#Astarion is a little bitch

[feral-and-chaotic]

I was chatting to my friend about Baldur's Gate 3. And during the conversation we came to the horrific realization: That Magistrate!Astarion would had defo been a Tory/Conservative/Republican.

He was awful enough for the gur to snap and beat the shit out of him.

He without a doubt would jail a gnome for possession of drugs just because he didn't like them. Bonus points if he planted those drugs on them himself.

He's like if Ben Shapiro got beaten to death and then turned into a Sad Vampire Boi:

Do with this information as you will.

Additionally:

[box-dwelling]

I do love the duke Wyll trophy wife Astarion dynamic a lot but every time I play in that space I always wind up with this

[hijackalx]

i think what is really attractive to me about astarion’s character is that he balances his feminine/masculine traits so well.

like he can be pretty feminine with how he expresses himself (flamboyant, vain, showy) but he’s intrinsically masculine in a lot of aspects (his desires to pursue, protect, provide) and that was sooo surprising to me because usually it’s very black or white with that kind of thing— you typically get characters that are wholly masculine/feminine (or very heavily leaning on one side), not a mix of both (especially not in a man).

it just makes him feel much more alive and not so one-dimensional. it’s really a disservice to try to force him into a box by depicting him as only one or the other. let him be a silly little peacock man in peace

[mayhasopinions]

freaks /affectionate

[barfville]

stupiud fruit

[summoningspark]

so i may or may not have printed out the entirety of @anonymousalchemist's amazing fic like a bird, like a stone onto three Very Large pieces of paper.

you might be asking, why, fay? why did you print out an entire 53k fic for a video game you've never played? well you see, if you read it, you would understand.

[sketchyelvenasss]

Encore

[im-okay-mj]

I still haven’t gotten Karlach, I’m sorry 😭 I only just figured out how to get Halsin

[equallyguilty]

𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝖆𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖙𝖎𝖈 𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖇𝖔𝖆𝖗𝖉

[temperamentalaquarius]

The urge to write a 7 and 1/2 page essay on why engaging with the text and not just grabbing easy fanon traits for characters is important to both identifying our personal biases and strengthening our media literacy, and why it will actually make doing things like drawing fan art and writing fanfic way more fun is so strong but like. It's 100 fucking degrees out and I'm not getting paid for this.

[darkjusticiar]

Love the idea of astarion doing nice things for wyll. I think once the reality sets in that romance is encouraged and reciprocated and they can both get a little silly with it astarion is like. No please let me help you fasten your cloak before we leave. Is that puddle bothering you grand duke ravengard? I'll lay my coat over it so you don't have to get your shoes wet. And it's partially because he just wants to do right by him but partially because the theatrics are fun to play around with. I feel like they play around a lot. Wyll needs to get swept off his feet and have his own wellbeing be prioritized by the people in his life. And he'd love the pagaentry of it, how could he dare say no to gestures of kindness out of selflessness when objectively the idea of Astarion helping him take his armor off after a tough battle and slowly dabbing away at his wounds seems to be right out of a fairytale. It's so sweet wyll gets a toothache thinking about it. Yeah

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

furious, feral, protective astarion grabbing tav by the waist and kissing her til she's lightheaded right in front of raphael because he fucking can

[box-dwelling]

Sometimes a ship post is just a vent post but hear me out:

Astarion thinking he's being manipulative when he isn't.

Like hes really genuinely upset about something that is of like minor inconvenience to Wyll. Blood drinking is a great example.

He's absolutely starving but he doesn't want to admit it and A) admit weakness or B) risk being viewed as too dangerous to have around because he's hungry. So he's just suffering in silence for a while until some how wyll notices what's up, gets him to admit he's hungry and then immediately offers to let him feed. Just because of basic and kindness it doesn't even have to be at the love stage yet, though this would absolutely probably persist past it.

But in his brain he just can't comprehend someone actually showing him compassion or kindness? Even wyll? So even though he did absolutely nothing manipulative just admitted to his needs he convinces himself that he is just such a master of manipulation he doesn't even have to try.

[bastards-gate-3]

behold my favorite doodle of astarion ive done

[majortomboy]

Me: What do you mean, I have a type?

Also me:

[brewstersbru]

Uh oh I'm writing again... have some wyllstarion

Wyll likes to act like the most straightforward guy in the party- and perhaps, with what strange characters have coalesced here, he may very well be. Although, Astarion thinks to himself, pots and kettles are still black, at the end of the day- no matter what they call themselves or each other.

