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The thing I love most about Astarion honestly is the fact that he IS so deeply weird. Like I joke about not understanding why people wouldn't be attracted to him, but in all seriousness, I do totally get it. He IS deeply bizarre and even just off-putting at times. And that's before he tries to drink your blood in your sleep. And I can relate to that to an extent (the being weird part).
I remember so many times growing up struggling with social cues and just being the "weird kid" because I would randomly start talking about something like the process of mummification in extreme detail because I was going through my ancient egypt obsession era. Or I would randomly bring up topics like jack the ripper or the borgias because I saw some sensationalized cable tv documentary about him that I definitely wasn't old enough to have watched.
I know it's silly but it's genuinely one of the things I find most endearing and "real" about him. How utterly gleeful he gets talking about finding things like clown body parts or canopic jars with mummy organs in them. Would honestly just love to just sit with him and let him talk my ear off all day long about serial killers and necromancy and gossip about faerun's equivalent of the habsburgs and weird vampire stuff all day long.
it's honestly tragic that the astarion brain rot hit with just enough time for me to get in too deep but not enough time to actually do anything about it
someday I'll post this ace tav fic I've been working on
I keep seeing fic with words censored in the body of the fic like so: c*nt, f*gg*t, q-slur (seriously, come on), r*pe, *nc*st. I even saw a fic where someone was described as “sitting next to his unalived body” which was so absurd it made me laugh.
I’ve seen this trend in tags as well, which would be ACTIVELY FUCKING DANGEROUS if AO3 tag wranglers weren’t literal, actual angels who make sure that “rape” and “r*pe” (and all such transpositions) are treated like the same tag.
AO3 isn’t TikTok. Tag accurately and completely for your fic themes so people can search AND filter. Use the correct words in your fic content so people who use blacklist extensions can actually benefit from the tools that protect them.
If you don’t feel comfortable using a word without censoring it, then don’t use that word at all. Maybe consider why you’re even writing something that contains that theme.
Sincerely,
An actual real life rape and incest survivor who has actual fucking PTSD and really doesn’t want to have to stop reading fic for my ship because people think a god damn asterisk is going to somehow save people like me from being triggered.
I feel like maybe people newer to fandom don’t realize that putting asterisks in words like that is not to avoid triggering someone. Alternate words and alternate spellings are for tricking the algorithm from censoring/blocking your content from distribution (like on tiktok, not showing your video to anyone if you use the word “dead”, so you use the word “unalive”).
Tumblr and AO3 both don’t have that issue - your posts will still be seen if you use the full version of those words. And, as OP stated above, people rely on you using those words so that their blacklisted words/phrases work and they can actually avoid the things that trigger them.
The internet is vast and ever-changing and rules vary from site to site - this is good information for newer AO3/tumblr users!
I like to think that once things have settled down post-game, Tav will start addressing Astarion's critically low self-everything issues.
Like, this man's obnoxious, vain exterior is a paper-thin sheet of ice over a bottomless lake of insecurities and negative self-talk, and we see that the whole way through the game. He's been taught to believe that his only value is in his body. He'll bitterly call sex the only thing he's good for. He's shocked if you dump another companion for him, because he sees himself as having nothing to offer but baggage. He knows, in an abstract way, that he's attractive, but he doesn't remember what he looks like.
Perhaps one evening he asks what they see in him, and when they ask what he thinks their answer will be, he's stumped by the question.
And Tav decides it's past time to do something about that, because there is so much about him that is worthy of love.
Consider: Astarion rolling out of bed at like noon, padding naked to the bathroom to wash and style his hair, and catching sight of something tucked into the frame of the mirror. It's a sketch of him, one of Tav's, and beside it, they've scrawled the words you're beautiful. He grins, and traces the charcoal strokes with a fingertip while he brushes his teeth, because that's not a difficult one to believe, and he's touched.
But then he starts finding more little sketches, and more little notes. When he reaches for the book he's been reading, there's one tucked into the page he's dog-eared - a little caricature of himself, curled up in an armchair reading a giant book, captioned you're clever. He snorts a laugh, a little self-deprecating. Loathe as he is to admit it, he's no Gale, and he has brain fog more often than not. But...well, he did graduate law school and pass the bar once upon a time, so technically they're not wrong.
