spacebarbarianweird

[spacebarbarianweird]

Note: elves physically mature by 25 (so their childhood is still longer) and mature psychologically by 100.

I know there was some discourse about Astarion's age a while back and here's my thoughts on it:

He may have been turned into a vampire when he's 39 (correct me if I'm wrong) but elves' bodies mature at the same speed humans' does. They see maturity around or after 100 years because of experience etc, I also remember reading it is after that point they can't dream about/remember their past lives.

What I'm saying is, Astarion might have been a vampire for 200 years but he's an elf. His trauma sat back his emotional maturity for sure, but I think by elf standards he is 239. His aging stopped physically but by elven standards it counts.

[spacebarbarianweird]

It is important to note that vampires' features look rougher than they were when the person was mortal. So maybe that's the case why he looks older than elves of his age are supposed to be

“Oh Astarion looks old cause of trauma and stress”

HE’S A VAMPIRE. ARE YOU STUPID?!?!

Trauma and stress he experienced as a Vampire. Vampires don’t physically age. They’re frozen in time however they originally died. That’s like a big part of the vampire deal. He looks the same as the day he died.

Why are we still saying this he doesn’t even look remotely old.

[spacebarbarianweird]

This is so good! I love it! Do you have a tag list? If you do, I wanna be added!

Little Gremlin

____________

Tags:Astarion / f!Tav, hurt, injury, mild gore, comfort, end-game spoiler-ish. SFW, Fluff

Summary: Another introspection into Astarion's little glass noggin.

Words: 2.4k

Also available on Ao3

The city outside had finally begun to settle. The city Watch and the Fists, those who had not been tadpoled during the infiltration of the Absolute, were slowly putting a stop to the looting and helping the displaced and injured to aide.

The Netherbrain had fallen and taken the Crown of Karsus with it into the Chionthar. Astarion had seen Wyll and Karlach vanish to Avernus, and his phantom heart ached for his friend. Karlach’s battle was not over, not yet. Even so, the world felt mostly right. Everyone in the world that he cared about was more or less okay. Until the sun found him.

Those tiny prickles of heat in the veins of his face and hands were so small, so gentle at first, that he almost dismissed the sensation. He’d gotten so used to very nearly being alive again that random aches and pains had become commonplace. He didn’t think much of it until the burning began to rip across any exposed centimeter of flesh, searing his nerve endings and striking terror into his undead heart.

He ran then. He could hear her, his Tav, screaming for him. He knew Gale and Halsin were holding her back to keep both of them safe, comforting her, telling her to let him go, that he’d be all right. He even recognized the flare of jealousy that he couldn’t be the one to soothe her, that they had their hands on her when he couldn’t, somewhere deep beneath the pain of his burning flesh. But there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Panic had gripped him and all he could do was run. To try to find shelter. To protect her from what he was and what he had become once again.

The warehouse cellar he found was mercifully dark and quiet, in spite of the chaos still raging in the city streets. They had won, but so much was now lost to him. The sun had turned on him like a knife turned in a hand and took him away, back to the dark. To add insult to injury, it had taken his beauty, too. It wasn’t enough that he’d live in pain and darkness with his demons, but now he had to do it as something truly monstrous.  He found a moldering pile of disused burlap sacks for a bed and curled into a ball, cradling his burned face with his burned hands, and he wept until the oblivion of the pain took mercy on him and dragged in into unconsciousness.

When he woke, he was completely certain that it had all been a dream. The familiar scent of dank mildew and rot filled his nostrils. He lay on a pile of rags on a cold, hard floor. He ached all over. He fully expected that when he opened his eyes, he’d be naked, manacled to the wall of Godey’s dungeon in Cazador’s palace with a fresh web of lacerations across his face and hands and neck – punishment for some sleight Cazador had dreamed up. He whimpered and swore, eyes still shut tight as he pounded his fist against the floor, sending a white-hot jolt of pain spiraling up his arm. He should have known better. He should have known better than to believe any of the events of the last months could have been real. Good things, like friends and freedom and love, didn’t happen for him. Some people were made to suffer.  

When he opened his eyes at last, there was only darkness. No animated skeleton, wielding a scourge to beat him into submission. No chains. Only the scuttling of rats and the lap of water nearby. Cazador was dead. His bones and muscles knew the absence of his late master the way they knew weight and pressure. They were truths that didn’t need questioning.

The pain was just as real whether he was caged in nightmares, or awake. He held his hands up, and they felt tight, as if the skin was shrunken too small to cover the bones and sinews within.  The dismal light in that dark cellar was too weak a thing to see the true extent of the damage, but he didn’t need to see it. He knew his hands, once so clean and smooth and fine, had flared like burning magnesium. They could only be charred and cracked, with fissures of raw, bloody meat now. He hadn’t seen his face in over two centuries, and for the first time in all that time, he was glad he couldn’t see it. He didn’t want to know what horror awaited Tav when he found her again.

Tav.

Gods, could he face her like this? Would she scream? Would she vomit in revulsion at his burned and mangled face and hands if he stood before her again? He ached for her, not just for her blood, but all of her, to hold her in his arms, to hear her sing and laugh. He could go to her. She was probably at the Elfsong right now. Probably half crazed, begging the others to help her look for him. Or at least, he hoped she was. He didn’t want her suffering on his account, but he hoped that she was alive and well, that she still wanted him.

That was another new thing with Tav. She had been a seemingly endless parade of new experiences and habits, but this most recent one, hoping, was by far the most unsettling.  Hope had always been a monster; a relentless little gremlin that fed false promises and made the longings and desires brutally pummel him when he was at his lowest and darkest.  It was apprehension and anxiety and a tightness in his chest, and it walked hand in hand with bitter disappointment.

But with Tav, it was also lightness. With her and the hope she brought him, his jaw was unclenched for the first time in two centuries. He gave himself permission to hope because with Tav, the things he hoped for came to be more often than not.

He could hope once more, he thought. She was her, after all. No one else was like her. She’d trusted him and cared for him, when all good sense should have told her not to. He hoped she could continue to care for him, to trust him, to love him, even in whatever state he was in. In darkness and in light. In pain and in ecstasy. In beauty and in monstrosity. For better or worse. 

His lips felt tight when he smiled, felt like they were cracking, but he didn’t care. The thought of holding her was enough. The thought of her going mad with worry over him was enough. He even chuckled at the thought of the shiner she had probably given Gale as he tried to hold her back.

