thestar-collector

[thestar-collector]

gods above i want to slaughter cazador and upon an altar stained in blood i want to fuck and ravage astarion, uncaring if we are drenched in his blood. i want cazador to know his perfect little spawn is mine.

[thestar-collector]

i'm literally asexual and couldn’t care less for sex but astarion??? istfg i need to know what they put into that man because i'm going absolutely feral, i've never been this sexually attracted to anyone help

[thestar-collector]

Confession: I actually get proper little shakes of excitement when I think about giving Astarion some gentle scratches with my nails under that little mop of hair on the nape of his neck. Gentle moves, little scratches and feeling him gently tremble with pleasure under my touch as his eyes slowly drift closed and his lower lip softens. The trust, intimacy and simple purity of this moment is something I long for so often.

[thestar-collector]

[thestar-collector]

[thestar-collector]

“Fuck it, we slay” (heavy eye bags, dehydrated, on the verge of insanity)

[thestar-collector]

What do you mean you guys never got this dialogue with Nettie?

[thestar-collector]

I really like the word “smitten”. because at first glance you just think of sappy lovey-dovey stuff but also you have to remember this is a word that’s born of the word “smite.” a devastating word. a word that, summarized, means stricken. smitten means stricken as well — struck with devastating affection.

[thestar-collector]

Batstarion a lil thirsty.

[thestar-collector]

i have spent so long trying to place who astarion reminds me of

his dry little sarcastic bits gets me every time and like it's automatically funny but it felt so familiar...

this bastard.

and some more similar comparisons i think

thank you for coming to my ted talk

[thestar-collector]

my pookie

[thestar-collector]

I call myself an Astarion simp and make fun of myself for loving the dumb sexy pixel man but to be honest, I’m like 30 years old and I just never expected to see my experiences not only reflected in media, but handled so delicately and compassionately.

I spent a lot of time “healing” from my past through hypersexuality. I knew it was hypersexuality. I used to tell myself, “What happened can’t be sad or important if you do it a hundred more times.” Like somehow if it was my choice x many times then the time it wasn’t can’t possibly matter anymore. Logical, right? It’s just statistics.

And then the journey of fucking your way to a semblance of mental safety just becomes a joke. It’s edgy and funny. I was doing exactly what Astarion does — if I fuck them, they might like me. And if fucking them is easier than not, I might as well, because I’ve done it so many times before anyway. I’m so good at it I’ve fucked people using the lamest lines you can imagine — wanna hear? I promise it’s hilarious.

And he’s not a perfect sweet victim or a funny edgy free love sex pest. It’s not played as a damsel in distress or a punchline. He’s just hurting and learning and when he realises the hypersexuality isn’t serving him… you can tell him it’s okay and you still like him for who he is.

I don’t know if I can really articulate what it means to me to see a background like Astarion’s being portrayed honestly and not as a sexy funny trauma thing or just straight up tragedy porn.

It genuinely made me feel like maybe I’m not alone, and think maybe other people out there also might just… understand. Not pity me, or laugh when I tell them to, but just… get it.

I’m still kind of processing it to be honest. Maybe that’s why I’ve played this stupid game like 5 times in two months.

[thestar-collector]

dude you look forsaken as fuck right now

[thestar-collector]

i think hearing Astarion speak elvish would fix me

[thestar-collector]

He found a lost baby while hunting one night ~❤️

[thestar-collector]

From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free. All eyes on Rafah.

The person behind the Martyrs of Gaza account account just posted that their daughter was martyred in November.

The text:

Noor, my daughter, was the only one who held my heart in this world. Her story was different from other girls.

Noor Al-Fara, 13 years old.

She had dreams for the future and was planning to achieve things beyond her age. She lived in her own world, with thoughts and interests that were unique. Whenever someone met her, whether a woman or a man, they would sit with her, chat, and say, "This girl is extraordinary. Mashallah, she seems like a university student, not a child who hasn't even turned 14." Indeed, when they said this, we realized that we are not just numbers. We have souls and bodies, and we have dreams that we want to fulfill in the future. It was as if she sensed that her time in this world was limited, but her dreams were grand, so she raced against time to achieve as much as she could.

