I keep seeing clips on TikTok where Astarion looks at the camera in a very subtle but im breaking the fourth wall, kind of way and all I can think about is Astarion x readers where he’s aware of the player and not only falls in love with their tab, but also them because he realizes that they’re the one making tavs choices
Given the fact that Bilbo is canonically such a songwriter, I'm pretty sure the only reason why there aren't dozens of songs about everything and everyone he encountered on his adventure is that after Thorin's, Fili's and Kili's deaths he was too heartbroken to sing. So in an everybody lives AU he'd write songs all the time. He'd write heroic songs, funny songs, ballads, you name it. He'd write dozens of love songs about Thorin. He'd write a funny song about how the dwarves escaped the Mirkwood dungeons in barrels and the elves would frickin love it. He'd write a song about Bard defeating Smaug and Bard gets flustured every time he hears it. Bofur would help him write and compose. Fili and Kili would learn all his songs by heart as soon as they are finished.
I've seen a lot of people point out that while Astarion's whole "thing" in act 1 is that he's this sexy sweet talking savant, he only has 10 charisma and actually isn't all that good at it.
He practices cheesy pickup lines within earshot of the person he's going to say them to, and every single time he flirts with tav it's extremely heavy-handed and almost cringeworthy. It's pretty obvious that he's trying to manipulate tav, even if the reason doesn't become clear until his act 2 confession.
But here's the thing: Astarion never actually needed to be all that good at flirting.
He says himself that the vast majority of his "targets" were drunks and brothel-goers. People who never actually saw him as anything other than an object for their pleasure. They were going to go home with him no matter what he said. A few pretty words and his physical beauty would do the rest.
But Tav is the first person to actually view him as a real person, which is why it becomes so glaringly obvious that he's not nearly as charming as he thinks he is. Astarion tells them at the tiefling party that "every part of their body screams temptation" and their response is that he's "sweet" and "silly". They're not buying it for second, because they don't need to be told pretty lies to like him. They like him because of who he really is as a person. They fall in love with him not because he's good in bed or has pretty eyes or a sexy body. They fall in love with him because he's sweet and secretly very kind. Because there is so much pain and sadness and fear in him, and he truly cannot see how amazing he really is. That his goodness never really went away, it just got hidden for a while.
The dagger left Astarion’s hand with perfect aim, until the bandit lurched forward at the last second. The blade clipped your side instead. You gasped. The sound made him spin instantly. “What—?” His eyes dropped to the spreading red on your tunic and the little color he had drained from his face. “Oh hells… I didn’t—”
He was beside you in seconds, catching your arm before your knees could give out. For once there was no teasing remark waiting on his tongue. Only worry.
“Stay still,” he murmured, pressing a cloth to the wound. His hands were steady, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.
“I’ve been stabbed before,” you tried to joke weakly.
“Yes, well, I’d prefer not to be the one responsible,” he shot back quickly. Then quieter, almost reluctantly, “I’ve spent two centuries surrounded by monsters. You’re the one good thing I’ve managed to find.”
Once the bleeding slowed, his thumb brushed gently against your wrist “Next time,” he said softly, eyes meeting yours, “try not to stand between me and my targets.” After a pause, he added with a faint, fond smile, “…or I might start thinking you’re important to me.”
Gale-
“Now, theoretically,” Gale began, raising a glowing hand, “this spell should behave perfectly.” The weave on the other hand had other ideas. in a twisted sense of humor way the arcane surge cracked outward like lightning, snapping across your arm before the magic dispersed.
You yelped.
Gale froze mid-cast. “Oh no.”
He rushed to you immediately, eyes wide with alarm. “That—was absolutely not part of the theoretical model.” His hands hovered uncertainly before gently taking your arm, examining the burn with deep concern.
“Let’s see… minor arcane backlash, slight energy discharge—nothing permanent, thank Mystra.” His fingers glowed softly as he channeled a careful healing spell. The sting faded quickly. Gale let out a relieved breath, shoulders relaxing as he finished the incantation.
“I do apologize,” he said sincerely. “It seems my enthusiasm occasionally outruns my caution.” You smiled at him.
He returned the look, softer now.
“For what it’s worth...” he added gently, “if I must test dangerous magic… I’m rather glad you’re the one who stays by my side anyway......still maybe we try this with you further way next time, yeah?"
Wyll-
The demon lunged faster than Wyll expected. He stepped forward to meet it, blade flashing—but the fiend twisted at the last moment. His strike still landed… just not where he intended.
Your cry cut through the clash of steel.
Wyll’s heart dropped.
He turned instantly, horror flooding his face as he saw the shallow cut along your side. “No—no, that wasn’t meant for you!” He caught you before you could stumble, one arm wrapping firmly around your back while the other pressed cloth to the wound. His hands were steady from years of battle, but the panic in his eyes betrayed him.