Very well, decision made.  He would find her and accept the outcome.

When he emerged from the warehouse cellar, he was surprised to find that things were better off than he had feared. He’d found a whole nest of rats, which, vile as they were, were still vital. As he drank each one, he felt the creature’s blood filling his veins, soothing those scorched delicate passages within him. In the light of the fires the Watch had lit in braziers all around the lower city, he could see his hands were not the melted and charred ruin of flesh he pictured. He couldn’t tell about his face, but it didn’t feel so stretched, either.

Astarion kept to the shadows as he picked his way around rubble and the ruined homes and shops. When at last he reached the Elfsong, he was surprised by how little damage the tavern had sustained. The damn thing was not only still standing, unscarred, but it was open for business. Roaring, too, by the look of it. He stood in the darkness of the burned-out shell of what used to be the headquarters of the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette, watching the comings and goings. And then, suddenly, she was there.

Bathed in moonlight, she stood on the balcony like an ingenue taking the stage in a play.  Even at a distance, Astarion could see she was as much of a wreck as he imagined she would be, and it made his phantom heart flutter with joined delight and misery. She was still in her leather and scale mail, still covered in blood and grime. Her hair was pushed back off her face as if she’d run her hands through it so many times that gravity gave up and let it just stay that way. He couldn’t stop smiling.

Tav was scanning the street, watching the patrons as they came and went, obviously searching. For what, exactly, Astarion didn’t know, but that little hope gremlin that had taken up residence somewhere behind his ear whispered to him that she was looking for him. The clouds scudded out of the way of the full moon, dousing the sad remains of the broadsheet’s foyer in sickly yellow-gray light. She saw him. Stared at him, her mouth hanging open. People passed in the street. Time slowed. Astarion was sure that if there had been music playing, it would have faded out with all other sounds as they looked at each other.

As if a spell had broken, she bolted through the balcony doors. Astarion could hear the commotion inside their rooms, could almost track Tav’s progress as she tore through the upper floor of the tavern and the noisy bar room below. She burst through the doors at street level, tripped over some rubble still littering the street before all but launching herself into his arms. She was usually so careful of his sensitivity to touch. It warmed his cold dead heart to see her put own need for reassurance ahead of him for a change.

He thought she would bombard him with a tirade of “do you know what you dids” and “how could yous,” but it never came. Instead, she just held him, her arms and legs wrapped around him, so similar to the first night they had slept together, but so much more genuine. More real. Just more. His hands hurt where they cradled her weight against him, but it was nothing. She wanted him, without his asking, and any pain was far away, blocked by the radiance he felt with her in his arms. She leaned her forehead against his, her natural heat stinging the still tender burns there, but he wouldn’t move her. He’d die with her like that if it was what she wanted.

“Come upstairs,” she whispered at last. She slithered down his body, taking his still-wounded hand in her own without hesitation. Astarion imagined all of the eyes on him as they waded through first the pub full of strangers and then the common room full of their companions, but no one said a word. If they had been coached or were stunned into silence, he didn’t know. Whatever the case, he was glad for it. When at last they were alone in the bathroom, she pulled him into her arms again and brushed her lips against his swollen, tender ones.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” he asked, not sure he wanted the answer. Smiling, she delicately cupped his cheek in her palm, called him a beautiful idiot and told him to get undressed.

And that was the end of it. No flinching, no sad look that was too full of pity. No rallying speech about how he’d be better in no time. She just called him beautiful, like she always did, and called him an idiot. Like she always did. To her, nothing had changed. No matter what his face looked like, he was still him and she still loved him.

In the bath, with her back against his chest, she told him how after he left, she had indeed punched Gale, and she may have accidentally kicked Halsin in the worst possible place as he carried her away from the pier. Both of them were still salty about it. As Astarion gently scrubbed dried blood and dirt from her body and face, she told him how this was the first time she had stopped moving in the 24 hours since the brain had fallen. She had helped refugees and sifted through rubble to find survivors. She’d loaded dead illithids onto carts. She did anything she could to keep herself from running blindly after him into the wreckage of the burning city. Mercifully, Gale had stopped her from trying to cook for the city’s newly unhoused.

Her yawns grew more frequent as they talked. Though she insisted she still wanted him to feed from her, and then, perhaps, make love to her, Astarion could see her spirit was willing, but the flesh was growing weaker by the moment.

They were both still naked when he carried her to bed in the gray hour before dawn. She rolled onto her side to give him access to her neck and was fast asleep before he finished feeding.

Astarion woke from true sleep as the sun was setting on the following evening. Tav was still asleep, curled with her back against his chest in the same position she had been when he had drifted off himself. It wasn’t dark enough yet for him to venture out, but in truth, very little could have made him want to. He was still amazed at how her blood sang in his veins, how it had repaired most of the sun’s damage, leaving only a few faint red lines on the backs of his hands where the burns had been the worst. He’d known he loved her, possibly from the very start when he held a knife to her throat, but any doubts about it had long since evaporated.

As if she could feel him watching her, Tav stirred, muttering in her sleep. He lay beside her, head propped up on one palm, and thought to himself that this was what he wanted most. It wasn’t power, or wealth, or even to be free to walk in the sun again. If this was to be his life, for the rest of his life, it was all he could hope for.  He could live without all of the other things if it meant opening his eyes and seeing this beautiful woman, asleep next to him, drooling a little as she snored.

____________

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed this little fluffy self-indulgent introspection.

Musical Inspiration – Sight of the Sun – Fun, Miss You So Badly – Jimmy Buffett, Hallelujah – Leonard Cohen (Rufus Wainright version)

Visual Inspiration - https://www.tumblr.com/daintysclaw/746584182996844544/the-pic-lmaoo?source=share

[spacebarbarianweird]

I am going to break your hearts by writing Tiriel x Astarion AU where he never became a vampire (and she was raised by her elven father and was never abused). And you will also learn why Astarion called his bbaby daughter Alethaine

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion romance #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #tiriel of the sunset mountains #tiriel the barbarian #astarion x tiriel #oc tav: tiriel #astarion au #not a vampire astarion

[spacebarbarianweird]

awww absolutely love it!

Some days Astarion feels the pain of being a vampire more than others. He knows and feels it in every fibre of his being. He's different, he's a monster.

He's cold to the touch, his eyes glow red, he cannot go into the sun, his heart doesn't beat.

