Astarion - Blog Posts
my character: *doing literally anything*
astarion in the background:
since it's a fantasy world we are talking about, he could also be an ancient Rome style magistrate - so an elected government official of.. some kind.
I had no idea that this word has it's uses in modern day English, so when I first heard him say it, my first thought was that he's a politician
If playing bg3 has taught me anything, it's that a lot of people don't know the difference between Magiatrates and Lawyers.
Astarion says he used to be a magistrate in the city. Not a lawyer. He wasn't the one speaking to a judge on behalf of someone, HE WAS THE JUDGE.
The definition of magistrate is a civil officer or lay judge who administers the law, especially one who conducts a court that deals with minor offenses and holds preliminary hearings for more serious ones.(literally copy and pasted that definition from the dictionary)
He's not a "Your honor, respectfully, you weren't even there"
He's a "ew, this is so cringe, guilty"
BG3 Origin Characters and the Florence & the Machine Songs that remind me of them
I gave in and am sharing this list now. Potentially long post below.
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Astarion
Between Two Lungs
And my running feet could fly Each breath screaming "We are all too young to die" ...
Gone are the days of begging, the days of theft No more gasping for a breath The air has filled me head-to-toe And I can see the ground far below I have this breath and I hold it tight And I keep it in my chest with all my might
Gale
Rabbit Heart (Raise it Up)
*for best listening experience please substitute Midas for Mystra in your head
The looking glass, so shiny and new How quickly the glamour fades I start spinning, slipping out of time Was that the wrong pill to take? ...
This is a gift, it comes with a price Who is the lamb and who is the knife? Midas is king and he holds me so tight And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Karlach
Seven Devils
Seven devils all around me Seven devils in my house See, they were there when I woke up this morning I'll be dead before the day is done ...
They can keep me out 'Til I tear the walls 'Til I save your heart And to take your soul And what has been done Cannot be undone
Lae'zel
Queen of Peace
*my favorite F&TM song ever for my favorite origin character :)
Like the stars chase the sun Over the glowing hill, I will conquer Blood is running deep Some things never sleep Suddenly I'm overcome Dissolving like the setting sun Like a boat into oblivion 'Cause you're driving me away Now you have me on the run The damage is already done Come on, is this what you want? 'Cause you're driving me away
Shadowheart
Which Witch
*this is just the universal song for religiously traumatized characters
And it's my whole heart Weighed and measured inside And it's an old scar Trying to bleach it out And it's my whole heart Deemed and delivered a crime I'm on trial, waiting 'til the beat comes out ...
And it's my whole heart While tried and tested, it's mine And it's my whole heart Trying to reach it out And it's my whole heart Burned but not buried this time I'm on trial, waiting 'til the beat comes out
Wyll
Shake it Out
And it's hard to dance with the devil on your back And given half the chance would I take any of it back? It's a fine romance, but it's left me so undone It's always darkest before the dawn And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat 'Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me Looking for heaven, for the devil in me But what the hell, I'm gonna let it happen to me, yeah
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And that's all! I might do a second part for some none-origin characters if I find the inspiration. Thank you for bearing with me if you made it this far :)
Fuck it, BG3 Companions as Children's Homework Answers
Gale
Astarion
Wyll
Lae'zel
Shadowheart
Karlach
Jaheira
Halsin
Minsc
Minthara
Astarion X Reader
✨Reader is Horn✨
masterlist
funnily enough, there is no sex in this fic. Just a short drabble of communication.
The campfire crackled under the dim twilight, casting long shadows across scattered bedrolls and worn boots. The air was still thick with the scent of the last skirmish blood, sweat, and a hint of singed hair. Everyone was winding down. You sat cross legged near the fire, arms resting on your knees, deep in thought. Astarion lounged nearby, wine cup in hand, eyes glittering in the firelight. He watched you closely, as he often did, as though trying to read your every thought like a well worn book.
Then, with all the casual weight of commenting on the weather, you announced. “I think I’m going to have sex.”
Silence. Even Lae’zel paused mid sharpen, casting you a side glance. Astarion straightened slightly, eyebrows lifting in both amusement and interest.
“Are we now?” he drawled, setting down his cup. “Well, I’m flattered. Not surprised, of course but flattered.”
You blinked. “What?”
Astarion leaned forward, lips curling. “Darling, there’s no need for coyness. If you need someone to… satisfy your sudden urges, I’d be happy to oblige. Gods know I’ve been waiting for you to finally admit it.”
