#Muse: Astarion

[delightindarkness]

All Blood Runs Red || Closed Starter

Centuries had passed for Astarion since his days as a merc in Balders Gate. The world changed, and so did he, trying to keep up with the ins and outs of society. Knowledge was power after all, and he needed all the power he could get if it meant keeping himself safe. As the world progressed, magic died out. Not the source or course, or the weave. He was still able to use his power as he was sure many could, but if it was used, it was kept secret. He'd even seen times pass where use of magic was punishable by death.

Things these days weren't so dire, but he still often found himself having to shroud himself in secrecy.

The vampire had a love and hate relationship with large cities. Cities brought excitement, and more importantly, work. Big cities like New York, the one he found himself in now, had large criminal underbellies, and it made things that much more convenient for him, but it also brought hunger.

He wouldn't take anyone down unless they deserved it beyond a shadow of a doubt, and often times as he followed his leads, he'd go days between feedings. Rats were a common supplement in-between, but today.... today he snapped.

He'd been following the same man for days. A suspected murderer. The cops, however, let him walk. What was one less useless mortal? Even if he wasn't a murderer, he surrounded himself with the type. It was only a matter of time. Right? At least, that was what Astarion told himself when he sank his fangs into the other's neck in the back of an alleyway. He drank deeply, a quiet groan leaving him as his hunger was sated, for the moment. He was so enraptured by his meal, he hadn't heard the footsteps approaching over the noise of the city.

@penniesfortheferryman

[alibonbonn]

A @corviiids tweet that is very important to me 🙏 I'm always thinking about spawn Astarion how he loves the sun

[coreofgold]

"Not painting. Could never sit still for that." Kili admits. "Now, making things through blacksmithing? That is an art form I can get behind." It's in his dwarven nature really, to be drawn to a forge.

"It is one of my many talents." No one ever could ever accuse Astarion of being humble. "Any interests in the arts?"

[fangswbenefits]

Astarion's writer 🩷

[tiafrye]

For Bloodweave reasons I'm posting them together.

The forbidden fruit of referencing from VAs has consumed me.

[spikesbicth]

Got Love Sick All Over My Bed

Astarion x F!Reader!Tav

Summary: Astarion discovers Tav having a private moment in her tent.

approx 1.5k words

cross posted on ao3

CW: 18+ Minors DNI, smut, masturbation, maybe a tiny bit voyeurism but only if you squint. biting. vampires.

A/N: I am just in the inspiration train so I banged out (lol) this quick one shot. just feeling so creative! once again barely proofread so excuse any glaring issues. Feedback always appreciated :) enjoy!

The smell of smoke lingers on your hair and the clothes lying in a pile at the foot of your bedroll. This was a usual occurrence, as nearly every evening was spent at the fire with your companions, discussing the day and what was to come. Conversations often went in circles, regardless of what had happened that day you often felt you were no closer to safety, always in danger. During these nights, you often found your mind and your eyes wandering to Astarion, whose pale skin and sliver hair was awash with a golden glow from the firelight. He was always entrancingly beautiful, but in this light he was truly ethereal, otherworldly. You were awash with love for him, and yet at the same time completely unsure if he felt the same way or would stick around long enough for you to find out.

These memories and feelings swirl in your mind as you try to relax on the uneven ground. It was difficult to remove your doubtful thoughts of Astarion. In an effort to gain closeness to him, you had offered your neck and your blood to him. Over time, for yourself at least, it had become something you anticipated and desired each night; you wished to steal a kiss from him before the ritual. Tonight, you imagine more. You close your eyes, picturing the crescent of his collar bones under his loose silk shirt he wore each evening at camp. The spot where his jaw meets his neck. The feeling of his body pressing against yours, his broad shoulders and chest that narrow delicately to his waist, his hips, his hands…

Tonight you want him, you want what you know he is capable of doing to you. He is to meet you tonight, in your tent, after the others have settled in their own.

You have time though, don’t you…?

You feel blood rush to your pelvis, a slick arousal beginning to pool between your legs.

