lamentable is the autumn picker

selective astarion of bg3

[elfbled]

𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗰𝘂𝗻𝗶𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝗯𝗮𝗹𝗱𝘂𝗿'𝘀 𝗴𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝟯 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲 - 𝟐𝟗, 𝐬𝐡𝐞/𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲, 𝟏𝟎+ 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

affiliated with: @lupiinee

gdoc

keep in mind before following this blog, that astarion has been a victim of extensive physical, psychological and sexual abuse for nearly two centuries. that has molded him into someone who is very untrusting and hard to get to know.

without needing to be said, please adhere to basic roleplay etiquette. i won't tolerate racism, sexism, transphobia. don't godmod, don't steal anything from me. so on and so forth.

i'm really big into plotting. i tend to stick to one muse for very long periods of time and i prefer long, drawn out dynamics that grow organically over the course of tons of threads. i'm totally fine with unplotted, improv threads too!! but if i know what the plot is, i can keep a thread going for 100+ notes. please feel free to come plot with me!!!

i do not like feeling "collected" so to speak. i know astarion is one of the fan favorites and i dont have dupe anxiety about other blogs of the same muse, but if i notice that you are shipping with several other astarions, I will not ship with your muse. I'm not asking for exclusivity but I do not want to be just another Astarion blog your muse can hookup with. It makes me feel weird. They can be friends or enemies though!

that being said, i love shipping, i don't even care to say it. ship with me. but please talk to me about it first, do not just assume it's okay to smooch on astarion bc that makes me uncomfortable.

i don't personally participate in reblog karma. you can reblog any prompts or aesthetics from me. i understand that not all prompts work for all dynamics but i encourage sending something in when you can! but i will follow any rule you might have for reblogging.

i am incredibly crossover friendly and would love to place astarion in other universes, but a lot of his lore will be the same. he will always be a vampire and depending on the setting, he may or may not still be cazador's servant.

i am more than happy to follow and interact with cazador blogs but i will never make their dynamic out to be anything other than what it is. cazador is his captor and abuser.

i don't really use icons because i hate making them but feel free to use yours! im very low on aesthetics in general, i make the basic graphics and call it a day. i mainly focus on the quality of my writing.

i write in third person, present-tense only and i ask you to do the same when writing with me, i've tried mixing POVs for other people's preferences and it just doesn't work for me.

[elfbled]

(hey)

[elfbled]

(half orcs are underrated and underutilized, i think theyre cute.)

[elfbled]

(Do you guys think that the tadpole gang slept in a big cuddle pile while in the shadow cursed lands)

[defiantdeer]

might start throwing some of our durge art on this webbed site

[elfbled]

(He is so afraid. So, so afraid. Of everyone, besides you, who he ought to fear most.)

[rachelkatwalsh]

pov: you fell out of a nautiloid

inspired by that one house md promo image

[duelblades]

astarion wanting to speak in private comes as no surprise; after all, every member of their camp is their own walking trove of secrets. ( perhaps the surprise is his seeking her out at all —— she's far more used to being the one wandering her way over towards his section of camp looking for conversation. ) so she makes sure she follows in relative silence once agreeing, save for the way two pairs of boots shuffle through dry gravel and rough patches of overgrown weeds, her concern conveyed instead with a pinch between her brows —— a divot that remains through his explanation.

the drow —— someone they'd both apparently had on their minds since returning from moonrise. it had taken every ounce of ettiquete her mother had managed to instill in her to keep her tone civil and her hands to herself. ( that and being in the heart of the cult they were currently trying to upend, of course. ) 

”hey,” her chin dips slightly, her head canting to the side so he can get as clear a look at her face as the dim lighting around them will provide. “remember when i said you look after me and i'll look after you? after we ran into the gur?” who knows how many times in the past he'd been told something similar only to have the words carry no real meaning. “i meant it.” and that included standing beside him while being a hair's breadth away from telling someone to fuck off.

