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snowfolly · 3 months

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Devoured

Astarion has only known hunger, be it for gold or for blood in the two and a half centuries of his existence. He feels that he can never be satiated, at least not until he meets you.

Astarion x GN reader | 1,295 words

CW: References to Astarion’s past abuse, sexual content, cursing, vampire feeding, blood

(Thanks so much to @brabblesblog for doing such a stellar job beta’ing this for me! If anything’s still messed up that’s on me)

Read this on Ao3

It seemed to Astarion that all he had ever known was hunger. Before his death he had only been peckish though; he had gathered a taste for riches and glamour rising through the ranks of Baldurian society.

He had sampled the gilded crumbs of debauchery amongst the elite and he had found them quite to his liking. He had enrobed himself in silks and diamonds, had sipped wine from gold and crystal goblets, both of which cost more than most peasants would ever see in a lifetime. He had indulged in carnal pursuits, used to grandstand and garnish attention, and ultimately he had become a glutton for power — power which led to his famine.

(More under the cut)

Astarion has never known true hunger like the ever-unsatiated, unnatural emptiness that has taken over every shred of his being after his untimely death. He is voracious, animalistic; violently craving the blood of sentient creatures every single second of his pathetic undead existence.

But he had been denied that abundance every single one of those countless seconds.

He had been starved to the brink of madness for nearly two hundred years.

But he hasn’t been broken.

He had been fed cold, fetid rats when he yearned for the warmth of red blood coursing through sentient veins. Astarion longingly imagined the feeling of his fangs sinking through supple flesh as his victim panted below him, his teeth so tantalizingly close to their neck as they moaned in ecstasy, knowing that even if he lived another five hundred years he’d never experience anything other than the hands of countless strangers on his body as he starved.

He’d known nothing but humiliation as his body begged him to bite. Just fucking bite. Feed and feel satisfied for the first time in centuries…

But he could not obey his own urges, could obey nothing but his cruel master.

But he hasn’t been broken.

He would never forget those nightmarish years, never forget that starvation — not ever in his eternal lifetime , but he could dull that time of horror whenever he’s with you.

In his time on the road with you the vampire spawn has felt the ecstasy his fangs sinking through sentient flesh many times; not so many that he’d ever forget the endless years of desperation, of course, but he has tasted the blood of many sentient beings and has found it delectable. He relishes in their quickened pulse as he takes their lifeblood, panicked and struggling as they regret their choice to ambush your party.

And as delightful as all that is, it is nothing compared to the blood you gave him freely, intimately.

When he had decided for himself that he wanted space to figure his life out and what he wished for himself, to rediscover what had been lost after so many years as an unwilling thrall, you had readily given him that space. It was a dark time in a dark and hollow land, and again he starved. Despite his revelation to you of how he manipulated you, you had readily offered your wrist to him so that it didn’t have to be as intimate as feeding from your neck if he didn’t want to.

And so Astarion took your offer; in the dark of his tent, he lapped at your wrist and took sustenance as you gently stroked his silver-white curls with your free hand, comforting him deeply as he fed. You had asked if you could touch him first, of course, and he had smiled at you, nodding, before kissing your wrist and biting as gently as he could;opening up a vein, allowing enough blood to flow.

During this time his mind was burdened with many regrets, especially at how your relationship had started. He had slept with you a few times as payment, in a way, for keeping him safe. You hadn’t known that, of course.

You had thought Astarion was attracted to you when he propositioned you, and he was , of course he was — but that wasn’t the reason he had sex with you in the first place. He had nothing else to give, and using his body as a bargaining chip yet again was something that he had grown to deeply regret as you spent more time together, laughing and telling stories, learning about one another while being faced with neverending horrors and the potential for the most horrifying of fates.

You helped him when he needed it, you shared with him what little you had, you gave him your promise that you’d destroy his former master — and of course in time you did. You actually listened to him, the first time anyone had ever truly done so in hundreds of years. And then you gave him space.

The spawn’s sluggish, undead heart hadn’t truly been his own for two centuries, but in his freedom he had plucked it back from Cazador’s icy grip and had learned what it meant to carry such a heavy, guilty thing beneath his ribs. It had been a grim host to the horrors that had been wrought against him and of those he had inflicted on others.

But it isn’t broken, and he made room in his heart for you.

He helps you when you need it, he shares with you what little he can, and he promises you that he’ll be by your side through all the horrors yet to come.

He has listened to you; after hundreds of years of tuning out the prattle of his victims and the vile words of his master, he has truly heard your voice. He has grown to care for you… to eventually love you. Gods, more than anything he loves you.

You are so much more than he feels he deserves, and when he had felt like being intimate with you once again it was so much different than all the years he had spent having uninterested sex with a stranger, some poor victim that he knew would be dead by the morning. He had been forced to use intimacy as a weapon for so long that he thought he’d had his fill of it for good, wasn’t sure that he could ever truly see it in a positive light again.

But with you, he did. On that night in the graveyard every kiss was thoughtful, every movement, breath and touch was with passion; at the first thrust into you it was pure pleasure, almost like it was truly the first time and you both only knew love, and love and love.

He had never imagined he would ever love and be loved in return, had never experienced it before death and had certainly thought he’d never do so in the hell of his undeath, but here you two were. Laying together on his grave under the moonlight, both fully clothed once again, your body heat warming him like a miniature sun.

In Astarion’s long life he had tasted riches and extravagance that had left him wanting ever more; had laid starving upon filthy damp stone, begging uncaring gods for just a taste of blood, just a drop. He knew that unless his curse was lifted he would never be free from this gnawing hunger - he could never in a million years devour enough blood to satiate that undead thirst.

