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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 1 year ago

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Past Astarion Meets His Future

This is a weird ass idea, but I'm doing it anyway. Some time travel fuckery. But the gist is: What if Astarion, decades before the Mind-flayers captured him, was on his last leg? Just on the verge of doing, what was at the time, his only way out. But what if something a little unworldly stopped him?

TW: Suicidal thoughts. M/F, me phoning it in with the dnd lore, Cazador is evil. Like, torture, physically and mentally, manipulation, literal horror shit. He's here so bad things happen to randos and our poor guy. I'm also using this as the backstory again for why Astarion can be in the sun in the future because it's so god damned convenient for drabbles.

Astarion watched the crowded bar with focused eyes, a feigned, relaxed smirk on his lips. But even with the acting, he could feel the smile on his face start to tremble, a tell-tale sign that he was truly on his last leg. It had been a long, horrible night, one that had no end in sight. Cazador was in rare form, demanding multiple warm bodies in the span of less than five hours. Astarion wasn't sure what had angered him this time, but he was taking it on the victims in a particularly savage way.

Twice already he had forced Astarion to stay in the room with the poor souls he'd brought back. And then Cazador... made him watch what he did to them. The monster truly had a knack for keeping them alive until the last possible moment. Beating them, assaulting them, laughing at their cries for help. He drank from them last, feasting on their blood until they were just on the edge of death before tossing to them ground. Then Astarion was dismissed with the order to find another.

He hated it. It was the worst part of his nights by far, not including when he was the one being tortured in their place. It didn't help that he always looked at their faces, full of terror and betrayal.

Why did he always have to look? It was a question he knew the answer to. It was because he did that to them. Perhaps not literally, but what was the difference? Astarion had led them straight into his hands.

That was all he did. His entire existence had been reduced to this. A slave, a rat, scuttling through the streets, only capable of inflicting the same torment on strangers. It was a hell that no one should experience, and one that Astarion had been in for nearly 130 years.

How could he continue like this? What was the point? He'd spent so long living on pure survival instinct, waiting for the impossible day where luck would be on his side. Where Cazador would kill the wrong stranger, where the possibility of his murder could become a reality. It was delusional, a poor excuse to continue clinging to this farce of a life.

But there was another option. There always had been. All he needs to do is wander off and wait for the sun to rise, and everything could finally be over. It's far from the first time he's thought about it. But Astarion is nothing but a coward. He'd seen the pure pain and misery of a death of that nature, your insides boiling from within as your skin turned to dust. It was horrifying, one of the worst ways someone could go. And yet... it was starting to seem like the only reasonable option he had left.

Maybe... maybe today would be the day, the first time he'd seen the sun in decades. And the last time he'd ever take a breath.

"Are you alone?" A voice asked, followed by a gentle touch to his arm.

Astarion turned, that same shallow smile instantly reappearing on his face. It was a man, one that was handsome enough for Astarion to probably not feel completely sick during the deed. Then again... he could always ignore them and go back to his final plan.

Or he could wait it out one more day, and pray for a miracle. Astarion nodded towards him, still slightly torn but willing to at least try. It's not like he could go home empty handed if things turned out that way.

"Come to my room?"

Well this was certainly easy. Astarion didn't even have to take the energy to bite out a subpar pick up line. He just followed the man to his room, a plan forming in his head on how he could convince him back to the manor. Not to mention his own escape if he turned out to have less than savory intentions.

The stranger shut the door behind him, sitting on the side of his bed with his hands folded in his lap, his eyes staring straight ahead. Astarion barely stopped himself from rolling his own. Great. A weirdo. What a lovely way to end the night, spending it seducing a complete freak. But Astarion had dealt with worse. He perched next to him, crossing his legs as he waited to see where this would go.

"I can see it," He finally said, his voice gravelly as he turned to stare at Astarion.

Astarion raised his brow, wondering for the first time if this particular prey had been partaking in some mind altering substances, "And what exactly are you seeing?"

"You."

Suddenly, the man was wrapping a tight hand around Astarion's wrist, his eyes shining with an unnatural green light, "You're close to the edge. Too close. My lord needs you breathing."

