Latest Posts by rivereverie - Page 2

Wyll Ravengard from Baldur's Gate 3

Rubric

Daily reminder to myself that:

I don't need to write for anyone but myself.

My personal writing has no deadlines. I'm not falling behind anyone, because I'm not in competition.

There is nothing to prove.

Originality is not the end-all be-all. If someone else has explored the same idea as you before, that doesn't make my version any less valuable or meaningful.

I can write what I want.

There is no reason to hold back anything on the page. No reason for shame or hiding or preemptive self-judgement. I have no audience unless I choose to let them in.

The "quality" of my work does not determine my value as an artist or a person.

I don't need to write like anyone else

Not everyone will understand and that's okay.

IT DOESN"T NEED TO BE PERFECT

Or even "complete"

In fact, let go of the idea of perfection entirely.

Writing should be for joy, growth, and expression.

All excellent points. It's extremely impressive how well he's able to maintain a new relationship and care for someone else given all he has going on at the time, and its a testament to his heart, in my opinion.

I often see people push back against the idea that Astarion can be sweet and soft because of his harsher facets. He's allowed to be both. His bloodthirstiness does not erase his gentleness. His anger and bitterness do not negate his playfulness and caring. Nor is the inverse true; he's not a passive little kitten who has never done anything wrong. He's a complex person, but beyond that, he's just a person, period. People are never one thing.

All this is one of the reasons I love him so much; going through the hell he endured does not make someone kind. It's the sort of crushing conditions that can easily make people so bitter and toxic to the people around them. The fact that he maintained the light within himself through all those decades where Cazador tried to systematically crush every last good thing in him... that's a miracle. He's a miracle. Because despite having every reason not to, his life experience stacked against him, he still has so much kindness and softness inside. He still cares. I don't think he's exactly well-adjusted, even by the epilogue. I'm sure it will take him the rest of his life to heal, and he and his partner will have a lot to work through in their relationship. These things take work and effort, and though I'm sure Astarion would struggle with many parts of being in a relationship, he would put in the effort necessary to work on it. He's shown numerous times that he cares and is surprisingly proactive about the relationship. He's willing to self-examine and change, like OP said in regards to his behavioral checking and minding old habits. I'm sure he'd have plenty of bad days where he pushes his partner away and says hurtful things he doesn't mean when he's triggered or overwhelmed, but that doesn't mean he's not loving and willing to work on things. I also think his reaction to his partner becoming illithid is completely valid and realistic. The fact that he's so willing to even try to make it work honestly shows how he open and accepting he is, even in the face of you become one of the things your party has been fighting against and hating for the entire game. The man is going through a lot, and dealing with his love becoming a tentacled beast is just one more item in his list of things to process, and I'm sure it hurts. Let him have time to grieve and process. I've said this before, but Astarion is arguably the least judgmental of all the companions, which seems at odds with his nature. Until you realize it's just proof of how caring and empathetic he has the capacity to be, deep down, despite his best efforts to pretend otherwise. Anyway, it bothers me when people argue against portraying his softness and caring as being non-canon or unrealistic, just because he has a harsh, bloodthirsty, vengeful, self-serving side as well. Both are canon. Both are true. Both are equally important to his identity. He contains multitudes and that's exactly what makes him such a compelling character.

just thinking about astarion is SUCH a sweet partner? like this man was barely an adult elf when he was turned, and spent the next 200 years being abused by cazador, but like

- as the durge character, he'll be accepting and talk about your mental health and reassure you

- he'll insist on staying with your half illithid character, saying you shouldnt make his choices for him if you try to leave to protect him

- also just the dichotomy of him being explicitly vain and also explicitly not shallow is very sweet

- in that one lathanders light scene, he'll tell you he appreciates you trying to fix your mistake after you caused him IMMENSE pain

- he'll empathize with and support you if you swear your body to haarlep, noting how he's been through similar and is sorry you're going through it

- hes not jealous, his issues with sharing seem to largely come from if he thinks the other party would be okay with it (like he thinks lae'zel would spear him lol), and when someone like halsin comes along he'll happily consent

- on that note, he grows enough to be comfortable asking for support and reassurance instead of possessiveness/jealousy (not that these are the only options for that scenario, but astarions seen a lot of possessiveness in his life and its wonderful how much he avoids replicating it)

- he will always attack cazador in the final confrontation if cazador starts verbally abusing you instead of him

- he puts in the work to set boundaries that allow him to engage in an intimate (emotionally, physically, but not sexually) romantic relationship with tav and apologizes for "using" him before, when his behavior was SO understandable. and also he manipulated tav by having... consensual enjoyable sex lol. he might have ulterior motives but he never actually tries to use his sexual relationship with tav to manipulate him into doing anything

- you learn how astarion felt for Sebastian and how tender he was

- you learn about the first boy astarion couldnt bear to bring to cazador, the one he called soft and sweet (or something like that) and then was punished horribly for a straight year for it

- even when you turn to a half illithid, his main concern is you losing your agency

- if you are a full illithid, at the end of the game, some people complain about him not being ride or die, but i think he shows REMARKABLE willingness and support. what he cares about most is that you are still you, and how is he supposed to know for sure? i think asking him to stay with a type of being known for manipulation and mind control after everything he went through with cazador IS A HUGE FUCKING ASK. and he doesnt even write you off immediately? thats a lot of love right there

- if you arent illithid, he will double-check you want to plan a future with him still, and only once you affirm this will he express how badly he wants it. he's actively avoiding trying to manipulate you even

and probably more stuff im just not thinking of off the top of my head. obviously this is about the spawn route vs. ascended, but im just constantly amazed that despite EVERYTHING astarion has gone through, probably centuries without a healthy, loving relationship or even examples of that nearby, he still defaults to being kind, empathetic, and caring as soon as he gets the chance

like sure, he might be minorly evil and self-serving but personally i think thats the least he deserves

more importantly, the boys from astarions past give us a rare window into what he was like before turning into a vampire—he was gentle, empathetic lover. he was kind, he was protective. and as soon as he has the space to start looking for himself again, he goes RIGHT back to that behavior. he even self-checks for his "manipulation" and tries to correct for it

it just shatters my heart and then puts it back together hes such a wonderfully written character. astarion is allowed to be lovely AND furious and vengeful and maybe its just my raised-catholic ass, but its SO cathartic to see that a forgiveness arc is never pushed for his abuser