The vampire is not usually one to dwell on others for too long, simply because he has more than enough to worry about on his own. But something about Wyll, his righteous façade, his dedication to remaining insufferably well-meaning, even in the face of becoming an actual, literal, devil from the hells. It’s off-putting. Not quite right. Something about Wyll is just not quite right.  

He becomes transfixed- gaze unwittingly wandering to the warlock whenever he’s been idle for too long. Gale notices, but he thinks it’s because Astarion has a crush on Wyll, and is too stubborn to admit it. Sometimes he’ll try to engineer a way for the two of them to be alone together, steering Tav further ahead into a crypt, or pretending to be asleep when they’re all huddled around the fire. Astarion is too embarrassed at being caught staring to properly threaten the wizard for even thinking such a thing.

His fixation is not amorous. It’s curious. What in the world could such a seemingly candid, straightforward fellow have to hide? The things that drift to mind are equal parts terrifying and hilarious. Perhaps he’s secretly some twisted murderer- although, it’s not like Astarion’s not one of those- or perhaps he has a tragic, uncomfortable rash somewhere inconvenient. That would be funny. Astarion wonders if his new devilish-ness has come with any awkward skin conditions. Horns simply cannot be comfortable on a head so used to not having them.

He’s getting into the weeds now- the point is, Wyll is strange. And Astarion has absolutely no idea how to deal with him. A fact that has become increasingly apparent, as the man- currently sweating bullets in the middle of a watership they’d commandeered- falters and stumbles over his words for the first time since they’ve known each other.

The others are tending their wounds, and those of the other prisoners they’d managed to free in the short time they’d been in Gortash’s underwater prison. Shadowheart stands over a beaten Omeluum and rests a glowing hand gently against his forehead. Halsin is kneeled on the floor of the ship, inspecting injuries and distributing salve and bandages to the Gondians gathered around him.

Wyll is staring at his father’s furrowed brow, mouth choking around pleasantries. Astarion tilts his head at the display, considering. He and Wyll aren’t that close, but the other man had insisted that they save his father. Had begged Tav to let him go; went against Mizora, knowing full-well what she is capable of.  And all he can choke out, when they finally reunite, is a short, stunted hello?

Then, he catches a glimpse of the Duke’s face. The disgust is so apparent that Astarion almost recoils with the force of it. Perhaps that’s why Wyll is struggling so much.

He tarries for a moment, two, but cannot stay idle when the gruff older man opens his mouth to respond. There’s no doubt in Astarion’s mind that whatever is about to come out of his mouth will break Wyll’s heart, and for some godsforsaken reason, he doesn’t want to let that happen.

“A Grand Duke! My my, Wyll, who knew you had such lofty connections?” Astarion sidles up next to his friend, sliding a cool hand up his back to grasp at his shoulder in steady reassurance. His body moves of its own accord, without his permission, but he cannot find it within himself to regret the action when Wyll’s shoulders relax just so underneath his hand, when his brow smooths.

“Ah, well. It’s been a while.” His smile is a rueful, broken thing hanging off of its hinges. The laugh that follows creaks hollowly. Astarion cannot stand the sight of it. He turns his sharpened gaze to the Duke, smiles wide so as to showcase his sharp, pearly fangs.

“Oh, that’s too bad, my dear. That your father has not had the chance to know what a devilishly good fellow you’ve grown into.” The Duke coughs at the word ‘devilishly’ but that’s why Astarion had used it. Good. Be uncomfortable. He laughs something mirthless and sharp before continuing, “No matter. You did just save him, now you’ve got all the time in the world to catch up.”

Wyll looks at him for a moment, eyes clouded, calculating. He huffs a ghost of a laugh but shakes his head. “I appreciate your optimism, my friend, but perhaps-“

The Duke’s forceful, indignant interruption drowns out the rest of whatever he was about to say, “First you cleave my heart in twain, and now you shatter it to pieces! My son, a monster, twisted almost beyond recognition.” He stares at Wyll as if he was no better than the dirt beneath his feet, then scoffs to the side. “To think… my blood flows through those veins.” The words are forced past his lips, almost as if he’s about to be sick.

Astarion sneers at the display. Wyll only shakes his head, dispassionately at his feet.

“It’s not what you think, it never was.” His voice is small, but firm. Astarion’s long-dead heart aches in his chest. Who could possibly deny that, deny him? The Duke snarls his response, “It is exactly what I think.”

