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ghost-proofbaby · 3 months

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OH SAY LESS 14 WITH ASTARION PLEASE

so this is my first time publicly writing and posting astarion, so please be gentle. higher word count solely because i felt the need to add lore because, ya know, first time writing him! also, i changed the line just a tiny bit to better fit the character and scene. ALSO, uh... this is a little fade to black. i'm sorry. it just got too long.

14. "Oh, you're hard to please."

warnings: foreplay, sorta fade to black smut (it's there if you squint your eyes), an ungodly amount of pet names, mentions of past sexual abuse and healing from it, technical game spoilers, not edited, 18+ so minors do not interact

pairings: astarion x afab!reader (no pronouns used)

wc: 4.4k+

join the smutty party! send me one of these smut dialogue prompts with a character

How long had it been since Astarion had actually enjoyed sex? Craved it, even?

If he recalls correctly, it had to have started to become tainted well over a century ago. Somewhere between the first and the third victim, when he’d realized how every single beautiful soul he had entrapped were simply being lured to their own death. And then, the sour taste left in his mouth only became more pungent the longer it went on, the more he came to the realization of just how used he felt. His body was no longer his own – it technically hadn’t been his from the very second he’d emerged from his own grave, and Cazador had been waiting for him – and everything about the act became an old rehearsed dance that he’d grit his teeth through. A chore, something to make his stomach churn, something to regret. A means to an end.

Plainly put, it had been a while.

But then you happened. You, who hadn’t blinked an eye when the first time you met him, he’d literally threatened you with a gods damned blade to your throat. You, who had repeatedly trusted him, even when it had been an objectively stupid thing to do. You, who had always offered him the utmost patience and genuine understanding, to the point in which if he thought about it too hard, he’d probably cry. You, who had led your group of misfits with brain worms right into victory, with plenty of personal demons defeated along the way.

Personal demons including Cazador.

Maybe that’s when things changed for Astarion. He’d already fallen for you before your group had reached Baldur’s Gate, he’d already gotten to know your body intimately before ever laying eyes on that ridiculously oversized brain you somehow made look easy to defeat. But that had been different, hadn’t it? He hadn’t really wanted to do that (not meant as an offense to you – certainly not after all was said and done), but had thought he needed to. To gain your trust, to gain your protection. And in the end, it turned out he never needed to do such a thing. You’d never said it outloud, probably at risk of making him feel even more regret after you’d learned all his secrets and darkest corners, but he knew.

And knowing that you didn’t view him as something purely sexual, as a means to an end, as an item to use – well, it had the opposite effect of his request to no longer be viewed in that light.

“What are you doing?” he says as he quickly looks up from his current book he’d been pursuing the moment you’d entered the room. He hardly cared for the words on the page – he just needed a way to pass the hours until you were available again.

It was a hard habit to kick. Being so codependent on you, even with the end of the world resolved and the gift of safety being handed over to him on a silver platter.

“We received mail,” you’re grinning wickedly as you hold up an embellished envelope, delicate fingers pinching the parchment as if it were the greatest gift to ever exist. He’d argue the real gift at hand was the last three months – time spent with you, in a place he can call home. But nothing could impede on your good mood as you throw yourself down on the mattress beside him, “From Withers, of all people!”

His brows shoot up for just a moment before his face twists up with something akin to distrust, “Withers? What in the Hells does that sack of dust and bones wan-”

“A reunion,” you cut him off, the look on your face warning enough against his attempt at an insult. “He’s reaching out to all of us to bring us together for a celebration, to check in on everyone, let us see each other again. Apparently, we were the easiest of the bunch to find.”

Astarion quickly lets out a tut as he snaps the book shut and discards it on the bedside table closest to him, “Well, we certainly need to fix that. Soon enough all of those little shits are going to end up on our doorstep, preaching about the power of friendship and how they want to check in on us.”

You snort at that, laying flat on your back with your hair wildly spread out in a makeshift halo behind you. The sight causes something to stir within him, his gut twisting as he watches the way your knees knock together before slowly falling apart, your legs settling down as flat as the rest of your body.

He hadn’t taken you since that night at his grave. Before the epic final battle, before the two of you had made the decision to settle down somewhere for some well-earned peace and quiet.

The moonlight dances past the open curtains, and his breath catches in his throat at the way the blue shadows dance across your skin. It almost reminds him of the first time he’d seen you fight. It hadn’t just been the blood splattered across your cheeks that had really gotten the better of his curiosity (even if that’s what he had told you when you asked), it had been the sunlight. Those rays of gold that had mingled with your own aura of warmth after you had helped the tieflings for the first time.

You put the sun to shame, truly. And he missed it – Gods, did he miss it – but he was content to bask in the peace of night for a few months more before he finally cut you loose from the leash to begin your next phase of adventures to find him a cure. You had promised him you would, had already dedicated plenty of free time to research, and all you really needed was his word to begin.

He’s selfish. The two of you can find a way for him to walk in the sun once more another day; all he wants right now is to bury himself in your warmth, to slot his body between your thighs, to hear every breathy gasp and the way you’d practically sing his name-

“Star?” you’re looking up at him from an awkward angle, eyes owlish and chin tilted painfully far back as you clearly await an answer to a question he’d been too lost in a daydream to overhear, “Did you hear me?”

He clears his throat and adjusts the pillows behind his back, keeping him propped up as he admires you, “Of course I did, darling.”

“Then what did I just say?”

“Something about how we’re absolutely not going to this reunion, yes?”

Your smile is nothing but patient as you flip onto your stomach. He watches the way your shorts ride up your thighs, how the top of the soft fabric bunches at your waist. His fingers practically twitch with the need to weasel their way under it, to press his cold fingertips into warm flesh and hear you preen.

Whenever you’re ready, you had whispered to him one night shortly after saving the world. Just tell me when, and I’m yours.

He was ready. Insatiably ready, really.

“Very funny. I said we should go, though. It’d be nice to see everyone again, wouldn’t it? All our friends?”

You’re still talking about this damned reunion. Astarion has half the mind to figure out a way to summon the insufferable skeleton right here, right now, and drive a dagger into his bones until he’s truly nothing but dust. Solely for the distraction.