As soon as she entered the house, she would start talking as if she had been away from me for a week. She would share many details about herself, her friends, teachers, and school news.

She was an icon at school; she felt like the center of attention among the students. She participated in all academic and non-academic activities, and she was a dynamo at home, on the street, and at school with her friends.

On November 7th, 2023, at 6 o'clock in the morning, the Israeli occupation aircraft bombed the entire square in front of the Farhana School in Khan Younis, and Noor was martyred. Oh God, she left a great void. My life turned into an empty desert after her, despite the crowdedness around us.

[thestar-collector]

We don't talk enough about how absolutely devastating and romantic and hot the idea is that Astarion would know the scent of your blood anywhere.

How quickly he would notice when you've even the slightest of nics? When, no matter how focused on anything else he might be at the time, he always comes to check it out?

You'll be peeling a piece of apple with your pocket knife when it slips in your grip. The sharp edge of the blade slices a shallow cut into the meat of your thumb, and you inhale sharply through your nose even though it barely hurts at all. Instinct has you sucking your injured digit into your mouth with a soft curse– the sweet juice of the fruit you were snacking on quickly overpowered by the metallic twang of blood.

You nearly jump out of your skin when he appears over you not a moment later. He makes some offhand comment about how careless you are. Takes hold of your injured hand and tuts like he intends to tease, but he isn't fooling anyone.

He stands so close, jaw ticking as he clenches his teeth, a tension in his shoulders that tells you he's doing everything in his power to keep composure. Your blood calls to him like a moth to a flame, and as funny as you find it in the moment, you don't have the heart to tease him for it. It's actually kind of endearing.

He'd only get quicker in noticing as time passes.

Especially after you've been traveling together for a few years, and he's come to know your scent better than his own. Which only makes sense considering how often he's got his nose pressed to some part of you. (He thinks you smell good.)

At this point, when you get injured in battle, he often catches the fragrance before you've even processed that you've been hit.

He'd suck in a sharp breath through his teeth– a hiss so loud that it catches your attention just enough for you to spare him a glance as you fight.

It's all you need to see just how blown his pupils are from where you're standing, mostly because his gaze is laser locked onto you to second you search for him. His movements turn faster. Deadlier, as he scans the field before you. Determined. Hungry. Angry. He's searching for the sorry wretch that dared to get the best of you– that dared spill even a drop of his beloved's precious blood upon the soil.

You've already taken them down, of course. Poor sap might have gotten a good dig in at your shoulder, but ultimately didn't stand a chance once he properly pissed you off.

Astarion's eyes go heavy.

Half-lidded in that special way of his and only darkening further as he appraises you. You can practically feel it as he follows the line of your throat, zeroes in on your pulse point for a moment, before settling to watch the warm crimson that's beginning to soak into the sleeve of your tunic.

You see a bit of concern in those eyes, but then he sees your smile and– A flash of hot, honeyed desire catches you by surprise.

You suddenly can't tell if it's just the blood loss making you woozy or if he's about to make you swoon like a maiden from an old romance novel. You try (and fail) to keep a straight face when he sinks his dagger into his final opponent's neck without so much as a glance their way.

There's a splash of red against pale white skin, and a lifeless body dropping to the grass by his feet. Your heart stutters in your chest, and he all but moans in response to the sound of it. A mere four paces and he's on you– hands and teeth and tongue exploring every inch of your exposed skin, ripping open parts of your armor to gain better access, like you're not stood in a field of gore and ruin and freshly spilled blood.

You cling to him like a lifeline.

Before he drags you away to camp– to a warm tent and a soft bedroll where he can have his way with you for as long as you and your mortal body will allow him– he has you down a potion of healing or two.

And it's a good thing one of you has a Lesser Restoration spell handy somehow, cause you're most definitely gonna need it.