4rch1v3nt

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okay im giving you to the count of -3 to restore the proper flow of time

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They should invent a method of asking for reassurance that nobody secretly hates you that doesn't make people secretly hate you.

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i love hearing about the declining birth rate like yesss that is a major problem considering our dominant economic model. a problem i plan on contributing to 👍 joining the war on declining birth rates on the side of declining birth rates

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more of that college friends au

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I was just thinking—for fun—about how I picture Astarion’s radiant hopeful ending after the six-month celebration following the events of Baldur’s Gate 3. Sometimes you come across such absurd takes that you just go “meh,” honestly. Like, him living in the sewers, lol—why, exactly? Or him setting himself on fire the moment Tav/Durge passes away, because let’s face it, our character is apparently the only valid reason for this poor little vampy-boy’s existence (level 12 adventurer and hero who defeated the Netherbrain, sure).

Naturally, I’m focusing on the single ending—not because I don’t enjoy the romance, but because it sparks my imagination more.

I picture this vampire spawn with his small, well-kept apartment in Baldur’s Gate. A ground floor with a cozy sitting room, a hearth, and lovely wide windows letting in the light of lanterns and the chatter of the city’s nightlife. A staircase leads down to the bedroom and bath in the basement—safety first, of course, since sunlight isn’t ideal during naps. Two kinds of curtains hang from the top of the windows: a lighter, hand-embroidered one made by him, and a heavier, darker one to block out the sun.

Near the hearth is a little sewing corner and a mannequin proudly displaying his latest tailoring projects. At the foot of the small workspace sits a basket filled with spools of thread and fabric samples. On the table: patterns, needles, scissors, thimbles, and everything else he needs to work. There are always flowers on the mantel and the table—some brought straight from Shadowheart’s meadow. He wrinkles his nose, but keeps them anyway; he likes remembering how vibrant their colors are.

On the other side of the hearth is a small bookcase and an armchair full of pillows. There’s a brightly colored fuzzy throw he enjoys for the texture. That’s where he relaxes alone when he has time to read something interesting. Gale makes sure to bring him a new tome every month. There’s a stack of boring books on the floor—those come straight from Waterdeep and he can’t bring himself to throw them away. The good ones are neatly shelved, except for the one he’s currently reading, which rests on the armrest, waiting to be picked up again.

Nearby is a three-legged wooden stool, carved with floral patterns—useful for sitting by the fire or as a footrest. Halsin gifted it to him. The sideboard is well-stocked with plates, glasses, tablecloths, pots, cutlery, and all kinds of utensils. Not just any kind—he likes them refined, even if he doesn’t use them. Gotta impress the guests! And even though he doesn’t eat human food, there’s always bread and cheese on the kitchen counter. Sausages hang from the hooks. One drawer hides rigged cards and dice—only he knows how to make them work.

Next to the sideboard is a small rack for vintage bottles. Only the finest wines (many stolen) in House Ancunin! Guests are few and carefully selected from his inner circle. He values privacy and discretion, especially with those he doesn’t fully trust. He has standards! Lol. That’s why he’s rigged some traps at the entrance. Trust is good, but caution is better—especially when he’s away or asleep downstairs.

The bedroom features a luxurious canopy bed—probably the most expensive item in the house—draped with rich fabric all the way to the floor. Pillows everywhere, in every color and shape. He usually sleeps naked, in black silk sheets. The wardrobe is filled with outfits for every occasion. Many he made himself, some were custom-made by Figaro when he wanted to treat himself, and some he just flat-out stole from rich bastards. Astarion Ancunin is a fashion icon, after all.

Naturally, there are also simpler, comfortable clothes suited to his work. At the foot of the bed is a magically trapped and locked chest (crafted by Gale just for him), where he keeps gold and rare or magical items looted from evil rich folk—who didn’t deserve them anyway. He’ll put them to good use… more or less. One day, that chest will also contain the amulet or cloak that lets him walk in the sun again—he and his old adventuring party are still working on it.

In one corner of the room is a tall mirror with a refined frame. He likes it as a decorative piece—but hey, with the right company in bed, it can always come in handy! Lol. In the other corner is a battered dartboard with at least two daggers stuck in it. Mounted on the wall is a rack of weapons. A pair of curved daggers were gifts from Avernus, courtesy of Karlach and Wyll. A dagger with a Spartan hilt came from another plane, sent by Lae’zel. He doesn’t like it, but he trusts her taste when it comes to efficiency and effectiveness.

The bathroom is, of course, well-equipped: a full tub (not connected to plumbing), with a stack of soft, fragrant towels beside it, and a rug he enjoys stepping on when entering or exiting the bath. There’s a carved floral stool there too—another gift from Halsin. A couple of shelves display his beloved collection of oils and soaps. Also proudly displayed: a set of brushes for every need, because we know how meticulous he is about his hair.

His work as a vigilante (or paid assassin) is slowly paying off, thanks to word of mouth. His clientele includes people from all social classes. Rarely, but when he feels personally involved, he’s accepted jobs in exchange for goods (that he doesn’t eat). Once, a woman abused by her so-called rich lover gave him a chicken as payment. He cursed every god, then accepted, warning her not to tell anyone. He then gave the chicken to the orphan kids who plague his soul begging him to mentor them—just because he once gave them tips on how to properly pickpocket rich fools. Especially foreign merchants with heavy coin purses.