Astarion froze, equally parts horrified and confused at what he was alluding to. How on earth did he know his thoughts? What lord? Or the more likely reality; How wasted could one person be?

Astarion tried to pull back, frowning when he realized the grip on his wrist was iron-clad. He could feel a bit of panic start to swell inside him as he struggled, his voice rising, "I have no idea what you're talking about. Let go of me-"

"You must live," He said, the color of his eyes only getting brighter and brighter, near twin flames in the darkness of the room, "There is no other way. Kelemvor has work for you yet."

His confusion was quickly evaporating into rage. He didn't know what this thing wanted from him, nor why the god of death would have any interest in his life. But how dare he insist on Astarion's pathetic existence having meaning. He knew nothing.

His mask was slipping, his righteous anger spilling forth, "Let go. Before I rip your fucking arm off."

But he made no moves to back down. Instead he started to chant, an incantation that had Astarion officially panicking. Whatever magic he was using, it was powerful. Reality was shifting right beneath Astarion's feet, morphing into something different. The next thing he knew they were somewhere else entirely, his reality melting into something new right before his eyes.

The entire thing was so shocking that Astarion didn't even realize he was seeing sunlight. Without a single pain. He frantically looked around, the insane stranger's grip finally loosening as he twisted away. They were on a couch, in the middle of what looked like a brightly lit townhouse, voices spilling out of the other room.

Astarion stood quickly, a hiss escaping him, "Where in the hells are we?"

"Nowhere," The man said cryptically, his eyes still aflame, "Neither the present of the future. We are in nothing but a glimpse, taken and made for you."

That did nothing to answer his question. But it did make his mind go into more reasonable directions. This had to be an illusion, there was no other explanation for why he wasn't being burned alive. But an illusion of what? And for what purpose?

Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose, at a complete loss at what to do. He could try and kill him and pray that that would break the spell. But there was also the chance that he wouldn't live through an altercation with someone who could warp his senses so easily. Or perhaps this whole thing was a nightmare, a horrifying dream he'd cooked up after a night in the torture chamber.

Still at a loss, he settled on asking another question, "Then what is this a glimpse of?"

"Home," The man said simply before slipping off the couch. The cryptic bastard.

He started walking towards the next room towards the unknown voices; Astarion feeling helpless but to follow.

He lingered at the entryway, his eyes widening at the sight of a woman standing there, cooing at a teary-eyed child she had on her hip. They were right in her line of sight, but she had no reaction to their presence, instead calling out into the other room, "Did you find it yet?"

Another voice called back, oddly familiar as it groaned, "If I had, would I still be on my hands and knees here?"

Astarion stepped forward, more than ready to see if he could enlist the help of strangers for his predicament.

"They can not perceive us," The stranger said, interrupting the call for help that was on the tip of Astarion's tongue, "They are not real. Merely copies of what is, what will be."

"Lovely," Astarion growled out, his fingers itching to fight back against this demon of a man, "Now what in the gods' names does this have to do with me?"

"Watch and you will see," He said, his eyes blazing straight ahead, "The Lord of Death works in mysterious ways."

Astarion's theory of this being a torture-induced dream was becoming more and more believable. He didn't even bother questioning it, not when one more inane answer would send him into a tailspin. Instead he stared ahead, waiting for the moment he would wake up.

The baby was still squirming. Annoying whining sounds spilling from its lips, nearly on the edge of crying. But the woman still had a bright smile on her face, calling back "I told you we should have looked for it last night!"

"Well when she threw it across the room I assumed that meant it had fallen out of favor!" That same familiar voice yelled back, followed by an excited ah-ha! sound.

"Isabella's gonna have a fit, isn't she?" The woman sing-songed, bouncing the child on her hip, "I guess Mommy's going to have to let you start sucking on Daddy's hair again, huh?"

"I heard that!" The muffled voice called back, getting clearer and clearer by the moment. And then another man was walking into the room, grinning ear to ear as he held up a pacifier, "And I will not be forgetting it darling. Don't come crying to me the next time she's gnawing on your nose."

He leaned over to kiss the woman on the cheek before popping the pacifier in the girl's mouth, laughing when it instantly made her calm down. He was tall and pale, an elf with piercing red eyes and pure white hair.