You're brave is resting on his pillow when he comes back from splashing his face in the bathroom one night, still trembling from a nightmare. His eyes well up when he spots it, and when he crawls into open arms and buries his face in Tav's clavicle he mumbles that he doesn't feel very brave at all. That's a hard one to accept, but they will keep telling him.
You care about me... is simply sitting on a dresser one day. Two little drawings with that one; in the first, he's bandaging a cartoonish bump on Tav's head. On the back, though...he recognises that image, Tav tied up and spitting rage at him through the night, lost to their Urges, as he kept watch. In smaller letters, his own words are reflected back at him: ...even when that's an objectively stupid thing to do.
You never gave up is in the medical kit kept under the bed, the one stocked with salves and oils for the bone-deep ache of two hundred years of consistent injuries. Tav will rub his shoulders for him if he asks, he knows that. But, well, two centuries of hiding any sign of weakness makes for a tough habit to break. He touches the reminder gently, as though it's fragile, and after a moment's hesitation, calls them in for help.
And on and on they go, dozens of little notes, a tangible list of things they love about him. Repeated, sometimes, some more than others, as and when he needs to be reminded of them. Often accompanied by little drawings that make him laugh or snort or cry - snapshots at how Tav sees him. His ridiculous bedhead. His unflattering blood-drunk expression, gawking into the middle distance, utterly lost in the sauce. The way his ears will sometimes twitch in his sleep. The Sexy Side-Lean pose he didn't realise he tends to do in doorways. His dramatic readings of appalling erotica.
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I’m a fierce believer and defender of Smooth Brain Astarion (affectionate).
I love that, if left to his own devices, he ends up dead in a ditch. I love that this pasty menace of an elf is a walking disaster. I love that his brain produces one coherent thought per day, only to have it backfire on him later on. I love that his first choice in freedom is to unapologetically be the worst version of himself. Because it makes sense.
That’s what abuse and trauma do to your brain—they fuck with it.
And in Astarion’s defence, the man didn’t have to use his brain for nearly 200 years—it’s probably the very thing that kept him as alive as he can be; to survive 200 years of pure shit.
And what use is his brain when his days and nights are dictated by someone else for as long as he can remember? When he has no say in what clothes he wears. When he doesn’t get to choose what or when to eat. When his body and mind aren’t his own, distorted by torture and hunger and self-loathing, forced to obey his vampiric master. Why use his brain when his survival depends exclusively on his abuser’s whims?
Astarion could’ve come up with the most brilliant plan possible to escape Cazador or save a mark from their doom, but he never stood a chance of succeeding—which doesn’t mean that he didn’t get punished for trying (or even thinking about it) anyway.
Existing under Cazador was a game he couldn’t win, so why bother playing?
And it’s only by chance that Astarion’s autonomy is returned to him literally overnight. It’s only natural that he’s overwhelmed by his newfound freedom. How is he expected to make sound decisions when he can’t even recall a time when he could do and say as he pleased?
Of course Astarion is a walking disaster when he finds himself on that beach after the Nautiloid crash—and he’s fully aware of that! That’s why it’s so crucial for him to get on the player’s/other companion’s good side.
He’s self-aware enough to be so insecure about himself that he would rather trust a stranger’s capabilities than his own.
Being a catastrophe of a person is part of Astarion’s character journey. Not only does he have to reclaim his personhood, he has to learn how to depend on his own brain again and I think that's such a painfully beautiful, important message Baldur’s Gate 3 sends.
Because healing isn’t pretty. Nor is it easy.
You’re not alright the moment you’re free of whatever horrors you had to live through—and that’s ok! There’s time and room for you to adjust.
And the moment Astarion feels more or less safe within his new environment, when he’s fed and treated like a person worthy of respect and consideration, his insights, skills and perception are crucial assets to the group.
Astarion knows his art and literature, and although his little remarks are unhinged at times, he's genuinely witty. Even his objections are, considering the circumstances, absolutely legitimate.
Personally, I love seeing Smooth Brain Astarion become more and more secure in his judgement the more Tav/other companions trust and support him.
