Finished This Sketch Up Just In Time, Happy 1 Year Anniversary, Baldur's Gate 3 Dragonrider Armour Concept

Finished this sketch up just in time, Happy 1 year anniversary, Baldur's Gate 3 ❤️🖤 Dragonrider Armour concept for Ascended Astarion ✍️

#astarion #astarionbaldursgate3 #baldursgate3 #bg3 #vampires #conceptart #dnd

Great couple commission for @Brabblesblog <3

comfy bed. take me home. to the place. where i belong. pillow blanky. sleeping soundly. take me home. comfy bed

Eternity to behold

Pair: Ascended Astarion x f!vampire!narrator

CW: violence, some gore, murder, AA isn't an abusive jerk, no angst, written in first person, a little smutty, but nothing explicite, vampires acting like vampires.

Summary: Nightmare. Fear. Uncertainty. Provoked bloodlust. A moment of intimacy and love confession for an eternal lover.

Word count: 4,724.

A/n: REPOST because all of my sideblogs were deleted, thanks, tumblr! Hi there, it's my first fic in 13 years. Preview is a gift screenshot from my precious @velvolktra. English is my second language, go easy on me, please.

How did I envision the life of a Lord Vampire’s Consort? Endless masquerades, balls, parties, fun and bloody carnage. I'd hoped I'd be mindlessly basking in luxury, filling entire closets with lavish clothes and chests - with jewelry. I dreamed of an eternity of delight and all the pleasures available to immortal and mortal creatures (thanks to the Rite of Profane Ascension)... One detail slipped my mind. A very important detail. A detail that was ruining all my sweet dreams. Money.

It costs money to throw a lavish reception. Buying clothes and jewelry costs money. Silence of random witnesses to a bloody massacre, who are not worth killing, also costs money. Eternal life is free, of course, but eternal life in luxury is another matter.

Cazador Szarr's "inheritance" was not endless. An impressive palace, some funds and securities in the bank, a few mortal familiars and... Actually, that was it. Influence and power belonged to the ancient family. The treaties and agreements that ensured continuous income were the merits of Cazador himself. And Astarion, the new, unknown vampire lord, had yet to build his own empire. The need to do so had become especially acute after months of mindlessly squandering the fortune of the now-defunct Szarr family. The money was running out. Rapidly.

It was... hard at first. Intoxicated by his freedom and new power, Astarion was reluctant to accept the fact that the wretched mortals who had recently trembled in terror before his former master dared to question his power. Their nasty sneers in response to his pretensions... Their insults and demonstrations of contempt for the "big-eared upstart".... Many pompous funerals later, the tone of the still living patricians of the city changed dramatically. Not the most graceful way to gain respect, of course, but the quickest: Astarion had not been known for patience before.

Now that they were willing to listen, if only out of fear, he could begin to weave his web. Meeting after meeting, bargain after bargain, threat after threat, and a few show trials - it took him few years to consolidate his position. Not everything went smoothly, several political battles my pale elf lost. And he was very unhappy. His temper tantrum cost us all of our mortal servants, a dozen of our own spawns, and the entire west wing of the Crimson Palace. When we calculated the cost of the damage, Astarion promised to find another way to deal with the outbursts. We couldn't afford such a scale back then.

As time went on, the city changed right before our eyes. Gradually, the Ascended Vampire became a force to be reckoned with, not just out of fear. Astarion may have been unrestrained at first, but he learned quickly. Over time, he became adept at making really good deals, at singling out truly valuable allies, and at gaining their favor at minimal cost. He had to pretend again, play roles, put on masks. But we both knew it was only temporary. I even managed to convince him to treat it as a game, to add an element of excitement. Oh, how many naive idiots will fall for this exaggerated niceness, darling? Ah, let's see if you can get a dozen noble ladies to faint in one evening? Ah, will you be able to persuade this intractable merchant to agree to terms unfavorable to him? The answers are: a lot; yes; he will!