And that’s quite enough, Astarion decides. He doesn’t know where all of this animalistic protectiveness is coming from, but it’s as if a beast has been awakened inside of him, sitting on its haunches, ready to pounce at any moment. Wyll’s expression has only sunken further into despair, his eyes duller than they’ve ever been. It’s unnatural, to watch as the usual spark of life within them flickers out into a deep, yawning pain.

“I’m beginning to think we should have let you drown, Duke,” He spits the word like it’s a curse, “if this is how you’re going to treat your savior. He’s risked his life, his godsdamned soul to save yours. The least you could do is show a little fucking gratitude.” Astarion’s teeth are gritted as he speaks, his voice low and grating in ways it’s only been in the midst of battle. Wyll is looking at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. He’s frowning, but his eyes are shining again so Astarion takes it as a success.

Before anything else can be said, both Wyll and his father groan and hunch over themselves. Astarion’s own tadpole twitches at the psychic disturbance. They’re sharing memories. It’s but a few moments later that they’re shaking themselves out of it, Astarion clutches tightly at Wyll’s waist, supporting his weight as he recovers. It doesn’t hurt that he’s so warm, and fit, either.

Silence reigns for a moment, two, three as the Duke parses through whatever’s Wyll’s just chosen to show him. Astarion’s thumb moves of its own accord against the sharp jut of Wyll’s hipbone through his robe. The other man relaxes minutely, and as much as Astarion is loathe to admit it, his body knows what it’s doing better than his mind does, right now. Because his mind has not really stopped repeating whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckareyoudoingidiot for the past half hour.  

The Duke nods, after a minute or so. “I… I apologize, my son. You have suffered much for your people.”

Wyll nods, his voice is just slightly wet as he speaks, “Everything I did, I did for Baldur’s Gate. I did for you.” His voice breaks on the last word, and Astarion’s heart with it. He pulls Wyll tighter against him before releasing his grip. The Duke’s eyes shine, a little bit like Wyll’s always seem to. Astarion is beginning to see the resemblance.

“You sold your soul to save Baldur’s Gate- and I cast you out for it. You gave yourself to the hells eternal fires so I might walk free. By the gods! Can you ever forgive me?” He seems close to tears himself. Good. Astarion thinks, and only feels a little bad about it when Wyll responds in kind.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Astarion disagrees but remains quiet, they’re having a moment. “You only wanted to protect the city, and I only ever wanted the same.” Wyll is a much better man than Astarion could ever hope to be, he would have said ‘I told you so’ and spit at his feet. Perhaps that’s why Wyll is the Blade of Frontiers and Astarion is not. The Duke seems to concur.

“You are a better man than I. A better son than I deserve.” A few seconds pass as the two take a moment to look at each other, for all that they are, and all that they wish they were, before drawing in and crushing together into a violent, giddy hug. Astarion sighs to himself, contented.

Both of them are crying and Astarion pretends like he doesn’t notice. He makes to walk away after a bit, but before he can make it very far the Duke is calling him back. “Wait, vampire!” Oh hells. Not this again. If the fucking Bitch-Duke tries to stake him after he’d just helped save his ass, he’s going to be quite cross. And Wyll just might have to reconcile with not having a father. Oh, who is he kidding. He’d die before being the reason the other man’s eyes were dulled. Still, it’d be extremely inconvenient.

Astarion sighs, but turns on his heel. “What could you possibly need from me, your Duke-ness. I thought you and doe-eyes here were having father-son bonding time?” Wyll recoils a bit at the description, as if no one’s told him how large and shiny his eyes are. Pity, that.

The Duke looks at him like he’s an especially tricky puzzle. Good. He likes being difficult.

“I wanted to thank you. For setting me straight.” Astarion sighs and inspects his nails, trying not to let the thanks sink in. They always feel strange and hot in his gut. Bubbly and uncomfortable.

“Well, someone had to and little miss martyr here wasn’t going to do it.” Wyll smiles and offers a similar thanks. Striding forward and pulling Astarion into a gentle embrace.

“Thank you, Astarion. You truly are a gift.” He whispers the words, low and sincere into his ear as he clasps a warm hand tenderly across the back of his neck. Astarion hates and loves it. He’s so fucking glad to be dead and hungry right now, because there’s not enough blood to show the warmth blossoming across his cheeks and onto the tips of his ears. He coughs.

“Yes, well, aren’t I always. I’ll leave you two to it!” And with that, he scurries away. Perhaps more confused and intrigued than ever, but understanding more about Wyll than he ever has.

What a strange, strange man. But gods, he is cute.