But laying here with you, stroking your hair as you doze, he feels his reclaimed heart overflowing with warmth, better than anything that can ever flow from a golden chalice or an open vein. He can never recall a time before that he has ever felt so happy, so loved.

He gazes at you in awe, now sleeping peacefully at his side and Astarion realizes that he is truly satisfied for the first time in his life.

#astarion fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion x gn reader #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #snowyfic

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fanboy-sloth · 5 months

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theres... theres another chapter... 👀

#daredevil #fic #fanfic #my fic #ao3 link #snowyfic #the blip #foggy nelson

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snowfolly · 2 months

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I've been editing tonight and wanted to post a snippet of erotic blood drinking smut bc why not

(under the cut in case you dont wan't to read about erotic blood drinking smut lol)

“My my, so needy aren’t we?”

He breathed against her lips, curling a finger into her as she exhaled from the fluttering pressure. Her eyes locked with his, heavy lidded and glazed with lust as he inserted a second digit, adeptly arched to press her to pleasure.

She whined softly against his mouth, running her hands through his curls, but at this he hardly noticed. He worked his fingers inside of her, mindlessly pushing her to ecstasy as he wished for nothing more than to chase his own pleasure — to sink his teeth into her and suck and suck and have his fill.

Astarion placed his lips on her neck, sucking but not biting, desperately wanting to bite but stalling, his lust for Tali’s blood sending him into his own haze. It was right there. He could feel her life essence pounding through her mortal veins just under his lips, and the voices sang to him. Inhuman and terrible and wonderful.

The most divine substance in the entire world was one simple bite away and yet he forced control over himself, which he found was much harder to do without Cazador’s order. He could only think of all the times he'd longed for this, in these exact moments, giving others pleasure while his rapture lay right under their sweaty skin, never to be taken…

He barely heard her when she told him to do it.

Had she told him to bite her?

His mind had been so far away and he nearly asked her to repeat herself when she spoke up again.

“Take what you want from me, Astarion. Take it, ” she panted, and without further hesitation, he bit her.

His mind went fully crimson as his teeth snapped through her supple skin, fully healed up by magic and hot as the fire of the hells as his fangs made way for her blood. It trickled onto his tongue and he sucked harder, desperate to flood his mouth and fill his aching veins with life.

It was sublime, flowing into him with a rapturous chorus afforded by his vampiric malediction, so many accursed voices crying out in ecstasy as he fed.

He sucked, moaning as she moaned, his fingers moving of their own accord inside of her as his mouth and veins were awash in her warmth, her vitality, the furious song of blood consuming his mind. There could be no better thing than this, no more rapturous thing than a vampire taking the blood of sentience.

No food, no wine, no sex or any conceivable pleasure could top this sanguine ecstasy. There was no possible way.

#god i need to sleep rip rip #wip cause why not #bg3 #astarion #nsft #smut #blood #blood tw #blood cw #vampire bite #sexy stuff #lol #snowyfic

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snowfolly · 16 days

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Want to give a HUGE thank you to @ollysoxisfree (JJJSchmidt on ao3) for not only beta reading this story and giving me awesome suggestions but for also for composing the SONG that Tali sang in the last chapter (!!!) - and also another huge thank you to @littol-rascal (littol_rascal on ao3) for singing this song - y'all made my whole month with this and I appreciate it so much ;u;

(Also I did this drawing of Tali singing from the last chapter - but wanted to post it with this fresh and new chapter for now)

Snippet:

This was too much, his feelings so tangled and twisted up as they were.

It was as if a ball of unkempt yarn had been tethered to his heart, unwinding and then tugging, squeezing, and snaking its way upwards, where it had tied itself neatly in a vice-like bow around his mind. His thoughts were always being strung back to that pretty bastard and his stupid lopsided smile, bound as those thoughts were now to his awful dead heart.

Gods damn the heavens and hells. Taliesin was a treasure he did not want, and yet he reluctantly held dear the quicksilver and gold, freckles like a spattering of stars — and those eyes that had seemed so woefully colored to him before, he realized, were akin to pink moonstone.

Precious things.

Taliesin, surname unknown, whom he absolutely had no right to be feeling any way for, beheld Astarion with mingling anger and sorrow and that look. It was a look he’d seen on the elf’s face a few times before – an emotion that he had not been able to place until this moment. And that damned look was the physical representation of his own confused feelings. It was a look of both longing and of treasure found.

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion ancunin #astarion romance #snowyfic #snowyart

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snowfolly · 6 months

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A Time Before

The shattered memories that Astarion desperately grasps onto are fading away one by one. (One shot ficlet | 1,263 words)

CW: torture/abuse/neglect/slavery/sex slavery/blood/dark/bleak

Read on A03

There was a time before blood, gods… a time before the incessant gnawing in his stomach, his palate ravenous for blood and blood and BLOOD and gods please MORE BLOOD and…

There was a time before the torture, abuse as constant as the all-consuming hunger, agony unending. He was often beaten within an inch of his life by cruel bony hands holding a club. Those dreaded nights ended in him praying desperately to the uncaring gods that never listened, begging for them to end his suffering as he lay unable to move on the filthy cold stone floor.

There was a time before the fury, before the all consuming wrath that raged like an unchecked inferno throughout his entire being. The bitterness of being forgotten, lost to the world of the living, uncared for and thrown away into the depths of an undead hell with the key to freedom hooked around the crooked finger of Cazador Szarr, his all-powerful master who had made him into the pathetic, lowly creature that he had become.