You stared at him for a beat, then snorted. “Oh. No. I wasn’t talking about you.”
The silence that followed was somehow louder than the last one. Astarion’s smile twitched, just a little. “I beg your pardon?”
You shrugged, nonchalant. “I was thinking… probably Gale.”
Astarion looked like you’d just slapped him with a wet sock.
“Gale?” he repeated, aghast. “You’re choosing the walking arcane lecture over me? That man has more monologues than passion, and his idea of foreplay is a history lesson.”
“He’s sweet,” you said simply, pulling your cloak tighter around your shoulders. “I don’t know. I just feel like I need to get it out of my system. Nothing deep. Just… need to do something irrational for once.”
“Gale,” Astarion muttered again, then let out a sound between a scoff and a laugh. “This is some sort of fever dream. Or perhaps a punishment from the gods.”
You smiled. “Astarion, not everything is about you.”
He grinned back, sharp and wounded. “It should be.”
You stood up, stretching. “Anyway. I haven’t decided yet. Maybe I’ll sleep on it.”
“Oh, by all means, take your time. I’ll just be here, knowing I was passed over for a man who talks more to his floating book than to actual people.”
You gave him a pat on the head like an annoyed cat and turned toward Gale’s tent.
Behind you, Astarion called out, “If he starts reciting poetry during the act, run.”
The fire had long since crackled into glowing embers, its warmth now a quiet hum in the cool night. The camp had settled into silence, the sounds of rustling blankets and steady breathing drifting in from the other tents. Astarion sat alone, still where you’d left him, wine cup now untouched.
He stared into the dark woods, eyes unfocused. He wasn’t thinking about monsters or traps. No. Something far more unsettling had taken root in his mind.
You. You and your ridiculous declaration. You and your infuriating unpredictability. You and… Gale. He scoffed aloud, quiet and bitter. Gale, with his grand words and glowing hands. Gale, who probably asked for consent like it was a spell component.
It doesn’t make sense, Astarion thought, fingers curling slightly at his side. You’re allowed to bed whoever you wish. You owe me nothing. I never claimed to He paused. Frowned.
“Gods,” he whispered into the dark, realization dawning like a slow, creeping horror. “I’m jealous.”
The word felt foreign on his tongue. He almost laughed him, jealous? It was laughable. He’d never needed anyone before. Never cared if someone wandered off after a flirtation, or if they found pleasure in another’s arms. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? Pleasure without consequence. Desire without attachment. But tonight, watching you casually toss aside what he thought was a mutual spark no, knew was had stirred something ugly and unfamiliar in him.
“I don’t get jealous,” he said aloud to the night, trying the words again, firmer this time. “I don’t do jealousy. It’s beneath me.”
But the fire in his chest said otherwise. It wasn’t just bruised ego. That he could handle. He wanted you to choose him. Not out of convenience. Not out of need. But because you wanted him, just him. He leaned back against a log, running a hand through his hair with a low groan. “This is an absolute disaster.”
For the first time in centuries, Astarion wasn’t sure how to play the game. Worse, he wasn’t sure he wanted to play at all. He wanted to be with you. But how the hells did he even begin?
Morning crept into the camp slowly, light spilling over bedrolls and dewy grass. Birds chirped far too cheerfully for anyone’s liking especially Astarion’s. He sat on a rock near the fire pit, legs crossed elegantly, skin glowing like always, and of course he looked amazing. Until you walked out of your tent.
“Well, well,” he drawled without looking up. “If it isn’t the temptress of the Weave herself, back from a night of sonnets and magical satisfaction.”
You stopped mid stretch. “What?”
Astarion turned to you, faux innocence painted across his face. “Oh, don’t play coy. I’m just dying to know how our dear Gale fares in the bedroom. Did he conjure you a glowing review? Perhaps summoned a satisfaction score from the Weave?”
You blinked, then burst out laughing. “Calm down, loverboy. Nothing happened.”
His smirk faltered.
“…Nothing?” he repeated, cautious.
You dropped onto a log across from him, grin wide. “Nope. We talked for like ten minutes, then he got distracted explaining the theory behind dreamscapes and how the mind processes intimacy while unconscious.”
Astarion looked like he aged a century. “Of course he did.”
“I almost fell asleep standing up,” you added. “I think at some point he forgot I was there.”