“though i ... can't promise if we ever see her again my knuckles won't become acquainted with her face if she asks you a second time.”

[elfbled]

The drow's words had landed like a hand at the back of his neck, firm and possessive, dragging him somewhere he'd sworn he would never go again. It hadn't mattered that he'd refused. The way she'd spoken to him had stripped him, reminding him and, worse, showing the others exactly how the world tended to look at creatures like him. Spawn weren't people. They were curiosities. Pets. Pretty, dangerous ornaments meant to perform on command.

It stayed with him, curling tight in his chest. The humiliation. The sick, crawling fear that his new friends had seen him through her eyes, even for a heartbeat. That somewhere between the demand and the refusal, something fragile had shifted. Astarion lifted his chin and smoothed a hand through his hair, perfecting the mask. He could play unbothered. He was very good at that. But beneath it, the thought gnawed insistently.

"A few words in the right tone, a reminder of how useful it would be, how it might give us an advantage over our enemies… and I'd have swallowed the disgust and done it." He shrugged one shoulder, an elegant motion that failed to hide the tension beneath. "I've spent two centuries being convinced that my feelings were inconvenient at best. If enduring something unpleasant meant a strategic leg up, that was simply the cost." His fingers flexed, then stilled. "The part that's unsettling me isn't that she asked. It's how easy it would have been for you all to make me agree. I don't know how to stop being someone's slave."

[artifexx]

Halorith's stare was rather unnerving at times, wasn't it? His blue eyes met Astarion's red and held them for a long moment, even while he continued walking forward, closer and closer without a word. Not that the cleric's silence was unusual, he didn't say much in general. Still, it was perhaps a little disconcerting now, as he got closer and closer to Astarion, without slowing down to speak, not even to say no. It almost seemed that he was going to ignore the vampire completely.

It surprised the rest of the party then, perhaps the rogue himself as well, when without missing a stride, he plucked Astarion up into his arms as he passed. Designed for the task, indeed. He held the elf, his weapon and shield, as well as his pack without slowing his pace at all. Astarion was held firmly against Halorith's broad chest, cushioned against the chainmail by his worn tabard.

"When we find a suitable campsite, you will need to search more more adequate footwear," his deep voice rumbled after several minutes of walking, "If battle comes to us, I will not be holding you on my hip like a babe."

[elfbled]

The look on Halorith's face was unreadable in a way that made Astarion briefly, vividly imagine being unceremoniously shoved into the muck just to prove a point. He tensed, already rehearsing several scathing remarks and at least one dramatic gasp. But instead, strong hands caught him around the waist and thighs, and suddenly the ground was gone.

Astarion let out a startled sound and immediately clutched at his traveling mate's shoulders, fingers digging in as he was lifted as if he weighed nothing at all. The marsh passed beneath them, safely distant, and the tension drained from him in a rush of incredulous relief. "Well now," he laughed, a soft, breathy sound he didn't bother hiding. He adjusted his grip, clearly settling in, eyes bright with amusement. "Gods, you're strong."

Astarion glanced down at his boots, still pristine, then back up with a thin, earnest smile that somehow made the distinction feel deadly serious. "Oh, don't worry about that. I don't mind blood. Or gore. Or the occasional ichor splatter. Very on-brand, really." His lip curled as he looked back at the marsh. "But mud? Absolutely not."

[elfbled]

(ik im slow as fuck but i hope when i do reply, its worth the wait)

[spellfireburst]

Surprised I haven't seen the high-res version of this artwork for Astarion's Book of Hungers on Tumblr yet so... Here you go! Vampire family photo

[bloodtwin]

         PUCK   DID   NOT   WANT     to  be  a  burden,  yet  it  seemed  he  was  destined  to  be  one  without  even  a  chance  to  introduce  himself.  He  stiffened  at  the  first  sign  of  tension,  a  man  paler  than  he  was  already  objecting  to  his  presence.