Unable to curb your desire you trail your cool fingers down your abdomen, pushing up goosebumps as you progress. Already naked under your blankets, you find your clit and begin to rub small circles, gentle and delicately at first. You imagine the smell of Astarion’s hair, sweet with bergamot…

You imagine the smell of Astarion’s hair while he kisses you and touches you the way you touch yourself. A light gasp escapes your lips as the image sends a jolt of energy through your body and you press harder with your fingers. You move on for a moment, pushing two fingers inside of yourself, slightly shocked at how wet you have become. You slip further into your fantasy, imagining Astarion cupping your breast while he fingers you, playing with your nipple, kissing your jaw and neck. Gods, you wish for it.

“Oh my… now what do we have here..?” A voice questions in the darkness at the entrance of your tent.

Your stomach drops, and your eyes jolt open.

Oh. Fuck. You think, feeling your cheeks flush. You in fact, did not have time for this before the object of your desires arrived at your stoop. How long had he been there?

“I… uh, hi,” you croak, your mouth slightly dry from the rhythmic breathing forced by your touch.

Astarion widens the slack door of your tent and lets himself in, an knowing grin across his face. He immediately sits beside you near your pillow. No matter how unreasonable, there was no doubt to you that he knew your pounding heart was beating for him. You sit up, pulling your blanket up to cover your bare chest, feeling unusually exposed in front of him tonight.

“Shall we?” He asks, ignoring what you felt to be the elephant in the room. Though you felt embarrassment, the idea of him watching you touch yourself made your clit pulsate and wetness continue to flow from within you.

“Oh, yes… of course.” You answer, trying to hide your arousal.

Astarion moves behind you, sitting with one leg on either side of you. This was not his usual approach to feeding, and you wonder what he is planning.

“Darling, do lean back for me,” he requests, his voice deep and velvety. You lay back, resting your bare back against him. Your heart continues to pound in your chest and at this point, you were more than certain he could feel it. You tilt your chin back looking up at home with wide eyes and meeting his crimson gaze. He leans forward, and you anticipate the joining of your bodies with his bite.

To your surprise, he lays a gentle kiss on your neck. You gasp, and blink, was this a dream?

“Is that alright, my dear?” he asks, his lips brushing your neck as he spoke. You nod yes, rendered speechless by his kiss. “May I continue?” he asks again, and you nod once more, moving a hand slowly to touch one of his legs.

His kiss meets your neck again, kissing slowly, his fangs only occasionally catching your skin rather than piercing it. You feel your throbbing heartbeat between your legs, as you feel the blanket you had pulled across your chest begin to slip down as you arch your back to allow Astarion more access to your neck. The cool air grasps your nipples and they grow dense and hard in response.

“Would you like to continue to touch yourself?” He asks.

Yes Gods, Yes. You wanted to. You wanted him to watch you. Still, the bewilderment you felt of these fantastical actions playing out squirmed at the back of your mind.

“Please… I do,” you affirm. You send your free hand back down to your folds, and find them even slipperier than they were before. The blanket falls further down your chest until your breasts are fully exposed and it only covers your hand working on your clit.

Astarion moves a hand to one of your breasts, continuing to kiss your neck and jaw. His cool touch sends lighting through your body.

Your clit throbs under your fingers, swollen and sensitive. As much as you desired these moments to last forever, there was certainly no way you would be lasting very long. Moaning and gasping in Astarion’s arms, you rub yourself hungrily.

It doesn’t take much more to reach your peak, bursting into orgasm suddenly. Your hips sway, and you clench rhythmically around nothing. Your back arches and you press the back of your head into Astarion’s shoulder.

Your neck now even more exposed, Astarion sinks his teeth into you, your rich, crimson blood flowing into his mouth. You burn in pain, and you close your eyes, submitting to him.

Eventually, the rush calms, and you are left a panting, bloody mess in Astarion’s arms. You look up to his face again, this time moving to meet his mouth.

You join in a passionate kiss, and he slides his tongue into your mouth. You taste your own blood in his mouth and relish in imaging how much he enjoys the taste of you.

It was an explosion of passion, nearly as satisfying as your orgasm mere moments before. His soft lips sliding against yours, his fangs occasionally catching, his tongue touching and sliding against your own.

You pull away for a moment, looking into his ruby eyes.

“How…?” you ask, unable to find the words to describe your confusion at the sudden encounter, almost a recreation of what had occurred in your mind only moments before his arrival.

