An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
It’s all BG3!!!
Holy fuck people made art 🥹:
Drunk Batstarion by @britonell
Eleanor by @lyzelky
Eleanor and Astarion, sitting on a bench by @britonell once again 💜
Eleanors! by @shierke
Astarion is trying to flirt (critical fail) commissioned by @sasseffects and drawn/rendered/colored by @squirrelcurls and @vipermenace
Eleanor and Astarion in their matching outfits! Bonus: Astarion being a total shit. By @lyzelky (😭)
Tent Scene from WSWB chapter 9 commissioned by @allymcfee and created by @summerwarlock
Also Tent Scene from WSWB, commissioned by @allymcfee and created by @crunchyncrumbly
NSFW?
Astarion and Eleanor by @mutualcombat (with more detailed pic of the softness)
Snippets:
Tiddy Cuddles - actually SFW. Batstarion never walks anywhere ever again when he can get uppies.
One Shots (All of them are rated E smutfics):
Stuffing - an entry for Wanksgiving 2023, sexually explicit. Ties into Feeding Alligators.
All I Want for Solstice - happy holidays 2023, have some fluffy smut! Eleanor tries to spread holiday cheer. Astarion tries to spread Eleanor's legs. Rated very much E for explicit sexual content. Technically a two-shot, but whatev.
Valentine’s Day Special - Roses are red, violets are blue, blah blah I’d like to fuck you. Or: Astarion bought a toy. Eleanor wants to give him a night he won’t forget. ASTARION GETS PEGGED.
You Could Just Ask - Astarion is terrible about communicating what he wants. But Eleanor is getting good at translating gremlin. ASTARION GETS PEGGED AGAIN. The man is a MENACE.
Something Full-Bodied and Red - Aunt Flo comes to visit Eleanor. Astarion is thrilled to make her acquaintance.
Tightrope and Lace - Astarion has a proposition: you’d look lovely in rope. And you shouldn’t be the only one who gets to dress for the occasion.
A Misuse of Potions - Pt. 1: Astarion has a plan. A nice, simple plan. His love has been gone for almost a tenday, but now she's back, and he needs her to obliterate him in the best way possible.
Long fics:
All are rated E for sexual content, language, and violence.
Feeding Alligators - Completed:
Turns out, it’s not heart disease that gets you. Not a car crash, the second coming, or even a plain old slip in the shower that removes you from this mortal coil.
It’s motherfucking aliens.
Your Uncle Randy would be so proud.
Or: two losers cheat, stab, and flirt their way to a win.
What Shall We Become - Completed
After tripping a mad wizard’s trap, Astarion—now blinded—must navigate the Underdark with Eleanor back to their crew. These two shitheads must cheat, stab, and flirt their way through flooded caves, monsters, and something hunting them in the dark. All while very confusing feelings begin to muddle up Astarion’s Very Simple plan.
Fingers Sifting Black Earth - In Progress
Astarion’s coming to your tent every night with honeyed nothings on his tongue. Trouble is, you’re starting to smell hints of bullshit. The closer y’all get, the further apart you feel. And then there’s the fucking brainworm cult.
These two losers must cheat, stab, and flirt their way to the heart of a cult. And to…whatever it is between them.
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Now, just a few words about some potential spoilers from the Astarion novel. Just thoughts, as usual.
I’ve noticed that quite a few people seem worried about the possibility that mortal Astarion might not have been the asshole everyone assumed he was.
First of all, the whole idea that he was a corrupt magistrate was SCRAPPED by Larian. I really want to stress this because, gods, this myth refuses to die. It was simply part of the character’s early development.
So, as far as the game itself is concerned, all we actually know is that Astarion was a magistrate, that he passed a ruling against the Gur, that the Gur weren’t particularly pleased about it, and that they beat him to death in the street.
That’s it.
Everything else is inference. Those are the facts we actually have.
BUT!
Let’s be clear about something.
Even if Astarion had been a fucking saint before Cazador, nobody is denying all the shitty, questionable things he does in the game.
That doesn’t change.
What changes is simply where his cruelty comes from. Not whether that cruelty exists in the first place.
The Astarion we meet in the game is still perfectly capable of doing some deeply questionable things and saying things that are arguably even worse. His background doesn’t change what he does or says in the game. What it changes is how we understand where those behaviors came from.
If anything, perhaps it helps us avoid this kind of determinism where his one and only “true nature” has to be that of some inherently evil, irredeemable bastard.
