#this is from Astarion's POV

[skiitter]

Chapter Six.

Astarion, alone. Mistakes are remade, and cheap wine does little to soothe the sufferings of the heart.

[nat20composure]

Astarion and Agency- The Necessity of Discomfort to Self Discovery and the Infantilization of Victims

Minor Astarion discourse ahead that mentions the treatment of SA victims post-abuse:

I want to open this post up just with like. The statement that I don't think there is a correct way to enjoy media and that I LOVE to see individual head cannons and takes on characters in media. I think that is also, to a degree, an integral part of video games because of how unique the experience of playing a game will be to every person who plays it. But it has been making me feel so incredibly sad looking through fan content, art, or discourse for BG3 specifically because of how many people have taken the route of infantilizing Astarion.

I understand the instinct to shield or protect an individual that you love and care for. I also understand that because of the nature of the things that Astarion goes through, a lot of people also feel very deep emotional stakes in him. I'm one of the many fans of the character who is a victim of SA and CSA, I really do get it. That is also why for me personally it is so demoralizing to watch so many people treat him like he is a child who cannot make his own decisions or stand up for himself. Part of that frustration stems from it feeling like a media literacy issue, and the other part of that sense of defeat is just because it feels indicative of a broader attitude that people seem to hold towards victims of abuse, particularly those who are victims of SA.

To explain what I mean by people infantilizing him: I see so many people refuse to allow him the opportunity to be hurt, or to feel uncomfortable. They see this character who has been through an immensely horrible and traumatic experience, and their instinct is to try and shield him from anything else that has the potential to upset him. I get that the people who want that aren't doing it with malicious intent, but frankly it is not really...Helpful? To try and prevent victims from Experiencing Discomfort tm. I also think it kind of disregards the entire thesis of Astarion's character and arc.

When you go through something that robs you of your selfhood and agency, the world can become a crushingly terrifying place. In Astarion, that fear presents itself in a desperation for power, control, and at the core of both of these desires- Safety. One thing the game is clear about is that he has a right to kill his abuser. He has a right to escape his situation. A lot of Astarion's personal arc is centered around being able to finally do that. But the game doesn't just leave it off at getting him to safety. So much of it is also about him needing to take responsibility for himself and his actions, with needing to learn who he as a person is.

The inclusion of the Gur children and Sebastian as characters is a good example of ways in which the game gives Astarion the opportunity to take responsibility. I think that if the intention of the arc was meant to be that "Astarion should never ever have to deal with being afraid or uncomfortable again", then the Ascended arc wouldn't Come with such heavy moral ramifications, like sacrificing the other people just like him, killing the victims he lured in, literal child murder. The game infers that he doesn't deserve to die because of the things he Needed to do to survive, but it also makes it very clear that there is a difference between addressing an Active Threat and using your fear as an excuse to hurt others. Breaking that cycle of abuse when he finally gets the chance to is what separates Spawn Astarion from Cazador.

Taking responsibility for himself, and letting himself sit in the discomfort of vulnerability ultimately ends up being a thing that he is very proud of and cherishes. If you tell him you will make sure nothing like that ever again he himself says that he doesn't want you to be his protector. And so it blows my mind when people go into all of these discussions about Astarion with this...Weird moral high ground for never, ever making or letting him make choices that might hurt him?

I see this the most when it comes to discussions about the possible polyamorous relationship with Halsin and the interaction with the drow twins in the brothel. So many people are just...outright angry? At other people engaging with either of those options? And I feel like that anger is one) rooted in the projection of their Own feelings on non-monogamy and what a victim of SA can or cannot look like. and two) Relies on undermining the agency that Astarion BEGS you for at every turn.

When it comes to the drow twins, the game adapts Astarion's response to them based on where he is in his own personal development (a really cool thing imo). Obviously, if he still doesn't feel good or safe about engaging with sex he declines and says you can feel free, though he hopes you aren't just doing it because he hasn't had sex with you. I think this makes sense: He's just gotten out of a situation where his Safety and worth were directly tied to him having sex. I imagine he feels afraid that not wanting to have sex with you makes him replaceable or inadequate because at this point in the game, he feels like that's all he has to offer. The interaction is relatively the same if you ask him for a poly amorous relationship with Halsin: He just asks you to reassure him that you aren't only doing it because he hasn't had sex with you, and then tells you he isn't worried about it otherwise.