“Your friends, my dear,” he corrects gently, “We both know they’re only overly fond of one of us in this relationship, and it certainly isn’t the one that they repeatedly threatened to stake.”

The furrow of your brows is impossibly cute – he knows that look of determination. It’s the same one you wore when he mentioned it was likely that the two of you would never find a cure to his condition.

“Our friends,” you insist, “Karlach adores you, Star. And Wyll has always been proud of you, whether he told you as much or not.”

“And what of Gale?”

Your lips twitch at that, “Gale… certainly wouldn’t stake you on sight.”

“Ah, yes,” he flourishes, trying to keep his eyes from wandering anywhere but where your hands press into your cheeks as you prop your face up to speak to him, “Not staking me. The ultimate sign of kinship.”

Focusing is a losing battle when you roll your eyes, and he finds his mind overtaken with insatiable lust again. Imaginative ways that he could have your eyes rolling for him under different circumstances.

“You’re not getting out of this. They are your friends just as well as mine – so argue all you want, but we’re going to the reunion.”

“Are you sure there’s no other way I might be able to…” he pauses with intent, finally lifting one of his docile hands to your cheek, letting his finger graze the skin with a feather light touch before it travels back into the mess of your hair, “Persuade you otherwise?”

You almost fall for it, too. Your eyes flutter shut, your head tilts into his touch as if you were starved for the connection. But even with the lack of sexual intimacy, you both know there hasn’t been a day that has gone by in the last three months where Astarion hasn’t found a way to get his hands on you.

Holding your own, resting his cheek on your shoulder, spinning you like a child in the kitchen – he had quite the sudden arsenal of romantic gestures that didn’t involve old wounds. It had been awkward here and there, some of them landing and some of them leaving you both looking like fools, but he was trying.

Almost as hard as he was currently trying to not jump your bones.

When you recognize the innuendo for what it is, however, you harden immediately. Your shoulders set, a frown settles, and your eyes open with set determination he knows he can’t falter without speaking plainly to you.

“No.”

“No?”

You’re quick to lift yourself up onto your knees, putting distance between yourself and his hands, “The days of weaponizing sex are over. I don’t even want to joke about that.”

And, oh, he’s finding himself in quite the mood tonight, because as soon as you’re retracting, he’s following. As you settle on the haunches of your calves, he’s lifting up from his reclined position, leaning forward so that his face is breaths away from yours.

“I mean it,” you warn, narrowing your eyes and holding up a finger in that small space between you two.

He tests his luck, wasting no time in snapping his fangs just millimeters from your skin. You both know he wouldn’t actually bite you, but it still humors him to see the way you whip your hand out of his reach.

“Were you not the one who insisted that we ask before we bite?” you snap, and his smile only worsens. Like a cheshire cat, like a child never scorned by the world – he’s radiant and basking in the moment.

He lets out a small hmph before saying, “You’re no fun, my dear. Come on – just play with me for a moment, won’t you?”

Your face softens at his teasing tone, and he can see the way he’s withering away your defenses one by one. There was once a time where he’d done it with malicious intent, but this time around, it’s with nothing but good intentions.

If you asked him, he’d go as far as to swear it on his own grave.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize as if you’d done something wrong, and it makes more than half of his own playfulness drain from his face in absolute displeasure. Before he can so much as open his mouth to scold you about unnecessary apologies, you’re continuing on, “I just… After everything we’ve been through, it’s not something I find particularly joyous to joke about.”

What a rare thing, to have found someone to bare your soul and all your burdens to, and watch them offer to help you shoulder the weight without second thought or regret.

He’s never met someone like you in all his years, and he might never again.

“And if I told you I wasn’t joking?” he asks slowly, carefully, trying to choose each word with the utmost care, “I’m not weaponizing – I’m offering.”

Whenever you’re ready. Just tell me when, and I’m yours.

He was ready. Very, desperately, sorely ready.

The topic of the reunion is all but forgotten as you process his words, nose twitching as you decipher all that’s he laying out before you. “I want more than an offer.”

“Excuse me?”

He can’t help the small laugh that leaves him as he sits up properly, leaning into your space fully now with one hand pressing into the mattress just beside one of your thighs. He can feel the heat radiating from you, smell your blood rushing to your head as you try to be sensible. It’s a pitiful excuse for an internal war; all he has to do is close that conveniently small distance between your lips with his own, and you’ll have lost all sense of logic.

“You’re…” you trail off, searching his eyes as if he holds the answer you’re currently looking for, “You’re sacred to me, Astarion. You must know that. And it will take much more than some joking offer to convince me to have sex with you when I know-”

“I’m not joking,” he’s nearly whining, letting his forehead fall forward to press to yours, “Gods, I am not joking about this. Cross my heart and hope to die again.”

If he has to beg, he will.

He’s spent two hundred years in an insufferable position of pure misery, pure shit, and the realization that he’s finally free has everything clicking into place. Proof of the change exists solely in the fact that he could have resorted to his tired old seduction routine from his life before to get what he wanted, but instead, he’s trying to just communicate.

It was a novel moment.

But he could appreciate it later, when the crotch of his pants wasn’t becoming increasingly uncomfortably tight and he wasn’t watching you closer than prey. When his stomach wasn’t so tight with desire and anticipation, just waiting for your word to indulge.

“Do I need to beg?” he sighs, his lips brushing against yours ever so slightly from proximity. He catches the shiver that runs up your spine. “We both know I’m not particularly fond of it, but if I have to get on my knees for you- well, actually, that’s the entire point of what I’m asking.”

You laugh at that, and his gut twists again, because it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever had the opportunity to hear. Something more breath than any vocality, something sharp and spelling out the loss of words on your tongue.

Your silence is enough for him to push it all a step further. Forehead still leaning against yours, he properly presses his lips to yours this time, slotting them between softer than a feather’s caress. Finding home as he can physically feel himself steal your breath away. His fangs just barely nip your bottom lip, unintentionally but still eliciting a delicious reaction of a gasp that makes him graze you a second time just to feel the way you’re leaning into him more, becoming absolute putty in his hands. Pliable for his taking, and Gods, he wants to take you.

Something snaps.

