#also astarion how are you cold you are literally a vampire

[sparemoon]

ok but i literally had to draw this though???

[rackartyg]

in therapy today i just talked about the dark urge and astarion and my therapist was elated about it. it was fantastic. “wow you’ve really been using this story and those characters to process things. that’s amazing!”

the era of being ashamed of my interests is over. it’s apparently Cool and Healthy to use fiction to cope. i wish i could tell fifteen year old me about this it would blow her mind

[powdermelonkeg]

just saw ur gale/mystra analysis post. im new to the game and dnd lore and honestly… ur take on their relationship feels like the most natural/compelling one??? esp since its all too easy to simplify topics that have many facets and nuance….

thanks for sharing i love analysis and reading people’s takes on narratives : D

My pleasure! (Bee from the future here: congrats, you spawned another meta!)

I love complicated characters, WAY more than I like a clear cut-and-dry case. Flaws, to me, are what make a character compelling and lead to interesting stories about them with choices that can get them into situations. I'm both writing a fanfic and running a campaign where I'm playing as Gale, and in the interest of portraying him properly and in-character, I've gone into SUCH a deep dive into all the decisions and facts that make him him.

It helps to, y'know, also be in love with the fictional wizard, but I digress

The thing about Baldur's Gate 3 is that no character in there is perfect. I've seen a couple analyses about the theme of continuing cycles of abuse vs breaking out of them, but in my mind, in terms of the characters themselves, it goes like this:

The origin characters have just come out of the lowest situation of their lives (Lae'zel being the exception; being tadpoled is a gith's worst nightmare. You're seeing that lowest situation in real time).

Not the lowest point, mind. Gale's lowest was probably the day after he got the Orb. Wyll's was probably the day his father cast him out. Karlach's was the day she lost her heart. But the lowest, accepted normal for them is what they've just left.

They're then thrown out of their depth and forced to rely on you to live. That's #1 priority: living. We get the extremes of these characters before we get their nuances, because they're quite literally at their breaking points.

Then once we get to know them, we see their wants, their hopes, their fears, as they open up to us. Every companion's story is at their own pace, but they all have a moment where they ping-pong between despondency and desire. Sometimes that desire is what we know isn't good for them, like Shadowheart wanting to be a Dark Justiciar. Sometimes that despondency is only for a flicker, like Astarion's realization that he's condemned 7000 people to a half-life of tortured spawnhood for as long as he's been a vampire.

Romance lets us crack all that open more, because if you pursue a romantic partner, they see you as their closest confidant. They WANT to trust you, so they're more willing to explain how they see the world and what decisions they want to chase.

And then their endings. Those often get simplified as good/bad, continuing the cycle vs breaking away from it. But how is Duke Wyll on the same platform as Ascended Astarion? He's not evil, he's not even entirely unhappy. He might even have broken out of his abusive cycle with Mizora, if you played your cards right. And Ascended Astarion is overjoyed, even if he is remarkably more cold.

I think that the endings are less a dichotomy of "this is good for them" vs "this is bad for them," and more one of "bringing out their best traits" vs "bringing out their worst."

Wyll's worst trait is being willing to sacrifice his own wants for whatever people desire of him. His best is standing for what he believes in and ensuring people are safe. Duke Wyll leans into that necessity to turn the other cheek in the name of people who count on him, while the Blade of Avernus has seized that moral compass of his and forged it out of mithral.

Shadowheart's worst trait is blind obedience at the cost of her individuality, while her best is her desire to be kind to things that don't deserve to be hurt. Mother Superior Shadowheart's whole life is defined by Shar. Selûnite Shadowheart's life is defined by her hospitality, especially towards animals.

Karlach's worst trait is how willing she is to accept that things are (to quote her) fucked, letting despair override hope. Her best is her durability in the face of horror. Exploded Karlach would rather die than try to work out a solution in the Hells, because she's terrified of facing Zariel alone. Mindflayer Karlach has accepted her fate and decides to give up her heart and soul to go out a hero, losing who she is. Fury of Avernus Karlach is willing to keep fighting for a solution, and by the time the epilogue happens, she's got her sights set on one.

Astarion's worst trait is his desire for power over people. His best trait is using the tools he has to his advantage. Ascended Astarion has let his powerhungry nature and paranoia lead all of his decisions, with his sights set on dominating mankind. Spawn Astarion has embraced what he is, and carved out a life for himself where he can do as he pleases.

Lae'zel's worst trait is her blind fanaticism, while her best trait is her individual dedication, making her loyalty a marriage of the two. Ascended Lae'zel is a meal for the lich queen, turning a blind eye to all Vlaakith's tried to do to her and literally being consumed by her fervor. Champion of Orpheus Lae'zel has turned her loyalty into something productive for diplomacy. Faerûnian Lae'zel has seized her individuality by the throat and decided her own future.

And then Gale. Gale's worst traits are his hubris and, paradoxically, his low self worth. His best traits are his creativity and wonder for the world. God Gale is the embodiment of ambition, having burned away all but that in pursuit of perfection. Exploded Gale has let his remorse blot out all hope for a redemption in which he does not die, because he thinks he's earned it. Professor Gale leads his life by embracing the school of Illusion and letting his creativity thrive, teaching others to do the same. House Husband Gale has multiple creative projects he's working on, and Adventurer Gale is always finding new sights to see and wanting to share them with you.

There are arguments to be made on which ending the origins are happiest in, certainly, or which one benefits them the most, but each ending represents the extreme of a facet they possess.

So with all that, there's a sort of malleable method to figuring out the ins and outs of a character.

You take their endings—all of them, all variables they can have—and reverse-engineer the flaws and details they carry. Then you start to notice how those work into their approvals for minor things: Astarion approving of your taking of the Blood of Lathander, or Shadowheart approving of standing up for Arabella. Getting a list of approvals and disapprovals is helpful, but having those endings on hand tells you why they react like that to a majority of their decisions.

You take their romance-route explanations of how they act, and apply those to earlier decisions. Astarion's confession to manipulating you and Araj-prompted admittance to using himself as a tool brings to light how he reacts to your decisions, regardless of his actual opinions on them. Wyll's fairytale romance and love of poetic adages speaks to his idealistic nature, and why he takes a sometimes-blinded approach to decisions in which the "right" answer isn't always the smart one.

You take their beginning reactions to stress and use that to measure how future decisions impact them. Lae'zel locks down and gets snappy when she's scared, while Gale immediately turns to diplomacy. Shadowheart has gallows humor, while Wyll turns to quiet acceptance. If they break from these and seem even worse, you know the situation is more dire in their minds than having seven days to live.

And then you factor in all their fun facts and dialogue choices and backstories.

A wizard falls in love with a goddess and her magic, attempts to retrieve a piece of her power for her, is scorned for his attempt and is cursed to die.

Give that backstory to a Tav. Look at how it changes.

A chaotic good wizard fell in love with a goddess, thought retrieving a piece of power for her would be a showy bouquet of love, and was punished for not thinking things through.

A lawful evil wizard fell in love with a goddess's power, snatched the most precious thing she owned, tried to use it to barter his way through to the secrets she kept, and was given a swift retribution.

Same backstory. Same class, same act, same goddess. Wildly different connotations. Wildly different conclusions as to who is in the wrong.

If you take all there is to Gale, all that the game shows us makes up his character, and apply it to this backstory, you get what really happened:

A wizard, enamored with magic, fell in love with a goddess. His desires led him to want more than she was willing to give. In his well-buried fear of inadequacy, he concluded that the reason she wouldn't indulge his ambitions was because he just hadn't proven himself worthy enough. So he tried to prove himself, but he lacked the context for what he was proving himself with. And the goddess, seeing a weapon that had killed her predecessor, saw this ambitious wizard as losing his way and coming for her just like the weapon's creator had. She was angry, she withdrew his link to her, and he didn't know why. So he drew the conclusion that she took his powers to punish him, and let that encompass his fall from grace.

Was he wrong to reach for what was out there?

If you knew that the answers to everything you cared about were not only known, but kept by someone you loved—someone who adored you—what would you do to ask to see them? What if your curiosities were if there were other planets with life out there, or how dark matter worked, or whether or not we could one day travel in the stars? What if it was the potential cure to an illness that's little-understood, or the way to make a program you dreamt up, or the scope of the true limits of your artistic talents? Would your answer change?

Was she wrong to cut him off?

If you were once hurt, and the person you loved—the person who adored you—brought the thing that caused it to your door, believing you'd want it, how would you react to seeing it? What if that thing was someone you thought you'd broken contact with, like a friend or family member you'd been trying to avoid? Would your answer change?

That's the sort of scope that needs to be applied to this, on both sides. You have to take the perspectives of each party, and apply two analogies instead of one.

Gale saw the vastness of the universe, untold wonders, the solution to every question he could ever dream up, and saw Mystra as withholding this from him because she thought he just wasn't worthy enough. To claim Mystra knew his perspective does her a disservice.

Mystra saw a cruel weapon she thought long gone, in the hands of someone who could use it, brought right to her, and thought Gale was willingly following the path of Karsus. To claim Gale knew her perspective does him a disservice.

Should Gale have researched his prize more, so he knew just what he was obtaining? Should he have kept his hands off a cursed book that would devour him? Of course he should have.

Should he have given up on chasing his dreams?

Should Mystra have understood that Gale's pursuit of power was nothing like Karsus'? Should she have communicated when she was angry instead of giving the cold shoulder? Of course she should have.

Should she have given him the benefit of the doubt?

That's the root of their falling out. That's what leads to hurt being inflicted. Understandable, human reactions to the situations they perceive. Unhealthy, unwise choices made afterwards.

You work backwards from this to figure out their dynamic as Chosen and goddess. You work forward from this to understand more of where Gale and Mystra are during the events of Baldur's Gate 3. Gale reached too high, and understands this. His goddess hates him, and he regrets this. Mystra isolated Gale, and understands this. Her Chosen wants redemption, and she wants to make it happen.

Just like we took Gale's character into account, we also have to take Mystra's.

A goddess is faced with a problem. She uses someone who's desperate for approval to solve it, by telling him to kill himself.

