groves . to him the chaos ladder which drow society operates with allows for anyone willing and strong enough to seize opportunities while weeding out the weak , which means anyone can be brought low , and those who survive deserve everything they get . there's always hope of revenge and advancement , and a long life span to achieve it . it's also a very hedonistic culture , full of wealth and splendor and sex , so even those lowest on the totem pole are thriving compared to the slaves and servants below them .

re: slavery, he's somewhat indifferent , bit racist towards gnomes but not overall a jackass . he appreciates anyone who can spew some venom his way . he respects courage , even if it is misguided sometimes . vhaal was never particularly cruel to the slaves his family owned , but he wasn't too empathetic either . sure , he believes they're beneath him , but he also believes that about most races , and most people for that matter . he definitely sees it as a normal practice , and doesn't bat an eye about it . sun elves definitely take priority on his shit list , but he's been a spy long enough to learn how to control his urges to stab and ask questions later , even if his apathy does still show .

and when it comes to the matriarchy , he believe it is right and proper for women to be above men , because that is what lolth demands . and if it's what lolth demands ... it must be right , right ? not that he'd hesitate to betray and murder a drow of any gender (same as anyone else really) if it offered him and his family leverage and/or he knew he could get away with (after all, a crime is only a crime if you can't get away with it), but he's not resentful of the system .

he has no genuine sympathy for the what men suffer in the underdark . male drow participate in raids and slave acquisition as mentioned in posts above , and non slaves are free to leave and carry out whatever life they wish . if they're unhappy , the way he sees it they're welcome to fuck off .

+ he did grow up a noble, so ... that came with its own set of issues and privileges , but he doesn't and has never seen himself as oppressed . his worldview is 'could've been worse . i could've been a commoner or a slave' . and he greatly respects his matron mother, and sees her word as law . as soon as he could breathe , he was taught not to question orders , and he seldom does . a lot of his appreciation of women comes from the fact also that , since he wasn't really allowed out of the house much as a szarkai , and drow society is brutal and as he was considered too valuable of an asset to be mindlessly killed , what little interaction he did have growing up was , mostly , with women . was it all positive ? no , but he tends to view the negative as ... learning opportunities , rather than cruelty for cruelty sake . the strong endure, the weak perish, and that's way it should be . if they hadn't made him endure what he did, he would not be as strong as he is , and he would not be here today- that is what he believes in . his teachers were some of his greatest role models , he's always held great admiration and respect for priestesses of lolth and nobles who dedicated their time to training him .

so yeah, vhaalkrin truly buys into this ideology women are simply more fit to lead in society, he doesn't resent the way things are , and mostly doesn't even question it . when he first came to the surface, everything felt incredibly unnatural to him . still does , as his views on matriarchy do extend to other species- well, to an extent . he views every other species as inferior , especially sun elves , but it is not something he does consciously , it's the way his brain has been wired . if coming across a group of a woman and a men all of equal standing , he'd naturally assume the woman is in charge and primarily address and follow her . he tends to think that the females of any race are inherently worth more than their male counterparts of similar standing until proven otherwise . now obviously, he's not incapable of observing and deciding for himself who is capable and who is not , but the natural inclination does sway towards women . that said , yes , he is extremely hypocritical and ambitious . he holds a very high opinion of himself , and does view himself above anyone else . ultimately it does not matter if it's a female drow or a male elf , as long as they don't belong to his house , it's fair game .

so yeah , despite being more on the surface than menzoberranzan , don't expect to make friends if you talk shit about his home relentlessly . honestly , watch for poison in your food / wine . he loves his home, and he misses it . it's thrilling , it's fun , and it's where he thinks he belongs . even if when he visits , he does sometimes miss the freedoms offered by the surface ( not the sun in his eyes tho . 100% doesn't miss the constant headaches )

#˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ self — headcanon.#long ramblings #typing a lot to say he drank the kool aid

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melachonyof-lilies · 1 year ago

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Fm!Gnome Tav x Astarion

Summary: Astarion doesn't feel oh so bad drinking from a gnome. He could hardly say they are above animals. But life just hits him with a mind flayer ship, a tadpole in head and a leader for a gnome, a rock gnome at that.

...

Gnomes are paticular creatures that are describe by many short tinkers and annoying. Forrest gnomes are magical rare sights but they pale when it comes to elves. Deep gnomes lives in the underdark though many wonders how the drows not deal with them yet. Lastly and the worst, the rock gnomes. They are everywhere in Faerun and their tenacity for adventure and hyperfixation of certain things are well tiring. He would be happy if the rock gnomes were arses but most are positive idiots. They are not people but a lesser one in that.

But who would have thought he had to travel along with one, as fortune ran out, its a rock gnome.

"What?! You're joking! What do you consider an animal?" Last night wasn't his best, hunger kicked in and no animals went through the forest.

The first one in his sight was the magic bursting gnome. The plan didn't panned out but he did get permission to get a bit of blood from her.