All hesitation has vanished as he grabs at your hips quickly, making use of the way your brain has gone blank from a simple kiss in order to lay you out below him. He moves you with ease, incredible speed in slotting himself between your legs before he’s caging your entire body in with his own. The squeak that leaves your lips from his manhandling affects him even more than your gasps had, a low growl shaking his chest as he kisses you deeper. Tasting, begging, searching – he wants this, but he needs to know that you want this just as badly.

Your hands find purchase on each of his shoulders, squeezing tightly as if needing something to tether yourself to. You pull him in closer for a second, eagerly returning the kiss, almost feverish in the way you drink him in. But the next, you’re pushing him away, a game of want and sensibility still clouding your judgment impossibly.

You always were stubborn about things like morals. And, well, it wasn’t very moral to just jump right into sex with your traumatized boyfriend who had explicitly said not to view him in terms of sex, was it?

It was Astarion’s own damn fault.

He could have just acted like a normal person, initiated a normal conversation in which he renegotiated his boundaries. But you’ve been on his mind all day, and he’s long since proven since the very day that you met him that he has little to none impulse control.

“My, my,” he murmurs, pulling back from the kiss, eyes wild, looking at you with even more hunger than he had the first night you’d given him a taste of your blood in camp, “You’re just an impossible thing to please, aren’t you? Do you want me near, do you want me far? Tell me, my love, what do you want?”

He settles all his weight onto one of his forearms as the other slowly brings his hand to your side, caressing over the soft fabric of your shirt – a shirt he’s quickly realizing is actually his own. He recognizes those flowy sleeves, that lacing across the chest, the off-white tone that had seen better days. Given all its wear and tear, he’s almost sure that it’s one of his shirts he had grown most comfortable wearing during the nights of your adventures against the Netherbrain.

It’s cute. A sort of domesticity that he can ponder over later, when your legs aren’t hanging on his hips and your breaths aren’t coming out staccato as he hovers just out of reach from you.

“I want whatever you want,” you whisper. Your eyes flutter open, looking at him with pupils so dilated they could swallow him whole.

“Let me be very clear, then,” he hums, cold fingers creeping their way to the hem of the shirt, slipping beneath with practiced ease to find the smooth skin of your hips below. They dance and skitter up, up, up until he’s brushing against your ribs, “I want you. I want that warm cunt of yours, I want to feel every gasp and breath as your walls squeeze around me. I want to fuck you until you’re unable to walk on your own two legs, until you can only remember my name. I want to watch you come undone, my dear, and for it to be my own undoing.”

Your lips quiver in anticipation, and he feels your thighs tighten their hold on him, “Such pretty words. And… and no ulterior motives? No sense of obligation?”

“None at all,” he smiles, a predator closing in on his prey, “I’m choosing this. If you want it, if you’ll have me, then I’m ready, pet.”

Pet. The nickname rolls off his tongue, and he can imagine your walls fluttering just as your eyes do.

Your hands lift from his shoulders to bury in his hair instead. One cradling the back of his head, the other resting on the nape of his neck as you toy with a snowy curl. It unfurls him further, has him humming lowly as he dips down to recapture your lips and bring you into him even closer. Closer. He needs all and any space between the two of you to become nonexistent. To feel every inch of your skin pressed to his, to allow you to physically curl up into his chest just as you had his mind all those moons ago, to make a home in a room with your name on it already somewhere between his third and fourth rib.

“Do you really have to doubt if I’ll have you, my love?” you mutter against his mouth, smile breaking the kiss momentarily before he’s back with a vengeance. You don’t care – you’re apparently in a chatty mood, dodging his kiss to get your last words in, “There’s been a space in my heart for you since the moment I first met yo-”

“Yes, yes, very romantic,” he interrupts urgently, suddenly tugging your shirt up, “But, truth be told, love? I’m hoping there’s a space between your legs for me at this moment.”

You snort, eyes pinched shut as you attempt to shake your head at the ridiculousness of the words that just left his mouth. At any other moment, you might point out how the outrageous comment is just another defense mechanism, veering him away from having to acknowledge the gentle sentiment behind your own words, but now’s not the time. When you open your mouth, probably to say something exactly along those lines, he rolls his hips down against yours, pinning your lower half deep into the mattress. You feel just how hard he is through his trousers – it’s impossible to miss, but he’s deliberating being sure that you feel it as he lets the tips of his fangs sink into your bottom lip.

The resolve of fighting against his wishes is quickly dissolved. One thing after another, and Astarion has you bare beneath him before any other distractions or annoying conversation can send the two of you further off track. Your, his, shirt is tossed to one side of the room. Your parents fly to the other side of the bed. Only once he has the entire spanse of your body nude and vulnerable to him does he take the time to pause, to look down at you with absolute adoration.

“Gods, you’re beautiful.”

He’s said those words to you a million times before. Consistently greeting you with them, muttering them in the dead of night, whispering them as he kisses you awake. But they never lose their weight. And certainly not now, as he’s looking down at you like it’s the first time he’s ever seen that freckle on your chest or the curve of your stomach barren before him.

“Please, if you’re comfortable with it…” you start, voice laced with desperation, but he shakes his head.

He’s full of interruptions tonight, “Consider me comfortable with anything unless stated otherwise for this moment, my sweet.”

“Take off your clothes, Astarion.”

His giddy smile should annoy you. That smug satisfaction in finally, finally getting his way as he undresses himself at almost twice the speed that he had stripped you. And yet he knows you’re enjoying yourself just as much as he is. You’re reveling in drinking in the bare caricatures of his body, every inch and every curve exposed to you just as you are to him. And when his cool skin meets yours again, his body sinking right into that space between your thighs that you’ve granted to him, you let out a short gasp that reminds him that you want this just as badly as he does.

You’ve waited just as long as he has.

It almost mirrors that night on his grave. The slow descent of his body against yours, the way he slides a leg up to spread your own even further for him as he crawls his way back home to your lips. Unlike that night, however, he isn’t taking quite as much care, his movements far faster and far more needy.

He’s been waiting long enough. He’s denied himself long enough.

It really doesn’t matter when the last time he had enjoyed sex had been, because all that he cares about is that here and now, in this moment with you, there’s not a trace of imperfections to taint his enjoyment.

Cazador is dead. The brain has long since been defeated. You are both safe.

