#astarion father of the year every year

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold. 

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much. 

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no… 

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands. 

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough! 

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways. 

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten. 

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.  

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters. 

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns. 

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time. 

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal. 

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable. 

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort. 

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav. 

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all. 

“What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late. 

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier. 

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?” 

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress. 

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls. 

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day. 

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it. 

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her. 

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed. 

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore. 

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe. 

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever. 

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet. 

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family. 

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him. 

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it. 

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head. 

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

[wiltedreamofbaldursgate]

Girl dad Astarion would be like “ugh, look at that little menace of a child keeping me away from my darling Tav. Children are The Worst. What a hassle. ugh.” while lovingly combing his daughter’s hair. Braiding it in the most beautiful, intricate fashion even though he’s just getting her ready for bed. Feeding her secret sweet treats for no other reason than her being daddy’s little delight.

And when he’s done, asking how the little one likes her hair, she would just demand more ribbons and bows because she’s like 5, getting the princess treatment ever since birth (by Astarion. Tav not so much. Obviously.)

Astarion would scoff inwardly, because ugh, it’s been an hour already? The kid’s taking up my entire damn time, but ultimately go with “Why, what a splendid idea, my precious, finally someone to share The Vision with. Red or blue? ...Red? That's what I thought, too, love.”

[sage-nebula]

someone needs to take lions away from Disney.

[thebaldergatescandal]

my cleaving the What Astarion Sex is More Moral To Have discourse down the middle by saying of course I think he wants to be a slut again, and feels frustrated and limited and damaged by the effect his past still has on him, but I think he would be happiest with a long-lived character who's already had decades long relationships that flow naturally from friends to lovers to a weird undefinable middle ground to back again as they go through life, where waiting several years or more for emotions to turn again into something physical is not a remarkable or difficult length of time to wait.

[bhaalble]

I like that Last Unicorn quote as much as the next guy but I do always wind up feeling a little detached from analysis that paints Astarion's disapproval as purely envy. Partly because. No one's doing this for Lae'zel for instance even though she has similar disapproval and similar trauma (all she can remember is a hostile physically and emotionally exploitative environment which expected perfect strength and obedience from her or else she would be punished or killed). But also partly because it feels pretty detached from everything he actually has to say about it.

The thing about Astarion is he loathes weakness. He loathes sentiment and he loathes dependence. You can see this when he actually opens his mouth up about the people he disapproves of saving, but also incredibly loudly when he talks about the other companions, as well as his fellow spawn. If Lae'zel submits to Vlaakith he talks scornfully about how some people just come to love their chains. He's confused and put off if Wyll submits to Mizora to save his father. In every conversation with his fellow spawn (at least when hes not actively manipulating them) he's dismissive and harsh, and clearly he's perfectly willing to sacrifice them for the sake of himself.

There's an obvious origin point of those feelings, of course. Cazador's abuse is designed to actively kill off empathy in his spawn, both towards each other and towards victims. The last time Astarion prioritized someone over his own skin he got locked in a tomb for a year. We can see glimpses of it with the other spawn too, how his siblings are (apparently uncompelled at first) willing to drag Astarion back to their master for their freedom, how Petras' first dream of freedom is getting to drain another person dry. Astarion certainly doesn't seem to feel any real sense of solidarity with them, likely because Cazador understands that them building a community is a threat to his authority the way it was to his own master.

I'd also argue its Astarion projecting his own self-loathing outwards. So much of his quest is about his desperate attempt to escape from who he was. He's been given a chance to slip free of the limitations of being a spawn. He clings to that because of course he would. He also instinctively begins to run over everything in his path, because if there's anything he has learned over the past 200 years its that good things can always be taken away unless you make sure to remove any and all possible threats to that scrap of well-being. He's disdainful of people in need of help because they represent who he fears to go back to being! He calls his siblings "poor fools" while refusing to confront the fact that had it not been for the tadpole he would be in exactly their position, forced to cling to the hope that Cazador is telling the truth for once because escape isn't an option either way. He becomes irritated when Tav slows down to help the unfortunate because they represent roadblocks on his own path to safety.

There's an idea in mental health stolen from airplane safety: that you shouldn't help anyone else until your own mask is secure. What they don't tell you, speaking from personal experience at least, is that PTSD, especially for long term trauma, has a way of making you feel like your own mask will never be secure. And while that's scary, and it sucks, and there should be the utmost patience for it: no one is going to realize that mask is secure for you. Eventually you are going to have to accept the fact that you are breathing just fine. Eventually you are also going to have to accept that people asking something of you isn't them endangering you, even if it can sometimes (often) feel like it. It doesn't make you obligated to help them. But it does mean you have to stop reacting to them like a threat, because not 5 minutes ago that was you.

I think the idea that he's only mad because he's jealous is a gratifying fantasy. He didnt feel safe before, but now through your PC and the power of love he'll feel warm and cozy enough to forgive you for not being there to begin with. But I also think Astarion cannot live in a reality where he's never pushed back on. His instinctive self-protective movements are a coping mechanism, yes, but coping mechanisms developed under survival conditions can also be a way of keeping you frozen in your trauma. Outside of the environment they were necessary for, they can even hinder you from growing in the ways you need to grow to move past what happened to you. Sometimes, you need to stop a baby tiefling from getting crazy murdered by a snake because it turns out. That can happen to anybody not just people who are weak and stupid and deserve to die anyways not like me I'm normal-

[sfehvn]

new religion

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Description: AU- Astarion is enamored by you, and while he fights it at first, he may have just found his new religion. A/N: Just a tad bit of sweet smut to be honest. This was my listen while I wrote if you were curious. Enjoy! xx Rating: M (18+ minors DNI) Word count: 2,069 Characters: soft!ascended!Astarion x fem!au!Tav

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  From the moment Astarion had seen you, he knew he had to have you. Walking through the animated city of Baldur’s Gate, your radiant smile was the first thing that had caught his eye. Flowing hair kissed your shoulders adorned with freshly plucked daisies. Your aroma was the most intoxicating scent that had graced his nose in all of his years. Your rose-tinted cheeks teased with the blood flowing beneath your flawless skin. Your eyes sparkled with wonder, reflecting the rays of the sun above. He had never been a believer in the love at first sight nonsense, yet there you were. If his undead heart could beat, he was sure it would be skipping against his ribcage. It was the only time the vampire had found himself utterly speechless. 

  For months, he watched from afar, finding excuses to go into town. Not that he had to excuse anything to anyone, but the newfound feelings were frightening, to say the least. Alas, day after day Astarion went out, whether for a drink or an unnecessary shop trip, and he would wait to get even the slightest glimpse at you. He was aware that this obsession was snowballing out of his hands as he fell harder and deeper. Hells, he had never even spoken to you. Yet he knew nearly everything there was to know. 

  He knew every other day you made your way to the apothecary to pick up medicines for your sick father, whom you cared for. He knew once every fifth day, you picnicked in the graveyard next to your mother’s grave. He knew your favorite color was yellow because it reminded you of the summers you spent with your mother before her untimely passing. You had six siblings: an older brother and five young sisters. 

  Astarion had also realized that you had a death wish, apparently. You were constantly staying out past sundown, running errands or helping neighbors. Did you even comprehend the dangers? He would often think to himself. Of course he had to follow you home to ensure you made it inside safely. You were becoming a liability to him, and quite frankly, he was terrified of how you made him feel. Just when he had decided to end this one-sided arrangement, there you were. Sat on the side of the road with tears pooling rivers down your cheeks, his body felt out of his control as he approached you.

  He stood in front of you, his words caught in his throat. You stared at him with those big doe-eyes, and his knees felt like jelly. “Are you alright?” He finally managed out. Gods, what am I doing? I should just sink my fangs into her and be done with it. It’s just bloodlust. This was something he had tried to convince himself of many times already- a lie.

  “Oh, yes.” Voice sweet and smooth, like the finest honey gold could buy. “Just this silly book.” You giggled, holding up the novel you had previously been engrossed in before Astarion had found you.