No. It couldn't be-

"There. All better," The man sighed, his voice crystal clear in the calmness of the room, "She has quite the arm for a toddler."

It was a voice that Astarion knew, better than anyone else. It was his own.

Astarion watched, wide-eyed as his other self lifted the baby up in his arms, laughing as the child squealed around the pacifier, "She sure is cute for someone who can be such a brat. She takes after her mother doesn't she?"

The woman rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. Almost like she couldn't help but do anything else as she watched the duo, "Brave words for someone of your nature. Not to mention how she's your twin."

"Nonsense. She looks just like you, we should have named her Tav Jr," Other Astarion playfully argued, taking his other arm to wrap around the woman's shoulders, "I'm only responsible for the corpse-like complexion."

Astarion stared at them, in complete shock. He didn't-why would anyone or anything want to show him this? It didn't make sense. How would it be possible for him to be in the sunlight? Let alone to have a family. Astarion knew that this had to be a lie, there was no other explanation.

But that didn't stop his heart from aching from being forced to witness it. He was too shell-shocked to speak as he followed the duo to the other room, listening as his other self set the child in a crib, still cooing at her, "Auntie Karlach is coming over and you'll need your rest. How else will you be annoying together?"

"Astarion!"

He watched himself laugh as he pulled back, kissing her little forehead before murmuring, "Mommy only says my name like that when she has no comeback, isn't that right princess?"

"You're going to regret telling her everything when she can start talking," The woman, Tav, piped up from next to him, "I hope you realize she'll tell me all of your secrets."

Astarion rolled his eyes before pulling her against him, pressing a sweet and lingering kiss to her lips, "What secrets do I have that you don't know? Please, enlighten me."

What kind of cruel joke was this? Astarion, the real Astarion, had seen enough. He turned to the bastard that had sent him here, growling through gritted teeth, "Why are you doing this to me? Have I not suffered through enough?"

The man offered nothing of value, "We offer you what could be, if you can survive. No more, no less."

No. No, no, no. He wouldn't believe him. He refused to. There was no future for him. There couldn't be. I-It wasn't possible. Not with Cazador looming, not when he couldn't walk in the sun without being burned alive. And especially not when he couldn't even fathom letting himself care form someone enough to have a family with.

But that's what was in front of him. He turned back, his morbid curiosity getting the better of him. Just in time to see the couple standing there, holding each other while they made out like teenagers.

"I love you," His other self sighed happily, the words free and unbidden from his own lips between kisses, "More than anything my sweet."

"With one exception?" Tav asked, her arms wrapped around his neck.

Astarion laughed, nodding towards the crib with a knowing grin, "With one exception."

Astarion stared at them, a horrifying feeling starting to grow in his chest.

Hope.

It's the greatest betrayal he could give himself, an eternity's sentence to his own personal hell on the delusional belief that something better would come. He couldn't give in to it. He wouldn't.

But the question still escapes his lips, "How long?"

"Seventy years until you meet," The stranger said, "You must live to see it. Five more until you're here."

Astarion watched, wide-eyed as the alternate reality started to fade, the stranger's eyes becoming more dull and human-like by the moment. He stared until the last possible moment, trying to commit it all to memory.

But it was difficult. Like thoughts he couldn't quite grasp, slipping through his fingers. Something wasn't right.

"Will I remember this?" He asked, even though he was already on the edge of forgetting.

"No," The man said simply. They were back in the room, sitting on the bed as though nothing had happened, "But you'll remember the hope."

It was the equivalent of a curse, one that Astarion could barely fathom as magic twisted his memories. But he could feel it there, festering in his heart. The yearning for a new life, stronger than ever.

Astarion left Shar's Caress that night feeling dazed and confused. He barely managed to drag a wasted loner back to the manor with him, preying on him in the back aisles. It was startling to think that he'd almost forgotten his original mission considering the consequences. But whatever happened had... done something to him. Something that he couldn't quite name.

But he didn't see the sun that day. Or the next. Or the day after that. Instead he continued to struggle, to suffer at the hands of his sadistic sire with no end in sight. Not until years and years later, when the worst and best thing to ever happen to him occurred. He was kidnapped by mind flayers, but gifted with a disgusting parasite that allowed him to live in the sun.

