#disgusting on Astarion

[bhaalsdeepbat]

Anytime I say something disparaging about Astarion or that treats him like he's pixels, I have to now add, "JAIL FOR BAT. JAIL FOR A THOUSAND YEARS"

[mooreaux]

Winterstar brain worms are alive and well in this WIP

[regalpotato]

Astarion: Fake vs Real - I love you

[emblazons]

"Mother, may I? I'm positively starved."

Astarion "Sarcasm is My Native Language" Ancunín finding the girl going to 'a party' in the sewers • Baldur's Gate III

[madforhoran]

to have Astarion think of himself as only being good at sex is heartbreaking.. why can't we praise him at some point for his capabilities to unlock the hardest locks, disarm traps, overall being useful in a fight as well

[ishaslife]

Larian Studios writer talking about the bad ending (Ascendant ending) for Astarion. Basically pointing out close to everything I had said about the ending in my own analysis.

[thebigbiwolf]

Spittle (Coming Soon) - Astarion/F!reader

Summary: The chocolate seems innocent enough - if you look past the Infernal writing on the wrapper, and with so few pleasures in the wilderness, you all but jump at the chance to sneak yourself a small treat.

Unbeknownst to you, the bar is infused with succubus spittle. Just one square is rumored to contain enough potency to send a mortal into the throws of ecstasy.

This is what happens when you eat half the bar.

Fic Tags: Sex Pollen (kinda), aphrodisiacs, a bit of dom!Astarion, unprotected piv, overstimulation, he talks you through it (iykyk), more tags will be added once the fic is posted.

Fic Warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Dubcon (if you squint), Language, No use of Y/N, magical influence

A/N: Remember the dead spider? I remember the dead spider. Anyways, the reception I've been getting on Starvin', Darlin' has me wanting to thank everyone with a one-shot. I'm looking to have it written and edited by Saturday (9/30/23), and I really like how its turning out so far. Lets just say: if you like heat fics and sex pollen, this ones for you.

His image fully takes form, as if it had been waiting for you to make the connection before pulling you towards himself. His grip is firm, almost painful as you crash into his body. His hands waste no time, exploring you - tight, possessive, squeezing at every inch of exposed skin before settling on the curve of your ass, digging into your flesh with the blunt edge of his nails.

He presses hot, wet kisses to your throat, mouthing just below the ear, before dragging his tongue along your nape and sucking, hard.

You whine at the pressure, eliciting a grin from the elf, so pleased with the pathetic little noise he’s managed to pull from you.

“You thought sleeping would allow you to escape this - to escape me, unscathed?” He growls against your skin, his voice almost unrecognizable - as if it's layered beneath a lighter, somehow more arrogant, feminine one.

“No, no, no. Wake up, darling. You’re in for a very long night.”

[lets-go-hurt-someone]

I do enjoy a lot of deranged Durge nonsense but honestly the most depraved fantasy I have for Durge and Astarion is just how much I think they cuddle.

The way I see it, they probably just get cosy and make out all night for like… most of the game. Sure they probably also legit lick blood off each other at some point and at least one of them is literally turned on by murder but these are two people who have not had full control of themselves or their bodies in a very, very long time. Durge still doesn’t and won’t until the story is almost over. And when they’re not stabbing and shit-stirring and whatnot-ing, I firmly believe they are having the most sickening, tooth-achingly sweet moments full of the most respectful of caresses and probably keeping it above the belt. Maybe some butt squeezes. But you know. PG-13 shit.

So I don’t really care about or think about Durgestarion fucking nasty and being wild and filthy. One day when they’re ready I’m sure they’ll have insane degenerate sex again (you can’t tell me they’re not both freaks at heart) and I love that for them but like. I don’t see it during the game timeline and it’s not as interesting character-wise to me. I genuinely think they’re both mostly focused on figuring out how to get comfortable being present in their bodies and learning how to trust themselves and each other and how to experience pleasure for their own sakes… for maybe the first time ever.

I’m more interested in Durge not really knowing what to do at all and maybe finding out Astarion has really sensitive ears and nibbling on his earlobe just to hear him make a happy little noise — surprised at how much he likes making someone moan in pleasure instead of pain for once.

Or Astarion figuring out just the right spot to kiss on Durge’s neck so he gasps in delight, and how he likes that even better than just feeding on him straight away.