His resentment toward the Gur? Hardly surprising, considering they literally beat him to death—especially if these spoilers are accurate and the ruling that provoked them turns out not to have been quite as harsh as people have always assumed.
He doesn’t want to help the enslaved gnomes?
Of course he doesn’t. He explicitly says he doesn’t even want to help his fellow vampire spawn. Enslaved people are a mirror he doesn’t even want to look into, because the reflection staring back at him is his own shattered self.
He puts gnomes alongside animals and non-sentient creatures when discussing what he’s allowed to feed on?
Well, let’s flip the perspective for a second.
Tav is the one denying Astarion the blood he needs. Tav holds all the cards. If we want to be cheeky about it, Tav is being racist against vampires, lol, and Astarion is simply trying his luck, trying to guess which answer Tav might find most acceptable so he can at least have a chance.
Maybe Tav doesn’t give a shit about gnomes, and Astarion might finally manage to eat something that’s actually good and nourishing for once.
Does he sometimes talk about justice in an incredibly harsh and absolute way?
Well, for the last two hundred years, Cazador has been the one administering “justice” in House Szarr. He is judge and jury. And there sure as hell isn’t a defense attorney coming to save you.
Not to mention that vampires themselves fundamentally perceive everyone else as food—especially when they adhere to the traditional rules of their kind:
“Allow none to be your equal.”
And that worldview doesn’t discriminate: gnomes, Gur, enslaved people, free people, and everyone else ultimately stand beneath the vampire.
But these are just examples—examples that could offer an alternative to the usual “he was always a racist bastard” explanation. I’m simply offering a different interpretation that would be perfectly plausible in light of these potential new details.
So, what’s my point with all of this?
I don’t know whether these spoilers are reliable or not. But if they are, I don’t think they fundamentally change who Astarion is, what he does, or what he says in the game.
We all know he’s capable of horrible behavior just as much as he’s capable of vulnerability and kindness.
What changes is where those behaviors come from.
In this case, trauma.
But can we talk about that trauma for a moment, assuming these spoilers are eventually confirmed?
If mortal Astarion genuinely believed in justice and tried to do the right thing, I think that makes what happened to him even harsher, crueler, and ultimately more fundamental to understanding the person he becomes.
Because then we’re not simply talking about someone who suffered terribly.
We’re talking about someone whose entire understanding of the world was proven, in the most catastrophic way possible, completely wrong.
If Astarion genuinely believed in justice, just imagine what it must have meant for him to discover that justice was never coming to save him. That trying to do the right thing wouldn’t protect him. That there was no system he could appeal to, no authority he could ask for help, no hero destined to eventually burst through that door and put an end to what was being done to him.
For two hundred years, no one came.
And at some point, Cazador didn’t just break his body or take away his freedom. An entire inner structure of values, beliefs, and identity collapsed along with them.
Justice didn’t exist.
Being good didn’t save you.
Mercy got you nothing.
Power did.
And if that really was where Astarion started, then his fall becomes vertiginous.
The bitter, cynical man we meet two centuries later isn’t interesting because, deep down, “he had always been evil.” Quite the opposite. He may be interesting precisely because everything he once believed in was shattered so completely that almost nothing but bitterness remained.
But here’s the point: even if everything Astarion does in the game were driven entirely by trauma—and we’re talking about trauma of absolutely MASSIVE proportions here—does trauma excuse every shitty thing he does?
No.
Understanding where someone’s cruelty comes from is not the same thing as condoning it.
So… I don’t know. I’m really not that shocked or worried about it.
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You can’t quite catch your breath. Your skin is all hot, limbs shaking. Try not to stagger as you gasp, “Did they come with you?”
Astarion’s face is a weird mix of tense along the edges, blown out pupils, and a sorta rictus grin caught somewhere between cornered cat and murder grin. He’s still got a whole fucking arrow in his chest.
“Not that I noticed,” he says.
Split up, y’all did. Safer that way. And then not one, but two separate fucking parties followed you and Gale (ain’t heard nothing from him and you cannot worry about another thing right now).
“We wasn’t gonna let you go alone, boss,” Fezzerk says. “You’re big, but numbers is better.”
“Tribe,” Wesa seems to agree.
That…is a compliment? You think?
“Is he recruiting goblins now?” a gur says. “Werewolves and thralls, aye, but goblins?”