When you notice these moments of painful realisation you move to him as you see the shine in his usually bright eyes dim. And you wrap your arms tightly around him. So your warmth seeps into his body. And so he can feel your heartbeat drum through both of your bodies.

You hold him like this until he cannot tell if it's your warmth or his. Until you feel his spark return. Willing him to know that you'll let your heart beat for the two of you, no matter what.

[spacebarbarianweird]

Batstarion 👌

Some with the twins (His dhampire kiddos)

Btw, this is part of the au that Astarion can turn into a bat without the ascended thing. As much as I love ascended Astarion's alternate sides, spawn Astarion is more my style personally. Especially when he's with his little bat pups. (～￣▽￣)～

[spacebarbarianweird]

People

1) vampires always look the same they did when they died. So magistrate Astarion was just in a very good form

2) he is an elf. Elves always look more beautiful than others

3) vampirism make certain features look rougher but not severely twisted

So stop removing Astarion’s abs! If he has them, he had them in his mortal life. It has nothing to do with realistic representation. You can't starve a vampire to death .

But you can drive them insane

Guys I just can't trust people who get triggered over mods that remove Astarion's laugh lines but then use mods that get rid of his abs. I know he was starved but you really can't apply human logic to an undead being who never physically ages. Like is it so hard to believe a Magistrate could have worked out or something like that? And literally how much mass is a liquid diet going to add to someone?

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion my beloved #astarion

[spacebarbarianweird]

Shotgun Wedding

First thing you see after you zoom in is how you die

How you dying 👀

[spacebarbarianweird]

How about you doodle/draw Astarion on a clothes shopping spree, impossibly happy or teary or however you like, since he's had nothing of his own in 200 years

How about you doodle/draw Astarion just... Hugged. Loved. Cared for. Having his head patted. His ears caressed. Ticklish Astarion, maybe. JUST HIM. HAPPY.

How about you doodle/draw Astarion braiding beloved's hair (anyone, your Tav, Gale, Wyll, Halsin, a random Tav, Shadowheart even (I personally think they'd be besties and talking shit about everyone in camp in Elvish while they do each other's hair and nails))

How about you doodle/draw Astarion just sewing. Anywhere, any act, before or after the game. Just anytime.

How about- (I'm so sorry)

I loved the sewing idea and a little comic was born

[spacebarbarianweird]

I haven't gotten tired of those prompts! Send me if they are to your liking!

Classic tropes/prompts in parental stories <3

The kid wakes up in the middle of the night because of nightmares and is too scared to sleep by themselves, so they sneak into their parental figure's bedroom, begging them to sleep together

Hide and Seek

Parental figure carrying the kid piggyback

Tickle fights! (no need for explanations, that's just adorable qwq)

Kid falls asleep somewhere and the caretaker finds them, bringing them to their bed

Caretaker and the child fall asleep on the couch together while watching a movie <3

Caretaker takes the kid to a fair, playground, restaurant or shopping, just spending the day and having fun together

Winter! (picture snowball fights, sleighing, buliding a snowman, hot chocolate, baking cookies, Christmas presents)

On a cold winter day Caretaker notices that the child is freezing so they draw a gentle smile and say: "Come here", pulling them under their coat to warm them up

Caretaker gives the kid their clothes, which are waaay too large for them so they are sitting there in a oversized sweater and Caretaker rolls up their sleeves

(and for a bit o' whump :D) Child gets injured/sick and the caretaker has to tend to their wounds or nurse them back to health

Stargazing together or catching some fireflies (I have a soft spot for that one <3)

Or just both of them cuddling under a blanket in front of the fireplace while rain and thunder is rumbling outside :3

[spacebarbarianweird]

I've finished the long anticipated breeding fic about Astarion and Tiriel but it basically comes in two parts. One is a smutty description of wild lovemaking. The other one is about dealing with the news Tiriel is with the child. And Astarion freaks out to the point of nervous breakdown. Now I think if I should make it in two parts or publish as a whole (the way I wrote it).

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion romance #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #tiriel of the sunset mountains #oc tav: tiriel #astarion x tiriel #tiriel the barbarian #astarion smut #breeding

[spacebarbarianweird]

You know what. I am going to watch the show NOW

Fallout New Vegas is always on my heart

I can’t wait to see Lucy realize who this jackass actually is 🤣

based on the meme in the read more section by @flam-kish

[spacebarbarianweird]

Thank you luv! Your reblogs alway make me happy and on the floor!

How about the next one will be about how they made our bbaby girl in the first place? A pure accident, but a very hot one!

Little Bundle of Darkness

Synopsis: Astarion becomes a father.

Tags: fluff, comfort, dadstarion, dhampirs, pregnancy

Alethaine's age: newborn

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Thanks @lobster-risotto for beta-reading!

Astarion wants to leave the house, just to distract himself a bit. Just to take a break.

A cry of pain pierces the air. 

The vampire starts moving objects in the room mindlessly. He hates dissociating but at this moment he misses this feeling of not being present in the moment.

It's been years since he felt so useless, so doomed. And so scared.

Another cry, louder than the previous one, and Astarion clenches his fists as if being ready to attack an invisible enemy. 

He and Tiriel have been through a lot. He has seen her in blood and pain many times - his fierce warrior-wife who wields a two-handed axe with the same elegance he uses daggers is unstoppable and unbreakable.

But this… this is different. 

"I - I can't!", he hears Tiriel. "It hurts!"

Whatever she wants to say next, drowns in yet another cry.

Astarion casts a glance outside. The sun is still shining so he is locked inside the house. Helpless and useless while Tiriel is suffering in agonizing pain only with a midwife to be by her side.

...He had no idea it was possible. He is an undead. Undead men don't impregnate mortal women. Besides, it had been twenty years since they met. If it had been possible to conceive a child, it would have happened a long time ago.

But – 

One day her blood just tasted different. And Tiriel was so tired she couldn’t lift her weapon on their back home from the wilderness. She was claiming everything was all right and he had to drag her to the town’s healer.

She came back much sooner than he expected, and he immediately sensed something was utterly wrong. Tiriel sat in front of him in the chair, eyes firmly fixed on her hands.

"My sweet, what did he say?" Astarion asked. By this moment he started feeling a wave of his own panic. Tiriel is mortal. She is a warrior, yes, but she isn’t immune to curses and, after all, death. And besides he had never seen her like that.

"Astarion, tell me one thing. Have you heard about children born from vampires?"

