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galacticgraffiti · 6 months

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I Am Nothing (Like You Thought I Was)

Summary: Astarion changes after his Ascension, and while you hate what he has become, you cannot seem to love him less.

Pairing: Ascendant!Astarion x gn!reader Rating: Explicit (for a few nsfw lines and mature themes) Wordcount: 2.6k Descriptors: Reader is not described in detail, though there is one (1) line implying that they bottom when they have sex. TW: Angst, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, emotionally abusive situation, blood, biting, blood drinking, non-consensual drinking of blood, non-consensual... taking away of bodily autonomy (?)

A/N: Please read the warnings carefully. This is not smut, this is hella angsty and was - at least to me personally - somewhat emotionally taxing. Take care of yourself. If you have any questions, feel free to message me!

Main Masterlist ⋆✦⋆ If you prefer AO3

I Am Nothing (Like You Thought I Was)

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You can’t remember what changed, exactly. It was something in his eyes, perhaps, something about the way he looks at you. The corner of his mouth not forming the half-smile you have gotten so used to, or even the possessive sneers he adopts sometimes.

It has been so long since he looked at you as anything more than his… pet. His pretty little consort, if he is in a good mood.

In the beginning, you didn’t realise that that was what you had become to him: A pet, a companion only because he did not want to be lonely after all these centuries. A trophy he could show off at his dinner parties. His own personal meal, ready whenever and wherever he wants - especially in front of hungry guests who know exactly they could never have you.

Hells, you even enjoyed the thought of it at first: To belong to him entirely - to be his and his alone. Forever.

His fangs have marked you hundreds and thousands of times through the years, and you have borne it willingly. Because you love him.

There is nothing else to say, really. Astarion has just… captured you. He is it for you. You knew it the moment you laid eyes on him, knew it the second he held a dagger to your throat only to apologise and join your mission moments after. You knew it when he bared his back to you, bearing the scars of years of abuse, and of… the Ritual.

Ah, yes. The Ritual.

It changed everything. It changed him. Seven thousand souls, sacrificed - killed - in the name of your love, and all you could think about was that he would finally be free. Sometimes, you think back to that moment, and you try not to feel ashamed that you did not even try to persuade him otherwise.

But you had never seen him as scared as he was the night you faced Cazador. And you had never seen him angrier, either. So when Astarion ripped Cazador from his coffin, when he stabbed and slashed and twisted his sword in the belly of his abuser, you… let him.

He deserved revenge. He deserved to kill him, to be free of him, to never be made to feel small and powerless again.

You liked it. You loved it, even: Loved him, free of torment, bloodied with his eyelids heavy from violence. Because you thought it meant his freedom.

And when Astarion turned to you, face smeared with warm blood, the infernal runes on his back glowing, and his eyes so big and full of bloodlust and fear, you could not say no. When he carved the runes into the back of his tormentor, savouring every scream of agony, you could not say no. You watched, and you loved Astarion all the more for every tear of pain he wrung from Cazador’s wretched body. And you let yourself forget it would not just be Cazador who would die for your love to be free.

The Ritual is by far not the only moment of weakness you have ever afforded yourself throug the years, but it is the one that has changed your life the most.

Seven thousand souls. All for the happiness of your love. All for him, for his freedom and his might, for him to live in the sun and never know hunger again. For him to be able to love you without fear.

Thing is- the Ritual never made him happy. It just made him other.

Astarion looks at you different after the ritual. He looks at you like… he owns you. You don’t realise it in the beginning, not for a long time. His words are sweet as ever, his hands gentle when he touches you. His fangs are sharp but his lips are soft, and he calls you his pretty little thing and his love. He calls you His, and you take it to be an affirmation of love, not one of ownership.

Eventually, though, you start to understand what he really means. It starts to sink in when you deny him, and he talks of still taking what he wants. When you disagree, and he does not hear you out. When your neck is covered in bruises, and you still don’t find it in yourself to deny him. Because even with the blood of seven thousand souls dripping from his hands, even with the way his eyes turn cold when he looks at you, even with the things he asks you to do and the kind words he used to have so many of growing few and far between, you cannot stop loving him.

And so you stay, through the cruelty and the ecstasy, through the nightly soirées and the everchanging guests of the palace, through the dark masses and the bloodlust. The joy of his kisses is enough to keep you chained in place without needing to lock you up.

You remember how he used to be: scared and alone, eager to manipulate if only to save himself, because no one else had ever looked out for him.

You remember what he became as you travelled together: kind and thoughtful, even though he kept pretending like he wasn’t. Sweet and caring, protective and assured. How much he overcame to love you, and surely that must be worth something, mustn't it?

When you look at the man that stands in front of you now, in all his glory, bathed in the light of his Ascension, you decide that he is still worth staying for. Every time.

You sit next to him, you offer your neck to him, your wrist, your thighs and your shoulders, wherever he can reach, though he does not hunger for your blood as he used to. But he likes showing off, and you are his favourite trophy.

You can’t say how long you have lived in Cazador’s palace. Years, maybe.

Astarion takes you to bed every night, to drink from you, to hold you. And that is the thing that keeps you here, with him, even after all this time: He still holds you like he cannot sleep without you, and you are always there when he wakes up from his nightmares, gasping for air, crying out the name of his tormentor, of his long-dead parents and friends. In the darkness of these nights, there is a humanity to him that you cannot find when you look into his eyes in the sunlight that he so craves.

You are not so foolish as to think you could save him. You gave up on that thought long ago, after he made you sit at his feet with your wrists still dripping in blood, just to let it flow down the stairs before his throne and tell the guests of his soirée that they could never have you - that they were not even allowed to lick your blood from the floor - because you were his and his alone.

No, you can’t save him anymore. A small sliver of your soul holds onto the hope that he might… get bored. That he will grow tired of the favours that people ask in exchange for gifts of gold and knowledge, that he will grow tired of sitting in the sun while you read to him. That he will get tired of you. That he will make you leave, because you are not strong enough to do it on your own.

And as Astarion stares at you from across the table, his fangs showing as he curls his upper lip in displeasure, you think that, maybe, you will be so lucky.

You are not.

Astarion’s hand grabs your jaw and tilts your head into the light of the candelabra.

“What’s that?” he asks, and he sounds so disgusted that you nearly start to cry from his words alone. For all the hope you had that he might let you go, you never wanted him to hate you.

“What is what, my love?” The nickname falls easily from your lips, years of habit and a tinge of truth. Your love. For all his mistakes, he is still that.

His finger traces your brow in a surprisingly gentle movement, and your breath catches. But the look in his eye is still one of revulsion and contempt. He pulls at you until you get up to follow him, stumbling through the halls of the manor to stop in front of the big mirror he usually keeps covered.

The mirror. One of the only things his ascension did not fix: Astarion still can’t see his own reflection. Sometimes, you wonder if he keeps you around just to ask for accounts of his beauty that he will never be able to see.

Dozens of portraits have been made in his honour, the artists killed so they would never surpass their masterpiece: Him. None of the portraits manage to capture his ethereal beauty, the cruel twist around his mouth or the pain that still lingers in his eyes. None of the artists understand him the way he would need to be understood to be painted the way he wants to be seen. The way he wants to see himself.

You have caught him on bad nights, standing in front of the empty mirror you see before you now, staring into the silver surface with flaming eyes like he could will himself to appear if he only wanted it enough. It has been years since then. Now, he only asks you to describe him to himself, when he is buried deep inside you, when his pale hands glow on your skin in the moonlight, and his fangs are sunk into the bruised flesh of your neck. You excel at it, because after all, one thing is still true: You love him. You understand him in ways nobody else ever could.

The mirror has been covered up for a long time, collecting dust as you assumed its supposed function.

Now, Astarion pulls at the velvet cover, and your mirror image is revealed to you. Astarion’s hand wraps around the nape of your neck as he pushes you closer to the silvery surface.

“What is that?” he asks again, so accusatorily that you shy away from your own reflection. You see nothing out of the ordinary: Your own face, his mirror absence behind you. Maybe your hair is a little messier than you would like, maybe the bruises on your neck more prominent than you would prefer. But you look just like you always do.

Astarion’s finger traces your brow again - and you realise what has him this riled up.

A faint wrinkle, barely visible, stretches across your forehead like a thin, twisted branch.

You worry too much, as Karlach would have put it. Gods, you haven't seen her in ages. You don't even know if she still lives.

“I-” you set on to explain, though you don’t know what exactly you could say to calm him. When Astarion is in this mood, there is little to do but wait it out. The storm always passes eventually; with sharp fangs slicing your skin or cold hands finding their way beneath your robes to watch you writhe and beg.

Astarion’s gaze now is colder than it has ever been, and it makes you shiver.

“You are ageing.” He spits the words at you like venom.

“Such is the nature of things, my love.” Your voice is dry with annoyance, but you cannot find it in you to care. What a useless thing for him to lose his mind over.

Astarion’s face glows with the beauty of an anger that is senseless as much as it is boundless. You can barely look at him when he twists you around until you are pressed up against the wall, his body so close to yours you can feel the coldness of his skin. Nothing hurts more than to look at him like this, his red eyes devoid of any affection. He didn't used to look at you like this in the beginning… did he? You can’t remember.

His words are poison, his fingers digging into your throat with every syllable he spits at you.

“No, no no. Not in the nature of me. Not in the nature of my world, the universe I have created.” He is aflame with an anger you have not seen in years. It tugs at your heart. All of a sudden, he looks almost as he did before the Ritual: passionate and full of emotion. It doesn't matter that it’s not affection that sets his eyes aflame. At least it’s not indifference.

Astarion wrinkles his nose in disgust, looking you up and down.

“This… this just won’t do,” he mumbles, tilting his head and eyeing you up and down.

To say your heart leaps in joy would be a lie. It leaps in terror. You know what happens to things Astarion has no use for anymore. They are discarded, and if they used to be alive, they are discarded dead.

He might make an exception for you, for his consort, his pet, his trophy. But he might not. These days you can never tell.

“I have waited too long,” he whispers, almost like he has forgotten you are even there. His iron grip on your neck loosens, and you twist around, trying to escape his grasp, not to have to look at him anymore. You can’t bear it. You close your eyes and breathe.

When you open your eyes and see how he looks at you, tears fill your eyes at the expression on his face.

There he is.

After all these years of hoping, of waiting and praying to every god, he is standing before you again: Your love, unchanged by the years, eternally beautiful as he already was before his Ascension. His eyes glow red and his fangs are sharp as ever, but his face is delicate and full of fear. You have not seen him like this in… forever.

“I have waited too long,” he says again, sadness dripping heavy from his eyes. “I… We have waited too long.”

His hand runs up your side, caressing your face, and the look in his eyes is so warm that for the first time in years, you don’t feel like you are freezing from the inside out. You bask in his affection.

“What did we wait for?” you whisper as Astarion buries his face in the crook of your neck, his soft lips warm on your chilly skin. He presses against you and you let him, even though the wall is cold and hard behind you, because this is all you have dreamed about for so long. A sign that he is still in there, that he is still capable of loving you the way he used to.

His lips move against the delicate skin of your throat when he answers.

“For you to be ready.”

Your head falls back as his nails rake down your back, and his thigh presses between your legs. Your fingers weave into his silver hair as your breath catches at the warmth in your chest.

“Ready for what?” Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. The familiar sharpness of his fangs sinking into your skin is no surprise.

“To be mine.” Astarion’s words sear holes into your skin, deeper than his fangs ever could. “Forever.”

You let him push his fingers into your mouth without resistance, your lips parting easily as blood red eyes burn into yours. Astarion smiles a smile that is only fangs and cruelty.

By the time you feel the world flicker, your consciousness fading into darkness, it is already too late.

You are not only His. You have become His Creation. Forever.

Dive into Angstarion - become insane with me.

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#astarion #astarion bg3 #angst #astarion x reader #astarion x you #i cannot stress enough that this is not smut #bg3 #gala writes #angstarion

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happyflux · 3 months

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Saw a really long post today where someone was talking about D&D vampire lore, compiling what different sources say about it (including the Baldur's Gate games) and, y'know, for the most part it was a good post, it's a useful and good quick reference on what the different sources have said about vampires.

(readmore because this turned out long oops)

But then at the end, and in an addition to the post replying to a tag someone had put, the post began talking about applying all this lore to BG3 specifically, and it made me think. Because the takeaway that post had seemed to be that the things about vampire lore which are consistent to the rest of D&D do apply to BG3 as well, and that Astarion is simply an exception due to his extremely strong willpower and sense of self. And that just doesn't seem right to me at all. It feels like missing the point.

BG3 did some very specific, very interesting things with the lore of D&D. In terms of vampires, yes, but also more generally, BG3 pretty consistently gives the message that the things that are said in the rulebooks are not necessarily true, but are oversimplifications and generalizations that are believed to be true in universe.

BG3 got rid of racial ability scores, giving every race the same "choose a +2 and a +1" that variant humans can have in D&D. BG3 not only got rid of racial alignments, but got rid of alignments entirely - there is no detect evil and good, protection against evil and good has been replaced with a spell that mechanically protects against outsiders of various kinds, there is no alignment selection for player characters, no alignment showing up on inspection despite pretty much entire stat blocks being visible, and the companion characters all have complex morality that doesn't fit neatly into any alignment box. BG3 establishes and many times repeats that Volo, the in-universe author of a lot of the texts we have access to about Faerûn, is an incredibly unreliable source. BG3 has Halsin, a large-built and hairy elf (something which the rulebooks claim is impossible as elves are slender and graceful and have no body hair), say that "sometimes I think conventional wisdom is too narrow about what someone can or cannot be".