Radiant Hopeful

He's getting the chance to explore his hobbies and passions 🥺

Stealing Moments of Comfort – complete fic

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relantionships: Astarion & Tav, Astarion / Tav

Additional tags: Angst, emotional hurt/comfort, friendship/love, nebularomanticism, banter, character study, relantionship study, autistic Tav, sensory sensitivity, overstimulation, implied/referenced self-harm, self-esteem issues, loneliness, childhood memories, (some nice some not so much), canon-typical violence, (but only described in flashbacks), spoilers for Act 3 (Baldur's Gate 3), Astarion is trying his best, Yae is also trying his best

Summary: Running into Petras and Dalyria in the flophouse proved to be a tense experience. Now Yae and Astarion both worry about the future and their ambiguous, unexplored relationship, weighing the possibility of turning into an illithid or ascending. Yae suffers from overstimulation; Astarion comes to comfort him, convinced it’s the last warm moment they share.

Read on AO3 or under the cut.

⊱✿⊰

I… did it, I guess.

I have written and published my first fanfic. Which is a lot, given my complicated relantionship with the skill known as finishing, and the fact I dropped writing almost ten years ago and only picked it up again recently.

Thanks to everyone who liked and commented on my wip snippets, for every little bit of encouragement. I know I needed it.

Shout out to @thekindredcollective and their BG3 Spring Cleaning event for giving me the push to finish it sooner than later.

Stealing Moments of Comfort

We are a team, aren’t we? You’re still with me?  – Astarion to Tav, Act 3

⊱✿⊰

Putting a tent up so close to others was a matter of practicality: it ensured safety. And, well, maybe companionship had become a welcome thing during all the travels and adventures together. But tonight? Seated by a small table, Astarion glanced at an empty mirror placed among other clutter, wishing he could disappear – just like his reflection had two centuries ago.

And that silly ragged owlbear plush Yae had put on a cushion next to the tent’s entrance. The serious Yae, who barely ever cracked a joke, for some unfathomable reason found it amusing. At this very moment, Astarion regretted not throwing the toy away – because even the stuffed animal seemed to regard him with contempt. The worn beady eyes whispered: You’re pathetic.

Angry, the elf unscrewed a jar of preserved blood. So easy for others to judge him! He hadn’t really hurt Petras, the idiot’s face would heal eventually – unless the wretched fool would get sacrificed first, in which case it didn’t matter anyway, right?

Righteous chumps and their double standards.

Astarion remembered the moment he’d held the other spawn to the golden light filtering through dusty window panes. The thrill of being in control, of being feared instead of fearful. The cloying scent of undead flesh turning to ash. Dal begging him to stop and the knowledge – oh, the knowledge – he had the power to do however he pleased…

And then Yae had spoiled it all.

Frustrated, the rogue slammed his forehead against the table, and raked all ten fingers through his silvery curls. 

I, um… Well, the way they swirl around your ears. I like it, Yae’s half-bashful, half-nonchalant voice rang in his mind. Gods, please, there couldn’t possibly be a worse moment to remember how the warlock had offered to be Astarion’s mirror. The initial hesitation, then a quick barrage of words, all in fear otherwise the thought would remain unspoken.

The vampire felt like he was looking into hundreds of broken shards – all of them empty to match his hollow self. But the reflection in Yae’s eyes? It was his only one, yet just another lie, conjured up beyond his control. Once Yae saw through the illusion, he would definitely ditch Astarion.

And it was probably going to happen tonight.

⊱✿⊰

Yae wished his head wouldn’t hurt so badly, as if someone was trying to gouge his eyeballs out. He wished the light of the flames flickering in the center of the camp wouldn’t be so painfully bright, threatening to send him reeling whenever he looked directly at it. He wished Karlach’s hearty laughter, as she entertained Wyll with one more anecdote about her time under Zariel, wouldn’t ring in his ears like a sheet of metal struck with a rod. 

Shadowheart’s herbal tea left a bitter aftertaste on the warlock’s tongue. He sighed and emptied the bronze cup in one swig. Blah. No matter how thoughtful she had tried to be, the medicine probably wasn’t going to help. He only drank it to make her feel better. 

Yae rummaged through the contents of the chest, huffing in exasperation. Where had he put that damned sleep mask? All he really wanted right now was to lie down in his tent, wrap himself in a blanket, cut off as much stimuli as possible and try to forget all the misery.

A soft clink, grating to his oversensitive hearing, made the half-elf wince. His hand had knocked against something smooth and cool. With furrowed brow, Yae pulled out a glass jar with the Emperor’s astral tadpole in it. Oh, right. He had almost forgotten about the little parasite. It writhed languidly in the vessel. Even now, he could sense its profound loneliness, and a twinge of sympathy coursed through him. There were times when he felt like he was being stored away in a glass jar, too, prevented from truly connecting with other sentient beings.

Was this why the thought of potentially turning into an illithid didn’t frighten him as much as it disturbed others? Or why he had felt so safe and comfortable while visiting the myconid colony? Because a sense of belonging was woven directly into those creatures’ very nature?

Yae flopped down onto the dirt from a squat, settling into a cross-legged position. Pensive, he watched the listless tadpole swim about its prison.

At first, he had been ready to accept the Emperor’s offer. It was such an incredible opportunity, he would have learned so much, gained insights beyond normal people’s understanding. And in exchange for what? The body he had never been particularly fond of? This imperfect vessel, prone to headaches and sensory overloads? Or his “remarkable” personality and lack of social skills – qualities that seemed to put off everyone around? Yae’s patron didn’t show disapproval, so honestly, the choice appeared obvious.

And yet.

I want you to stay you. 

It wasn’t Lae’zel’s or Wyll’s strong convictions that made Yae waver, nor Shadowheart’s vehement protests. They didn’t understand, didn’t want to undergo the change, and it was fine.