Since then, the brats look up to him and beg for adventurous stories, dreaming of becoming like him. He treats them with disdain, but he secretly loves seeing those little misfits seek his attention and try to apply what he teaches (with hilariously poor results). Not before being begged with: “Pleeeease, Mister Astarion!”

In the colder seasons, when the sun sets early, business picks up—he has more time to be active. He also has more time for the Elfsong when he’s in the mood for fun. Everyone knows him there—he’s the life of the party. Cards, dice, gossip (while gathering intel), flirting just for fun, and sometimes... upstairs shenanigans. All on his terms, of course.

Few people know the real him, and for now, that’s fine. Not everyone can be among the privileged few with access to his home, his life, his intimacy. Alfira, who often performs there, knows and accepts this. Same for his friend Lakrissa.

Once, he saved Chef Roover from a drunk, ill-intentioned outsider by draining him dry. Roover raised an eyebrow and ordered him to help mop up the piss (the guy had wet himself in fear). After that and a few explanations, Alan Alyth tried to hire Astarion as a bouncer. He agreed to “make troublemakers disappear”—nothing more—in exchange for unrestricted access to the tavern’s lower floors for his business.

Now Astarion has taken over the old Emperor’s chambers, giving them a new purpose. Still under renovation, but clients can drop by the bartender, say the code word, and be sent downstairs... Astarion has big plans for himself and his enterprise. Maybe someday he’ll add a small hedonistic lounge to share with friends who enjoy the same bloody pleasures. In moderation, of course. After all, it’s nice to inspire hope in people, not just fear, right?

And then there’s Jaheira, who drops by nearly every day under the pretense of helping with renovations, delivering materials, or suggesting more “reasonable” interior design. Really, she just wants to play mama wolf and make sure he stays out of trouble, while slipping him extra gigs on behalf of the Harpers or the Flaming Fists. At least she doesn’t nag at his house—and tries to keep Minsc out of it—but Astarion knows it’s just a matter of time before the ranger shows up in his kitchen out of nowhere, bloody, half-dressed, and with a dumb story about how he got there.

And of course, there are the Gur, who frequently seek his advice about vampire spawn kids or local monsters. If they can offload more work onto him, all the better! At least they’ve stopped hunting him, and sometimes they even help lighten the weight of vampirism. He’d never admit it, but a lot of them are actually fun—and nearly as good at cheating at dice as he is. Once, they held a kind of tournament where he almost lost. Damn cutthroat vagabonds!

So yeah, just a little headcanon about poor, helpless, useless Spawn Astarion, who supposedly can’t survive a day without Tav/Durge. xP

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I love that Astarions type is sweet people.

He says that Sebastian and the other unnamed target were sweet.

He lowkey crushes on Wyll who is described as sweet.

He calls romanced Tav sweet many times.

This guy who enjoys the emotional and physical discomfort of others wants to come home to a little softie at the end of the day and that fact alone sends me stumbling down the stairs clutching my chest.

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Touched by light

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idk i think what is interesting about astarion to me is the fact that you have a guy who started out an asshole (normal type) and then spent two hundred years in a very carefully and specifically crafted (by the writers of the game) Become A Terrible Person Or Die nexus. like it wasn’t just a Torment Nexus, he wasn’t just in hell, i feel like this is very important not to forget, he was in hell but it was specifically a hell designed to, over time, kill the empathy of anyone trapped in it, kill their brain’s ability to prioritize other peoples’ survival, to numb one’s conscience.

and then he gets yanked directly out of that nexus and despite that the fact that he spent, again, two hundred years in a situation that was sort of a rock tumbler for the human soul, there’s still a pebble left in there. and it’s a pebble that can be grown if placed in the right environment and provided with a support network.

so i think it becomes interesting because it really does i think force you to start thinking about the limits of free will even on as basic a level as the human personality. i think the fact that he becomes such a different character based on player choice, that his end morality is so hugely dependent on player choice, is uhhh. a big part of what the devs were going for probably.

it makes a lot of people really uncomfortable to acknowledge some bad people would be good people if literally nothing changed except they had a good support network and different circumstances. especially because it means the opposite is also true. which is even more uncomfortable.

you know that part in the beginning of fellowship of the ring where gandalf is talking about how gollum is ultimately only like that because of the ring and gandalf thinks his story is sad? astarion is kinda like if they sexualized gollum.

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Local Baldurian cats drawn to big warm tiefling lady

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Who knows how much longer I'll lay on the floor

Touch me till I vomit

I'm not scared of god, I'm scared he was gone all along

INPRNT | Twitter | Insta

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kitten, stop fucking around and tell daddy where you hid his prozac or daddy's gonna add another 'hey there delilah' to the sex playlist

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I can't believe Katie Marovitch was such a bad DM that she made Brennan Lee Mulligan quit Dropout to make shoes for dolls. #drama #hotgoss

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you've been scrolling for a little bit, you're due for a random encounter soon. be careful okay

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i think we need to bring back calling people internet famous instead of calling them influencers like there needs to be something borderline derogatory injected back into it