On the topic of vampirism specifically, BG3 has Jaheira (who is established to be wise and knowledgeable due to being an experienced and well travelled adventurer) say "They say that the only thing a vampire can feel is hunger. Nothing else touches them - not grief, or mercy. Or any sense of what is just. Who knows. There is often more ignorance than insight in what 'they' say", in response to Astarion remaining a spawn. And, on an Astarion origin run, it is established that at least half of his siblings can be convinced to want to oppose Cazador (it's just that non-origin Astarion chooses to antagonize them instead), and they can be persuaded not to feed off of people, and even without Astarion suggesting it Dalyria will take the initiative to help and take care of the other spawn. And, and this I think is crucial, every vampire we see in BG3 aside from possibly Vellioth is established to have been through circumstances which could easily twist someone and turn them horrible, no magical twisting of emotions or inherent existential evil required.

To play Baldur's Gate 3 and take away from it that the things which D&D lore has previously said about vampires apply to this game, and that Astarion is just somehow Special because of his Extremely Strong Willpower and Sense of Self feels like completely missing the point. Vampires in BG3 are evil because they're stuck in a cycle of violence and suffering and aren't able to escape, and when they are given an escape from that cycle they are able to heal and recover and be more than what they were made. Astarion does not have exceptional willpower, Astarion got lucky. He got out, he made some connections, he got a chance to heal and unlearn the things he'd been taught before being thrust back into Cazador's presence, and that's why he's able to break the cycle. Or, alternately, if the people he finds when he gets out don't push him to unlearn the things Cazador taught him and instead reinforce those beliefs, he becomes just like him. Again, no magical twisting of emotions required.

#bg3 #astarion #sorry about the long post lol #also don't take this too seriously. i don't think interpreting a story differently than me is problematic or anything #it just annoys me when people are wrong about my blorbo on the internet (read: when people interpret the story differently from me)#hence why i made my own post instead of commenting on the one that i reference

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brabblesblog · 4 months

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Ch 13: Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm.

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Astarion makes plans to rescue Ban.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

“A bard!” Astarion thundered as he burst through the doors to the ballroom. The servant cleaning nearby jerked in surprise at the sight of his master; Astarion snapped his fingers irritably.

“They took her. Get me a bard. Now!”

He marched towards his throne, refusing to take a moment to breathe. He could not pause, could not panic. He could only act.

The ornate throne greeted him, as large and imposing and worthless as ever. He collapsed onto the cushioned seat, glowering at the ballroom as he waited, his composure hanging by a thread.

Don’t think about what they’re doing to her. Don’t worry. Just do.

He was unable to feel her mind, silence was all that met him whenever he attempted to reach her. But she was alive, he surmised, hoped, prayed - something he knew to be futile, given how much futile praying he had done when he was Cazador’s.

But he couldn’t help it.

Fingertips rapidly tapping on the armrest, the Ascendant’s head snapped towards the doors as a servant walked in with a jovial, rotund man.

“My good saer,” the man began, bowing to Astarion in a respectful, if overstated, manner. “Would you like to hear some-“

“Can you cast a Sending spell?”

Astarion’s eyes bored into the man. The bard noted the demeanor of the man, the way his hands gripped the armrest, the way he leaned forward, as if he was his only chance of salvation. The smile was wiped from the bard’s face.

“Yes, saer. I am able to,” he replied, standing a little straighter.

“Ever heard of a wizard named Gale of Waterdeep?”

The bard considered for a moment, then nodded in assent, “Yes, saer, he was one of the heroes-”

“Good.” With the bard familiar with Gale, the Sending spell would succeed. “Send this to him,” he snapped, not caring to let the man finish his sentence. The bard hurried to take out his journal and quill.

“Gale. This is from Astarion. Ban has been taken by the covens in Waterdeep. She needs your help.”

He paused to think. Eighteen words. What else should I include?

Pushing past his pride, he continued.

“I need your help. Please. For her.” Twenty-five.

Astarion watched, jaw clenching as the bard cast the Sending spell; his hands gripped the armrests of his throne tightly.

The reply came quickly.

“Hello. This is Gale of Waterdeep. If this is indeed you, Astarion, you will have to prove it-” the bard reported.

“It’s me!” He growled, the rising irritation in his voice unmistakable, “Tell Gale - tell that ass I sent it. Astarion sent it. Tell him- for gods’ sakes, tell him I know he tried to fuck my wife, how about that? He’ll know it’s me!”

“Saer-” The man hesitated. He counted on his fingers, carefully. “That’s… okay.” He cast the spell and transmitted the message in his mind, too afraid to alter the Ascendant’s words.

Astarion sent it. Tell him- for gods’ sakes, tell him I know he tried to fuck my wife, how about that? He’ll know it’s me!

That seemed to successfully capture Gale’s attention. The bard swallowed as the response came back. Gale wanted to know where Astarion was.

“He’s asking where you are, saer.”

Astarion wanted to snap both the bard’s and Gale’s necks.

“In my godsforsaken home, obviously!”

“Saer,” the bard gulped, “Gale says he will be here shortly.”

Astarion waved a hand; his chamberlain moved forward. “Pay him.” He dismissed the bard with another flick of his wrist, his mind already on far more important matters.

He would have to retrieve Woe. Rhapsody as well, he thought. Cazador’s old weapons, turned on him at the rite; Astarion had them stored in chests in one of the spare rooms. During the worst nights after the reunion with their former companions, when seeing Ban had been an impossibility, he would go to that room and look at both weapons. Cradle Rhapsody, the dagger he’d used to carve into Cazador’s back.

A reminder of what it had taken to acquire his current position. A reminder of the price he’d paid: seven thousand souls, those of his siblings included, along with what little had been left of his admittedly very limited integrity.

He knew he’d need them for the fight to come. They had worked in ending his master, in creating wounds that had stayed open and had not healed as was normal for his kind. They would suffice.

Astarion headed for the spare room where the weapons were kept while he waited for Gale’s arrival.

Woe, the staff, sat where he had left it, but Rhapsody was missing from its container.

He felt bile rise in his throat, a mixture of fear and outrage filling him. Who had taken it? Only he entered this room - even Ban had refrained from doing so, knowing exactly what was - had been - here. He picked up Woe with trembling fingers, absently testing its heft.

His thoughts swirled around this new problem, trying to discern who the culprit could be.

None of their guests could have done it. They had always been restricted to certain areas of the palace - namely, the ballroom and its surrounding rooms. This room was out of the way, kept from prying eyes by an illusory wall-

Undead. They were much less susceptible to illusion magic.

Astarion let out a low, frustrated groan. Vel. At the party.

After he had saved Ban from the vampire’s lecherous grasp, they had been so wrapped up in each other that they had failed to keep track of the other vampires. They had snuck out to make love and his summons had been released when he’d been consumed by his passion. It would have been painfully easy to slip into this area and…

Enraged, he stormed out, Woe in hand.

Astarion turned the corner, walking briskly, berating himself for never checking on his weapons after the party, and almost collided with his chamberlain. The man bowed, beginning to stutter an apology.

“My lord, I apologize, but-”

“What?”

“Saer.” The chamberlain cleared his throat. “Gale of Waterdeep is here.”

Gale sat in the dining room, his hands clasped around Markoheshkir. He fidgeted, a little nervous to be back here after all this time. Especially after what Astarion had said in the Sending spell. He hadn’t been all that surprised when Ban had written to him about reuniting with Astarion, but meeting the Vampire Ascendant again was definitely not something he had wanted, nor expected, to ever do.

He looked up as the doors flew open and Astarion marched in gripping Woe so tightly his knuckles were noticeably white. Gale had never seen fit to be afraid of Astarion before, but in that moment the Ascendant looked terrifying. Gale stiffened, defensively tightening his grasp on Markoheshkir.

“Astarion,” he said carefully, watching his former companion take a seat across from him, Woe placed on the table in front of him. “Before we discuss Ban’s plight, I would like to shed light on-”

The Ascendant scoffed, a short, pained sound.

“On your pathetic attempts to convince my wife to leave me and then seduce her?” He took a deep breath. There were so many things he would like to say. He felt betrayed by the wizard, felt betrayed by all of his companions. They’d abandoned him after the ascension, hadn’t even tried to help him. They’d helped Ban leave him; he knew she had wanted it and that it had all worked out in the end, he couldn’t help feeling resentful.

“You were my friend. You all were,” he spat out, then forced himself to stop there. He needed Gale’s help, even though he deplored the thought.

“She deserved better, Astarion,” Gale countered “She always has. You and I both know that.” His hold on Markoheshkir tightened even further; he braced himself for a possible attack.

Astarion sucked in a breath, gearing up for a tirade about wretched, two-faced so-called friends, but the words died in his throat.

Do you want his help or not? The voice in his head laughed a little. Besides. He’s right.

“Fine.” The statement was meant more for himself than for Gale. “Let’s let bygones be… bygones, I suppose.” He clicked his tongue, more to express his pique than anything else, then exhaled.

“To ease your concerns,” he finally said, “Ban and I have reconciled.” That was all he thought his former companion deserved to know - that she had chosen him again. That they were together, and no one would ever come between them again.

It was a far cry from the insecure, distraught person he had been just a few hours ago. He sat tall, hoping Gale saw him as the epitome of quiet, proud confidence.

But Gale perceived a man with frayed nerves, barely clinging on to his facade as his heart worried for his spouse. The clasped fingers shook a little, his eyes were frantic, his breathing too fast, brows pinched with stress. Gale felt a wave of empathy towards the Ascendant.

Gale sighed. “All I really desire is her happiness. If that is with you, then I am glad.” He thought for a moment, contemplating whether he should continue.

“Just don’t hurt her again, that's all.”

The Ascendant’s eyes flashed with fury, but only for the briefest moment. The second look that passed across his face was quickly concealed, but Gale caught a glimpse of it: guilt.

Astarion cleared his throat. He hadn’t summoned Gale here to be lectured on his relationship, but he knew that Gale and the rest of their former companions only mean Ban well. They weren’t entirely wrong for holding poor opinions of him. At his core, he wholeheartedly agreed with them.

“Acknowledged,” he replied tersely. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin and considered the man sitting before him.

“I… invited you here-” not summoned, yes, good, “-because Ban needs help.”

Of course Astarion needed his help too, but saying that was too much for his ego to manage.

Gale nodded sagely. “The Stedez coven, I presume? They’re an open secret in Waterdeep. Nine vampires, a few loyal mortals and various other lackeys. May I inquire as to why they have taken an interest in Ban?”

We don’t have time for this, you idiot!

Astarion’s hands left his chin to rest atop the table. As close as he was to losing his temper, he knew he needed Gale’s help.

“Ban went to Waterdeep, to your tower, in your company, and they noticed.” He wanted to blame Gale for being careless with Ban, for unintentionally allowing the Waterdhavian vampires to see her out and about in daylight. But if Astarion hadn’t been so cruel to her, she would never have left in the first place.

“They saw my gifts, heard about my ill-fated attempt to retrieve her, and realized she… that there were issues in our marriage.” He fixed his gaze on a point past Gale, and continued.

“I invited them here for a party, to establish the fact that she is mine and under my control.” Astarion was aware of how that sounded, and he winced internally. “Vel took a liking to her, and things may have escalated.”

He wasn’t sure if Vel had abducted Ban in an effort to actually acquire her for himself, or to lure Astarion out. Lust was a strong motivating factor, but wounding a vampire’s pride? That was unpardonable. And Astarion had grievously wounded Vel’s.

Gale watched Astarion intently, divining what the Ascendant refused to say. He protected her, he realized. Of course Astarion would hide under his guise of practiced indifference; he always had, since they’d first met. Gale was all too content to let him keep up the pretense, though, nodding at his words.

“I understand. And now Vel has abducted her, and likely taken her to his mansion in Waterdeep.”

A sharp nod from the Ascendant was the only reply, his eyes still firmly avoiding looking at Gale.

Gale let out a small chortle and Astarion’s head whipped around to glare at him.

“To think they kidnapped the hero of Baldur’s Gate out from under her husband, the Vampire Ascendant, and her best friend, the wizard of Waterdeep. Foolish, at best.” Gale smiled and Astarion scoffed in agreement, his face softening marginally.

“I’ll help you, Astarion. Not for you though, mind.” He added, wagging a finger at him playfully.

Astarion scowled at the gesture, irritated, and for a moment Gale was reminded of their adventuring days, bickering and competing for Ban’s affections.

“I know.” Astarion picked up Woe as he stood. “He also stole Rhapsody, the utter prick. They could kill her with that weapon.” Rage and fear warred in Astarion’s trembling voice.

Gale offered the only kindness the Ascendant was likely to accept from him. “But they will not. We will see to that.”

The two men stood as they were teleported into Gale’s tower and Astarion grimaced at the memory of the last time he had been here. They walked out of the teleportation circle; Gale clapped his hands awkwardly.

“Welcome to my most humble abode,” he said with a small bow, “Feel free to wander about and make yourself at home.” He pointed to the guest room, the same one Ban stayed in. “That room is yours until we head out.”

Astarion gave a nod and wordlessly headed into the offered room. He and Gale had taken the carriage to Sorcerous Sundries, where Rolan had allowed them to use his teleportation circle. The two wizards had spent almost half an hour catching up; half an hour that to the Ascendant had felt like a century.

He leaned Woe against the door and sat in the chair by the window. He knew this room, had seen it in Ban’s mind the night the two of them had…

Gods. I can’t think about that right now.

Astarion fought back the tears that threatened to well up yet again, staring out the window at the sprawling city below, focusing on nothing. He’d been to Waterdeep before, to seek out Ban, but seeing it in the light of the setting sun made him wistful. He and Gale had decided to plan and rest tonight before heading out tomorrow. Confronting them in the daytime would ensure that they had the advantage over the Waterdhavian vampires.

We haven’t even been anywhere since the Netherbrain, he thought sadly.

He remembered Ban telling him she wanted to travel, the day after they had defeated the Absolute. He had sold her his empty promises, and then whisked her off into the bowels of the Crimson Palace. He had barely allowed her out.

Remorse filled him then, a sensation he’d been growing more and more acquainted with as each day passed. He’d merely wanted to protect her, cherish her, and he’d thought they would have all the time in the world to travel. Perhaps in the next century, he’d thought. The renovation and the scheming had needed to come first.

How wrong he’d been. How cruel, to keep her under lock and key under the pretense of ensuring her safety, when he’d simply feared her abandoning him at the first chance.

