How they react to seeing Reader breaking down {Wyll, Astarion, Gale, Lae’zel}
This is a request from my main blog (@a-bit-of-writing ) featuring a reader who’s breaking down from their usual sunny/optimistic self and how the companions react to it.
Wyll
He notices but doesn’t push (at first)
Wyll is perceptive, especially when it comes to people he cares about. He’ll notice the subtle changes first: the forced smiles, the distant gaze, the silence where laughter used to be.
He won’t confront you immediately. He’ll observe — give you space.
“You’ve been quieter lately. Not like you. …Not that I mind a little peace and quiet, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss your laugh.”
He’s gentle about it, not invasive. He’s been taught to lead with kindness, not pressure.
Once he knows it’s serious, he shifts into steady support
When he realizes it’s not just a bad day – that you’re really struggling – his tone becomes steady, his warmth unwavering. He’ll sit with you in it, no grand speeches, no magic fixes. Just presence.
He stops trying to cheer you up and focuses on being there.
“You don’t have to smile for me. You don’t have to say a word. Just… stay. I’m not going anywhere.”
His hero complex makes him want to fix it, but he reins that in. He understands that this isn’t a battle he can fight for you but he can fight with you.
He shares his own pain — to show you you’re not alone
Wyll doesn’t often speak about his own regrets or loneliness. But your breakdown would open that door. Quietly, hesitantly, he’ll begin to offer pieces of himself—not to shift focus, but to remind you he understands.
He speaks plainly, without dramatics.
“There were days I didn’t believe I deserved anything better. Days I looked in the mirror and only saw what I’d lost… or what I’d become. You ever feel that way?”
He doesn’t pity you. He relates to you. And that matters.
His affection grows deeper, not distant
Some would shy away from the intensity of someone unraveling. Wyll doesn’t. If anything, he draws closer. More careful. More devoted. Not because he sees you as fragile but because he sees your strength even when you can’t.
He flirts less during this time — not because he’s lost interest, but because his love becomes more protective. More reverent.
“You don’t have to be the light all the time, you know. Even the sun rests. I’ll keep the fire burning till you’re ready to rise again.”
Long-term: he’s patient, loyal, and will wait as long as it takes
Wyll isn’t going anywhere. Not when you’re struggling. Not when you’re quiet. Not when it’s hard. He will wait. Fight for you. Sit beside you through every storm. Because once he loves — he chooses.
He’ll keep offering small joys — stories, warmth, reminders of who you are.
“You once told me I was a hero. But you — you’re the one who kept hope alive when everything went dark. I haven't forgotten. And I never will.”
Astarion
His first response is deflection — sharp, defensive, and a bit cruel
Astarion senses the shift. He absolutely notices your sudden quiet, your lack of spark and it scares him. So his first instinct is to mock it, to distance himself emotionally.
He’ll say something sarcastic to cover his panic.
“Well, this is new. Have we given up the role of radiant optimist for something more… dreary?”
There’s venom, but it’s hollow. He’s not being cruel — he’s terrified. This is how he protects himself.
When he realizes it’s not a mood — it’s a descent — his mask slips
Once Astarion really understands what’s happening — that this isn’t passing sadness but something deeper — his tone shifts. Not immediately into comfort, but into a rare, raw honesty.
He’ll sit near you without knowing what to say, awkward and unsure. But he stays. That’s the tell.
“I’m not… good at this. The comforting. The caring. But I notice. You’ve gone quiet. And I hate it.”
He doesn’t ask you to be happy again. He asks you to talk to him. Because he feels helpless otherwise.
He’s afraid you’ll leave — or worse, disappear from the inside out
Astarion has abandonment trauma. Seeing someone he cares about emotionally shut down triggers that fear. He’ll begin clinging in his own way — more teasing, more barbed jokes, more hovering.
He won’t say “I’m scared.” He’ll say things like:
“You don’t get to break now, darling. I’ve only just gotten used to you.”
But there’s a plea underneath. “Please stay. Please don’t fade.”
Small gestures, deep meaning
Once he realizes words won’t fix this, Astarion begins to act in smaller, unexpected ways. He’ll bring you food without fanfare. Offer to clean your gear. Sit closer at night. It’s clumsy affection, but it’s real.
He shows up even when he doesn’t understand what you need.
“I don’t know how to fix you. But I’m here. And I’m… trying, gods help me.”
That’s the greatest intimacy he can offer: effort. Not performance. Real effort.
If you let him in—even just a little—he breaks first
If you open up to him, if you trust him with your darkness, it breaks something in Astarion. Because someone as good, bright, and lovely as you just let him see what you hide. And to him, that’s sacred.
He’ll try to laugh it off, then go quiet. Too quiet.
