#astarion ancunin.

[favoriteache]

the night spreads wide above them for longer than he cares to count; his eyes are on her. they follow the rising of her chest, they linger on her mouth with every breathy sound, thick and infused with sleepiness. a feast that knows it's being hunted and still let their eyelids fall closed. how dangerous. he doesn't understand the trust; hunger hums its own lonely tune and for a moment he wonders about attaching clawed fingers to her shoulders. keep her down while he drinks. let her thrash against his unyielding strength. the idiot girl would welcome it, surely, for she told him so…

but a shake of the head and a blink, and he lingers there, watching, until daylight comes and she breathes into her own wakefulness with a stretch. how strange, to want the meal to be given… to want her like this, awake. to want the lamb and the slaughter and the kindness that comes after, not in spite of, but because of the care that has been put into taking only what is given. for the throat to be extended, for the small tilt of her face, for her hands at his thighs while he sits behind her, face buried in her neck. the sweet perfume of defeat; her unbearable liveliness a smell he wants to bathe in. he smiles, teeth peeking out. "breakfast, darling?" baldur's gate will wait a bit longer, it must.

&&. @cht0nia

[favoriteache]

what if this doesn't end well? (zaélun & astarion)

in the quiet dark they are but one shadow; soon it will be time to be part of the living. the marching sounds of a camp getting ready will shatter the fragile peace that darkness brings. he doesn't quite remember when these chaste little rendez-vous started happening between them, only that they did: he likes seeing the sun rise, so he always finds himself awake before it does. now every time he thinks of dawn, it is through its first flickers of light caressing zaelun's face as she quietly murmurs something to him. the background changes, of course-- from the grove to the crèche to the road to baldur's gate. sometimes there is no dawn at all, simply the thrumming living light of mushrooms, or the glistening sparks of selune's blessing. but zaelun remains. astarion's eyes do not drift.

in the in-between, it is terribly easy to let oneself dream of the next step: a hazardous play, of course, for it is fertile ground for anxiety to blossom. he watches it happen while he nurses his own drink-- wine, surely, for the way he grimaces every time it reaches his lips. the tight line of her shoulders, sharper than her sword. the fear that flickers in those eyes as she looks to the approaching city. soon, he thinks. soon it will all come to an end. there is, of course, worries to be had: the cold dagger dangling over his neck wearing cazador's name, the giant brain matter floating around & awaiting to make squids of them all. there is a lot of cause for fear.

"as long as it ends," he tells her, which is the way things go now, between them: an attempt at honesty (it's bright and fragile: soon they'll be close enough to tie ends)(soon freedom will either be his or he will be dead). but honesty is lost to the same bravado he spews once the shawl of truth becomes too heavy to bear: "though i would settle for something hilarious, if not good. wouldn't you?"

[smokepotgivetop]

✶ ⸻ 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐘𝐍

[ 3 / ? ] love was the law [ . . . ] ⸻ and religion was taught.

[achingfavorite]

ASTARION ANCUNÍN

pinterest.

canon character from baldur's gate 3.

full name: astarion ancunín nickname(s): the pale elf age: 239 years old gender, pronouns: he/him sexuality: pansexual profession: magistrate (formerly), rogue race: high-elf, vampire spawn

appearance:

white hair, always perfectly tousled

ruby red eyes

unnatural athletic build that doesn't actually translate into any amount of force

bite marks that scarred on the side of his neck

scarifications all over his back

personality:

eloquent, charming, rather chatty and always catty. would convince a drowning man to give him mouth to mouth

rumoured to be a magistrate in a past life, a not so popular one, attacked by gurs and saved (ressuscitated? damned?) by cazador szarr

don't ask about what happened next

i repeat: do. not. ask

the tadpole might be the best thing that has happened to him in centuries

[violenthunt]

astarion is a bit fussy with the rest of the party. old habits die hard and after centuries with people who can't see their own reflections and who still have to look Desirable, he has learned to help in any way he can by simply. fixing whatever is wrong. probably almost got his hand cut off by lae'zel and his digits burnt off by karlach's skin, but. after a while it's part of their habits. if astarion sees you looking terrible, he'll fix it quietly & will go on his way. he also expects others to do it for him and will absolutely lose it if he realizes people are just letting him walk around dishevelled.