As he sinks into your heat, the only thing on his mind is that contentment, overwhelmed with the feel and smell of just you.

He’ll never be a slave again. Never be viewed as something to simply be used and disregarded again, if you have any say. And one day, some day, he’ll even feel the warmth of the sun again. Thanks to you.

But until that day, the warmth of your love is enough.

When you sigh his name out so delicately, jaw all but unhinging itself in bliss as your back arches in reaction to his touches, he knows he’s made the right choice.

And he supposes he lied, in a way, earlier.

You’re not that hard to please – not when it comes to him, at least. Not when it’s his hands trailing along your skin, not when it’s his lips and fangs nipping at every opportunity. And certainly not when it’s his name that’s being chanted like a prayer from your lips in time with every thrust, every stroke, every single movement with the sole purpose of making both of you come undone.

Astarion no longer questions when the last time he enjoyed sex was in the aftermath of it all. With you, pressed into his side, sweaty forehead nuzzling his chest, the only thing he cares about is the next time he’ll be able to do so.

“We’re still going to that reunion,” you murmur, half asleep, fading away from him quickly to fall into blissful unconsciousness.

He almost doesn’t breathe in fear of disturbing you. He’ll waste the night away, laying here, still as a statue for your comfort.

It’s no surprise when he refuses to put up a fight, instead his hand simply drawing soft stars across the back of your bare shoulder blades as he sighs, “Yes, dear. We will. Now sleep.”

“I love you.”

The words tumble from your lips so carelessly, so easily and without hesitation, he nearly shakes you awake to hear them once more. Again and again, he needs to hear them, to be reassured that you feel for him as ardently as he does you.

But he has the rest of your forever to hear them. So he lets you sleep, sending you away with a simple press of his lips to your temples as your breathing evens.

“And I love you, my dearest sun.”

#ghost's stories #smutty party #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion smut #astarion x you #my writing #there's a line in here that my best friend watched me write in real time IN PERSON that we both cackled about #i went 'i really shouldn't include it' and she went 'but it's HIM'#it's giving 'i'd rather be the only dark power inside you'#idk if this is good but it is what it is ya know #if the ending feels rushed it's because i felt terrible for how long it was getting lol #i just wanna love on the boy #i just wanna love him and he love me is that too much to ask #so many pet names i considered editing but the voices won

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thechaoticdruid · 2 months

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Man I need to find more Jealous!Tav x Astarion fics. Maybe write my own I guess. I see so many jealous Astarion fics and not enough Jealous Tav ones.

Like you are literally dating an inhumanly beautiful vampire who a lot of people would jump at the chance to sleep with. It would be perfectly understandable if Tav got at least a little jealous. Especially a Tav that doesn't find themselves all that attractive. I need the angst damnit. I want my Tavs to have flaws and insecurities. Maybe Tav is trying their damnedest to battle their inner demons but sometimes they get the better of them.

I'll probably do something like this with my own Tav since her appearance is a bit of a sore spot for her.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion my beloved #bg3 tav #astarion #astarion romance #astarion x reader #Tired of writing smut I wanna write angst and comfort

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tomurakii · 5 months

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My last post about bloodweave was pretty negative (though necessarily so imo) so I wanted to talk about the little things about the bloodweave dynamic that I DO like and want to see more of in fic (under the cut).

- the orb means Astarion can't start their relationship transactionally. Gale can't give Astarion blood, and also can't have sex with him (and presumably would refuse casual sex anyway). How would the relationship develop without Astarion being able to rely on the give-and-take, forced instead to just trust Gale will watch his back? Astarion isn't a plans guy, I imagine having to come up with something on the spot (considering none of the other companions are reeaaaally an option either) would lead to a lot more emotional vulnerability as he tries to take a route he has much less experience with. Not to mention that the flirty and standoffish front isn't exactly going to endear him to Gale, who approves of the capable, loyal, and righteous. How long can Astarion pretend to be invested in Gale's wellbeing before it becomes true?

- they both have bad ascension endings, but different natural outcomes. Gale is considered the more morally upstanding one, but in their solo states (without the player's influence) Gale will go through with ascension and Astarion won't. Would they goad each other on? Gale disapproves of Astarion's ascension, using arguments that could apply to himself about the personal sacrifice and loss of the soul. Would Astarion flip them around, become defensive? Their dynamic could mean the power hungry character ending up discouraging the pursuit of godhood, or the two of them hurtling over the edge together. Or, maybe, Astarion encouraging Gale to ascend and having to trust him to return.

- they're the party members with the most life experience, and they're also both pretty well-educated (even if Astarion's law qualifications may well have expired by the events of the game). He spent his time under Cazador sewing (like Gale in his Baldur's Gate epilogue) and learning languages (of which Gale knows four). They have enduring common interests beyond their circumstances. Gale can help Astarion rediscover the latent nerd potential he lost when he died, and lord knows he would love to pick his brain for a first hand account of the mid-to-late 12th century.

- Astarion recently regained hope for his future when the tadpole freed him, Gale recently lost all of it. While act 1 is a continuous series of positive discoveries for Astarion (tadpole frees him from cazador -> ceremorphosis is held off by the dream visitor -> tadpole can be controlled), Gale's life gets worse with time as his treatment stops working. It's a dynamic that could give Gale hope, force Astarion to practise empathy, or put them completely at odds.

- Astarion's all-encompassing desire to reclaim his life could be inspiring to Gale. Moreover, I imagine seeing just how passive Gale is about his death would infuriate him. To have so little regard for his real, mortal, free life? It's a great source of angst, and also a great starting point for Gale to start wanting to live again. Because after learning about Astarion's past he would agree, he'd recognise how much value a mortal life was supposed to have. He'd think himself ungrateful or impolite for entertaining the idea of throwing it away when Astarion would give anything to have what he had. This would lead to guilt, and potentially self-loathing, unless someone was there to help pick up the pieces.

- If Astarion meets Oblodra before Gale's act 2 romance scene, (or for a fanfic plot, just before Gale is confident enough to confess) they most likely won't have sex until the graveyard scene in late act 3 (or the post-ascension equivalent). It means that rather than the fuckfest we so often see from bloodweave fics, the relationship is almost entirely a slow-burning, emotionally intimate affair. I'd really love to see that play out, the progression from semi-horny yearning on both parts as the orb keeps them apart, to two love confessions that are followed by the both of them experiencing non-sexual intimacy for the first time in years. I doubt Mystra was one to hug her chosen, after all, or hold their hands.