A few years later, Astarion was firmly on his feet. The most influential and prominent families in the city were already smiling ingratiatingly at him, seeking his attention, seeking meetings with him, trying to bribe him, trying to plant beautiful daughters under him. However, after the extremely irritated Lord Vampire gathered every nobleman of the city in the throne room of his palace and announced that he would not tolerate such disrespect towards his wife (here I waved my hand from my throne to the right of Astarion's), the flow of young maidens - and young men - with noble names, directed to his private bedroom, abruptly dried up. Later that evening, however, I asked him how long we'd been officially married, why didn't I remember our wedding, and where is my wedding ring.

“My sweet, you do realize that our bond is deeper and stronger than any ridiculous legal obligation, right? It's not ink on parchment or ridiculous rituals that unite us. Our souls are woven together. That means more than any marriage.”

In the morning, a velvet box with an exquisite white gold ring with a ruby was on the bedside table. A matching ring was already on his ring finger.

***

I woke up in the middle of the night with a terrible pain in my ribs. Astarion’s silver curls tickled my chin, and a pair of inhumanly strong arms squeezed my torso. Resting his face against my chest, Astarion was breathing heavily. He'd clearly had a nightmare. I brushed the sweat-damp curls from his forehead, his brow furrowed, muffled moans coming from his clenched teeth.

I shook him lightly by the shoulder, but that only made his grip tighten. It was a good thing I didn't need to breathe; I wouldn't have been able to take a single breath, the way he was gripping me so tightly.

“Star, wake up." I called to him, my voice tight with pain. “You're hurting me.”

His ruby eyes snapped open at the sound of my voice. He toppled me over onto my back in a lightning-fast motion, one hand on my throat, the other swinging as if to strike. The frantic stare of his eyes glowing in the impenetrable darkness of the night. Confusion with a dash of horror. Only my quiet "Astarion" snapped him out of his nightmare. Our gazes met, his fingers on my throat slowly loosened, his whole body relaxed, and he collapsed on top of me, pressing me into the mattress.

“Star, I'm here. It's okay. We're safe.” My caressing whisper finally brought him to his senses. His cheek pressed against my chest, and the vampire squeezed me in a hug: tight, but this time gentle.

When his breathing finally evened out, I pulled him gently against me, running my fingers through the unruly silver curls. His breathing was deep and measured. I decided to ask him a question:

“Did you have a nightmare?” A slurred "Uh-huh" was my answer. “Would you tell me?” A turn of his head and a heavy sigh. Apparently not. “Could I look for myself?” I asked, referring to our telepathic connection.

He pulled away, his "No!" too sharp to break the silence of the night, his voice a note of panic, his body tense, as if preparing to fend off an attack, but I wasn't going to insist.

“Shh, it's okay. I won't look. Come here." I whispered, pulling him to me again.

We stayed awake in each other's arms until dawn, until the first gentle rays of sunlight began to break through the loose curtains.

***

Another day, another important meeting. Last night keeps me awake. He hasn't had a nightmare in so long. And for him to hide something from me? That hasn't happened in a long time. Anxiety is eating me from the inside out, tearing apart my frozen heart. It's unbearable. I need to be near him, need to feel his warmth on my own cold skin.

I flung open the massive doors of the small office, disregarding all decorum. Sunlight streams in through the huge, open windows. In the center of the room is a long lacquered table, ornate high-backed armchairs around the table, important nobles pressing their important asses on it. A dozen heads with blurry faces turn in my direction, but I don't notice them. All I see are ruby eyes and the barely perceptible shadow of a smile on his dearly beloved face. He's relaxed, but clearly bored. A smile blossoms on my face as I traverse the space separating us in a few steps. If I hadn't promised to behave, I would have run straight on top of the table. It's like there's no one else in the whole world but the two of us. The creak of wood on marble - Astarion moves farther away from the table and opens his arms to me. There's little grace in me as I plop into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. I don't care, I snuggle against him with my whole body. Alive. Warm. Mine.