A lot of people have taken the expression of that insecurity in combination with him still allowing you to go forward and do these things as him just "sucking it up" because he's afraid of losing you. (I am aware Shadowheart says he wouldn't be able to handle it when you ask her if you can date both of them- But keep in mind, Astarion says she wouldn't be able to either, and THAT obviously isn't true of her. For the purposes of this discussion I'm only including interactions with Astarion as a judgement of his character.) I understand that concern, but I feel this take disregards so many other points of dialogue, and is also continually rooted in the baseline vilification of discomfort.

To further go into it, the way that he speaks about both of these interactions changes significantly if you speak to him about it once he is completely free from Cazador, and has had time to allow himself to start reconnecting with himself and his sexuality on his terms. He has absolutely No reservations about an open or poly relationship with Halsin, and says he trusts that things will be ok because he one) feels secure in Your relationship and two) Knows Halsin is experienced and trusts him to not be a messy bitch about it.

I think that shift, in combination with the in game explanation of why he isn't ok with being in that sort of relationship with the other Origin Characters (for Lae'zel and Wyll, he says they'd never agree to that. For Shadowheart, he says she's not experienced with open relationships and that he doesn't think it'd work out. For Karlach, that it would break her heart. And for Gale, he says you need standards.) is a pretty good indicator that he doesn't actually care about polyamory or monogamy. I think the vilification of that choice relies on you picking and choosing when you do or do not believe Astarion or just outright not liking non-monogamy in the first place. This interaction has more to do with the player's choice and comfort level, and so is not as important to the broader discussion I am trying to have in this post.

The interaction that is more pertinent to not Allowing him to make decisions is, I think, the drow twins. If you interact with the drow twins after the completion of the Cazador questline, he is outright giddy at the prospect of interacting with the Drow twins. Specifically stating that he is excited to see how he likes these sorts of things now that he's free.

NOW- I do NOT think that he enjoys the act. The game makes that abundantly clear, and I'm not arguing that he has a great time. He obviously does not, and dissociates during it. That being said, allowing this interaction to happen does not make a player evil or selfish. You are not playing the hero if you decide to moderate his choices just because you do not think he is ready for it. Once again, no one is evil for Not doing it either, and I am not saying anybody has to want to. I am just saying that treating this choice like it is an evil choice to make relies on completely disregarding what He wants to do.

Astarion says so many times in the game that he is anxious about finally having the freedom to find out what he wants to do, and I think that his excitement for the drow twin exchange is one of the opportunities the game gives him to make a choice. He makes that choice- And it sucks for him. He doesn't enjoy the act, and having done it he would be able to move forward knowing that. I think it's really cool and important that the game represents that facet of recovering as a victim. While you are trying to renavigate who you are, you are going to make a million new choices you never had before. And sometimes those choices are going to suck ass. It would be a different matter if he knew these things would hurt him and went ahead and did them anyway. But so many people expect him to move forward avoiding even the Potential of being hurt, and I think that is extremely reductive of his arc and who he is.

Beyond the matter of interpersonal relationships, the choice between Ascending or not Ascending Astarion is not a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils. It is a choice between his fear and his humanity. Between letting his trauma and his fear define him for the rest of his immortal life, and allowing him the vulnerability of deciding who he is when he isn't running from the world. When he's willing to listen to the parts of himself that want to do right, that wants meaningful connection, that wants to be proud of himself. That wants to meet himself. To confront who he is when someone else isn't deciding that for him.

Astarion as a character is extremely ambitious, inquisitive, and adventurous, three traits that only become more and more evident as he breaks free from letting his own fear dictate how he lives his life. I don't understand how so many people can see him and want to take the core of his character away from him, when he spends the entire game fighting desperately to take it back.