Oh, but the moment she was out of your grasp, she ran, didn’t she?

Yes. But he had deserved to be left. What he had done was contemptible.

The Ascendant tried again.

Well then, how about this? The moment she was allowed free rein around the city, she was taken. She was hurt!

He scoffed to himself. That one was valid, and for a moment he was tempted to let that thought win out. But, no. Vel had been drawn to Ban because Astarion’s behavior had made her run away, for one, and besides - she had been out on her own plenty of times before today.

He knew there was always danger to this kind of existence. Cazador had bleated on and on about this exact topic - the innate competition and envy amongst vampires, their covetousness, their endless scheming against one another. Ban had just been caught in the crossfire.

All this power, all the things he’d given up, all the grief he’d caused her, and for what? He had failed her. Again.

Undeserving. Unworthy. Never enough.

If he could be enough for only one thing, he hoped it would be saving her.

He cast his mind out, searching for hers once again. The now-familiar silence greeted him and was almost comforting. Better that than feeling something like her pain as Vel put his hands on her, or her dying thoughts-

No. She’ll be fine. She has to be.

He needed to keep telling himself that, if he was to keep functioning.

He made a promise to himself to take her everywhere, once this was over.

Ban awakened when the stake was pulled from her chest. She watched in abject horror as it slowly retracted from her body, feeling every inch of it drag in her flesh. It took some time to fully regain consciousness, the wound taking its time to stitch closed. She was dumbfounded. How am I alive? They staked me! Her thoughts were interrupted by the laughter of her captors, and the clanking of chains. A large iron door creaked as it slammed shut.

She realized she was sitting on the floor, manacled to the walls of what seemed to be a dungeon. Her wrists sizzled within the metal bands and it dawned on her that they were pure silver. Biting back the scream of pain that threatened to erupt from her throat, Ban made an attempt to tug on the manacles. Her skin burned, red-hot and blistering, and she immediately stopped, adjusting her posture to ensure the silver no longer touched her skin.

Stuck, without any means of escape, her thoughts turn to Astarion. Does he think I left him again? That I smiled and lied and snuck away at first chance? No. Surely not. He’s looking for me. He must be insane with worry.

Her concern for him was so strong, it broke through the haze of her panic and fear and it finally occurred to her to expand her mind outwards, letting tendrils of thought reach out for him.

She touched his mind, softly, like a caress.

He was about to turn away from the window when he felt her. The touch of her mind was tentative and she was in a great deal of pain. He rushed to envelop her mind with his, to shield her from the worst of it.

Ban? Are you alright?

For a moment, silence. And then, I was staked.

Astarion had thought as much. He’d presumed the extended silence meant she had been incapacitated somehow; a stake would do the trick.

I thought I was dead. But then they pulled it out, and I’m alive, but I can’t get out.

A stake can’t kill you, my love. It can only incapacitate you until it is removed.

Astarion shared his vision with her, showing her the city beneath him, attempting to supplant her feelings of pain with something, anything else.

Ban’s agony inevitably bled into him; he could feel the bite of the silver manacles against his own wrists. He ignored it. He had felt much worse, and he would gladly carry as much of her pain as possible.

Where are you?

Ban sent him an image of a dingy cell. He could smell the odiferous surroundings, could make out the dark, damp dungeon walls. She must be in Vel’s mansion, then.

She winced a little as her arms began to tire and she sagged against the manacles. He wrapped his mind more tightly around hers, hoping sharing the pain might somehow lessen her burden.

I’m coming, he vowed.

I know, love.

Her faith in him flooded their connection, unyielding, carrying no hint of uncertainty. The revelation made his heart swell with joy.

He didn’t sever the connection, holding her throughout the night.

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feyspeaker · 9 months

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oh no, I'm going to post an Astarion hot take that will likely be wildly unpopular.

tl;dr: I would like to see more artists/writers/fandom treating Astarion with tenderness pls

**spoilers below for early/mid Act 2 Astarion romance included so please avoid if you aren't there yet.

I myself haven't made it much farther than that point so please refrain from replying with spoilers past this bit, thank you!

I'm like, totally irritated and grossed out by all of the language calling Astarion a "whore," "slut," etc. First of all, I don't personally like those words anyway and would never use them in daily language. But like, Astarion literally pours his heart out about having been used and abused, forced to use his body/sexuality to lure people for Cazador against his will. And he is hypersexualized in his behavior as a coping mechanism because he is so used to having to use sex to serve Cazador. It's kind of textbook sexual abuse survivor behavior. It breaks my heart and seeing so much fanart of Astarion that's hypersexualized without purpose or message gives me the ick...

I'd like to clarify that I think that artwork of Astarion that is a celebration of his character, the good and the bad, is wonderful. I've certainly painted him in various risque situations (mildly imo, and I try to keep intimacy and message in mind), but it's another thing IMO to be putting him in dog collars or h*ntai poses. It's like, so icky to me.

You do you, but I do be blocking/muting/hiding a lot of art and posts with this 'theme'.

This is why I rarely engage with fandom at all- trying to just post my own art and scuttle back to my corner. ♥

#text #ranting

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baldurs-gape · 25 days

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Broken Hallelujah

The last thing the party needed was for Astarion's 'siblings' to make an unexpected visit in the middle of the night. They were already exhausted and battered, in need of a good night's sleep so the worst outcome was yet another fight. It didn't go well. Astarion was spirited away after taking a series of heavy blows that rendered him helpless and curled up on the floor. Storming Cazador's palace was out of the question in the state everyone was left in. Plus, taking on a vampire in the middle of the night was madness. By reluctant mutual agreement, Astarion's rescue was going to have to wait until daytime.

Plans were all very well but it was rare for them to be followed without a hitch. There was the matter of Gortash's Steelwatch which needed to be brought down as soon as possible. Finding the clown's torso was a happy little accident but it needed to be lugged back to the tavern because it was so heavy. And there was the small matter of needing to stock up on supplies before they could even consider getting Astarion back. Night was upon the party all too soon. Astarion was going to have to survive another night before getting rescued.

Daylight came again and more unexpected interruptions. An urchin was pleading with the barkeep, something about only wanting to deliver an important message. It was a good act, almost enough to convince Gale that the he did have a message to pass on rather than simply looking for a way in to pilfer some valuables.

"it's you!" The child's eyes were fixed on Wyll and Lae'zel let out an unimpressed tsk. "Blade of Frontiers! We need your help!"

Only a little charmed, karlach gave Wyll a nudge and a grin, a pleased 'told you so'. Just because he now had horns made him no less of a hero and defender of the Coast. The boy approached without fear, cap literally in hand.

"Please, Mr. Blade," he began, trying to be formal, "we need your help down at the dock. Some awful, vile creature has taken residence overnight and is obstructing our work."

"What kind of creature?" Wyll asked, torn between amusement and concern.

"Bossman says it's probably some deformed mercreature! Hisses and screeches from where it's squeezed itself between crates. Probably killed some cats or something because there's blood all over the planks. It screams what sounds like "go away" from a throat that wasn't made for speech."

All very concerning. Wyll looked at the other three. "It'll take maybe an hour by the sounds of it." A tinge of guilt coloured his voice, "Vampires are asleep until sunset. Another hour won't make much of a difference."

Lae'zel nodded in agreement while Karlach hesitated. Only Gale's lips were pressed into a thin line.

"We need to get Astarion free. He was already hurt when they took him."

"That's one being's benefit against that of many," Wyll argued. "We put one injured creature out of its misery and the dock workers can go back to their duties."

Clearly outnumbered, Gale sighed. He hated being in the minority, before all this mess, he just had to suggest something and it happened. Now, even outright saying how things should be wasn't enough to make it happen. Expression mildly thunderous and with half a mind on petty vengeance of blowing a few crates up to express his displeasure, he followed the others to the docks.

Finsing where the creature had holed up wasn't exactly difficult. Judging by the amount of blood, it had dragged a whole ox into its lair, not just a cat or two. A gaggle of workers stood a safe distance away, necks craning to catch sight of it. All too telling was the broken pitchfork near a wonkily piled of crates. Just enough of a gap between them for something to squeeze in and set up camp.

Sword pulled out, Wyll approached. He squinted into the dark, blade raised and ready to defence. The hiss that came from the crevice was hoarse and weak. Whatever it was, if left alone for a day or so, it would probably die anyway.

Gale watched as Wyll crouched down to get a better look. From his position he had the perfect view as another hiss made him flinch but peered in. No attack was coming forth. Not from Wyll and not from the creature either. In fact, the wooden boxes moved as though the creature was pressing further into the darkness and meager cover it had found.

"Just toss a caustic bulb in," Lae'zel offered, poised and ready to pounce.

Patience gone, Karlach marched closer. "This is easier." The top crate was hefted up and easily discarded to the side with an ominous rattle. A pained screech went up as the creature tried to hide. At the same time Wyll's exclamation was just as loud.

"Astarion?!"

For a long second everything hung in the air. Gale craned to get a better look but only saw blood smeared flesh and a mop of filthy hair. In slow motion the head raised and feral red eyes scanned the threats. The moment another hiss left Astarion's throat, the world snapped back into motion.

Without thought, Gale was vaulting over the crate he was behind, rushing to get to Astarion. Lae'zel sheathed her sword and Wyll stepped back in shock. Unthinking, Gale pushed Karlach to the side and dropped to his knees, hand reaching to cup Astarion's face gently.

"What did they do to you, my love?"

The snarling his twisted into an agonised sob as Astarion sagged. Still, he didn't say anything, slumping into Gale's touch. In the light of day the damage was easy to perceive but not easy to see. Astarion's face was bloodied, Gale would have put good gold on a broken cheek. A lot of the blood was around his lips and chin though and, at first, he thought maybe Astarion had had a chance to feed. Yet that should have helped with the healing. Another look and Gale wished he hadn't. As Astarion took a heaving breath through trembling lips, he could see gaps where fangs had been broken off. Gale couldn't help the wince of sympathy. Gathering him closer, his hands brushed over a familiar back but he didn't feel just the scars. Instead, his hands touched wet and sticky lines. Adjusting them, Gale regretted his choices. The scars were near enough obliterated by vicious lines of split skin. At a guess it was the aftermath of a frenzied whipping.

"Get Shadowheart," he croaked at the others. He wasn't versed in healing magic, none of them were. Helping Astarion rearrange his limbs into something comfortable was proving impossible. He was in the blood soaked remnants of his sleep pants, feet bare and Karlach tried to gently pull shards of glass out. All through it, Astarion got quieter and quieter. Too quiet and Gale clutched a him.

"Help's coming, hold on."

Almost not soon enough, Shadowheart was dashing towards them, Halsin on her heels. Blue healing magic glowed around them and a hand thrust a potions bottle to Gale.

"Get it into him."

Easier said than done. Astarion could barely sip, coughed and choked on every other small mouthful. A weak, trembling hand even tried to shove the bottle away but Gale held firm despite everything in him screaming to not force Astarion into anything.

"Why isn't he healing?" he growled in frustration as Shadowheart sat back, spells exhausted.

It was Halsin's turn to kneel by them, the golden glow of his magic strong. He offered Astarion a soft smile and looked over to Gale.

"Spells will target the most critical injuries first." A sadness overtook his features. "Sometimes it's more important to get someone healed than to assess what injuries have been sustained."

Cold seeped into Gale and not just from holding Astarion close. He couldn't see a single part of Astarion that had healed. Whatever other injuries he had, they weren't visible.

Finally the potion bottle was empty and Gale discarded it carelessly in favour of brushing fingers through Astarion's filthy hair. It had Astarion stirring to blearily blink at them. Gone was the mask of aloofness, the pretence of immortal invulnerability. Instead all that was left was a breaking heart left bleeding in the open for all to gawk at.

"You didn't come." An accusation, a gut wrenchingly pained statement, a hollow cry of disappointment. "You didn't come."

"I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry." Gale should have kicked up a fuss, they should have gone the moment the sun rose after Astarion was snatched. Guilt gnawed at him. He and Halsin should have gone, even if nobody else was willing. It was what Astarion would have done, in fact had done when Orin had snatched Halsin.

The warmth of Halsin enveloped them from Astarion's other side. Together, the two of them tried to hold Astarion together as he began to shake apart with emotions he could no longer contain.

"He did the ritual. Was so angry. Livid." A hand ghosted over his own lips, fingers feeling the memory of agony. "Said it was my fault."

It made no sense but, for now, it didn't have to. Gale held him closer and looked to Halsin for guidance. This kind of thing played more to his strength than Gale's.

"Not your fault. He's a wretched cur for making you even think that. Once you're better, we'll rid the world of him together if you'd like. Raze the castle to the ground. I'll serve his head on a platter if that is what you need."

Slow clapping interrupted them. Raphael of all people was sauntering closer, hands in front of him.

"Bravo, little one! Bravo."

Gale willed a spell into his hand and aimed it at the intruder. "Not now, dickwad."

"Oh but now is exactly the right time." Standing, he gazed down at Astarion with indulgent affection. "You might have just made it to the top of my favourites list."

Bristling at the threat such words held, Halsin shifted to cover Astarion as much as he could.

"You're not welcome, Raphael. Not that it has ever stopped you before."

"But I come bearing gifts. Yes, gifts! You see, Astarion has just created the hottest gossip of hell. And, because he is a friend of mine, I am now an elevated denizen of Hell." Preening, Raphael waited for a reaction which never came. It didn't deter him in the slightest. "You see, our beloved Astarion here was charged with bringing Cazador 7000 souls for his grand Ascension. And hwat a busy little spawn he's been. Two hundred years and over 7000 victims lured back. Makes you shiver, doesn't it? Not all of them survived though."

"None of them did," Astarion replied, voice rough and raspy.

"Well, quite. Cazador had a rather large appetite, didn't he? But 7000 of those you lured back he fed from, turned into spawn and stashed under his palace, didn't he?"

Eyes closed, Astarion nodded. "It was my fault."