  “Right. Good.” He clears his throat in an attempt to regain his composure and still his spinning mind. “I’ll just be on my way then.” You nod, gifting that sweet smile to him. Astarion felt his legs would give out beneath him if he stayed longer, but he didn’t move an inch.

  The man intrigued you, ruby red eyes and skin pale as the snow that fell during winter. He was gorgeous. An aura of mystery surrounded him, and you were keen to discover those mysteries. “Say, you live in that big fancy manor?” You question, breaking the awkward silence that had befallen you two.

  “I do. Why?” Skepticism was palpable in his tone. 

  You disregarded his tone, and he believed it to be your naive nature. “You have the most exquisite daffodils blooming alongside your walls. I didn’t want to pick them without asking.” Your smile is sheepish, innocent. Astarion doesn’t speak, his face unreadable. “I-I enjoy putting bouquets together. I don’t mean to-” He already knew this, obviously.

  “They are yours.” Astarion can’t contain the smile that tugs the sides of his lips.

  As you two stroll to the location of said flowers, Astarion finds himself loosening up in your presence. He watches you intently, the way you move your hair from your face as you carefully pluck a few from the group. He urges you to take more.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother. These are plenty.” You assure. In response, he crouches down next to you to help pluck the remaining flowers.

   After walking you home, Astarion ordered flowers to be planted around the grounds. With the help of just a little magic, within weeks, roses, peonies, sunflowers, and carnations bloomed healthily. You would come with a fresh serving of food, a bouquet as thanks, and collect the flowers. As naive as you were, you could recognize what Astarion was doing. The daffodils were a one-off in that area, but now flowers surrounded the entirety of his property. The rate at which they grew, too; you were aware some effort went into getting them to blossom so hastily. At every mention of a new flower, the next time you came, they were miraculously in bloom.

  This compromise had been in full swing for months when you finally questioned him about it. Astarion was on his knees as he snipped red roses from the bush, insistent on doing it himself so you didn’t prick yourself on a thorn. “Why are you doing this?” You question, a wicker basket that was already overflowing held firmly in your hands. 

  “I told you, you’ve nabbed yourself on these blasted thorns one too many times.” His reply came without a look in your direction as he continued to snip the stems.

  “That’s not what I meant.” A soft chuckle emanates from behind closed lips. He looks up at you in realization, his hands coming to a halt. Your breath catches in your throat as he stares at you wordlessly, longingly. Standing slowly, he takes a step closer to you. He drops the roses into your basket before cupping your cheeks, closing the distance between your faces. The kiss is electric. You drop the basket to your feet, arms snaking around his neck while he presses your body tightly to his, clinging to you like a prayer. His lips were a colder temperature than you expected, but they were soft and hungry. 

  That’s how Astarion ended up with you in his bed. As he eagerly ripped the pale blue dress from your body, you took note of the bouquets around his bed chamber. Every single one you had gifted to him was on display and in perfect condition. Your heart flits in your chest, eyes closing in ecstasy as wet kisses trail up the inside of your thighs. A soft moan is elicited from you as his mouth reaches your warmth, his tongue flicking teasingly along your slit. Your fingers thread into his stark white hair, instinctually tugging with every contact against your clit. Colors explode behind your eyelids from the euphoric excitement.

  He pulled away briefly, with his starving mouth against your thigh, he spoke muffled words, “I don’t think you realize how long I’ve been waiting to hear that, darling.” Your breathing quickens as you look down at him between your thighs with hooded, lustful eyes. His mouth returns to your clit and he suckles lightly, two fingers dipping into your dripping center. The sensation brings your back into an arch, aching to feel him deeper inside of you.

  The swirling motion of his tongue brings you close to the edge, your legs shaking mercilessly. Astarion’s free hand moves between his torso and your legs, holding them steady as he continues his work on your body. Just as you are about to cum, he places a final kiss on your mound before his eyes meet yours. “You’re much naughtier than I thought.” He tsked, crooning his neck at you before moving up your body.

  Your lips meet passionately, his tongue slipping effortlessly into your mouth to meet your own. He creates a gap between you as one hand holds him up, quickly removing his trousers and undergarments with his other hand. He pressed his bulge down onto your warmth, hitting your sweet spot as he grinds against you. “Do you taste how lovely you are?” He murmurs, plunging his tongue further into your mouth. You can only let out a delighted moan in response.

  Once he breaks the kiss, you press your slippery core harder against his erection. “Please fuck me.” You whimper lustfully, “Please-” Your words are cut short by the sensation of him rubbing the head of his cock against your clit, causing a delicate moan to leave your throat.

  “Fuck. You’re soaked, my darling.” He coos. As much as Astarion wanted to continue to play with your body, he needed to be buried in you as quickly as he possibly could. He slides the head of his member from your clit, pushing slowly into your welcoming embrace. He savors every sensation as he enters you. There is a momentary flicker of pain on your face as you adjust to his size, and he falters for a moment.

  “Have you done this before?” He asks quietly, pressing his forehead to yours, avoiding your throat to save himself from temptation. He cursed himself inwardly for even asking; he shouldn’t care. This woman brought a side out of him he had never met before- a softer side. The scariest part is he actually, well, liked it.

  You wavered for a second before shaking your head, confirming that he was indeed the first man to have ever been in such a position with you. The thought makes him feel feral. Such a sweet flower trusting someone like him to take your virtue; he would never admit it to anyone, but honor and pride swelled in his chest. He nodded in acknowledgment, “We’ll go slow, pet.” He reassures, hips rocking delicately into yours as he fills you with as much of him as he can manage without causing you discomfort. He lays a gentle kiss on your forehead as your pain turns into pleasure, still-shaking legs wrapping to engulf his hips.

  “A-Astarion.” His name sounded like a hymn gracing his ears from your mouth, and he wanted to devour you right there and then. It took everything in him not to plow you into the bed. His hand rests on the bedframe as he finds a comfortable rhythm, eyes never leaving your face. He wanted to soak up every reaction to his touch.

  “You drive me crazy, pet.” He grunts as his pace quickens, gripping the mahogany wood tighter at the magnetic pleasure buzzing through his body. He uses his free hand to effortlessly move you further up into a slightly seated position as his thumb once again finds your clit to draw purposeful eights over it. 

  “I-I’m- Oh my gods-” The moan is loud, music to his ears as your walls tighten around his cock.

  “That’s right. Be a good girl and cum for me.” It’s a stern demand, all to mask just how close Astarion was himself. His words push you over the edge, your body clinging to his for support as the euphoria rushes over you. Every hair on your body standing on end, you throw your head back and scream Astarion’s name thrillfully. 

  With you coming undone, he allows himself to reach fruition, his seed filling you to the brim. His hand on the frame loosens, and his head hangs, face full of gratification. He looks down at you, pulling his now-soft member from you, a satisfied sigh leaving your lips as you stretch contently, much like a cat. Your eyes were droopy, a giddy smirk on your face as you fought to keep them open. Astarion chuckles, pressing another kiss to your lips. “You can sleep, my darling. I’ll wake you in a little.”

  Astarion swore he felt the tiniest tinge of warmth in his heart at the sight of you so comfortable cuddled into his side as you dozed off. This could be a welcome change. Maybe his undead life just needed his very own light, his own sun. All he knew was that he was done fighting it. One weakness couldn’t hurt.

[littlelionwriting]

Male Companions and Parenting

Here is some headcanons for the male companions (and Zevlor) for Baldur's Gate 3. This is a continuation of the Pregnancy headcanons I wrote previously. If you want to request anything just send me a DM!

Zevlor

His son is a spitting image of him except for his eyes, his eyes are your eyes.

When he holds him for the first time his son's tail wraps around Zevlor's wrist and he feels like his heart will burst.

He's a strict parent but he makes sure that his child knows that they are loved.

He wants to be there for everything, every step, and every word. He wants to be involved.

If his son starts to become interested in weapons or fighting it gives Zevlor a heart attack. He doesn't want that life for his son.

But seeing how important it is to him, seeing how his eyes light up when he is fighting, Zevlor makes sure he is properly trained. Nothing but the best.

He will constantly tell his son how proud he is of him.