Victims are not casts of the abuse they have gone through. Their shapes may be changed by the hands of others, they may have to relearn how to be the person they want to be. But they are not broken or irreparable or fragile. They do not need to be freed from the grip of one person to be held tight in the grip of another. It is so fucking unfair and self-important to think that your hands will be the ones that fix them. That your hands know better than theirs. I think the kindest thing you can do for a person is to trust them with themselves, and to listen when they tell you who they are and what they want. Please listen to the voices that have only just learned to speak. It is the only way they can get better at doing it.

[lunian]

Gale, before Astarion's Ascension:

Gale, 5 mins later:

[baronvontribble]

did y'all know that the credits song to BG3 is a waltz

[brain-rot-central]

Lalalalalala this is the end of me.

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

Mirror

Rating: Mature

Content Warnings: Mild adult content, Blood Drinking, Mentions of Violence/Gore, Implied/Referenced Past Abuse

Majexatli always set up their tent a little farther away from the center of camp than the others, something Halsin did as well. Astarion chalked it up to some druidic strangeness, no doubt if he asked either of them they could blather on about nature. Majexatli hardly ever used their tent, though, most nights they simply took a bedroll or wildshaped into a wolf and curled up somewhere on the ground. It’s part of why he had tried to go for their blood in the first place, they were sleeping unguarded, unprotected by a tent, just out of sight of the others. He had meant to try and hunt for some animal to drain, but they had been right there.

The Shadow Cursed lands didn’t have the animals, or even living people, not enough to keep Astarion fed. And Majexatli had given near blanket permission to feed off them ever since the first time... It was foolish really, stupid, for some supposedly wise and experienced Druid to be so careless. Astarion doubted they had meant it, instead feeding himself on wild animals and occasional enemies unless they approached him. But after two days in these cursed lands, Astarion could feel hunger gnawing at him. 

Majexatli had excused themselves to their tent hours ago, they were most likely already asleep, and there was certainly no way he could feed on them while they were asleep. At first, he had tried, when they gave him permission, not to rouse them and just take a sip while they slept, it seemed the best way forward, the least intrusive. But they were vigilant enough that even sleeping he couldn’t even approach their tent without them waking and having their quarterstaff in hand or a dagger at his throat. 

Maybe there was a chance tomorrow they would come across some animals, or at least something that wasn’t undead. Maybe—

He approached their tent with a sigh, not bothering to soften his footsteps. 

Surprisingly, he didn’t find himself being seized by a hold person or crushed into the ground by an owlbear, even as he reached the edge of their tent. The entrance flap was open, a faint flicker of warm candlelight casting shadows across the floor.

Astarion had never seen the inside of their tent before, he realized as he looked inside. The ground was covered in a simple rough canvas, though half of the floor was taken up by various furs. A small log was on one side, covered in moss and small flowers, a lyre propped up against it, neatly folded hide armor laid atop it, next to a shallow woven basket currently filled with some of the plants and mushrooms Majexatli always went out of their way to collect. Their backpack along with various satchels lay half unpacked strewn across the floor nearby.

Atop the furs and sitting at a pair of low wooden tables, was Majexatli. The table in front of them was cluttered with papers and books and maps, quills and ink, a lantern with cracked glass whose candle was burning low. To their side the other table was covered in jars, vials, alembics, a mortar and pestle, from one of the tent’s supports was strung bundle after bundle of herbs left to dry.

Majexatli was shirtless, something Astarion had never seen. They always wandered about camp in either their armor or modest camp clothes, always disappeared off into the woods to bathe rather than doing so in the river at the edge of damp.  While Astarion thought better than to stare, not wanting to invoke Majexatli’s ire, the scars were impossible to miss even with only a glance. 

Thick, deep, jagged gouges—claw marks, clearly—reaching from their waist on the right all the way up over their left shoulder. They took up most of their chest, even the gentle swell of pecs was interrupted, split, twisted. The dark shadows cast by the candlelight only exaggerated the lines on their face, the silver streaks in their hair, the depth of the scars on their chest, the way what few ridges survived were twisted and pulled taut.

He made a point to look away, clearing his throat. 