"Yes, I have. Dhampirs. It’s like being a vampire without downsides,"he got so carried away that he basically gave a lecture to Tiriel, and then stumbled. "Why do you ask?"

And then she put her hand on her belly.

“He told me I am pregnant.”

… The next months were intense. Sometimes everything was good. They could even sit and talk about the future – sure, the child was going to be an elf with just a bit of human ancestry on Tiriel’s side. 

But more often than that they both were scared. Tiriel had insane mood swings and she would burst into tears after some innocent mockery from him. He had nightmares and panic attacks. Everything he thought had gone for good returned the instant he’d learned about pregnancy. 

And Tiriel… Well, the thing is women die at childbirth even if the child is mortal. Even if before the woman has challenged the gods.

Cries from upstairs are unbearable to hear. Astarion wants to be there with Tiriel and, at the same time, he wants to be miles away. And it’s all his fault. 

If she dies, it will be his fault.

Fuck it.

Astarion goes up and with a bit of hesitation pushes the door. The smell of familiar blood makes his head spin.

“Go away, idiot! I told you not to come here!” the midwife curses. “There is too much blood!”

“No, please!” Tiriel begs, reaching out for him, “Don’t go!”

Astarion kneels beside her and squeezes her hand. “I am not going anywhere, my sweet.”

What if something is wrong? What if the child is some monster, not even resembling a sentient being? What if…

And suddenly Tiriel goes silent.

A squeal, full of fury and distress, pierces the room.

“Well, this one looks like a healthy girl”, the midwife places the baby in Tiriel's arms. 

The tiny Elven baby with long pointy ears stops crying, feeling her mother’s skin against hers.

Astarion stares at the child in shock.

“Didn’t really take after me, did you?” Tiriel adjusts herself a bit in the bed. “My lovely beautiful girl”, she presses a kiss against the baby’s forehead, “Look at her ears, they are like yours!”

Astarion can’t take his eye off them. His child. His and Tiriel’s. His daughter. Not a monster – just a baby. 

The long pointy ears twitch, and Tiriel starts caressing them.

“Tiriel… My love…”, he finally manages to speak again, “Her ears are very sensitive, don’t touch them too much”.

“Oh, I am sorry”, Tiriel stops. “But they are so cute!”

“They are.”

Astarion can’t decipher what exactly he feels. All these months the child was just an idea, something he couldn’t feel attachment to. But now that the baby is born, the realization that nothing will be the same hits him. That his life has just changed forever.

And this is good. The worst thing that was happening to him all the centuries of enslavement was the understanding that nothing would ever change. Nothing would get better or worse because everything would stay the same. And now, it’s something new. Something natural. Something he thought was available only for normal people, not someone so twisted and ruined like him.

Tiriel touches his arm softly.

“Hold her.”

“What?! No! I am not…”

“It’s your child, Astarion”

Astarion stands up and recoils. “Tiriel, I will hurt her! Look at her, she is small! I will… I will do something to her!”

It seems like his voice scares the newborn and she starts crying again. 

“Sit with me”, Tiriel asks. “Please”

Astarion hesitates but obliges. Before he says anything, the little bundle is already placed in his pale arms.

He freezes. The girl cries even louder demanding to be returned to her mother. Astarion touches her forehead with his fingers – the skin feels delicate like silk”

“Ai armiel telere maenen hir, salen damia”, he whispers in Elven.

And the girl stops crying. She looks at him with her dark eyes and suddenly smiles. The newborn stretches her tiny arms as if trying to reach out for his face. 

And Astarion bursts into tears. Sobbing, he cradles the baby in his arms, hearing the fast heartbeat within her delicate rib cage. 

It’s his daughter. His treasure. The reward for everything he’s been through. The sign that he has been doing the right things all these years.

Tiriel puts her chin on his shoulder and wraps her hands around his waist.

“Thank you, my love”, Astarion says to her. “This is a gift.”

They sit like that for what feels like an eternity. Finally, Tiriel breaks the silence.

“She needs a name.”

Astarion studies the girl’s face as if looking for a hint. Then, the name comes to his mind, though he doesn't know where he could have heard it.

“Alethaine. My love, can we call her Alethaine?”

Tiriel nods. “It’s not like I have any other suggestions. I was scared to death the whole time. It’s beautiful. Let’s call her that”.

It’s already night when the midwife leaves the house. Astarion helps Tiriel to get to the bed with clean sheets and then brings her sleeping Alethaine.

Astarion watches how Tiriel pulls the collar of her shirt freeing swollen breasts and then places the girl that way so her mouth in front of the nipple. The girl makes sucking movements and her ears twitch simultaneously.

Tiriel starts humming – and Astarion recognizes a human lullaby he’s heard from Tiriel maybe only once or twice. 

He carefully puts his head on Tiriel’s lap so he can see both his wife and daughter.

“How are you feeling?” he finally asks.

“Tired. Happy. And you?”

Astarion chuckles. “You pushed a whole Elven baby out of your body and wonder how I am feeling?”

“Actually, yes”

“I feel … alive.”

Tiriel reaches to his silver curls and strokes the hair with her free hand.

“Thank you for giving her to me”, she whispers.

Ai armiel telere maenen hir, salen damia (Elven) - you hold my heart forever, my child

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

#connorsui feedback

[spacebarbarianweird]

Could you please write more about pregnant Tiriel? Your writing about her finding out she's expecting and about Astarion hearing the baby's heartbeat were one of my favorites?

Synopsis: Astarion takes care of pregnant Tiriel.

Tags: dadstarion, pregnancy, fluff

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Waiting

“I think I am going to die in childbirth,” Tiriel says, pressing her face to her knees.

Astarion would sigh if he could. Tiriel sits shoulder-deep in a bath of warm water, as the vampire washes her hair and rubs her back.

“You aren’t going to die. You are a half-elf and I am sure the child is rather small. Look at your belly, you are in your last month and it’s not really showing.”

Tiriel turns away. Well, to call her belly small would be an underestimation – her slim body is currently betraying pregnancy. It’s covered in stretch marks that won’t disappear, ever. But again, Astarion has seen many pregnant human women in Daggerlake within the last five years and Tiriel has definitely been spared, carrying someone who takes after their elven ancestors.

But once Astarion thinks he’s managed to cheer her up, Tiriel sniffs.