Astarion made a strangled sound in his throat and tossed a twig into the fire. “Well. I’m sure that was incredibly titillating.”
You rested your chin in your hand, watching him with a glint in your eye. “What’s with the attitude? I said nothing happened. A girl’s allowed to have urges, you know.”
His eyes flicked to yours, fast and sharp. “…Urges?”
You shrugged, teasing. “Yeah. Just figured it was time to get it over with. Stress relief. You know health reasons.”
Astarion narrowed his eyes. “You were going to treat it like a medical appointment?”
“Exactly. Routine check up. The doctor was just… overbooked.”
The vampire groaned and threw his head back. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Mm, maybe I will, we will just have to wait and see unril you stop being jealous.”
“I wasn’t jealous,” he said quickly. Too quickly.
You raised an eyebrow.
“I was… annoyed. That’s different.”
“Mhm. You sure you weren’t picturing Gale putting on a robe and lighting candles while reading me his dissertation on foreplay?”
“I hate how accurate that sounds.”
You chuckled again, leaning back on your hands, eyes on him now with something softer. “You’re cute when you’re bitter.”
Astarion’s gaze flicked toward you again, but this time there was something quieter in it. Something careful. “And you’re a devious minx when you laugh like that.”
“Oh?” you smirked. “Scared I’ll seduce you with my wit?”
He looked away, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“No,” he murmured. “Scared I already am.”
––––You sat cross legged on a blanket just outside the camp, your sketchbook resting against your knees. Gale was beside you, hunched over his own page with careful strokes, charcoal smudged on the side of his hand. It was quiet. You could hear the rustle of paper, the soft exhale of Gale’s breath as he concentrated. Every so often, he would glance at your work, but he never commented unless you did first.
“Is that the Underdark cave?” you asked after a while, tilting your head toward his page.
He smiled, barely lifting his gaze. “It is. Not as foreboding on paper, is it?”
You hummed. “I would say it is still very foreboding.”
“I like it too,” he said, voice quiet.
You looked at him then how the light caught in his curls, how the frown of focus softened his features. There was something incredibly human about Gale in moments like this. Something grounding. Then he set the charcoal aside with a gentle sigh and glanced your way.
“I’ve been meaning to bring something up,” he said carefully. “Last night… when you mentioned what you wanted from me.”
You tensed slightly, setting your pencil down. “Right.”
“I was flattered,” Gale said with a small smile. “Truly. You’re… lovely, and clever, and far more patient than this strange journey has any right to demand. But I want you to know it’s not about you.”
You blinked. “What isn’t?”
“I don’t exactly know my stance on physical intimacy without affection. Not for myself, at least.” His gaze dropped to his hands, fingers lightly dusted with black. “It would feel hollow. Transactional. And I’ve already been part of one dangerous entanglement with shallow roots.”
You were quiet for a moment, then nodded. “I understand. You deserve real love.”
Gale looked up at you again, softer now. “We all do.”
You bit your lip, nodding again. “I respect that. I hope it didn’t seem like I was pressuring you.”
“Dont worry your pretty little head about it. I know. You’re too considerate for that.” He paused. “Which makes it even more baffling how you endure him.”
You blinked. “Who?”
Gale looked toward the center of camp, where Astarion was perched on a fallen log, basking in the sun and pretending not to eavesdrop. “That creature,” Gale said, voice dry. “A walking vanity project, Honestly, it’s like camping with a predatory peacock.”
You snorted.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Gale continued, warming to the roast. “I’m sure he’s quite talented in the dark. centuries of seduction will hone one’s… muscle memory but I imagine it’s about as emotionally fulfilling as being serenaded by a harpsichord made of teeth.”
“Gale.”
“No, really. He pouted for twenty minutes this morning because his hair got flattened during trance. He looked like a drowned cat who couldn’t manipulate the mage hand spell to fix it.”
Astarion glanced over then, voice saccharine: “You’re talking about me again. I must be ravishing to live rent free in the brain of a man who hasn’t even kissed anyone this decade.”
Gale raised a brow. “I’d sooner kiss a gelatinous cube. At least it wouldn’t try to kill me afterward.”
You covered your mouth, barely muffling your laugh. Astarion scoffed but didn’t move. what? he was listening. he couldnt help it.
Gale’s voice softened slightly then, a lilt of sincerity slipping beneath the sarcasm. “But jokes aside… be careful.”
