rubistella

[rubistella]

Both Astarion and his mirrored self exchanged a look. The same arch of the brow, the same faint curl of the lip, worn in duplicate.

“Gods, you really are twelve sometimes.” His sigh was elegant, all boredom and disdain, as though so much as acknowledging the old man’s pettiness inconvenienced him terribly. “We do want to have tea with you, you old fool,” affectionate, “Truly we do… but forgive us if we’re a touch curious as to how one would craft tea out of blood. And how exactly does that insult you, hm?”

"Oh, so NOW you're curious?" Only AFTER they finished dragging him?

"No, no, don't worry about it now! Scrapped idea. You've both made your point abundantly clear."

Yes, he's offended. Yes, he IS going to petty about this, thank you very much!

[rubistella]

“Isn’t that the definition of madness somewhere though? Doing the same thing more than once and expecting different results…” Astarion just wasn’t sure if he should have been surprised or offended at Rick’s disappointment.

"Jesus Christ you two, it was a YES or NO question."

"Nevermind, got my answer. And it's CLEARLY a no."

"Dumb of me to ask you and your clone. Really don't know what I expected."

[rubistella]

“Oh gods, that’s not just watered down blood… is it?” He’s assuming he’s vampire one—simply because he came first and she was cloned after him.

@rivenrose and @rubistella

"Hey, Vampire one and Vampire two--Polling for results."

"Blood tea--yes or no. Not looking for questions, just looking for an answer."

[rubistella]

Astarion didn’t miss it, that faint twitch, that flinch… It was as though the man’s skin had forgotten the language of touch. His smirk curved sharper for it, laced with that spark of curiosity. Not used to being handled, are we?

How delicious.

“My apologies, did I…?” He tilted his head, let the words taper into silence, the rest written across his face in languid amusement. Did I frighten you, darling? No need to say it. Let him stew in the implication, suspended. Then, the subject shifted, naturally, back to this strange man’s place in the world. “So, you’re an inventor then.” Astarion concluded. “Anywhere at all, you say? How very, very interesting…”

Anywhere. He lingered on the possibilities. Anywhere that wasn��t under Cazador’s heel, perhaps?

Anywhere he could finally breathe.

“…I should so very like to accompany you, my dear.” The finger resting on top of the man’s hand drew circles over his skin. “Why ever not? Show me everything.” Dangerous? Of course. But then, what wasn’t?

Astarion had nothing left to lose…

Wasn’t that its own kind of freedom?

When the hand draped over his own, Rick almost jumped for more than one reason. It'd been a long time since he was willing to let anyone touch him. Not even in fights. He always spoke of himself as untouchable. An enigma of a man. And secondly, that cold skin was a bit of a surprise.

And he couldn't help to zero in on that fang.

"More or less, I've built a few things that changed the multiverse -- for better or worse, it's hard to say," He shrugged, taking out the portal gun from it's holder that strapped against his thigh. "It's called a portal gun, it takes the user anywhere and everywhere,"

Maybe it was easier to explain than he thought.

Leaning in, his voice dropped down into some more husky. "But if you really want to be impressed, come back to my hideout and you'll see so much more." A double meaning, perhaps, but he was eager to show off his work; first and foremost.

[rubistella]

“We agreed on five years, devil.” Astarion purred, a reminder cloaked in sweet indulgence. He let Raphael’s hand linger on his own, a weight he might have shrugged off if not for the mask Astarion had chosen to worn from the moment he’s met this man. There was a role to play here, after all—loyal hound, gracious consort. One bows when asked to kneel, bends when asked to break.

The trick is to make it look like devotion.

“Nothing more. Five years already promises to feel like eternity, with freedom dangling just shy of my grasp.” The vampire’s smile thinned, sugar over arsenic.

What was the point of longing, if not for the taste of it? He hadn’t clawed out of one master’s bed just to roll over for another. No… should Raphael’s leash ever tighten too much, he’d find the contract, reduce it to cinders, and laugh while the devil swallowed the ash.

So instead of pulling away, Astarion stilled, offering his hand as though the ring—shadow-cloaked and unyielding—were a gift he bestowed rather than a shackle he endured.

“Don’t start rewriting our arrangement now, my sweet…” Drawled sweet, but dripping in poison. “I am a luxury few can afford. And once I ascend, when I prize that power from beneath the bastard’s nose, what I will hunger for most is freedom.” 

A promise, or a warning, depending on how Raphael chose to hear it.

𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 : 𝔯𝔞𝔭𝔥𝔞𝔢𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 × his little star astarion

Raphael remained reclined, a satisfied king, sheets pooling around his waist. He tasted the vampire’s words as he would a fine wine: the notes of ambition, the sharp tang of fear, the sweetness of desperation.