I just love a bg3 ship that forces the characters to take different actions than they do in canon. It makes me feel like I'm developing a broader understanding of the characters, you know?

#perhaps I will write a bw fic. since from the tags of my other post it seems like a lot of people want less-explicit work of them #and i (as the number 1 gale understander /s) have a dif perspective than a lot of bw writers (largely astarion stans)#im workin on a gale/illithid tav postgame whump based on one of my other posts first tho. which could be a chara study for him #and the nature of (this version of) bw is that it puts astarion out of his comfort zone more than gale. so id want to have a good handle on #gale so that the bw fic can focus on the astarion character study rather than me finding both characters kinda finicky #hmm. hmm #but regardless PLEASE PLEASE everyone is welcome to write fic based on/incorporating these and tag me I wanna see em so bad😭😭#bg3 #bloodweave #gale dekarios #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate #astarion x gale #baldurs gate 3

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roomy-ghosted · 8 months

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My feelings towards ao3 this morning.

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #bg3 astarion #like-i get it. but-#please. please for the love of god. just fluff or non-sexual fics.#for five seconds.#please.#I can only handle so much corn. especially when it's almost all geared just towards women.#this is all /lh i dont actually care all that much- but there comes a point where theres too much and all a man wants to do #is hold another man close. or go on perfume dates or pottery lessons with another man.#small things to help healing or gentle things or silly playful things.#hell- even taking care of all the spawn with Astarion in the bad ending-#why are all the bad ending fics ive seen corn btw? I've seen like- zero non-corn ones.#i get it. I get the vibe. but like- also. consider. like- maybe I wanna read angst with. with no corn?? please?#I've got 4 unposted fluffy fics im working on. One being hurt-comfort with some extra hurt #which i had to stop writing for a bit today because it was hurting a bit TOO much.#but yea. a little less corn for Astarion? for those who aren't horndogs? please? or just don't wanna fuck him because they #dont wanna hurt him more- (im not at the point in game where he's comfy with sex again yet-)#BESIDES GALE IN THE WAVEMOTHER ROBES IS RIGHT THERE PEOPLE-#LIKE COME ON. IF YOU'RE GONNA SEXUALISE A MAN HE'S RIGHT THERE WITH HIS PUPPY DOG EYES AN HAIRY CHEST.#There needs to be more sexualisation of Gale. NO I don't take no for an answer (Astarion is still my favourite though-)

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bhaalbaaby · 9 months

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random headcanons because im bored working and been thinking about parenting since im now indoctrinated

listing in best to worst parent lol

karlach - im probably biased but i think if she could have a child to take care of, she would be the best mom. she's would want the best for them and protect them from any dangers. she's also like childish enough that she could relate to them in a more human way than like some parents iykyk lol most of her stories start with a "do not attempt this." if her kid is into sports, she's at all the games, practices, scrimmages. the coaches call her their co-coach.

gale - i feel like he'd be that dad that like has great snacks but if you talk to him for a little bit, he starts telling you about random facts he knows. he has beekeeper vibes. i also think he would be in the PTA and at every meeting, field trips, especially to the museum. he can be overbearing but he means well

wyll - i feel like i should have put wyll higher. i think he would be a great dad and is very caring and understanding, but i think he would need to work on his demons (ha ha) first before he can be committed to that. if he is free from it, he would be the best dad. he would want to be the dad he wished he had tbh. always there and present and full of love ;-;

halsin - i think he'd be pretty good. he cares a lot. but i also feel like he'd be distant if he's on a project so to speak. he would make sure his kid is taken care of and loved on for sure. i think he would also have the best stories and go on nature walks all the time. he'd make sure his kid is always staying green and recites their 3 r's lol

shadowheart - i think she'd be a waspy mom tbh. controversial ikik, but i really think she would be a waspy crunchy mom lol i do think she would be chill as her kid got older and not so protective considering her past, but just like in the game, you're gonna have to work on that. she's like the mom you found out dated a rockstar when she was younger and she's like oh yeah w/e and never talks about it again lol

lae'zel - lol she would not want to be a mom tbh. maybe a cool aunt, but i think as a mom if she's not softened, she would be a hard one ;-; rigor and perfection at all times. i think if she is softened, she'd be more understanding, but still would require the best. she is lower because she would not even think to put herself in a position to be a caretaker of a child which ya know what good for her lol

astarion - two minds of this. evil astarion would love it for the wrong reasons. he would be setting his child to be his next in line and would require perfection like lae'zel but to the extreme. good astarion would not want the responsibility because it is a lot. he'd be worried that he's gonna mess up the kid somehow and wouldn't believe he could do it. but i think as long as he has a good village he could be an okay dad lol best dressed dad. he's not going on field trips, he's not participating in PTA lol but he will go to performances and recitals.

#headcanons #baldur's gate hc #headcanon #parent hc #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #karlach #lae'zel #shadowheart #halsin #wyll #gale #writing #i wanna be a karlach mom but i think im more of a shadowheart/astarion lmaooo #good astarion mind u lol #i'll have to ask my bby which one he thinks i am if he pays attention :P

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venusmage · 3 months

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i think im over astarion but then someone draws him really hot and im so back

#sorry ive been absent. queue will be updated soon my pc is at the shop #so im vibin working on comms on my ipad #no art here #i cant play bg3 and am too tired to draw it so i had to post about it instead #i actually wanna write bg3 fanfic but fandoms this large scare me #bc i want some like. GOOD astarion angst w a friendly pc yk #like i personally think hes a huge asshole theough most of the game and thats fun when ur also romancing h8 #him*

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brain-rot-central · 4 months

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Astarion seething as he watches Tav flirt with a handsome guy from across the bar because they agreed they're better off "as friends." 🫠

#astarion #writing prompts #i wanna die #i love jealous Astarion

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messierthanthou · 3 months

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How about a modern!au where Gale is a Catholic priest and Astarion is there to corrupt him and his ways through vampire bites and a little too rough sex

