I know this pic is of Astarion Ancunin but the pose and lighting make me think of something very different.
Instead of a vampire spawn, the character is a vampire hunter, made so because he narrowly escaped being turned by a bloodthirsty vampire lord. He wears the wounds of the bite mark as a reminder of what he could have become. As the years pass, the dark sorcery of the mark prolongs his life, and he becomes the most feared hunter in the realm.
Until one night, he comes upon a youngling spawn, clearly the runt of its clan. The poor thing is frightened, starving, horrified at what they're becoming. They scuttle along the walls out of sheer panic, clawing the floor until their paling fingers bleed. They scream in agony as blood dribbles from their mouth, not from a kill, but from the two sharp fangs bursting from their tender gums.
And for the first time, the hunter stays his silver blade. His finger will not squeeze the ready trigger.
This isn't a creature of the night, a monster hunting for the thrill.
They're hungry, they're at their weakest, most vulnerable, easiest to kill.
And yet...he can't do it. He sees now, more clearly than ever, the being he almost became: the wild, helpless thing thrashing for a life it can never reclaim.
He lowers the gun, sheathes his blade. The vampire spawn huddles in the corner, red eyes crazed with starved terror.
"Come here," he says, undoing the strings of his tunic, shifting the material until it gathers where his arms bend, "Take what you need."
They refuse to move, certain he's lying. They must know who he is, what he does, why he's here.
They don't realize that if this were truly a trap, he would cut his skin with the silver blade, poisoning his blood before they descended upon him.
Heart twisting in his chest, he unhooks his belt. Instinct tightens his muscles. His fingers tremble by the time he's placed the belt upon the floor. But then, pity carries him further.
He lays himself down fully upon the floor, eyes cast towards the decaying ceiling. With his palms laid flat, he arches his neck so there is no hiding now.
"Right here, young one," he beckons, tracing the site of the overlord's mark, "The skin won't fight you there..."
The trembling spawn crawls nearer slowly, ready to retreat at any movement. It doesn't even know its own power.
Why is he doing this? He's slain thousands of such wretched creatures, and here he lies, offering himself up to the weakest of their kind.
Their fingers touch his neck, as if proving to themselves he's not a dream. The cold sensation throws him back to that night, that harrowing night. From beyond his sight, he feels the presence of the overlord poisoning the room.
He grunts when the spawn gingerly pushes aside his spell charms. They lean down awkwardly, their nose brushing his neck while their teeth try to find purchase. The fangs latch into his scars. Not expertly, but with a slow, saw-like precision.
He feels the apologetic tremors in their breath. But only until the fangs finally pierce through.
He feels the growl in their stomach claw up their throat. But they spit out the blood, sobbing and groaning. Their new reality is sinking in, and they've gone without food for so long that they can't keep anything down.
"It's alright," he says. Empathy clouds his mind even as he knows he can do nothing for them. "Relax your muscles, if you can--"
But the air shifts. He remembers it, the way the air turned sour before the overlord took him. The spawn's body tightens, fingers sharpen. They latch onto his neck, holding him steady...
I need kisses so deep, you can't breathe. Fingers digging into clothing until you can't escape, bodies moulded so tightly against each other, not even Michelangelo could separate them.
I need tears slipping free from closed eyes, breaths afraid to inhale lest they steal the last bit of air from the one they love most, bodies sunk against the wall because the force of their love has robbed them of everything but itself
I need to forget why anything else matters but this love, right here, right now. I need death to mark me a witness of a bond so strong that life feared to touch it. I need a purity so blasphemous, God turned away and wept.
I need to drown in it until my lungs plead for air to leave me in my bliss.
I need.
I need.
Tavstarion commission for zozochocobo of her sweet monk, Majin, and werebat-form Astarion having an intense encounter outside of a crumbling mausoleum.
Alternate version available at Patreon or Bluesky.
In Upon a Dark Ascension, I like to imagine Astarion's shoulders are more stooped, curved outward, feigning an embrace or closing in to ensnare his prey.
When he was a Spawn, he had a role to play, a theater mask to hide behind. Heinous though that role was, it was everything he knew for two hundred years.