No. It was Astarion’s acceptance, and the concern that followed, that made the warlock shelve the idea – almost literally. The vampire, as loath as he proved to use the tadpole himself, never tried to dissuade Yae from embracing illithid powers; he turned out to be the only person in the entire camp who encouraged the other man to make his own choice. 

But do be careful.

Yae groaned and bent slightly as if from physical pain. He wished he could repay Astarion in kind. He wished he could just say: “Sure, go ahead, do the ritual if it’ll make you happy”. But he couldn’t – and despised himself for it. Deep inside, he was certain he’d lose Astarion and hated his own inability to let the vampire go. 

Yae raised the glass jar to his eyes again. Behind the faint reflection of his grey irises floated the translucent creature. That’s it, he thought. If Astarion ascends, it’s all over. If he does, I’m taking the tadpole.

⊱✿⊰

Astarion hated many things in existence, and waiting idly for a bad event to occur was one of them. No, he should take control and face the inevitable on his own terms – better to get it over with than count the hours. He only needed Yae to bear with him for a little longer; once he ascended, he would be happy to go his separate way, just–

Well, perhaps “happy” was an overstatement.

Astarion stood up, ready to wield his preferred set of weapons: charms and smiles. He swallowed the feeling of disgust and sauntered towards the center of the camp.

“Shadowheart, dear.” It almost scared him how easy it was to adopt a playful tone. “Have you perchance seen Yae?”

“You two just can’t stay away from each other, can you?” the not-exactly-cleric-of-Shar teased the vampire as she shifted her grip on an uncorked bottle of Amnian Dessert Wine. “I have, in fact. He came to me feeling bad, so I gave him some herbs. He said he was going to sleep early.”

“Feeling bad?”

Shadowheart sighed.

“You know. Overstimulated.”

Yes, Astarion knew.

⊱✿⊰

The crunch of dirt under careful footsteps warned Yae someone was approaching even before he heard the lilting “darling, it’s me” and the rustle of the tent’s flap. 

“Do you mind?” the half-elf snapped from between the covers. “You’re letting light in!”

“Yes, yes, just give me a second–” The flap swished back down. “You know, sometimes I could swear you’re the vampire in this relationship. Don’t you have your blindfold, excuse me, sleep mask on?”

“So? It doesn’t fit perfectly. There’s a tiny slit,” Yae grumbled and shifted in his bedroll – not to face the visitor, but to bury himself deeper in the blankets. People always found it hard to believe just how sensitive he could be. “What do you want?”

Astarion’s cocky façade didn’t crumble one bit. Still, something about the other man’s frail state ruffled him. He didn’t want to see Yae suffer; he needed to see him strong. He knew for certain his friend wasn’t weak – the power he wielded against enemies! And yet…

Astarion pushed the intrusive thoughts aside.

“Honestly, you surprise me,” the words carried a very precise weight of nonchalance. “You always act like you’re the only person with an intact brain inside your pretty head, and yet when you feel sick, all you do is wrap that silly cloth over your face and hide away from the world.” Another sound followed the rogue’s words, a more dry and crinkly one, like… a sheet of parchment? Yae huffed.

“Oh, I have pursued many solutions already, both preternatural and mundane. I even dared to ask my patron to show some clemency, but the magic they grant me isn’t exactly of curative nature.”

“Patron-shmatron,” Astarion snorted. “The powers don’t care about the well-being of their subjects, I thought you already knew that. But speaking of magic – have you talked to Gale?”

“Yes.” Yae sighed. He realized the vampire wanted to help, but the underlying suggestion – even if not deliberate – that he hadn’t tried hard enough to resolve the matter still annoyed him. “He proposed casting Leomund’s Tiny Hut and filling it with darkness. The problem is, I can’t work the spell myself, and if he does, he’d be stuck with me for several hours, which is… far from ideal.”

“Is it? Say a word, and I’ll drag him here and tie him to a pole,” Astarion offered with mock gallantry mixed with a drop of sultriness. “Of all the people in this group one could share a tent with, he’s not the worst choice.”

Yae groaned.

“No!”

The vampire let out a snicker. Right, the grumpy little pet wasn’t a fan of suggestive jokes. Now probably even less than ever.

“Apologies.” The sick half-elf couldn’t see it, but he was certain Astarion flashed him a not-so-repentant smile. “On second thought, maybe it’s not such a brilliant idea. I mean, you two would probably get lost in some incredibly boring, unnecessarily convoluted arcane dispute and you’d forget entirely about my existence.”

The unconvinced hum from between the blankets clearly indicated Yae doubted if the feat was ever possible.

Astarion glanced at the yellowed parchment he had “borrowed” from the group’s shared supplies.

“Why not cast Darkness around yourself, though?”

“I don’t have any magic left. And it’s better to save the scroll in case we need to use it against enemies.”

“Nonsense. You need it now.” He sat down next to the bedroll. “Take that stupid rag off your face. Cast the spell.”

“It’s only several minutes, it’s a waste of the scroll,” Yae protested.

“It’s several minutes of respite, for gods’ sake! Just do it!”

“Fine, fine, just keep it down, will you? Ugh…”

The warlock untangled from the covers and pushed the sleep mask up to his forehead. He then took the parchment from Astarion. Once the words of power filled the air, shadows clotted and amassed, obscuring the inside of the tent in an almost suffocating blackness. Even gifted with darkvision, the two men were unable to pierce it. Yae sighed; to him the pristine darkness proved so soothing. 

Astarion tried not to think how much the tent now resembled a tomb. At least there were two people in it, he reassured himself; as if to prove that point, he sought out Yae’s hand. It jerked at the unexpected touch, but didn’t shy away.

If only it wasn’t the last time they held hands like this… Even so, Astarion would treasure the memory.

For the next few moments, they just sat, a layer of darkness like a shroud upon them. Eventually the magic faded; the light of the campfire and torches once again danced on the tent’s canvas, shining through. Yae dropped onto his back, letting go of the cold fingers, and slung one arm over his eyes.

“You were right.” To his surprise, Astarion’s voice sounded disheartened. “It was pointless.”

“No, I–” He suddenly felt like an ingrate. “You were right. It was nice, if brief. Thank you.”

The vampire lay down on his side next to the warlock and propped his head on an elbow.