There was a time before the nightly collection of beautiful people for this cruel master, a time when his body was entirely his own and he used it as he pleased and when he pleased. Now he was nothing but an object, trained-up well in the art of seduction, his body made for giving pleasure to everyone but himself.

There was a time before the horror of unimaginable fear. Fear of being locked away in a cold, damp tomb for an act of kindness. Locked away to gnash teeth and scream into the void, to curse the gods and weep desperately with eyes that could not make tears due to his neglect, all while trapped under the unmovable stone lying mere inches above his body.

Fear was the endless darkness of a year entombed, some days unmoving, silent, a million miles away and yet uncomfortably present as his body screamed for movement, begged for blood. Other days were spent clawing at the lid of his confinement like a mad animal until the blood starved flesh and nails would tear from his bones. Fear was being entombed again, but never to rot. His godsdamn body couldn’t even die, but it could starve, oh gods could it starve…

It seemed impossible that there had ever been a time before Astarion had been bound to the monster that reigned over him entirely, controlling him like a pale marionette with strings tied far too tightly around his limbs and mind.

It had been two long centuries, actually.

Astarion had not known the comfort and warmth of life in so long that he wasn’t even sure that he had ever truly experienced living in the first place. His early life was like a fever dream, a distant, foggy vision that time had whittled down into scattered fragments.

From time to time he had grasped onto those fragments of comfort when lying dejected and ashamed on the stinking kennel floors, when patching and cleaning up his few threadbare articles of clothing, when inattentively ‘listening’ to one of his victims prattle on and on before he lured them to their untimely death, and especially when he laid in that silent tomb for an entire year…

These fragmented shards were not like the glass that had cut Astarion when Cazador threw a crystal goblet at his face for no reason other than to cause him pain and humiliation. These were not the jagged shards that Cazador tore across his pale skin as he cried out in great agony to uncaring gods, the blood of the vermin that he had previously consumed spilling out from his veins onto the clothing he had spent hours removing bloodstains from the night previous.

These fragmented shards that he held onto did not cause suffering. These were pieces of softened sunlight, warm and pleasant, rounded, velvety memories of the time before the waking hell of his reality.

In the time before, the hands that touched his face were loving.

His mother would hold his face in her hands in adoration, gazing at her precious little star. He tried desperately to remember her voice, recall her face and her eyes; eyes surely filled with a mother's all-encompassing love, right? Gods, what had she even looked like? How could he possibly forget?

Astarion could only recall warmth, gentleness, the distinct smell of bergamot and a cascade of silver-white curls gleaming brilliant like a halo in what his brain blearily construed as daylight. But the details of her face had been lost to him as much as his own, and somehow that seemed even more of a travesty.

In the time before, the lessons he had learned had been kind

Days as a child were spent lightheartedly, learning to read and write, of elven politics and history, singing, sewing and swimming and… Swimming? Could he swim?

He could barely remember the featureless elven children, as well as himself, a small and fussy child, splashing, swimming and playing without a care in the world. Could he have ever truly been so free, so unburdened?

He could only recall the idea of the warmth of the water in the height of summer, but somehow the golden light flickering off the azure surface of Dawnsglory pond was strikingly clear to him. Mesmerizing flashes of mirrored sunlight on waters that he’d never swim in again would dance across his mind when it wandered off to save itself.

In the time before, the weapon he had wielded was not his own body.

He had a dim recollection of standing in the training yard at dawn as a darkened figure above him showed him how to hold his child’s bow, how to stand, how to nock an arrow and how to aim. Over the years of his youth he had become an adept archer, a skill that he had been quite proud of- a skill that his father had been most proud of him for, right? He remembered little to nothing about his father, but in the time before he knew his true father had not been cruel…Had he? Another memory lost. No fragment to hold on to at all, like the majority of his past.

And how long would it be before the next shard of his memories shattered into dust? And worse yet, when would he be left with no recollection of his life before Cazador at all? Ten years, fifty, a hundred?

It was highly doubtful that even a tiny shred of his true self would be left in another century. He would be a shell filled with fear and anger and rat blood, a pathetic existence vacant of comfort and inspiration, bleak and void of any possibility of freedom for as long as his wretched body captured victims and his ageless life continued. It would be the same horror forever. The same…endless…never ending…eternal hell.

And yet, despite it all, he still wanted to live.

He still longed to survive, but for what?

He had nothing, nothing. He had nothing at all but the smallest, faintest hope deep inside of his secret heart, hope that one day he would wake from the inconceivable nightmare of his existence. Hope that everything would just magically return to the time before when he had played without a care in the sun, when he had felt warmth and comfort and love, when he had been so full of potential. When he had truly been alive.

Gods please, just let him wake up, let him return to the time before.

Please…please…

please.

#this was sad and I was sad writing it #Astarion #astarion fic #bg3 #astarion fanfic #baldur’s gate 3 #astarion ancunin #tw abuse #tw slavery #tw sex abuse #tw torture #tw blood #angst #bg3 spoilers #snowyfic

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snowfolly · 1 month

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Endlessy Chapter 3 is up!

Astarion finds himself bored and bit peckish for elven blood at the celebration party. He decides to pay Tali back for her sanguine gift and her defense, and he does so in the only way he knows how - inviting her to the woods for a late night tryst. He finds himself enjoying her blood and, surprisingly, the way she makes him feel. And gods... he feels so much.

Astarion POV x named Tav

CW: Smut, vaginal sex, fingering, blowjob, erotic blood sucking, Astarion inwardly dealing with his past trauma around sex, Astarion using sex as manipulation, cursing

Thanks so much to JJJSchmidt on ao3 / @ollysoxisfree on tumblr for beta-reading this chapter- I really truly appreciate it! (And if anything still messed up that’s on me for forgetting to fix it!)