#bloodweave #astarion #bg3 astarion #gale #bg3 gale #modern au #i wanna write it so bad #but i already got so many other projects going #something gotta take priority

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hamartia-grander · 2 months

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Wyll breaking up with the player character if Ulder dies so Wyll must become the Duke makes me wanna throw up sobbing because he actually thinks that just because his father's first duty being to Baldur's Gate made him a Bad Father that Wyll himself will inevitably be a Bad Lover because surely no one could match love with duty if his father couldn't, unknowing he has more love in one hand than his father had in his entire body. fuck

#More in my reblog #“my father taught me more lessons than I can count” yeah dog they were called CAUTIONARY TALES 😭😭😭#“pull me too close and I'm destined to hurt you” FUCKIGN. BITING YOU #“a champion's heart is as sharp as a new blade” SO CRAZY I GOT THIS SICK ASS ARMOUR. TRY ME.#I'm actually in physical pain over this. Wyll my love.#I need to rip ulder in two with my bare hands right now.#sorry I JUST saw the breakup scene for the first time today and I haven't stopped thinking about it it's making me ill with sadness #he didn't even break up with ME but it fucking feels like it goddamn #bg3 #Wyll Ravengard #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 analysis #oh my GOD and the fact that he offers one last dance. I'mgoing to ufckingexplode #and he spends five whole seconds just. holding the character. not even dancing.#I watched the version with him and astarion ofc I don't romance wyll myself (lesbianism)#makes me wanna write a fucking fic (derogatory)#why the fuck is everyone so ill over astarion when mr insane mental health issues is RIGHT here (i know why. but still)

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doctor-ramen · 1 month

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i wanna draw a little modern day au thing.... theyre taking Scratch for a walk :3

#bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 halsin #bg3 tav #tav #astarion #halsin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate fanart #i wanna write a fic but i'm not having any ideas...

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ghost-proofbaby · 3 months

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It seems that he picks up on her internal battle before it’s even ended. He sees through all that self doubt, and with a heavy sigh, holds out his palms. “Hand them here.” She instinctively recoils, “I am not giving you my weapons.” “I’d hardly consider those pieces of charcoal your weapons. More like enemies, after the beheading you served to the first one.” He wants… the charcoal?

summary: aruna begins to doubt just how skilled she truly is with her daggers, and astarion proves himself useful his first night in camp by offering an act of selfless aid. but not before criticizing her map making skills, of course.

wc: 3.3k+

warnings: continued memory loss, use of daggers (but not for violence), astarion gets a little flirty, and more gameplay recounting (specifically one of the first camp scenes you can trigger with astarion)

a/n: take a shot every time i make astarion say "oh, dear" like a little shit in this fic. also, i promise at some point, this fic will stop being such a play by play of the game lol

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

“You’re Astarion?”

Aruna swears she’s going to be sick as she stares at the elf with wide eyes. It’s all too much – the leftover adrenaline from having a blade held to her throat, those red eyes boring into her soul, the swirling pressure that squeezes down on her lungs tightly as the realization settles deep inside her bones.

This is Astarion.

“I- Yes?” he questions, entirely on guard as his eyes narrow. He’s quick to recover, and all his hesitation is masked behind a certain air of confidence she can see right through, “As I was saying, I was in Baldur’s Gate… when those… those awful beasts…” he loses his focus repeatedly before finally huffing out a sigh, “I’m sorry, just- Have we met before?”

She doesn’t even know how to explain herself or her outburst. She hadn’t confided in Gale or Shadowheart regarding her letter, and hadn't mentioned Astarion in the last two days. The entire spectacle looks odd to every single one of them; Shadowheart is watching her far more carefully than normal, Gale’s face is twisted up with all that awful curiosity, and Astarion is just… Well, he’s simply plain confused.

He doesn’t recognize her.

She woke up without any memories, not even so much as her own name, with him being one of the only clues to her past self, and he doesn’t even know her.

What sick game is the Universe playing on me?

“Do you two know each other?” Gale asks when Aruna doesn’t answer Astarion, but it only earns him a scoff from the pale one.

“Thank you, for repeating the obvious question I just asked…” Astarion trails off, eyeing the wizard, waiting for proper introduction.

It takes him a few moments to recognize that Astarion is waiting to learn his name before he jumps to life, “Oh! My apologies. I’m Gale, and this is Shadowheart. And that is Aruna – although, I do promise you, she’s usually far less mute.”

He doesn’t fucking know me. I have a letter in my pack right now, heavier than any looted armor, instructing me to save him – and he doesn’t even know me.

“Ah, I see,” Astarion’s voice is surprisingly low, nearly musical in cadence as he hums and turns to look at her properly again. There’s still concern behind his eyes, still searching her for some sort of explanation. “Well, I certainly don’t believe we’ve met before, have we?”

He’s asking something more than just all that he’s voicing. She can pick up on that much; she just doesn’t know what else he really wants from her.

She can’t simply casually say, “Oh, I have no idea. I actually have no memory of my life before all of this. But, hey, fret not! I actually have a letter with your name on it – a letter telling me to save you, even. Small world, eh?”

Or maybe she could. Far more odd situations have arisen in the last forty eight hours.

“I don’t think we have,” she says slowly, being sure to enunciate each word with cautious care. They feel wrong, heavy on her tongue as though she’s telling a dire lie.

But was she the one lying, or was Astarion? If that letter of hers truly was referring to him, he must know her.

Is it possible he held his blade to her throat because he knows her?

“Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” he flashes a charming smile, and she realizes just how disarming he is capable of being. If she weren’t so on guard at the moment, honed in entirely on him for every subtle change, she wouldn’t notice it was an act, “What do you know about these wretched things inside our heads?”

The rest of the conversation, Aruna only has one goal in mind: Astarion will be joining them in her travels, no matter the cost. She matches his act with one of her own, flourishing with her own set of honeyed words in an effort to garner the barest hint of trust from him. And it proves to not be overly difficult; it’s as though they share the goal as something common between them, because the moment her offer of him joining the small group leaves her mouth, he’s eager to agree. Almost too eager.

All strange circumstances aside regarding Aruna, it’s still a valid response. They have better chances of survival if they face it in numbers.

And so Astarion joins them. Brimming with flamboyant movements and an extravagant smile that she notices stays half-closed, he offers to bring up the rear of the group just as Aruna announces the need to go back to camp.