"You should have seen him today, Sweetling. He was great. He will be amazing." Zevlor sat on the edge of the bed, looking at you with a grin on his face. "Our family is amazing."

Wyll

When he holds his daughter for the first time, he feels like laughing. His wonderful, beautiful daughter who looks like the perfect mix of the two of you.

He is the dad who has tea parties and helps paint her nails.

Wyll would gladly take her with him when he goes to train, showing her how to properly hold a (dull) blade the moment she is big enough.

He cannot tell her no; she doesn't even bother to ask you for something when she can go to Wyll instead and get what she wants.

The first time he sees his teenage daughter in a proper evening gown for a ball his heart drops cause he knows she isn't his little girl anymore.

He's not the best dancer but he does his best to teach her how to show up everyone on the dance floor.

"Darling, do you see her? Doesn't she look marvelous?" Wyll's eyes go from the dancing figure of your daughter with some noble's son to you as he takes his hand in yours. "Maybe we should take the hint and dance ourselves."

Astarion

His handsome son with his silver hair and red eyes but your skin color.

He is the only one who can get your son to stop crying as a baby. Not even being held by you can quiet the wailing child.

His son may be a troublemaker from the moment he could walk but Astarion would only encourage it. Very much an 'As long as you don't get caught' way of parenting.

Would have no qualms about teaching him how to pick locks or how to use a dagger. One must always be prepared according to Astarion.

He does not like his child being out at night without one of you, even as he gets into his teenage years. If he isn't home by sundown Astarion is ready to go out searching for him.

Astarion makes sure to encourage his son in anything and everything he wants to do. He would gladly buy the world if that is what was asked of him.

"He did well today, Lover. You would have been proud of him." You hummed softly in acknowledgement, not looking up from your book as Astarion walks over to where you sit in front of the first. He smiles before bending over and laying a kiss on the crown of your head.

"Of course, he's your son."

Halsin

When your twins are born Halsin swore they would ask for naught. Holding them both in his large arms to his chest as they slept.

Your son looked like you but had Halsin's hair and eyes while your daughter looked like a clone of Halsin just with your eyes.

Halsin learned early on to keep an eye on them, from the moment they could walk they were running off into the forest. They would often come home covered head to toe in mud.

He makes sure to teach them to respect all creatures, even the gross and icky ones.

It is not uncommon to find one of them on his shoulders. In fact, they often would fight over who got to ride on his shoulders so he had to make them take turns.

His son takes after his father, bringing home random critters much to his father's amusement.

His daughter is on the quiet side, liking to stay by his side and enjoy nature more than the company of people.

Would be over the moon when his daughter felt the call to being a Druid and his son a Ranger.

"You are so proud, Halsin." You walked to his side, taking his large hand in yours, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand.

"More than you could ever know, my Heart."

Gale

Gale loves his daughter from the moment she is born but he is not a baby or toddler guy.

When he is left alone with her for the first time as a baby you come home to both of them crying.

He does his best which includes taking said daughter with him to any lectures he gives and when she babbles, he acts as if she is answering or giving input.

"Excellent point, Darling! Now, to continue..."

He makes sure she is dressed properly for whatever the weather and makes sure she is always in style.

Tara is her favorite babysitter hands down and Tara is more than happy to follow the young Miss around.

The first time she tells you and Gale she has a crush on someone you have to hold Gale back from threatening the poor soul with a fireball.

Gale makes sure to teach your daughter how to be proper and that includes how to rip someone to shreds with their words.

Gale puts a huge emphasis on education, he will make sure that she has the best tutors and will even tutor her himself if she asked.

"She is doing simply amazing, Dearest. You would never guess she has only been studying for a few years. I say she will soon surpass all the others in her class!" You gave your husband a soft smile as he continued to sing your daughter's praises, happy as can be.

Want to buy me a coffee or commission a short story? Find me here: https://ko-fi.com/littleleonlion

[sinizade]

A little family tree about Izveta and Astarion because I recently discovered that vampires in D&D can have children...

The appearance and what is written about Astarion's parents is just a headcanon created by me, I keep in mind that they never found their son and ended up dying over the years since the game does not mention anything connected abt Astarion's family.

I never wrote about Izveta's father, but basically he was a quiet man and obedient to his wife even though she was extremely aggressive towards him. She killed him a few years after adopting Izveta when he tried to get rid of the girl after overhearing her talking to Sceleritas.

The day that Sarevok had mentioned in his letter arrived and Izveta could no longer think rationally, she wanted children, she needed children and so it was done... Twins with Bhaal's blood, a boy and a girl who, since they were born, already had an aptitude for magic, Belgos and Amalicia or as the people in Baldur's Gate call them "Cursed Children.

Even though they were children of a Vampire Lord and a Bhaalspawn, Belgos and Amalicia did not grow up in a troubled home, quite the contrary, Astarion and Izveta had plans for their children and being bad parents was not one of those plans. The children were loved to the extreme and no one would dare try to hurt any of them, also because no one would be crazy enough to try.

I like to think that Astarion would be a drooling father, you can see in the game that even though he tries to pretend otherwise, he loves children. I think he would remove ALL of Cazador's paintings and decorations and fill the entire castle with paintings of Elbos, Amalicia and Izveta, every hallway and room would have at least two paintings of them so that everyone could see the GREAT family he and Izveta built together

Amalicia is defiant, she took this a lot from her mother, she always wants to go out when she shouldn't, she always wants to fight with people who shouldn't, Astarion and Izveta often had to solve many of the problems she caused, whether with Astarion's vampire spawns or with some hunters she provoked when she ran away from the Castle. Even with all the problems she causes, Amalicia is still a child and many times she just wants to play.

Elbos is a calm and affectionate boy unlike his sister and is almost always seen hiding behind Astarion and Izveta's legs. He likes rats and keeps some pets hidden in his room as Astarion makes a point of banning any rats inside his castle. .

Amalicia and Elbos' relationship tends to be the basic one for children their age, they fight and then go back to playing together, but sometimes they both seem to be far away from where they are, as if they were listening to something... Or someone...

Btw, if you are a hunter or a mercenary with a functional brain and love for life, you N E V E R try to hurt the children of a Bhaalspawn and a Vampire Lord... They will do really bad things to you

[lassieposting]

Concept:

Post-tadpole, Tav offers to help Astarion find a way to walk in the sun again, and she starts by going to different libraries and repositories and archives around the city to look for books that might be relevant. Astarion, obviously, has to stay in the rental room with the shutters closed during the daytime, so he can't come with her.

At some point, this takes her up to the posh part of the city, where the fancy ✨ scholarly ✨ archive is. She remembers most of the walk - it's not too far from the graveyard Astarion took her to, in the neighbourhood where he once used to live.

And like, it's never actually occurred to her that he could still have Actual Blood Relatives still living? It's not a topic she's ever thought to raise with him. But she has to sign in and out of the archive, and she just happens to notice the name three or four lines above hers: an initial and a surname she recognises.

Ancunín.

The same name from Astarion's gravestone.

A parent? A sibling?

A niece or nephew Astarion has never even met?

Thus begins a secondary quest of trying to reunite a broken family. Astarion is willing enough to talk about the few memories he still has of the thirty-nine years he had with his family before turning - a drop in the ocean compared to the 200 years spent suffering under Cazador - but he shuts down when she nudges him towards the likelihood that Mr & Mrs Ancunín are still alive. He retreats back behind the selfish, catty survivalist he was when she first met him and claims he has no interest in ever reconnecting. The pain in every clipped syllable says drop it, so she does.

But then he asks her, very quietly, several days later, what the initial was. He doesn't really react when she tells him - there's no obvious recognition, and he doesn't ask any follow-up questions or try to discuss it further. He just goes back to his book. She watches him out of the corner of her eye though, as she skim-reads her own giant tome of magical artifacts. A very long time goes by before she sees him turn a page.