Snippet:

He swallowed dryly, the last of her blood barely lingering on his tongue as he reached his hand down to touch her hair, tentatively, softly, not knowing what else to do with himself. He was always the one on his knees.

Always.

“Stand up, love,” he finally uttered, breathlessly, trying to bring the confidence back to his voice as she grabbed his base and gave him one last, long lick that sent shivers through his core before she let him fall from her mouth. She glanced up at him, her eyes lovely as they caught the moonlight, the not-pink hue looking quite purple in the pale blue cast.

“Stand for me,” he reiterated and Tali obeyed, standing confident, taut, wild beauty with heavy lids and parted lips. She leaned back onto the trunk of the tree, her legs spread ever so slightly. An invitation.

She was completely bare aside from a bloody bite and a gold ring hanging from a chain on her neck, like some creature journeyed over from the feywild to dance naked in the moonlight and seduce some unsuspecting fool to follow her into the dark.

Perhaps he'd always been a creature like that as well.

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snowfolly · 5 months

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Nothing Can Make Up For That

Astarion is released from his tomb. The year of silence is finally over but he struggles to process what has happened, what is happening and what horrors are yet to come.

One shot | 1,863 words | No Beta

CW: torture/abuse/neglect/slavery/implied sex slavery/confinement/buried alive/blood/dark/bleak/self harm

Read on ao3

It's pretty sad- read under the cut

For a time Astarion had screamed ceaselessly in the perpetual darkness, scratching his fingers to tatters, to the bones. They healed in a short time, as they always did, but he would run them ragged again and again.

The pain was excruciating, but at least he felt something when he clawed at the unyielding stone sitting right above his face, weeping and wailing curses at the gods for his fate.

But it had been quite a while since he had uttered a single word. Had been forever since he had torn his fingers to shreds.

The vampire spawn had lived in a fugue state, more or less, for a time he could no longer measure. It could have been months, years in the darkness — could have been days, even, but he wouldn’t know the difference. It didn’t matter anymore, did it?

His mind was distant and blank, or as far away and inactive as it could be as his body screamed for blood, begging for the movement that he simply could not grant it.

Astarion was filthy in a way only an undead creature neglected for an extended period could be, dried out and yet oily, smelling musty and of sickly sweet rot, but he wouldn’t notice these unpleasantries. His mind is numb to all but pain and starvation…. and sound.

Rhythmic tapping, far away but growing louder, brought his poorly slumbering consciousness to the present. The spawn opened his eyes uselessly in the dark, gritted his teeth, and listened intently, realizing that the sound was of multiple footsteps, echoing against the endless stone walls of Cazadors estate. They were approaching the tomb, approaching him.

Astarion gasped as the footsteps halted before his prison and he shuddered at the sound of the stone lid grating over the lip of the tomb, the noise deafening to ears that had only known silence for so very long. The dark figures that had released him said nothing and walked away, and Astarion was so traumatized that he continued to lie still, shaking like a leaf.

He stared above in shock at a ceiling where a lid had covered the world for what felt like an eternity, his starved eyes detected the faintest grays that indicated light.

When the echoing footsteps on the stone floor subsided for an indeterminate amount of time he tried to sit up, but his unused muscles — although unable to atrophy — were so stiff that it was excruciating. He managed shakily to get an arm up on the seal of the tomb, teeth bared in agony, bone-dry red eyes wide, his downy white curls, grown long, hung mussed up and wild.

The spawn didn't need to breathe but he instinctively inhaled air raggedly like a man saved from drowning as his mind, so atrophied from the silence, could barely process what was happening, what had happened, what would come.

Astarion’s mind could barely wrap itself around the fact that he had been released. He could do nothing but cry softly into his threadbare shirtsleeve still propped up on the edge of the tomb, but no tears came from his blood-starved eyes. His body continued to tremble from the shock of the sheer amount of space that he had been denied for so long, his crying turned to wailing, and his body heaved from the sobs as his shattered mind took its time to process the situation.

He was freed from the tomb, but he was far from free. He felt no joy. He thought that he could never feel a thing such a joy ever again.

Astarion should have been furious at the world, ready to tear it and the gods to pieces for this tragedy, for this unjust torture inflicted upon him. But the anger would not come.

He was empty. Gods he was so fucking empty. Drained of everything but unfathomable starvation, excruciating pain and the numbness that his mind has created to save his sanity, a constant state of dissociation to spirit him away from the horrors of his waking life. He had been denied every emotion but sorrow.

Astarion felt the agony of complete and utter sorrow bearing down on him like an incomprehensible weight, crushing him as he continued to shudder and gasp for the damp air that his dead lungs made no use of. He despaired the life he had lost, for the parts of his memories and mind that were gone forever. He mourned for all the time that had been stolen from him and the time that would forcibly be taken from him forever.

Forever. Endlessly.

He wished that he had just died so long ago, beaten to death in that dark alley.

The spawn’s pitiful weeping was eventually interrupted by more footsteps, that of a dark figure, one that he could barely make out with his atrophied eyes. He didn't need to see who it was though. He already knew.

Cazador lurked at a distance, standing silent before his spawn in the darkness for some time as he watched Astarion cry and struggle before casting a fire cantrip to light an oil lantern. The sudden light caused his spawn to cry out once again, the flame blinding and excruciating to eyes accustomed to endless darkness.

Cazador ‘ tsks ’, laughing at Astarion’s pained and dejected form before taking a small pouch from his cloak and throwing it at his pitiful creation. It hit the spawn gracelessly in his blinded face before it fell to the floor with a gross thud.