It was impossible to know what his current standing with them was. The two of them had never been on great terms. Oh, he hated their naive heroism. They weren’t quite like Wyll, bright-eyed and woefully disillusioned, Majexatli was older, seemed tired, jaded. At first, Astarion thought surely they would see his side, yet they instead would derail the entire party to help anyone. It seemed likely they hate him in return, they had no problem grating on his nerves, criticizing his sensible ideas, grimacing at his cruelty. Though for whatever reason, they let him drink their blood, stupidly offered to help fight Cazador, asked him questions about himself same as they did to the others, heard him out each time he tried to explain to them the idiocracy of their altruism. 

Hells, he had tried to hook up with them—surely that’s what they wanted, he thought. Nearly every time he fed on them the two of them seemed to play a strange game of chicken, waiting to see who would be the first to break, who would give into arousal first. He wanted to hold out, but Majexatli seemed immovable, keeping their hands firmly by their side when he fed. 

Once he let his hands wander slightly, just enough to be plausibly an accident, brushing his hand over the front of their chest where their nipple would be, where he now saw there was nothing but scars and twisted muscles. He had tasted the fear in their veins before he felt them tense, though they didn’t push him off, even as their claws dug into the bedroll beneath them. They didn’t stop him, they could have, they were twice his size at least, they could probably deadlift Halsin and barely break a sweat. They could stop him, but they didn’t. 

The confusion had soured his appetite. 

Sometimes in the evenings, when Astarion tried to trance, he remembered the first time, when he had gone too far, drank too much. They had turned into a bear, tossed him off, and pinned him down before he could even blink. He vividly remembered the feeling of them straddling his waist when they came out of wildshape, pressed against him he could feel their arousal, even with their blood loss, their face radiating heat, eyes lidded, mouth so close to his. Even though moments ago he had been faced with the snarling maw, the bared teeth of a beast that could crack his ribcage open even if he had armor, Astarion was already half hard. He knew his face would have been flushed red, lips stained with Majexatli’s blood—the first blood he had ever drank from a person, sweet and rich and intoxicating. Oh, it would have been so easy for them to grind down, for their sharp teeth to dig into his lip, to slide hands under clothing—

But, no, Majexatli had apologized, rolled off him, and laid back on their bedroll in silence, going back to sleep. They went on the next morning to give him that blanket permission to drink their blood, clearly wanting more, only to never so much as let their hands touch him anywhere other than a shoulder. And then at the tiefling party, when he finally broke and offered a night of passion, of whatever carnal pleasure they wanted to take from him, they hadn’t jumped at Astarion’s offer. No, they had paused, given him a tentative “maybe” and ultimately went to bed alone—

“Blood?” 

Majexatli’s voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him out of his reverie. Looking back at them he froze for a moment as he saw that they hadn’t covered up. They had set down the book in front of them on the table but otherwise hadn’t moved. Their quarterstaff still lay by their bedroll, favored dagger nowhere in sight. It seemed wrong.

“I can come back later if—“

“It’s fine, I’ve just been doing some reading,” They looked up at him, studying his face for a moment, “I can put on something if you prefer…?”

Their face was unreadable, it always was, they had to make it difficult. Astarion forced a flirtatious smile.

“Oh, I couldn’t care less, darling, I just don’t want you to decide to skin me afterward for seeing this,”

He hoped he sounded charismatic, nonchalant, not like a starving man, nor someone hopelessly out of his depth in whatever mental lanceboard Majexatli was playing at. Majexatli in turn studied his face, no doubt considering their next play.

“Alright,” They said eventually, “How do you want me?”

A calculated move, perhaps they wanted him to beg, to lay bare how desperate he was, how much he relied on them. But… something about it unsettled Astarion, something in their gaze, something in their eyes reflecting back at him, something he didn’t want to see, didn’t want to know the shape of.