“What if something is wrong with the baby? You are a vampire! I love you and all that, but you are still undead! What am I even carrying inside? And what if the child is sick? Or deformed? Or…What if it is going to kill me?”

“I can promise you, if something goes wrong, we are saving you,” Astarion splashes water on her hair.

“Thank you.”

He kisses her shoulder. “Don’t worry that much, the last thing you need is to cause a complication.”

Tiriel touches his fingers. 

Astarion adds more soap to the tub. The scent of vomit and sweat still lingers on Tiriel’s skin and Astarion takes a clean piece of rug.

Tiriel has been feeling so bad in the last few days she barely left her bed. Her legs hurt, she couldn’t eat without vomiting, and she hardly slept because of back pains. She finally made herself go out that evening to eat properly, but, the moment Tiriel finished her dinner, she felt nauseous and everything Astarion had cooked for her ended up on her home shirt.

That moment, Astarion had enough of that and carried Tiriel to the bath. 

“I'm sorry,” she says.

“What for?”

“I look disgusting.”

“Nothing is disgusting about a pregnant woman,” Astarion says, rubbing her left ear. “Besides, I’ve seen and done much worse things than giving a bath to someone I’ve knocked up. Your condition is my fault and I am taking full responsibility! Now, let me wash your front.”

Tiriel presses her back against the tub allowing Astarion to get to her belly and legs. Astarion smiles seeing the visible bump and carefully rubs the skin.

He is so close he can hear the second heartbeat. 

It is not clear to him when the child is going to be born. Elves are pregnant for two years, but Tiriel’s body is hardly capable of doing so. Humans need nine months for the same process, but Astarion has learned from the healers in Secomber, the closest big town to Daggerlake, that it’s never clear with half-elves. And it also depends on the child – Astarion tries to think about the baby as an elf with just a bit of human ancestry (still enough to fuck up the gentle elven biology).

But in reality…

The child is half-him, half a vampire anyway. And that should bother him.

He is afraid of that moment. He waits for that moment to come. And he also misses Tiriel in sensual terms. He wants her blood (which is out of reach for him till she stops breastfeeding), he wants her body (they haven’t had sex ever since she got pregnant). 

And he wants her to stop being in such pain daily.

“I look ugly,” Tiriel chuckles. “Don’t try to say it’s not true.”

“It's not. You are beautiful!”

Suddenly Tiriel flicks his nose. “My eyes are here.”

Astarion realizes he’s been staring at her swollen breasts and small droplets of white liquid on Tiriel’s nipples.

“Stop all this nonsense, Tiriel!'' Astarion takes her leg and stretches it to wash it better. “I like caring about you. I like how you look. And I absolutely love that it's me who did this to you. It all feeds my vampiric possessiveness, after all!”

“And I love that it was you who did this to me,” Astarion feels Tiriel’s fingers on his cheek.

“Now, get out of the water before it gets too cold!” Astarion brings towels. “Is food still out of the question?”

“I want something hot to drink.”

“I will make you herbal tea, then.”

Astarion, after making sure she is dry, carries Tiriel to bed.

He looks outside. What he loves about his house in the underground part of Daggerlake is the big windows. There is no point in hiding from the sun, and Astarion can enjoy going outside whenever he wants. Besides, the biggest part of the town is underground too, and Astarion also doesn’t feel like an outcast.

And his neighbors have seen much worse things than vampires who know the law.

Suddenly Tiriel yelps. He turns to her and notices the night shirt she’s put on is wet. 

But wasn’t Tiriel's skin dry when he took her from the bath?

Tiriel hugs her belly and lets out a cry of pain. 

“Tiriel…” Astarion rushes to her. No, not today. He still needs time to get ready.

Tiriel grabs his shoulder. “Go to the healer… I am.. Gods…”

The child has decided to be born today. ------ You can read what happens next in Little Bundle of Darkness --

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#bg3 fluff #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion romance #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #oc tav tyrael #dadstarion #tav oc #astarion x reader #astarion x barbarian tav #astarion fluff #tiriel of the sunset mountains #astarion x tiriel #tiriel the barbarian #oc tav: tiriel #pregnancy

[spacebarbarianweird]

Communication

Surprise surprise, they're no good at it.

This is a continuation of my in-game bardlock series, seeing as I left a large gap in it between an intimate and emotional scene and a whole bunch of unhinged fucking. Sorry about that.

Takes place after Intimacy but can be read as a stand-alone!

Read on AO3

Astarion x f!Tav

Early Act 3. It has been nice, but it's time Tav and Astarion actually figured out what it is they're doing and what comes next.

Tav is a half-elf bardlock. I'm calling her Tav in this fic, but if you know you know.

Hurt/comfort, some fluff and a drop of humour (I am me after all) if you squint, love, angst

TW: some very casual violence and murder

Approximately 3.9k words. 

“Well?” A very giddy Astarion had appeared behind Tav. “Let’s go!” 

The party had finally reached the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate and were setting up camp near Rivington, after a brief excursion in the area. 

“Go where?” she asked.

“Anywhere! I haven’t seen these streets in sunlight in two centuries.” 

“Now..?”

The city was flooded with refugees. Some child whose mother was definitely not coming for her had seemingly declared herself adopted by the group. There was a towering pile of corpses just outside one of the nearby gates. A circus was in town.

It was nice to finally be back in civilisation.

“Yes, now! Forget the bloody tent, maybe we’ll find an inn to sleep in for a change.”

Nothing had been arranged, set up or planned yet. They had only the vaguest notion of where they were going.

“Sure, a walk sounds lovely right now,” shrugged Tav.

It very quickly became obvious that finding an inn would be nigh on impossible. The streets were crowded with refugees, frantic citizens and all those who would either try to keep them in order or prey upon them.

“Are we going anywhere in particular, or are we just... going?” Tav asked, trying to make her way through the throng. She had never seen Baldur’s Gate this busy before. 

“There is something I’d like to show you,” answered Astarion. “Some place, to be exact. It’s- hey!”

He realised that he was talking to no one, as they had been separated by a group of dwarves pushing their way through between them. Tav smiled at him over their heads, raising her arms in an open-palmed gesture of defeat and resignation.

“Can’t you keep up?” Astarion sighed, rolling his eyes, and reached for her, taking her hand and linking his fingers through hers.

This… This was new, particularly in public, and Tav bit her lip, fighting not to smile, as he guided her after him. 

Astarion glanced back over his shoulder at her, to see her grinning. 