Astarion is smart, his brain’s just been stewed for nearly 200 years.
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You’re chatting with Astarion over dinner at the Elfsong when a question strikes you. It’s an odd one, and you’re not sure if you should ask it. Your curiosity builds as you consider Astarion’s possible answers though and, by the next lull in conversation, you can’t help yourself.
“Astarion?” you ask, spearing a potato on your plate.
The vampire swirls his wine glass, watching the red liquid fall into place before answering, “Yes, dear?”
“Would you still love me if I were a worm?” The question spills out of you, sounding even sillier than it did in your head.
Your lover blinks at you, as if he couldn’t possibly have heard that properly. But when your expression doesn’t change, your eye contact doesn’t drop, no admission of jest is to be seen, he finally says, “Darling, what kind of ludicrous question is that?”
“Well, would you?” you counter, pointing at him with your fork before popping the potato in your mouth.
His face grows pensive as he thinks. It’s a few seconds later before he asks a follow up question, “What type of worm?”
You finish chewing as you think of the worms you know. Not many admittedly– life in the city meant that free patches of earth are few and far between. So you answer the only worm that truly comes to mind, “The earthworm kind.”
“And I would know that it’s you?” he asks, leaning forward now. It seems like he’s invested in the question now, despite his initial reaction.
You nod, as if that’s a given. “Yes, you saw me transform.”
“Hells, I was hoping I could pretend not to know,” he says with a smirk.
“Wicked man,” you retort, shooting him a responding smile.
Astarion’s face looks thoughtful again as he considers the developing situation. “Could I turn you back?”
Now you shake your head vehemently. What use was the exercise if magic would fix you? “No, nothing could turn me back. I’m simply a worm from now on.”
“Hmm, and are you certain that you would love me?” He raises an eyebrow at you in challenge, as if he’s cornered you in your own mischievous little game.
“Of course,” you answer immediately. “I don’t think my little worm brain would be able to think of much else.”
“How sweet… I think,” he says, cocking his head. You suppose it is, though you had meant it as fact. “Well then, one final question, if you would?”
You nod, gesturing for him to continue with your fork. “Go ahead, I’m an open book. Or worm, in this case.”
“How long do worms live?”
You blink, having not expected such a question from him– and truthfully also due to not knowing the answer. “I don’t know. Maybe Halsin would?”
Astarion locates the druid, sitting a few tables away talking to Wyll and Karlach. He raises his voice to be overheard in the din of the tavern. “Halsin, be a dear, how long do earthworms live?”
“A fantastic question, Astarion!” The druid’s voice carries easily with excitement. “It truly depends on the conditions of the worm, but anywhere from a few years up to eight years.”
You balk at that fact. A worm can live how long?
“I’m happy to tell you all about ideal soil conditions–”
Astarion cuts the man off with a loud, “Thank you!” Then he turns back to you. “Well, there you have it.”
“Have what?” you ask in response, confused at the turn in conversation.
“You would live at most eight years. I’m immortal, my love. I think I can manage less than a decade of loving a worm,” he says, rolling his eyes at you.
You’re not sure how to take the casual way that he speaks of your impending wormy death, but you find it oddly comforting to know that he would in fact still love you. You honestly hadn't expected that. “So you’d keep me around? Made sure I stayed healthy and safe?”
He nods, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Naturally.”
You can’t help but laugh at the idea of him keeping you as a pet worm. It seems almost unbelievable. “You wouldn’t throw me into the nearest patch of dirt? Or worse yet, let a bird take me?”
“Gods below, dear,” Astarion responds, aghast, putting a hand over his heart as if he’s been truly, deeply offended. “I would never.” Then he gets a far off look in his eyes and adds, “Well, maybe never. I suppose it depends on if I needed you as bait. But I’m certain I would be able to rescue you after the fact.”
“I would allow it,” you say, with a short nod. “If you’re using me as bait, it’s likely for good reason.”
"And after you pass? I would miss you terribly of course," he says solemnly, with his most maudlin, tragic expression.
"You'd better. And I expect the best soil for my burial," you say, pointing your fork at him threateningly.