For a good long while, the family issue gets put firmly on the back burner. They have other shit going on. Sometimes, it's following promising leads on a possible workaround for Astarion's sunlight allergy. Other times, it's the kind of ugly, ragged-edged breakdown that so often follows a period of relative safety and stability after a major trauma. He's been running in survival mode for two centuries, and now he's finally starting to feel secure enough for the rest of his mind to come back online, and all the trauma he couldn't handle at the time, all the pain and fear and tangled emotions survival mode was protecting him from, is catching up to him. During those sporadic episodes, trying to keep him from falling apart is her top priority and, well, time gets away from them and by the time he brings up his parents again, months or more have gone by, and they have a fairly good idea of what artifact of daywalking they need to find.

By the time it comes to actually meeting with them, still more months have passed, and they have already found it.

It's horrible, and heartwarming, and heartbreaking, and healing, and hurting, and so many other conflicting things that for a while - a long while - Tav doesn't know whether she actually did the right thing encouraging him to reach out to long-lost loved ones. It's a mess of moments that makes her heart ache for a dozen reasons. She finds out that Astarion looks most like his mother, but has his father's nose. She holds him for hours while he shakes and sobs into her shoulder because they never even left the city, they were here the whole time, and they never found him - and he's so angry and full of grief he doesn't know what to do with himself. She accompanies him to the home he was raised in, and the once-familiar surroundings jog memories he thought lost for good - he's glassy-eyed, recounting them to her, but she's fairly sure it's the good kind of glassy-eyed, so she doesn't mention it. She tries to make conversation at family dinner while he stares at his hands in his lap, dissociated, looking even more uncomfortable than she feels, utterly lost in a world that once fit him like a glove. There are a lot of feelings to try and mediate. They are all hurt, all damaged, all afraid, all looking for the ghost of a loved one in the face of a stranger.

But, eventually, there is a day where she overhears Astarion having a conversation with his father, and he sounds like himself - not the persona he puts on in public - and his father laughs at something he says in a way that's entertained rather than awkward. There is a day where his mother reaches out and he doesn't shake his head or step away - he lets her hug him goodbye. They have not slipped back into the graves they crawled out of in each other's lives - they are all very different people now - but they are learning new ways to fit together, and he seems to be pleased about it.

So she thinks, yeah, it was worth it.

[littlejuicebox]

Skin to skin.

Surprise surprise! A little drabble about baby Gale’s first few days of life. I love Dadstarion. This isn’t edited. Maybe I’ll edit it a bit later.

Warnings: babies, pregnancy, breeding and daddy kink if you squint really hard and hold a magnifying glass lol, mostly just fluffy feel good ridiculousness

A/N: I love Dadstarion and baby Gale OKAY

In case you’re new here’s the gist. Astarion had the Wish Spell turn him mortal, courtesy of Gale of Waterdeep (see ‘The Wish Spell Worked’ for details). Baby Gale was named to honor the Wizard. Here’s the labor and delivery story if you’re interested.

****

Baby Gale’s previously pink skin is tinged yellow when Astarion peers into the bassinet to admire the infant a few days after his birth. The sight instantly worries the elf; his stomach churns with concern.

The new father glances to where you are sleeping so soundly in bed, your first real lengthy stretch of rest in several days.

Shit.

Astarion doesn’t want to wake you and cause worry when you’ve had such a hard time sleeping these past few days. Every small whimper and coo from the newborn practically ripped his little love from precious, much-needed rest in a panic.

He thinks it might be nothing. Gale is still breathing and sleeping peacefully, and he doesn’t feel feverish. But he doesn’t know what to do, and wants to be absolutely sure, so Astarion carefully scoops the little one up, wrapping him tightly in the soft, embroidered blanket he’d made for his son one Midwinter evening.

“Come now, little prince. Let’s see what Auntie Shadowheart has to say.” The elf whispers to the bundle of blankets as he heads to the guest chambers.

After a quick examination, Shadowheart eases Astarion’s concerns with an uncharacteristically gentle tone. He thinks it’s likely because Gale is still sleeping peacefully in his arms.

“It’s just a bit of jaundice, Astarion. Quite common in newborns. It’s good you didn’t wake Tav, she would’ve had a fit if she saw Gale like this with no explanation.” The cleric murmurs, peering down at the little one, “Perhaps a bit of sunlight and fresh air for Gale, and I’ll draft some herbal teas for Tav to drink so the supplements will reach him when he feeds. I can sit with Gale in the sunroom, if you’d like to go back to Tav.”

“It’s okay, I’ll take him.” Astarion responds, and with a genuine tone that seems to be more and more common as he addresses his friends throughout the years, he whispers, “Thank you, Shadowheart.”

*

Ever since the Wish Spell granted him mortality, Astarion quite liked the sunroom. He typically took his afternoon tea here, basking in the sun’s rays and trying desperately to make up for the hundreds of years where he missed out on that wonderful aspect of nature.

But now, Gale is fussing slightly as a breeze carries through the open window, tossing his tiny silver curls about and causing a new sensation he doesn’t seem to like. His yellow-tinged face grows red in irritation, and his father is bouncing him, offering whispered coos of comfort and trying to settle the newborn. And Astarion is beginning to think the sunroom is a horrible place to be.

The baby is wailing when you appear in the doorframe, holding a tray of tea, and watching your husband as he worriedly begs Gale to settle down.

“Perhaps a bit of skin to skin, daddy.” You suggest gently as you enter the sun room and place the tray on a table nearby. You wrap Gale in your arms and gesture for Astarion to remove his shirt. He obliges with a frustrated huff and small roll of his eyes.

“You don’t need to use your flower child sensibilities as an excuse to see me shirtless, love. You really need only ask. I fail to see how this—“

You admonish Astarion with a small shh as you unwrap the still fussy newborn from his blanket before placing Gale on the elf’s chest. Then you drape the small piece of cloth over the baby.

“Now lay back.” You command, propping a pillow slightly so that Astarion can recline himself further onto the sofa. All at once, Gale seems to melt into the warmth of his father’s chest with a satisfied coo.

“What was that about my flower child sensibilities?” You ask your husband as you sit down on the couch, intent on sipping some of the tea Shadowheart brewed for you.

Astarion sighs. Bested, once again, it seems. He brings his hand up to rest it on Gale’s small back, feeling the sensation of his tiny body rising and falling with each tiny breath.

“Nothing, dear.” He murmurs before placing a gentle kiss on the newborn’s head.

You chuckle softly and then watch the duo with a content, love-sick smile, “I should tell you, Astarion. I don’t think you’ve ever looked more handsome than you do right now, shirtless and holding our jaundiced newborn in the sun.”

Your husband’s eyebrow cocks as he lifts his gaze from Gale to you, a small smirk stretching across his lips before he offers you a playful wink, “If you like this, darling, just wait until you watch me change a diaper or bathe Gale for the first time.”

You shake your head and laugh softly again as you sip your tea, “Yes, you may positively turn into a god before my eyes when I see that… and convince me to have more of your offspring, just to keep those visions coming.”

A little hum from Astarion as he considers this, “Then I shall certainly do my best to be as domestic as possible, darling. You were quite fetching, when pregnant with Gale, dear. I do hope that’s not the last time I get to witness you like that.”

“I don’t think it will be the last time I’m swollen with your seed, daddy.” You whisper with a wink in your husband’s direction, causing the flush on his ears to rise, “But for now, let’s just worry about returning this first one back to pink. Then we can discuss others.”

Astarion nods with a content smile and then closes his eyes as he holds Gale. Before long, your husband is sleeping with the newborn on his chest, unable to stay awake any longer as he’s also been positively exhausted from the past few days. The new father stirs slightly when you remove Gale from his arms, readying for the baby’s next feeding, but you soothe your partner and tell him to go back to sleep.

Astarion remains napping for a few hours, basking in the warmth of the sun and dreaming about three or four little silver-haired children running around the house, filling it with laughter.

[spacebarbarianweird]

How would Astarion be if his darling was a Mestipholes Tiefling? Like, first time they see his back THEY CAN READ THE INFERNAL ON HIS BACK… And their face just drops. And when they suddenly snap back to reality they have a newfound hatred for Cazador?

Hi! I have a ton of requests from you and I haven't started any of them :-( I am so sorry and I promise I will eventually get to them!

As an apology, this is a headcanon straight after your request! Besides it's been a long time I've made anything more or less classic.