You blinked. “With Astarion?”
He nodded. “He’s clever. Charming. entirely capable of making himself whatever you want him to be until he’s not.”
Your gaze dropped back to your sketchbook, heart thudding.Then, as if to break the weight of it, he chuckled faintly. “Besides, if we’re talking about primal urges, I believe our resident vampire spawn has more than enough… enthusiasm to spare.”
You laughed, leaning your head back. “You think Astarion’s dying to jump my bones?”
“Oh, I know he is. He practically disintegrated when you told him nothing happened between us.”
“He did look like he’d swallowed a lemon.”
“He looked like he’d been given the feast of the century. Honestly before you said anything, I haven’t seen a man so heartbroken since… well, me.” You nudged him with your shoulder, smiling. “But,” Gale continued, quieter now, “just remember there might be someone else who wants that closeness with affection. Someone who might be afraid you’ll offer it to someone else first.”
You turned your head slowly, eyes meeting his. He didn’t say Astarion’s name again. He didn’t need to.for the first time in a while, your heart beat a little faster not from fear, but from the weight of someone else’s longing you hadn’t quite dared to name.
The sun had risen high enough to dry the grass and heat the stones, but the camp was still unusually quiet. Most of the others had wandered off some hunting, some meditating. You were by the water, splashing your fingers across the surface, letting your boots dangle in the current. Astarion’s shadow fell over you before his voice did.
“You know,” he began, casually enough, “I’ve been thinking.”
You looked up. He was standing just off to the side, arms crossed, expression unreadable but his eyes were trained only on you.
“is that new or did you want to share with the class,” you said
He huffed a laugh but didn’t banter back. He just stepped closer, his voice quiet. “Why didn’t you ask me?”
You blinked, confused for a moment. “What?”
He met your eyes now. “When you decided you needed… something. That night. Why didn’t you come to me?”
You turned your gaze back to the water, thoughtful. “Because I couldn’t.”
He tilted his head, studying you. “Couldn’t? Why?”
You were quiet for a long moment. Then, with a breath, you said, “Because I just wanted meaningless sex. Nothing more.” Astarion flinched not outwardly, but in the smallest corner of his expression, in the way his mouth parted like he’d just been stung. “And that’s not something I could ever have with you.”
You turned to face him now, fully. “Out of everyone in this camp… you’re my best friend. Like, yes, I care about the others. Gale’s a good man. I trust him, I do. But the bond I have with him it’s not like what I have with you.”
Astarion stood there, silent.
“With you,” you continued, voice softer now, “I can’t turn it off. I can’t just pretend it’s only physical. You’re not a passing urge. You’re the person I go to when I can’t sleep. You’re the one I want near me when things go wrong. You’re the one I trust when I don’t trust myself.” He blinked slowly, like the words didn’t quite register at first.
“And if we crossed that line,” you added gently, “I don’t think I could ever call it meaningless. Not with you. Not even if I tried.”
The air felt still around you, like the world was holding its breath. When Astarion finally spoke, his voice was rough around the edges. “I think you just ruined every one of my excuses for why I’m not already in love with you.”
You gave him a smile, wide eyed surprise. He sat down next to you without asking, his shoulder brushing yours. “I’m not saying I am,” he added quickly. “But if I were… that would’ve made it a lot worse.”
You laughed softly, leaning your head on his arm. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“…No, I’m not.”
ू(ʚ̴̶̷́ .̠ ʚ̴̶̷̥̀ ू) Like Real People Do
Astarion Ancunín X Reader
Synopsis- how do you both really understand each other. Why can’t you love like real people do
“I know very little about this man, but as a devoted lover of Hozier, this song made me think of him….. Oh, did you see me complaining the other day about all Astarion fics being the same? Shut up and read the story. I know you all will still read it, you desperate whores.”
ू(ʚ̴̶̷́ .̠ ʚ̴̶̷̥̀ ू) The night was cool, the stars burning quietly above as the two of you sat a little away from the camp. The others were asleep, but you knew Astarion wouldn’t be resting at least not yet. He never truly let himself rest, even when his body was still.
The firelight flickered across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the way his red eyes seemed almost golden in the dim glow. But there was something dark lingering in them tonight, something unspoken that had been clawing at him for days.
“I had a thought, dear,” he murmured, his voice soft but carrying an edge of something wary, almost sharp. “However scary.”