“Dinner is served, dear Astarion,” the vampire lord smirked wickedly, relishing in his spawn’s anguish, “And how unlike you, little star, to let yourself go like this. You do need to get it together. All that I’ve done for you, and yet you lie about idly for an entire year.”

Cazador sighed derisively, savoring the view of Astarion who struggled to regain his mind and toiled to speak. The vampire lord laughed heartily, for it was such a treat to see his favorite spawn suffering so, once again.

“What a shameful, slovenly creature I have made, am I correct?” Cazador purred and was delighted as Astarion nodded pitifully, “and don’t forget to make yourself presentable, boy. You’ve got lambs to bring to slaughter, and I presume you will not fail to deliver them to me this time?”

Astarion felt like retching, dry heaving of course, as he was nothing but a dried husk after a year without blood, and he knew that he must quickly answer the vampire lord. He managed a croak with a mouth uncustomed to speech, dry as sand, “ Yes master. ”

“Enjoy your dinner, clean up your filth and then look alive! You’ve work to do tonight!” Cazador laughed once again, the sound like broken glass to Astarion, and he watched blearily as his master turned to leave, giving his spawn a dismissive wave before striding down the long, dark hall.

The spawn could barely wait until the sound of his master’s footsteps were out of earshot to cry out as he retched, his gnawing, unfathomable starvation sickening and overwhelming him at the mouth-watering stench of decomposing vermin. He would finally be satiated by the wretched contents of a bag that lay on the ground. Gods.

Astarion managed to heave himself up to step out of the tomb, his stiff legs gave out and caused him to fall to the ground in a crumpled pile during the process. He gasped, his body screaming in agony as he feebly crawled on his arms toward the bag that contained two foul, bloated dead rats. In that moment they seemed the rarest delicacy in all the world to the severely neglected vampire spawn.

And so Astarion ate, devoured, choked up on the hair and coagulated blood that he forced violently from the creatures as he tore into them like an animal starved. After he’d bled them dry he shakily pulled hair from his teeth and gods, he hated himself. He hated this, hated Cazador, hated the entire fucking world.

He sat up weakly as his veins filled sluggishly with the rancid blood of the vermin, giving him enough energy to move his body once more. He was finally able to stand, to stretch, to walk.

The spawn was still starving, still in shock and pain, but he found anger and fear steadily pushing out the numbness. He had work to do.

Astarion walked unsteadily, like a man in a horrible dream as he made his way to the dank washroom to do as Cazador demanded of him. He scrubbed a year's worth of undead grime from his skin, he washed the rot from his mouth, and he combed the wet, tangled mess that his hair had grown into.

He finally dressed in fresh clothes that had been laid out for him, well, they were some of his old clothes but at least not the rags he had wallowed in for a year. He stood in front of the floor length mirror, longing to be able to see himself, desperately hoping that he had made himself presentable enough. Attractive — at least to the damned drunks.

The pale elf ignored his siblings as he passed them in the halls, they were saying words to him, about him, but he could only hear distant sounds, no discernible language. He couldn't comprehend what they were saying because his mind was still shattered, but he knew that he had to hunt, had to not fuck up again and land himself in another year of pure shit. He knew that he must do everything in his power to avoid the most horrendous solitary confinement conceivable.

So Astarion quickly remembered how to smile again, remembered how to wear a mask and be pleasant, be charming, be fake . He had to do these things because he had to lure the stupid godsdamned lambs to a night of practiced pleasure before their slaughter.

Astarion stepped out into the damp chill of the night, startling slightly at the light rain that pattered against his face, and he glanced up into the darkness to see clouds so thick that they blocked any glimpse at the stars and moon. Another lid to block his view.

The pale elf pulled his hood up to save his hair from ruining as he crept into the night once again, picking right back up where he had left off a year before, doing as he had done for over a hundred years prior. He didn’t even have to recall the dark alleys or where the seedy taverns and flophouses were, they were ingrained into his mind, would always be. He could never forget them, or how much he hated them. Gods how he hated them all.

Astarion would let everyone in the entire fucking city die to not have to spend another year lying in that tomb. He would lure and bed every peasant in Baldur’s Gate so that Cazador could make the streets run red for all eternity if only to save himself from the horror of silence once again.

Nothing in the world could make up for the time that he had spent in that tomb. Nothing.

#astarion fanfiction #astarion fic #bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion spoilers #tw torture #tw blood #tw abuse #tw buried alive #tw neglect #tw body horror #tw self harn #just awful all around #snowyfic

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snowfolly · 2 months

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Writing Patterns

I was tagged by @ollysoxisfree and @icybluepenguin thank you both so much!!

No pressure tagging @yurissweettooth @tragedybunny @tallymonster @queen-scribbles @brabblesblog & anyone who wants to do the thing!

Rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 posted fics and see if there's a pattern!

I’ve not got a lot of work out since I started writing again later last year, but this is what I’ve got! A few of these lines are about hunger and longing, but otherwise I don’t think that I see much of a pattern (other than that they all revolve around Astarion lolol.)

(All of these works are one shots aside from Endlessly)

A Time Before: There was a time before blood, gods… a time before the incessant gnawing in his stomach, his palate ravenous for blood and blood and BLOOD and gods please MORE BLOOD and…

A Simple Life: “Imagine though, if we had stayed back in Evereska we could have had a simple life. Well… at least compared to the ones we’ve lived. Perhaps my bitch of a mother would have sold me off to your family to wed you — for a handsome dowry of course,” Tali mused, staring up at the night sky and the thumbnail of a moon that bled the faintest silver light upon the land, “can you even imagine? We would have been absolutely miserable.”