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion x Mephistopheles Tiefling!Tav

You weren't born to Tiefling parents.

You are an abnormality, a payment your family paid for mingling with devils.

Orphaned and abandoned, you've been traveling this world all on your own fearing to make friends even among your own kind.

You know a lot of dark and secret magic but prefer not to use it.

The hells scare you.

You see a relative soul in Astarion. Abandoned, lonely, scared.

You didn't have time to notice the scars on your first night together but the moment you open your eyes you see his back.

"What is fuck" is your most modest reaction.

You immediately read to him what it's there. And you also it's a pact with the devil.

The devil you sort of belong to.

You warn Astarion not to have business with Rafael or his father. 

And not to pursue the ritual.

He huffs all the way long, and lashes at you but you keep insisting.

Astarion doesn't know what the conditions are. He has no idea what Cazador and Mephistopheles agreed on.

He is a fucking magistrate, he must know how dangerous it might be!

If he doesn't want to be stuck in hell for eternity, he must not pass the ritual.

In the mansion, you are sure Astarion will ascend.

He doesn't. He doesn't want the infernal chains to enslave him.

But you also know this. If Astarion wants to become mortal, the solution is probably in the hells as well.

You spend years researching and traveling. Years spent in each other's arms.

Your blood is a bit spicey to Astarion's liking but it also provides him additional warmth. 

He loves pulling your tail in public which is the equivalent of putting a hand into someone's trousers.

And also grabbing your horns when you make love. 

He loves every part of your hellborn body, every small detail.

And you enjoy the coldness he provides.

Finally, you think you've found the way to make Astarion mortal. 

You need to go straight to hell.

Unfortunately, it's a dangerous place even for a vampire...

... And he is killed.

His death devastates you. Makes you want to kill yourself. 

And you do something you would never think of doing.

You make a pact with Mephistopheles. You ask him to return you Astarion in exchange for a lifetime in servitude.

The devil does his part. Astarion awakes at your feet, dizzy and scared. 

Only when you both come back to the material place do you realize that something is wrong?

Astarion's eyes are green, not red.

Alive.

He is resurrected. As a mortal.

His body is warm, and he can walk in the sun.

But Astarion isn't stupid. He knows his life came with a price.

When he learns about the pact, he gets angry. You've never seen him like that.

Angry like a devil.

When he calms down, he gives you his word. He will find a way to set you free from the pact.

Your soul won't belong to the Mefistopeles. 

Unfortunately, the lifespan of tieflings isn't really long. You eventually die. At the ripe old age of 115.

And your soul is immediately in the devil's claws.

You wait. You serve. You hope.

Elves live for centuries, Astarion will find a rescue for you.

Even if your soul immediately fades away the moment it's free, you know for sure.

You will see Astarion once again.

---

@tugoslovenka  

@herstxrgirl 

@herdarkestnightelegance  

@vixstarria 

@not-so-lost-after-all  

@marcynomercy  

@theearthsfinalconfession 

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@astarion-imagine-archive  

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@ednaaa-04  

@dajeong

@wilteddreamsofbaldursgate

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

New dad Astarion who is about to see his newborn child for the first time.

Of course, he expects his child to be the personification of serene beauty and divine grace. Them to have their father’s silken silvern locks, his immaculately chiselled features—the artwork perfected by Tav’s wonderful watercolour eyes…

And then he actually sees the child and—well—everybody assures him that, yes, Astarion, all babies look like that barely a half hour after birth…

He kind of has to take that at face value because he hasn’t seen an awful lot of newborns in his lifetime.

But it would’ve been nice if someone had told him that newborns happen to look like shrivelled potatoes, because he’s really, really trying to not let his bewilderment show. 

Astarion swallows. 

Tav’s beautiful eyes are watching him, waiting for a reaction—an enthusiastic one, no less. 

Maybe Tav will believe that he’s overcome with emotions at seeing his firstborn child? 

“Oh my, darling, I’m…speechless,” is all he can choke out, though, being rather proud that it’s at least not a lie. 

To his luck, Tav only nods dreamily, her full attention back on the odd little bundle in her arms.

“Isn’t she perfect?”

Yes, perfectly hideous. 

Astarion only hums in a way of reply.

That—his daughter, he supposes—is with no doubt one of the ugliest things he’s ever seen, but he has a feeling that his honesty wouldn’t be appreciated after Tav laboured for hours to give birth to this…potato-baby.

“Come, hold her, Astarion,” Tav says, then, bidding him to sit next to her on the bed.

The mattress shifts under Astarion’s weight and he obediently holds his arms out so that Tav can gently place the sleeping child against his chest.

Now that Astarion can take a better look, he can confirm that his daughter’s hair is of an indefinable colour and that her features are neither his nor Tav’s, plain as can be. Surely it won’t stay like that?

He and Tav are so ridiculously beautiful, their child can only be drop-dead gorgeous, right?

Astarion’s stomach drops indeed when, suddenly, something occurs to him. 

Oh dear, what if it’s his fault? He has no recollection of his family whatsoever; it’s very much possible that he and his immaculate looks are the exception in his lineage, and that he’s passed on only those mysterious less-than-perfect genes…Tav, as per usual, can’t be the issue!

Astarion is still catastrophizing when the bundle in his arms begins to stir.

All of a sudden, gold-speckled pale green eyes are looking up at him as if to ask what the fuck this weirdo’s problem might be. 

“Oh,” the weirdo in question exclaims at once. “Darling, look, she has your eyes!”

Tav, hugging him from behind, rests her chin on his shoulder, so she can watch as Astarion’s finger tenderly strokes their baby’s chubby cheek.

Their daughter also has, as it turns out, ten fingers and toes, a cute little nose and a hungry mouth—everything that’s supposed to be there is there, and it seems to be working fine, too—which is a huge relief. 

And aren’t those the tiniest pointy ears Astarion has ever seen? Let alone the unexpectedly strong fingers grasping at his!

Astarion, worries forgotten in a heartbeat, can’t help but smile at the baby in his arms. 

She is perfect, after all. 

Tav, face hidden in the crook of his neck, begins to tremble against his back. 

For a second, Astarion thinks she’s crying but then her laughter fills the chamber. It takes her a good moment to articulate whatever it is she finds so very funny.

“She'll grow out of it, you know?” Tav giggles in between her fits of laughter. 

Astarion stiffens. “Of what?”

“The turnip look. That’s what you’ve been worrying about the whole time, haven't you?”

“I was leaning more towards potatoes—but yes, I might’ve been a little worried about that,” Astarion admits sheepishly, although a grin is already tugging at his lips.  

Regaining her composure, Tav reaches over Astarion’s shoulder, her hand joining his as they get to know their child.

“Give it a couple of days and she will look like your proper little elf—beautiful just like her father.”

A content sigh leaves Astarion’s lips, right before he presses them against Tav’s temple.

“That’s the second best news I’ve heard today, my heart, truly.”

[meanbossart]

in your universe, post game does astarion and drow ever wonder about astarions previous life/family and go looking for it/them?

So, I have some vague headcanons of my own regarding Astarion's family! Can't say they're based on much besides whatever vestige we can assume to be Astarion's "base" personality, and what kind of upbringing produces a man like him.

I would say he comes from a upper-middle class family where either his father, mother, or both parents worked in careers of a similar standing to what he eventually would operate in. His role as a magistrate was, at least in part, thanks to nepotism especially when you consider how young he would have been considered at the time for his race. That said, I do believe he must have been highly educated and primed for it from a young age and was intimately knowledgeable about the ins and outs of his job.

He was raised mostly by his father, his mother having been kicked out of the house when he was a child/young teenager after she developed a drinking problem that got steadily out of control. She would have had a spotty presence in his life for a while before eventually fizzling out entirely, neither knowing what became of her. His dad was a fairly emotionally distant man who wanted his son to succeed in life above anything else, so, at the same time that he provided Astarion with everything he needed in terms of resources and education, he was was otherwise absent, and let Astarion get away with pretty much anything as long as it occurred outside his field of view and didn't affect his duties or the family's reputation. Astarion expertly balanced a standard party-drugs-rock&roll lifestyle and his responsibilities as a youth to keep his father out of his hair, only slipping every once in a while.