“Of course, darling,” he says, only the hint of his smile visible from behind his wine glass. He takes a sip and looks at you again. “Now, why would you ask such a thing?”
You shrug, entirely convinced it was just a passing thought. But, as you poke and prod at your food, you find yourself answering, “I don’t know. What if, before this all ends, something happens to me. I already come with my own scars and problems, gods know how much worse it can get.”
Astarion stares at you over his wine glass, processing what you've just said before responding, "My love, believe it or not, I'm a vampire. I have 'scars and problems' of my own. If you think that anything could happen to you that I wouldn't be able to handle, you'd be sorely mistaken."
You hadn't expected him to say such words so sincerely, and you find yourself a bit taken aback. You love each other, you'd said as much on the night Astarion had been freed from Cazador, but it still feels a bit intimidating to know how deep that love could run. Apparently earthworm deep.
The idea that this man, who would rather bathe in blood than touch an inch of dirt, would continue to love you? Well, despite the inane premise, you find the warmth in your heart to feel very real.
"What about you, darling?" he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. "If I were to become a worm, what would you do?"
You answer quickly, "Easy. I would still love you, probably keep you on my person, and offer you blood or other sustenance when you need it."
Astarion looks at you aghast. "Sweet hells, do not put me in your pocket."
"And why not? I would be extremely careful, and then I would never lose you," you respond, explaining yourself logically. "Besides, even as a worm, who knows what kind of trouble you'd get yourself into."
"I should be saying that to you," he says, placing his wine glass on the table, serious now. "I can't believe you would put me in danger like that. I fully expect you to place me somewhere nice, like the lawn of some pampered Upper City noble."
You think about his proposition for a second before shaking your head. "But then I couldn't take care of you. What if you get stepped on?"
Astarion considers your counterargument with narrowed eyes. “Ugh, fine. I shall stay in your pocket. But I expect you to clean it regularly. And I demand that you get a new lining for it. Silk, preferably.”
“Easy enough to do,” you say, nodding along. “You would be most comfortable worm this side of the Chionthar.”
At that, the man looks pleased, picks his wine glass back up, and reclines back in his seat. “Good. And, for what it’s worth, I'm sure you would make a very cute worm.”
You’re not sure if that’s meant to be a compliment or an insult, but you suspect it’s the former. “Thank you,” you say, smiling at your lover. “You would make a dashing worm yourself.”
“Are you both expecting to turn into worms any time soon?” you hear from behind you. You turn around to see Halsin standing tall over you. His tone is friendly, warm as he continues, “I would be happy to take care of either of you.”
You can’t help the blush of embarrassment that comes over your face. You’re also not sure how to take the words. Is he asking to adopt you both, as worms? Gods, how did you end up here… So you look back to Astarion who is now shooting you a look that says, Now look what you’ve done.
“Err, no Halsin. It was just an odd little conversation we were having. Sorry to cause you any confusion.”
“No need to apologize, my friend,” he replies. “Though if you ever do need help, you know where to find me.” He gives you both an affectionate smile before heading off.
While it’s nice to know that others would care enough to take care of you as a worm, you’d meant the question to be solely for Astarion. You’re left burying your face in your hands to hide your shame.
“So, darling… what did we learn?”
“To never ask Halsin about earthworms,” you mumble through your fingers.
Astarion gives you a ‘tsk’ before responding. “No, my dear. If either of us turns into a worm, we must hide that fact from Halsin." He scrunches his nose in distaste before continuing, "I refuse to live in whatever healthy soil he’s found for us.”
You snort at Astarion’s conclusion, but still find yourself agreeing. “Fair enough. Better yet, let’s try to keep ourselves at the very least bipedal.”
The two of you share a laugh, but in the back of your mind you’re already thinking of your next question. I wonder if he would still love me if I were a mimic? I suppose there’s only one way to find out.
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I'm working on these ace!tav headcanons, and I'm legitimately worried that people aren't going to like them because they "aren't the right type of ace."
I'm basing it more on my own experiences on the asexuality spectrum, but there's so much stigma around it all that I don't know how people will react to them.
idk. it doesn't help that the people who voted in the poll that they were going to send in a prompt didn't actually do that, so I have no idea what direction y'all want this to go in...
idk
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