An evil goddess is faced with a threat to her reign. She sees someone who's unfailingly loyal and hates himself, and elects to have him tear himself apart rather than do anything about it.

A good goddess is terrified of the future. She sees someone who tried to hurt her, who's going to die anyways, and tells him to use it to save the world.

Same story. Same act, same power, same pawn. Different character. Different perspective. Different outlook on whether or not this is the right thing to do.

Mystra has died, multiple times, to people trying to stake claim to her domain. Someone appears with the very thing that could do it again, right as she's regained her stability.

She does not see mortals the way mortals do. She is timeless. She is eternal. She has a duty to protect billions of people, and one person lost to protect that number is more than worth the sacrifice.

People like to bring up the Seven Sisters as proof of Mystra's cruelty. For those unaware, Mystra asked permission to, then possessed, a woman, used her to court a man (with dubious consent from the woman), and bore seven children, all of whom were capable of bearing Mystra's power as Chosen without dying. The woman she possessed was killed in the process (reduced to no more than a husk, then slain by her now-husband, hoping to end her suffering), and the husband was horrified by the whole story.

Mystra needed Chosen in order to restore herself in the event that she was killed again, to prevent magic as a whole from collapsing and wreaking havoc on the mortal realm, like it had in the few seconds Mystryl had been dead. Elminster, Khelben Blackstaff, and the Seven Sisters contributed to this. The more Chosen she has, the better; what happens if Elminster dies? She can't afford to have all her eggs in one basket.

Mystra has Volo (yeah, that Volo) as a Weave Anchor, imparted with a portion of her power to prevent the Weave from shredding itself to pieces in her absence. All Chosen of Mystra are Weave Anchors by nature. The creation of Weave Anchors was mandated by Ao, the Overgod, and Chosen are the best way to make sure those anchors aren't drained by ambitious people hoping for godlike power. Chosen can, and will, defend themselves, unlike static locations (which Mystra also has). The anchors are why the Weave wasn't completely obliterated during Mystra's last death, when the Spellplague rose up, because they stabilized the Weave around them.

Everything Mystra does is in the name of the big picture, to prevent a catastrophe like the fall of Netheril from happening again. Her restriction of magic, her numerous Chosen, her creation of Weave Anchors, her destruction of those who would claim her power, it's all in the name of the stability she's been charged with. Dornal Silverhand's grief and Elué Silverhand's death, while regrettable, were worth it to bring seven more anchors into existence to save all of the Material.

So someone appears with the Crown of Karsus, potentially powerful enough to try to kill the other gods in the name of the Dead Three. She can't risk being a target of them. She can't risk the destruction of magic again.

Gale is going to die. He lives in fear. He begs for forgiveness.

In Mystra's eyes, she's offering him the best outcome. She'll let him die in service to her, to save Faerûn, and she'll forgive him. He's going to die anyways, and if he does this, she'll give him everything (she thinks) he could ever want in her realm. She's asking him to do what (she thinks) is the right thing.

"She would consider what she considers to be forgiveness."

Notably, she leaves the decision in his hands. She doesn't have Elminster lead him to the Nether Brain. She doesn't activate him as soon as he's there. When he lives yet, she doesn't revoke the charm that keeps him stable. And when he declines, when he lets it go and starts pursuing Karsus' path, she doesn't smite him on the spot.

She is (she thinks) being incredibly patient. If Gale is going to try to be Karsus II, she's ready for him. If he decides to walk off and keep the Orb, he's dug his own grave in the Fugue Plane (those who don't have a god to claim them roam endlessly as husks and form a wall of bodies around the City of Judgement).

From her perspective, she's not being unreasonable. But from the perspective of a mortal, she absolutely is.

"Now, I have a question for thee: what is the worth of a single mortal's life?"

This is a question she cannot answer properly.

I think a lot of characterization is lost whenever someone paints one of them as being totally in the right. But I also think you have to be invested in them as characters to want to see that characterization. If you want to write about Mystra, you have to try to get into her head, analyze the decisions she made, figure out why she thinks she was right, and follow the pattern.

Gale's sacrifice is a very predictable thing for her to ask for.

[talesofesther]

under the sunlight

Summary: After 200 years of darkness, Astarion feels the sun on his skin again.

A/N: It's been quite a long while since I've enjoyed a game the way I'm enjoying BG3, a feeling I've missed all too much. And of course, this pretty, charming boy has secured his place in my heart fairly quickly. I love him, he deserves all the warmth and softness in the world. And this is a moment I've been wanting to visualize for a while. So, here's a small drabble about Astarion's first time back in the sunlight.

Requests for Astarion are open, if anyone wants more of him here. <3

Masterlist

The world around him smelled like smoke and burnt flesh, the air stung as it ghosted over his dry lips. Dust and remains of rubble clung to his skin, his body felt heavy and sore all over. Each movement more painful than the last, for seconds that felt like hours.

The pale elf didn't know how it happened, all he knew was that the mind flayer ship he had been trapped in had started to fall, and fall, and fall; until it crashed, and he crashed with it. He also had no idea how he had survived, but he wasn't about to complain.

A deep groan escaped Astarion as he steadily regained consciousness. He kept his eyes clenched shut, a headache pounding his head and making him wince.

He scratched the dirt and grass beneath him, grounding himself. His muscles complained as he slowly started to push himself up, and as he tried opening his eyes, a hiss fell past his lips and he blinked several times. Squinting, he tried to adjust his sight to the bright sunlight.

He stilled. Hand frozen midair as he was about to shake the dust off his hair.

Sunlight.

Moving faster than he probably should, given his state, the vampire crawled backward until his back hit the trunk of a tree. His skin only partially hidden from the warm glow.

He tucked his knees closer to his chest, eyes wide as he watched the soft slivers of sunlight that sneaked between the leaves dance on the tip of his fingers. With a trembling hand, he gingerly curled a finger around one strip of sunlight, as if the light would bend its rules for him to hold it.

Sharp fangs dug into his lower lip, scratching and drawing a drop of his own blood. There was a tightness in his chest, clawing at his throat; whether it was fear or hope he didn't know. Maybe a bit of both.

A soft breeze flew by, carrying away the stench of smoke and bringing a distinct perfume, no doubt from the berry bushes nearby. The skies cleared, welcoming, beckoning him under.

With his palm up, Astarion eyed the stripe of sunlight resting on his hand. The soft glow had a gentle warmth to it, kissing his pale skin ever so tenderly. It was enough to blur his sight, tears brimming on the bottom lid of his eyes.

Could it be?

Wobbling in his stance, feet unsteady, Astarion pushed himself up. He took one, and then two steps forward—resembling a wild cat walking into a cozy home, after sleeping countless nights out in cold streets.

When the warm light of the sun embraced him—without pain, without burning—a quiet whimper fell past his lips, and Astarion closed his eyes. He angled his chin up to the sky, pleading for the sun's attention. For it to kiss his cheeks and dry the drops of blood on his clothes. For it to shine on his silver hair and warm up his cold skin.

He blinked his eyes open, lower lip trembling when his sight was temporarily blinded by the light. He looked around him, to the bright greenery and the blue skies and the mountains far away.

It was so warm. After 200 years of cold nights. He felt so warm.

Tears fell down pale cheeks, glimmering, under the sunlight.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Astarion’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us

[moth-mimic]

Mystical Powers?

at work I drank a cold brew coffee, diet coke, and sweet tea all at the same time and I had to release the caffeine somehow I’m so sorry

‣ pairing: Astarion x reader but from Gale’s POV

‣ words: 1697

‣ content: all jokes, Gale is purposefully mischaracterized, Gale is a ‘nice guy’ and owns smut fanfiction (implied), unrequited rivalry, Gale is basically Matthew Patel

───────────────────

‣ summary: Gale has done everything for you. Yes, he has ate your artifacts, but the reason you even offered them was because you were undoubtedly attracted to him. It was obvious from the way you talked to him last out of the entire group before going to sleep every night. He was just special like that. However, others— specifically a seductive white-haired elf— are not so keen to respect your guy’s destiny to be together. Gale sets out to prove luscious locks are never more important than a pure heart (without any ulterior motives at all).

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Gale rummaged through his collections of books, desperately searching for the one holy piece of information that could grant him a solution to this little problem of his. This problem was not one of scholarly importance, he was well aware, and it was not likely he would find his answer in his ancient texts. But these books were all he knew. What was he going to do, communicate like a normal human that had not been cooped up in his depression tower for years? Blasphemy.

He had taken much of his time alone as of late to contemplate on how he should proceed with the situation. He was not avoiding it, obviously not. He was merely worried for your safety. A fragile one like you was not meant to associate yourself with those like Astarion, an elf skilled in the craft of manipulation and deceitful seduction. Astarion had merely blinded you. Gale was your only hope for freedom. He definitely did not think this just because he wanted to feel needed. And definitely not because he was just sick of seeing the both of you make bedroom eyes across each nightly bonfire.

Lost in his thoughts, his attention suddenly snapped back as he noticed a book of interest. He picked it up gingerly as he read the title.

“Taken by the Vampire King… What a lovely piece of literature, if I do say so myself.” He muttered as he began to delicately pry the cover open. He suddenly stopped himself and slammed the book closed as he remembered the point of this search. “No, this will not assist me. Well…. if seduction is what draws Tav to the pale elf, then I suppose…”

“Now what in the hells are you doing making such a mess in here?”

The sudden voice nearly caused Gale to literally explode, his hands grasping at his chest to calm himself. He spasmed for a minute as his brain rebooted. “Uh, uh, I—“ And then, as if a switch was flipped on inside his brain, he irritably whipped around. “To all gods, Astarion, what are you doing giving me such a fright in the middle of the night? Do you know nothing of peace?”

“Pardon me, but I am an elf. I’m not in need of sleep like you poor little things.” He snorted, conceited as usual, prowling over towards Gale and taking a peek at the book before Gale can even throw it across his tent. “And I see you’re busying yourself with… important matters, hm?”

“It’s for educational— No, what do you want from me, Astarion?”

“Just a friend…” he pouted like a neglected child, collapsing onto Gale’s bedroll in defeat. Gale would feel a twinge of guilt if it was not his mortal enemy saying those words. And also if there wasn’t an obvious layer of sarcasm beneath.