“No matter how many scrolls I lift from careless wizards and foolish nobles, it won’t be enough. An inefficient solution is no solution at all.” If only I had the power to protect you.

“I still appreciate it,” Yae muttered from under his elbow.

“Me wasting resources?” Astarion forced some of his stylemark tease into the words.

“Yeah. You wasting resources on me.”

“It was irrational. You haven’t forgotten you hate it when people act irrational, right?”

“It was thoughtful. Even I can see that.”

“Come now, don’t try to make me feel good.”

“No, really. It’s not your fault all spells are designed as if someone had a very complex dragonchess ruleset in mind.”

This finally drew a chuckle from Astarion.

“You’ve noticed that? Horrendous when it comes to practical, everyday purposes.”

Yae didn’t respond. Despite the fatigue, his spirits lifted a bit as well; the shadow of today’s events cleared in his mind, like a dispelled magical effect. Well, maybe it didn’t withdraw completely. The memory of the acrid smell that had filled the flophouse’s small common room still lingered in the corners of the man’s psyche. It threatened to spring to the fore should he concentrate on it too much, to coat his tongue again, to worsen the already bad headache. But at least for now, he had the strength to ignore it. Wasn’t it nice to just enjoy Astarion’s company in comfortable silence instead?

“I’m a scum.”

Yae started as his friend’s voice brought him back. It took a few seconds for the words to register. Something didn’t add up. 

“Where does this one come from?”

“Can’t you see? I’m doing it again. I’m acting nice because there is something I want to talk about and I’m trying to soften you up.”

The tiniest of smiles formed on the half-elf’s lips. Astarion no doubt believed what he’d just said; his voice had that distinctive, almost anxious tinge.

It is true that brains generally prefer simple explanations – but Yae was never quite satisfied until he had a chance to take a thing apart and understand every minute detail of its inner workings. The reason given rang true, but he didn’t think it was the only, or even the most important one. It took almost all his willpower to not immediately open his mouth and argue. But by now he knew that in return he’d only get a snarky comment about being a smartass.

“Well, at least you’re not trying to seduce me anymore, so I’d still say that’s a step up.”

Astarion scowled.

“As a former magistrate, I swear, someone should immediately revoke your smartass license.”

Oh, well. He got called a smartass anyway.

“Yeah, right, just tell me already why I should hate you so I can tell you why I’m not going to.”

Despite the circumstances, Yae’s dry response did bring Astarion a little comfort. Which, somehow, also made things worse.

“Nice things just don’t last, do they? They are meant to be… fleeting.” The vampire paused. That wasn’t how he’d rehearsed the lines. Gods, after two hundred years of honing his casual, disinterested tone, he should be able to use it at will, like a street magician casting Dancing Lights for the amusement of the crowd. Instead, wistfulness crept into his words, but he wasn’t some teary-eyed puppy, damn it! Astarion clicked his tongue and pressed on. “When we started to get along… I immediately began to wonder how long it would take for us to stop.”

“Yeah. Me too,” whispered Yae.

The red eyes flicked in his direction, filled with disbelief.

“Really?”

“Really.” All of a sudden, the warlock felt immeasurably tired, and it had nothing to do with the headache or overstimulation. “It happens every time. Whenever I meet someone interesting and start thinking there might be a connection. I’m too weird for normal people and too normal for weird people.” He sighed. “Sorry. You were talking. I cut in.”

Despite the uneasiness, Astarion chuckled.

“I don’t know, I rather dig your brand of ’weird’.” And that’s the problem. “Look. I know what you think. You dislike that I fried Petras’s nose a little. I promise you, the fool won’t suffer any permanent damage.” Here came the defensiveness again. Once more, the vampire tried to quickly don his favoured armour of nonchalance – not a shining one, but tarnished with bitterness. “Well, it had to happen someday, right? You had to realize I’m not a person you want to keep around. I don’t blame you. I’m not going to try and convince you to change your mind. You’ve already shown me plenty of patience. But– if you’d only let me stick around for–”

“What are you talking about?”

“Tsk, come on!” The pale elf’s voice thrummed with frustration. Was Yae feigning ignorance on purpose? “I saw the look on your face! When I asked if we’re still a team, you didn’t even bother to reply! You avoided me for the rest of the day!” The words just… spilled, an almost accusatory tide instead of a graceful flow. Astarion pressed his mouth into a tight line.

“Oh, by the gods.” That was exactly why Yae hated all sorts of social interaction – no, why he feared them. So many assumptions. People invariably digging for hidden meanings. “I was unable to say anything! I– I needed time to myself! You know I always need time!” Vexed, he fidgeted with a ring on his finger – a perfectly mundane object with some simple etchings, made of three interlocking bands of metal. Of course the entire situation boiled down to him doing or not doing something, not having the correct expression, not showing the expected reaction, needing to process things. And now his voice was cracking while blood thumped in his ears – and he hated it with all his heart, because you shouldn’t show such intense emotions, Yae, it’s unprofessional and makes people uncomfortable.

Exhaustion and shame enveloped him like the pungent smoke – sticking to him just like the smell had stuck to hair, clothes and skin. Now he wished he could just cast Darkness again – to wrap himself in it safely, vanish, and possibly never return.

The uneasy silence that followed suddenly made both men aware of other, more distant sounds. Scratch barked happily, and the owlbear cub hooted back at him. Someone laughed. Was it Halsin? Probably. The sound had that warm, growly undertone.

“Just say I’m a cruel, horrible person, a monster, and let’s have it out of our way.” If only Astarion could run away from the mixture of desperation and defeat that burned in his chest. Wasn’t it what he wanted all along? For people to believe he was strong, intimidating, ruthless? He had tried hard to cultivate that image, but never once anticipated there could be a time when he’d regret others seeing him this way.

Another howl of throaty laughter echoed through the camp. What was the term Halsin had once mentioned to Astarion? “Deimatic behaviour”?

Yae’s head throbbed. He covered his eyes with open palms, trying to stop them from popping out of the sockets. Most of the time he felt utterly unequipped to deal with his own life, with all the setbacks and problems – and no matter how much he wanted to be there for Astarion, he simply lacked the energy. The half-elf’s brain spluttered and nearly came to a halt like a malfunctioning Gondian clockwork – its favoured reaction in stressful situations, to just shut off. For the past few hours, he had gone through numerous versions of this conversation. In his mind, he knew exactly how to say all the right things. He was kind, understanding, wise – and, most importantly, able to offer Astarion precisely the words the vampire needed to hear.