If it was another time, someone else, maybe he would sprawl himself across their bedroll languidly, batting his eyes and loosening his shirt enough for it to slip off a shoulder in an act he knew by rote to entice them to his side. But…

“You can stay just as you are if you like, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your reading,”

Majexatli almost seemed caught off guard, almost, the faintest raise of eyebrows, the slightest pause before nodding. They pulled their braid over their right shoulder—it didn’t have its usual ribbon, the sight felt like something forbidden—exposing the left side of their neck where he already had marked them. Two small pale scars, not fully healed, among a sea of freckles.

By the time Astarion had removed his shoes and come to settle behind them, Majexatli had picked up their book again. They jumped every so slightly as he put a hand on their shoulder, impossible to tell if it was from the touch itself or the coldness of Astarion’s skin—Astarion didn’t feel cold himself, but pressing against their back, feeling the warmth they radiating gods he couldn’t help but shiver, lean in closer to them.

Majexatli inhaled sharply as he sank his fangs into them, tilting their head further to the side for him and he could taste the spark of pleasure, the racing of their heart. Astarion hadn’t drank of many people, so it’s not as though he had enough experience to judge how their blood tasted in comparison to others, but he honestly couldn’t imagine anyone tasting as good as Majexatli. Their blood was rich, slightly sweet yet complex, flavor mingling with the earthy scent of the herbs they worked with, filling him with a fiery warmth that pooled in his belly.

It was a struggle to not lose himself, to not drink until he felt truly full, until the weight in his stomach was drowned in blood. Astarion wanted to be sated but also wanted them to shove him off, pin him down, press their sharp teeth to his flesh and draw blood in payback. 

Instead, he pulled away as soon as he felt the sharp hunger in himself dull, drinking just enough to buy himself another day or two.

Still buzzing from even a small drink of their blood, without thinking, he rested his cheek on their shoulder, let a hand wander slightly. Astarion hadn’t realized he had put a hand on their waist until he felt them stiffen slightly as he felt ridges give way to deep scarred flesh. He swallowed, warmth quickly fading as reality once again settled in.

He pulled away without a word, focusing on straightening his clothes, composing himself as he stood. Looking down at Majexatli, he saw them wince, their fingers lingering over the scars on their waist, where Astarion’s had been moments before.

“Do they hurt?”

It seemed neutral, casual enough. Majexatli wasn’t one for conversation, not like this usually, but he wanted to do something about the tense silence and couldn’t help his curiosity.

“Not always, they’re pretty old,” Majexatli shrugged, “They’re mainly just annoying,”

Astarion opened his mouth to say something, but he felt his tadpole squirm behind his eyes, images flashing in his mind faster than he could fully comprehend.

The face of a young half-elf, fair skin, a kind face, smiling standing by their side in a verdant landscape, warmth and adoration blooming in their chest, consciously snuffing out lingering doubts while hindsight has their skin crawling—

Curling up in a bedroll in the dark, a mantra repeating in their head He can make me great. He loves me. I just need to do what he says. I can have a home. He wants to help me. He’s a good person. I won’t have to be alone.

Looking down and seeing their own chest torn open, intestines spilling out onto the dirt, blood bubbling in their throat, looking behind to where he had been only to find no one, unable to breathe in, I’m going to die alone—

The connection broke as quickly as it had been made, Astarion nearly fell over from the shock of it all.

“Sorry,” Majexatli said eventually, breaking the silence, “My mind’s been a bit scattered lately,”

“It’s quite alright,”

Astarion hesitated for a moment as he stood, unsure whether he should leave, if he should say something more, do something.

“He’s married now,”

It was Majexatli who spoke, though their eyes remained on the book in their lap. The same page open as had been when he first entered the tent.

“Pardon?”

“I assume you saw all that,” Majexatli gestured vaguely, finally glancing up and meeting his eyes, “He’s married now. Has children, even. A beautiful family, I’m sure. Makes sense, it’s been 20 years. I haven’t been back since. Word is he’ll make archdruid one day, his friends are highly respected as well, always have been,”

Astarion opened his mouth to say something. What should he even say? Perhaps a joke, a jab at their character, it’s what they both always did. He couldn’t bring himself to, though, not then. He knew what they were saying, the meaning beneath those words, He’s doing fine despite what he did, I’ve spent my life suffering because of him, but he lives happily and comfortably.