“No, no, out with it.”

“Uh, fine. I was wondering if you had some type of strength potion. I feel like utter shit.” Astarion sighed as he threw his head back, blowing a strand of wandering hair out of his face. Gale studied him as he was distracted— it didn’t seem like he was lying. He looked like utter shit, his hands twitching and under eyes so dark as if he had never seen the sun in his 200+ years of life. (Gale would soon realize this observation was, in fact, accurate)

“Yeah, I see that. And I’m a wizard, not an alchemist, actually. A wizard merely studies their practice of magic through multiple sources of teachings while an alchemist…”

Gale continued on as Astarion sat there in silence. It was not a respectable type of silence, but rather one of ‘if this dude doesn’t shut up I think I might actually kill him.’ His hands began to clench into fists, his nails digging into his flesh as Gale’s nonsensical words pounded through his brain. The tadpole was not the only force controlling him tonight. His eyes flickered with hunger, yet Gale did not notice.

“Gale.”

“Alchemists deserve all the respect, of course, yet they are unaccustomed to my field of— Ah, yes?”

“How does your blood taste?”

The wizard stopped in his tracks. “I- I’m sorry?” He waited for a response for a moment. When he did not get one he continued. “Well, if you must know, my blood actually tastes of bile. You see, it serves as a natural precaution against…” He thought for a moment. “Certain entities.”

Astarion had nothing more to say than a simple, “Hm.” The two looked at eachother for a brief second, awkwardly, one weighing his options and the other debating if it was fitting to run away. Fortunately for Gale, within another second the pale elf was gone from his tent, leaving the wizard with a cloud of confusion. And maybe just a bit of fear. He stood there a moment before his eyes slowly trailed to the book now on the other side of the tent. He remembered the bloodless boar on the side of the road. He pictured Astarion’s scarlet gaze, burning with desire for something unfathomable. Suddenly he knew the answer to his problem.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Gale had been watching the two of you ever since that unsettling night. He had witnessed some unsavory moments, yes, but everyone has to make their sacrifices. And his sacrifices were undoubtedly worth it— every night he stayed awake long enough to watch the elf make his way into the forest to sustain himself on blood from some unknown source. This night in particular was one that would change everything. This night was the night he would reveal Astarion’s true nature to you.

After witnessing Astarion make his way into the forest for his nightly ritual, Gale hurriedly makes his way into your tent.

“Y/N? Y/N! Wake up now, this is dire!”

“Huh—“ You, wide awake, turn around to Gale’s face a few mere inches from yours. “Gale! Why the hells are you in my tent?” You hiss, backing up to escape his pleading puppy eyes.

“No time for questions, we must go into the forest! There, a truth will be uncovered, and you will be free from the vampire’s wicked hold!”

You’re about to ask Gale to speak like a normal person, yet he quickly grabs your hand and drags you outside before you can protest. “Gale, this isn’t really—“

“I assure you it is!”

Without another word he leads you both onto Astarion’s trail. The only problem is that Gale does not seem to know exactly where the pale elf has wandered off to, as he has never before made the courageous decision to follow him into the unknown abyss of the woods. You watch him anxiously look around and mutter to himself. You sigh knowingly, turning away from him and walking on a path you’ve traced many times before.

“Wait, wait! It is incredibly dangerous and you do not know where your judgements may lead you!”

“I promise you I do.” You pointedly say, leading him deeper into the forest so familiar to both you and Astarion. You stop as you reach an area uncovered by the canopy of leaves.

“Why-“ Gale begins before catching sight of the perpetrator. There he is, standing there in the moonlit clearing, shirtless. Gale would probably take more notice to the current scenario if he did not already have a speech planned.

“You- You creature! I knew there was something foul deep within you from the moment we met! I recognized your intent all along— to simply deceit every innocent being you came upon, to lead them under your malicious influence. But here I stand, shattering your mask and revealing your true being: a vampire! Cower under my fireball—“ Gale stops for a minute, trying to remember what to do next, before quickly summoning a fireball in his hands like he originally intended. “And consider our fight… BEGUN!”

The crickets chirp as he finishes his lengthy speech. Astarion is the first to speak.

“…Is that all?”

“Yes. W-was it not obvious?”

With Gale’s answer, you and Astarion immediately break into a fit of laughter. Gale stands there, confused, quickly glancing between the two of you and wondering what the joke was.

“And what are you gonna prove my ‘true being’ with, oh wise wizard?” Astarion smirks, still collecting himself.

“With—! With…” Gale pauses, looks around in a panic, and realizes a key factor of his plan is missing. There is not a bloodless life to be seen. “What in the realms— Why are you here, then, Astarion? What do you sustain yourself with? Answer me!”

Astarion merely purses his lips, rhythmically tapping his fingers to the side of his face. He gives Gale a pitiful pout. “Oh dear… This is a bit awkward, isn’t it?”

And suddenly Gale realizes. He turns to you immediately, the fireball now accidentally pointed at you. “You knew?!”

You raise your hands in protest, eyeing the fireball in his hands. “I-I mean, yeah. Like, everybody knew. Except you, of course.”

“What?”

“They are right,” Astarion adds, “Nobody told you because you are a little… well… extreme.” A pause. “And desperate.”

“I’m— I’m not—!” Gale’s fireball just burns brighter, and you begin to think it’s enough to send the entire forest into flames. However, you’re more worried about the possibility of him literally exploding and obliterating everything in his proximity. You glance towards Astarion, whose eyebrows are furrowed at the same thought. The resentment in Gale’s eyes grows brighter with the flame. Yet, suddenly, the fire disappears. The wizard looks as if he’s about to collapse into despair at any moment. “I don’t understand! You make no sense!”

He turns towards you and points an accusing finger. Astarion just shrugs as you glance towards him. “Even when I am right in front of you, laying down my life, you do not care! I am a respectable wizard, name known to beings far and wide! What does he offer, huh?”

You silently raise your eyebrow. Gale just scowls.

“Ugh. Typical.” And with that he whips around, his sleep robe lashing behind him. As he storms off he adds, “Don’t even add me to your party tomorrow. Or ever.”

You weren’t planning on it.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

So a few days ago I posted something about making a ‘nice guy’ Gale fanfic but not posting it out of shame and I ended up getting like 30+ likes so I thought it was only fair to actually post. Anyway please don’t hold me accountable for this k thanks love u guys I’ll probably have LOTR content soon

[animentality]

It's tough because I hate the Astarion haters on Reddit, who are just misogynistic and homophobic and dismissive of the character because they hate how gay he acts and also how many women love him.

but I also hate BookTok Astarion fangirls who feel the need to assert how superior Astarion is on every fucking Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Shadowheart, Minthara, Lae'zel, Karlach or pretty much any BG3 video at all. Like we get it. He's white.

And then I'm ambivalent on the Tumblr Astarion fans because there are the people who simply like him and make fun art and fun meta analysis about him, and then there are the people in my inbox currently telling me that Astarion's Ascended ending is morally correct and it's not a bad ending for the character, and if I disagree, then I hate women.

You're correct that I hate women, but it has nothing to do with Astarion.

Also, I once again point out, that your own husbando literally tells you outright in both endings that being Ascended ruins/ruined who he used to be and also your love for one another.

Your man literally says that your love would have been corrupted by becoming his spawn, and you still cling to the idea that your character is living happily ever after.

He's not making you a vampire queen, he's making you a vampire pet. And it's fine to like that ending. I don't care if you LIKE bad, unhappy endings. That is your prerogative. But you are simply incorrect if you say that it's the "happy" ending for the character, when it clearly is not.

No one ever said you had to use your skull for anything other than cold cut storage, I just don't see why it's even necessary to argue your point to me.

Stay in your Astarion echo chamber, and block me. I don't have time or energy to block all of you.

Anyway.

It sucks because I really like Astarion, he's my favorite love interest.

I really enjoy his storyline and his growth as a person and how sweet he is. He's also very funny. All the companions have great voice acting behind them, but Neil really knocked it out of the park, and I honestly think the character would be far less popular if they'd picked any other actor.

But the fandom around him is just...awful.

It's a mixed bag of normal, unnormal in a fun way, and unnormal in a "you need to fucking step off in this Walmart bitch" way.

It's why I'd rather interact with Dark Urge and Gortash fans.

Much smaller subset of the fandom, so I don't have to deal with the generic crazies, and we're all such freaks that we don't feel the need to go around acting like Gortash is a good person.

I also only ever see people saying these two are fucking disgusting and horrible and I'd murder them in real life and honestly, true and based.

No happy endings for those two, and that's fine for me. In fact, it's great.

See, Astarion girlies, this is called...knowing your ship doesn't deserve a happy ending after all they have done, and knowing it wouldn't be a happy ending if they got together, but being able to acknowledge that and not get bent out of shape trying to justify it.

Stop tying your irl morality to your tastes in fiction.

I never said that liking the ascended ending made you a bad person in real life.

I just said that pretending it's good and happy and great and not continuing the cycle of abuse, is factually incorrect.

And it is.

Every single bad ending for all the love interests is literally continuing the cycle of abuse. Why would Astarion's be any different?

But maybe I'm being bold in assuming you even know the other love interests exist or have stories. Maybe you don't even know the general story of baldur's gate 3, because it is, as you say, the vampire dating sim, and it's definitely not about anything other than banging the sexy vampire.

Media literacy weeps.

Anyway.

Not ruining my enjoyment of the game.

Just my general tolerance for the fandom that is not Durge and Gortash obsessed.

[sm0lprism]

Bite-Sized (10) - A G/t BG3 fanfic

This contains g/t (giant/tiny content) so if that isn't your thing, then I suggest you stop reading. Thank you!

Read on ao3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Summary: Ria awaits her impending fate inside Astarion's mouth. Will this be the end for her or will Astarion surprise her?

Pairing: Astarion x f!borrower!oc (Tav/oc) (slow-burn)

Warnings: MOUTHPLAY WARNING!!! If you are uncomfortable with mouthplay or vore-ish themes, then DO NOT read this chapter! No actual vore occurs but mouthplay is VERY prominent and makes up the majority of this chapter. Swearing/course language.