There  were  quite  a  few  more  people  than  Puck  had  expected  upon  entering  the  campsite,  footsteps  silent  in  the  dirt.  He  couldn't  blame  the  other  man  for  being  wary  ;  he  was  wary,  too.  Something  about  a  crowd  made  him  nervous.  Maybe  he  was  shy  in  his  past  life.

        Or,  perhaps,  these  were  bodies  for  the  harvest.

Puck  flinched  at  the  thought  &  hoped  the  sudden  movement  came  across  as  a  reaction  to  his  newest  companion  rather  than  his  own  mind.  He  let  the  others  introduce  him,  nodding  stiffly  at  Astarion  instead  of  speaking  aloud.  He  couldn't  remember  anything  about  himself,  but  he  knew  not  to  trust  anything  that  came  out  of  his  own  mouth.

But  then  there  was  that  awkward  silence  following  Astarion's  complaints,  &  Puck  felt  his  own  skin  crawling,  so  he  finally  spoke  up:   ❝   Uh,  well,  I  -  um,  if  it  helps,  you  won't  have  to  worry  about  tragic  backstories  with  me.   ❞

A  gesture  to  his  empty  skull,  oblivious  to  just  how  wrong  such  a  statement  would  become  in  the  future.   ❝   Can't  remember  anything  to  be  tragic  about.   ❞

Then a  timid  but  amused  smile  tugged  at  his  lips  at  the  mention  of  a  circus.   ❝   What,  you  don't  like  clowns   ?    ❞

[elfbled]

The problem wasn't the stranger himself, not really. It was numbers. Numbers were dangerous. The more bodies clustered around the fire, the easier it became for someone to notice the little things. How he never truly slept. How he never ate. How the firelight never quite warmed his skin. And gods forbid anyone started comparing notes. One loose thread and suddenly the word vampire was hanging in the air like a drawn blade.

And then there was the other risk. Revelation.

More people meant more chances for someone to decide he was no longer… acceptable. Useful was one thing. Trustworthy was another. Monsters were tolerated right up until they weren't. The decision, of course, had already been made. It always was. Complaints were acknowledged, nodded at, and gently ignored. The stranger stayed, looking apologetic in that irritatingly harmless way.

Astarion's brows shot up. "Oh, excellent." He clapped once, slow and dry. "So instead of emotional baggage, we've picked up a mystery parcel. Marvelous. Truly. Because amnesia caused by interplanar abduction and cranial trauma certainly won't end badly for anyone."

He looked around the fire, arching a brow at the others. "Does anyone here actually like clowns? Truly. I'd love to know so I can adjust my expectations of you as people." He exhaled slowly, shoulders loosening by a fraction. Yes, he was being irritable. Painfully so. But really, under the circumstances, he felt entitled to it. Imminent doom had a way of sanding nerves down to splinters, and they were collecting enemies like souvenirs.

Astarion rolled his shoulders and glanced back at the stranger, expression shifting from barbed to appraising. "All right," he said, tone lighter but not unguarded. "I'll concede. What are you good at?" Not unkind but not warm either. But it was an olive branch, thin and carefully offered, and for Astarion, that counted as generosity.

[elfbled]

(Thinking about how Astarion said he was ready to go it alone because you can't convince me he's a lying liar. He wasn't even allowed in all of Balder's Gate for 200+ years. That's why he was just standing there waiting for someone to come by because he just literally didn't know what to do or where to go, he hadn't had that much free will in so long. He needed someone so he was just....... gonna wait.)