"I mean elves and humans are already out but goblins," His eyes flutters of the delicious option he has now.

"Kobolds, gn- haflings?" He bit his tongue though his slip up did not went unnoticed.

"Really? gnomes? Is that why you didn't hesistate to bite me of all people?" A tiny smirk untangled.

"Well you do look a fine snack, how couldn't i?" She expressed silent bewilderment on his excuse but after her lips betrayed her and spits out a chuckle.

"Fine, you can feed on me tonight." She was right, the first one he did think about feeding was her, maybe because she was gnome or she was much of a sucker to let this one go.

Either way he got the very best outcome he could get.

...

"The only reason why i couldn't get this damn chest to open, is because you drank too much of my blood!"

"Dear, with your stature, that was less than enough!"

"But its still a 75-25."

"Yes but i'll be getting the 75,"

"I found it first!"

"Im the one opening it!"

"Well you..."

Wyll and Karlach has been hearing this round of bickering for half an hour. The barbarian sighed and she lifted the chest from her shoulder. Both gnome and pale elf looked offended. Wyll shook his head and explained.

"Its almost sundown and it might well be time to go back in camp,"

"You greedy goblins can fight about this later, ill keep it safe for now," Her palm played a rythmitic tune on the chest while walking through the exit with her warlock companion.

"If you weren't too childish-"

"Oh i don't want to here about this from a person who is the height of a child!"

"I'm at least 50 years old and wiser."

"Not wise enough to lockpick a simple lock,"

They would bicker about treasure and gold through the way. A gnome will have certain obssessions through their craft or things. This gnome loves gold.

...

A somber night embellish after the meal. Most head along and slept like lambs. But the gnome has been trying her hands on chest right after she finishing her meal. Astarion smirked at her failed attempts. She needs him, and thats all the more reason he stayed by her side, irritating her with his presence, the skeleton key.

"Can't you just meditate or something?"

"I couldn't sleep for someone might want my help," She puffed her cheeks and glared at his amusement.

"Ugh, fine, i've been at it for two hours,"

Tav moved aside and left the rogue do his magic. It didn't take a minute until they heard a click. The chest open wide.

"Easy~" She rolled her eyes.

Her hands was at the lid, lifting it until his hand cover hers. She raised a brow.

"I have a new deal to propose," Her ear twitches when she hear deal. Its like her magic word to listen.

"I'll won't take the treasure, its all yours, the next treasure i open to the next," She waited for his next words, he articulate it quite slowly.

"All of the gold and richest of the chests we find will be in your hands but, you will have to let me feed on you for every one i opened," His eyes smirked, this deal is quite appetizing for both. He knows her kind well, if anything she wouldn't hesitate on her answer.

"No, deal"

"Good so- wait, what do you mean no deal?!"

"Its quite obvious is it not?" The pale elfs eyes falter, it was a bit much. Being bloodless was not anyones dream after waking up. She noticed his frown and completly abondened the chest in thought.

"When i say its obvious, i meant that its unfair of me to take advantage of your needs," He waited for her next few sentences, curious on her babbling.

"You want a deal that give me my wants in exchange for your needs, i don't know much about vampires but blood is important for you to be healthy," As much of a gold horder she was, her morality is quite cucumbersome. He curled her voice and leaned unto her ear.

"It quite is, and darling if gold isn't enough, i could offer something pleasurable," She was taken aback, but she hold her comcerning yet firm eyes on him.

"Astarion, i love to make deals with peoples want not needs, and you shouldn't let anyone take your needs for their wants, no one should," It wasn't registering, her words couldn't make sense. He laughed it off, it might have been Wyll's heroism rubbing off on her.

"How noble of you to think of that way, here i thought it was a burden-"

"It is honestly one, don't get me wrong but," Her playful tone stopped and she reached out for his hand and squeezed it lightly. His breath sharpens, focusing on her hand.

"Its a burden i'm willing, friend,"

Her touch was warm against his pale skin, her smile lifted his heart of something, something heavy since his journey began. He didn't like it.

Astarion retreated his hand and turned his back against her. He felt warm all of a sudden. It was embaressing how the greedy gnome could make his thoughts awry.

"Keep your damn treasure, im going back,"

"Wait, but the deal-"

He couldn't stand and listen any longer. Rolling his bedroll to the floor, he meditates. What in the nine hells happened? That interaction was a complete blur. Talking about wants and needs, From the experiences he had, he should have mastered it. Then why was he so tounge tied with that conversation. It has been long since he haven't thought of Cazador, mind flayers and the gallery of villains they will face or the anxiety of being alone.

It was the first time he was thinking something other than dread tonight.

...

The next morning, he saw a bag of gold and a suit of armor in front of his tent.

"Astarion, have breakfast with us! Gale made boar blood soup, its splendid!" Tav swag her arm beckoning him while he glanced back at the fortune he got.

This gnome would be more trouble than he thought.

#Astarion #baldur's gate 3 #tav x astarion #gnome

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