Golden, hellish eyes slid open and fixed upon the pale elf. A lazy smile played at the corner of his lips, arrogantly affectionate. The hand Astarion had placed on his chest was met with his own, fingers lacing through the vampire’s.

“How thoughtful of you. You do have a flair for presentation.” He squeezed Astarion’s fingers in a subtle reminder of the strength coiled beneath his graceful, yet rested poise. “And I do adore a romantic gesture, however hollow.”

He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow.

“But you fret, little bat. It’s unbecoming.” His gaze drifted over Astarion’s face. “You question my integrity? After all this?” A florid wave of his hand pointed to the decadent disarray of the bed, of them. “You wound me. I always deal fairly.”

The lie was as smooth and beautiful as the rest of him. In a way, it was not a lie at all, but there were always fine prints with the devil. Clever wordplay, loopholes spun. One did not ascend as a respected half-devil in the Hells without making an art of it.

Being the son of a powerful Archfiend meant nothing if one reeked of incompetence or weakness—especially with the stain of a mortal half-heart.

“The worm is a trifle, a maggot to be plucked out, a simple matter of pest control. It will be gone.” That, at least, was completely true. No tadpoles.

His thumb stroked the back of Astarion’s hand slowly before he took it to his lips, branding it with a kiss. “Now, now. . . your other problem.” O seu desafeto

A genuine, cruel delight sparked in his eyes, along with a flicker of hellfire in their depths. “I would not dream of robbing you of that moment. That is the climax of your little tragedy. I am merely the playwright, setting the stage. You will stand before him. You will have your vengeance, and I will be there to watch you do it.” A flash of sharp teeth cut through the curve of his coy, almost sadistic smile. “And when the final, pathetic little light leaves his eyes. . .you will belong entirely to me. Unburdened. Unclaimed by any but the devil himself.” Mine alone

He let the silence stretch, a final, damning clause in their unspoken contract. 

“So hold up your end, bring me my prize, and I shall deliver you the world. It is, after all, a devil’s promise. . .and so much more.” Another kiss pressed against back of pale hand.

[rubistella]

Maybe Connor wasn’t beautiful in his skeletal form… at least not in any aesthetic that lent itself to candlelit portraits or longing stares across a ballroom. But their looks have become a constant in Astarion’s life, a point of familiarity in every odd street and hostile wild the two of them tumbled into. As for the sex, well… That took a while getting used to, didn’t it?

Now Astarion wasn’t entirely certain he could live without it.

“Well, I’m not going to claim skin’s overrated, as I do enjoy our occasional romp in your other form, but…” But at least it was Connor the target of Astarion’s desire now. Of his love, and his fantasies…

A hand came up to wrap around Connor’s skeletal wrist when their foreheads rested together. Tentacles breached the space between them, searching his skin with alien curiosity. The smallest was the greediest, darting out first, as usual.

“Eugh... There’s so much sap in here it’s starting to rankle in my throat.” Playful.

At that, as if on cue from such loving and wondrous words, the tendrils come out from within the confines of the ribcage as Connor steps forward. Eagerly, Connor's forehead rests itself against the vampire's, red pinprick eyes flickering for a second before it disappears within the confines of those empty sockets.

Within the confines of the undead's ribs emerge a resounding rumble. A sound of... Not just contentment, but excitement. An aberrant purring, rumble, and even a few quieted monstrous squeals.

"I know that I am not warm. Nor am I soft, or even pretty. But I am glad that you feel content with me all the same. It's... Reassuring to hear that you feel that way about me.

It's hard to feel confident often when we come across so many beautiful faces. Wearing skin is nice, but I rather not hide what it is I am. Hearing you love me as me, as this... It means more than you realize."

[rubistella]

What a tall, insufferable bastard this monstrous thing was… and yet, somewhere deep in that unbeating heart of his, familiarity softened his sharpest edges. Cold and frozen as it was, it still managed to recall the faintest memory of warmth. And while offense still took him from Connor’s disbelief from earlier, the greater part of him was inclined to just let the moment breathe. To let them both have this rare scrap of affection, if only because Astarion was… difficult.

And that was putting it mildly.

“Oh, I’m sure you will… I mean, we only have an eternity ahead of us for these little moments to take root.”  Almost without thinking, Astarion stepped closer, fingers curling around the widest gap in Connor’s ribcage, right where he knew those insidious little tentacles might brush against his hand if they were feeling bold. “I’m aware I can be a touch difficult,” more like emotionally constipated, “when it comes to these things. But your kindness, my love, has managed to find its way even inside of an undead heart that had already stopped believing in goodness at all.”