“Oh shut up,” he huffed, before spilling into a smile too, despite himself, and drawing her close to kiss her.

“Half-elven whore,” a nearby elven woman muttered to her companion in elvish, tsking in distaste at the sight. Either she did not expect to be heard or understood, or simply did not care.

Astarion turned towards the woman, with a glower, but before he could retaliate with his own snide remark, Tav told the elven woman to go fuck herself with a splintered broom, in perfect elvish, and pulled Astarion further down the street before the woman thought of anything else to say.

“Such... delightful use of the True Tongue, dear.” Astarion seemed in equal parts impressed and taken aback. “Don't tell me you’ve been holding out on me this whole time..?”

“Oh, no, I only know a little bit,” laughed Tav. 

“Do indulge me.” 

“No, it’s really hardly anything,” she shook her head. “I can count, exchange pleasantries and profanities, know a few songs I can’t translate, and a few odd phrases.” 

“Such as?” 

“I can scream for help in elvish, for one,” she offered. 

“Why would you need to scream for help in elvish..?” 

“Men are more likely to come running if they think it’s a little elven maiden they’re rescuing,” she explained with a sigh. 

Astarion mulled that over with a frown for a bit. 

“I’ll have to take your word for that... What else? And for hells’ sake, just say something, I enjoyed hearing it.” 

She said the first phrase that came to mind.  

Astarion stopped dead in his tracks, with what Tav knew to be the expression he held when he was doing his best to keep his face straight.  

“So let’s start with what you think you just said.” 

“...Shit. ...Uhh.” Tav gave Astarion a sheepish look. “‘My small children have had nothing to eat for days.’?” 

“Darling,” he said, cupping her cheeks, trying not to laugh. “My love. That’s not quite it... Now, how many people do you think you’ve told you’ve ‘eaten nothing but small children for days’..?” 

“Ah... That explains the reactions,” Tav said thoughtfully. 

“Horror?” Astarion finally snickered.

“Usually laughter... I just figured most elves were assholes.” 

Eventually Astarion brought them onto a rooftop that offered an impressive view of the city and surrounding regions.

“It’s so strange to be here in daylight,” he murmured. “This was one of my spots,” he said, turning to Tav. “I used to come here at the start of my evenings, alone, and just… enjoy the peace and quiet for a while.” Astarion took a pensive look around. “Admittedly, the tiles weren’t as hot at night, and all the bird shit wasn’t as prominent.” 

They found a place to sit down.

“I thought you would try to get your job done as quickly as possible,” said Tav.

“There had to be a certain balance to it.” Astarion shook his head. “Start prowling too early, and the potential targets wouldn’t be ripe for the picking yet. And even if I managed to get someone back to the manor early on in the evening, it would only mean I would have to ‘entertain’ them longer.” He shut his eyes and leaned back against a chimney. “It was better to take some precious solitary repose, when I could.”

“Do you think you might have taken me back to Cazador if you’d met me back then?” Tav asked quietly.

Astarion opened his eyes and frowned at the sudden question. 

“Not if I’d ever seen you perform, no,” he deliberated. “I never went for the bards. They were almost my co-conspirators, though they didn’t know it. I couldn’t waste them.” He paused before continuing. “But otherwise, if I’d just bumped into you at a tavern… Probably, yes. A pretty, reckless stray… You would have been perfect. …Would you have followed?” He asked, glancing at her.

“Probably,” she replied, staring off into the distance.

They sat in silence until Astarion broke it with a question.

“Will you stay with me when all this is over?” 

Just the sheer amount of effort he put into trying to make that question sound casual spoke volumes. 

It caught her off guard. They’d spent many evenings in his tent lazily basking in vague fantasies about an ‘after’, usually concentrating on the idea of being able to stay in bed all day, or the concept of their hair and fingernails being free of dried blood and entrails for a change. They’d never actually discussed any realistic nuance of this ‘after’. Or what it might look like, other than what it wouldn’t look like. 

“Are you certain you want to take Cazador’s place in the ritual..?” she asked, carefully. 

“Why shouldn’t I?” Astarion immediately sounded defensive. 

“You don’t even know what it entails or means, not really...” 

“It means having everything I’ve been missing the past two centuries, what else is there to know?” He scoffed. “...You haven’t answered my question,” he said after a pause. 

She said nothing for a while, looking down at her fingernails. 

“Stay and do what..?” 

“Anything!” he exclaimed. “Anything you want. We could do anything. Do you have any idea what I will be capable of? Of the power I will hold. The influence.”

“Yes, yes, legions of wolves, turning into mist,” she recited. “What else… Commanding ghouls, I think?” She threw her head back, looking at the sky. “I’m not sure why you would need to do any of that, though.”

“Unimaginable power, and you mock it…” Astarion said indignantly. “I suppose you would rather go frolic in the woods with Halsin..? …Oh don’t look so shocked, I’ve seen how he looks at you. Sleeping in the dirt, living off the land. Is that what would make you happy?” 

“He looks at you the same way! And must you jump to extremes?” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Even if I were interested in Halsin, there is ample space between sleeping in the dirt and sleeping in that gothic monstrosity, in which I might find myself happy.” 

They sat in silence for a while. 

“I don’t think you should go through with it,” she said, finally. “Something about it just doesn’t sit right.” 

Astarion looked at her with an unreadable expression and didn’t say anything. She continued. 

“I know enough stories - and before you roll your eyes at me, there is usually a grain of truth to them – and I’ve read between the lines of enough history texts, to know there is no such thing as a jolly vampire lord that just has a grand ol’ time carousing in their castle. It’s always centred on cruelty, misery and violence.” 

“I suppose you know plenty of stories of jolly vampire spawn,” he spat. 

“Some, as a matter of fact. They usually revolve around romance and redemption.” She sighed and continued, as he let out a bitter laugh. “I’ve never heard of any demonic deals that ended in anything that wasn’t disastrous, either. The point is, nothing that involves blood or soul sacrifice has ever made anyone happy.” She looked in the direction of Cazador’s palace. “We should kill Cazador, burn it all to the ground and dance on the ashes. I will be by your side. And yes, I want to stay with you. Of course I do.” 

“For how long?” Astarion asked quietly, after a pause. 

“...What?” 

“How long will you stay by my side? You have another... 100 years, 150 at best? I can’t offer any solutions to that as a spawn.” 

She blinked, realisation dawning in her eyes.