Right now Yae’s head was as empty as a patriar’s promise.

And yet, something stirred in the petrified mindscape. Something alien that had in the last few weeks become intimately familiar, a part of himself. 

Yae’s tadpole gently brushed against the creature nestled in Astarion’s brain. The vampire suppressed the urge to shrink back, realising the immaterial caress wasn’t an intrusion, but an invitation. Almost a plea.

Let me in. Otherwise I don’t know how to express myself.

Astarion’s nostrils flared. Why couldn’t Yae just talk like a normal person? 

The brief spike of irritation died out as quickly as it had occurred. If Yae could, he would. There had been times when Astarion was so starved he lost the ability to speak, hadn’t there? He glanced at the other man with compassion he rarely allowed himself to show, and let the tadpoles swirl together, establishing a connection.

Yae sighed; his confidence surged. 

Usually, social interactions were so… confusing. He remembered playing Three-Dragon Ante with his older brother for the first time. Zenith didn’t explain the rules beforehand, stating that Yae would learn “as they went”. This discouraged the younger boy from the start, and the whole experience turned rather frustrating, with Zenith proving to be a messy teacher, mentioning various options in a rather haphazard way. Talking to other people posed an even greater challenge – you had to constantly keep guessing what the unwritten rules were, and those tended to change without warning, while others acted like they expected you to read their minds.

Well, actually reading minds was wonderful. Direct, raw, complex yet clear. With this, Yae could work.

So, is your parasite bothering my parasite because you wanted me to know you’re terrible at cards?

Hilarious, the warlock thought back. But gods, didn’t it feel good to uncork and be able to communicate again. He kept the connection unintrusive, just skimming over the surface of whatever Astarion was willing to share. As he calmed down, the sense of peace sipped into the vampire’s mind as well, and they non-verbally conveyed bits of what had troubled them today – just enough to notice how similar their fears and worries were.

You do sometimes feel like a mirror, Astarion’s thought was uncharacteristically quiet, bashful.

Yae took an audible breath.

“You’re not a monster,” he whispered. The physicality of the sound felt so out of place. “And even if you are, I don’t really care.” It was true. No matter how tempting it would be, he didn’t want some idealised version of Astarion. He wanted the real person. “You’re a friend. Yes, I’m worried sick – quite literally – not because of you, but about you.”

“You don’t want me gone?” 

“No. I’m sorry I didn’t say so immediately. Sometimes I’m dumb like this.”

Reassured, Astarion withdrew from the mental connection. The vampire didn’t hate it – and it was kind of adorable how elated it made Yae – but right now he wanted some privacy, at least in his own head. The two parasites twirled together for the last time before gently untangling.

Yae stared at the faint outline of the tent’s ceiling for a few more moments, bracing himself. He recalled again how Astarion had encouraged him to make his own choice regarding the special tadpole. It really was the time to repay the kindness.

“Astarion… I just wanted to make it clear. Once we face Cazador… Whatever you decide, your fate will be in your own hands.”

Astarion let out a loud exhale. Good. Oh gods, good. He wanted freedom. Above all, he wanted to be his own person. And it felt so validating Yae recognised this. 

The worst part, though, was that deep inside the unconditional acceptance chipped the vampire’s resolve to steal the ritual for himself.

Astarion shook his head. He shifted to face Yae more fully – as much as the cramped space allowed – and focused on something nice instead. At least he hoped it was nice.

“Friends.” He tasted the word. “You seem pretty attached to the idea. Not that I don’t like it,” he added quickly, “quite the contrary… but…”

He trailed off, suddenly uncertain if he really wanted to broach the subject. Not knowing was so nice, after all. And one serious talk was more than enough for tonight.

Yae thought back to his life before he had been kidnapped by illithids and infested with a tadpole; before he had moved to Baldur’s Gate; even before he had reached out to his patron and formed a pact. The tired poetic cliché would dictate it felt like a lifetime ago. If only memories had become a nice, gentle haze; if only the past would turn into a vault full of precious personal mythology. But the images danced in his mind, sharp – and while some weren’t unpleasant, those he’d rather forget burned the brightest.

The first one seemed innocent, happy even: a young boy, scrawny and awkward, perusing through his father’s magical tomes stored safely in a cozy, elegant library. Behind the window, the charming alleys of the Evereskan residential area soaked up the sun, the polished cobblestones almost glowing. The view reminded the boy of an oil painting – pretty, marked with a touch of gravity.

The thick aroma of special inks mixed with distinct scents of paper, vellum and papyrus, and the dusty undertone always made his nose tingle. Whenever he grew weary of reading, he would spend time contemplating the leather bindings, tracing embossings with his small fingers, staring at the marbled endpapers until he’d get dizzy.

It was a safe haven, away from the confusing demands of the world outside.

Inside the library no one made fun of his naivety. No one scolded him for being rude when he didn’t mean to be. No one ridiculed him for not being able to stay still. No one told him it was bad to show emotions. No one stared at the ugly bruise that lingered on his forehead, a mark from the time when, overwhelmed with frustration, he had banged his head against a wall. No one showed impatience at his silence, and no one sneered when he couldn’t stop talking about a treasured topic.

The books, even though full of power and magic, felt safe.

Xan of the Greycloaks encouraged those studies. A rather consummate pessimist, he would have, for once, been somewhat proud if his son had become a wizard like him. Perhaps he was trying to spare the boy at least some of existence’s misery; and perhaps he honestly didn’t realise his child had at some point decided all attempts at connecting with others were simply ill-fated and thus not worth the effort. 

It was certainly a blow when his son – for some unfathomable reason – chose a warlock’s vocation instead, but at least the father could find solace in the familiar, unmarred sense of impending doom.

The boy was an adult now and even though every day he feigned indifference, deep inside he hadn’t changed – deep inside, he still longed.