“The Great Lord Ascended Vampire trained a legion of werewolves, but apparently he couldn't teach his tame dog some manners.”

The smile slides off my face. Not the first patrician of Baldur's Gate to express his displeasure at my presence or the mere fact of my existence. I don't know what irritated them more: the fact that I dared to open my mouth at all in the presence of noble lords, or the fact that Astarion always listened to my words.

I'm not in the mood to behave like a proper lady of high standing. I'm not in the mood for this role-playing with the town's nobility. And I'm not in the mood to hide my own irritation. Rolling my eyes as I turn around at the sound of the voice of the dead-in-the-next-five-minutes man. Out of respect for Astarion, however, I give the blighted man a chance to stay alive:

“One more sound," I hiss, flashing my red eyes and showing my fangs in a grin, "and I'll rip out your fucking tongue.”

The silence is so thick it feels like it could be cut with a knife. I turn to Astarion, and I have time to think how funny it must be for my face to change from a wild, menacing grin to a soft, gentle smile. He makes no attempt to stop me, to reprimand me, or even hint that I should behave more calmly. No, I see curiosity in his gaze, and even approval: I've succeeded in dispelling his boredom.

There's an indignant puffing somewhere behind me, a thump of a fist on the table, and the clink of glasses bouncing from the impact. A muffled clatter from a fallen decanter of wine and, after a couple of moments, the clatter of drops of expensive golden drink against the marble. The enraged nobleman shouted something, pointing a trembling finger in my direction. His face twisted with anger, red and damp with sweat, spittle spraying out of his mouth along with insults at me.

A moment. I stand on the table in front of him, crouched on one knee. With a clawed hand, I clutch his flabby neck. His eyes are huge with terror, his mouth open, a thin thread of saliva running down his sloppily shaved chin. Feeling little resistance, I squeeze my hand, feeling the wet crunch beneath my fingers. I tear his throat out in a sharp motion, holding his body with my other hand and watching the light of life fade in his eyes. I toss the scrap of torn flesh farther down on the table. I move my covered in blood hand aside, not wanting to stain my dress.

I wait, but nothing happens. I glare angrily at the servant slammed into the wall. I snap my fingers and blood sprays in all directions. I lure the servant closer with an unexpectedly graceful gesture. He doesn't dare look up in horror, but he approaches me quickly, afraid to make me even more angry. I grab his chin with bloody fingers and hiss into his face:

“Do I really need to explain to my servants how to do their jobs? I don't remember taking it upon myself to educate the staff! Can't you see? Your mistress got dirty, there's a corpse under the table, its blood has ruined the upholstery of a chair worth more than your miserable life, and there's wine dripping down the table and onto the floor, a glass of which you wouldn't even allow yourself for a year's wages, and not because you're poorly paid. So why don't you stop shaking and get to work?!” Toward the end of my angry tirade, I turn to shouting, glaring furiously with scarlet eyes.

Nodding his head sharply, the servant comes to his senses, removes a snow-white towel from his arm, and wipes the blood from my hand. Two other servants, also impressed by my speech, begin to move and drag the body of the murdered "dear guest" away from the office. Another maid appears out of nowhere and wipes the spilled wine off the table and then the floor. I pay no attention to their quiet fussing, but stare at each of the patricians who remain in their chairs.

When silence returns to the room, I give my guests a broad gesture and straighten up, still standing on the table.

“I hope my little demonstration has made you realize that I'm not to be trifled with.” Slowly, I walk from one edge of the long table to the other, putting my hands on my back and staring straight ahead. My voice rings with power and menace, reverberated off the walls, echoed up from the ceiling. “I am not some lap dog. And I have power over you not because I spread my legs for the right man. And it's not just my husband, lord and master, you should fear, but also me.” I stop in front of Astarion, who is still watching with interest, and turn my back to him, slowly shifting my gaze from one noble face to the other. “If you disrespect me like that again, you'll be sorry you were ever born.”