You turned to him, sensing the shift in his mood. “Tell me.”
His fingers twitched where they rested on his knee, as if he were debating whether to reach for you or not. He didn’t. Instead, he exhaled, gaze fixed on the fire.
“About that night,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “The bugs and the dirt. Why were you digging?” His eyes flicked to yours, searching, unsure. “What did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth?”
You swallowed, understanding what he meant what he was truly asking.
You had found him, once. Broken, lost, a ghost of a man forced into survival. You both after the ship were so lost. You had reached for him without hesitation, pulled him from the dark, and given him something he still didn’t fully understand. But what had you sacrificed to do so?
You sighed, your fingers curling in the fabric of your sleeve. “Maybe… maybe I buried the part of me that thought I could walk this world alone.”
His lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s a poetic way of saying you were already broken.”
You frowned at that. “I never said I was broken.”
“No?” His head tilted slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Then why? Why care for me, of all people?” He let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “I’m not some tragic hero in a story. I am selfish. I am cruel when it suits me. And I was. am. a man made into a monster. You should have left me in that grave.”
His voice cracked on the last word. He hadn’t meant for it to, but it did.
You reached for him then, slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wanted to. He didn’t. Your fingers found his, cool and trembling, and you held them tight.
“I care for you,” you said, voice steady, “because I see you.”
His breath hitched.
“You are not just what he made you,” you continued. “Not to me.”
Astarion turned his face away, as if your words were something sharp he couldn’t bear to touch. His throat bobbed, his fingers tightening around yours.
“You make me feel real,” he whispered, as if confessing a sin. “And I hate it.”
You exhaled a quiet laugh, squeezing his hand. “That’s alright.”
He turned back to you then, something vulnerable and raw in his eyes. “You’re alright with loving a man who doesn’t know how to love himself?”
You smiled, shifting closer until your foreheads nearly touched. “I think that’s why I love you, Astarion. Because I want to show you how.”
His breath shuddered against your skin. For the first time in centuries, he let himself believe.
Astarion was quiet for a long time. The fire crackled between you, but his fingers remained tangled with yours, his grip just tight enough to keep him tethered to the moment. You could feel it the weight of everything he wasn’t saying, the ghosts of centuries clinging to him like a second skin.
He had told you pieces of his past, but never all of it. And you had never asked. You watched the way his jaw tensed, how his shoulders curled inward as if bracing for something inevitable.
“I will not ask you where you came from,” you murmured.
His head turned slightly, red eyes flickering toward yours in quiet surprise.
“I will not ask you,” you repeated, voice gentle but firm. “Neither should you.”
He exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Something in him loosened, something old and afraid.
“You don’t want to know?” His voice was almost cautious, as if the question itself was foreign to him.
You shook your head. “I want to know you. Not the things you were forced to do. Not the chains that bound you. Just you.”
Astarion swallowed hard. He had spent so long believing he was only what had been done to him, that there was nothing else nothing worth salvaging. But here you were, sitting beside him, holding his hand as if he were someone worth touching.
As if he were someone worth loving.
Slowly, his free hand lifted, brushing over your knuckles. A hesitant, unfamiliar gesture. His eyes studied the way your fingers curled into his, as if trying to understand why you weren’t pulling away.
“I don’t know who that is,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know who I am without, without him.”
You squeezed his hand, grounding him. “Then let’s not look back. Let’s just be here. Now.”
Astarion let out a soft, shaky laugh, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, there was something lighter in them something fragile but real.
“Here. Now.” He tested the words, as if rolling them over in his mind. Slowly, carefully, he let his head rest against your shoulder.
For the first time, Astarion let himself exist without expectation, without past or future. Just here. Just now. with you.
The fire had burned low, glowing embers casting long shadows across the ground. Astarion still leaned against your shoulder, unmoving, his fingers still curled around yours. He felt real like this warm, tangible, not just some fleeting ghost of a man lost to time.
And yet, something lingered in his eyes when he finally looked at you. Something raw.
“I knew that look, dear,” he murmured, voice hushed in the stillness of the night. His red eyes searched yours, sharp and knowing. “Eyes always seeking.”
You parted your lips to respond, but his fingers cold, careful lifted to trace along your jaw, silencing you.
“There was someone once, wasn’t there?” His voice was softer now, almost gentle. “Someone you buried long ago.”
Your breath hitched.