“They’re with me,” you say. Still panting like you’re dying.
This draws their leader’s sharp focus. She’s been sizing this shit show up, even with Diddler pressing a knife up under her leg (that’s gotta be the femoral artery, right, holy shit, Diddler). Now she says, “Who are you?”
They was so sure so sure you was a hapless victim. Which, fair. Part of you wants to play into it now. Keep them off their guard. Off your ass.
But this can go sideways real fast and now all the goblins is involved. You got a break. A pause. A way to deescalate. You got to take it.
“My name’s Eleanor Ripley. Astarion and me—and five others—was kidnapped and infected by squid—uh, mindflayers a couple months ago.”
“Are you certain you ought to be telling them this?” says the man who thought chatting up a bog witch was funny.
“We been trying to get them brainworms out. Turns out they’re magicked by a conspiracy of what y’all call the Dead Three?”
This lands like a grenade. You literally watch suspicion and alarm ripple through them like shrapnel.
“We killed one of them, Ketheric Thorm, and followed the other two back here. They got a giant squid brain wearing,” what did Gale call it, “the Crown of Karsus and it’s hidden somewhere in Baldur’s Gate and we think they’re trying to infect the city.”
You wasn’t mentally there for all that. Gathered that in the weeks after, lying in the back of a wagon in a fevered haze of puking and worse.
“If that was true you’d have turned by now,” one intrepid denier says.
“Magic bullshit,” you say. “I think they’re holding it off so they can get everybody at once.”
Which you just pulled out your ass. But you played a plague game for a couple weeks back during the lockdown, and that strategy worked good. Keep infection high, keeps symptoms low until you got numbers, and then boom. Bodies falling everywhere.
The leader looks at Astarion. Really looks. “You walk in sunlight, spawn. And escaped your master?”
“Em, well, sort of?” he says, voice all high and tight.
“Ulma, they’re full of shit. That one’s either compelled or stupid enough—”
“That Gortash fella everybody’s talking about?” you say. “He’s one of the two we’re tracking.”
That one slaps them all quiet. Not for long, though. Seems Greaseball dug himself into the city like a goddamned tick. That's a wild accusation to toss out so casual.
“They’re mad. Kill them, Ulma. We can finish the rites at camp with that thing’s head.”
“We ain’t sure what their whole goal is after infecting everybody,” you say. “But they got them robots looking for us, and I don’t think it’s to throw us a party. We’re trying to stop them fuckers. And get rid of the brainworms.”
“Ulma,” somebody says.
Ulma’s eyes narrow. “And you, spawn. What are you here for?”
He glances to you. Seems to find what he’s looking for. Lifts his chin. “My old master has a devilish plot in mind. I’m here to stop it.”
Ulma tilts her head. Her jaw works.
This could sink right back into stupid violence. They don’t deserve it. They’re fighting for their kids, for their lives. But so are you. If y’all can just fucking see that. See this don’t have to go down that way.
“The rest of our band is nearby,” Ulma says. “If this is a ploy, neither of you will make it beyond these walls.”
If Astarion wasn’t a vampire, you’re sure he’d be jittering like a live wire. Instead, he’s completely still. Dead still. Not even breathing.
That man will erupt at the first sign of a fight.
“Fair enough,” you say.
Ulma makes a hand signal. The gur back off. Sort of—several really don’t want to.
“Ease off,” you say to Fezzerk. To Skrunk, who lowers his bow (but don’t unstring it). To Wesa, who glares.
To Astarion, standing there staring at Ulma. He holds that stare as he reaches up, grabs the arrow sticking out his chest, and wrenches it free with a spurt of blood. His jaw goes tight as fuck, but he barely makes a sound.
Diddler lifts his knife. Takes two steps back, hands out.
The first, tentative step to a truce. (Astarion’s got to get a healing potion the second he can; you don’t think these guys is gonna be okay watching him chug down a bottle of blood, even donated blood).
Something else tugs at you. Warm eyes and a warm voice and gentle hands turning you over. The awful, choking metal of blood in your mouth.
“There’s. Uh,” you say. Hear the shake in your voice as you shove your hand into your left pocket. As the beads deep within seem to find you.
Astarion turns that awful stare to you. Gives you half a shake of his head.
But this possible alliance is softer than a butterfly’s fart. If you don’t, if you go in hiding this (or thinking you is, cause who knows what their information network is like and hiding it when they know would be even worse). This’ll go up before you can inhale.