“Crazy bitch!” An angry hiss from the older man sitting at the farthest edge of the table. He's probably hoping I didn't hear him, but my keen vampire hearing leaves him no chance of escape.

Taking my time, I walk across the table in his direction, then lower myself and lie down on the table, resting my chin on my arms bent at the elbows. Dreamily, pouting my lips like a young innocent girl, I raise my eyes to the man and say quietly, but so that everyone can hear:

“You know, I am not just some toy for pleasure, not a concubine and not a submissive shadow that silently follows its master. I can turn anyone into my own vampire spawn, too. One touch of my fangs is enough to trigger the process of imminent conversion. You know, lordy…" I rest my claw almost playfully on the shiny medal on the old man's chest, "While I was mortal myself, I didn't fully understand, didn't realize what eternal life was. I was granted eternal youth, strength, power, and every pleasure imaginable.” I cast a brief glance at Astarion, noting how the corner of his mouth twitched upward at my words. He's pleased with me. I turn back around, my whole body pressing forward. “You, my dear guest…”

I fall silent, scrutinizing the man's flabby face with a bloodthirsty grin. Abruptly clenching my fingers on his clothes, I pull myself closer and lunge forward for a bite, not even aiming. My fangs touch his cheek, one light clench of my jaws is enough to allow the venom of vampirism to enter his bloodstream. Pushing away from him, enjoying the dazed look on the old man's face as he clutches his cheek, I burst into a laughter. I laugh back and stare into his small, frightened eyes again.

“An eternity of torment awaits you, my dear guest." I repeated, enunciating each word. “Imagine," I faltered into a hot whisper, pressing myself close to his face again. “I could skin you, tear you to pieces, rummage through your insides like in a sack of presents, and you wouldn't die. You will feel every moment of this sweet agony, you will beg, whimper, plead with me to kill you, but I will not be so merciful and end your suffering. No, I will revel in it. Oh!” I exclaim. “I've had a marvelous idea. I can order you to do whatever I want. And you can't physically resist my will. For example, I could order you to rip out the heart of your dearest wife and present it to me on a golden platter. You know, I think that's what I'll do.” A mad smile spreads across my face, and I'm in anticipation of his agony. The fire in my eyes testifies to the magic binding the two of us together, and I give my first order. “In twelve hours, when the sun is below the horizon, you will slaughter with your own hands your entire family, all of your servants, and anyone else who happens to be in your luxurious mansion at that moment. Then you will crawl across town on all fours and bring me the head of your beautiful daughter in your teeth.”

I rise to my feet and shake off my dress, straighten to my full height, and with an almost tender concern in my voice, I say one last thing:

“And try to enjoy tonight's sunset. It is, after all, the last sunset in your life.”

A moment of silence, my deep breath. My face seems to be frozen in stillness. With my eyes closed, barely audible, I speak somewhere in space: to no one and everyone at the same time:

“Out. Now.”

This time no one appears to express their displeasure. The great and terrible patricians of Baldur's Gate hurriedly leave the palace, creaking their chairs on the marble floor, stomping on the heels of their polished boots, pushing and shoving each other.

Silence envelops me. I feel like I'm sinking into a warm bath after a long, tiring day. I take another deep breath, savoring the smells of blood, rage, and fear that permeate the office. I let myself not hold back. I let myself unleash my inner beast, my inner monster, my wild inner monster. Goosebumps ran down my arms as I remembered the softness of the flesh under my claws, the wet crunch of bone and cartilage, the gurgle of gurgling blood. Moments worth sacrificing my own heartbeat for.

I turn on my heels, scraping the surface of the expensive, almost priceless table. But I don't care. The only thing in my field of vision is his face, the smile blossoming on that beautiful face and the passionate fire in his gaze. He's pleased with me. Is he...proud of me?