He tilted his head, his eyes flickering over your face, studying every shift in your expression. “So I will not ask you why you were creeping,” he murmured. “In some sad way, I already know.”
Your throat tightened. Because he was right.
Maybe you had found him in the dirt, broken and lost, because some part of you had been buried there too. Maybe you had seen your own ruin in the ghost of a man clawing his way out of the earth.
But none of that mattered now.
Not when Astarion was here. Not when his hand slid from your jaw to your cheek, his touch trembling but sure. Not when his breath mingled with yours, and his eyes softened in a way you had never seen before.
“Honey,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “Just put your sweet lips on my lips.”
His lips barely brushed yours hesitant, uncertain. A question more than a kiss.
And you answered.
You pressed forward, slow and deliberate, your fingers tangling in his curls as you pulled him closer. Astarion inhaled sharply against your mouth, his other hand gripping your waist as if anchoring himself to the moment. He kissed you like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to, like he was still waiting for the moment you would realize he wasn’t worth this kind of tenderness.
But you didn’t pull away. Instead, you kissed him like you had all the time in the world. Like he was someone worth keeping.
quiet and still, save for the soft crackle of dying embers and the distant rustle of leaves in the wind. The world felt small in this moment just you, Astarion, and the fragile space between you.
His fingers lingered against your cheek, cool as marble, trembling ever so slightly, as if he still wasn’t certain you were real. As if he wasn’t certain he was real.
You watched the way his expression shifted, the war within him written across every furrow of his brow, every flicker of doubt in his crimson eyes. There was a time when he might have masked it all behind a teasing smirk or a well-placed quip, a time when he would have used charm as a shield. But here, now, he let himself be bare before you. No pretenses. No games. Just the truth of him, laid out in the fragile press of his lips to yours.
And gods, how fragile he was beneath it all. How much he had been taught to believe he was unworthy of this, of you.
His forehead stayed pressed against yours, his breath shallow. He didn’t speak for a long time, only let his fingers trace idle patterns over the back of your hand. Then, so softly it was almost lost to the night, he whispered, “I’ve never had this before.”
You swallowed, your grip on him tightening. “Had what?”
His gaze flickered up to meet yours, something raw gleaming beneath the firelight. “something that meant something.”
You felt your heart twist at that, at the quiet pain woven into his words. The idea that a touch so simple, so human, could feel foreign to him. That intimacy had always been a transaction, never a gift.
Astarion let out a breath, shaking his head. “I spent centuries pretending I had control. That I was the one taking, the one winning. But I wasn’t, was I? I was just…” He trailed off, his fingers curling into his palms. “I was nothing. I felt like nothing.”
You cupped his face then, guiding his gaze back to yours, refusing to let him slip into the past. “You are not nothing, Astarion.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “And yet, I still don’t know how to be something.”
“Then we’ll figure it out together,” you murmured.
His lips parted, as if to argue, but whatever words he meant to say withered before they could form. Instead, he just… looked at you. Like he was seeing something new, something terrifyingly unfamiliar. A possibility he had never let himself hope for.
He exhaled a small, shaking laugh, leaning into your touch. “Gods, listen to me. You kiss me once and suddenly I’m a blubbering mess.”
You smiled, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone. “I don’t mind.”
He huffed, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Only something softer. Something aching.
Astarion shifted, his body relaxing against yours, his head once again resting on your shoulder. This time, though, it was different. He wasn’t just leaning on you. He was allowing himself to be held.
The fire dwindled further, shadows stretching long and deep. But you stayed like that, with your fingers tangled in his, with the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath against your skin.
For the first time in centuries, Astarion let himself be vulnerable without fear.
For the first time in centuries, he let himself stay.
:0
no hate to yall but someone give a fun teasing, sweet and lighthearted astarion fic. I don’t want smut, I don’t crave the angst (at least at the moment) LIKE SLICE OF LIFE OR SOMETHING. let this man be happy and safe and comforted. Even some scenes within the first week of meeting tav. YALL ARESOMEANTO HIM!!
Never ending applause for this 👏👏👏 (and encore 👀)
You know you fucked up when ASTARION is giving you relationship advice
✨the gang’s all here!✨ did some quick bust sketches of the team for a fun Q&A, and wanted to share! I loved drawing each of them—and don’t worry, I’ll definitely doodle Halsin down the road!