“Resting again? So soon?” Shadowheart’s face twists as if she doesn’t notice the quickly setting sun, “We haven’t even found a healer yet. Or at least found a lead for one in the area-”

“We can find one tomorrow,” Aruna interrupts, turning to face her small group of rag tags. She can’t stand it – the hope shining in each of their faces, the undeserving faith that lies behind their eyes after just two days. Astarion is the only one resembling something she can stomach, and mostly because he looks entirely bored with the current argument, “I need to update our map and we really should try and put more effort into the camp before we pick up any more…” she trails off, and Astarion finally looks at her, half-smirking as though daring her for an insult. Something fires up inside of her – as though it’s a game, as though they both know she doesn’t mean it when she finishes the thought with a sarcastic quip of, “Strays.”

“Oh, darling,” he puts a hand to his chest, taking a few steps around Shadowheart to be closer to her. When he leans forward, it’s as though he’s sharing a secret with just Aruna, “If you wanted me to purr for you, all you had to do was ask.”

It’s not a secret, though. Everyone else hears. Gale takes a sharp breath in, and Shadowheart only huffs in disamusement.

And Aruna has to bite back everything inside of her to not react, to not give him any satisfaction. It’s as though he sees right through her, as if the laugh she had swallowed down had escaped nonetheless, to grace only his ears.

Neither of their shields are working very well against one another. Their souls already seem to know one another, staring across the vast caverns between them, a whisper of I know you echoing in both sets of ears.

She doesn’t stand a chance, and she’s hardly known him for a few hours.

—

Camp is quiet.

Shadowheart is brooding, Gale is humming to himself as he lays out a rug that no doubt came from his damned bag of holding to claim his corner of the camp, and Astarion has taken to sitting near the fire pit. All lost in their own worlds, all completely silent as Aruna gathers what she needs to complete at least one of the tasks she’d insisted needed to be taken care of.

The map. She needs to attempt to update it, add to the sad squiggles and lines to indicate that area they explored today. Even if they never return to that beach, she wants to know that it’s there. It exists.

Charcoal pencils that they had looted from a chest amongst the wreckage days prior are lined up on the stone bench, the surface almost too high for her to comfortably utilize it as a table when she sits on the ground before it. But she’s stubborn, and it’s the best she can do in their current situation, so she makes it perform as a table.

She’s just started to ponder if she should retrieve one of her daggers to sharpen the sticks of charcoal when Astarion notices.

“What are you doing?” he asks, sounding more accusatory than curious as she unsheathes a knife, already fisting a pencil.

“Sharpening my pencils,” she murmurs, mentally pleading with her shaking hands to steady as she brings the edge of the blade a few centimeters from the tip of the art tool, angling it so that she can begin to shave it down to a precise point, “I’m updating the map.”

“You have a map?”

She sighs, finally lowering the dagger and charcoal. Her hands won’t stop shaking, and Astarion really isn’t helping.

“Yes, we have a map,” she nods to the piece of paper on the stone before her. Astarion wastes no time in getting up from where he had sat on one of the bedrolls rounding a fallen tree log so that he could take a seat on what was meant to serve as her table tonight, not his bench.

He looks down at her sorry excuse for a drawing of a forest, the center being camp.

“Oh, dear. Well…” he leans in closer, squinting at a grouping of dots that were meant to symbolize the beach where she had woken up, “You certainly weren’t an artist before all of this, were you?”

“Excuse me?”

He glances up at her through his lashes, lifting a brow as if he was pointing out the obvious, “Don’t get me wrong. The idea of a map is an excellent one, I’ll give you that, but this…. This leaves something to be desired.”

She doesn’t know why she’s taking offense. She knows her art skills are shit. She knows the map is pitiful.

“It’s not complete yet.”

“Clearly.”

“We just needed some way to keep track of our surroundings.”

“I agree.”

“It doesn’t have to look pretty.”

“Oh, but wouldn’t it be so much nicer to look at if it was more attractive?” he tsks at her.

She hates it. She hates that his criticism, his disapproval, gets under her skin so easily.

She picks her dagger back up and brings it back to that piece of charcoal in her left hand, more determined than before, “If you hate my rendition so much, make one for yourself. I’m sure you could do a far superior job, right?”

Snap.

Her hands were still shaking when she struck against the soft black chunk in her hands. The angle had been off, the amount of pressure she was applying was too much. She had been distracted by him and now, she was suddenly holding a broken piece of charcoal rather than a nicely sharpened one.

They both stare down at the mess she’s created across her palms and weapon for a few seconds, deathly silent. She’s trying to not throw an absolute fit, quickly reaching her breaking point; he’s trying to bite down all his laughter, almost feeling sorry for her.

“Oh, dear.”

An echo of his earlier words, this time choked up behind his silent amusement. Slightly more exaggerated, far more taunting than they had originally been.

“Don’t,” she quietly insists, eyes flickering up to already find mischief burning in his, “Don’t you dare. I-”

“You have wielded those daggers before, haven’t you?”

She opens her mouth, prepared to bite back with an of course I have, when it hits her that she’s actually not entirely sure.

Have I?

She had wielded them in the fight against the brains, hadn’t she? And she’d been able to use them quite well, albeit the fight was against a couple of brains on legs, and she had a powerful wizard and strategic cleric on her side.

It seems that he picks up on her internal battle before it’s even ended. He sees through all that self doubt, and with a heavy sigh, holds out his palms. “Hand them here.”

She instinctively recoils, “I am not giving you my weapons.”

“I’d hardly consider those pieces of charcoal your weapons. More like enemies, after the beheading you served to the first one.”

He wants… the charcoal?

She doesn’t give herself any more time to question it, grabbing for the two remaining pencils and handing them over before she can even guess what his end goal here is.

That thing inside of her is still whispering, pleading for her to trust him. She doesn’t understand why – she can’t comprehend how he’s the mysterious Astarion she’s meant to save, or how she could possibly know him without him knowing her. None of it makes a lick of sense, and yet, she’s still handing him the charcoal he requests and not even voicing a single concern outloud.