You pull out a string of wooden beads. Pretty things in bright colors, worn smooth.
Ulma inhales real sharp.
“One of yours,” you say. “His name was Gandrel.”
“Darling.”
“He came after us in the month just after we escaped the squidwards.” You gotta push through. Got to. The first hesitation and you will fucking fold and if you do that now…
The goblins is coiled tighter than a fresh bed spring. Wesa’s ears stick straight out.
You touch her shoulder. “Stand down, y’all.”
Move between Astarion and Ulma. Don’t even need the brainworm group chat to know he’s seething about it.
“We didn’t know about the plot at the time,” you say. “Just that we wasn’t changing and somebody in Moonrise had information. I tried…I thought I could get Gandrel to come with us. But there was a fight.”
You swallow. Whole body shaking. Especially the hand you hold out: a tremble for all to see, Gandrel’s bracelet an accusation in your shivering palm.
“I killed him.”
You didn’t want to. You bawled yourself to puking over it. But telling them that is only an excuse. Only to make you feel better about it. It won’t do a damn thing for them, and is sure as shit ain’t gonna make it hurt less.
It ain’t gonna bring him back.
One gur lunges. You flinch, despite yourself, and Astarion makes a low, dangerous noise. But another gur grabs the man and pulls him back even as Ulma gives the man a fucking look.
“I’m sorry,” you say, knowing how stupid and small and useless it is. “He was a really good man.”
You used that against him. Counted on it. Killed him with it.
“He was,” Ulma says through a tight jaw.
Lotta unspoken shit in them two words. Lotta anger. Lotta blame.
“We buried him. Our party, no matter about here, they can give you the location if you want.”
You read about crowds turning. About martial artists and whatever sizing each other up, sensing a shift. Your death hangs real heavy over these people.
It takes every shred of self control you got to stand there. You reach for Astarion through the worm: don’t do anything. Don’t.
All you get back from him is a whirling, gnashing tornado of blood lust and homicide.
You turn just enough to make eye contact. “No.”
If this has the slightest chance of threading the needle, he cannot start stabbing people.
Ulma steps forward. Takes the beads from you. Gazes down at them for a long, long moment as your heart thuds and your pulse spikes so hard you almost can’t see.
“You confess this knowing who we are?” she says.
…not in a way you think she’s hinting at? But you nod anyway.
She finally looks at you. Her eyes is chips of glass, hard and sharp. “Do your people know of a blood price?”
Something like that in the Beowulf stories. More importantly, your dad’s people practiced something similar before the Europeans: blood law. If a person killed a member of another clan, the wronged clan could seek a life for that life.
Such a narrow path to tread.
“Yes,” you say cautiously. Gandrel’s sad eyes in that torchlit clearing. He called you “friend.” But you ain’t gonna throw Astarion in to take his place. Not the goblins or any of your group, neither.
Ulma studies you. Looks behind, to Astarion.
“You have wronged my people more than we can say,” she says. “Both of you.”
You done some shitty things in your life. Things that made you want to disappear. Crawl into a hole. Do a lot worse.
This is right up there. Your stomach twists up so bad you’re about ready to throw up all down your front.
“I will name a blood price on you,” Ulma says. “You will fulfill my terms or die trying, or I and all my people will hunt you to the edges of Faerun.”
Astarion makes a noise. Man’s had enough choices taken from him.
“I can only speak for myself,” you say. “What would you name?”
Ulma clenches her fingers around Gandrel’s beads. Leans in, smelling of smoke and something like garlicky cloves. Says, “My people demand the head of Cazador Szarr.”
Ughughugh. Gotta get tomorrow’s chapter ready to go, and I think I’ve got a visual migraine coming in. Starting to recognize the feel of it before it happens now (oh look, a human picking up on a pattern, how neat).
Blegh. I hate that this is becoming the norm. New and exciting symptoms! At keast my stupid insurance is going to let me be referred to a neurologist (for non Usians, yes we need permission, and it has to be one they like or else it’ll cost us the price of a new fucking car and not those rad as fuck Chinese electric ones they won’t let us drive here).
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I am pleased by people messaging me telling me that after adding a carb or protein to their snacks or meals they feel more satisfied all day. Yes, my plan is working. People are getting through their days with less hangry.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
one of my favorite parts in platform decay is when there’s like lowkey a construct revolution spreading in real time and murderbot is just like I literally don’t have fucking time for this