“I’ve always just wanted someone to be there,” Yae whispered into the darkness. Another picture sprouted in his mind: an adolescent version of himself, scared and wounded after a magical accident, reaching out to an eldritch entity precisely for this reason.

Astarion went quiet, letting the words sink in. 

Friends.

He smiled, remembering the shy kiss the other evening, on the bank of the River Chionthar.

Fine. He wasn’t going to argue about labels. He sat up.

“Alright. I’m going to get my bedroll.”

“What? Why would you–?”

“Because we’re doing a friendly sleepover. What did you think, you naughty boy?”

“I didn’t–!”

The vampire’s laughter rang in the air. The darkvision made the tent’s interior dull and grey, but he could imagine the lovely shade of rosy pink colouring Yae’s face. 

“Easy, darling. Should I also get that terrible owlbear plush?”

“Hey, the owlbear is cute!” Yae protested, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice now. Good.

“You must really be unwell. This is the first time I’ve heard you use the word ’cute’ willingly. Anyway, I’ll get a blanket, too. We’ll throw it over the tent to block off more light and sounds.”

“You’re going to smother me.”

“Possibly. If you’re into it.”

“What–? Argh, stop teasing me!”

“I’ll be back in a few!” Astarion left the tent before Yae could complain more.

As they were falling asleep, their fingers – deathly pale and light pink – hooked loosely, resembling the interlocking bands of Yae’s ring. Astarion wondered if things could really last, or if he’d simply stolen another moment of comfort. 

Or maybe those moments weren’t stolen at all. Maybe they were given freely.

Epilogue

A cry of anguish filled the blood-reeking air.

Yae slowly collapsed onto his knees. He didn’t touch Astarion, not knowing if the vampire wished for physical contact. Instead, he simply was there – a quiet, supporting presence. Astarion shuddered and sobbed; Yae felt his heart clench painfully.

“What do you need right now?”

“I don’t know. Let’s leave this cursed place.”

Later that evening, Yae browsed through his belongings. The jar was there, stuffed safely between layers of clothing. He plucked the little parasite out and held it at the eye-level. 

The small thing wriggled, begging for company. It just wanted someone to be there. 

Yae’s face twisted with sadness and guilt.

Emperor? Can you hear me? He took a deep breath. Please don’t be mad. If I don’t do it, the temptation will always be there. 

Swiftly, before doubt could wash his resolve away, the half-elf dropped the tiny creature to the ground and squashed it with his boot. It was yucky, like stepping on a slug. He winced at the sensation.

The loneliness was no more. 

With that, Yae went to find Astarion and see if there was anything he could offer his dearest, dearest friend.

I have a bad habit of mentally overstimulating myself with emotional experiences through fiction so I am trying to chill out a bit in the aftermath of my first bg3 playthrough. It was suggested I try the Baldur's Village mod, and I finally figured out how to make it work!!! I haven't played sdv in a while, so it's nice to start a new save anyway. this mod is making me smile so much already — I love it. So far we've got:

I hate to break it to you, Lewis, but none of them are law-abiding and only Wyll and Gale pay taxes.

Fine art.

The best boy in the realms!!!

Rolan with his 57 precepts

My portraits are bugged lol (or this group is just full of weirdos)

I FOUND HIM the man finally left his room.

This is my reading posture, too.

He just took like thirty sips in a row. Is he okay?

Astarion, were... were you eating a bowl of blood like it's tomato soup?

Astarion wants an eel? I will get him an eel. I caught it through sheer force of will.

The eel appeased him.

This mod makes me very happy. I'm trying not to do the very thing I was avoiding in downloading this mod by speedrunning it obsessively. Calm down. Plant a cauliflower. Process your first bg3 playthrough in peace and stop feeling like you need to do everything at once.

No longer using the idiom "elephant in the room". From now on it's "let's address the exsanguinated boar in the room"

Me while writing: oh hell yes this is such a good sentence I'm the master of poetic imagery

The writing when I go back to edit:

Sometimes I see people say that using persusion on Astarion to talk him out of ascension is a bad thing. Like it's mind control, but honestly, 15 is not a hard DC, that is a task of moderate difficulty. It is harder to get Wyll to smooch you at the party, or to get Shadowheart not to mercy kill her parents then to convince Astarion that mass slaughter is a bad idea and he doesn't need to do this.

Also, it's literally just talking. It's just being convincing, all the skill is is assigning a number value to how well Tav can articulate a point.

If Larian wanted it to be a difficult they would have given it a Dc 20, and if Larian wanted it to be mind control it would have been illithid wisdom.

Back to the issue of Astarion's charisma after doing his personal quest:

One thing that caught my attention is the double standards the inhabitants of Cazador's Mansion display. As soon as the party arrives there, we learn of the cultist pseudo-hierarchy that seemed to be at play. Spawns other than the chosen seven call Astarion Master. But also, there's Master-Master who is not named because it's obvious in the context, and because he elicits such dread. But as soon as Astarion speaks against Cazador, people call him blasphemous or weak or ignorant.

Then we need to get to the kennel master, and Astarion confronts him about the endured torture. The skeleton says some interesting things:

Then, you go into battle with Cazador. The game gives you an option to detach Astarion from the party, and then Cazador pouts that Astarion won't even see him, and the fight is a little easier because he can't drag Astarion into the ritual circle. But according to the "happy path" that is intended as default (as we always see Astarion half-naked just like the other six spawns in the cutscene after the battle), Astarion confronts Cazador, and Cazador berates him callously before assuming direct control.

Both Godey and Cazador infantilize Astarion, portraying him as a brat, "always difficult" and petulant. Cazador weaponizes the fact that he was turned as a very young person, denying Astarion the right to mature, whatever Cazador might consider maturation by vampire standards.

This paints a picture where Astarion was cheeky in his servitude after all, which might be considered bravely stupid, but it's still telling of a certain resilience on his part being constantly tested. He "sang sweetly" to his torturer because, apparently, he kept his voice. And something about Cazador trying to mock that pattern, Astarion being loud and chatty and driven to win people over, gets an abrupt reaction that makes me think Astarion has been baited and triggered in this exact way many times before. This trait was possibly the thing that set him apart from others and gave him his unique "purpose" as a spawn.