It wasn't ideal but it was better than being under Cazador's thumb. Not to mention how he found companions relatively quickly. It had been pure luck that you stumbled upon him, even luckier still that you were the type to forgive a man for having a knife to your throat.

He was happy to accompany you. He was happy to do whatever it took to increase his chances of survival, frankly. It helped that he felt... strangely drawn to you. You looked oddly familiar. He didn't know how else to describe it, but it was almost as though he'd met someone from a past life.

#astarion #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #what kind of christmas carol fuckery is this?#I'm having a kids moment #but hey isn't writing where you can explore the things you don't know if you want or not yet #heavy leaning towards not because my ass isn't locking down an astarion man #time travel?#what is this #idk #practice writing dont judge me #queue

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solarpunkani · 2 years ago

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"Oh no, someone's attracted to the aesthetics of my -punk movement but doesn't know the praxis and history behind it like I do--"

OK. Tell them. Make it a teaching moment. Everyone who's in your movement learned the background from somewhere at some point, maybe this is that point for that person. Give them a jumping off point that they can dive into later.

"Oh but I shouldn't be responsible for teaching baby -punks about the history and the how-tos and--"

OK. Then don't tell them. You don't have to be responsible for teaching people with a budding interest in your group the ins and outs and how-tos. That's fair and valid! It can be a lot of work. Someone else will handle it

"But I'm annoyed that they would try to claim to be part of/be interested in my community without knowing all the details that I know after being in it for months/years/decades, they're dumb, they're posers, they're--"

OK. Then don't engage with them, if it's that bad. Maybe someone else will come around and tell them the history, maybe they'll pick it up on their own, maybe they'll just enjoy the fashion elements for awhile.

"But they shouldn't claim to be part of the -punk community if they don't know the--"

I feel like we have a few options here. People can either talk to them, share the history, share the values, share the praxis. Or they can just chase off anyone who even thinks about dipping a toe in their community, and then wonder why it's dying off later down the line.

I dunno, maybe I'm too naive and patient or whatever. But if people are entering your -punk spaces without knowing The Rundown of what you feel they need to know, maybe being nice about it and informing people instead of immediately assuming stupidity and malicious intent could help you make a new friend. Even the loudest voices in a space had to learn from somewhere, and not everyone has the luxury of being in the space as the History was Happening--whether it's an age thing or a not being aware of the space thing. Or maybe I just don't see what the big deal is behind people hating people who like the aesthetic of something and don't know the behind the scenes history about it yet.

Because I believe in the word 'yet.' No one comes into this world knowing everything about everything, and we're all constantly learning new things. I'm not gonna degrade someone and call them a poser for not knowing what I know. Because if it were me, interested in a scene but getting chased out and called a poser? I wouldn't hit the books and study up, I'd go 'that fuckin sucks, those people sucked' and then avoid anyone and anything having to do with it.

So chase people off and call them posers if you want. But if your community starts dwindling, don't be fucking shocked.

#out of queue #ani rambles #punks and posers #i cant even call this a 4am hot take because its 7pm but like #idk i keep seeing posts about like 'how DARE people think I bought my punk clothes how DARE they not know the how-tos and DIYs'#or 'ugh people only care about the ~aesthetics~ of my movement if you don't know shit get out of here' and like #maybe I'm just a shy ass introverted nerd whos scared of social rejection! but I avoid that shit like the plague #so if someone were to reject me based on not knowing about something I'd never even heard about? something i was JUST getting into?#there's a high chance I'd just scram and never look back. i don't wanna be the one who causes that emotion in someone else #granted this is coming from someone who STILL doesn't know how to make her own patches or worked up the courage to do direct action praxis #outside of offering neighbors to my tomatoes and trying to talk to people about what I'm passionate about #but still imo unless someone's a malicious intentional bad actor i dont see the point in scaring newbies off #thats how movements die imo #i know this is my solarpunk blog but its not a solarpunk specific thing #i think the main post that inspired this was about store-bought versus self-made spiked leather jackets #which honestly just feels petty to me but who knows.#might delete later

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