In a few steps, I cross the distance between us and practically jump on top of him, sitting on his lap and wrapping my arms around his neck. My fingers burrow into his silver curls, and I fall into his lips in a heated kiss, savoring the warmth of his hands sliding over my body. I lose my sense of time, dissolving into the moment of intimacy. It could have been a minute, or it could have been a week, I wouldn't have known the difference. All that matters is his warmth, his scent, his taste on the tip of my tongue.

A moment and I'm lying on the table, his fingers tangling in my hair, squeezing my throat, tearing my dress layer by layer, exposing cold, pale skin. I wrap my arms and legs around him, pulling him against me, closer, closer, closer, closer, closer, until we are one. Hot hands slide down my thighs, skirts pulled up, torn shreds of underwear falling on the floor. His kisses are possessive, greedy, hungry, he’s using his entire arsenal: lips, tongue and fangs. A drop of blood protrudes from my bitten lower lip, and he suck at the tiny wound as if he's trying to drink me dry through it.

We become one, reveling in each other. Two opposing, desperate desires are fighting in me: that this moment never end, and that we come to a climax as soon as possible. The world around me disappears, dissolves, filled only with wet obscene sounds, convulsive sighs and sweet moans. No matter how many times we've been intimate, each time is like a divine revelation. I am overwhelmed by waves of pleasure, one stronger and sweeter than the other. My whole body trembles in his hands, and he enjoys the sight of my crushing defeat of pleasure, but not for long - soon he joins me, filling me up, leaving his mark on me, in me, in the very core of my being, his scent, the mark of my belonging. His fangs sink into my shoulder, wrenching a suppressed sob from my chest. Everything around us stops, only the ringing silence keeping us company.

“You're especially wild tonight, my love," he rumbles in my ear. He presses me against the table with his body, and I don't want to let him go, clinging to him with my arms, wrapping my legs around him, squeezing him inside my own body. Squeezing my eyes shut, I push away the unsolicited tears, returning to the real reason for my restlessness today, my anxiety, my instability.

“What did you expect? You're obviously bothered by something, but you won't share it with me, and you won't let me look inside your mind.” I don't hide the hurt in my voice. He tenses his body and tries to pull away, but my grip only gets tighter. He only succeeds in raising himself up on his elbows. His scrutinizing gaze slides over my face, and I feel a crease form between my eyebrows, the corners of my mouth dropping down, my lower lip trembling as I whisper frantically:

"The moment you turned me, “me” and “you” ceased to exist, the boundary between us erased. Only "we" remained. But since last night, you've been shutting me out. And I'm afraid. What if you're tired of me? What if you're sick of me? Maybe you don't need me anymore. I have nothing but you. Even my own body is at your mercy. And to see you closing yourself off… Have mercy and just kill me.”

I hold back tears with all my might, but one slips down my temple and gets lost in my tangled hair. I can see in his face that he feels my pain. But I can also see that his own is mixed in with mine. He doesn't say anything, just wipes the wet, salty residue from my temple with his thumb, gently releases himself from my grasp, tidies himself up, and pulls my skirt down. I sit up, trying to cover my breasts with the scraps of my hopelessly ruined bodice. His hands are in sight, and I reach out to meet them. He takes me in his arms and walks out of the office.

Without a word, he brings me into our shared bedroom and lays me on the bed. He frowns at my rags and then proceeds to undress me. There's no passion or desire in the act, only a pinched tenderness and care. Wrapping me in the velvet blanket, he lays down beside me, resting his face against my chest. He grips me tightly but reverently, as if I were something incredibly fragile. As if he wasn't the one squeezing my thighs to the point of bruising a few moments ago. I run my fingers through the strands of his hair, breathing in his scent, absorbing his warmth with my whole body. We're silent for a while, cuddled together.

“I had a dream," Astarion said in a low voice, his grip growing tighter. “And in that dream, you said you were tired of me. Of my possessiveness. You said you were afraid of me.”