Nothing Can Make Up For That: For a time Astarion had screamed ceaselessly in the perpetual darkness, scratching his fingers to tatters, to the bones. They healed in a short time, as they always did, but he would run them ragged again and again.

Devoured: It seemed to Astarion that all he had ever known was hunger. Before his death he had only been peckish though; he had gathered a taste for riches and glamour rising through the ranks of Baldurian society.

Endlessly: Astarion glared at the fire from his makeshift excuse for a tent as he assessed the bizarre situation that he had found himself thrown into. He felt like a stone tossed across water, careening wildly and destined to sink.

(WIP) Night Blooming Flowers: “Keep em’ closed, love,” Tali breathed into his ear and Astarion grinned from the side of his mouth, exposing a coy glint of fang in the golden candlelight. He entertained his songbird’s little game by holding one pale hand over his eyes, though he desperately longed to behold his lover, whose lips now lingered so very close to his skin.

(WIP) untitled: Astarion eyed the ring under the glass, dazzling in the pale mage light set above the display. It was a pretty thing for the most part, a patterned gold band with two fine peridots surrounding an intricate enamel death head. The hollows of the eyes were set with small black diamonds, and it was the skull itself that he didn’t much care for. A memento mori.

#tagged!#thanks so much for the tag!#bg3 #astarion #snowyfic #tw abuse #abuse #trauma #tw neglect #neglect #cw neglect #cw abuse #cw trauma #body horror #cw body horror #tw body horror

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snowfolly · 1 month

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Endlessy Chapter 4: How the Moon Swallowed Up the Stars

Astarion POV x Taliesin the wayward bard

Thanks so much to @ollysoxisfree / JJJSchmidt on Ao3 for beta reading for me and cheering on my story, its so greatly appreciated!

⭐️ 🌙 ⭐️

Snippet:

“Moon of pale splendor, how she beckons me to her embrace,” Tali sang out in elvish, her voice like a silver bell ringing into the night and bringing Astarion back to the present. Her song cut easily through the drone of the nocturnal creatures as she walked into the clearing, looking like a specter bathed in bone-pale light.

“I drink her up like a night-blooming flower when I gaze upon her face,”

Tali wore only her knee-high boots, since plucked of their bells, and an oversized ivory-colored shirt that fit her nearly like a tunic when it wasn’t tucked into breeches. It was only buttoned halfway and hanging off of her left shoulder scandalously, nearly exposing her itty, bitty...

“And my, how her pale light covers me in silver silk and finest lace,”

It was unclear if she had put her small clothes back on, or where in the hells her pants had ended up…

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snowfolly · 5 months

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A Simple Life

Astarion x original f!Tav | one shot, 2,931 words

Astarion and Tali are taking a break from the road to stargaze for a moment. He reflects on what was and what could have been with his little gray songbird at his side.

Cw: references to Astarion’s past abuse, some cursing

Tags: tooth-rotting fluff, hurt/comfort, soft Astarion, post-game, headcanons, self-indulgent af, Astarion’s Pov

Notes: Headcanons galore about noble elves in Evereska and Astarion’s past- if that’s not your thing then this may not be the story for you friend! • No beta on this one-shot & I am certainly not a professional writer • Also just as a little side note- My Tav, Taliesin, is genderfluid and uses any pronouns. They have used a ring of opposite gender for around 60 years (which they use about half the time), so I write/draw them as either gender :>

Read on ao3

“Imagine though, if we had stayed back in Evereska we could have had a simple life, well, at least compared to the ones we’ve lived. Perhaps my bitch of a mother would have sold me off to your family to wed you — for a handsome dowry of course,” Tali mused, staring up at the night sky and the thumbnail of a moon that bled the faintest silver light upon the land, “can you even imagine? We would have been absolutely miserable.”

Astarion laughed, his arms behind his head as he laid upon the long autumn grass, the scent of comforting vetiver and leaf rot was strong but not unpleasant so close to the earth. He stared at the constellation Correlian just over the horizon, thirteen bright stars standing out amongst a million others, giving him some kind of vague nostalgia, although he couldn’t pinpoint why exactly. Likely something left over from his past, from the time before; broken memories that would sometimes seep through in the form of indefinite feelings.

“Oh certainly, we would have hated each other. I would have resented you, you’d have resented me, we’d keep to different rooms on opposite sides of our sprawling mansion. We’d drink too much, despise our jobs in the family business, take other lovers and hate each other for that as well. It simply would have been a grand old time!” he jested sarcastically, one hand on his chest and the other waving about for humorous emphasis before glancing over at Taliesin.

Tali was such a slight creature, dressed in an oversized ruby hued poet shirt and high black breeches, her long, cool gray hair was back in her typical loose braids, balled up unceremoniously at the nape of her neck and held in place with a red silk tie. She sat cross legged and leaning up against the trunk of a tree nearly barren of leaves, her violin propped up beside her.

“We would have bickered nonstop, both of us bored to death as we played our roles,” Tali made a dramatic gagging sound and sat forward, hugging her knees and resting her head on them as she glanced down at Astarion with an impish grin, “but here we are.”

“Indeed, here we are, love,” Astarion replied quietly, turning to lay on his side, better facing his partner.

“Just two elves that have been really shitty at being elves,” Tali conceded with a smile, and Astarion nodded with a slight eye roll. She certainly wasn’t wrong about that. Neither of them worshipped the Seldarine. Tali was as decadent as he, self absorbed and mean spirited at times as well.