Astarion opens his mind to you, psychically linking to yours through the tadpoles that swum in your brain. You needn’t see his thoughts to know what has happened. How could you be so naive, of course the tadpole. Of course. In your fit of sudden insatiable desire, you left yourself almost completely unattended. Anyone who was tadpole-afflicted that happened to be wandering by may as well had been broadcasted the images you had conjured in your mind.

Without words, Astarion interrupts your thoughts. You see into his own mind, and are flustered by what you see. The same feelings you hold towards him, the same desires, the same yearning, the same love - but all for you.

You sit up, turning to look at him straight on, completely at a loss for words. He had wished for this as much as you had. A gentle, warm smile spreads across your face.

“Will you… stay with me tonight?” you ask, your voice faltering, still riddled with disbelief.

“I want nothing more” He replies, reaching a hand out to cup your cheek.

Like twisting vines, the two of you entangle yourselves in each others arms, and cuddle into the bedroll. Exhausted and contented, the worries that plagued your thoughts earlier that evening were nowhere to be found, and you knew that you wouldn’t be kept up from them ever again.

[diverse-hearts]

Who in the world was this woman, and why did she seem so calm around a vampire of all things? It'd been one thing after another since ending up on that ship - he really should stop being so surprised with running into strange people like this. "Excuse me - what? Recipes? Are you seriously suggesting some type of help right now?". What was wrong with people? She should be running away from him, or trying to drive a stake into his heart before he became some type of threat - that would be the normal reaction, and one that he'd know how to react to. At the moment he was just feeling a rather overwhelming sense of confusion. He didn't like it.

He took a small step closer, taking in her appearance a lot more carefully now, "Alright let me try another question - what are you?"

"Well, that is the trouble with that thirst. Rather relentless and unforgiving." Her tone remained nonchalant as she continued to give him that warm smile, "I would say you seem pretty strong in the face of it. At least from where I'm standing."

Even if she was acting carefree with him, she was aware of the threat he could be to her. She was also well aware of what sort of threat she could be to him in return if things turned too sour. The only trouble was really finding a delicate way to say making her bleed would be a bad idea if it came to it.

For the moment she opted for a different approach, tapping her left index finger to her cheek in a passing moment of thought, "I have a few recipes I know that use animal blood as the dominating ingredient. I can also simply get quite a few pints of fresh blood that I use for those recipes rather easily."

The how just wasn't something she was going to explain right away. Not unless he asked, that is. She was also waiting to see how perceptive he was, since there was the glitter of her residual stardust caught in her hair. And the fact her pale pink-purple eyes gave off a dim glow even in the current lighting. All traits not exactly normal of anyone who was looking like an otherwise rather short human adult.

"...And to circle back to what you mentioned before: No, I'm not entirely aware of what sort of hell you've gone through recently. I'd be happy to listen if you want to share, though. Sort of comes with the type of business I run." She made a little shrug before gesturing to him to speak. While she wasn't blind to the destruction she had spotted in the area, she wasn't entirely all that familiar with it just yet.

[jwera]

[wyrmsgatebait]

Astarion being an embroiderer breaks my heart, because traditionally it was a skill so tied to daylight. If you looked at illustrations of embroiderers before the advent of electric lights they're always outside or near large sunny windows. Placing intricate stitches with nothing but candlelight to guide you would be a nightmare. In fact, it was outright forbidden in most professional workshops. An artist couldn't be sure of the stitch placement and most importantly the colors were dulled.

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

I love cuddly Astarion—him finding peace and safety in his lover’s arms, someone caressing his skin, keeping him warm.

But I really like the idea of Astarion doing the same for his lover, actively being their safe space, watching over their rest. Choosing to hold them. It would be such a novel experience for him, being loved and cherished and proudly returning the favour, knowing that he’s actually able to keep his loved ones safe, mostly from himself and any fate they would’ve suffered with Cazador still around.

[queenmuzz]

Headcanon that Tav, knowing Astarion was once a magistrate, asks him to marry them and their chosen romance. BONUS HEADCANON: They ask while in the middle of a life or death battle, with Astarion being

[comatosebunny09]

Figure drawing is surprisingly lively today.

A question hangs in the air. Something about relationships sitting on your classmates’ tongues. You’re in and out of the conversation. Tucked between your peers’ laughter and the gentle croon of new age music spilling from the speaker.