Word count: 2.5k

EDIT: shoutout to my good friend @smolgloves for coming up with one of the ideas for this chapter!! (you know which one hehe)

It took every fibre in her being not to scream as Astarion’s lips passed over her body, pulling her inside his open maw. Before her eyes could adjust to the change in lighting, she was suddenly pressed to the roof of his mouth as he took a loud gulp and swallowed the remaining beer from his cup. She remained motionless as the giant fleshy muscle held her in place, all she could do was watch in terror as the liquid disappeared down his cavernous throat in a matter of seconds. All it would take was one swallow, and she would disappear down his gullet too.

His tongue suddenly relaxed, the beer now gone down his throat, and she found herself lying on the expanse of his wet, warm tongue. The scent of beer was heavy in the air, but it chilled her to the bone when she could also smell the metallic scent of blood hanging evidently in his mouth too. Tears burned her eyes and she stifled a sob. Her breathing came out in raspy gasps as dread hooked its claws into her once more as she attempted to process what was happening.

Gods, is he going to eat me?! Will I die like this?

Her mind immediately flickered back to when she had first met Astarion, how he had been so intent on eating her, how he had tasted her blood, running his tongue over her arms, and held her squirming in his cold fist like she was nothing but a mere piece of meat ready to be eaten. Fear clung fiercely to her heart and it quickly spread to the rest of her body like wildfire, smothering any other rational thought that was left in her brain. How could she sit idly, inside a vampire’s mouth, and not do anything? If she didn’t do something right now, she could be taking a trip down his throat very soon. She refused to wait around to see what would happen if she chose to remain idle.

My dagger.

As soon as the thought struck her brain, she hastily reached for her tiny dagger that Dammon had so carefully crafted and gripped it firmly in her trembling fist. Without a second thought, Ria drove her dagger into the flesh of his tongue and began stabbing the muscle multiple times as pure adrenaline clutched onto her hungrily with a vice-like grip. No sensible thoughts crossed her mind as she stabbed relentlessly, all she could think about was how much she didn’t want to go down Astarion’s throat and into his waiting stomach.

“Let me out!” she shrieked at the top of her lungs, blood from his tongue now splattering over her clothes as she continued to stab the wet surface, tears streaming down her face. “I haven’t come this far to be eaten by the likes of you!”

The fleshy surface beneath her suddenly tensed before pinning her to his palate once more, an audible grunt resonating loudly from the back of his throat. In the confusion of the moment, the dagger slipped out of her grasp and clanged against his large molars before falling and wedging itself between some of his pristine teeth that were dangerously close to the back of his throat. All she could do was watch in stunned silence, aside from the gurgling noises coming from the back of his throat, as her only means of defense was completely out of her reach.

Shit. Shit. SHIT!

Now she was quite literally at his mercy.

Perhaps stabbing his tongue so persistently wasn’t a good idea after all.

Sealing her eyes shut, she waited for the dreaded moment where he would swallow. Surely after her outburst of frequent stabbing, he would be done with her and gulp her down with no hesitation. Her body trembled as more sobs racked through her core violently as she waited for the end. But moments passed, and she was still pinned to the roof of his mouth as his tongue firmly held her in place.

What is happening?

Opening her eyes, her gaze scanned her surroundings and she was soon greeted with a formidable wall of teeth. She shuddered as her eyes fell on his fangs, so large that they could impale her entire body if he so pleased. Those same fangs had almost ended her life only a few weeks ago, and now she was face to face with them once more inside the vampire’s mouth. Chills snaked down her spine, suppressing another shiver, as she recalled those memories yet again of that fateful night. However, this time was different to when she had first met him – she was alive and inside the vampire’s mouth now, and surprisingly not halfway down to his stomach.

Why hasn’t he eaten me yet?

She wriggled around against his soft tongue, wondering if he was simply tasting her before the inevitable happened. Surely if he was going to eat her, he would’ve done so by now – right? His tongue barely moved, cradling her delicately against his palate, and it showed no signs in flicking her body down his throat. All she could do was wait painfully to see what he would do. Her heart pounded relentlessly against her ribcage, threatening to burst right out of her chest, her stomach dropping like a stone. If Astarion didn’t end her soon, the sheer suspense of the moment would.

After what felt like days, his tongue slowly relaxed and lowered her down until she was resting on the bottom of his mouth again. She didn’t dare move a muscle as she quivered on top of his tongue. Seconds turned to minutes, but still nothing happened. His tongue was surprisingly still as well, holding her as if she was as fragile as glass. While she sat in the vampire’s mouth, her overwhelming fear started to slowly dwindle. Her body was still frozen in place, refusing to move, worried that if she attempted to move again, he would squash her to the roof of his mouth, or even worse, swallow her whole. While she laid on his tongue, the only noises she could hear was the bubbling noise at the back of his throat. It certainly unnerved her listening to his bodily functions, a constant reminder of where she could easily end up if Astarion willed it.

Saliva coated her entire body, drenching all her clothes until they were a sodden mess. She sniffled as she realised that if she survived this, her clothes were completely and utterly ruined. There was no way she could walk out of this with any dignity left to her name, if she managed to get out of this at all. At least it was…pleasantly warm inside his mouth. It shocked her that while Astarion himself was icy cold to the touch, his mouth was surprisingly cosy. It pained her that the thought even crossed her mind, but the warmth that radiated from his mouth could only be described as such. Perhaps there was hope for her yet. She recalled Astarion winking at her moments before he slipped her inside his mouth, and how he had looked almost apologetic. Maybe she would be fine after all. And maybe stabbing his tongue had been incredibly stupid of her, but in her defense, after everything that she had been through, stabbing him was a perfectly reasonable reaction to the situation. Or at least that’s what she would keep on telling herself.

Pools of saliva had now started to gather around his tongue, steadily increasing by each passing second. A small yelp escaped past her lips as the fleshy muscle suddenly pinned her against his teeth, his throat releasing a very loud swallowing sound as the gathering pools of saliva vanished down his throat in a matter of seconds. Panic fluttered in her chest like a swarm of butterflies as she watched the liquid disappear so quickly down his gullet, and she shivered, thinking how easily that could’ve been her.

He…he still isn’t swallowing me.

His tongue soon relaxed, no longer pressing her against the wall of giant teeth. She inhaled a shaky breath, attempting to calm her frantic beating heart as she slowly accepted that perhaps she was safe after all. Why would he deliberately avoid swallowing her multiple times if he wasn’t going to do it? Especially after she had stabbed his tongue so harshly, she had expected him to swallow her almost immediately after doing something like that. But despite everything, he was holding her on top of his tongue like she was some kind of prized jewel. She was surprised that the vampire could be so gentle, especially in his mouth of all places where his dangerously sharp fangs could easily tear her in half.

Does he…care about me?

As soon as the thought entered her brain, heat blossomed across her face and her heart almost skipped a beat. Maybe he did care about her somewhat, after all, she had persuaded the group to allow him to feed on bandits and other thinking creatures. He had expressed gratitude towards her, and he had even thanked her for it the previous night. But she still couldn’t believe it.

No, that can’t be right. There’s no way that he could, especially after everything that’s happened…

The burning blush on her face only deepened and she knew for a fact that he could feel her tiny heartbeat pounding fiercely against her chest. She needed to get out of there quickly. She wasn’t sure just how much more of this she could take without turning into a complete mess.   

Gods, why me? Why did I have to suggest the alcohol idea in the first place?

As if her prayers were answered, light suddenly showered down on her small frame as his lips parted open. A startled squeak jumped out of her throat as pale, cold fingers gripped her waist and pulled her out of his mouth and into the cold air from outside. She shivered as the freezing air caressed over her saliva-coated skin, and for a brief second, she almost wished that she was back inside the warmth of the vampire’s mouth.

Before she could even process the thought, silky fabric smothered her entire body and gently massaged small circles into her drenched skin and clothes. She was completely numb to it all, her brain still attempting to comprehend what was even happening, but through all her mixed and flustered emotions she gathered that Astarion was attempting to dry her with what seemed to be a handkerchief of some kind. He continued to softly dry her soaked body, including her little head, his saliva and drying movements causing her hair to stick up in utterly ridiculous angles. Her face burned with embarrassment as he continued to dry her body and she was a little grateful that he couldn’t see her face during that moment.

The fabric soon pulled away, revealing Astarion’s piercing red gaze that settled on her small frame as she quivered in the palm of his hand.

“Well.” Astarion’s tongue swiped over his lips, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “That certainly got a lot more intimate than what we planned for, didn’t it, darling?”

She opened and closed her mouth, but no audible sound registered on her lips. How was she supposed to talk after going through all of that, and then have him say that to her? Not to mention the way he ran his tongue over his lips – although she couldn’t tell if that was deliberate or not, it sent her heart spasming in her chest. Her mind failed to string together a coherent sentence as her lip trembled.

Astarion faltered, clearly seeing the look of distraught across her puffy face made him rethink what he was going to say next. His usual cheeky demeanour soon faded and was quickly replaced with a look of worry that once again surprised her.

“I do apologise for…uh…that.” He cleared his throat, his sanguine eyes staring at her with a soft warmth that was much unlike his usual piercing glare. “Holding you in my mouth was not my intended plan at all.”

He paused for a moment, his eyebrows knitting together as he cradled her in his hand.

“Are you alright?”

Her throat felt as if it were being crushed by some unseen force, tears pricked at her eyelids as her gaze darted away from his face to look at the floor below her as she sat in his cold palm. She didn’t know how to respond, after being faced with death once again and having those memories resurface, all she wanted to do was to run away and hide.

Of course I’m not alright. After all that, how can I possibly be?

“Ria?” Astarion’s voice rumbled all around her, startling her from her thoughts.

“Put me down,” she rasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

Both of his eyebrows shot up upon hearing her request. “Ria, we can ta-”

“I said put me down!” she exclaimed, tears burning her cheeks, her face swollen and puffy from crying. “Please. Now.”

He didn’t question her further as he dropped to one knee and lowered his hand to the ground. Immediately she hopped off his palm, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand as she blinked back more tears.

She angled her neck upwards to look at him, his towering frame casting a long shadow over her tiny body as she swallowed back her rising fear. Now that she was on the ground, she was reminded once again just how small she was compared to him and everything else.