He had to stand straight and tall because there was always a higher power above him: a threat overhead he had to outwit or thwart with charismatic defiance
No matter how many tears he she'd in silence
But now the threat is gone
And worse: he is the threat
There's no one above him to stand tall against. No one to defy.
No reason to weep in the dark, unseen
There are only those beneath him to keep in line--to watch, jealous and wary, lest they destroy him the way he destroyed Cazador
So he watches, he waits, he looks down...and slowly with time, his bowed shoulders echo his thoughts.
Astarion’s outfit from Lord Rabenherz (badwitch69)
Blades from Basket Full of Equipment (AnteMaxx)
Pose from Extra Camera Mode Poses and Animations (FluffySpider)
My headcanon is that Astarion is clumsy in bed. Now that I’ve got your attention.
What I mean is that when he’s in love, he gets carried away, doing too many things at once, without thinking any of it through, as if he’s feverish. It doesn’t happen right away, during foreplay he’s delicate and deliberate.
And then something clicks, he starts chewing on them, biting, grabbing them greedily, scratch, inhaling their scent, completely diving into their closeness. So overtaken by his feelings that his body hardly listens to him.
And it looks beautiful
AHHHHHH, posted my very first fanfic to A03 for the very first time!
It's a short story and not at all the long fic I plan to write but it's a fanfic and it's mine and I love it.
Have literally never posted any of my fanfic stuff before. I'm so proud of myself for pushing through and doing it!
Thanks to @motherzhiv, @will1survive, @nw39 for being such good BG3 fandom friends (and all you other lovely folks whose tags I don't have heh XD)
Special thanks to: @arachnomancer for being the first to love my fanfic Astarion crack
Merry Christmas, y'all!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/76341126/chapters/199795551
Slowly, and I do mean slowly, catching up on things like all of the lovely WIP Whenever tags (thank you all; I'm always stoked to get them and see what you're working on!) I'm missing a few I know, but thank you to @ghost-of-a-dream-girl @lolthwoven @rubyeyebabybat @lottavilja @pursuitseternal
Shamelessly, I'm also turning this round into a little teaser "trailer for something dropping very, very soon on an AO3 near you. I've been working on this and developing new "supplies" for actually photographing this new AU for months (you see, it's a little specific for just about everything that exists in game and mods...)
Mod List + Photobooth
"Pointed"
“Did you actually find a replacement for Rolan, or are you about to announce that we’re doing ensemble works in lieu of story ballet for the rest of the season?”
“I did.” Lorroakan looked quite pleased with himself, which never boded well for the rest of them.
Kythreen squinted in suspicion as the director tossed his really-too-straight hair back over his shoulders, hands akimbo as he stared down the human woman. She felt a subtle tap on her shoulder, leaning back in the chair just enough for the conspiratorial compatriot behind her to catch her ear.
“Bets it’s just an illusory copy of himself?”
“It had better bloody not be,” she muttered. “I’ve quit before; I’ll do it again.”
“Do you have something to add?” she heard, and with the most coquettish smile she could muster, she turned back to Lorroakan.
“Only that I’d rather eat sovereign glue than dance with you – if you were hoping to fill Rolan’s shoes, that is,” she said, easily.
“Hilarious,” he said, flatly. “But, no, unfortunately, we’ll be denied the entertainment of that bit of performance art. I’ve made an unprecedented agreement with another theatre to borrow… some of their talent.”
“Another theatre?” echoed Bex, who’d been quiet up until that point, settled the edge of the shabby couch near the green room’s door. “So, Szarr Theatre, you mean.”
More, instantaneous discussion erupted, and even when the company owner’s voice tried thinly and congenially to regather their attention, it was met with little success, the dancers and crew all more interested in their own, wild speculation and theories than the actual explanation. Ironically – a bit to her chagrin – Kythreen seemed to be the only one in the room that was aligned with Lorroakan, somewhat annoyed with the wild invention occurring all around at the expense of proper information, and the two held one another’s gazes, waiting for the furore to dissipate. Little by little, the clamour died as people ran out of their own ideas.