The narrative thus indicates that he has always been a hilariously annoying chatterbox, but being called out for it by Cazador seems to wound him deeper than other quips. So here, the narrative seems to win over game mechanics in terms of telling us how good Astarion is at influencing people.

So perhaps this is a remnant of the person Astarion was before the turning, part of the reason he was picked to become Cazador's victim. Perhaps that kind of coping through humor, sarcasm and people pleasing was the core of his youthful self-image, even.

(I think citing the alleged inevitable corruption of the character after being turned into a spawn would be counterproductive at this point, and it's more plausible to consider any corruption to be a result of living in an an abusive structure).

When searching Cazador's dungeon we find proof of his keen interest in Sarevok and in the contemporary politics of Baldur's Gate. In one of the writings, he expressed concern about Gortash's Steel Watchers harming his spawns. Allegedly, he was supposed to play a greater role in the interplay between the city's factions. A question arises then, why would he tell Astarion that he amounted to nothing? Is it another offense to Astarion dying before he could be considered accomplished by social standards, or is it something else?

Could Astarion really have already been entangled with Cazador in his career as a magistrate, after all?

(I need content where we can explore his lifetime so bad, even if it means breaking into an empty ruin and finding a portrait, a handkerchief, a sheet of cheesy poems, anything)

What is your take on Astarion's relationship with his siblings?

I have put unreasonable amounts of time into thinking about what the dynamics were like during Cazador's reign in that house. I mean, imagine sharing the same tasks, bedrooms, and general experiences of abuse and duress with the same people FOR TWO HUNDRED YEARS. That's absolute madness. If any of you have had experiences with co-living with family under stress for any extensive amount of time, you know very well the levels of emotional 4D chess-ing that tend to take place as a result. You end up distributing so much frustration and anger around and often onto the very same people you will ultimately seek comfort from - this is that situation but blown up to impossible proportions.

So, "strained" doesn't really do justice as a descriptor here. I believe the family had a dynamic, ever-evolving hierarchy within itself, years-worthy of time where the spawn shifted alliances and made "cliques" within themselves - rebels would evolve into pushovers and trusted friends would turn into snitches. You had endless amounts of drama within the group and flies on the walls would witness them cut each other's heads off one day and sob into one another's laps the next.

Naturally I think all of them were resistant to the concept of being a "family" at first, but it's pretty much impossible to not develop family-like ties throughout that long of a period. Following Cazador's death, I believe there would be further splintering within as some want to maintain said ties and others are eager to cut them - seeing both their siblings and the relationships themselves as yet another painful reminder of what Cazador imposed upon them.

I think Astarion falls into the latter category. If he had his way, he would never see, speak, or think of his brothers and sisters again. And while the sibling nomenclature is a deeply-rooted habit, he doesn't think it holds any legitimacy whatsoever (whether or not that's the case in his heart is another matter).

Dalyria (the moon-elf physician, whom I have come up with a story, personality, background and motivations during several long showers that might not necessarily line up with yours, so, if anything of what I'm about to say seems pulled out of a hat, it's because it was) is the opposite. She has grown attached to the constant presence of her siblings and taken a mother-goose role upon herself. With the Exception of Leonard and Violet (more on that later) she has decided they are her responsibility and wishes the group would stick together.

I like to think that there's a lot of history between those two in particular. Obviously, the interactions between Astarion and his siblings are very brief, but It's enough to run with. Dalyria shows a lot of concern and understanding towards him and even pleads when he threatens Petras' life - again, I think she did a lot of trying to pragmatically keep the peace among them and genuinely grew attached to a few - Astarion being the main one of said few. You even get the smallest hint of a on-and-off intimate relationship with the way he derisively calls her by her nickname.

Also, Astarion very occasionally showcases enough emotional maturity that I could see him latching onto the one other person around who seems to have her wits about her, but he's still flawed enough that Dalyria can think of him as a younger sibling that needs her care. Not to mention that, to me, she demonstrates a penchant for moral superiority and a dash of a machiavellian outlook, based on her diary and her completely unapologetic initiative to kill a child on the small chance it would lead her to a cure - not any child either, but Leonard's child. I can totally see Astarion sympathizing and gravitating towards someone like that.

Which brings us to the rest of the siblings - I would wager that, at least by the end of it all, Leonard and Violet were the odd-ones out. As it tends to happen within any tight-knit group, when one succeeds by stepping over the others (even if the reasons for it are justifiable) that brews a lot of resentment and eventual exclusion. Leonard not only did that, but he apparently still held onto hope of future and family outside the Szarr house; wheter or not everybody wanted out, I think a us-versus-them mentality is unavoidable under those circumstances, and Leonard was looked down upon by the others in their respective ways for what he was trying to do.

Violet just seems like she had gone a little cuckoo to me. We get very little about her, but when I think of an adult woman playing childish pranks on her roomates while you are all stuck in what's essentially a human trafficking ring... I think of a person who's either just a very silly breed of evil or who has lost touch with reality, and the latter is more interesting, imo. I think no one liked her, not only because she was a nuisance but also because she became completely emotionally untouchable. I think both Violet and Leonard are spawn who did not survive long after they were all freed.

I'll stop here before I ramble on for another 8 paragraphs about Aurelia, Yousen and Petras (Oh Petras, my beloved), but, yes, suffice to say that I believe it was kind of complicated LOL

EDIT: Not me calling Leon "Leonard" this whole post. Sorry buddy, you look like a Leonard.

Now that I've emotionally processed my first playthrough (maybe), I started another as Dark Urge (basically just my last Tav, but now with concerning memory loss and a thirst for blood that sickens her). Romancing Astarion again, to nobody's surprise. I've heard that the dynamic between him and Durge is something really special and reveals a lot about him as a character, and I want to see it for myself. I am ready to lose my mind all over again. Expect to see more Astarion analysis in the future.

More artists should really draw their favorite ships in the Disco Elysium jackets. It's character analysis to say which character would wear which jacket.

As an autistic person in the US, it makes me sick that people who are supposed to be leading this country feel comfortable saying and doing the things they do. It's scary and revolting and grossly anti-science and anti-humanity. There should be absolutely no place in this country (or world) for that. People should never have to defend their existence and validity. I'm so tired of this garbage but we need to show up for one another.