He unsheathes his own dagger quickly. His hands don’t shake as hers had. The angle of his blade is precise and his stroke is quick as in mere seconds, he’s taken the chunky stick and shaved it down to a point.

He’s sharpening them. For her, presumably.

“How did you…” she whispers in questioning as he holds out the newly sharpened charcoal, the one he had yet to turn into a point still resting beside his thigh. Curls of ashen black litter the ground around the two of them.

“Skilled hands, darling,” the nickname strikes embers inside of her, kindling of flames ready to be fanned into a wildfire if he so pleased, “And some of us know how to use our daggers.”

She plucks it from his fingers, holding it up to examine the delicate point in the dying light of the day.

Perfect. She wasn’t about to admit it to him, but his handiship was perfect.

“This is the part where any one with common manners might say thank you,” he muses, condescending as ever as he picks up the second stick and begins to twirl it, marking his knuckles in the faintest grey.

Against her better judgment, her eyes find his as she all but whispers, “Thank you.”

It’s more sincere than she had meant. And she can’t understand it herself, but it feels like she’s thanking him for far more than just the charcoal. That quiet voice inside of her teems, preening as she continues to look him in his eyes. Those waves of deja vu are beckoning at her shore again, but this time, she’s almost fearful to dip her toes back in. It had hurt badly enough when their tadpoles connected – she doesn’t know what would happen if she succumbed to that feeling of knowing him, recognizing this scene from what feels like another life.

What had he done for her in past lives that warranted thanking him so sincerely? What whispers of forgotten memories between them warranted the firm instruction of saving him?

As she pulls herself away from the useless pondering, she takes note of Astarion’s reaction. He very clearly hadn’t expected her to actually thank him. The shock ripples across his features, he leans back as though she might have smacked him with her genuine words. For just a moment, hard garnet softens and she’s once more reminded of friendship. She could be friends with him; she could be friends with all of them, but especially him.

Just as she’s leaning into the idea, he’s clearly running from it.

“So, we’re resting here for the night?” he asks in faux nonchalance, effectively changing the subject, “Officially turning in?”

I could be your friend, but only if you let me in, it seems.

She’s not blind. She knows pressing the topic any further would probably end badly for the two of them. “Yes. And if all goes to plan, this will be our permanent camp. For however long our journey requires, of course.”

He’s quiet as he focuses his attention back on the charcoal pencil he had been fiddling with, and with quick movements, he takes to whittling it down just as he had the first one. This time, however, he’s slower. As though he’s begging for the action to fill the awkward silence so he won’t have to.

“Why do you ask?” This, she decides, she can press on. She can push him on this topic, “Never slept in the woods before?”

She doesn’t know why she expects him to keep up a callous act. Expects to be met with resistance and a snarky attitude. But no such thing is on display as he swipes at the charcoal one final time with his blade before he looks up at her, and he’s still softened. Churning ever so faintly, like the calmest of oceans. She knows there’s dangerous depths beyond, a certain darkness she only sees the shadow of behind the look he gives her, but the surface appears so inviting for the time being. Cool, refreshing, reflecting speckles of moonlight in his eyes.

“It’s all a little... New to me, I admit,” his voice is something softer than usual. Soft, soft, soft. Why does she recognize that softness inside of him so easily? She picks up the brief shrug of his shoulders before he continues, offering her more than she could have asked for, “The night usually means bustling streets, bursting taverns. Curling up in the dirt and resting is, uh…. A little novel.”

She’s completely bewitched through the explanation. Drinking in every movement, the way he speaks with his hands, the fluctuations in his tone. He dives back into that usual charming voice when he mentions the taverns – his tone brims with youth as his face softens and he says his final three words. The lift of his brows, the nerves of the small smile he pushes forward; she clings to every bit of it, in a damning effort to piece together who exactly the man in front of her was.

He’s pretty. If she’s learned nothing else, it’s that he’s pretty. The kind of pretty that would ruin her if she wasn’t more careful.

The kind of pretty that might have already ruined her, if that mysterious letter was any sort of clue.

“You should try,” she doesn’t know why she’s whispering, but she is. Mostly everyone has retreated to their own spaces, their own bedrolls. They’re the only two left within the vicinity of the fire dying out in the middle of the camp, “Rest, I mean. We’ll need it for whatever tomorrow may bring.”

He’s quick to shake his head, holding out that second pencil to her finally. It’s as well carved as the first one, perfect for the purpose she had for them, “Oh, no. I��m in no place to rest yet. Today has been a lot. I need some time to think things through, to process this.”

As she takes the pencil, adding it beside the first on the stone, she knows there's a catch yet to be revealed in his words. “Are you sure? I don’t mind taking the first watch.”

It had been an unspoken agreement – there would always be someone awake, keeping safe eyes on the camp as others rested.

“I’m positive. Actually, I insist that you rest. I’ll keep watch instead.”

She shouldn’t trust him. She shouldn’t so willingly put her faith in some random pale elf to keep her safe in her sleep.

And yet, she does.

Her logical thinking and her instinctive reactions don’t align. They never seem to do so thus far in her journey, especially with him. It’s more than just the letter reminding her to save him; there’s a twisting in his gut, a burning in the back of her mind, as if she’s known him far longer than the day has been. As if their time together transgresses far beyond the mere hours they’ve been acquainted. She trusts him ardently – to a dangerous level. She can recognize it, but she can do nothing about it. The feeling surely can’t be mutual. Her gut is surely leading her wrong.

“Thank you. I’ll sleep better for it.”

There are those two little words again, slipping off her tongue with an earnesty that rattles them both to their cores. At least this time, she hardly looks him in his eyes as she says it.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he covers up any shock with theatrics, offering a small bow to her, “Sweet dreams.”

Her dreams are anything but sweet that night. But they do distract her just enough that she never notices the shadow strangely similar to his stature, sneaking out the edges of camp, slinking off into the woods without a sound.

#my writing #ghost's stories #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #astarion romance #astarion bg3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #' have we met before' the note i put on the google doc on that line good lord #he has no idea #she has no idea #WAH #no but in all seriousness we will be entering less rewriting game scenes very soon because that's just plain boring #i wanna focus on them in between those events more #but i also do enjoy how i can twist and turn the circumstances of his triggered scenes into them developing trust #once we hit a very important camp scene i'll start with the time jumps

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