“Indeed, we’ve—”
“You’ve—” “—secured a replacement for the wayward danseur. I am very, overwhelmingly overjoyed to announce that, replete with more accolades and kudos this season alone than Rolan had in his entire career…”
No pressure tags (and a few "right back at yous") for @alrendriablaze @amischiefofmice @careful-l-bite @dr-acula121 @ghost-of-a-dream-girl @irondeficienttav @lolthwoven @longjensilver @loreleiloonsdarkascension @lottavilja @motherzhiv @nw39 @optimisticgrey @shandoratheexplorer @spacesunderstairs @strixamans @tynithia @vividiana
EEEEEE, good to have you back @arachnomancer! Loved the snippet! The atmosphere is incredible and your ballerina is so beautiful! Can't wait to find out who this handsome replacement is XD
The only snippet I have so far is for a short story called "Bittersweet," a nightmare!Astarion and human Tav short story.
Enjoy a snippet!
>
His long winged arms pushed him forward as he crept towards her. The curls had given way to thick, shiny fur, and he towered over her now. Long gone were the times when she could cup him in her palms.
"You're beautiful..."
"Please," she begged, pushing back against the cold wall, "let me try again."
"Of course," he promised softly, "We have forever."
"How?"
"This is a dream, darling," His wing slipped between her and the wall, "Come now, it's not a challenge if I find you so soon."
He guided her to his pale bosom and she let herself be taken. But she couldn’t help pushing against the brittle curls as he held her.
"But I'm not the one at a disadvantage," she said. "You've been blinded."
"Oh, give me some credit," he huffed, finding and nuzzling the side of her head. "I've still found you, haven't I? Surely I can again."
Her heart skipped a beat at this reminder. How could she evade him now? Even with the specters roaming this place?
"How long must I hold you off?" she asked.
The clouded eyes blinked, "I don't know. But try as long as you can, sweet thing. It couldn't hurt, could it?"
She raised her eyes to his, "No."
His gaze didn't quite meet hers. She raised her hand to guide his face to hers. As her palm cupped his beastly jaw, he sank into her touch. A tired chuckle purred beneath his pale fur.
Following her touch, he rubbed against her arm, then her neck. She bit down a gasp, panic flaming in her chest. He couldn't take her yet. He promised--he promised her.
But he crouched lower, until his pointed ear pressed against her bosom.
She released her held breath. "What are you doing?"
"Finding the rhythm of your heart," he said, tightening his hold on her form.
“You don't know it?” she said.
Not in annoyance or reproach, but in wonder. She had held him to her bosom so many times--how could he not know?
“I do know it. I just wanted to hear it one last time. Perhaps...”
His breathing grew low, almost imperceptible against her body. She couldn't help clutching his shoulders for support, his winged arms nearly lifting her from the ground. To think that only her thin silken dress separated their bodies.
"Astarion?"
He drew in a deep breath, as if returning to himself. Or perhaps drinking in her scent before the hunt began anew.
"The escape isn't far," he said, pretending as though they'd been speaking of it. "And I'm sure it will take time for my blinded sight to find the way from this labyrinth."
"Yes, but...will you be alright?"
She hadn't meant to ask. But at the sight of his blinded eyes, hunched form, jowls hanging limp with ravenous hunger...she couldn't help but wonder if he was fighting for his survival as much as she was for her own.
~~~~
@arachnomancer's already tagged most everybody that I would tag so I'll just add @will1write and an open tag! XD
Thinking of Gale having his own order/religion, a gothic cathedral tucked away in the slum part of town. One of those non denominational type churches.
Halsin works construction when he can--there's enough potholes in the city to make Swiss cheese jealous--but it's not easy to keep clean when all the shady slum lords want his muscle for odd jobs.
Shadowheart is in charge of college girls' sorority groups. It's the best way to recruit impressionable minds and to keep her cult alive.
Minthara only comes out at night and most folks don't even know what her job is or if she even lives in the city.
Karlach is a street fighter who protects her city block with cheerful vengeance, trying to work any entry-level job that'll take her, living with the elderly halfling who "adopted" her. She's the only one who can fix the faulty water heaters in her complex. Steam doesn't burn her for some unexplainable reason...
Also ughhh, backyard breeders for disruptor dogs. Yee taverns retrofitted to be nightclubs/rec halls. Raphael as a pimp?? Helloooo??