She needed to get away from him.

Before he could say anything, she sprinted away from him in the opposite direction. The ground trembled as his footsteps shuffled around on the dusty ground, and that only made her run faster.

Maybe it was utterly foolish for her to run away from her only means of protection, but she couldn’t bear to be around him in her current state. For her own sanity, she needed to get far away from him. They were still outside the Goblin Camp, the noises of the cheering from the goblins celebrating their latest kill rung heavily through the air, but she ignored it and continued to sprint towards the main building.

“Ria!” Astarion’s voice boomed from above, rattling through her very core and sending adrenaline spiking through her bloodstream. His large footfalls sent trembling earthquakes through the ground and she forced her legs to continue to run with all she had, not daring to look back.

In front of her she saw a small hole encrusted in the wall of the main building, just the right size for her to crawl into. She dashed inside, briefly feeling Astarion’s fingers brush past her hair as he made a failed attempt at grabbing her.  

“Wait, just hold on!” Astarion shouted from outside, his voice piercing her tiny eardrums and she flinched from the intensity.  

She ignored his words and instead ventured into the depths of the Goblin Camp.

[smt4flynn]

embiggen, embolden

Rating: R18/Explicit (Minors DNI)

Notes: This is a story about misusing the enlarge spell to do some shenanigans with Astarion. I wrote this in the coffee shop where I constantly kept oscillating between being cold and EXTREMELY cold, so I lost steam a little bit, but I wanted to finish it!

On AO3 this is apparently 4K wordcount. Also, you can find this on ao3 under the same name, by ao3 user Voidromeda! =)

-----

This isn’t the first time you cast Enlarge on Astarion – during combat, of course, just to help boost his combat prowess even further (and it does terrify you how strong he quickly becomes, helped by the fact that he finally lets Lae’zel and Karlach be his coaches) – but you normally recall it fading away after some time. You do not recall it ever backfiring and making him even bigger, to the point that he is literally towering over all of you, and looking confused as he is.

“I have looked everything over,” Gale says after a while, stood in front of a sitting, cross-legged Astarion who is now almost thrice everyone’s size, his hands are clasped in front of him and he seems to be smiling too wide, “and my conclusion is this: assuming if, and if, you did all of the incantations correctly and used the proper gesticulations, and given that I was there to hear you do the correct chant, the somatic and verbal components should not be the issue at hand here. The only thing I can assume is that the materials used were at fault somehow, or that the weave decided today, of all days, to be a right petty bastard and Mystra wished to have a lark at your expense.”

Astarion huffs out in annoyance, his breath ruffling Gale’s hair, and he turns around to look at him with his own momentary irritation . Astarion throws his hands up in faux surrender. “So, to boil it all down for us little peoples,” his voice practically drips venom, “you have no clue why this happened and, for all you know, you have no clue when I am going to turn back.”

“Correct!” and you have to hold back a laugh at the fact that Gale seems to be enjoying Astarion’s mounting irritation a little too much.

“I am big enough to eat you.” he says.

“But you and I know you won’t do that, unless you want a netherese bomb in your body! And I don’t think you want to figure out how to vomit me out to resurrect me!”

“Or how to shit you out.” Astarion grumbles, but he is too big for it to be quiet, and Karlach snorts particularly loudly at that. Lae’zel looks disgruntled, as she always does, and she looks between you, Gale, and Astarion before letting out an annoyed declaration in Gith and decides to leave them at that.

Shadowheart eyes the (rather) giant vampire, then turns to Karlach as she says, “you know, now that he’s bigger than you, he could probably carry you around and withstand your engine.”

“OH. YOU’RE RIGHT.” Karlach says a little too loudly. A glare from Astarion has her hushing herself, “oh, you’re right!” she repeats, and Astarion pointedly pokes her away with an index when Karlach tries to climb up on top of him. He hisses a little, though it isn’t as bad of a response as the rest of you had to touching Karlach. That has her eyes alight with excitement, much to Astarion’s chagrin. “But, he’d eventually get burnt up, yeah? Probably ain’t a reason to bother ‘im, he already looks like he’s about to blow and he’s not the one with the engine. Dammon said, anyway, that we just gotta find one last iron.”

“You won’t be able to ride around on his back.” Shadowheart says with an arch of her eyebrow. “Unless, of course, you’d like to go find one right now so we can rush on back to Dammon and try out your newfound touch on Astarion.”

“Teeeeeempting, tempting, but I don’t think we should just rush ‘round for a bit, yeah? It’s so tempting though! Ugh! I hate making good decisions!”

She gives him a good-nature grin and Astarion puffs air her way, which happens to also ruffle your and Shadowheart’s hairs. Despite him not needing to really eat (“of course I can still taste food,” he says to you after you give him a piece of chocolate cake that you particularly really like, “it’s just dulled, and not at all nutritious for me, it’s not even a luxury . Your blood is like heaven on my tongue. Why would I want anything else? ”), his breath smells like some sort of rosy ale mixed with a vanilla pastry. It isn’t that bad, though it still is a bit unpleasant.

“And what of you, Halsin? What do you make of this?” Gale spins on his heel to point over to the druid who arches an eyebrow up at Astarion, just as puzzled as everyone else is that the vampire is now... large. Quite, quite large.

“Though wizards and sorcerers oft pride themselves on their honed control over the weave, be it granted, earned, or both,” Halsin says pleasantly, as though he is talking about the weather and naught else, “it is not so strange that even the most skilled of wizards and the most gifted of sorcerers, or others should they have a grasp of it, shall have their mind wander and for the spell’s consistency to slip. One’s tools can only be as consistent as one’s body and mind.”

“So you think I got distracted, and that led to the spell backfiring?” you question. You aren’t really offended by it; the last combat encounter you have, where this mistake occurs, is a hectic one, with reanimated corpses reaching out to grasp at you and try to drag you under. “That makes sense.” and Halsin nods thoughtfully your way. “So the best thing to do is to just wait?”

“Yes.” Halsin gives you a smile and you smile awkwardly back.

Gale takes this as his cue to leave, citing having found some new books that he would like to look through while they wait for Astarion’s condition to fix itself, and Karlach gets herded away by Shadowheart so that they can do something else. Wyll, who has been absent for most of this, suggests to the former two and to Lae’zel to go patrolling around the Shadow-Cursed lands, and the three women jump at the opportunity to leave.

When you look over, Gale disappears into somewhere and you think it best not to ask. Halsin, seeing that people seem to be leaving to do their own activities, excuses himself to go and look further into the Shadow-Cursed lands, to try and see if he can find anything now that he is more experienced. It is just you and Astarion now, the vampire staring at you with some mixture of interest and mischief.

“So!” Astarion clicks his tongue. You look at him a bit warily. He must be a bit angry at you, considering that you’re the reason as to why this happens, though you can’t see it anywhere on his face. That’s even worse, your mind supplies, because Astarion – for all everyone makes fun of him for being extremely obvious – can also be frightfully subtle when he wants to be. When he puts the effort in, you have seen him speak sweet little lies to some of the still sentient shades, encouraging them to curl further to Shadowheart before they melt painfully under her cast of daylight.

You think he does not try on the living because some form of guilt keeps him at bay. What happens when that bit of guilt is gone, you wonder?

“So.” you say when he stays quiet. Astarion smirks at your uncertainty.

When he comes to a stand, properly, you find yourself just a little below his crotch – Karlach, earlier, points and bellows loudly that she is ‘almost dick-height! Just a little above it, actually, that’s fucking hysterical!’ which is why Astarion makes sure to stay sitting for a good while. You, however, stand so close to crotch height it is mortifying. You have to take a step back and crane your neck up, almost painfully so, to be able to look at him.

It shocks you when he simply scoops you up into his arm, lifting you up on one elbow, and you are held up to his face rather easily. He gives you a cheeky grin. “Admittedly, I was miffed with you at first; it really is hard to be so,” he clicks his tongue, “stealthy when you’re a huge brute. But I think I’m beginning to see the upsides!”

“The upsides.” you say flatly. He chuckles, the sound seemingly louder because of his size, and he uses one hand to carefully cradle your head and bring you close for an awkward kiss. Your lips are so small in comparison to his, and it embarrasses you a little how tiny you feel. “Astarion,” you start, pushing his face back a bit, and you give him a half-hearted glare, “can you – can you not have desires right now when you’re way too big for me?”

“But darling,” and he drags it out just to annoy you, snickering at the little tick in your brow, “when will we ever get an opportunity like this again, hm? Us all alone, no one to bother us, especially when these lands are cursed as they are. Don’t you want to see how big I’ve gotten down there? I’m curious to see it myself.”

You want to say that you are a bit more forceful when you say no.

Astarion carries you away from the camp, blessed as you both are by Isobel’s magics, though you have a feeling that Selûne will more than likely disapprove of how Astarion is taking advantage of your weak protections. You aren’t really... isolated, given that Astarion is still so large and attracting attention, but nothing really wants to approach him when he is so, so large. Undressing you is extremely easy for him, and you find yourself being cradled gently by him. His eyes are wide, taking you apart, and the hunger on his face is even more unavoidable because of his size. His fingers, which have always been larger than yours, positively dwarf your legs when he helps hold you up in the air.

Holding you up like this, with his hands trying to cradle you while his thumbs attempt to spread your legs, you feel like a bug under intense scrutiny. He exhales out through his nose, instinctively despite the vestigial nature of it all, and you shudder from the way his breath washes over you. He leans closer to you, crowding you, and his large lips press a dainty kiss against your folds. You grab at one of his thumbs when it comes to rest on your belly, his tongue rolling out to drag between your soft folds.

You whimper; it is a lot of sensation at once, rubbing against your labia all at once, even when he tries to thin it, narrow it to press it against your hole. He pushes you closer lips completely overtaking your vulva, large tongue lapping mindlessly between your folds, and you moan loudly from the sensation. He hums approvingly, the vibrations all too much at once, head tilting to the side to mouth at your thigh.

“Do you trust me for a moment, darling?” Astarion says.

“For more than a moment.” you say, your voice a bit rough from your moaning, and Astarion grins ever so sweetly at you before his expression becomes thoughtful.