"Forgive me... You've not exactly had the strongest reputation of expressing affection to me in the past. It's ... Still taking some getting used to."

Connor reaches out towards the vampire's face, specifically his chin, to where they tilt the other's head up to look at them. An inspection of the vampire's features. Admiring him. Porcelain in flesh. Timeless since the day he was changed.

"I love you too. It was nice to hear. I hope you continue to tell it to me. I need to hear it from you more than ever these days."

[rubistella]

@relentlessgrief || continued 🦇

This was difficult enough to admit without Connor making a performance of it. With it? That added a whole extra layer of difficulty to this whole ordeal. One Astarion hadn’t accounted for. Wasn’t certain if he wanted to deal with it either, but here they were regardless.

“Gods, you do have a talent for making me regret opening my mouth, don’t you?”

Honestly? What a dangerous talent it was, one Connor happened to exercise far too often for Astarion’s liking, too.

[rubistella]

📱 Modern AU / Phone

Message to: Raphael Contact Name: Rawr

[txt]: I was going to ask you to wine and dine me before the choking, but then again, I did help myself to the wine already, didn’t I? [txt]: And what did they say? When they saw my picture, I mean. [txt]: Well, don’t be shy now. You can’t just hoard such deliciously scandalous information all to yourself. [txt] That’s hardly fair.

📱 Modern AU / Phone Message to: Astarion Contact Name: Bloodsucker Deluxe

[ 𝐓𝐗𝐓 ]: I could buy the vineyard. I could damn it, curse it, and turn the entire staff into sentient corkscrews, Astarion. But that's hardly the point. [ 𝐓𝐗𝐓 ]: The point is: I labelled that bottle. With a gold ribbon. A warning glyph. A damn Post-it. Meant for special occasions.

[ file attachment opened ] [ 𝐓𝐗𝐓 ]: Ah. Yes. [ 𝐓𝐗𝐓 ]: Thank you, again, for the very unsolicited tit pic. [ 𝐓𝐗𝐓 ]: It did somehow open on my tablet as well. Which, of course, was screen-shared to the entire conference room. [ 𝐓𝐗𝐓 ]: I will attend the show. [ 𝐓𝐗𝐓 ]: Strictly to CHOKE you in the dressing room.

He is not that savvy with technology, no.

[rubistella]

@bloominghands sent:

Carefully weaving flowers into Astarion’s hair to ensure it keeps it’s style but also has many pretty blooms 🥰

“Well, aren’t you in a whimsical mood...” Astarion angled his head just enough to make room for the next daisy. “This is either part of your natural madness, charming honestly, or the sun kissed you a little too hard this morning.”

And yet, Astarion remained perfectly still, letting Robin weave blossoms through his curls. Why not? It looked like she was having fun and he could always undo the damage… Hopefully.

“So... How do I look? Am I a woodland delight yet, or have I finally become one with the shrubbery?”

[rubistella]

From human Lathanderite Priest (pre-campaign), to undead aberration and undying Warlock (campaign), to Death deity in the pantheon known as the Gentle Death (post-campaign).

Thought it important to commemorate my character, Connor's journey, and Maeter's (bsky/twitter) always delivers with the most stunning art.

[rubistella]

@fiendishfinesse sent:

(modern au on mobile)

[ TXT ]: You drank the last of my wyvern-blood chardonnay. I know it was you. Replace it or I'll start billing you in soul coins. [ TXT ]: And do stop sending me shirtless selfies while I'm in the office attending to clients.

Astarion’s first instinct, naturally, was to lie. Blame the butler, or the maid, or some poor, faceless intern with clammy hands and no sense of boundaries. Instead, a sigh slumped his shoulders and Astarion’s head fell back against the couch as though the weight of his existence had suddenly triplicated.

As it would seem, the rest of the band was far too stoned to notice… One was halfway through a bag of Cheetos as if that was a religious experience, the bass guy was playing a chord that had yet to be invented. Perfect. Nobody to witness the vampire’s attention slipping.

Thumbing open his phone’s screen, some picture of the band’s logo, and Astarion’s fingers quickly flitted all over, firing off the text.

[txt]: Don’t be such a wet blanket, darling. It’s not like you couldn’t buy the whole vineyard yourself.

 [txt]: file attachment sent 🍷

[txt]: So, are you coming to the show, or should I tell the venue to padlock the mirrors before you get caught with your own reflection again?

[rubistella]

@relentlessgrief asked:

bites on the butt with a tentacle

Astarion wasn’t quite sure why just yet, but there was something in the air. It was neither mist, magic, or even the charming scent of blood and regret. No, this was worse.

Favouritism.