Need to put this out there because I am losing my mind keeping it to myself.
NSFW BG3 AU Crack below. Came from a dream I had last night about my "Upon A Dark Ascension" AA fanfic
I don't know what else to tell y'all lol. If you really like Astarion, you might not want to read.
So instead of being set in Baldur's Gate, everything was set in modern times.
My witch Laithe was a content creator who called out Astarion for having bad business practices/possibly running a circle of something he shouldn't
(I don't know what capacity of rich person he was but it was still the usual "he beat Cazador, ascended, etc." So I'd imagine he took over whatever operation modern Cazador would have been running and made it his own)
So in my dream, one night, Astarion came to Laithe's apartment, using his vampiric powers, etc. He'd seen her videos of him and had decided to address the issue in private. I feel how it fell out she heard a knock at her door, opened it, saw him there, wanted to turn him away, but he used his powers of persuasion to convince her to let him in. One thing led to another.
I think Astarion had broken through a lot of her false theories, pointing out things she didn't know, debunking things she thought she did, unraveling her pathetic witch practices that were harmless cantrips against his power.
Laithe's confidence wavered throughout their interactions but she couldn't refute the points he made. Finally he had her tied down on her bed--in some stage of vulnerable undress--and the thing that struck me most about all this was he had set up a camera to film it. I thought he was gonna blackmail her/film it live/or some other such gross thing, but he didn't.
Instead, he filmed the different ways that he used her magic against her, found loopholes in her self defenses. When he left, he left the camera with her, making a comment about "So you can watch it again and understand the effect I hold over you."
Like he was challenging her to break the spell he clearly had over her life. Then he vanished and the dream ended.
I finally had a breathrough idea for Upon A Dark Ascension.
Initially I had intended that Astarion be unpartnered when Laithe comes upon him, that he is bored and tired of his eternal life, having achieved everything he desired.
And he has.
Except he and his beloved, true consort (name/race TBD in poll soon) had a falling out a hundred years ago. Something truly unforgivable between them both that dissolved into petty grievances until the consort disappeared into the dark and they haven't spoken since.
Until the consort also takes an interest in the young witchling out to kill her former lover. Of course she should want the naive thing to succeed, but oh, the ways of the heart are so...untameable
"Which of my powers frightens you most, witchling?" the vampire ascendant wonders, the darkness around them broken only by the unholy flames in his chambers.
Seated at his feet, the witch Bride leans her head against his knee.
"I don't know," she admits. "I know very little of the powers you hold, my lord. Lesser still how you wield the ones I've seen."
"And yet," his fingers caress the top of her head, "you've sworn to kill me."
She closes her eyes when she feels his touch upon her, "It is my sole purpose."
"Then your sole purpose is to destroy the unknown?" he chuckles softly.
"I would know you better," she says, "I would learn your ways, my lord."
He guides her chin back and leans closer to murmur against her temple. "You don't understand what that would mean, witchling. For you," and he catches her lips in a kiss.
The chandelier glowed over the ballroom, its reflection catching in silks, satins, and even deep velvets.
Even with her spell of enhanced garb, Laithe felt as though she must stick out horribly. Not in an obvious way, but in a way similar to the singular stone that jutts out just too far in a Stonehenge.
She should stick to the sidelines. She wasn't here to do anything, Laithe reminded herself; just gain Intel enough to escape back to the dungeon before the Beldam noticed she had gone. Or before the Gith sold her out. Either outcome was--
Something fluttered in her core. A bad feeling, like an arrow was trained on her. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. But everything seemed as it should be.
"Are you enjoying yourself?"
The voice slithered over her shoulders, silken, venomous. Laithe glanced behind, attempting to appear dainty and delicate. But she was a swamp witch at heart and her motions felt choppier than she wanted them to be.
Had he noticed?
When their eyes met--she thought she noted a hint of crimson in his pupils--he smiled at her. A charming smile, polite and kind.
"I am," she said.
"Are you? But you seem so," he searched for the right word, bejeweled hand waving about as if the answer would land in his palm, "so solemn, my dear."
"I will feel better soon," she said. Once she held Ancunin's corpse, she would. But still, the thought gave her enough courage to smile.
"Indeed you will," he said. And a low chuckle rippled from his throat.