He would have become distant from his dad as an "adult" (not quite an adult back then within elf culture, but at least a man with a job and a life of his own) and the two only touched base a few times a year at best, and mostly talked about his career.

After Cazador turned him, Astarion would have eventually figured out a way to, every so often, check the mail at his home. At some point he receives a letter letting him know that his father (who no longer resided in Baldur's Gate) passed away.

He tells DU drow about this to the best of his memory shortly after the events of the game, which is to say the he has no longer any living family that he knows of/knows how to contact.

[petit-etoile]

i  need  you  when  i'm  falling  apart

pairing  .  ⊱   astarion x tav wordcount  .  ⊱   3,489 part one  .  ⊱   here . content warnings  .  ⊱  mentions of canon compliant temporary character death,  spoilers for act iii endgame other tags  .  ⊱   canon compliant,  character study,  introspection,  p.orn with plot,  pwp,  vignette,  re-establishing relationship,  blood drinking,  m.issionary position,  tav is gender neutral archiveofourown  .  ⊱   here .  

taglist  .  ⊱  @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia,  @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness, @queenofcarrotflowers-s, @kirahlene, @lavenderslemonade, @candyladycry, @chonkercatto, @foxxyhun, @nyxmainex, @angelmawss2, @godoffuckedupcats, @raviolixxx be added  .  ⊱   here .

summary  .  ⊱   You have learned to be good. It's time Astarion learns to be forgiven.

During the heart of spring, Astarion spends more time trying to avoid you than he does trying to catch up with you. You’re not even sure why he agreed to travel alongside you  —  but you do not ask. You press your lips together and push on anyway.

His eyes are cold, and red.

The first night when you set up camp in an abandoned temple, Astarion moves his tent to the other side of the sanctuary as if he cannot bear to be around you. Like you smell. You’ve never cared much for the thoughts or opinions of others, but an inkling of self-doubt creeps back into the depths of your mind. What is the cost of being good if no one treats you kindly?

Every interaction you have with him is like pulling teeth. You want to fight for the tieflings, and Astarion wants to leave them behind. You want to help Wyll find his father, and Astarion snorts. Any good deed you suggest, he finds the need to punish.

When the cambion Raphael reaches and touches your cheek with a promise of opulence and salubrity, you're reminded of a night two hundred years ago. You stumble out of the House of Hope as fast as you can.

You don’t stop walking until daybreak. One night, you explode on Astarion. Your feelings bubble up like bile in your throat.

‘I tried to look for you!’ you snap at him. ‘You can sit here, and you can be bitter, but if I had known, I would have looked for you! But I didn’t know  —  I didn’t know and it isn’t a crime!’

Astarion’s look of surprise is one thing. He furrows his eyebrows as if properly scandalized, and his frustrated scowl turns to ash when you throw his old cravat at him. You had kept it tied around your neck for two hundred years. You wouldn’t keep it a day longer.

It’s a horrifying mistake to go wandering off in the Underdark by yourself with nothing but a hunting knife at your side, but you never really gave much thought to how you would cope with the gravity of the situation. The fact that you knew Cazador only made matters worse. You stumble past the ruins of the Selûnite Outpost in hopes of running away from your past.

You don’t run into your past in the dark, but you do run into a Spectator.

You’re immediately thrown into darkness and narrowly avoid being petrified, but you have no idea what you’re going to do about this situation besides hide beyond some poor stoned soul. You might should have considered thinking it through. You might should have thought anything through but you didn’t, and that’s the only crime you’ve committed in quite some time. It isn’t a crime is something you’ve begun to repeat to yourself often.

You manage to defend yourself for quite a while in the darkness, but by the end, you’re nursing a nasty wound and bite from the Spectator that will take some time to heal. You’re tucked under some petrified Drow bastard when you hear Karlac’s battle cry and see Gale’s ice spell come from the cliffs. The one that catches you off-guard, the one that will always catch you off-guard, is Astarion flipping through the air with nothing but an elven bow like a prince from your dreams.

Defeating the Spectator is easier with allies, and even the Drow protecting it goes down without much of a fight. You nurse your wounds as best you can, sitting against the cliffs with a bleeding thigh, and try not to frown when Astarion approaches.

‘Give me that,’ he says quietly, snatching one of Halsin’s potions from your fingers. ‘Even after all these years, it seems like you still need protecting.’

You frown and pick at your torn breeches. ‘I know how much you hate that, your honor.’

Astarion looks at you for the first time in several tendays, eyes rimmed with red. ‘I never hated it,’ he says. He dresses your wound like it pains him to see it. ‘I don’t hate it even now.’ Astarion crashes into you full force the night you arrive at the Last Light Inn after you’ve talked to Jaheira but before you’ve talked to anyone else. You’re in your room, and the next thing you know, you’re not alone.

Two hundred years of loneliness are erased at that moment.

His teeth clack painfully against yours as he shoves you into the wall, too uncaring or too pent up to care about the force. He cradles the back of your head to keep you from cracking it on the wall, but other than that, Astarion doesn’t care about hiding the full force of his strength. He kisses you until your mouth is swollen and then he’s tearing your night shirt open with both hands like he can’t get enough.

‘Astarion  —  ’ you try to say, startled.

But you would be lying if you said you didn’t miss him too. You let Astarion push you around, until you’re both stripped of your clothes and he’s lying flat on his back on the hard wooden floor with you pulled into his lap, his cock pushed deep inside you, and his hands unable to stop wandering the planes of your body. Astarion all but sobs into your mouth as he fucks you. He holds your cheeks in his hands like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

When you’re both finished, no one moves from the wood floor despite there being a bed. You lie on your side next to him, memorizing the slope of his nose while you still shiver with little twinges of pleasure still racing up your spine and between your legs. Astarion’s eyes are closed. He’s pretending to sleep, or pretending to be dead so you don’t have to talk about what’s happened, but you’re curious anyway.

You reach across the distance and touch his chest. You know there’s no heartbeat beneath his ribs, but you like to pretend. You close your eyes and dream it has been nothing but two hundred years of happiness and bliss in Astarion’s home.

‘When I first saw you,’ you say quietly, ‘I thought you were a ghost come back to haunt me.’

‘Are you often haunted by ghosts?’ Astarion asks. He still doesn’t look.

‘I’ve been properly reformed while you were away,’ you tell him. You stare at his neck. ‘There was only one ghost I was running from.’

He smiles. ‘And now you’ve found him. What do you think about this haunting?’

‘I am happily haunted,’ you say honestly. He opens his eyes then and turns toward you, lips pressed into a firm line. ‘But you are not happily haunting.’

Astarion sits up then and you follow him, legs sticky and wet. You reach for his hands and pull them into your lap. You watch as he struggles to accept a kind touch. In a way, you understand that. You remember how kindly he treated you when you didn’t deserve it. You hold his hands even when he tries to run away.

‘I was ashamed for you to see me like this,’ Astarion explains. He looks away, hesitant. ‘My condition isn’t one that I’m proud of. It isn’t fair to say I was tricked, but  —  ’

‘Wanting to live doesn’t make you a bad person,’ you say.

‘Perhaps not,’ he says. ‘But I became what I often chastised you for. I am greedy. I am prone to lying and bouts of theatrics. I’ve killed. It was embarrassing to fall so low.’

‘And now you rescue orphans,’ you say, shrugging. ‘You helped the gnomes. You helped the tieflings. You’re going to help the gnomes and tieflings again. There’s still good in you, your honor, beneath all that vampiric avarice you despair over.’

Astarion laughs and turns away from you. He’s looking for his clothes, and your heart squeezes so tightly in your chest that you move before you can stop yourself. You drape yourself over Astarion’s back and pull his arms away from his smallclothes. You can tell by the musculature of his arms that you only succeed because he lets you.

‘Please don’t leave me alone again,’ you whisper against his shoulder. Your wet eyelashes tickle the nape of his neck. ‘I waited for you that night and… I don’t want to be alone anymore.’

Astarion stays that night.

He stays every night after that too. For what it’s worth, your third visit to Baldur’s Gate is hardly better than the first two.