I don't live in the US, but I wanted to express solidarity and support to all autistic people who do.

Paying taxes or playing baseball have never been the measure of humanity. All autistic people, regardless of what they can or cannot do, regardless of the level of their need for support, deserve respect.

Also if you're protesting today, please please stay safe.

“What if I write it and it’s bad-”

WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS GOOD? WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANTED? WHAT THEN????

Vessel really is trying to be a Hollow Knight bug and I love that for him

I signed up for an ao3 invite to incentivize myself to not be afraid in continuing my fanfic-writing journey. Maybe some of my writing will see the light of day after all, or maybe I'll just post snippets on here. I'm mostly writing for myself but it would be really cool if someone else read it but I'm also terrified of that. I've convinced myself that every other person on the planet is a better writer than me and I will be pelted with tomatoes if I ever post my own work. Currently trying to un-convince myself of that.

Etriel Analelle Ancunin and the young Astarion Ancunin

my ko-fi

I abuse my power in photo mode to make them have a picnic.

I don't claim to know how studios or developers work, but it really is disappointing to see how obviously Wyll always gets the short end of the stick. I didn't know about those changes in earlier patches for other characters, but the Astarion one really bugs me if that's true. I loved Wyll from the beginning of my first playthrough, but even without knowing the meta stuff going on with his content having to be cut/rewritten, it did feel like he was not getting as much attention as other characters and that was sad to see.

With Wyll being the only Black character in the main cast, it's absolutely worth talking about that he just so happens to also be the one neglected the most. There are lots of people more qualified than me to talk about this (and who have been talking about this, for a while, and providing some very important criticisms) but it rubs me the wrong way to see people completely dismissing the possibility of racism entirely just because they love the game. You can love the game and the artists behind it, while also being critical and calling things out. I love the game, but the entire situation with Wyll does bother me and it's worth talking about. I really love Wyll as a character and wish people gave him more love, even if Larian doesn't.

Also Theo Solomon did a fantastic job with the character, and I loved him in the D&D live session. I'd love to see him do more projects!

As patch 8 is going to be released, we are going to see new features and changes.

The declaration of an end of an era.

But Larian Studios still won’t give Wyll any content.

Larian knows people want Wyll to have more content they have seen comments from them but they’re actively ignoring them while liking people’s demands of having a Gortash romance.

Before anyone says “complaining won’t do anything”, it does anything.

For examples:

• Ascended!Astarion fans complaining about their Tav being afraid when Astarion kisses them. Larian changed Ascended!Astarion’s kiss to have Tav smiling after being treated like they were nothing.

Basically Larian threw out the whole entire point that Astarion is continuing the cycle of abuse that Cazador placed him through. Because they wanted to placate the Ascended!Astarion fans.

• Fans complaining about how Lae’zel is “too mean” when you first meet her after escaping the ship. Larian changed that to have her a bit nicer.

If there’s more let me know.

Larian has shown time and time again how little they care about Wyll and his story, heck! He’s the most integral piece of the story since he’s literally the son of Uldr Ravenguard, the grand Duke of Baldur’s Gate, but they don’t bother to give him content or fix the bugs that he has.

They don’t even bother to give Wyll a page that talks about him only without putting Mizora in it. Just put his enslaver with him instead of giving him his own page.

Larian can do better and they should be actively better but they chose not to do better since they would rather listen to other fans instead of Wyll fans that want him to have more content.

I honestly feel bad for Theo Solomon, Wyll’s VA, for getting the short hand of not getting anymore voice lines or content for Wyll, because Larian gave up on Wyll. He does an amazing job as Wyll and he’s entirely a sweet guy.

“wyll deserves a prince(ss) to dance with him” “wyll deserves a villain so they can have an enemies to lovers story”

WRONG. wyll deserves another hero that is trying to out-knight in shining armor him. he deserves someone that will bow to him and kiss his knuckles. he deserves someone that sweeps him off his feet, brings him flowers, whispers sweet nothings to his ear. I need this man to SIT DOWN and let himself be the one being pampered for once

Oh sorry, I forgot

5. Insufferable bastard

I’ve been trying to get some good dialogue scene screenshots of Astarion, and my field research suggests that he has these modes only: 

Literal model

"Depraved carnal lust"

Sad cat

Actual gremlin

I’ve been trying to get some good dialogue scene screenshots of Astarion, and my field research suggests that he has these modes only: 

Literal model

"Depraved carnal lust"

Sad cat

Actual gremlin

The patch 8 animation was just trolling the Astarion fans I swear. Deliberately pronouncing his name "wrong" in the song because people keep arguing about it even though there really shouldn't be an argument. His characterization really felt to me like it's poking fun at how fanon so often turns him into a caricature of himself. Plus all the little easter eggs referencing popular fanart, edits, and other quirks of the fandom. They knew what they were doing and it's so funny. The stupid song is still stuck in my stupid head.

I think that romancing Astarion should break your oath if you play as OotA paladin, purely because it would be really funny if the Oathbreaker Knight jumpscared you in the middle of the act 1 intimacy scene

Sincere question to any other writers: what's some advice you have about not comparing yourself to other writers? I've kind of just written in my own bubble for most of my life and a lot of my work has never seen the light of day because I'm still in the phase of my journey where the idea of sharing my writing makes me incredibly anxious. Being on this site and seeing how many other people are writing such good stuff, especially in the same fandoms as me, makes that feeling worse. I guess I'm afraid of not being good enough, original enough, or creative enough to "keep up" with other people and make something worthwhile. And that makes me not want to write, and I hate that feeling. This is just something I really want to work on within myself, because it can be overwhelming, and is holding me back a lot.

okay wait I saw a comment on the patch 8 animation pointing out the knockoff Sleep Token poster in Astarion's room WHAT

people say it's a nod to all the Sleep Token edits he gets

I've already spent too much time messing around in photo mode. I'm not very good at it but here are some of my favorite shots of Astarion and my Tav (River) getting to just relax and have a wholesome time for once. It's making me want to write about them.

It's Astarion time.

After a lot of testing and a healthy dose of stress, the party are readying for one last adventure to mark the end of an era. But something feels different…