They were both city dwellers and cared not for the woods, but while she had played her music in taverns and inns for over a century in Baldur’s Gate he had been prowling them as a vampire spawn for much longer. The only time they had frolicked in forests was out of necessity, to get from point a to point b.

Lying on the grass with her and staring up at the heavens, contemplating the vastness and meaning of it all was as elfy as either of them got, he supposed.

“So…what exactly would have been your fate if you had stayed home? Seeing as to how I wasn’t there to come sweep you off your stamping mad little feet?” Astarion asked, nodding his head rhythmically with each of the last four words out of his mouth and Tali shrugged, her face not showing a hint of perturbance, which was good. Her past, much like his own, could be a point of contention.

“I was arranged to wed a noble merchant’s son when we both came of age, poor boy was sweet as mead but dense as cow dung. You might have known him, he was a bit older than me and a smidge younger than you. Not a brain in his head. Spent all day elfing-about in the woods, absolutely loved all that shit. Thank the gods I had the wherewithal to run away.”

“A dire fate that would have been,” Astarion said with a half smile, his gaze distant, deep in thought.

Evereska was such an obscure, foggy memory for him. He had very little recollection of it but he could vaguely remember the sprawling estates in the upscale part of the city, and one of them, not so far from his own family home was Tali’s — a house of noble merchants.

“Do you remember what would have become of you if you had stayed in Evereska?” Tali asked him with a hint of hesitation, but it was a question he had anticipated after he had asked her the same so frankly.

Astarion stared off into the field, garnet eyes faraway, his head propped up on his hand as the gears in his mind turned, but they weren’t turning nearly as efficiently as he would have liked. They never did when it came to the past, to the time before.

“Well, I’m not sure what my parents had planned for me, if anything. I… I really just don’t remember. I know that I left when I was very young, and I don’t know if I left on my own accord or if I was sent off. I just recall that it wasn’t a positive farewell,” he said solemnly, glancing back at Tali who was absentmindedly playing with the grass under her right hand.

“Do you… ever plan to go back to see them? Your family?” Tali asked without looking toward Astarion, and he was glad for it. His face fell and his heart sank at her words. His family.

A few stray crickets brave enough to bear the autumn chill were the only sound heard between the two as Astarion stayed silent for some time while he processed Tali’s question. He knew that she was curious about his past, but she never pried or prodded and it was only fair to answer her truly now.

“I have thought about it, of course I have,” he swallowed, looking up at her with round, pleading eyes and then back up to the sliver of moon hanging above, “I don’t think I could face them. I don’t know that I could…”

Astarion stalled a moment, irritated at his hitching voice before taking a deep breath out of habit. Oxygen was useless to his undead lungs but necessary for all the talking, “they’ve thought me dead for over two hundred years now. I don’t even know them anymore, Tali. I’m positive I left on very poor terms, I was buried in the city after all and that never would have happened if…”

“You don’t know that,” Tali interrupted, grimacing as she locked eyes with him, “there could have been many reasons for that. I remember when you died… well, vaguely as I had no idea who you were then, but I do remember your family mourning.”

Astarion’s languid heart skipped a beat, he felt like he had been punched in the gut at this revelation. Tali had never told him that. Astarion had known that Tali knew of his family but never knew that they had mourned for him. He had never asked about something like that though, of course he hadn’t.

“They mourned?” he asked in a small voice as he rolled over on his back once again, feeling defeated, feeling empty, at a loss. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to hear any more of this. That part of his life was over anyway, dead in the ground like his kin thought of him, right?

“Of course they did. Your mother…” Tali looked at Astarion with a sadness that she rarely displayed, a look that hurt him further, and she must have picked up on his discomfort because she changed direction.

“Gods… I. Look , I was only a child but I remember everyone making a big deal of losing an elf so young,” Tali sighed, hesitating a moment more before continuing, “so I don’t think you left on awful terms, Astarion. If you ever wanted to go back…”

She was right… possibly. What if the negative recollection that he did have of his family was incorrect? It wouldn’t be surprising, as his memories of the time before were so shattered. But why would she even suggest going back to a place that she had run from for so long?

“You’ve been avoiding Evereska for how long now? A century?”

“One hundred and twenty two years thereabouts,” Tali said nonchalantly, taking a particularly hard blade of grass and poking Astarion with it in the side of his neck without warning.

“Gods, Tali, you little shit,” he growled, slapping at the grass with an irritated grin, “then why do you care if we ever go back? Your mother will have your head…”

“I don’t care about returning for myself you idiot, I care about what it means for you. For you to see your family, not mine,” she exhaled, ripping the long blade of grass in two with furrowed brows as Astarion glared at her momentarily before his eyes softened. He grabbed at her arm with his clawed hand, beckoning her wordlessly to his side.

Of course this was about him.

Tali was as selfish of a creature as Astarion was, unless it came to matters involving him, and then she was patient, she was generous and she was kind in ways that he knew that she sometimes felt vulnerable for. He could certainly relate to that, as he often felt the same way with her.

He couldn’t, however, quite understand why she loved him though. He would never be able to fathom why she chose to love him after he had threatened to kill her when they had first met, after every shitty thing he had done to try and manipulate her, after all the baggage he’d brought to the table, but he would not ever question her affection. He would accept her love gratefully, and give all of his in return.

Tali obeyed his beckoning hand and rolled over to his side without another word, lying against him with her head resting on the crook of his arm as he clutched the seemingly infinite amount of fabric of her oversized sleeve. They laid together in silence, watching the moon creep slowly above the grasping bones of bare branches for an indeterminate amount of time, and his mind lulled back to his atrocious past, as it was wont to do during stretches of silence.