Between fighting cultists, saving children, and trying to convince most of your party that they’re not going to become mindflayers, you’re beginning to run a little thin. You feel like you’re going to shrivel up and die. You feel like the world is spinning and falling apart. You’ve killed Gortash and you’ve killed Orin and you killed Ketheric ages ago, but now you’re trying to keep the Emperor from betraying you and sacrificing Orpheus, and Cazador’s invitation is sitting pretty in your hands, and  —  

Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? Cazador’s invitation is in your hands, and you don’t have the heart to show Astarion. You’re afraid of showing Astarion. You know that as soon as you show him the invitation, he’ll lose his mind. You’ve only just recovered him and you’re already worried about losing him again.

You bury the invitation in the garden behind the inn like you’re a dog with a bone. You shovel the dirt with your hands until they’re cracked and raw and bleeding and the invitation is buried six feet in the ground. It should scare you that Cazador knows who you are, but it doesn’t. You aren’t stupid enough to run headfirst into his trap. And Astarion isn’t stupid either, but he’s scared, and being scared makes you do stupid things. Astarion almost does a very stupid thing like you predicted he would.

The Rite of Ascension was right there in his hands, and he had almost consumed it. You aren’t sure what changed his mind at the last minute but you’re thankful. Astarion crawls into your arms that night and sobs for hours. ‘What are we going to do about tomorrow?’ Astarion asks you softly.

He’s been tracing patterns into your spine all evening. If he moves his hands now, you’d still feel his fingertips against your skin. You’re hiding your face in your arms so you don’t have to think about it. You can’t stop thinking about it.

‘We’re going to fight the Absolute,’ you say.

‘Like it’s that simple?’

‘I am going to look another god in the face,’ you say, ‘and I am going to tell it to fuck off back to Avernus.’

‘Do Netherbrains come from Avernus?’

You don’t know. You’re too worried to think too hard about the simplest details. So far, you’re every plan has been to go in, stab whoever is the loudest, and then leave before things get worse. It’s hard to keep your head above the waves as they keep crashing down on you.

You don’t want to talk about tomorrow. If things don’t go well, you’re all going to die anyway and all that planning will have been for nothing. You turn on your side and appraise Astarion’s expression. He’s looking at you with muted disbelief. You choose to ignore it.

‘What are we going to do after tomorrow?’ you ask.

Astarion opens his mouth to chastise you for changing the subject, but he closes it almost immediately. He doesn’t want to talk about it either. It’s a scary thing to walk into the end of the world with a sword and a dagger. At least Dame Aylin will be there. You hope she can just stomp the Netherbrain to death and then it’ll all be over.

‘I could always go back to being a magistrate,’ Astarion says conversationally.

He picks at a thread coming loose on his blanket.

‘If you go back to that, I’ll go back to being a criminal,’ you muse. ‘We can have nasty sex on your desk again. You always did look damn good in a cassock.’

Astarion laughs. He laughs like the sunlight that peeks through the window on a sunny morning. He laughs like the moonlight that splays on the cobblestone of Baldur’s Gate long after everyone else has already gone to bed. It’s hideous  —  it’s melodic and intoxicating, and you reach across the distance and touch his cheek without thinking.

You slide your finger across to his nose. You press your finger against the wrinkle between his brow, and Astarion starts laughing again so you do too. You kiss him while he laughs, and then he holds you and you both laugh together. He will never be a judge again. Your connections with the Zhentarim will die out.

Astarion brushes his fingers against your hip bone. He rolls out of bed like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do, and you miss him. Already without him, the bed is much colder. You dramatically crawl across to his side and press your nose into his pillowcase to smell the faint traces of whiskey that are left.

When he returns, he presents you with his old cravat which has been neatly restored almost to perfection. He had sewn it back together himself. You had worn it for two hundred years as a good luck charm against evil, and the wear and tear had nearly torn it to shreds. You’d never had the heart to try to tailor it yourself. Sewing wasn’t your strong suit, and you had never cried over Astarion’s death until the day you thought you had lost it.

Astarion neatly ties the cravat around your wrist like a promise. He kisses your skin and inhales as though in a dream, nose brushing against the fabric, like the touch of a ghost against your veins. Your throat tightens.

‘Wherever this takes us,’ Astarion says, eyes burning. ‘I want to be there with you in the end.’

You tuck inside your bed with Astarion that night and watch the moon disappear through the window. It’s barely daylight when you’re finally too exhausted to stay awake, and Astarion almost lets you both miss the final showdown. Lae’zel, however, doesn’t. ‘I don’t mind what we do,’ Astarion is saying, ‘once we get to the  —  ’

You watch with muted horror as Astarion’s skin begins to glimmer in the sunlight. The fire begins cracking under his skin, brimming against his cheekbones and nose and throat and hair much like Karlach when she overheats. You watch as the tips of his ears ignite, and then he’s searching for you frantically between all of your friends.

‘I have to go,’ he chokes out. ‘I have to  —  ’

There is a world where you let Astarion run alone, where you both get separated on the docks and never find one another again. He runs from the sun as he bursts with radiant energy and as stars pour from his skin, you forget what Wyll is saying, and you run after him.

Astarion finds sanctuary in melting shade beneath a set of boxes. He’s curled up into himself when you arrive, and you drop next to him, pulling your cloak over your heads. He looks up at you, bewildered.

But you have lived through losing Astarion once, and it has haunted you for two hundred years. You had known loneliness and fear and anger, and the thought of surviving it for even a day more makes your stomach roll. You press your forehead to Astarion’s and stand as tall as you can so the sun can’t touch him ever again.

‘Won’t your arms get tired?’ Astarion asks you faintly.

He watches you with a sense of wonder. His skin slowly returns to normal, no more flickering stardust and ash, and you grin. He slowly smiles too, nervous but you shake your head and keep your cloaked raised.

‘Never,’ you say. ‘Not when it’s you.’

‘My reform worked, then?’ he says.

‘I’ve learned about your stuck-up decorum,’ you say. ‘It’s true. I can confirm.’

‘A sense of propriety?’ Astarion asks, and if his voice goes any softer, you’ll melt too.

‘Let me carry the weight of your sins,’ you tell him sincerely, laughing a little. ‘And if we need to find another desk then we will. But I’ll be your knight in shining armor, your honor, and carry a parasol above your head as a proper chamberlain would.’

Astarion snorts. ‘That isn’t quite the job of a chamberlain.’

You hold the cloak up for two hours at least while Astarion recovers from the damage. You can’t help but notice that he looks happy and content even in the shadows. It must be because you’re there, although you’re hesitant to take credit for all his happiness. When you let down the cloak, the sun has set. When Astarion rises, he kisses your cheek sweetly. ‘The silence stretches on  —  I’m all alone,’ you muse, ‘Please, can I hold your hands, just for a while?’

Bernard’s arms wrap around you gently, and you wrap your arms around his steel ribs. You’ve taken up residence in the old Arcane Tower in the Underdark. You appreciate the permanent nighttime, and if you admitted you only did it because Astarion wanted to be close to his family, it wouldn’t be entirely true. With a bit of help from Gale, you’ve managed to turn the tower into a comfortable fortress. Sometimes Omeluum comes to visit you. Occasionally, there’s word from Shadowheart from the Selûnite Outpost. She’s hoping to restore it. She wants you to come visit.

‘Are you still playing with that dusty old thing, my love?’ Astarion hums from the doorway.

‘You be kind to Bernard,’ you warn him. ‘He’s my friend.’

‘Of course, of course,’ Astarion says, holding his hands up. ‘I’ll be kind to the scrap metal.’

You roll your eyes and step away, touching Bernard’s chest briefly. Astarion has just arrived back from a trip. There are spawn all over the Underdark now, and they treat Astarion as though he’s some sort of prince. They heed your word too, but none so much as his. Their eldest brother, their favorite. They tolerate  you if it means getting to see Astarion.

You’re a jack-of-all-trades and master-of-none now. You leave your handiwork for the day or night or whatever it is to go down to your bedroom and recline in bed. Astarion lights each candle one by one until the room is illuminated. You smile and watch as he works.