"Indeed. But Cazador only wanted the beautiful for his ascension so he was choosy about who he turned. But finally, at long last, after centuries of waiting, he had it." Raphael laughed coldly. "He performed the rite, didn't he? Tell me, what was it like?"

"Like watching the ringmaster from a torture rack, what do you think?"

"Oh to have seen his face though. Completing his ritual, calling Mephistopheles to claim his souls, only for daddy dearest to appear, look at all your victims and say-" here, he paused in the hopes that Astarion would help act out the stroy. Stubborn silence left him sniffing, offended at the lack of participation. "Mephistopheles says 'where are the souls?' and looks around again."

Slapping his knees, Raphael cackles as if it was the funniest thing in the entirety of the world. "Where are the souls?" he repeated with more mirth.

"Very droll," Gale replied, utterly unamused. "Maybe this is Avernus humour rather than Faerun humour."

"You don't understand!" Still hooting, Raphael struggled to stand straight. "They were all spawn! 7000 spawn, not a single soul between them."

"So Cazador failed?" It was Halsin who asked, blunt and flat.

The same time Raphael exclaimed an elated "yes", Astarion let out a bitter scoff. "As if that wasn't obvious. Took it out on me, blamed me for it."

"And so-" Raphael cut in, undeterred, "-I come with two gifts." He snapped a finger. "Ta-dah!" The trio stared without a single clue as to what had happened. "Oh for crying out loud, you're free! Still a spawn but free of Cazador's influence."

"Oh." Astarion didn't seem elated at the news. "The tadpole was already doing that."

"Yes, but think of after! Think of the future."

Halsin cleared his throat. "You said two things?"

"Greedy." Raphael booped Halsin on the nose. "But yes." Another finger click. This time Astarion shivered.

Eyes wide with hope, Gale looked over him. "Did he give you your soul back?"

Eyes closed, Astarion shook his head while Raphael let out a delighted giggle. "No, silly! You're more greedy than bear-boy here. He's fully healed!"

Which was great but it wasn't anything they couldn't have done. It didn't do anything but fill Gale and Halsin with cold dread. Living in hope had been better, easier. They knew for sure now, Astarion truly didn't have a soul.

#oakbloodweave #halsin x astarion x gale #astarion #bg3 astarion #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #halsin #bg3 halsin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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literally-a-waffle-fry · 2 months

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‼️I'm posting my yes man fnv headcanons cause my mooties seem to really like them!‼️ : 3

-yes man is unlabeled, but the closest thing he can see himself as is nonbinary though. He prefers he/they/it, but doesn't really care about what you use on him. He's also Demisexual and bisexual!

- he absolutely loves gifts. Seriously. You could get him even the smallest thing and he'd be soooo happy! He'll also become a lot closer and more defensive over you if you did.

- Since he's not really used to being treated like a person, if you asked him about his thoughts and feelings, he would be so grateful, and his heart would melt. Before his assertiveness upgrade, he wouldn't be able to exactly say no. He can be passive-aggressive enough to get the point across.

-he likes to listen to old pre war holotapes and music, his favorite song is Johnny guitar by Peggy Lee.

- his favorite color is blue! But he also loves green since it's not really a common color to see in the Mojave.

-he loves learning about the flora on the Mojave! If your character has a high science/survival skill, he would love for you to tell him everything! (His circuit board would BURN UP if you made him something out of flowers/gave him a flower)

-since being freed from the Tops casino, he gets very uncomfortable going back or thinking about it.

-his favorite animal is birds! He thinks they're very neat and likes watching them and learning about the different species. He wants to try feeding them, but they always fly away 💔

- likes printing out little images/notes for you. He'll leave them places and loves when you get happy/excited about it. He always worries about you too, sending messages on your pipboy very often when you travel without him.

- if you tell him to divide 0 by 0, he will stare at you and then proceed to shut down.

- he likes fighting quite a bit, it helps him feel so free from his old programming. Throwing general Oliver off the hoover dam awakened this!

-kind of like one of those girl best friends in high school. If someone is causing problems for you, he's gonna get rid of it (so sometimes you have to kinda talk him outta things cause he definitely doesn't mind getting violent over you ahem cough cough)

-sucker for romance movies. Seriously. If he could physically cry he would cry at those sappy old romance movies.

-if you have autism, adhd, etc. Yes man would do his very best to research those things to understand You better! Always asks for your advice too. He also tries to tone down his passive aggressiveness after he learns your autistic.

-after he has his upgrade, he has a lot of new expressions. Surprised, angry, sad, confused, etc.

-he also loves jewelry. If you made him a freindship bracelet, he would never take it off.

-PETRIFIED of insects. Especially cazadors, they freak him out. You have to kill them for him. The only way he'll fight them is from a distance. If he sees a radroach/other insect in the lucky 38, he will SCREAM and beg you to kill it.

#yes man fnv #yes man #fnv

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ursusmajoralis · 2 months

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Overall, not many changes in Patch 6.

There's a new item, Letter from Ulder Ravengard. Greetings. What a cruelty, that I be reunited with my only son, only for him to be slaughtered. Have my sins against Wyll been so horrid that I must lose him just as I celebrated the man he'd become? Is this the fate I sealed seven long years ago when I cast him away? It wasn't so long ago that I suffered the heat of the Hells and the wrath of The Horned King. But I have never known pain like this, the anguish of the black void appearing where my heart once beat. I'm leaving. If the parasite takes me, so be it. Better to be a mind flayer than a mere shadow in duke's clothing. Ulder Ravengard, Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate and My friend, my confidante, my rescuer: None of us lives a life without regret, and mine is no exception. I thought I'd lost my son to a devil - but it was my own hubris that drove him away. And then, a miracle: you brought him back to me. And for that, you have my eternal thanks. It's with a heavy heart, then, that I bid you farewell. Wyll has chosen a new path, and I mean to follow. What our futures hold, I can't say - the Absolute's parasites are still lodged in our heads, after all. But I will approach my destiny with my only son at my side. Regards, Ulder Ravengard, Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate

Francesca, the Archdruid replacer, now leaves a letter in the Epilogue. https://www.tumblr.com/ursusmajoralis/742508589819838464?source=share

Halsin gained some inaccessible Speak with Dead dialogue, for some reason. https://www.tumblr.com/ursusmajoralis/742508044385157120/patch-6-added-a-new-unused-line-for-halsin-when?source=share

There are changes to scenes with Astarion and Cazador, which I am not going to get in to, for fear of being lynched if I get it wrong.

There are marriage lines with Astarion and Gale. Astarion: Yes, I'll marry you. Ideally as far away from Baldur's Gate and Cazador as possible. Gale: I accept. I'll marry you, Gale Dekarios.

There's a new item, Letter from Mizora. Why you little stinker! Good thing I plan for all eventualities - including the pup's untimely exit. That's the thing about devils: when someone goes knotting things up, we work out the kinks. (Yes, I'm only half-devil, but let's not quibble over details, dumpling.) Suffice to say, plans have changed. I could've just flitted off without leaving a message, but I could NEVER be so rude - why, you were twice as fun as a pail of de-winged imps, and not near so ugly. So… ta-ta. For now. Mizora

Karlach talks about Dammon dying.

Quite a lot of fixes to quest descriptions.

#baldur's gate 3 #patch 6 #wyll ravengard #mizora

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linaselandbasil · 2 months

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Vampire Kareshi ch.3

Ch.1, Ch.2, AO3 link.

University au, Bloodweave.

Have fun reading yall!

...

After a long shower, a careful trim of his beard, cutting of his nails and a few drops of cologne, he felt ready. He put the wizardly robes on, he was looking great, feeling giddy. But also he's going to throw up from the stress.

"Wyll I'm nervous." He finally turned to his friend after a few minutes of checking the time and waiting for an 'im here' text.

"But you want this, so get yourself together. " Wyll was looking at him pacing in the room, comfortably sitting on the couch with a can of some disgusting sugary death drink in hand.

"I do. I'm just not used to stuff like this! Do you think he's going to kiss me?"

"I don't know. I'm sure he will if you ask him to. But make sure you don't kiss him too soon, wait until the end of the night."

"Um, okay."

"And don't be afraid to flirt. He will probably be put off if you just take all the compliments and don't give any back, it would make it seem like you're not enjoying yourself."

"Understood." A notification sound rang aloud in the room. "It's time... Thank you for lending me your fancy cologne, it won't be forgotten!" He checks the message.

'I'll be there in a few minutes, cant wait to see you darling.'

Darling... DARLING!

'The feeling is mutual.'

"Are you not going to get going?" Wyll asked, confused as to why his friend was just watching the parking lot from the window.

"I'll teleport, it makes an impression!"

"You can do that?"

"Of course, what kind of wizard can't teleport? Oh look, he's there!" Wyll scampered to the window to finally see this mistery man.

"That... My father has a car like that, just who is this guy?"

"He said his father was Cazador. I suppose that should tell you something."

"Cazador Szarr? I'm not surprised he has a son I've never heard about, I'm sure he has a couple more he himself hasn't seen."

"I see. Well, it's lovely talking to you in our shared livingspace that I see you in every single day, but I think it's time for me to get going! Until next time!" He bowed and walked into a portal that was freshly opening up behind him.

In the ambiguous space between the two portals he found himself a little stuck. Oh no...

...

Astarion checked himself out in the selfie camera, carefully inspecting his visage. He'd do it in one of the many mirrors of Cazadors displacer but he cannot, for obvious reasons.

He was startled by a loud magic magicing right beside his car. He was not eager to get out and see what's up on account of him being in the possession of survival instincts, but when a hand with a pretty ring on it reached out, he became intrigued.

"A hand? Please?"

"Oh, Gale! It's you!"

"Can you help me out?" He grabbed the hand and began pulling. No use. In the meantime Wyll was watching all of this go down from the window and thought 'That's one hell of an impression you're making.' He pitied the both of them and reached into the portal to give Gale a good push. He has 9 strength, so he's not much better off than the other two but it did the trick!

Astarion could barely keep standing as the human fell into his arms. "So you're a wizard?"

"Yes, I am! An apprentice of Elminster and a graduate of the Wizarding academy of Waterdeep! I'm working on my second degree here in Baldur's gate." He straightened up, proud as could be. Suddenly as he was faced with the elf, all his nervousness faded into oblivion. Standing this close, Gale also noticed that the elf was not by much, but still a little shorter than him. He seemed taller on camera, not that Gale is complaining.

"I wouldn't have guessed you were a wizard! This is interesting to say the least! I must say, you look positively delectable, darling."

"So do you." Gale looked at the vampires outfit, which was hard to see as it was mostly black. What Gale didn't fail to notice was the way it glittered as it was illuminated by streetlights. "You look much more solemnly dressed, I must say I feel like a clown."

"Oh no, you'll be fine, I'm the weird one for dressing for the casket I was always destined for. I felt like I didn't wear this black jacket enough, so I put an outfit together just so I can wear it."

"I'd say it was a great idea, you look... Pretty." The wizard fiddled with the sun motifs embroidered into the robes of summer.

Astarion opened the door of the car and beckoned him in. He did so without a question. Astarion followed shortly after, starting the car once again. "Thank you. But let me warn you, this gift is particularly hard to open, the zipper on this top always gets stuck!" Astarions sharp gaze was solely fixed on the road ahead, but he can definitely tell Gale was flustered beyond belief.

"I- I see... "

"You're cute, I'll stop, I can see that you're a bit uncomfortable."

"No, continue! I'm just not in my element, not much experience you see!"

"I understand." He started the car, all he could think about was how much he he wished that Cazador didn't like this one.

...

To Gales surprise, he wasn't over or under dressed, he was perfect. That didn't make him feel any less strange though.

A couple of guests he spoke to seemed to eye him with interest, then with disappointment as they got nearer, he wondered what that was about. Maybe they didn't like that he seemed to already have a pair.

"Darling, care for a drink?" Astarion appeared right besides him, speak of the devil. He's quiet as a kitten, but Gale didn't know he was supposed to get spooked so he didn't.

"I've had plenty already, thanks." He looked around at the other guests, who were behaving very very improperly. He's not that kind of girl.

"Hmm, you know, these people are quite the company, but I'd prefer yours alone. Would you like to find us a dark corner to slink away into?" Astarions arm was wrapped around his, the human could hear the sequins of Astarions jacket scrape against his robes rough outer layer.

"Sounds like a fantastic idea, let's go!" Gale didn't like these sorts of gatherings, he was eager to be in peace at last. The pale elf pulled him in the direction of the hallway, which was clearly not to be explored by the attendees.

Servants rushed back and forth through it, paying the two of them no mind. It was a lot darker than the ballroom, giving the illusion of privacy, but believe me, someone's always watching in the Szarr Palace.

On the balcony, the air was cold, but refreshingly less stinky than inside.

"Finally, a moment to ourselves, I almost wish we didn't even come to the party, hiding away in the gardens would have been just as good." Astarion said, inching closer to Gale. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"I would." Gale did some wizardly magic hand gestures at the sky and gorgeous swirling colorful lights appeared. Gale leaned into the railing and noticed Astarion immediately got cozy very close to him, they were touching, it was to the wizards liking but it still got his pulse all the way up.

"Fascinating. Can you also make a bed appear?"

"I can, although maybe that would be untimely, considering this is our first date."

"...True. You want another date after this? I hadn't been on a second date in a long while." Gale was quite surprised to hear that.

"Why not? I thought people were begging for your attention."

The charming smile came back to the face of the pale elf. "You know what? Let's not talk about that! Tell me about yourself!"

He thought for a second, there's a lot to say. "Um, I have a tressym, her name is Tara."

"I love cats." Astarion got real cozy, putting an arm behind Gale and watching the magic show.

"Me too, don't call her that to her face though. It's like me calling you a mosquito man." Astarions smile dissapeared, he looked at his date.

"... What."

"Because, you know, vampire?"

"YOU- You knew?" He put some distance between the two of them so he cam properly glare at the human.

"Of course I knew! You're not quite as subtle as you think and I'm a wizard, I know a thing or two about the undead."

