Astarion is such a girl dad nobody can tell me otherwise.
Would he be a responsible parent? Maybe. It depends on which act we’re looking at. He’d give her a doll and then a pretty knife for her birthday. But gods if he doesn’t absolutely wreak havoc with a little version of himself…
You would walk in on him having a tea party with his daughter, makeup messily smeared on his face and parts of his hair tied with pink rubber bands. He looks ridiculous crouched on a tiny chair, but he takes this tea party very seriously. Your daughter does too, it seems, as they chat about some imaginary society of stuffed animals and gossip about which stuffy was rude to another.
He’d also let her play dentist on his fangs, lying on the sofa while feigning a toothache so his daughter can “treat” him with random tools around the house. If you weren’t terrified she might accidentally cut herself on how sharp his teeth are, you’d think it’s adorable.
And when I say this man dresses her, I am not over exaggerating. He teaches her early on how to do basic sewing and adjustments to her clothes, but he’s also loves to buy her little frilly bows and such that he knows she’ll like. Dresses, scarves, gloves, you name it. He loves putting on a show, so why should his own daughter walk around in dreadfully boring clothing?
On one of the occasions you join in on their tea parties, he steps out of the room for a few minutes to grab something. When he returns, your daughter is fast sleep in your lap, and you smile down softly at her. The sight makes his chest swell.
“I think she has your nose, darling,” he says as he sits down beside you.
“Has your sass, though. I caught her staring at herself in the mirror the other day too.”
He snorts and you finally lift your head to look at him. His eyes flit back and forth between you and your daughter, his features gentle. “Do you blame her? Who wouldn’t want to take after all this?”
You stifle a laugh, careful to keep from waking her. Brushing the hair out of your face, he plants his lips to your forehead while soft snores come from down at your lap.
“I fear I’ll mess up with her,” he whispers against your cheek.
You shake your head, leaning it against his shoulder. “You won’t.”
Somehow, he feels himself trusting your words. He’s always found it easy to do so when it came to you.