Your fingers are smudged from the soft pastels you chose as your medium today. Stained red like the irises boring holes into your head, stripping you down to the marrow.

You’re warm when you feel them on you again. Warm like the ivory glow of sunbeams pouring into the classroom. You can’t focus. Can’t get your vision transferred onto paper. Too hard to concentrate. Your skin prickles with heat. You can’t help glancing up at him to lay your curiosities to rest.

He doesn’t look away. Shameless as he watches you, seated pretty on a stool in the center of the classroom. Porcelain-skinned and lithe. Knees tucked beneath his chin, arms slack, encircling his legs to keep them together and up on the stool—a little modesty for today’s pose.

His expression is unreadable. Maybe a bit contemplative. And you don’t miss the slight cant of his lips and the crinkle of his eyes when he catches you staring just as long. He waggles his silver, groomed brows. Like what you see, they query. The heat blooms tenfold through your chest as your eyes return to your sketchbook. Like a grade-schooler caught eying their crush.

Your throat thickens. You wipe your hands on your jeans, hoping to dispel your nerves. Hoping to distract yourself from the ethereal beauty watching you like a best-kept secret. Like you are the sun he’s never basked in, and he wishes to savor every moment beneath it.

Truthfully, Astarion makes you nervous. Makes your heart pump over time, and your tongue feel all doughy in your mouth. Causes the hairs littered across your body to stand ramrod stiff, and you breathe a little shallower when he guides you into idle conversation. He’ll throw in a quip or two to break up the monotony of the classroom, but his focus always drifts back to you.

You’re not sure why he’s always had this penchant for you. Why he sets your nerves afire like solar flares exploding beneath your skin. You can never deny you enjoy the attention. While everyone else vies for his recognition, you capture his intrigue so effortlessly, garnering the envy of your peers.

Maybe somewhere in a past life, you meant something to him. Maybe he exalted you. Offered you the sweetest supplications. Held you dear in the circle of his arms with his lips pressed cold yet reassuring against your forehead.

You shake your head, banishing the cacophony your thoughts. Silly you. Past lives and all that. When the hell did you become such a romantic?

You take up your pastel stick anew. Figure you’ll get the line work down before class ends. However, it’s proving rather tricky with the subject of your piece staring you down like that.

[mintytealfox]

looool I hadn't noticed this in game before but Astarion looking at her like 'damn gurl, you're more openly thirsty than I am right now'

[jstor]

Update on your mod's BG3 playthrough:

Like seemingly everyone else in the Baldur's Gate 3 tag, I'm working on romancing Astarion (something about my concurrent reading of Carmilla, etc.)...

Which had me thinking about vampirism in general. Here's a book chapter that discusses the historical and literary evolution of vampirism as well as its transformation in science fiction settings.

[klaradraws]

[thefangdomcryptid]

So apparently besides assuming every Tav is a self-insert because gods forbid people don't want to play as themselves for whatever reason, we are now gatekeeping which characters' trauma we are allowed to relate to??? I naturally blocked this person because the question was apparently not asked in good faith but to start an argument, but it just doesn't sit right with me.

Like, fine, we get it, you don't like Astarion. Fine. You don't get why he's so popular, also fine. You don't have to understand why people like a character, because sometimes you never will.

What isn't okay is to talk down to people because they find Astarion's trauma relatable and through his journey find a sort of closure of their own, because we all have our own Cazadors to deal with, but we can't always confront them, so this is the next best thing.

Yes, all the character have their own trauma, Karlach, Wyll, Gale, Shadowheart, Lae'zel. But I can't relate to them. Do you know why?

Because in the height of my C-PTSD I was not nice. I was not helpful. I was a shitty person that made shitty decisions and treated people around me and myself like shit. I was NOT a good person. So yeah, I can see right through Astarion's mask. Just like him I felt alone, and no "heroes" came to save me either.

It's also why I don't really enjoy Ascended Astarion because he feels like me at my worst. I mean obviously not exactly the same, but hurt people DO hurt people. It doesn't mean everyone does, but some do.

Anyway, if you relate to Astarion because of your trauma, or even Ascended because it's a way to deal with yours, you are valid. If you relate to Wyll or Karlach or anyone else for that matter, you are also valid.

And if you can do one thing in Fandom, then be kind.