“...Astarion Ancunin, did you just say you want to spend the rest of eternity with me?” 

“Oh don’t you bloody dare turn this into a joke,” he bristled. “Just for once.”

“Not a joke, but…” She paused and gave her head a brisk shake, as if to snap herself out of a daze. “Just so we’re absolutely clear, what are you saying?”

“Isn’t it obvious..?” The grin that had crept habitually onto Astarion’s face felt like a suffocating mask. She only stared back into his eyes, unblinking, waiting for him to continue. “I could turn you. Grant you an eternity.” ‘With me’, he wanted to add, but the look in her eyes made the words die on his tongue.

None of this was going the way Astarion had expected. Not that he had planned any of this… Still, he’d made certain assumptions. He’d anticipated the conversation and day would flow somewhere along the following lines: re-affirm his plans for Cazador. Exchange words of undying love and devotion. Maybe, maybe make love to her again, later, in celebration. Instead everything was slipping like fine sand through his fingers. Words simply wouldn’t come out of his mouth. Everything he thought he might say suddenly felt pathetic.

“Turn me? To become one of your spawn?” Astarion opened his mouth to speak, but she talked over him. “Two centuries as something you say is less than a slave, a puppet, and you would so easily offer the same fate to me..?”

“First of all,” he sputtered, “I don’t know why you immediately assumed there would be others. Secondly,” he continued, slowing down, “there is another way, or so I’ve read. You wouldn’t be a mere spawn, but a-” Astarion winced, cutting himself off. “Never mind,” he said, shaking his head. This was rapidly spinning further and further out of his control. “I thought you trusted me?” he asked instead.

“It’s not about trust,” she said. “If you had the choice between a hundred years of absolute freedom or being enthralled to someone for eternity - doesn’t matter who - me, Gale, your long-lost grandmother, anyone! What would you choose?”

“I would never compel you,” said Astarion, his voice tinged with a hint of pleading.

“That’s not the point,” she said, looking away, running her hand through and tugging at her hair. “Let’s just head back. We still need to set up before it gets dark, and I promised Karlach we would visit that bloody circus…”

Something inside Astarion shattered and spilled, ice-cold, over his heart as she got up and walked away. 

Not even an hour had passed since some of the happiest moments he’s had in centuries.

They walked back in silence. 

Eventually they came upon an outpost of Flaming Fists and steel watchers, who had appeared on the road they had taken into the city. They were apprehending everyone trying to pass through, whether they were leaving or entering. 

“Let’s try a side street,” offered Astarion. 

They found and made their way through a narrow alleyway. It was empty. Suspiciously empty, in fact - no children running through, no one out for a quick smoke, no drunks pissing on the walls.

Sure enough, once they were halfway through, three goons intercepted their way, stepping out of a doorway. Two humans and an enormous half-orc wide enough to block out most of the passage. 

“Alley toll.” One of the thugs flashed a malicious grin, eyeing Tav up and down. “Better pay up, doll.” Three more jeering hoodlums appeared behind them as he spoke, armed with crude but lethal weapons. 

“Attempting to detain a Council battlemage on duty? Bold but stupid,” she said gravely. “Hand over your profits and Lord Gortash won’t learn of your little enterprise. This is your only warning.” 

Trying to bluff and deceive her way through, per usual. Was there even a Council anymore? Did it employ mages? No matter. Whether due to the fact that she and Astarion had decided to wander the streets of the city in civilian clothes, without armour, or simply because the lust for money and violence had gotten the better of the would-be muggers, they paid her attempt no heed. 

The leader laughed.

“Or, how about we have some fun with you, and your Lord Gortash can come and collect your body from the river once we’re done with it?”

Astarion’s blood boiled.

He reached for his daggers, thoughts racing. Why in the hells had they come here barely armed..? They were surrounded, but perhaps if she blasted the three in front of them they might run through..? But they were probably too close for that… Could she misty step behind them and get away? His undead body would most likely survive whatever came, even with the tadpole. 

“Take the ones behind,” Tav snapped, and Astarion followed her lead, as he had grown used to, silently praying to no particular deity that she knew what she was doing. 

He ducked as one of the goons bellowed and swung a sword at him, dodging the blow to come up next to his attacker, burying a dagger between his ribs and another in his guts, for good measure. At least the alley was too narrow for all of the bandits to come in on them at once. Behind him, Tav spat some incantation that he wasn’t familiar with.

The next lout came at him, only to stop short, as Astarion scrounged up his meagre magical abilities to hurl a firebolt at his face, making the man yelp and grind to a halt in shock and pain. Astarion’s dagger followed through his eye socket shortly thereafter. 

The entire altercation with the two thugs took mere seconds. Another controlled shout from Tav followed behind him.

The last of the muggers on Astarion’s side backed away, looking at the scene unfolding behind Astarion with a horrified expression, before breaking into a run and disappearing. 

Astarion turned back to witness Tav standing with her arms crossed, looking unaffected, just as the half-orc who had been behind the group’s leader pulled his sword back out from the leader’s stomach, having impaled him from behind.

Tav barked another command as the leader collapsed, and the half-orc slammed the head of his other cohort, who hadn’t understood what was happening yet, against a wall, with a resounding crunch. 

A domination spell. 

Astarion felt nauseous. If his body had been capable of producing bile, it would have crept up at the back of his throat. For once, the smell of freshly spilled blood all around them was repulsive to him.

 “Kneel,” Tav commanded, calmly. The half-orc’s body immediately dropped to its knees, with a thud that spoke of damaged kneecaps.

“I’m running out of time. Do you need him?” She stepped over the body of the group’s dying ex-leader and walked around the half-orc, to stand behind him. 

Disgust and revulsion continued to claw at Astarion’s insides. 

“…What?”

The half-orc’s eyes were void of any emotion. A small mercy.

“Blood. Do you want his blood, before I spill it?” she said nonchalantly.

“…No,” he swallowed. Not like this…

He watched as she slit his throat, carefully standing behind him to avoid blood spraying over herself. Comprehension returned to the man’s eyes just as he made his last gurgling sounds, before stilling forever. 

“That was despicable,” Astarion hissed, finally breaking his gaze away from the body. “Compulsion? Really?!”

She gave him an incredulous look, momentarily speechless.

“This is what I do!” she exclaimed. “This is how I protect myself. You know this! What the fuck did you expect - that I would set off a fireball in an alley?! Or make one of them have a fit of giggles?!”