Laithe's blood turned to ice. That laughter, that cold, cruel laughter. She knew it from her dreams. When the flames clawed the sky and the last of the witches' screams died away...she would hear that laughter as she jolted awake from the nightmares.
Laithe felt as though the earth was swallowing her up.
It was him, it had to be him. If she could just slip behind him, she'd know for sure. She would see that cursed silhouette that haunted her dreams.
But as she stepped back, his arm snaked around her waist. "You won't dance?"
"No," she said, too quickly to realize the consequences of it.
The gorgeous man clicked his tongue, a condescending grin on his crimson lips, "No? You come to a ball and you won't dance? Why accept the invitation, then?" He gave a light gasp, "Are you a dour thing determined to ruin everyone's fun?" He leaned closer and ivory fangs peeked out from his smile. "Or perhaps you're a thief come to take what isn't yours?"
Laithe's heart seized in her throat. There was no question who he was now. But at the moment she needed it most, her courage failed her.
Years and years of scheming and loathing and hate, yet here she stood frozen in place like a lost kitten.
But he didn't know who she was. He didn't know why she was here. She grasped onto that tenuous thread, a lifeline to her confidence. If only she could escape back to the dungeon before the Beldam made a scene and gave her away.
"Nothing that I would steal is material, sir," she said, feigning innocence. But his voice held a strange power that took all the strength in her magic core to resist.
"Hmm...I don't believe you," the smile on his face stretched thin, razor-sharp. "You may have tried to cloak it with paltry cantrips, but I know the stink of my dungeons well. How did you escape them?"
A dozen incantations swam in her mind at once. Heat churned in her core as her magic threatened to burst out and cloak her in safety--the worst thing she could possibly do while gridlocked in the vampire ascendant's embrace. Words throttled her, syllables weighed down her tongue like lead.
She had to say something.
"I'm the new scullery maid," Laithe said at last. It came out weak, sniveling, painfully pathetic.
"Charming, but I didn't ask that," his fingers tightened until she could feel the tips of his claws pressing through her clothes. "How did you escape?"
~~~~~~
No stress tags for @miff6367, @giggle-goblin, @will1survive and anyone else who wants to join!
(F) Whumpee found herself in the perfect countryside house--white roof, wrap around deck, perimeter picket fence to match--but the property was in the middle of literal nowhere. Fields surrounded by forests surrounded by mountains. No road lead up to the house, nor cut through the forest.
And Whumpee wasn't alone in the house. Dogs and Horses milled about on the property, but whoever owned this place had a taste for oddity because there were also lemurs and gorillas on the property.
I can't even recall all the times Whumpee had to escape from the weird creatures--all the animals were acting strange, as if controlled by something unseen--but the close calls gave me whumperflies. Beyond that tension, she kept catching glimpses of a man just outside of her peripheral vision. She tried to escape him, bolting from the house, but she could never reach the fence, no matter how long she ran towards it.
And then, to her dismay, more of her friends, family, fellow townsfolk began to appear on the property. They were looking for her, had heard reports of a strange, mysterious man around town. (It was a very small town of 300 people, so they would notice.) Whumpee couldn't shake the feeling that somehting was wrong. That she was the bait to lure the town to this location.
Finally, she met the strange man (Whumper, ofc, who was hot and dangerous, had that murderous glint and obsessive smile whenever he looked at Whumpee. Hnggghhhhh!) They met in an empty room to talk. But I could tell in her eyes, she was starting to fall for Whumper. His obsessive love had begun to wear through her caution. Not to mention, whatever he was planning, she wanted to be the sole one affected.
But he promised her she wouldn't be alone. If she missed her town, then he wouldn't take her away from it.
The town tried to stop him, tried to find Whumper and Whumpee once they found out Whumpee was nowhere to be found in the house. They discovered a tunnel beneath the house, and the men went down to find her.
But it was already too late. Whumper had summoned a curse that consumed the town, burying it whole underground, where he had whisked Whumpee away to be loved by him.
There was a way for Whumpee to undo the curse, to set the town free, but only if she could resist Whumper's love. If Caretaker could find her and help her choose the town over Whumper.
And that's when I woke up...
kaledo-art
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