“I swear, I had it under control,” he said breathlessly, shaking his head at himself. “The Blade of Frontiers, defeated by his own terrible aim.” “It barely hurts,” you tried to reassure him.
“That’s hardly the point,” Wyll replied softly. Once the fight was over, he guided you to sit beside the campfire, carefully tending the injury himself. His fingers moved with gentle precision as he tied the bandage.
“You spend far too much time protecting me,” he murmured. You smiled faintly. “Someone has to watch the hero’s back.”
Wyll looked up at that, something warm settling in his expression. He took your hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Well then,” he said quietly, “when this adventure is over, I think the hero owes his shield a proper reward.” You raised an eyebrow.
“A dance,” Wyll said with a small grin. “Under the moonlight. Somewhere far from monsters.” His thumb brushed gently over your hand. “And this time,” he added softly, “I promise not to hurt you.”
Karlach-
Karlach charged into the fight with a shout, swinging her axe in a wide arc. The enemy went down instantly—but the momentum knocked you off balance and straight into the dirt. The moment she realized, her triumphant grin vanished.
“Oh shit! Hey, hey—!”
She dropped the axe immediately and rushed over, crouching beside you. “You alright? Tell me you’re alright.” You groaned, pushing yourself up. Karlach carefully checked your arms and shoulders like you might fall apart if she moved too fast.
“Damn it,” she muttered. “I forget sometimes I hit like a runaway cart.”
When you assured her you were fine, the tension finally left her face. Her grin slowly returned. “Good,” she said, helping you to your feet with surprising gentleness. “Because if I accidentally flattened you, I’d never forgive myself.”
She bumped her forehead lightly against yours, warm and affectionate. “C’mon,” she said with a laugh. “Next round, you stand behind me. Safer for everyone involved.”
Lae'zel-
Steel rang sharply as your blades clashed during training. Lae’zel moved with brutal precision—but the final strike nicked your shoulder before she could stop it. You hissed. She froze instantly. Her yellow eyes flicked to the cut, studying it with intense focus. “You lowered your guard.” The words came automatically.
But when she saw the blood running down your arm, something in her expression shifted. Lae’zel stepped closer, gripping your arm firmly to examine the wound.
“…Still,” she admitted after a moment, “my strike was excessive.” She wrapped the injury with quick, practiced efficiency. When she finished, her hand lingered on your arm just slightly longer than necessary.
“A warrior protects their ally,” she said quietly. “You fight beside me. That makes your safety… my responsibility.” After a pause she added, voice softer, “And I do not intend to fail you again.”
Shadowheart-
The battle had barely begun when Shadowheart’s guiding bolt burst past you in a flash of radiant light. The spell struck the enemy, but its edge caught your side. Your sharp inhale made her heart drop. She turned immediately, horror flickering across her usually guarded expression. “Wait.. did I—?” The sight of you clutching your ribs answered the question.
“Gods,” she whispered, already kneeling beside you. Her hands glowed softly with divine magic as she pressed them against the wound. “Hold still.” Warm light spread through you as the pain faded. Shadowheart kept her hands there longer than necessary, concentrating harder than the injury demanded. “You’re supposed to be the reckless one,” she muttered, shaking her head.
When the healing finished, she helped you sit up, her fingers lingering around yours. “I’ve spent my life learning how to mend wounds,” she said quietly. “Hurting you was… not part of the plan.” You squeezed her hand reassuringly.
She huffed softly, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Well,” she said, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, “if you’re going to keep getting injured, you might as well stay close to me.”
in Theory I understand why kili and tauriel were met with exasperation over "forced hetero romance" where there wasn't one before in the source material. BUT LISTEN TO ME
cutting from bilbo, a hobbit grieving in utmost agony over a dwarf who he'd struggled to connect to in no small part due to the cultural differences between them, Directly to tauriel grieving over kili's body. tauriel who's entire plot was about connecting with kili while the differences in their cultures actively ripped them away, and to have her scene Directly address that the deepest loss she felt was proof in and of itself that this love was Real and deep and Lasting no matter how brief in her long life.
and then we cut back to bilbo. bilbo who can't bring himself to name what thorin was to him. bilbo who goes back to his home completely alien from it. Bilbo who was forever changed by the love he'd grown on an adventure that has felt so long, but remembered as all too short.
tauriel and kili's romance actively ENHANCES the queer reading in the movies, do you know how rare a hetgem like this is?
little gay people on my phone, tauriel is not your enemy. she's brought free water bottles to pride and is standing behind legolas wearing a plain white shirt with neat crisp text that reads "You are gay." in elvish. legolas feels so accepted right now
I'm usually a bagginshield mountain consort ending kind of person but I do love the idea of the reshirement ending only because I love how sweet the idea is of Thorin taking up space in Bilbo's home.