"That's fair, how silly of me... It's almost midnight, isn't it. Almost time." Something is weird about him all of a sudden. Gale senses some sort of magic in the air that doesn't belong to him.

"For what?" The vampire stood up, pulling Gale with him. "Astarion?"

"Follow me."

He almost ran. Briskly walking through the dark rooms, back through the ballroom, into a weirdly placed door and straight dark hallway. Gale was never an athlete, he was wheezing. Through all this, he barely noticed the magic getting stronger. At the end of this hallway there was a room, which Astarion barged into, pulling the wizard along.

"Astarion, it was about time you arrived." Said someone whom also appeared to be a vampire. "Come closer."

Astarion dragged him towards the man, which Gale tried to resist but couldn't. "Are you Cazador?"

"Oh, you recognize me? How fun!" He stood up, towering over the both of them. He looked like he smelled something foul, but quickly schooled his face.

"Must have noticed my blood, let me assure you, it's not tasty!"

Cazador furiously glared at Astarion.

"I swear, I didn't tell him!" His tone was calm and collected, but still. He was afraid.

"I figured it out myself, you guys are not exactly masters of deception." Gale was often jarringly confident in his.... Well, everything. He thought that since he was in on some kind of secret, the vampire would spare his life.

Well, it wouldn't be smart to attack a mage.....Cazador is not the smartest, or the prettiest or nicest, but he's not attacking Gale of Waterdeep. Not that he knows who Gale, is, he hadn't left his palace in decades. "You're dismissed."

Astarion then dragged him out of the room and back to the balcony, completely ignoring his questions. This is so weird.

...

"So you can safely teleport back to your dorm? If not, I promise I'll pay for the taxi, just don't do it drunk." The vampire leaned into the railing of the balcony.

"I'll manage. I didn't have that much!" Gale adjusted his hat and awkwardly looked at Astarion, who was being eaten alive in self loathing and dread. He didn't show that, only a tiny bit of worry slipped past his walls for the wellbeing of someone he was ready to let Cazador drain dry.

"I'll trust your judgment, I was never any good at magic." They stared at each other, waiting for the other to say something.

"Is it appropriate to kiss on the first date?" Asked Gale, trying not to sink into the tiles from shame.

Astarion was about to say 'first base is missionary' but held his tounge. "Do you want to?" He asked with a grin you'd want to wipe off of him with a well balanced bitch slap.

"I do."

Astarion stepped closer, got on his tippy toes and kissed him. On the mouth. He put his hands on Gales arms, keeping him in place. Gale was still as a statue though, there was no need to hold him.

When it was over, Gale had a goofy grin on his face and got very very very red. A portal opened behind him and he slowly backed into it, feeling the vampires hand gently slide off of his arm.

"Goodbye, I'll text you."

"See you, hopefully soon."

...

#baldur's gate #baldurs gate 3 #bloodweave #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction

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autistichalsin · 3 months

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I'm really fucking tired.

All I wanted was a space to obsess over a fictional man, who brought me a ton of healing, in peace.

This group has made it their mission to chase not only me away, but anyone associated with me. They called me a rape fetishizer for writing CNC fic. They called me a pedophile for making an omega Halsin headcanon. They called me a self-hating lesbian/lesbophobic for saying it's TERFy to demonize queer male sexuality. They mocked my abuse by my mom, and when called on it, laughed that I deserved it for saying how Mint's actions remind me of her sometimes. They accused me of retraumatizing myself because of the fic I wrote, when THEY were the ones who retraumatized me by causing me to have a flashback to my mom abusing me. They accused me of absolutely vile things, and today they questioned if I even was "really" abused because of the fic I wrote. They repeatedly mocked my special interests and then got offended and played victim when I said this was ableist. They've sent suicide bait to me and my friends.

They've harassed others: they harassed a bi SH fan for asking them to stop saying it was icky to ship her with men until she left the fandom, they harassed someone who made a mod to turn Scratch into Astarion so they could see the animations (even calling this person as bad as Cazador), they harassed someone for making a headcanon about Astarion dancing with Tav, they harassed a lesbian who herself headcanons Karlach as a lesbian and doesn't like Karlach/Dammon but explained why others do, they harassed my friend Mish for saying she was okay with me writing CNC, they sent suicide bait to another friend of mine and said she deserved to get raped so she would sympathize with Mint, causing her to have a mental breakdown and have to go to the hospital for 24 hours, and every time someone pushes back against them, this group weaponizes their identity by saying that person is bigoted against their identity- while ignoring (at best) the marginalized identities that person has, or at worst, furthering oppression against them (I.E. their repeated ableist comments, including one of them snarling at another user about "enjoying your grippy sock vacation")

And despite all these vile things this group of people have done, people are still believing them and sending more harassment to myself and my friends in their defense.

I'm fucking tired.

I'm tired of defending myself. I'm tired of losing people I considered friends to their lies. I'm tired of having my inbox invaded by these vile people.

They are wearing at my mental health and this already made me relapse on one of my addictive behaviors and I am fighting really hard not to do the other one. I'm tired. I loved this fandom and I loved contributing my ideas. I get so many messages from people saying I made them feel seen or made them connect to Halsin's character, and getting a message from a survivor that my posts gave them the words they were lacking for what happened to them and they were able to work through it in counseling was honestly one of the best things to ever happen to me. I really don't want to lose that. Ever. But I can't keep doing this.

I'm not bigoted to my own identity. I don't hurt people. I don't fetishize rape. I'm tired of being a broken record and not being believed because that group is so good at fragilizing themselves. I can't do it anymore.

I just wanted to share my thoughts about a fictional bear man because it made me happy and so many parts of him gave me courage. I wanted to give up cynicism like he did. I wanted to find his strength to take care of people.

But I am honestly very close to regretting ever joining this fandom. I have gained so much from it, it helped my mental health immensely, but this shit has put me in an even WORSE place mentally than i was before I joined.

I don't know what to do. I'm just tired of the way, no matter how much I epitomize "living your best life" I get treatment from these people that I honestly wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

I have a lot of painful feelings right now and I don't know what to do anymore. It just hurts and I think everyone would be better off if I'd never made this blog to begin with.

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imagineitdearies · 3 months

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god I'm still reeling after the 22 chapter. what a mindfuck. also since you said you can talk about Astarion for hours let me take advantage of that.

so we know what Tyrus thought about this whole situation with forced bj but what about Astarion. i need his pov. was he dissociating by default, or enjoying himself despite the circumstances because it was Tyrus and feeling hella guilty afterwards?

and with the second part of the chapter what prompted his breakdown? pls ramble away ;)

Hi anon 🥰

Haha oh no, I've revealed my (very obvious) achilles heel!!

Yes yes, let's talk about Astarion in this scene 👀

As Astarion mentioned, he'd been studying up on Polymorph, hoping to prove he could be useful and an equal partner in their relationship, when Tyrus walks in.

Then Tyrus is acting off (the poor boy is not subtle about it) and 9/10 times it's thanks to Cazador, so Astarion assumes at the beginning that Tyrus has been assaulted again. And after hearing what Cazador has manipulated Tyrus into agreeing to instead, Astarion is both relieved and terrified. Their last time was absolutely awful for both of them, and at first that's all he associates this with--it's why he's so tense even whilst agreeing that he'd rather Tyrus do this with him than Cazador. Ch7 flashbacks 💀

And then he gets pulled out of it when Tyrus starts getting on his knees, reminding himself this time can be different to some extent, thanks to their bond and the lack of conditions Cazador set. At first, he's of the mindset "do the least harm," much like he was in ch4 first "teaching" Tyrus during initiation. Except this time he's sooooo much more attached to Tyrus and worried about his discomfort--not to mention feeling an unpleasant, niggling feeling of guilt about how much Tyrus has done for him of late only to now be giving him a blowjob as well. And Astarion has to shut his mouth and not offer one back even though he desperately wants to even things out because, well, he knows Tyrus too well 😂

We also have to remember that receiving a blowjob/oral sex isn't all that common in the prostitution business. Sure, it happens if the customer wants it, but very very rarely, and even then the point is always to make sure they're enjoying themselves, not Astarion, and it's usually just foreplay for the main event.

But with Tyrus in this scene, it ends up being very strange for Astarion . . . because he knows that Tyrus is not going to get his rocks off doing it. The point (besides Cazador's gross enjoyment) is Astarion's release, Astarion's pleasure. Which Tyrus does seem to care about, despite the circumstances. It's quite the novel experience.

So, while he's at first very focused and checking in on Tyrus's comfort throughout the scene, once Tyrus gets into a groove so to speak (😂) Astarion finds himself caught up in enjoying it, almost able to forget everything else, and just focus on the good parts: the physical pleasure, feeling close to Tyrus, and the pretty sight of watching him.

He's a bit confused when Tyrus ignores his warning, but his brain really isn't working enough to think hard about it before he reaches his peak and has to come down from that. Aaaaand that's when it all goes to hell in a handbasket, of course. For a split instant he doesn't understand why Tyrus would say such a thing--and then he does understand, his faculties returning to him enough that he knows who sent him this message. And all he can feel is disgust and anger, both at Cazador and at himself for enjoying it, because that means he accepted the gift.

Afterwards, his main concern is Tyrus, and then the discontent of feeling so helpless, so useless. Cue him bringing up Polymorph, and everything that follows!!

....I may have to make this a two-parter, because my ramblings are already huge now without getting more into what prompted Astarion's breakdown 😂😂

Part 2 of this Ask

#fic: perfect slaughter #ask me anything #bg3 fanfiction

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whatacaitastrophe · 2 months

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Barbora x Astarion - for electricvaporwave

A one-shot I did for @electricvaporwave <3 I loved writing this for you.

Would you like me to write a BG3 one shot for you? Check out this post and send me a message <3

Song Inspiration: “The Moon Will Sing” - The Crane Wives

Content Warning: Canon-Typical Violence

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were actually trying to actively get us all killed.” Astarion scowled at Barbora as she laced up her boots.

“We have to go get them, Astarion. Cal, Lia, Lakrissa, Danis– they’re all going to die if we don’t save them.” Barbora countered, glaring at the vampire.

This was how all of their conversations went lately: yet another innocent person would be in danger, Barbora would agree to help, Astarion would disagree, arguments ensued. It was a dance Barbora thought the two of them had moved past after all of the other situations where they’d gone out of their way to help people (the tieflings, the ironhand gnomes, the myconids - to name a few) that Astarion had come around on the idea of being the hero. As it turned out, he’d been biting his tongue for a while, and it all came tumbling out the second they reached the shadow-cursed lands. Perhaps it was the environment. Perhaps it was the looming threat of a Githyanki patrol sneaking up on them. Perhaps it was simply just the fact that they were (hopefully) close to the finish line and Astarion was getting anxious about Cazador. No matter what it was, Astarion’s antagonistic behavior was at an all-t against every suggestion Barbora made was wearing on her patience.

“No, we don’t. We have enough problems of our own– it’s not our fault these people keep getting themselves kidnapped,” He argued. “You’re asking us to infiltrate the heart of Moonrise Towers and break people out of prison. Why bother when we could be as close as we are to getting these gods-damned tadpoles out of our heads?”

“If you don’t like it, then you can stay the fuck here.” Barbora snapped. Maybe the environment was getting to her, too. Even with Isobel’s blessing, and the blessing from the pixie they freed, the energy of this place…it was soul-sucking. Astarion was visibly taken aback by the tone of her voice and immediately Barbora felt guilty. They bickered, mostly about her moral compass and his lack of one, sure, but she never snapped at him like that. An apologetic look washed over her face, but it was too late. She watched as Astarion’s facial expression changed, as he gave her one of those looks he used to give her after they first met: cold indifference.

“You know what? I think I will. The bleeding hearts can handle this. I’d say don’t do anything stupid, but…well seeing as this whole plan is stupid there’s not much of a point.” He said with an eye roll before sauntering off.

“Astarion–” Barbora tried to apologize, but he cut her off.

“Good luck with the prison break, darling!” He called from over his shoulder, not bothering to look back at her, and Barbora sighed. She would deal with that later. For now, she had tieflings to save.

Barbora should have known this was going to go wrong the second Karlach suggested they jump down into the massive hole behind the warden’s office to see if there was a way to get around to the back of the prison cells. The presence of the hook horrors in the disgusting, fleshy mind-flayer oubliette below should have also been a sign. Only since they dealt with the horrors easily and Karlach’s theory proved to be correct, Barbora let her guard down. There was even a boat waiting for them at a small dock, ready to take them away from Moonrise Towers the second the prisoners were free and out of harm’s way. It was too easy, and nothing was ever easy.

It started when one of the guards cast “Hold Person” on Lakrissa, the tiefling ranger Barbora was fairly certain was dating the tiefling bard they’d also met at The Grove, Alfira. If the desperation in Alfira’s voice when she pleaded with Barbora and her companions to bring everyone back from Moonrise Towers was any indication, then they were probably together. Instead of continuing the short path to the waiting rowboat, Barbora turned around. She needed to break the concentration of the guard keeping Lakrissa in place.

“Soldier, where the hells are you going? The boat is the other way!” Karlach shouted as she shot an arrow at an oncoming guard who’d emerged from the cell previously holding the Ironhand gnomes.

“I won’t leave her!” Barbora shouted as she took off at a sprint.

Karlach swore as she called after Barbora, but didn’t argue with her. The swearing may also have been from the spell that whizzed by the fiery tiefling’s ear, missing her by centimeters. The guard holding Lakrissa in place was stalking through the prison cell and Barbora readied her sword taking aim so that, if her blow landed, he would go clean through the gap in the guard’s armor at his elbow, hopefully causing him enough pain to focus on that instead of keeping Lakrissa in place. The blow landed, and the guard cried out with a yelp, freeing Lakrissa just as Barbora had planned.

“Run!” Barbora shouted to the tiefling as she began backing up herself with one eye on the guard. Lakrissa did not waste time hesitating before heading back down the path Barbora had just come from. The guard was wobbling on his feet as he raised his crossbow. He was dazed, that much was clear, so his chances of hitting her were low.