Maybe if Majexatli’s eyes didn’t look so tired and distant and familiar he would climb into their lap, bask in their warmth. He would drag his teeth across their neck, lap at the fresh wound on their neck, try to pull a moan from their lips, get them to melt under his touch, make them forget whatever memories plagued their mind. He would ride them into oblivion until their nerves were screaming from overstimulation and see what their blood tasted like as they came apart.

Maybe they would let him. Would he, if the roles were reversed? The thought felt sour.

“Good night, darling,”

The soft sincerity in his voice startled even him.

“My tent’s always open for you,”

And the lanceboard game reset, though the pieces unsteady; the masks were back on, though cracked. Perhaps the routine was the closest thing to comfort that either of them allowed.

[lanaevyssmoved]

i hope this doesn't come across as an attack, i'm genuinely just curious. on the one hand you say that a fictional character and headcanons for that character or actions/attractions towards that character is never cause for being mean to anyone, but also that people who headcanon astarion to be mentally young and still fuck him are weirdos. i just don't see how it's less 'problematic' to say that you find astarion sexier as an unhealed abuse victim/abuser so you're going to go the ascendant route than it is to say you find astarion sexier when he's mentally underage. both of those things are bad in that they'd be shitty to do to real people, but in the context of fiction i don't understand how one is fine and the other is weird or evil.

for what it's worth i agree with your astarion age opinions! i absolutely think it is weird to be attracted to someone you view as a child! it just feels incongruous with your other takes on fiction.

i think people romancing and sleeping with a character they are viewing as a child/teenager is strange, that's all. i didn't even say 'don't do this!' i just said it's "weird and sus", because i want to help people realise how they are sounding to others, who may instinctively judge them and possibly attack them. at the end of the day, i can't stop people for going against d&d lore for their own preferred headcanon, but what if they're misunderstanding? what if they don't know lore? what if they're just explaining themselves poorly? what if they're just not aware they're making themselves sound this way?

i don't put this on the same level as telling someone they are a terrible person because they say, ascend astarion or keep astarion as a spawn, since we're talking about him, and saying "bit weird you wanna sleep with someone you think is akin to a child". one of these could have dangerous connotations to real life, it could genuinely paint someone has a dangerous person.

i am victim of a romantic relationship where someone picked me because of my vulnerability. to share a bit about myself, i have abusive parents who purposely sheltered me from the world to control me. they did not even allow me to get a job, or to go out and meet people. i was told, from a very young age, that the world will hurt me and they won't understand me (because of disorders i have) and they will keep me safe. they never want me to leave. and thus i have mentally aged 'slower' than i should have. i shan't say more than that, but this person i met, and became aware of this, immediately sought a romantic relationship with me, which led to them using my lack of experience in life and lack of know to also control me, and continue to infantilise me and keep me as 'young' as they could. control my entire life, my money, what i do, where i go, what i dress, everything about me. i know how terrifying it is to be chosen by someone because of 'mental immature', being 'under developed'.

when i think of this, and think of people who choose astarion while viewing him the same way- do you know what i think? "do you realise how much of an abuser you sound like?" you are those people who choose someone due to how easy it would be to abuse them. so yes, i worry these people just aren't aware of how dangerous they sound. i word it like 'weird' and 'sus' because i would never target them with such harsh and powerful language, but i think that alone is enough to make someone think about it, maybe enough to realise they need to change how they talk about astarion, or adjust their pov.

i've had friends come to me in tears because someone attacked them viciously for a choice they made in the game, a choice available to everyone, a choice there because you are allowed to pick it. that they are legit a bad person to their core because they picked something in a damn game. this is no where near the same to me as wanting a sexual relationship with someone you think is mentally underdeveloped. they cannot be compared.

i hope this all makes sense and i didn't miss one of your points, admittedly i don't want to look at this any longer.

[bhaalsdeepbat]

A little durgestarion drabble just to get me writing while i think through some stuff for the fic i'm working on. just getting a feel for some body language stuff. SWF and may not actually be part of mercy's canon. i just wanted to write without a plan lol

Astarion's thumb was surprisingly calloused.