“You didn’t need to do anything, I could have handled all of them,” he countered.

“Oh, stand behind you like a meek little lamb?” She scoffed. “While neither of us are even wearing armour, and they’re on both sides? Don’t be ridiculous.” She crouched to wipe her dagger on the dead man’s clothes. “What does it matter, anyway,” she said, offhanded. “Dead is dead - who cares how they got there?” 

“It was just like Cazador all over again,” Astarion said, bitterly. “Watching my siblings torture each other, for his amusement, waiting for it to be my turn to be compelled.”

She stilled as she crouched, not looking up at him. 

“You fucking hypocrite,” she said, finally, rising. 

“What in the hells are you talking about?” he grimaced.

“Comparing me to Cazador, when you’re planning to take his very place.”

“How dare you?” Astarion felt the last of his composure leaving him. “I am nothing like Cazador, and I never will be,” he growled.

“No?” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re already thinking of your own spawn. Maybe you would keep your word and not compel me, but you would be curious. All that power that you’ve been wishing was yours for 200 years...” She gesticulated, tilting her head. “First just one teensy little slave - someone who’s wronged you, maybe, someone who deserves to bear your ire. Then, perhaps someone convenient, in a place of power. Someone like what you would have been, had Cazador not botched your death so bad that it became public. Then another. And another. And what will you do with them once you have them? Take them for midnight picnics and host slumber parties?” 

She spat on the ground. 

“I’m going back to camp.”

She stormed off, fuming, exiting the alleyway and mixing into the crowd. Astarion followed at a distance, discreetly wiping the blood that had landed on his hands on the shirt of a random passerby that stumbled out in front of him. He gritted his teeth, watching her.

It had taken every last bit of his self-control to not snap back at her during her little tirade. 

He wanted to stalk off in the opposite direction, but frankly all his things were at the campsite, and he still needed the group’s help, both with Cazador and the tadpole. And he couldn’t discount something else happening to her on the way back. 

No, none of this was what he thought would end up happening today. Was this the end..?

It didn’t matter, he thought. Let her be stubborn. Let her accuse him of gods know what. He would do what he had set out to do. Hells, even if she changed her mind later - it would be too late. Let her live out her “hundred years of freedom” in regret.

And how fucking dare she?! Insinuating that he was or could ever be anything like Cazador. After all he had given her. His trust. His love. He didn’t have anything else. Not as a spawn, anyway.

But perhaps she would change her mind, after she gave his proposal more thought..? He could talk her into it, couldn’t he? He’s talked so many people into doing exactly what he wanted them to do…

There was no point in anything otherwise. It was all for her. All he wanted for himself was revenge. Freedom. Safety. But all the power in the world was meaningless if he couldn’t share it with her.

Astarion winced at the thought, hating that it even crossed his mind. If only he could claw it out of his brain and smash it against the cobbles beneath his feet. How much simpler life would be.

He would not grovel. He would not apologise. He would not change his mind. And he would rather die, again, than be caught running after her like a dog. 

Astarion cursed, slipped into the shadows and turned invisible, breaking into a sprint. He wouldn’t be able to replicate the trick for a while now, if the need arose, but he couldn’t care less. 

He raced up sets of stairs, speeding through a terrace, dodging the patrons of whatever establishment it was he was going through, and leaped, unseen, onto the next building’s, until he was ahead of her, descending back onto the ground and losing his invisibility around the corner from the main street, stepping out just in front of her. 

He caught a glimpse of her scowling and furiously blinking away tears just before she crashed into his chest with a light gasp, as he wrapped his arms around her. She was stiff and rigid, but at least she didn’t try to push him away. Still, a part of him was screaming that it was already too late.

“I don’t want you to have to commit those atrocities when you’re with me,” Astarion murmured into her hair, holding her close.

“You’d rather commit them yourself?” she retorted, her voice weak.

“I don’t want to,” he said quietly, as she seemed to become more malleable, and sank into his embrace, slowly wrapping her own arms around his back. “But I will if I have to. For you.”

“That makes two of us, I guess,” she managed, sounding choked up. 

Astarion took a deep breath, relieved. Mine… Still mine… He thought to himself, touching his forehead against hers and stroking her cheek. Someone in the street heckled them, yelling something about getting a room.

“I already don’t have much to offer, beyond all my burdens,” he whispered. She looked up at him, eyes glistening. She tried to protest, but he pressed a finger to her lips. “I want to do what I can, for you. For us. What good am I if I can’t even keep you safe?”

He pressed his lips against her forehead as she hugged him tighter. He had no idea whether he had convinced her of anything, or if she simply didn’t have the will to argue anymore, but for now it didn’t matter.

“I will love you no matter what,” she breathed.

Another jeer followed from the crowd, and someone cursed at them to get out of the way.

“A legion of wolves sounds tempting right about now,” she added, as he smiled.

“Do you still want to get Karlach and go to that circus?” he asked.

“Fuck the circus,” she mumbled into his shirt. “But I guess we should.”

They made their way back to the camp, fingers interlocked again. The silence that stretched once more almost felt comfortable this time.

~~~~~

Thanks for reading!

Series master list

Next in series - A night at the inn

AO3

~~~~~

Tag list:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny @spunky-89 @acourtofpenandpaper @yoonshope @lariatbunny @whiskeyskin @asterordinary @wingsy-keeper-of-songs @spacebarbarianweird @brabblesblog @littlejuicebox @icybluepenguin @snowfolly @ayselluna @mj-bites @bardic-inspo

[spacebarbarianweird]

Shadowheart and Halsin would be a very beautiful couple

I wish that companions could romance each other. Like, yes, I'm dating one of them, but have you heard all of them talk about one another??? Bitches are horny on main. Let me companions have relationships independent from me. They deserve as much.

[spacebarbarianweird]

WIP Game 📝

Rules: make a new post and share 1-2 sentences from your most recent unposted WIP(s) with zero context – Let your followers guess!

Tagged by the lovely @bloodsuckingfiends

Tagging @vixstarria @tragedybunny @marcynomercy @not-so-lost-after-all This is a pregnancy fic I am going to publish soon!

“I look disgusting.” “Nothing is disgusting about a pregnant woman,” Astarion says, rubbing her left ear. “Besides, I’ve seen and done much worse things than giving a bath to someone I’ve knocked up. Your condition is my fault and I am taking full responsibility! Now, let me wash your front.”

#writing wip