Only, it seemed luck was on his side that day, because when the guard fired the arrow, it found its mark in Barbora’s shoulder. From a close distance, it hit her with such force that the arrow went clean through her body, leaving a gaping, bleeding hole in its place as Barbora yelled in pain, collapsing to the ground. This was it. This was how she was going to die. Barbora could see around the corner just barely, and it looked like all of the tieflings and the gnomes had made it to the boat, even if she wasn’t going to.

The guard seemed to get a second wind after getting Barbora on the ground and he began walking towards her, replacing his crossbow with his sword as he went. Her vision was blurry now as blood spilled from her body. All she could hope for now was that the guard’s killing blow would be swift.

“NO!” A voice shouted, and…no that couldn’t be right. The owner of that voice was at camp. Wasn’t he? Was she hallucinating? Gods, if Barbora’s final thoughts were of him before she died, she would haunt him forever as punishment.

Astarion’s dagger found purchase right between the guard’s eyes, and Barbora realized as the white-haired elf came into view that she was not hallucinating at all– the vampire had followed them to the prison and, if she didn’t bleed out first, he’d just saved Barbora’s life. “No– you are NOT allowed to die on me. Not like this.” Astarion panicked as he removed his dagger from the now-dead guard’s forehead.

“‘Starion–” Barbora croaked as Astarion dropped to his knees beside her and wrapped his arms around her body.

“Shhh, save your strength,” The faint sound of ripping fabric filled her ears, and suddenly the smell of Astarion filled her nostrils as he tenderly wrapped the wound in her shoulder. He’d ripped the bottom of his shirt for her. Astarion scooped Barbora up in his arms and swiftly carried her to the waiting boat, where Wyll, Karlach, and Shadowheart were all sitting with the fugitives. A collective gasp left their companions’ bodies as Karlach moved so quickly to help Astarion that she almost tipped the boat over getting out.

“Shadowheart–can you heal her?” Astarion asked the cleric desperately as he and Karlach lowered Barbora into the boat. Shadowheart nodded.

“I’ve used a lot of magic today, but I should be able to stabilize her until we get to Last Light, then we can get more help from Isobel.” That Shadowheart was willing to ask the moon cleric for help was a testament to how bad of shape Barbora was in. Astarion pulled Barbora close to him again, his armor stained with her blood. The warm glow of Shadowheart’s healing magic dulled the pain, and was enough to close the wound’s exit hole. The space where the arrow had entered was still wide open, but at least Shadowheart’s efforts had slowed the bleeding a bit more.

“‘Starion, ‘m sorry–” Barbora tried to apologize for their fight earlier. After all, he’d been right. She’d nearly gotten herself killed.

“Hush, darling, we’ll talk later.” He whispered and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head as she closed her eyes.

It was dark when Barbora woke. Well, it was always dark in the shadow-cursed lands, but it was clearly what everyone assumed to be nighttime based on the way the lights in the barracks at Last Light Inn were dimmed– the room mostly illuminated by the fire still roaring in the hearth. Barbora slowly took in her surroundings, taking note of the fact that she was back in her camp clothes, and her shoulder had been wrapped with new, clean, fabric. There was still a faint throbbing of pain in her shoulder, and she winced as she attempted to sit up, but the wound seemed to have been healed otherwise.

“You’re awake.” Astarion said softly, and Barbora jumped.

“How long have you been sitting there?” Barbora asked weakly. She hadn’t noticed him sitting in the armchair next to the bed with a book in his lap.

“Since we brought you in six hours ago,” He admitted. Six hours? The book in his lap looked like he’d barely touched it– had he spent that entire time just…watching her? As though Astarion could read her mind as she stared at the book in his lap, he chuckled. “I couldn’t stop watching you…I wanted to make sure you were still breathing.”

Barbora’s heart did a flip in her chest. “You– you were worried about me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling, of course I was,” Astarion chastised her gently as he moved from his chair to sit on the edge of Barbora’s bed. “We have our squabbles, yes, but…you scared me today.”

Barbora stared at him and blinked. “What?”

“I tried to deny it to myself for a long time. Then I watched that arrow go through your shoulder today and when you collapsed to the ground…all I could think about was murdering that guard for harming you,” Astarion reached for her hand and squeezed it. “That was the moment I realized you mean a great deal more to be than I’d planned for. If– if you’d died…I’d have burned Moonrise Towers to the ground.”

Barbora’s heart sped up in her chest. She’d always assumed Astarion was flirting with her because he flirted with everybody– not because he was actually interested in her in that way. From the sound of it, Astarion was also under this impression with himself until very recently. “I– I care about you, too. I hope you know that. And I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier.” Barbora apologized, and she squeezed Astarion’s hand again.

“You have nothing to apologize for, darling, I was an arsehole. Besides, I ended up following you anyway, didn’t I?” He reminded her with a smirk, and Barbora laughed.

“And it saved my life…” She pointed out, nudging him slightly. “Thank you, by the way.”

“Don’t think anything of it– like I said, I care about you. Keeping you alive is of great interest to me.” He teased Barbora and leaned over to kiss her cheek.

Barbora yawned, her body exhausted from the day and her injury. “Lay here with me?” She requested, and Astarion nodded. Barbora gingerly slid over on the mattress to make room for the vampire, and once he was situated beside her, Barbora moved back towards him and curled herself up in his arms before drifting off to sleep.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #female tav #astarion x tav #astarion #fluff #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin

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roguishcat · 1 day

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Conversations with a vampire - part 5/10

Story summary: A story told through a series of conversations between Astarion and child Tav, tracing the slow and steady progress of trust and friendship.

Chapter summary: Having spent time in the kennels, Astarion is back to hunting for victims when he gets threatened by his two siblings. Tav sticks her nose where it does not belong and finds out that Astarion is a vampire. Seeing that Astarion is visibly shaken and upset, Tav tries to make him feel better by telling 'un-fang-atable' jokes.

Humor/Friendship/Angst

Chapter warnings: some mentions of abuse and torture.

Rating: Teen. Mild language, mentions of abuse, some violence.

Setting: Set before the events of the game.

Word count: 2.7k

A/N If you want to be on the tag list for this story or any others, feel free to send me a message or leave a comment.

All comments, questions, constructive criticism are welcome. :)

He did not see Tav for a while after that. Astarion could not tell exactly for how long. Cazador’s beating have become especially vicious lately, punishments commonplace. Not one of them was safe, not one spawn could please him enough, not even Leon, no matter how many victims they brought back. Astarion spent weeks or perhaps months in the kennels, tortured then healing, then being tortured again. It seemed inane and unnecessary, but there was never any rhyme or reason for Cazador’s cruelty, so the spawn just took it. And hoped. They didn’t know what they hoped for, but for now being let out would be enough.

When he was finally allowed to leave the palace again, Astarion could hardly recognise the city. It seemed that nothing and everything changed. Or perhaps it was just him.

“There you are! I was worried about you!”

Tav bounded up to him and it was her appearance that made him realise that at least a year passed. Her face looked less child-like, she grew several inches taller, her voice became a little deeper. She was wearing a navy velvet coat with a high collar, her shirt had beautiful mother-pearl-buttons, with navy trousers tucked into soft, iridescent-looking boots. Her blonde hair was curled and swept up, held together with intricate bejeweled butterfly clips.

“How long has it been?” he asked, not really feeling like making small talk, but wanting to have a sense of how much time actually passed.

“Well, I saw you last when I was 12. So, a little over two years.”

Her smile turned into a frown as she took in his appearance. “Are you okay? That’s a stupid question. Of course you are not. You don’t look okay. Here, take a potion.”

When Tav lifted her hand, he flinched away. It was just reflex; Astarion knew that she wouldn’t strike him. Tav frowned, her arm falling to rest at her side.

“I don’t need it. I can’t talk,” he swallowed and straightened, not looking in her direction. “Not tonight.”

“Oh,” she paused, nodding her head, and slipping the potion back into her bag. “I mean sure, you must be busy. Don’t have time to listen to me go on and on. I will leave you be.”

Astarion walked off, feeling Tav’s eyes on his back until he rounded the corner.

Astarion pressed his back against the stone wall. He balled his hands into fists, not minding that his sharp nails dug into his skin. He took a breath, not that he needed it, but somehow concentrating on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest helped. It didn’t let his mind wander to dark, dangerous places. Turning his attention to some form of action helped well enough for now.

The vampire heard swearing and drunken laughter to his right and this brought him back to task at hand. Perhaps if he did well, brought enough people back to Cazador, he would be able to sleep in the dormitory with the other spawn tonight. No chance of doing well enough to be the favourite, of course, but at least it meant that his next tete-a-tete with Godey wouldn’t be too soon.

And so Astarion prowled the night, a deadly predator, a merciless hunter. Or so he kept telling himself. Because repeating it like a mantra in his mind might just make it true. Not quite himself, but good enough. Good enough, all things considered.

Astarion tensed and turned around. He felt them before he saw them. Two of his siblings approached, Leon and Violet. Leon he could tolerate, he hated Violet.

“So, little Astarion, how is Cazador’s golden boy fairing?” Violet mocked, coming up to stand too close to him for his comfort.

“You must be joking, sister dearest” he took a step back involuntarily, wanting to put more distance between them. “We all know Leon is the favourite.”

“Yes,” she clicked her tongue mockingly, “but if I recall correctly, Cazador prefers your sweet screams to anyone else’s. Such an honor, such a privilege to please your master at least in this way,” she said slowly, savoring the look on his face as Leon too approached him and they had him cornered.

Astarion scowled. Fights among spawn were not exactly common, as their primary goal was to bring back as many victims as they could without getting into each other’s way, but they did happen. Cazador would even chastise them, as if they were errant senseless children, but Astarion could see the sadistic glint in his eyes. The vampire did not want his spawn uniting against him, he wanted them hungry, cornered and competing with one another. And having recently gone through months of humiliation, being degraded and beaten, the hatred the spawn felt towards their master fueled their aggression towards each other. It seemed that this fight was happening no matter what Astarion said to them.

“Hey, you two!” Tav’s voice pierced the night.

Shit.

“What do you think you are doing?”

Tav was a little out of breath, but otherwise trying to stand tall and look somewhat intimidating. Violet sized up the lanky teen staring fearlessly at her with a smile that could not lead to anything but blood.

“Oh, look Leon. A little snack. How nice of her to come to us so we don’t have to chase her down.”

“You two better stay away, or else,” Tav’s eyes narrowed, her lips set in a thin line.

“Ooh, the creature dares to threaten us, how amusing,” Violet laughed prettily. “Tell me, brother dearest, is this to be one of your besotted victims? Wouldn’t want to tread on your toes and steal your target,” she mocked, walking closer to Tav, Leon circling the girl from the other side.

Leon appraised the child looking at them in defiance. As hard as he worked for their master, bringing the most victims to the palace, he always hated bringing in children.

“Leave her, Violet. Can’t you see from the way she is dressed that she must be from Upper City? Watch yourself. Unless you want to be thrown in the kennels for disobeying Cazador.”

“That was a mistake. I didn’t realise that that human was a noble. And it was a long time ago and you know it,” Violet growled menacingly, not looking away from her potential target. “Besides, a child disappearing because she snuck out from home in the middle of the night is a tragedy, yes, but it’s quite plausible.”

“I am not afraid of you! Leave!” Tav tried to sound commanding, but Astarion could hear her heart beating wildly, as could his siblings.

“You should be,” Violet grinned a little too wide.

Something clicked in Tav’s mind. Fangs, out only during the night, blood-red eyes.

“You-you are-” she swallowed forcibly, stopping herself from stating the obvious.

“We are what?” Violet mocked, taking a deliberate step towards the child. Oh, how delicious it was to inspire fear in others and to be in control or the situation so completely, what an intoxicating rush to see someone cower before her.

“Standing right where I want you to. Te occludo oculos!”

Colour sparks shot out of her hands, making Violet and Leon withdraw with a hiss.

“Let’s go!” Tav grabbed Astarion’s hand, pushing past her would-be assailants.

Astarion could hear the temporarily blinded spawn curse as they tried to swat at them, but Tav was quick on her feet and dodged the blinded vampires with relative ease, delivering a quick kick under Violet’s knees before darting down the street with Astarion following close after.

*****

“Well, that was fun,” Tav managed to say, still trying to catch her breath. She noticed that Astarion was shaking slightly and frowned.

Surely he wasn’t scared of those two idiots? No, Astarion seemed to be miles away and thinking about something else entirely. Perhaps of his master – Cazador. She remembered the name from when they spoke last. Astarion probably thought that she didn’t notice when he let the name slip, but she catalogued it in her mind. Not having much to do apart from her lessons came with its perks. Such as finding out that Cazador Szarr had a palace down in the Lower City. She still could not go there, but one day, perhaps. One day she would know exactly where to look for Astarion.

He was still quiet, just looking ahead, as if he wasn’t really standing here with her.

“So… you are a vampire,” she began cautiously. “Well, I guess it makes sense why you always stay in during the day.”

They were quiet for a while, Tav looking at him for any signs that he heard her. With the moonlight reflecting off alabaster skin, his chest not rising and falling, Astarion looked like a beautiful marble statue. Exquisite, but quite lifeless.

“That’s it? No shouting for help? No fear?” Astarion finally said wearily, not looking at Tav but at least seeming to acknowledge her.

“I always knew something was off with you, just didn’t know what it could be,” Tav admitted without missing a beat. “Besides, being a vampire sounds awesome. I’ve read that you can do all sorts! Climbing up walls, having super strength, all the other cool things!”

He snorted. If only he was capable of half of the feats that were supposed to come easy to him.

“I’m a spawn, silly girl. Hardly the same as being a full vampire. And you shouldn’t believe all the rubbish that you read in trashy, second-rate novels.”

Besides he was a very underfed spawn. So even if he was capable of ‘all sorts’ he wouldn’t know it.

“Earlier. That was a very idiotic, stupid thing to do,” he licked his lips, forcing himself to stay in the moment and not to spiral, “Thank you.”