[trinityviolette]

Ok gooners HAVE SOME MORE OF HIM 🗣️🗣️🗣️

(feat. mage hand poor guy)

[sosadandsilly]

the stars wept for you that night

[silvertiefling-archive]

cont'd from HERE ! / @elfbled

KATYA  WAS  NOT  THE  PATIENT  TYPE.  That  much  any  of  their  companions  could  tell  -  travelling  together  for  as  long  and  as  hard  as  they  all  had.  It  was  a  miracle  none  of  them  had  killed  each  other.  Though  it  had  certainly  come  close  a  few  times.  Probably  more  than  any  of  them  had  really  realized.  How  often  had  it  been  Katya  with  her  poor  sleep  habits  to  wake  up  to  someone  trying  to  kill  someone  else?  Or  someone  trying  to  take  a  bite  out  of  someone?  It  had  been  down  right  exhausting  and  she  felt  like  she  was  with  a  pack  of  pups  quite  often.

She  was  not  the  mothering  type  and  fights  and  bites  were  met  with  far  harsher  reprimands  -  only  driven  by  Katya's  need  to  survive.  They  all  needed  each  other  if  they  were  going  to  get  this  whole  thing  figured  out  and  that  was  the  only  thing  keeping  most  of  her  companions  alive  for  their  petty  squabbles  and  fights.  Had  it  not  been  for  their  need  of  each  other,  she  probably  would  have  bit  and  ate  half  of  them  herself  for  how  annoying  she  had  thought  them.

Even  if  a  small  part  of  her  was  fond  of  them  now.  Those  first  few  weeks  had  been  …  rough.

She  blew  a  chunk  of  hair  out  of  her  face  as  Astarion  finally  snapped  back  at  all  their  questions.  Her  own  expression  riddled  with  offence  and  annoyance.  She  was  about  to  bite  back  before  seeing  how  tense  his  shoulders  had  gotten,  the  tightness  of  his  face.

Damn  it.

It  was  so  much  easier  when  she  didn't  give  a  fuck.  But  now  here  they  all  were,  going  into  a  fight  with  a  vampire  lord  practically  blind  -  of  course  tensions  were  high.  And  of  course  Astarion  was  suffering  at  the  thought  of  going  back  into  that  hell.

“  .  .  .  was  barkin'  supposed  to  be  a  bad  joke  ?  ”  Katya  asked  with  a  snort after a silent beat,  trying  to  ease  the  spawn's  shoulders,  just  a  little.

[elfbled]

"No," Astarion cut in, rubbing his temple. "If I were joking, I'd at least put some effort into it." He exhaled through his nose, clearly recalibrating. "And for the record, if I were going to compare you to a dog, I wouldn't say barking." He glanced her over, eyes sharp, then added dryly, "I'd say yipping. You know, like those tiny, crusty white ones that vibrate with rage and never, ever shut up."

Astarion was aware that's not entirely fair. Or kind. Or conducive to group morale. But the truth of it pressed in on him, turning the air heavy. Maps. Plans. Cazador's name spoken too often, too casually. As if saying it aloud didn't drag every memory back with claws. He was about to see his master again. Face to face. This isn't a skirmish or a clever diversion. This is it. Whatever happens next decides whether he walk away free or remains a thing that belongs to someone else. Or worse, consumed by the Hells so Cazador could ascend to a whole new type of monstrous being.

"I need some air." And he slipped out of the room before anyone could argue, the door clicking shut behind him with more restraint than he felt. The Elfsong Tavern swallowed him whole at once. Candlelight, voices, the smell of spilled ale and old wood. And above it all, that song. Always that song, winding through the rafters like a ghost that refused to be laid to rest. It clung, insistent, each note sinking its teeth into places he was already trying very hard not to look at.

Astarion leaned against the banister overlooking the common room, fingers curling around the wood until it creaked faintly under his grip. He hadn't escaped anything at all. The air was thick, warm, alive with too many heartbeats. The song swelled again, a refrain that promised peace and delivered only echoes, and his jaw tightened.

[elfbled]

(PSA after the tadpole is Gone, Astarion's eyes go back to glowing as his siblings' eyes do. I'm not sure if this was because they were being compelled by Cazador, or just a design choice, but I like to think that it's because of the tadpole.)