Both of them, on the receiving end of something sensual and gentle and lovely for once and getting to enjoy it without being punished for it or pushed for more. Getting to experience the simple safety of just holding and being held and knowing you’re treasured for you and no one is going to make you do anything you don’t want to ever again, and your partner is happy to help you figure out what you do want when you’re ready.

And that’s it. That’s my kink. It’s actually just fucked up people accepting each other completely and showing each other the soft kindness they never got from anyone else and accidentally healing along the way.

Then they can go on being happy little freaks forever, amen.

[baldurs-gay-three]

When you say the party needs to be fattened up people like to say how that isn’t practical or makes sense for the story, so tell me how a twink elf whose done nothing but seduce people and eat rats for 200 years and a wizard who you know was sitting on his ass reading and not hitting the gym have abs that look like THIS

They groan in agony climbing ladders they do not have abs.

images from @laezels (thank you for your work de ab-ing them)

[spaceyqueer]

Mizora sucks ass and she should be treated with the same contempt that Cazador is by both canon and the fandom, but her abuse is minimised because she's a hot gaslight girlboss, not a racist Asian stereotype (remember when Cazador had a moustache?), and her victim is a black man and people's sympathy evaporates when they have to apply it to a black character.

[milkcioccolato]

Sometimes I have thoughts

[graveyardcuddles]

Astarion when you call him out on his manipulation: "Oh hehe I know, I'm just soooo silly throwing those three little words around, aren't I? But it can be true for...if only for tonight...😏" (Is being eaten alive by guilt and shame).

The Emperor when you call him out on his manipulation: "Be grateful I don't fucking end you right here and now."

[loquaciousquark]

when will eppie hawke and fenris meet tavish and astarion? (:

"And anyway, it won't be that bad. One last little Fade rift. We'll barricade it up as best we can, send a message to Skyhold, go home, and—"

One of the craggy footholds crumbles away beneath Hawke's foot, and it's only Fenris's quick hand that saves her from a plummet back down the side of the barren mountain. "Hawke, please."

"Please yourself. I said you didn't have to come."

Fenris throws her a longsuffering look, the flickering green lightning of the rift casting weird shadows over his eyes, but he doesn't let go of her arm until she's got both feet on solid ground again. "Just seal it and let this be done."

"My heart's only desire, lover," Hawke says, smiling, just as another pair of voices rises from the other side of the rift.

"Careful—careful! It shocks like the entire Hells are in there. Where's Gale?"

"Wherever Karlach dropped him, I suppose, with that little sprained ankle of his. No, I see them, they're almost here. Come away, darling. No need to get so dramatically close."

"This, from you?" says the woman, just as she and her fellow voice round the far edge of the rift. "Oh!"

"Well!" Hawke says almost at the same moment. Two of them after all: a short, slim woman with auburn hair pulled back in a low tail, and a tall, lithe man with hair as white as Fenris's and eyes that gleam like rubies. The man has a dagger drawn already, a thin smile playing over his face; the woman's fingers rest on her sheathed rapier, but her gaze is open, friendly. Hawke plants her staff on the rocky ground in as welcoming a gesture as she can manage. "Fancy running into someone like you up here of all places."

"I could say the same," the woman says. The green rift, still hanging between them and stretching a good twenty feet into the sky, gives an ominous rumble. "Our wizard's been fretting about magical disturbances along the city's borders for weeks. He finally traces the source to this location, and here you are at the heart of it. I'd like to believe it's coincidence."

"Alas," Hawke says, "one of my greatest faults is a terrible habit of being around when things begin. Fenris can attest to that better than most." She lays a hand on Fenris's shoulder, but he's stiff as iron, eyes glued to the man's dagger, and he's reached back for the hilt of his greatsword. "I'm Hawke, by the way."

"Call me Tav."

"And I'm Astarion," the man says grandly, accompanied by a wholly unnecessary flourish of his dagger. "We're here to steal the world."

"Save it," Tav says sharply.

"Of course, my dear. Save the world. What did I say?"

Fenris makes a short, disgusted noise, but Hawke's pleased to see he's let go of his own sword. She doesn't think this Astarion is going to kill them—not easily, anyway—and she likes the look of Tav despite herself. Both of them quick on their feet, she thinks, both moving gracefully with an innate, self-assured balance. As Tav steps around the rift Astarion moves with her like water, without even needing to see where she's gone. It reminds her a great deal of Fenris and herself, actually, though Hawke would give an arm to trust her own feet that much.