“I’m going to put you further into my mouth,” he warns, “nothing will happen to you. You’ll be fine. Trust me.” and you do, of course. You nod at him when he looks at you, verbalise it next when his expression grows sharp, and his tongue rolls out once more to give you a distracting, flat, broad lick against your swollen vulva.

His mouth opens over your vagina again, his tongue dragging from your swollen, emerging clit down to your puckered hole. He laps against you, quick, skilled flicks of his tongue even with his larger muscle, and you writhe and whine loudly. He pulls back for a moment, looking at you critically, before his mouth falls open and you try not to kick at him when his lips wrap around your feet, up until your ankles. He lets you slip further into his mouth – and it is so hot and wet inside, lips wrapped around half of your body, and your hands come to rest above his upper lip when he finally stops.

Wildness flashes briefly in his eyes before he squeezes them shut and opens them to look at you carefully. His tongue slathers his saliva against your legs, briefly exploratory, tasting your skin in a way that makes you shiver from the discomfort and odd excitement of being at his mercy in an entirely different way. The muscle flattens up against your vulva once more, pressing between your folds, swirling his tongue around before going back to tasting your legs, drenching you in his saliva.

Your hips jump up, trying to move in tandem with his tongue when he goes back to licking you mercilessly, the tip of his tongue swirling around your engorged clit. It lays flat, swirling and grinding against your clit, flicking it up and down, and you shake, shiver. You press your hands against his skin, unable to move your body much because of it trapped in his mouth.

It is when you are able to cum in his mouth, your whines and moans getting louder, shamefully so, that Astarion pulls you out of his mouth, murmurs a prestidigitation under his breath to wipe the saliva away, and you shiver at how suddenly cold you feel. He grins lopsidedly down at you. “See? It wasn’t that bad now, was it, darling?” and he presses a sloppy kiss between your legs, against your sensitive vagina, and you shiver.

He settles you down onto his knee, stopping you when you try to grind against him, and he clicks his tongue. You stiffen up, grasping at his leather trousers, bunching it up in your pathetically small hands. He works to unfasten his strings, pausing before he has to set you aside so he can undress himself. You can only watch as his body is revealed to you – blouse peeled off of his body, trousers shoved down and away, and embroidered underwear thrown aside to reveal his horrifically large erection.

It stands painfully erect before you, dripping copiously at its enlarged tip, and Astarion lifts you up again to sit on his abdomen. He leans back, his cock slapping against your back when you sit up, spreading his pre over you, and it feels like you are being marked by some sort of feral beast. Astarion chuckles at the look on your face, a fond expression overtaking him for a moment.

“You always were such a little thing.” he murmurs (he likes how small you are, how he can cage you in his arms and hold you, that you are the smallest out of them all and it makes him want to do terrible things to you while holding you in his arms), “but this is ever sweeter. Do you think you can take me?”

Looking behind yourself, to his hard, large erection that throbs and oozes more pre-cum from your gaze, then looking down at your vulva that feels like it will break in half, you know you can’t. “I will most definitely try.” is what you say instead, because you always want to please him, you know you do.

He helps you move up, his slender fingers wrapping around his pale, pretty penis; not a single hair anywhere, wonderfully thick and perfectly long, spreading you nicely before and now threatening to rip you in half, and he gives himself a few strokes just for some form of relief. You spread your legs, leaning back and his cock slaps against your back when he lets go so that he can instead press his fingers against your small hole.

One finger is a pleasant stretch. It sinks into you readily, making you huff and moan loudly from the sensation; you whimper with a bit of fear when a second finger presses against your wonderfully stuffed hole, his fingernail catching a bit at your rim before he presses it incessantly in. It takes some trying, your tongue rolling out from your panting; you struggle, muscles tensing and relaxing in short little bursts before you finally let that second finger in, and your eyes roll up into your head from the intense stretch.

It sinks in until the second knuckle, your mouth open with endless, whiny moans; it’s so much, forcing your stuffed vagina to accept even more in, and you wail when both fingers are pressed deep inside of you. His large thumb presses down on your sensitive clit and you make a strangled noise, hips jumping forward and you let out a soft squeak at the way his fingers feel inside of you.

“Good, good, you’re doing so good,” he murmurs, sick excitement painting his face and staining his voice as you fuck yourself on his large fingers. You pulse and flutter around his fingers, a shriek pushed out of you when he drags his fingers out just to thrust them mercilessly back in. You are most definitely going to gape the moment his fingers are done with you and Astarion seems to come to the same realisation with how roughly he keeps thrusting them in and out of you.

His cock twitches against you; his eyes are wild, staring down at your poor little hole that is going red from his attentions, stretched wide around his two fingers. When he teases a third one in, you babble incoherently – “I can’t take another!” you cry out and Astarion hushes you.

“You can darling, you can, come on,” he encourages, the third finger feeling almost impossibly too much, yet he still presses it against your fluttering, full hole. You don’t even know how he pushes it in – perhaps when he pulls the two fingers out and introduces the third amidst the soaked two, and it is shameful how much pre you yourself are dripping all over him. You don’t even get a second to register what is happening before he slams three fingers in and you are orgasming violently from the intense, almost-painful stretch.

Squirting copiously, you weep and beg when he keeps his thrusts going, extending your orgasm even as your cum begins puddling on his stomach, and it is only when you can cum no more and your voice is just pathetic whimpering that he pulls his soaked fingers out. His face is utterly wild, making him look almost feral, bestial, and he spreads your folds open further to stare at your gaped open hole.

“That looks like it could take me.” he says with strained breath, voice rough and a low growl, and he grabs you by the hips while you still feel insensate and boneless from your rough orgasm. The head of his cock feels almost comically large as he presses you against it, your hole spasming wildly, clenching up to drip more onto his erection and almost as if dreading how empty it is, before it relaxes open again and Astarion keens loudly.

He pushes you down, your hands flailing a bit before resting on his abdomen when he pushes down enough for it. He isn’t even halfway inside of you before you feel so stuffed, filled up with so much of his penis that you are surprised you haven’t torn completely open; perhaps it is a good thing he introduced the third finger, even though he no doubt adds it in because of the fact that he is lost in the sensation, in the moment. Your claws drag at his belly, sliding against your own cum and he giggles, your own much breathier than his own, because it is ridiculous how much he made you cum.

“You’re so – so – so incorrigible,” you slur out a little, your hole unable to even clench down on his fat erection, and his hands push down on your hips while you try to comply with him. It’s so much – he’s too much as he is right now, hands slipping on his stomach and you arch your back, thighs tensing up from the effort of trying to sink further, further down.

His fingers come to rest on your abdomen, his voice a bit awed as he says, “your belly’s bulging with me. You can’t take me.” but that doesn’t stop him; you look down and see he is right, his shape is poking through, bulging you obscenely with his erection. You feel like you are being hollowed out by him, and it doesn’t help when you aren’t even down all the way and Astarion is grabbing onto you and taking over.

All of your movement is abruptly taken away and controlled entirely by him. You scream so loudly that you are sure even the hunting team, so far away, can hear you; your tongue slips out again, your right hand slipping on his stomach before messily coming to your own clit to stroke and rub it as Astarion begins fucking you.

Both of you are just grunting, groaning animals, him growling exactly like one, and his eyes are wide and feral, focused on how your poor vagina can’t take all of him with how big he is. He babbles incomprehensibly at you, as if trying to praise you, though absolutely nothing he says makes sense, and you can’t help but laugh before it turns into a high-pitched whine.

“Please, cum for me, cum, let me see you cum around me,” Astarion says, the first coherent thing to slip out of his wet lips and his eyes shine bright now with love, and it is that begging, the way he looks at you, that sets you off again. Your orgasm isn’t as violent as the first time, though it still gets to you that you squirt again – far less copiously this time, but still enough to add to the mess already cooling on him, and he coos lovingly at you.

With your legs now shaky, body exhausted by your orgasm, he slows down, his thrusts lazy and leisurely before he digs his feet into the darkened lands with his hands dripping to claw at the earth before he cums deep inside of you. The amount inside makes you yelp – your belly rounds out with his spend and it ends up being too much to stay inside, squirting around him as it starts to escape, and he pulls out to let the rest of it land on your vulva, inner thighs, and even on your stomach.

You can’t clench your hole shut to stop his spend from just dripping out of you, forced into a rather big gape, and you just hum when he settles you down beside him and lets you try and catch your breath.

“Thank you for trusting me,” Astarion begins, and you murmur into his arm that he lets you use as a pillow, “I am aware it was… abrupt, and perhaps I may have pushed you too far, but you were a good sport about it.”

You nuzzle into his elbow. “I’m more glad that you wanted to do this with me,” you say, voice so sleepy, mind more than hazy, “I want you to feel safe to explore whatever you want.” and you don’t get to see his loving, fond gaze before you fall asleep, your body pushed beyond belief.

[When the two of you go back to the camp, way later when his condition seems to have finally faded, you are utterly shamefaced because you both look dishevelled and like you’ve been up to no good, though Astarion seems to be in very bright spirits about it. You try not to maul him violently when he ‘innocuously’ asks Gale if there is any way to adjust one’s size when enlarged. Karlach’s hyena like laughter at your embarrassment makes you wish you could just die.

You hate this vampling so very, very much.]

[maithefluffychicken]

Astarion/Tav, but mostly is just romance headcanons for our beloved companions.

Shadowheart is right - no matter how ominous her name -, thinking about the tadpole non-stop is not going to make it disappear from their brains. In this... Astarion wants to say night, but it's always night in the Underdark, so he can't really know if it's night time or if the sun he so misses is shining above them all. Anyway, right now they're at their camp, covered by giant, luminiscent mushrooms of any kind, the fire crackling cozily in front of them.

They all are talking about their love life, or the lack of it, and Astarion can't help but to notice a pattern. As if an invisible allmighty hand had chose the seven most miserable people in all Faerun.

Karlach, hasn't been with anyone in years, because of her flaming affliction. She says that before Zariel, she doesn't remember falling in love with anybody, but she's a tactile tiefling and she misses the soft touch of another being.