The thick, hard skin layering the pad of his thumb protectively was a rough contrast to the soft tips of fingers. Hands that had just helped the sorcerer slaughter their way through Moonrise, and then through the Mindflayer Colony beneath Moonrise's looming towers, cupped the sorcerer's cheeks gently. His left thumb traced along the scar carved into the sorcerer's right cheek. He followed the curve of it under their eye and around the arc of the deep scar following the curve of their face, then down their otherwise pretty cheek.

The two were soaking up one another's presence in the safety of Astarion's tent. Motes of dim light twinkled across the tent's ceiling like stars, Mercy's magic filling the air with the scent of a storm that would never come. Astarion was stretched out on his bed, back lounging against a pile of pillows Mercy had put together since they had taken residence alongside him in the space. The sorcerer had crawled over him to give him a peck on the cheek when he stopped them by reaching out to hold their face in his hands. They were frozen in place, bed dipping were their weight pressed into their palms, as he held their gaze.

Mercy leaned into the touch, their eyes narrowing into a contented look as a soft purr rumbled in the back of their throat. The tip of their tail twitched with the same peaceful joy that filled their expression. It was a moment of quiet, their mind silenced, pleased by the amount of blood spilled. A playful smirk tugged at the corner of Astarion's lips, though the intensity of his gaze betrayed the seriousness of whatever thought was on his mind as he stared at them.

With another flick of their tail, the sorcerer's brows furrowed. Mercy shook their head, pulling away from Astarion's hold. His hands were hesitant to release them, but he dropped his arms to rest across his torso. He watched the sorcerer closely, like he was afraid to take his eyes off them.

Mercy let out a soft little huff, tail falling limp against the bed. "Don't look at me like that," they grumbled, averting their gaze.

"Look at you like what, darling?" Astarion's sly smile was plastered across his face with practiced ease. "Like you did something stupid back at Moonrise? Correct me if I'm wrong, but you did do something stupid."

Mercy scowled at him, though they couldn't exactly argue that he was wrong. They had done something absolutely stupid at Moonrise, but they had also made damn sure not to repeat the mistake after Z'rell's goading led to a lucky shot that took the sorcerer down. It was temporary, lasting all but the time needed for their companions to descend on the cultists surrounding Mercy's crumpled form.

All Astarion could do was notch another arrow and send it flying as he raced across the rafters, too far to be of any use beyond covering Shadowheart and Lae'zel as they raced to his paramour's aide.

Mercy grimaced, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as they averted their gaze. They clicked their tongue against the back of their teeth dismissively. "I don't need a lecture from you. Shadowheart and Lae'zel had that covered."

"Good. Because I wasn't going to lecture you. You're not a child." Astarion's nose wrinkled in disgust as the word left his lips. He watched Mercy with clear disapproval writ in the furrow of his brow. The corner of his lips turned down into a displeased frown. "Yet, you nearly got yourself killed because you're impulsive like one."

Mercy's tail flicked like a viper's, frustration bubbling over into the whip of the appendage as they lifted their gaze to meet Astarion's. "I thought this wasn't a lecture."

"It's not." Astarion snaked his arms around the sorcerer's torso, pulling them down flush against him. He held them tightly, burying his face into the top of their head and inhaling deeply. "Then we met that vile woman. All I could imagine is your anger making you do something impulsive again."

Mercy's entire body tensed for a moment. The spikes along the sides of their tail bristled for a moment, but shrunk back down to their smaller size the sorcerer forced themself to relax into his embrace. They could feel the unnatural rise of his chest as their scent filled the empty cavity where his dead heart lay still.

"You were worried." It was a question, but it came out a breathy, surprised statement as they watched him. It wasn't like they hadn't been injured before, and it was certainly not the worst during their travels so far, but it was the first time they had taken a since his confession.

It was the first time he had nearly lost the sorcerer since making it clear his feelings for them were real.

Mercy rolled their eyes, a heavy sigh shrinking them down as the air left their lungs, making them feel small in Astarion's embrace. He gave them a gentle squeeze, their only acknowledgement that he heard them.