Bilbo happily lived alone for such a long time- sure his neighbors would call, but the routine politeness had become a chore. It certainly didn't keep him company on rainy nights or fill his cup of tea every morning, which Thorin did.
Bilbo's parents still have portraits over the fireplace, but upon the mantle itself are smaller portraits of Thorin's family- his siblings, his nephews, the company. Little beads and trinkets brought by their loved ones.
Thorin and Bilbo both hang their swords by the kitchen door. Thorin's books take up a shelf with Bilbo's, their covers much more worn and their edges a bit more abused. Bilbo's kitchen knives are always sharp because Thorin keeps them that way.
A shoe cubby is built by the door to much controversy and spectacle- the agreement is that shoes would be taken off outside of the house. Thorin remembers to abide by this agreement... most days.
Thorin uses a different bedroom in the smial to keep all his clothes simply because Bilbo's closet was filled- and there's a distinct difference between the clothes he brought from the mountain and the collection that slowly grows of more hobbity fashion. The room faintly begins to smell of leather. Other rooms are reserved for when family comes to stay- for when the dwarves visit the Shire, it isn't for a petty call. There are parties and celebrations that last weeks.
A raven roost is built overhanging the garden. Letters come constantly. Thorin claims a corner of the garden to try his hand at gardening, but soon finds himself at a loss for how well he can kill plants. Bilbo can't make heads or tails of it himself, he can't pinpoint where exactly Thorin messes up.
There's a mug always next to Bilbo's. There's a dip in his bed that wasn't there before, a shape that proves his bed is shared even when Thorin isn't there. Thorin's pipe sits next to his, his leaf adding a new layer to the cologne of smoke.
There is a fine toothed comb next to his hair brush.
A sharpening stone by his knife block.
...and there is a little heart drawn in his writing journal, not put there by his hand.
Thriving off of the idea that part of the reason Astarion tells Tav the truth about his plan is that Tav constantly laughs at his jokes, comments, jabs - slowly realizing that somebody likes him for his personality and not just his body, then later on in act 3 puts extra effort into making them laugh because their smile and watching them trying to catch their breath from having so much fun is his favorite thing in the world okay thank you
"I didn't do it, please, you have to believe me." + anxiety/fear + dark hallway + Astarion
Valentine's Prompts Day 6
Resurface
TW: anxiety, trauma, blood/injury, comfort
Masterlist
It was a dark night in the Underdark, just like every night. You were the only non-vampire in your small, makeshift town. It was difficult at first, getting the starved spawn to eat animals instead of people, but somehow you and Astarion managed. Seeing the people he'd hurt was difficult for him, despite all the progress he made on your journey, he back tracked. He couldn't forgive himself for what he'd done.
Now, as the night set in, you were cooking for yourself and draining blood for the vampires. It wasn't always the best, but you’d grown accustomed to bloodless meat. As you set the chicken onto the fire to cook, you feel a sharp sting in your neck. It's not unfamiliar, but it wasn't right. Astarion never snuck up on you, he never drank without permission. The vampire wasn't letting go, you could feel the blood draining, your body losing strength. You grab the closest thing to you, a small knife and jab it into their abdomen. They hiss and release you, disappearing into shadows.
You hold onto your neck, falling every time you try getting up. You feel tears spring to your eyes, blood still poured from the holes as the perpetrator had ripped them open. You had survived a mindflayer parasite, a fiend, and an elder brain just to die to a vampire spawn.
“Astarion!” You cry, your voice hoarse.
He's there in an instant, firmly wrapping bandages around your neck. He picks you up and runs to your makeshift house. In the hallway he puts you down, grabbing more bandages and potions from the cupboard. He was frantic, mumbling to himself. Once you are finally no longer bleeding out, he sits back and dissociates.
“Astarion?” You ask, holding out your hand to him, “Are you okay?”
He’s looking through you, like he's seen a ghost, “I didn't do it, please.” He begs, “You have to believe me. I-I didn't-”
You hold him tighter than you ever had before. He must've been reliving the life he'd had at Cazador’s, watching someone he cares about die or be turned. Your heart breaks at the tears running down his cheeks, the terror etched in his face.
“I believe you, Star. I believe you.” You whisper into his silver hair.
He relaxed at your voice, tears slowing, “I'm sorry, Darling.” He mumbles.
“It's alright, just as long as you're okay.”
He nods, patting his tears away, yet still looking broken, “I'll find whoever did this. They'll be punished.”
“We can do that tomorrow, I think we both need to rest tonight.”
Astarion sighs, but agrees. He wasn't in the right mindset to deal with the person responsible.