Karl Heisenberg is Steampunk-Yeehaw-Astarion, change my mind.
I'm not sure how many people pay attention to this, but Astarions tent area (inside and out) is not just blood splattered and mildly disorganized:
1) Dirty rags, blood and wine spills, rugs and pillows a bit haphazard, no proper bedding inside, empty blood bank jars everywhere, sleeps on a wooden palette rather than a bed roll
But the actual tent (yes I zoomed in and stared heavily at it shdjghfhdj)
It dirty.
It's SPLATTERED with dried mud and dirt, and I also noticed in comparison to his companions his tent is fairly small? And also kinda limp like he didn't wanna bother putting it up.
I bet this man hates putting together and tearing down camp SO MUCH that he just does the bare minimum and then trashes the place anyway. He's not going to voluntarily do laundry, he's not gonna clean the canvas, he's just here to put his shit together in some barely passable way.
And sure the exterior shows how he tries to decorate it in a way that's presentable, but he's decorating with dirty shit he won't scrub 😂
People, myself included to some degree, have chatted about why he is messy trauma wise but honestly I'm coming to the realization that he probably was, even in life, surrounded by servants to some degree.
He gives the air of being from money
I bet this little fool has never in his life had to wash his own clothes or clean a room. Even as a slave, when he was in Cazadors mansion he got trotted between the bunks where he only had minimal space to rest, (and a bunch of siblings he could probably manipulate into washing his socks for him if the servants didn't do it automatically ) and the Boudoir where he was to Look Pretty and Bend Over as requested
He never scrubbed floors in his life
Man's has never once cleaned a toilet
Astarion is living evidence that you can be severely neglected and abused while ALSO being 'spoiled' (in the sense that he never got to develop life skills bc the servants did it for him)
This really ties in with his personality and I think it's a nice touch. Cause what does he focus on keeping clean? HIM. He can do his hair, body washed, clothing IMPECCABLE. Man kept a shirt together for over a century without a single stain on it. But his SPACE ? His THINGS? neglected to the extreme
But yeah anyway, his tent is DIRTY and I'm pretty sure was originally a much more vibrant color too. Zoom in next time you get to camp you'll see what I mean
i love it when characters are unfair, actually. i love it when they’re uncouth and cranky and hypocritical, i love it when they have cognitive dissonances, i love it when they make good and bad choices for the wrong reasons. i love when they’re short to anger and hard to understand. i love it when they’ve destroyed themselves for nothing but can’t even see either part of it yet. i love it when they’re messy and selfish and bad at communicating. i love it when they get convinced of their own ego and stuck in a feedback loop regarding their own warped paranoia. i love it when characters actively make their lives unknowingly harder for themselves. i love it when characters don’t know they’re in a story. i love it when characters are like real people
This is the most cannon shit I've ever read on this site
Some goblin Astarion things.
He pinches you when you toss and turn too much in your shared bed. “Wake up and stop flailing! Gods. I’ll have bruises from your pointy elbows in the morning.”
He sews “kick me” on the butt of Gale’s trousers in dark, dark gray after the Wizard pisses him off. Karlach sees it with her dark vision when they’re in the Underdark and promptly knees him in the ass.
He steals all of Halsin’s wooden ducks and plants them in Wyll’s tent, for shits and giggles.
He tries to line a tripwire across the front of Lae’zel’s tent entrance, but ends up pricking himself on a blow dart booby trap he failed to perceive. Incurs -3 hit points and the bleeding condition for 10 turns.
He nips your neck like a disgruntled cockatoo when you tease him in front of the other party members.
He puts swamp green clothing dye in Shadowheart’s bottle of hair dye when she’s not looking, causing her to endure some sickly green highlights for a fortnight.
He steals Wither’s staff while he’s speaking with Jaheria and hides it among Lae’zel’s armory. Gets hauled over by the ear by Jaheira to apologize to Withers. And Lae’zel.
He hides in the bushes near camp and makes god-awful wailing noises to keep Scratch and the owlbear cub barking while the party is trying to get some sleep.
He fabricates some ridiculous story about how the Weave is really a hoax designed by Big Magic to control the masses, just to see Gale go purple in the face while arguing against this “utter tripe.”
He loudly proclaims that he overheard Shadowheart telling Wyll she could beat Lae’zel in unarmed combat with a hand tied behind her back, then scampers away cackling when the two lady warriors start yelling at one another.