Astarion reclined back against the pillows once more, his gaze coming to settle on Mercy's when their head tilted back so they could peer at him. The sorcerer's eyes squinted, watching him warily for a moment, then slid their hands down to press against the mattress again. They slid themself up then took his calloused hand and pressed it against their heart, palm flat where it beat against their ridged chest.

"We've both done stupid shit," they reminded him with a pointed look that had him shrinking beneath their gaze, "but we made it. All I can promise is that I will not make that mistake twice." Mercy's eyes softened as they watched Astarion. His own concern seemed to seep out of his tensed muscles, allowing him to relax against the sorcerer's hoard of pillows.

Astarion glanced at their throat where dark crimson dots and angry red skin marked where he had supped their ichor, at Mercy's insistence. The taste of their blood still on his lips, their very essence was now touching across every sense he had. Astarion let out an exasperated sigh, though his hand lingered for a moment longer before he tugged Mercy down to nestle in the crook of his arm.

"Good. It was a waste of perfectly good blood." He licked his lips hungrily as he hummed a displeased little noise.

Mercy propped their head against his chest, mindful of the horns curling above their crown. "Perhaps, but you can't say you didn't enjoy watching that one guy choke on his own blood. You become such an excellent shot when you think I need help," they teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"Oh, yes. That was absolutely delightful." Astarion snickered, his dangerous smile widening to flash sharp teeth. "I didn't think you needed help. You needed help. Don't be obtuse." He lifted his hand opposite of the one cradling Mercy and pressed his pointer to their forehead, giving it a gentle poke.

Mercy's nose wrinkled. "I know," they sighed as they batted the hand away.

"You should probably get some rest. I doubt Karlach will carry you if you're too tired to walk tomorrow." Astarion snorted and lowered his arm to rest across his chest. He extended his fingers out to the sorcerer. Mercy slid one of their hands over to take his, fingers curling to link with Astarion's.

Mercy rolled their eyes at him, though the sorcerer snickered. "Yeah, yeah." They waved their free hand dismissively. The movement caused the lights above to suddenly disappear, dark shadows devouring everything but the glow of Mercy's mismatched eyes.

Mercy stole one final kiss, a gentle peck to the corner of Astarion's lips, before they settled against him. Eyes drifting shut, they felt both his arms wrap around them, holding their form tightly against him. He'd hold them through the night, until the moment their Urges would strike.

[chronurgy]

why is writing always like "oh I will write about idea x" *gets bodied by idea y* "well that's okay it'll be short" *it is not fucking short*

[levinbolts]

playing with the free camera tool 💗

[emraev1212]

Reading the stuff I write in the middle of the night is always fun. Just like, damn, she was really going through it last night, huh?

[lunian]

AAAAND it was the biggest lie Astarion has ever said

[sm0lprism]

Chapter 4 of Bite-Sized is slowly coming along (currently sitting at 2.4k words). I do apologise that this chapter is taking particularly long, work has been hectic and as a result I've had less time and energy to write. But, it is coming, and I am sorry to say it most likely won't have any g/t or very little, but it will be from Astarion's pov. In the meantime, if you guys have any questions, or any headcanons that you want to share (just general tiny/borrower!Tav x Astarion ideas that you may have), or anything g/t related, feel free to send me an ask anytime.

[fatherramiro]

my best (and one of my only finished tbh) multi-chapter fic was a fic i posted the first chapter of on new year's eve so tomorrow is when im going to actually post the first chapter of my wyllstarion fic. for tradition's sake.

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

i loooovve Majexatli's new look! they've always looked cool, but i think the new body is closer to how you've drawn them, i love being able to see just how Lorge they are compared to the companions 💕

It is so fun, like, look at this. They're standing a bit behind Wyll so Wyll looks larger than he would next to them, but even then their thigh is nearly as big as his waist

And ur right is definitely is more in line with how I draw them

I haven't quite solidified what their height would be but I do so enjoy them being able to tower over the companions.

[strixhaven]

truly am so tempted to do an astarion origin playthrough