And he was getting this strange feeling that, for once, he wasn’t the target of it. And my god, did it itch. Not on the skin, but somewhere deeper. Petty. Insufferable. Subtly humiliating. He just hadn’t worked out exactly why it stung yet…

Though it certainly wasn’t the tentacle currently nipping at his arse like a beast in heat.

“Could you—?!” Astarion’s tenor pitched embarrassingly high as he flinched, the picture of undignified grace, and all but pirouetted away from the appendage in question. “Would it have killed you to kiss me instead, if you’ve missed me that desperately? Gods!”

[rubistella]

The ghouls working hours.🩸🧟‍♀️🧟‍♂️

[rubistella]

They feared him, hated him, or they wanted his head on the chopping block. That was the general rhythm of things… This one, though? He didn’t fit the cadence. Not yet at least. And while there might have been something about that inflated ego that Astarion took mental note of, it didn’t seem to put him off.

Confidence was something he admired in a man.

This man though, he spoke in crooked sentences and strange, shimmering logic, like language being bent into unfamiliar lingo just to amuse him. Astarion didn’t understand a word of it, still… there was appreciation to be had in that which was unknown.

“Tell me, my dear, are you some kind of brilliant inventor then? Gods, I sure hope so.” Astarion’s smile showed a fang, hand finding the other’s without ceremony, settling atop it. The first thing this man would have noticed was just how stupidly cold Astarion’s skin was.

Almost like a corpse’s.

“I do so adore a man who builds things no one else comprehends.” A pause, then—measured, indulgent. “Go on, darling…” The drawl in the vampire’s voice was almost hypnotic—not in any real, magical sense, but rather in its velvety allure. “Impress me.”

@infinctyprime

Inching forward, leaned a bit closer, he spoke. "Then I guess you know all there is to know," And lucky for him, he wouldn't have to bore his new acquaintance with long winded information.

Instead, they could get right to the good part.

"Not really," He curled his fingers into his palm. "A lot of people either hate me or want me dead, but I guess it's because they can't handle me imposing my will on them," Another lazy shrug.

The word power caught his attention, causing bright blue eyes to electrify with life. "Oh, baby, I have power and lots of it. Maybe I can show you all that I can do. From gadgets, to my robots, my enhanced abilities, my regeneration power. All of it."

[rubistella]

Inexperienced. Inept, even?! Casual offense, tossed like bones to a dog with no regard for whether they’d bruise on impact. Astarion scoffed—quiet, refined, entirely performative. Rick knew how to insult even when he wasn’t aiming. Or perhaps especially then. The man bled contempt like radiation somtimes, inescapable in proximity.

Pushing a tongue against the inside of his cheek, Astarion hummed.

“Fine.” Pointed. “So… do we get to practise on living targets, or is this going to be one of your dull little simulations?”

"Giving you one of mine. That you can keep. It's long passed its heyday back during the time I was up against the galactic federation with BP and Squanchy. I've given it a couple upgrades here and there, and the handling of it is pretty basic that even someone ineptly inexperienced can wield it."

"Bows and arrows are great and all but you're gonna need something quicker and far more deadly with the type of shit we're up against.

Sound good?"

Not that he gives the other room to say yes or no, because the old man is already on the move towards the garage, expecting the vampire to follow.

[rubistella]

Pointedly, Astarion ignores the question of his “handle”. But he doesn’t ignore Rick’s request for a picture.

He’s draped across a decadent couch made prettier by improv sheets, all bleeding reds and shadows and him right at the centre, every inch artfully composed. The folds of his robe are traitorous things, parting just wide enough to bare a pale sliver of chest…  one nipple caught in the dim light like a pearl nestled in wine-dark silk. The hem teeters dangerously at his hips, the frame cutting off just before revealing anything truly obscene, though the suggestion is damning enough.

And of course: his face. Smug. Ridiculously handsome. That insufferably pleased expression that says yes, you want this, and no, you absolutely can’t have it. His curls are slightly mussed, not by accident, never that,  but in that calculated way that implies someone’s already had their fingers in them.

Someone who didn’t survive the privilege.

Then: [txt] I do so adore this technology of yours… [txt] Though, if you’d prefer a more interactive demonstration, I’m dreadfully good at long-distance misbehaviour.

And he doesn’t send another picture. Not yet. 

The true sting lies with the wait.

[TXT] Yeah? What's your handle?

He leaves, by in large, a lot of the conversation ignored, not because he doesn't care, but rather he doesn't immediately have anything to say to the vampire.

That, and because Summer was trying to pass him mashed potatoes at the dinner table.

Astarion was... Needy at times. The type to blow up your phone with 9-10 individual messages at a time. Unapologetically. He knows if he doesn't respond soon enough, he'd have a pile up.

[TXT] Send a pic.