He falls silent, and I can barely keep from wrapping my palms around his face and screaming that I would never say such a thing, that I revel in it, savor every moment of our intimacy. That every time he keeps his arm around my waist all evening at another gala, never letting go of me, my soul sings. That every time I do attend a business meeting in our palace while he rules the city and, depending on the importance of the meeting and the issues at hand, sit on his lap or beside him while his fingers squeeze my palm, euphoria clouds my mind. That every time he leaves traces of his passion on my skin in prominent places, I proudly display them to anyone who could see and bitterly regret when they're gone due to rapid vampire regeneration. That there is nothing and no one in the entire world that I so passionately desire in every possible way. That, if it were possible, I would dissolve into him wholeheartedly, becoming part of him forever.

But I hold back. I keep silent. If my heart were alive, he'd hear how fast it beat.

“Out of rage and fear of losing you in that dream, I" He hesitated for a moment, as if overcoming a final barrier, and then exhaled "ripped your heart out and consumed it, so that you would definitely be with me forever. Inside me. My hands covered with your blood, your breathless body in front of me, and my teeth sinking into the flesh of your heart... Sometimes these thoughts, these desires, these fears.... overwhelm me. As happened last night.”

He lifts his face and looks at me. He frowns, his gaze serious, his whole body tense, his hands gripping me with a steely grip, as if he's afraid I'll actually get scared and try to run away from him. My fingertips slide down his cheek to his chin, tracing the line of his jaw, down to his shoulder. I stare into his eyes silently, but something blossoms inside me, something warm. I pull him to me, smile as gently and warmly as I can, press my forehead against his, close my eyes, and using our telepathic connection, I tell him:

“Look into my mind. It’s open to you. Do you see even a hint of desire to leave you? You won't get rid of me that easily. You're as much mine as I am yours. Forever.”

I can't see, but I can feel his lips stretch into a smile, his exhale of relief, the tension leave his body. My sweet elf, my soul mate. We found each other under the most ridiculous circumstances imaginable. But from the moment you put the knife to my throat the first time we met, I was already completely at your mercy. We were meant for each other, we couldn't help but be together. Only thanks to you was I able to realize and accept my true nature, to accept the darkness inside me and to stop being ashamed of my desires. Every moment with you was filled with happiness, fun, delight, excitement. I saw you and loved you as you are. Powerful, wild, dangerous, mischievous, witty, charismatic, vulnerable - the list is endless. Everything you are, every aspect of you, every trait is precious to me.

I have made many mistakes in my lifetime. But helping you with your Ascension isn’t on the list. The moment of your triumph, of liberation, of gaining power and control over your body and your life. I was so excited at that moment, you can't even imagine, and I was just a spectator. Thousands of times I replayed this moment in my imagination and each time I did not find even a shadow of doubt in the rightness of my choice. The first thing you did for yourself after Ascension was to make me yours. Forever. Until the end of time. You gave me eternity, strength, power, luxury, your own heart that now beats only for me.

I belong to you completely, without abandon. Just as you belong to me. No force can separate us, no one can stand in our way. As long as we're together, there's no stopping us. As long as we're together, we can have anything we want, but we only need each other. And that won't change no matter how many centuries pass by our immortal souls. I want to believe that in thousands of years we will merge into one, become one whole, spilled into two vessels. That we will cease to realize where you end and I begin. There may be something unhealthy, abnormal, obsessive about it, but what does it matter to us?

Masterlist

Comments and reblogs would be higly appreciated!

Pick me up, love!

Snack time

So I have a Durge/Spawn and Durge/Ascendant playthrough... and... I must say that I'm enjoying Durge/Ascendant Astarion very much.

Ascendant Astarion is growing on me. Nyv finds the whole situation amusing, Astarion being drunk with power reminds him of himself, so he doesn't mind to look after his adorable vampire master (making sure he doesn't kll himself in the process, or anybody else trying to kll him). I trust Nyv's ego and self-esteem so much, I can watch them without being worried. Nyv is a manipulative, I mean, uh very persuasive person, so he'll manage to convince Astarion to share his blood in no time too. Oh they're going to have a lot of fun.

aging like a fine wine