Shadowheart says that she's been devoted to Shar, the Dark Goddess, since she was a kid, and that if she ever loved someone, she allowed them to erase her memory.

Lae'zel is Astarion's favorite. The gith is bold and doesn't know taboo, does she? She talks about sex freely and without shame. She thinks sex is a way to let out some steam and energy, also a wonderful way to claim someone if you develop romantic feelings. Lae'zel knows what she wants and how she wants it, and calls them all immature when they blush. Astarion laughs delighted with Lae'zel's sexy stories.

They all are tired of hear about Gale's torrid romance with Mystra. The man beds a literal Goddess and is punished at the end, another reason why Astarion would never trust in any deity.

Halsin is... wild. Feral. Animalistic. Halsin wins them all in sex stories. Astarion feels a weird sting in his guts when Tav laughs and blushed at Halsin's anecdotes as a bear. Astarion knows it's not jealousy, he has never been jealous. It's fear. But the vampire stores that thought to examine it later.

Then there's Wyll... Gods above, Wyll have been training non-stop to become the perfect Prince Charming, hasn't he? Wyll claims that a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell. Astarion is fully convinced the man is reserving himself until being married. Nothing wrong with that! Just... a handsome boy like Wyll could have anyone. Astarion must admit - and he does admit - that Wyll could have been such a delicious morsel if... Well.

Tav.

Tav, who has been slowly working their way into Astarion's cold, dead heart. Tav, who laughs when Gale asks them about their love stories. Tav, who has had a childhood crush, a few failed relationships, and some affairs here and there during their adventures, but nothing too important to talk about it.

Astarion knows he's doomed when Tav smiles at Astarion, their cheeks flushed, maybe because of the conversation or maybe it's the fire heating their cheeks.

Karlach is the one who bumps Astarion's shoulders and asks him to share his torrid, debauched sexy anecdotes. Astarion's stomach churns, and he'll puke if he could. He knew, at the start of the conversation, that they'll ask him too.

Astarion puts on his well practiced facade and laughs it off, waving his hand elegantly and joking vaguely about how Baldur's Gate was full of delectable young men and women to spend the nights with. He thinks about them all, every day, and has to resist the impulse to- well. He keeps his well practiced charm, but something in his face must show his inner turmoil, because Tav interrupts him and redirects the conversation to another matter.

Astarion looks at Tav, grateful for once. Tav simply smiles at him, as if just as easy, and lets Gale to start rambling about something Astarion is not even listening. Maybe it is easy, for Tav at least. Astarion doesn't want to hope, nothing in his life is easy.

Later, in his bedroll, looking at the stars, Astarion answers Karlach's question to himself, his mind whirling with the realization-

If he fell in love while under Cazador's influence, he can't really know, he wasn't himself, he hasn't been himself for two hundred years. But Astarion has been in love, when he was young. He never knew how to reciprocate, too focused in other things.

Astarion has been in love before, but now he's sure he loves Tav. Astarion is free for now, and he knows he has to do something about that bright, overwhelming love he feels for Tav.

[our-reb00t-boi]

What would happen if Astarion met the reboot twins? 😍😁😂

Hello!! Apologies, late reply but this is interesting!

Idk much of Baldur's Gay--- I mean Baldur's Gate but all the ones I saw are from people shipping and

All I "know" of the game is it's a AAA high fantasy dating simulator adventure game.

And all I know about Astarion is that he's a more flowery flamboyant version of V from dmc 5 in terms of being a fanged flowery goth man

Sorry V no hard feelings

You guys can correct me about the game. I don't have this🙏😂

Astarion to Dante:

I think at 1st they won't go well together, as friends or as dates. I think the differences in how they approach people is a river that the other may not be able to cross.

I think Dante finds Astarion's flamboyant nature to be annoying but he quietly just deals with it. He also observes a lot and may find Astarion suspicious.

Astarion is a cunning man and Dante can smell that from a mile away. He has trust issues and the 2 of them would've likely tried to attack the other, if Dante was the one who makes a spicy rebuttal or if Astarion was tricking or gaslighting Dante (to bite his skin lmaoo)

The only way they'd probably bond over something is a mutual agreement on revenge. And also something at least utilitarian/useful to benefit one another besides a shared goal.

Another thing that could make them get together in a more intimate level is that Astarion can acknowledge Dante's sexuality. Anyone reading this can interpret this anyway they can. But I believe both Astarion and Dante are hedonistic, and physical desires are itches they want scratching. And Astarion could possibly do something about that young sex drive Dante has. And I think Dante's not off about how anything goes, if the both of them play their cards right. Or with lots of pizza and booze.

Astarion to Vergil:

This one gets complicated, or specifically their particular psychological traits (and issues) are gonna come into play with these 2.

I think at first everything looks smooth at first glance. They have a mutual understanding of one another and respect one another. You almost don't hear anything bad about how the other thinks on the other. They're both very classy people, they're into playing with semantics and probably acknowledge the other for their tastes.

But even them being acquaintance is very surface level. Vergil behind the scenes is secretly working on making background checks about Astarion, his life, his former relationships, his stats, etc. Vergil is careful about him, but he doesn't show how he's skeptical about this elf-vampire.

Astarion on the other hand has always been dry about their mutual-ness, if that's a word. He's entertained by this young genius with high standards and he gets a kick out of trying to break Vergil's cool sometimes, especially if Astarion can try to go skin deep (or literally try to sink his fangs)

I think their bond is going to be very complicated. Astarion knows Vergil's type: he has a keenness for control and not wanting to submit to anything. And Vergil knows that Astarion is the type who will do something unpredictable when backed against the corner.

Perhaps Astarion can roleplay around and make Vergil feel like the boss of him as a one time only thing, if you catch my drift. Vergil, on the other hand, doesn't mind playing and learning some secret tricks so long as Vergil is getting some benefits. But after that, they're relationship remains in this ice-cold social game of chess, where they appear like everything is hunky dory.

[omgkalyppso]

Étoile Ienith | High Elf | Paladin | They/He | 166

What is your Tav’s…

favorite weapon: mace as an elf, teeth as a vampire

most prized possession: this post is in Étoile's tag for a reason, everything is mutable / replaceable / subject to the ravages and loss of time

deepest desire: to serve Auril's interests

guilty pleasure: the thrill of combat

best-kept secret: I know I never shut up about it, but it would be that their mother was a werewolf

greatest strength: every one of Étoile's strengths is a flaw I think. Their conviction. They're willing to see their choices through, but the ability to accept their initial instincts were wrong might be better 🤪. Their determination to see an end goal realized regardless of personal cost to avoid their greatest fear - loss of autonomy - is what lands them in Raphael's pact, so, also not great. The traits that see them survive their journey land them in their Neutral Evil alignment. They want to stand up for worshippers of non-good-aligned deities, werewolves and the (un)dead, and it put them in opposition of their Paladin Order and Good people. It would feel silly to say their greatest strength is their literal strength / combat prowess aksjdfgjkahsg.

fatal flaw: self-sacrificial and not even smart about it

favorite smell: cold, pine, patchouli

favorite spell or cantrip: Auril's Flowers

pet peeve: people who are overly familiar

bad habit: "pick your battles. pick… pick fewer battles than that. put some battles back. that’s too many"

hidden talent: can repeat a tune on a flute after hearing it twice

leisure activity: reading

favorite drink: nonalcoholic - black rosehip tea; alcoholic - White Draconic Ale, Devil's Blood Whiskey, Deepwine

comfort food: bovine roast, maple butter cookies

favorite person(s): Aranea, Astarion, Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Halsin, and on and on

favored display of affection (platonic and/or romantic): platonically - hugging; romantically - completing a task or favour that brings some delight to their partner

fondest childhood memory: developing their innate high elf cantrip Ray of Frost at seven years old; their mothers, worshippers of Auril, were very proud

Tagged by @razrogue (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o

Tagging: @umbralstars, @luinen-bluewater, @boghermit, @bosspigeon, @toucansafari, @sp3llw0rk, @lucius-the-sinful, @jackalopedread and YOU!

Also, about Étoile and being cold and swimming:

A friend has an oc who worships Umberlee and I read that worshippers of Umberlee don't learn to swim, and told them that I could picture Étoile's mothers teaching them to swim in a fucking frigid stream / river and using the reasoning "We don't worship Umberlee," and that in the ice water on their snow capped mountain, little Étoile complaining that "It's cold," would get such an earful from their priest of Auril mother, Aranea about how cold was a blessing, etc. So that even years later, if struck by an unexpected amount of cold water, like walking under a branch, or eavestroughing that spills water down their back, or if someone (cruelly?) tossed a cold bucket of water on them as they slept tranced that Étoile's instinctive reaction is to mutter / hiss / exclaim, "Praise Auril."

[baldurs-gate-simp]

Laila and Gale Headcanons

There's a lot, so I'm putting it under

Gale’s dad left when he was extremely little. He barely remembers him so he doesn’t really bring him up often. Morena knows not to mention him as it makes them both upset. 

Laila was abandoned at the steps of Baldur’s Gate orphanage when she was a newborn. All that’s left with her is the blanket she was swaddled in and a note that stated her name, birth date, and some health information. 

Laila really never felt like she belonged until after meeting her other nautiloid companions. They’re more family than anyone. 

Laila and Gale get married about eight months after the defeat of the mind flayers. Of course all the companions come with some of Gale’s family. However, Laila’s side is empty. The others let her know though that no matter what, they’re there for her.  

Laila and Astarion are really close. She feels a sense of understanding, both feeling the need to fend for themselves, not depending on others. 

While Gale and Astarion don’t always see eye to eye, they tolerate each other for Laila. They do have a general understanding that the other person makes Laila happy and her happiness is all that matters. 

Gale loves when Laila runs her hands through his hair, it calms him down like nothing else. He also loves shoulder kisses, they’re his weakness. 

When Laila is sick with colds, Gale has a routine. He makes her chamomile tea in bed, tucks her in a billion blankets, and makes her favorite: butternut squash soup. 

Speaking of cooking, Gale literally is the best cook. Laila knows how to cook and she does well, but if she makes something and then Gale makes it, Gale’s always tastes so much better. He jokes it’s the love he puts into it. Really it’s just some spices

Laila is the literal only reason Gale gets up in the morning some days, especially when he still has the orb. He realizes how lucky he got with her and is almost amazed that she stuck by him through having an orb in his chest. 