Fenris, it seems, has come to similar conclusions, and he rolls his shoulders as he releases their tension. Even his voice has lost its nascent fury, which for Fenris is practically friendly in situations like this. "The rift is dangerous. We will guard it until the Inquisitor can seal it permanently. Be on your way."

"Inquisitor?" drawls Astarion with that same, thin-lipped smile. "Sounds like someone from dear Shadowheart's former enclave, don't you think?"

"I don't think they're Sharran," Tav says. "Are you?"

"What a speculative look you've put on," Hawke says, delighted. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. Unless you'd like me to be Sharran, in which case, I most certainly am and in fact have always been."

Both Fenris and Astarion roll their eyes—hilarious in its own right, but heightened by the clear antipathy still remaining between them. Fenris sighs. "Hawke—"

The rift explodes.

Green lightning shatters over the rocky cliff. The rumble bursts into a deafening roar; the faint breeze that had been dancing around them sweeps up into a hurricane. The air cracks and snaps with a sudden smell of ozone.

Hawke throws her hand over her eyes. She can't see—the wind tears her hair from its bindings and she can't see past the brilliant flashes of blazing green and she can't hear— "Fenris!"

Someone's fingers wrap around hers. She wrenches up her staff, calls for fire—for ice—for anything—but the rift has become a maelstrom and every scrap of magic sucks into the raging whirl before she can shape it. Her boots skid on the stone as she tries to brace against the inexorable pull, pebbles and rocks rattling along every step. She can't—the hand wrapped around hers has seized tight as a vise, but she's slipping anyway, and Maker, she can't—

A man's echoing voice, stripped bare of all artifice, wild with fear: "Tav!"

The wind dies. Not slowly, not gradually; it falls off like someone's upturned a glass over the rocky cliff, and Hawke's ears roar in the sudden silence. The wind is gone, and the rift is gone with it as if it had never been, the thunderous clouds that had been swirling above it already dissipating to glimpses of blue morning sky.

"Andraste preserve me," Hawke says, loud in the quiet, and she looks over to see Tav still crouched against the face of the mountain. One of Tav's hands clutches a dagger she'd wedged deep into a stony crevice; the other is still wrapped tight around Hawke's wrist where she'd pulled her away from the tempest.

No sign of Fenris. No sign of the other one—Astarion. A long white scrape in the stone marks where Fenris's sword had sought and failed to find purchase, disappearing at the precise place where the rift had torn itself open.

Gone. Gone, gone. Her heart hammers in her throat, and she indulges in thirty seconds of agonizing grief before she sets it aside, turns, and pulls Tav to her feet.

"Well," Hawke says at last. "Looks like it's just you and me, then. Ready for an adventure?"

"Yes," Tav says, her grip on Hawke's hand like steel, and her eyes blaze. "You and me. Let's get them back."

—

Everything hurts. Everything godsdamned hurts, and Astarion lets out a pained groan as he rolls to his back and drops his arm over his face. His ears ring like bells, and something twinges painfully in his left hip, and the inconvenient sun has decided to blaze right in his face and gods damn it, he'd known they ought to wait for Gale. Wretched wizard and his weak ankles. Wretched Tav and her complete inability—

"Tav," Astarion says, and sits bolt upright.

No Tav. Not even the dark-haired sorcerer with the wide smile. Just that taciturn warrior in leather and half-plate seated on a rock a few feet away, watching Astarion get his bearings, his greatsword slung across his knees and a deeply sour look on his tattooed face. The skies above them are clear and blue as a song.

No Tav. No Hawke. No rift. No plan, and no company besides an irascible stranger with the same sudden look of dawning horror.

"Venhedis."

"Shit."

[coach-ukai-keishin]

artistic rendition of my first in-game meet-cute with Lord Enver Gortash

(yes my tav went insane in act 2. yes he made his own cult, in reaction to the Absolute. it's the cult of the jammies. this is how we run around, All Day Every Day. the camp is a battlefield of purple velvet (and other materials....). Gale is the king of the jammies, aka = he gets to wear the purple fancy suit + he does not need his stupid little crown anymore. he holds so much power already. more than any mortal could ever dream of holding. more than Gortash for sure. what is an arch-duke to a king (of the jammies)? the jammies stand for freedom. for comfort. for purple. join and become part of something larger than yourself - a group of people in purple pyjamas, to be exact)

the whole... 'gale's jammies' idea did (for me, at least) originate in @grovekeepers post though btw, and it has been haunting me my entire play-through at this point

[gautiersylvain]

[sailorgundam308]

I am gonna smash my face into the screen I can’t-