“Course,” she cocked her head to the side and smiled warmly. “That’s what friends are for. They protect each other.”

Astarion scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t recall this arrangement being upgraded to friendship and do not think that I want that.”

Her smile slipped a little. “Sorry. For assuming, I mean. But I am not sorry for protecting you. You would do the same for me,” she said softly yet firmly, set in her belief.

He really wouldn’t. If it was her in trouble, he would have left her in a heartbeat. The unsettling thought made him grimace. But how could this slip of a girl, this- this foolish creature even begin to comprehend what horrors would befall him if he showed any sign of disobedience?

“Hey, want to hear a joke?” Tav interrupted his internal monologue suddenly with her ridiculous suggestion.

“Not particularly.”

“I will take that as a yes,” she grinned. “What do vampires wish others? Have a fang-tastic day!” she chortled but stopped when she saw the flat look Astarion was giving her.

“As far as jokes go, this was bad,” he said with a deadpan expression.

Apparently, this was not enough to discourage her. “Aww, was it really so bad? I think it was simply un-fang-gettable!”

Astarion scoffed. “That was even worse. I’m leaving.”

“Why? Am I becoming a pain in the neck? FYI, I have a bloody good sense of humor!”

Astarion turned and walked away, Tav having trouble to keep up with his long strides as she followed close behind.

“Wait up! I’m sorry, I was just trying to get you to lighten up a bit.”

“With terrible jokes?” he stopped and quirked an eyebrow.

“Well, it worked! Kind of? At least you don’t look so shaken up anymore.”

That was true. Her woefully inadequate attempts at humor distracted him well enough.

Astarion felt slender fingers ghost over his hand as Tav lifted it gently, running her fingers over his knuckles. He was not sure why, but he let her.

“Where is your ring?”

Ah, that was taken away. He couldn’t remember when exactly. He wasn’t allowed to own anything, none of them were. Just the clothes on their backs and the bare minimum that was required to make themselves presentable.

“Astarion, how bad is this Cazador?” she looked at him with a soft, worried expression. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. Does he make you stay? You aren’t leaving because you can’t?”

Astarion was not sure that anyone ever treated him with such care. Part of him wanted to lash out at her. Because he was not used to this, to have someone be nice to him just for the sake of it. He did not want to have friends, had no need for them, but perhaps the idea wasn’t that distasteful.

He supposed there was no harm in telling her. He did not have any pride left to preserve at this point. And so he told her the child-friendly(ish) version of how he was turned. Of what he could remember of being a magistrate, his hubris, his downfall, his never-ending nightmare. He left out the part about what actually happened to his victims. He could not bring himself to think about it and did not want Tav to be privy to that knowledge either. He wasn’t really talking to Tav, but rather at her. It felt… He wasn’t sure how it felt, but it soothed his frazzled nerves somehow.

She was uncharacteristically silent when he finished speaking. He shifted in his place as Tav regarded him with an unreadable expression. He did not necessarily care what she thought of him, but he loathed the thought that someone would see him the way he saw himself. A monster incapable of redemption. Unworthy of it.

“I never told you this, but the reason I saw you in the street when we first met was because I almost never sleep at night.” Tav spoke slowly, as if carefully choosing her words. “I- I don’t sleep much anyway, but when I do, I always try to rest when it is light. And it is not because I’m afraid of the dark.”

“I get these dreams,” she paused, hugging herself, her fingers leaving marks on the delicate velvet of her sleeves. “It is pitch black, so dark you wouldn’t be able to see your hand if you held it up, but it feels soothing. Right, almost.”.

Tav shivered involuntarily, but soldiered on, although it seemed difficult for her to put what she wanted to say into words.

“I hear a voice, calling me, beckoning me to come, to become the darkness. To answer its call. Accept my heritage, whatever that heritage is. And then I get this vile feeling, like it’s going to change me so much, so horribly that I will never be myself again.”

She took a couple of steadying breaths before continuing.

“So, what I am saying is this. They do not decide who we are, their will does not make us monsters or whatever else they want us to be. So, we have to stay strong and wait till the right moment to give them the most glorious, dramatic ‘fuck you’ ever by ruining whatever plans they have,” she said with a determined look in her eyes.

Astarion rolled his eyes at the girl’s words. “Only a child would actually believe this. ‘Stay strong, it’s going to be all right.’ It is what healers tell those who they know are dying. What is the use of blind faith?”

“You just wait and see. I know I’m right. And I promise I will help you. I will.”

He gave a shallow laugh. “Don’t make any promises you can’t keep.”

“I mean it,” she lifted her chin and levelled him with a look that indicated that she was set in her resolve to help him. “Sooner or later, one way or another, I will keep my promise. You will be free.”

She had such conviction in her eyes, such faith in her abilities, in him. It was almost painful to see such resolve, knowing that she could never make good on her promise. Still, this slither of hope was more than he got over the years. Perhaps if he held onto that, he would be able to carry on a little longer.

Tag list: @ninty900 @ayselluna @dajeong

#astarion #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion tav fanfiction #bg3 tav #astarion fanfiction #fanfic #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate fanfiction #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #neil newbon #ao3 fanfic

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astarionslittlejuicebox · 5 months

Text

The Promise of Eternity (Part 14)

Author: @astarionslittlejuicebox

Imagine: The reader helped Astarion ascend and became his spawn. After saving the world from the Elder brain and it’s destruction, the reader and Astarion set out to take on the world together. While he promised to never forget the gifts the reader has given him, Astarion has seemed to have changed his attitude towards the reader in the last century…. After someone breaks one of Astarion’s rules, how will this affect the reader’s fate?

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader

Trigger warnings: potential for minor spoilers, suggestive themes, language, mentions of death, mentions of blood, abusive relationship, mention of slavery, mentions of murder

Word Count: 1506

Imagine Series

Side Notes:

This imagine series takes place 200 years after the events of Baldur’s Gate 3. Everything you read in here is a story from my mind outside of the original BG3 character Astarion.

In this imagine series, Astarion is a bit more unemotionally unavailable, and this series will follow the decisions and consequences of that change. This is not canonically accepted and it is just an idea I’ve had in my head! (I do believe Astarion might truly care for the reader after Ascension, but that is open to individual interpretation.)

In this series, TAV is mildly based on my first character I played in BG3; she is a drow and I will make references to her in her background and knowledge as well. I do apologize that it is not 100% your own imagine, but the name for TAV is up to you as well as anything else that I can think of leaving to you, the reader, to decide.

I appreciate everyone who reads the imagines and this series, and I hope you enjoy the story!

TAV POV

I awoke with a jolt at the sound of several knocks on Astarion’s door. He chuckled as his arms pulled me back to him.

“Whomever it is, they can wait.” He whispered into my ear. “If it’s the fucking tiefling, she will get the message.” Another knock sounded at the door, but more urgent than the one before.

“She’ll get curious if you don’t answer.” I whispered to him as I nudged him with my nose. “You could drink the antidote and play some games with her.”

“What about you?” He hummed. “What will you do?” I smiled at him.

“Oh I’ll be here, enjoying the show, hidden from sight.” Astarion raised an eyebrow as I sat up then walked across the room to give him the antidote from my satchel. He drank the contents of the bottle before he gave it back to me. “Old habits from Cazador die hard, don’t they?” I gave a small chuckle.

“But this time you’re fully in control.” I gave him a wink and a kiss before turning myself invisible. Astarion bore a sly smile before he threw a robe over his naked body and answered the door. The tiefling had her hand posed to knock again.

“There you are! I was beginning to worry that something had happened to you!” Her nasal voice made the eyeballs in my head roll within their sockets while Astarion gave her the fakest smile I’ve seen from him in centuries.

“I was merely still dreaming sweet dreams about you, dearest.” The pale elf did his best to hide the malice in his voice as he called her the pet name, and I almost missed it. The tiefling looked none-the-wiser as she stepped into the room. A panicked thought crossed my mind as I glanced over to see my dress still in a pile on the bathroom floor. I quietly rushed into the bathroom and slid my dress out of view from the doorway and quietly threw it into the bottom of the laundry hamper. If they think I’m gone, then I need to not leave evidence that I’m here. When I returned to the doorway, the tiefling had her arms wrapped around Astarion’s neck, and I felt my blood boil with anger. Keeping my cool, I stalked over to stand behind her. My hands itched to wrap themselves around her delicate neck as my fangs begged to be buried in her neck.

Two hundred years of habits from Cazador make it easy. Astarion’s words echoed in my ears. Fake a smile, play the part, and everything is fine. I put my tongue between my teeth as he kissed her lips in what appeared to any spectator to be a passionate kiss. A thought occurred to me at this moment: why did the fae stick around for a century? Her clawed fingers dug into his curls, and I tried my best not to let my jealousy rear its ugly head and choke her with the cord that conveniently held the nearby drapes in place. As they kissed passionately, I caught a glimpse of the chef passing by in the hallway, who had stopped to look upon the scene in the bedroom.

Someone forgot to shut the door. I thought to myself as a look of anger and jealousy flashed briefly on the elf’s face. I studied the elf in curiosity as I reflected on the betrayal he was committing against Hiedra. She had believed him to be making a permanent charming potion, but he was secretly making a potent poison to kill the vampire lord himself to avenge his daughter. I felt my lips curl upwards in amusement of it all, and the chef left to continue his path to wherever he was going. Noticing that things were getting heated between Astarion and the tiefling, I took it upon myself to follow the chef.

I was only aware of the lack of clothes on me as the chilled air of the halls raised goosebumps on my skin—something that hadn’t happened in over two hundred years. Shaking away the appreciation of becoming an ascended vampire, I focused on the mutterings coming from the chef.

“I am only toying with him.” He said in a high-pitched, mocking tone. “Once he’s under our control I will never have to do those things with him again.” I fought the urge to laugh as it seemed the chef was highly bothered by the behaviors of the fae.

It seems that not everyone’s partners are as tolerant of the situation as others are. I thought to myself as I followed him into the kitchen.

“We shall see how she reacts when the vampire drops dead after his morning glass of wine.” He sinisterly spoke as he walked over to the counter in the middle of the large room. A fire roared in the fireplace on the far back wall with a black cauldron cooking a heavenly smelling dish. I recognized the bottle sitting on the black marble surface as the bottle from the chest in the chef’s room—the one I had determined to be poison. Ahriman paused to look up at the ceiling. “Then we will finally have our revenge, Maryanna.” The elf then turned his attention to continue preparing breakfast, and I slipped away without a sound. Rushing to my room, the invisibility spell fell as I closed the door to my bedchambers. I looked around the room as the place had appeared to be ransacked: books and clothes scattered haphazardly on the floor. Several of my decorations had been discarded and broken on the floor, and my chest at the bottom of the bed had been left open.

I rolled my eyes as I carefully stepped over the items on the floor and made my way into the closet, where more of my clothes were thrown about. I picked up a tight-fitting black shirt and black leather pants before dressing myself. Deciding to wear soft-soled leather shoes, I covered my feet before I heard the bedchamber door open. My eyes widened as I quietly uttered the words for the invisibility spell and peered from behind the wall of the doorway.

Astarion stood in the doorway with a scrutinizing lookas he took in the scene in my bedchambers. I watched his crimson eyes absorb every piece of broken decor and every fabric thrown upon the floor with a slight frown before the tiefling appeared in the doorway behind him. His crimson eyes flashed with anger as he took in the violation of my space, but the tiefling stepped inside the room.

“In her hurry to leave, I think she forgot something of high importance….” The nasal voice trailed off as she approached the bed and picked up a vial of red liquid for Astarion to see. “It appears that your beloved spawn has broken one of your rules.” I felt the blood boil within my veins as I witnessed the fae trying to frame me for the blood stolen from Astarion. I studied the vampire as pure anger showed on his face as he took the vial from her clawed hand. “I shall let you process this. Once you are ready, I’ll see you at breakfast.” She tried to place a kiss upon his cheek, but he pulled away from her. Without any more words, the tiefling left the room.

I felt the once undead organ in my chest beat rapidly in anger as I stepped into the doorway of the closet and dropped my concentration on the spell. A look of pure anger must’ve been on my face because Astarion’s face softened once he noticed my presence.

“Please tell me that I will have the luxury of taking her life.” I growled quietly. “I will admit the plan was well thought out to pin the blood on me, but they must have mistaken you for a fool.” Astarion quietly walked over to me and gave me a sinister smile.

“They have no idea who they are messing with.” He whispered as his fingers interlaced with mine.

“Speaking of, the chef plans to serve you the poison this morning with breakfast.” I watched a fire of anger flare within the crimson orbs staring at me. “I plan to switch your wine glass with hers.” The fingers of my other hand walked up Astarion’s chest. “Once she is taken care of, I will thoroughly enjoy watching you punish the chef for his misdeeds.” I purred into the pointed ear of my lover, whose arm gripped me closer to him. “With those two gone, perhaps we shall begin our plans to rule Baldur’s Gate, so no one shall threaten us again?” Sparkling eyes of amusement met mine as he gave me a breathtaking smile.

“My, my, who would’ve thought turning you into a true vampire would be such a turn on.” His voice was full of admiration. “And how much more fun our lives would be.” We shared a knowing smirk between us.

“Let’s go take care of these vermin.”

#astarion imagine #astarion x reader #baldursgate3 #baldursgate3imagine #ascended astarion #the promise of eternity

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tinytinybumblebee · 5 months

Note

thank you again for being willing to receive my fics 🥺👉👈🥺🥺😭 i have another part to the one I sent in before… i hope you enjoy, sorry for the long long message :,D it’s kind of an essay sorry ;;

———

“Hey, hey, sweet thing, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m sorry I let go of you, I thought you didn’t want to be touched, shh, shh,” Tav spoke quickly, putting his hands around Astarion’s back.

Astarion grasps around, finding the crook of Tav’s neck and burying his face in. A long, pained whine left his throat.

“…I think bathtime is over,” Tav whispers.

The little vampire stares up with watery eyes. “…Sow‘y…”

“No, no, shh,” Tav lifts him out of the bath, the cold air biting at his skin and only making him want to snuggle in closer. “You did so well. My brave boy.”