And gods, he had endured so much silence in two hundred years, so many endless nights of hushed horrors. He found quietness in busy taverns hunting for prey, he heard nothing when his victims moaned in ecstasy under him, and when they were taken away screaming from the boudoir he would lay in silence, a million miles away. Worlds away.

Like the year he spent clawing and screaming into the dark… there was nothing but silence for so very long.

Astarion bit his lip, bringing his mind out of despair, reining his thoughts back to his gray songbird who chirruped love songs to him before every sunrise, his strange little pet, who could play every instrument put before her and made so much pleasant noise. Tali gave him so much joy, shared his wretched sense of humor, made him laugh every night with endless raucous stories and bawdy jokes. She filled his life with so much sound.

His little songbird now lay shivering against him though, and it pained him that he could provide her no warmth. He held onto her tightly as she clung to him, burrowing her head into the crook of his neck as he touched his lips to her silken hair, nearly loose from its red tie.

“I do appreciate you thinking of me like that, you know. I really do, love” he whispered to her and she nodded slightly, exhaling her warm breath against the cold flesh of his neck, sending chills over his skin.

“Of course. I love you. That’s what people do when they love each other, Astarion,” she said in way that could be construed as flippant if it wasn’t said so sweetly.

“Truly though, if you ever want to go back, we’ll go. Just say the word. I’ll be fine, my mother hasn’t sent anyone looking for me for twenty years or so. I’ll use my ring or something to lay low,” she yawned, “just say the word.”

He smiled into her gray hair, dark as charcoal in the low light, inhaling her scent, clean and floral, and he felt almost overwhelmed with it all. Not in a negative way at all though. Two hundred years of horror, neglect and misery had all led up to this moment of comfort, of truly being happy. He guessed that what he felt was overwhelming gratitude, for his freedom, for another chance at life, for her.

“Maybe if we ever find the cure for my condition…”

“When we find the cure,” Tali murmured, correcting him, and Astarion exhaled, knowing deep in his heart that the cure might not ever come, no matter how many years they searched — but he’d humor her anyway.

“Fine. After we absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent find the end to my curse then I'll think about going back. Perhaps. Maybe I’ll write them first, though. Wouldn’t want to give them a fright, thinking I was some sort of phantom,” he ventured facetiously as she curled up against him closer.

Astarion couldn’t feel the chill in the same way Tali could, and though she was no weakling he couldn’t help but worry over her being too cold. He shifted slightly, ready to announce that it was time to go when she spoke up in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you think it would have been so bad, really?”

“What?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, momentarily confused.

“If we had stayed home, if we had been arranged to marry. I was joking but really, it could have been possible you know. We’re not too far off in age.”

Astarion blinked, his mind going over an entire century of what very well could have been in just a moment. Gods how mad they both would have been at the prospect. But would they have really hated each other after they had gotten to knows one another? They hadn’t liked each other very much when they had first met nearly a year earlier, but now. Now he couldn’t picture his life without the little shit.

“I don’t think so. It wouldn’t have been so awful,” he answered quietly, holding her tighter, helpless to comfort her as she shivered slightly, “but we would have never stayed there.”

“Oh we wouldn’t have stayed at all. Never in a million years. But I don’t think we would’ve hated each other. I don’t think I could ever hate you,” she said groggily, and he smiled to himself as she continued, “do you think you could have hated me?”

“No, I don’t think I’d ever be able to hate you either, songbird,” he said without hesitation before pulling away from her slightly, causing her to protest with a groan.

“But it’s time to move on, pet. The next inn’s a few miles up the way, It’s getting early and you’re freezing to death. That won’t do.”

“Are you sure that you don’t hate me?” Tali whined, curling up into a miserable ball and clutching her hands at her chest as Astarion rose to his knees, beckoning her up.

“Get up. I know you’re hungry too. If the innkeep’s up and about we’ll get you a potato, butter, salt, the works. A glass of hot mead, mulled wine…” Astarion smirked as she opened her eyes wide, he knew that mentioning food, potatoes in particular, would do the trick.

“Well. Fine,” Tali finally relented, her hands reaching up to him with lethargic waggling fingers as he stood to pull her all the way to her feet.

They collected their belongings waiting at the base of the tree and Astarion dug a cloak out from her pack for her, placing it on her shoulders before they made their way back to the road in silence. Tali grabbed his hand as they ventured forth once again.

“We’d have been hand in hand getting the hells out of Evereska too, I think,” she said after some time, and he was amused that the subject was still on her mind, especially after putting the idea of hot buttered potatoes and mead in there. Astarion looked down at her, her rose hued eyes bleary but as spirited as always.

“Darling, they’d have been lucky if we didn’t burn the entire damned place to the ground before we left,” he said with a dismissive wave of his free hand and Tali laughed out loud.

“Oh, so lucky.”

The simple life would have never been for them, not in any way, shape or form. But perhaps if fate had brought them together so long ago they would have had an amazing century with one another, running all over Faerûn, getting into gods only knew what mischief. If only things had been different. If only he hadn’t died in Baldur’s Gate, hadn’t suffered for two hundred godsdamned years…

Tali squeezed his hand tightly, bringing him back from his dark thoughts once again.

Everything leading up to that moment is what they were given. Nothing could change the horrors of the past, but hand in hand they could now do their best to make up for all that lost time.

With Tali by his side everything would be alright.

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #headcanons #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #astarion x original female character #astarion x f!tav #astarion fanfic #astarion romance #astarion #God how many times can I write his name in one place #astaaaaariooooooon #snowyfic

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