‘Having responsibility suits you well,’ you say, resting your cheek on your palm. ‘Although it’s funny how our positions have changed somewhat.’

‘I’m the contracted killer,’ Astarion says with a laugh. ‘Are you a magistrate now?’

‘I have at least four hundred years of life left,’ you snort. ‘I, Magistrate Judge Stick-Up-My-Ass, sentence thee to fifty years of community service!’

Astarion rolls his eyes at you dramatically and throws himself into bed, kicking off his boots as he does so. He smells of fresh oils and mist. You bury your nose in his hair. You practically burrow yourself into him, wrapping your arms and legs around him like a mindflayer. You squeeze him tightly in your arms.

‘We have a sprawling manse and all you can think of to do all day is mock me for a position I have not occupied in two hundred years?’ Astarion pouts.

You kiss his hair. ‘What else should I do?’

‘Well,’ Astarion says, tone turning conspiratorial. ‘There are a certain amount of fuckable places here. Several desks, I’ve counted them all, and couches.’

You contemplate it, but after several tendays on the road and a wiggling visitor in your head, you think the bed is the best place. You pull Astarion up to kiss him, arms wrapping around his neck so he can’t leave you. You never want him to go again. You bump your nose against his and hide a smile in his coiffed hair when he melts against your chest.

You sigh prettily when Astarion takes you in your velvet sheets that you float as though in a dream. Your troubles are long over, and that person you thought you lost  —  your immortal soul  —  has returned to you as beautiful as the day you lost him. When you shudder, Astarion brushes hair out of your eyes adoringly and tastes your pulse at your jaw. You dig your fingers into the small of his back.

It’s like you’ve found a family. A very bitey, very competitive family. Still, you wouldn’t change any of it for the world. You hold Astarion’s face in your hands and see the man you knew and the man he’s become. Slowly, you pull his mouth towards your neck and feel your heartbeat jump in your chest.

He bites you for the first time that night.

[zarekthelordofthefries]

BG3 Companion Sexuality Headcanons

Astarion: Pansexual. Has a slight preference for men. Has a complicated relationship with feelings of attraction and connection, so doesn't usually like thinking about his own sexual identity. Thinks Wyll is the hottest other party member.

Lae'zel: Pansexual, kind of. Doesn't really relate to sex and gender in the same way as the Faerunian companions. Githyanki socially de-emphasize romance, and all sex is generally for pleasure since Vlaakith decides who bears eggs. Lae'zel is alloromantic, but romance isn't generally at the front of her mind in a relationship. Neither is gender; ultimately Lae'zel is attracted to conviction and fighting prowess, moreso even than anything physical.

Shadowheart: Bisexual. Very slight preference for men. (EDIT: I've rotated this in my mind after people pointed it out and I think actually Shadowheart has a slight preference for women.) Remained closeted into adulthood, not because the other Sharrans would discriminate against her (they generally don't care about sexuality) but because she wanted to impress everyone with how well she could keep the secret. Also, excessively kinky.

Gale: Bisexual. Has more experience with women than with men, but that has more to do with circumstances than preference. Though physical appearance isn't not a factor, he would probably describe himself as a sapiosexual; he's attracted to knowledge, intellectual curiosity, and strong opinions. Had crushes on several teachers in wizard school.

Wyll: Bisexual. Realized he wasn't just attracted to women at a young age, and his father was very supportive. No preference between genders, but one of his favorite things to do is court gentlemen exactly the same way he courts ladies; he likes being the devoted chivalric prince to men since he knows it's less common for them to be flattered and told they're beautiful.

Karlach: Pansexual. Years of being unable to make genuine connections with anyone have made her horny for affection, kindness, and commitment. Maybe had some gender preference before going to Hell, but her time there has given her lots of time to consider basically any options. Has at least a slight crush on basically every other party member.

Halsin: Pansexual. No gender preference. Halsin has had centuries to explore his sexuality, and his robust understanding of nature gives him a non-binary perspective on gender and sex. Nothing is a casual fling for this dude, though -- if you show the slightest bit of interest in him he will dedicate his whole heart to you. And also anyone else who shows interest in him at the same time.

Minthara: I didn't actually have Minthara in my party, but from what I've seen she seems like a pretty traditional drow, and when I think of drow and sexuality I sort of imagine a reverse of ancient Greek customs; bisexuality is the norm, men are prized for their beauty and for marriagibility, but it's expected that women will also have flings with other women, and those relationships are often considered more meaningful. I imagine Minthara follows those lines, being bisexual and assuming she may one day marry a beautiful man but being more inclined to meaningful, affectionate relationships with women, due to her own prejudices moreso than preference between genders.

Jaheira: Thought she was straight for the first century of her life, but has more recently opened up to other possibilities. Isn't particularly interested in marriage or a deep interpersonal romance at this point in her life, but she has entered a state of questioning her sexuality -- she's just not super interested in experimenting with actual relationships. She's got more important stuff to do. Did have a fling with Ninefingers that neither of them tell anyone about.

Minsc: Doesn't like labels. Minsc isn't interested in finding a partner, doesn't really care about sex, and is enthusiastic about romance mainly when other people do it. He hasn't given a lot of thought to where he might fall on any sexual/romantic spectrum, but he definitely sees beauty in all of his friends. He will give you the most heartfelt and often embarassing compliments on your personality, style, and appearance. Does that mean he's attracted to you? Maybe, maybe not, but there's definitely something queerplatonic going on.

[walk-the-fade]

Coming from DAi, Ive seen so many ppl write their inky as a kid or at youngest 18 bc it changes the dynamic between them and the party...

Has anyone done that/ considered how it would change the relationship with Tav?

Lae'zel being frustrated and terrified that her survival is dependent on a teenager. She's taking orders from someone barely old enough to know their way around life on a good day, but now finding her people and being purified fully hinges on this kid's survival and she will be damned if she doesn't die to protect them.

Wyll sees himself in them, wide eyed and terrified at 17 when he bound himself to a devil and his father cast him out. The gods are cruel for giving children their toughest battles. He's going to give them every piece of advice he has and pledge his blade to their cause.

Gale being even more hesistant to open about The Orb and Mystra and his condition because he thinks it's too much for them. They should be tucked away in a library, they should be walking through Baldur's Gate worried about trinkets and sweets and being home on time so they don't worry their mother... not tasked with saving Faerûn from a cult.

Astarion thinks its annoying at first. "Free" for the first time in 200 years. Illithid tadpole squirming in his head and he's stuck following a literal fetus in hopes of survival. Its laughable. He almost –almost– feels bad about having to feed from them, but young blood is always sweeter. And when they earn his approval he's bitter on their behalf. Forced to be a hero, some beacon of light before you've even explored life and it's simple pleasures? Appalling.

Karlach... oh boy Karlach burns hot when they tell her exactly how old they are. Its stupid- its unfair- ITS BULLSHIT quite honestly. The nickname Soldier becomes so much more. This kid doesn't give up. They can't, Mama K will do everything in her power to stop it. They need a friend in these tough times and shes more than willing to be that person. Gods....

Shadowheart is a little surprised, but she's the one that underestimates them the least, for sure. They're not that much older than when she was taken in by The Dark Lady and her followers. She knows that you become strong when you need to be. It may be unfair but that doesn't make them any less capable as long as they understand the task at hand. She will see to it that they stay on the right path. And when her faith shifts she realizes neither of them deserve to struggle.

As for Halsin, it makes his heart ACHE in his chest when someone so young comes to his rescue. His knee jerk reaction is that they need training, gudiance... protection. But he quickly realizes that's only half true. They are young sure, but they are not helpless. He will help them in anyway that he can whether it be in battle against The Absolute or by carving them little wooden animals while they sleep and leaving them in their tent. They deserve a little happiness amongst the chaos.

Minthara (assuming she has been recruited at Moonrise) is surprised more by the fact that they chose to show her mercy than by their age. Given her upbringing, survival and violence go hand in hand and if this kid has survived this long, faced power of absolute and survived? Than they are worthy of her respect, hands down. She may not always agree with their methods but she will certainly not hesistate to stand beside them.