Astarion gives him a hopeful look. Brave? He’s brave? Tav seems to sense his silent question and lightly taps his nose.

“Yes, you’re so brave!” he coos. “You’ve been my brave little boy all day long.”

That wouldn’t even describe half of it, really, but Astarion was far too little to talk about everything that had happened. With the little smile sneaking its way onto his gaunt face, he seemed perfectly happy to be called a brave boy for facing the bathtub.

“B’ave,” he smiles to himself, happy enough with the praise to not notice Tav wrapping him in a towel, nice and snug.

He only notices when Tav properly cradles him again and, without access to his hands, can’t grab fistfuls of his caregiver’s shirt to cuddle in closer. This realization is met with a pout and a bit of squirming, busy little mind having all but forgotten his pride over being called brave now that this minor inconvenience was in his way.

And ever the attentive carer, Tav picks up on it right away.

“Oh, now, what are we pouty about, little love? You were so happy a second ago.”

“…Cuddle,” Astarion sulks—even the immense amount of emotional turmoil he’s endured today can’t keep down his impatience, his dramatics, and his dramatic impatience.

“Oh,” Tav tries to stifle a laugh—he knows Astarion has been through enough today, and to his regressed self, something like this is indeed a very big deal. “Oh, dada’s right here, baby, I won’t go anywhere. I just need to get you dried off and dressed and then you can have all the cuddles you want. Brave little boys like you deserve lots of dada cuddles.”

“Cuddle now,” Astarion whines.

Tav said he wouldn’t go away, but what if he did? What if he woke up back in Cazador’s palace to find out this had all been a dream? That there was no freedom, no safety, no dada? No, he needed cuddles now, before that could happen. He tries to squirm out of his little towel cocoon, to touch Tav, to make sure this is all still real.

“Ah-ah, no, Astarion,” Tav holds him steady. “Be patient, please. You don’t want to cuddle before I get you in your pretty clothes. You’ll get so cold, and that’s no fun, is it?”

Astarion whines again, a bit louder this time. No! He doesn’t want to wait! It doesn’t help anything! He waited 200 years for the day he could take his freedom back and he was still just as scared and sad as before now that it was finally here! He writhes more, grabbing about blindly as he tries to shake free of the towel.

“Oh, Astarion…”

Astarion is being laid on his back. Somewhere. He knows dada’s hands are further away than ever, and he hates that. His throat is raw from all the crying and screaming today, but he shrieks regardless, kicking and pounding his heels on the ground as the towel falls away. There isn’t much touch beyond a hand brushing his, but he isn’t having it.

For Tav’s part, he remains kneeled beside him. It’s a strange sight, a full-blown kicking and screaming tantrum from a grown man, but he doesn’t judge, doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t try and hold Astarion’s arms down. It hurts to leave his baby to kick, scream and cry like this, but it’s all Tav can do. It’s been a huge day. Poor Astarion has so many emotions to get out. The best course of action, Tav thinks, is to step back and wait for the elfling to get all his big feelings out.

Or most of them, anyway.

When Astarion’s cries turn to shallow hiccups, Tav fully closes his hand around his. “There we are. Shhh. I know, little star. You have so many big feelings for such a little one. Is this better, now that you’ve gotten them all out? Or some of them, at least. Don’t you feel less icky now?”

Astarion sniffles and nods. But judging by the pout remaining on his face, he doesn’t like that Tav was right about him just needing a good, hard cry; some of that distaste including his regular adult mind that couldn’t help sneaking its way back into his otherwise regressed headspace just to writhe in embarrassment for his own behavior.

“Okay, fussy boy,” Tav chuckles good-naturedly, brushing some curls out of Astarion’s eyes. “Now that we have all that yucky energy out, let’s sit nice and still for dada, alright? The sooner you’re dressed, the sooner you’ll be warm…”

Ever since he kicked off the towel, especially now that he was cooling down from the stress of his fit, Astarion was finding it a bit cold…

“…and the sooner you’ll get to cuddle with dada, all you want.”

Astarion’s eyes widen as he looks up to Tav. Now that sounds like a good deal. Conniption all but forgotten, he tries his hardest to lay still for him. Admittedly, it does get a bit hard to not squirm when Tav’s hand draws closer to certain places, but Tav proves his intentions again and again as he works, every spot of “bad touch” quickly brushed over.

With Astarion fully cooperative now, Tav is able to diaper him without any fussing or insistence on being a big boy (clearly he’d given up the need for pride), then slip a long, baggy red shirt over his head. With its loose, soft fabric and golden trim, it looked like it would have made for rather tasteful clothes, but a few sizes too big for most people at camp, Tav knew it would instead make for perfect pajamas for his little star. Case and point, Astarion is already running his fingers over the fleecy fabric. Tav stops him before he can finish his little inspection, though—considering for a baby-brained Astarion, that meant he was going to start chewing on it.

While he doesn’t whine at having the sleeve taken from his mouth, he does give Tav a sour look no different than one he’d use while big.

“Ah-ah-ah, don’t give me that look,” Tav pokes his nose, a little gesture that makes Astarion’s scowl shatter like glass, unable to contain a tiny giggle. “That’s not something we put in our mouths, is it?”

Astarion pokes his tongue out. The fabric was just so soft and swishy! What was the harm in a little nibbling? Tav gives an exaggerated gasp of scandal. “Oh, you little rebel!” Astarion smirks in response, but Tav soon smirks back. “I guess that sleeve is more interesting than your paci, then?”

Astarion perks up. His paci? In his state of mind, he’d completely forgotten about the pack of regression supplies he had stashed away in his corner of camp or the inn.

“Bab-ee?” he babbles, trying to say “paci”, but the tension had left him feeling even littler than before, and words slipped uselessly off his loosened tongue.

“Paci?” Tav tries, reaching into a small pouch and pulling out a red pacifier, the bulb covered in little bite marks from the many times Astarion wanted a teether, but even regressed, was too prideful to ask.

“Ba-ey!” he coos happily, letting Tav pop the soother in his mouth.

Whatever tension still in him seems to slip away as nursing on the pacifier gives him that final push into the tiniest headspace possible. Tiny, free, loved, in a time far from when Cazador took him. A little newborn who had never known hardship. If you asked Astarion normally, he would say he loathed regularly regressing so small. But, as with many things, being little made him more inclined to be honest about those feelings, and it was clear that while Astarion hated the helplessness Cazador inflicted on him, this was something else entirely.

As he loosely paws at Tav’s hand, coordination failing him, he knows someone is there to care for him. This kind of helpless has no struggle. Just happiness, and dada’s warm smile as he tries to guide Astarion to a sitting position.

“It’s like posing a sack of potatoes,” Tav huffs, and Astarion giggles in turn, letting himself ragdoll back to the floor. “Oh, you! You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?”

OwAaaahhHHHHHH OH MY GOODNESS 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺💖💖💖💖 C R Y I N G this continuation has my heart filling SO MUCH LOEV😭💖💖💖💖 Astarion getting all those big feelings out and Tav being so gentle and caring while his little star expresses and fits aaaAAAAA

Your writing is positively phenomenal and aaa????🥺💖💖💖💖💖

#agere #age regression #sfw #fandom agere #mailbox #bg3 #Astarion

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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 5 months

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I'm gonna squeeze in a match up for my character if that's okay! I'm really interested to see how it plays out, thank you for the opportunity!

My character is a Tiefling Draconic Sorceress, more specifically Blue Ancestry. This defines almost everything about her personality, because while she does have a good heart and strives to do good, blue dragons are famous for their manipulative character, being the best of all dragons at deceiving, manipulating and plotting. That, combined with her infernal heritage, makes for a very dangerous combination, specially considering how close that heritage is (in my headcanon for my character, that is).

While her heart is in the right place, her mind is not. She prides herself as someone that has never lied, but she has mastered witholding information and choosing the right words when needed. She knows how to pass herself as an innocent, fresh adventurer that goes on her first adventure full of excitement, but the truth is that she has a constant mental battle against doing the right thing versus the logical thing.

Saving the tieflings is not logical-- she should just reach Baldurs Gate as soon as possible. But she does it regardless, and it takes a mental toll on her.

Despite all this, she does care about all of the people she has encountered and has made real friendship bonds with her companions, genuinely loving every second spent with them and every second spent helping others.

All in all, she has the heart of a hero, but the mind of a villain.

As for hobbies, she is a really good glass-maker, something she used to do a lot back at her home. She can't practice her hobby much out and adventuring, but she has made small trinkets and babbles for her companions.

She sports two long, curly blonde braids (her hair constantly frizzies due to a conatant static electricity around her), pink skin and short, sand-colored horns. Her eyes are golden and slitted, like draconic eyes are. Since she is such a goal oriented person, she hasn't really have time to explore much of romantic aspects, but she does know she is only attracted to men, and could be persuaded to enjoy both monogamous and polygamous relationships.

A/N: For you my Tiefling Draconic Sorceress Anon, I’m thinking you’d best be matched with: Astarion (and Halsin)!

☆ Astarion is a good fit for your Blue Ancestry Draconic Tiefling Sorceress! The way you described her as having “the heart of a hero, but the mind of a villain”, matches Astarion to a T!

Astarion does have a heart, and he cares deeply about things. It’s just that years of abuse and servitude under Cazador has beaten most of that out of him. What’s left is hidden under layers and layers of walls of aloofness and self-protection. I think deep down, he wants to believe he’s good- that he’s not bad like Cazador, or like all those people who used him. But he also struggles with that belief because a part of him wants to say ‘fuck it’ and be solely self-serving without a shred of guilt. Depending on where his mind is at the moment, I think he could be helped by your Tav. I think your Tav would enable Astarion to justify wanting things, which could be a very healthy thing so long as Astarion didn’t take those wants too far. On the other hand, it could be dangerous in that her self-indignation enables Astarion to become an evil ruler himself. The two of them could either end up learning how to truly be good with the other’s guidance or they could end up as a powerful, lawful evil power-couple.

But by what you’ve told me about your Tav saving the tieflings suggests the former is more likely than the later. She’s striving to be good, and it’s difficult, but it sends the message that she does care, and more importantly, that it’s the right thing to care. This reiterates to Astarion, that it’s important to be better than the ones who have wronged or hurt us. The more time Astarion spends with her, the more he feels he can open up. It’s clear your Tav values her companions, and this warms Astarion’s heart. Her affection makes him feel as if he is worthy of a good life, of following a good path, even though he knows logically speaking, it’s the cutthroat who get ahead in this world.

As the two of them grow closer, I think they’d reach a point where they could speak freely to one another about their innermost thoughts. And they could say them aloud without judgment. Even the darker things, knowing that it takes too much time to save everyone, or the idea that they are superior because they can calculate certain mental gymnastics others cannot- it could be shared in a safe space between the two of them. And the more they confront these thoughts aloud, I think the more control they’d start to have over them. Together they learn to listen to their heart instead of their mind.

On top of all that, Astarion finds your sorceress very attractive. He thinks her pink skin and short horns make her look almost exotic- she’s different in a bold and alluring way. He especially loves her frizzy blonde hair and how it sort of matches her golden slit eyes. He thinks the color suits her especially because it’s the color of gold, of luxury. It’s sort of amusing with her having draconic heritage and all (since dragons hoard things like gold and gems).

Neither one of them are particularly experienced when it comes to real romance, but that's okay. They can learn with each other without the pressure of embarrassment.

(Plus, if your Tav was interested… I think this is where Halsin could come in.)

ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ Halsin has a ton of relationship experience, and he loves very freely. He’s not ashamed to admit how he feels for those he loves, although he will respect their wishes should they not feel the same.

I think Halsin, having spent years dealing with the shadow curse, would sense the underlying battle raging in your Tav’s soul: should she be more evil, but logical, or should she be more good, and act from the heart? Halsin himself is a big softie, for most creatures that is (goblins excluded lol). I think he’d be a good influence for her- reminding her by his presence and by example to listen to that heroic heart and not that villainous mind.

Halsin is in awe of her knowledge and strength. He knows walking the path of light is not easy, nor do we ever ask for the burden of it, but here your Tav is, doing her best to do it anyway. He is especially grateful for her deciding to save the tieflings at the grove. He knows how risky it was for her to encourage the party to make such a calculator. He finds it brave and honorable that she chose to do, what he sees, as the right thing. Halsin thinks she’s incredible- far more than she could ever begin to know. And he spends much of his time reminding her of this. How she is a force of nature, and they are all lucky she’s on their side.

Halsin is also happy to have another crafter in the camp. He’ll gladly listen to her describe her process of glassblowing, so long as she’s willing to listen to him tell her of his whittled works. He makes her a wooden ornament almost right away, giving it to her as a reminder of his affection and his support. If she were to give him a trinket or anything of that nature in return, I think his heart would soar. He would cherish the gift, and proudly display it, showing it off for anyone who asked.

We know Halsin is open to polyamorous relationships, and that Astarion is willing to share Tav with Halsin, so I think if your Draconic Tiefling Sorceress found the arrangement agreeable, the three of them could be a poly couple.

With both Halsin and Astarion, she’s sort of balanced more so in a way. Halsin represents the emotion, or the heart of the hero, while Astarion more so represents the brain, or the mind of the villain. The three of them fit together like puzzle perfect pieces, lifting each other up where the others may be lacking.

Should your Tav continue down the path of righteousness, I could see the three of them living happily in the future, perhaps in Halsin’s new settlement outside of Baldur’s Gate. Your Tav could teach the future sorcerers and work as the local glassblower. And at night, when it’s safe for Astarion to be out, all three of them could lay together under the blanket of the night sky, with just cricket chirps and occasional owl hoots around them. It’d be the perfect night for three very unique adventures to unwind.

#astarion x tav #halsin x tav #astarion imagine #halsin imagine #astarion x reader #halsin x reader #astarion x tav x halsin #bg3 x tav #bg3 x reader #bg3 imagine #bg3 matchups #baldurs gate imagine #bg3 #matchups

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