Astarion but he feels really safe with you. His mask completely drops around you, so sometimes he just crawls into your tent and is soft and whiny and lays on top of you. You are required to stroke his hair and scritch behind his ears or else he is sad.
It takes so much courage for him to come to someone for comfort, so be sure to tell him how brave and strong he is.
He wants forehead kisses, and to be talked to, told that he’s loved. You can be sure he’d never let anyone but you see him like this. But you’re his safe person ❤️
“Gentleman. Please.” Astarion cooed, sweet like honey, as he backed away slowly from the menacing looking men. “Surely you can see, this is all a misunderstanding.”
“Ain’t no misunderstandin’!” One of the brutes countered. “You stole from our stall! I saw it with my own eyes!” Astarion resisted the urge to make a quip on how could that be, with eyes so glassy. Best not to make more trouble for himself.
His time in the country and deadlands had left the vampire blind to how sharp the Baldurian merchants were. Sharp enough to even keep up with his swift fingers, as they slipped just a few minor, small, immaterial really, items into his pocket. Truly, he thought no one would miss them.
Before Astarion could explain lie further, the gruff looking men grab him up by the collar. “You’re gonna give back what you stole. And pay back tenfold!”
“But, I haven’t got any money sir.” Which was why he was stealing, obviously.
“Then you’ll pay with y’ur bones.”
The vampire braced for impact, a lifetime of teaching him that was the easiest way to handle this, when suddenly a voice rang out. “Unhand him citizen!”
Astarion peered over the broad shoulder of the brute to see the even broader frame of [Y/N] come into view. Already an imposing figure but made all the more so with her armor glinting in the sun. How did she keep it so shiny?
“Bugger off maid! This is an issue for the Fists. Not an adventurer.”
“It’s all a misunderstanding [Y/N]!” Astarion insisted again, from over the man’s shoulder. “I was simply admiring the man’s craftsmanship. I never stole it!”
“Empty your pockets then.”
Damn….
“If Astarion says he didn’t steal it, then he didn’t steal it.” [Y/N] replied. “He wouldn’t lie.”
A warm feeling spread over Astarion’s chest. A feeling he couldn’t quiet name. Was it pride? Relief? Affection? Guilt? No, no. Surely not that last one.
“But my daggers are gone!” The man insisted. Nearly shaking Astarion in the process. “He has to pay!”
“Oh? So, it is only money then that is required?” [Y/N] reached into her satchel and pulled out some coins. The man let Astarion go to take the money offered. “There. You have been made whole again, sir.”
He jiggled the coins in his hand. Frowning at them. “This isn’t nearly enough.” He insisted. To which Astarion, very quietly, scoffed.
“I suggest you take my offer of gold, sir.” [Y/N] told him. “Or my next offer will be iron.”
A grin coiled on the elf’s lips as he watched [Y/N] place her hand on her hilt. Sensing the argument was over, he slipped past the man and safely by [Y/N]’s side. “Take care now!”
The pair headed off into the city after that. Making it a few paces, presumably back to the Elfsong, before that feeling in Astarion’s chest and the quiet were getting to him. “You know…you really didn’t have to save me, you know.”
“Of course I did.” [Y/N] insisted. Looking shocked he would even suggest that. “It is my duty to protect the weak as a Paladin.” Astarion frowned. He wasn’t weak. She was just ridiculously strong. “Plus, we are friends. I have to help when you’re in trouble.”
Astarion rolled his eyes. “Sure, sure. We’re friends.” That still felt odd to say. “But, you really don’t have to help me all the time. Or take my side. Just because my charms don’t work on everyone, doesn’t mean I need you to save me.”
“But that man was going to hurt you. He insulted your honor.” The vampire scoffed hard at that. Honor? What had he of that now? “Lying is wrong. And you don’t lie to your friends. So, you would never lie to me, Astarion.”
His fingers began to pull at themselves. Feeling itchy all of a sudden. “You know….” His silver tongue was failing you. “It’s not good to be so trusting all the time, [Y/N]. Blindly believing in the good of people…it’s a good way to get hurt.”
“Then it’s a good thing I have this armor.”
Astarion stopped dead in the street, even as [Y/N]’s feet carried her on. Did she…know he was lying, and still chose to believe him? Surely not. The girl had no guile. Astarion was certain of that.
He reached into his pocket and pulled the trinkets he had stolen out. The weight of them very heavy and seeming completely worthless now.
He ventured on until he came to one of the many beggars in the street and dropped the goods into their bowl. Silent. Smooth. Catching up to [Y/N] quick before anyone noticed. “I’m starving. Do you think if I asked Gale nicely, he would fix me some rare meat? It’s less cooking for him in the end anyway. So I’m practically doing him a favor.”
[Y/N] chuckled. “Yes. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” She assured him. “As long as you are honest with him.”
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