The day he meets with Mystra about the crown, Laila is a literal wreck. He leaves and she is in shambles Astarion ends up coming over to alleviate her troubles by just talking her off a cliff. When Gale gets home and tells her it’s gone, it’s a cry for all. Even Astarion is a bit tears eyed seeing them. 

Gale sells the tower because he wants to start fresh after the orb is gone. They decide on a little cottage with a pond and a huge garden. 

Astarion comes to see them one day and explains that he hates being in Baldur’s Gate due to remembering his trauma and wants to start fresh somewhere else, so he begins to stay with them while he’s looking for a new place to call home. 

Gale is a girl dad all the way. Laila and him end up having three girls: Theodosia, Gwendolyn, and Josephine. They love uncle Astarion to bits. Astarion jokes they’re the only kids he can tolerate. 

Astarion has this unbreakable bond with the girls that no one understands. He teaches them how to shoot arrows, how to sew, and so much more. Some good and some bad things. 

Gwendolyn and Josephine took a while to realize he was a vampire, but Theodosia knew right away, and was far from afraid and Astarion was shocked about this. She just babbles and reaches up for him and this is when he realizes every kid is bad except this one. This one’s okay. 

When Laila and Gale are expecting Dosia, a letter shows up at their house from the orphanage stating a man came in asking about her and that a letter was dropped off by him. The man is Laila’s father, unbeknownst to her. 

She writes to him and they decide to meet up at the market. Gale comes with for safety purposes. What if the guy is a murderer? 

When Hale, Laila’s dad sees her, he is in awe but he states something that would really change her life. He states, “I never stopped looking. I knew I would find you.” 

Laila, on that day, gains a family she always wanted. She gains her father, Hale, her stepmom, Galadriel, a half sister named Maertisa, and a half brother named Finley.

Astarion stays in Waterdeep, finding a palace of his own. It’s not too far from Gale and Laila, and he uses this as an excuse to come see his nieces. 

Astarion never pictured kids in his life, but as an uncle he finds purpose. He teaches the girls all types of things. 

[loviatars]

The Highwayman - Part Two

pairing: astarion x female npc (reader, not the mc!) warnings: references to abuse and torture rating: teen for the above reasons, for now <3 word count: 1,632 notes: we’re back bc this has been fun to write!! if you like it, consider reblogging and/or leaving me some notes in said reblogs xx part one. ao3.

There are some that take pleasure in the distress of another, often with a special glee if they think the other has done wrong. But who in the world hasn’t done wrong, you think as you try to maintain an expression that appears interested in what’s being said. It turns out the Gur can talk for quite a while.

It seems his delight with Astarion’s suffering has to do with the fact that he is not a fellow mortal. You’d like to think you’d be ashamed if you felt any way similar.

But he has no shame at all, it seems. Though his version of events is also part-lie, he claims vaguely to be a hunter as well-- and Astarion a prize. While you have no doubt in the verity of both statements, there’s something missing.

You’ve been sitting on a barstool so long your back’s aching. And were it a quicker-paced evening you might be forced to your feet, pouring drinks for the weary on their way to the city. But Gandrel the hunter is the only man still upright, in a manner of speaking. He’s deep in his cups and hasn’t asked for another glass of wine.

“Haven’t I seen you before somewhere,” he asks. And as if he seems to realize the foolishness of that, adds, “Briefly, of course.”

“I don’t think we’ve met, sir, no,” you begin. It isn’t always like this, most types that pass through the Dying Gull hardly notice you. They’re too busy looking at the flagon you set down in front of them.

But it seems Gandrel is smart, even when drunk. And that unnerves you.

“Forgive my asking,” he goes on, “but I think it may’ve been on a wanted poster in Baldur’s Gate.”

Clever enough to remember a face, but not bright enough to say nothing. You scoff, letting your eyes fall to the tops of your boots.

“I meant no offense, you understand,” he says, trying to salvage the interest of a pretty woman. “In fairness, I may be wrong. I couldn’t recall what the poster was for--”

“No, you’re right about where you likely know me from,” you admit. “My face was all over the city for a time.”

“Do you mind if I asked what happened, seeing as I’ve told you stories of my own?” he says. You bite your tongue to keep from telling him that you asked in order to steal from him.

“I was put on trial for theft’n murder, which I did not commit” you say, “course I ran, as any girl’d do.”

“We’ve all been scared,” he says, staring blankly at you. You nod.

“Right. Can I trust you not to say nothin’ when you get back with your quarry?” you ask in turn. “I mean, you are a hunter after all.”

“Not in the way you’d think,” he replies. “My quarry, as you put it, tends to be the bloodthirsty and monstrous kind. And I mean that literally.”

“You’re a monster hunter,” you confirm. He nods. “And the man in the wagon?”

“Not a man,” he corrects, you try not to bristle. “Vampire spawn.”

“Oh, my,” you feign a gasp. But he’s too drunk to notice. “I wonder what he’s done to earn such a fate.”

“I have no idea, it didn’t seem my place to ask,” Gandrel laughs in a way that makes you uncomfortable, “But I suppose its existence could be damning enough.”

“Right,” you reply. “That’s why you haven’t fed him?”

“Would be irresponsible, I thought,” he says. “Doubt it could die again.”

“I hadn’t considered that,” you admit.

He looks at you like you’re pitiable and soft-hearted. Like you’re still a lass on a wanted poster, wrongfully accused. You stare at him back with glassy sweetness, and he is foolish enough to mistake it for sincere.

Gandrel asks for another drink, then. And, dutifully as it is your job, you provide him with one. Though coherent enough to sniff out the gossip up until that point, this last glass makes him slump over the bar.

It’s just as well, you’ve had enough of his mismatched empathy. 

Plucking the obvious loop of keys from his belt as he snores over the bar is like taking sweets from a child. But without the obvious guilt, of course. Stealing freedom from a bad man is one of the nobler things you’ve done, after all.

You sincerely doubt him to be exemplary of anything other than cruelty, though he was right when he insisted to you that not all Gur were awful despite popular opinion. He, unfortunately, happens to be. You leave the Dying Gull with a sneer on your mouth and let the door shut quietly behind you.

Out in the cold night, you wish you’d brought your shawl. Skin turns to ice this close to winter, and you’re almost worried about Astarion as you near the wagon before you remember what he is. 

The canvas drape is still tugged out of the way, letting in lamplight and long shadows. Fear lurches in your heart when you don’t immediately see him huddled in the cage.

“Astarion?” you whisper.

“You’re late,” his reedy voice mumbles back. You hear a shifting, a creaking and a sound like bones being dragged. He pulls himself into the light at the gap in the canvas. “You said an hour, at the very least it has been two.”

“As if you’re any good with time of day,” you scoff. But with more triumph than even you expect, you hold up the ring of keys. 

Their merry jangle seems to shock him out of his joyless ribbing. His eyes, blood-red and glassy with hunger seem to sharpen in the half-light. He sits forward a little bit, though without the energy given to him by anger he lacks the strength to fly at the bars.

“You have them,” he says like he can’t believe it. “I thought for sure you’d be caught by that grubby little--” he cuts himself off when he sees your expression shift to something unamused. “He happens to be annoyingly wise.”

“Though a bit of an idiot at the same moment,” you add. To your surprise, Astarion smirks.

“Are you waiting for me to waste away to nothing?” he asks, his jovial tone now includes a sharpness. But whether it is fear or anger is anyone’s guess.

“My apologies,” you huff, choosing not to start an argument. You walk back around the cage and take hold of the lock. Astarion inches towards where the door will swing open.

It gives a satisfying click, feeling heavy in your hand when you tug it out of the loops. Pulling the door aside, you stand out of the way.

Though you offer your hand to help, Astarion does not take it as he crawls for the entrance. He stands for the first time in three days and nearly buckles upon doing so. His knees ache from sitting with his back hunched, and his eyes from straining in the dark for so long.

You jump forward, quick enough to wrap an arm about his waist and keep him standing. But before he can lash out, curl or coil away from you as he does-- Astarion notices you are not touching him any more. He’s been propped up against the cage, silver feeling uncomfortably warm with only a frayed doublet between it and his skin.

He decided he didn’t want your help. You only caught him to keep him from splitting his skull open. He gives a quick nod, not in gratitude or thanks. But it’s in acknowledgement, at least.

“You mentioned cattle?” he asks, trying to sound casual and crossing his arms over his chest. Keeping in a laugh is a struggle, but you manage it.

“Be patient while I lock up the cage. I think it best to make it look as if you’re still inside of it,” you rationalize. Astarion rolls his eyes.

“If I had it my way, I’d be strong enough to lock him in there,” he spits. “And to see how he enjoys himself.”

“Yes, and then you’d spurr the horse until it carried him to some other place with people less likely to forgive vampire spawn,” you reply. You don’t fumble with the lock in the least, sliding it back in its place and readying its key.

“I meant that he would be dead,” Astarion mutters. “In addition to being caged.”

“So did I,” you reply. You look back at him with a firm look. “Best that he be kept alive for now. No use murderin’ where it isn’t needed.”

“I don’t have much of a say, I suppose,” he admits. It’s true, he can barely stand. And cows blood will only give him strength enough to run now that his energy’s failed him, “Lead on.”

“Give me just another moment,” you say. “There’s two keys on this ring.”

“And?” he sighs. You’re already walking around the wagon, and though you don’t see him lean his head back against the silver bars-- you hear him hiss when his skin makes contact.

You smirk, tempted to ignore him.

“Odds are it’s not a key to a house, seein’ as he’s a proud wanderin’-type,” you say. 

You crawl up in the wagon and begin to feel over the rough wood. Your fingers brush over a keyhole discreetly placed perpendicular to the seat. A hidden compartment lies under it.

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks more directly, following you around the other side of the wagon and leaning when necessary.

You’re on your knees in the footrest, but you lift your head as a lock clicks open a second time that night.

“I said we couldn’t kill ‘im,” you repeat. “Never said we couldn’t rob ‘im blind.”