“You shouldn’t have told me that. Not because I don’t care but because I do. And I don’t know what to do with it.”
And when he really means it:
“I’ve clawed my way out of darkness. I know what it feels like when it whispers to you. If you’re going to fall, fall toward me. I’ll catch you — clumsily, but… I’ll try.”
Gale
He sees it immediately and treats it like a sacred secret
Gale is perceptive in the way of scholars and poets — he sees subtleties. He’ll recognize the cracks in your smile, the fatigue in your voice, the way you pause too long before answering. But he won’t rush in with questions. He’ll wait, watching with quiet concern until the right moment to speak.
He might approach it gently, over tea, over books, over starlight.
“I notice things. Not just in the stars or in spellwork—but in people. You… aren’t quite yourself lately. Would you like to talk about it?”
He gives you the space to not be okay. No judgment. Just a safe harbor.
His reaction is compassionate, never condescending
Gale would never suggest you “cheer up.” Instead, he’d normalize your pain, offering philosophical reflections that are both grounding and comforting.
He speaks in metaphors — light and shadow, storms and silence — but always with sincerity.
“Even the sun rests, my dear. Even the Weave frays. There is no shame in being… still. In being soft for a while.”
He reassures you that your value does not fade with your smile.
“You, in sorrow, are no less radiant. Only quieter. And I will sit with you in that quiet as long as you need.”
He tries to bring you back gently with joy, not pressure
He doesn’t want to pull you out — he wants to walk with you through it. He might read to you, share arcane stories or magical curiosities just to make you smile. He offers warmth through shared wonder.
His flirting slows, becomes sweeter, less performative.
“I’ve missed your laughter. I don’t expect it but I look forward to its return. Like waiting for the first bloom of spring.”
If you cry in front of him? He won’t rush to fix it. He’ll witness it. That’s love to him.
He opens up, too — so you know you’re not alone
Gale has his own darkness. And when you begin to break, he shares more of it, not to compare, but to let you know you’re not the only one walking through shadows.
His confessions are quiet, offered like gifts.
“There were days I feared the world would forget me. That all I was, all I am, would disappear. And still, I carried on. And now I see you. And I want to carry with you, if you’ll let me.”
He doesn't see your sadness as fragile. He sees it as real, and real things are worth staying for.
When he says he’s staying, he means it
Gale’s love is intentional, lasting, and utterly faithful. If you break down, he doesn’t waver. He simply settles beside you, hands gentle, voice soft, waiting for you to find your breath again.
He will stay up with you at night. He will keep the silence warm.
“You don’t need to shine to be loved. Sometimes, existing is enough. You are enough.”
And when you’re ready to stand again, even shakily — he’s right there.
“Let’s take one step. Just one. Together.”
Lae’zel
Initial confusion, followed by frustration
Lae’zel is used to strength. She respects it. When you — someone she likely viewed as emotionally resilient — begin to fade into silence, she notices. And she doesn’t know what to do with it.
Her first response might be sharp. Defensive. Confused.
“You are not yourself. Why? What weakness has taken root in you?”
It’s not cruelty — it’s fear in disguise. You were a constant. Your unraveling threatens her idea of control.
“You do not cry. You fight. What has changed?”
She tries to snap you out of it because that’s what she would want
Lae’zel believes that pain is meant to be crushed, not carried. She doesn’t coddle. Her instinct is to provoke a reaction, to push you back into action.
She gives tough love before she even understands what gentle love looks like.
“Sitting in your sorrow will not serve you. You must move. You must act. That is how we survive.”
It’s not graceful but it’s her version of showing concern.
When you don’t react — that’s when she begins to understand
If you don’t fight back — if your silence lingers — Lae’zel’s armor begins to crack. She realizes this isn’t laziness or weakness. It’s something deeper. And she begins to see you.
That’s when she quiets down. Her tone shifts.
“You are not broken. Just… tired. Worn.”
She sits closer. Doesn’t touch but stays close, ready. Watchful. Protective.
Loyalty becomes her language of comfort
Lae’zel doesn’t know how to say “I love you” or “I’m here.” But she knows how to guard you, how to stand between you and the world while you regain your footing. And that’s what she offers.
She’ll position herself at your back in combat without being asked. Sharpen your blade while you sleep. Watch you out of the corner of her eye.
“Rest, if you must. I will not let anything touch you.”
And if someone else comments on your changed demeanor? She’ll shut them down instantly.
“Her strength has not left her. It is only… hidden. And it will return. You will not question it again.”
If you let her in — even a little — she becomes fiercely protective
If you choose to open up to her — say just a few words about what’s weighing you down — Lae’zel won’t say the perfect thing. But she’ll offer you something far rarer from her: trust.
She might look away while saying it, but it will land like an oath:
“You are strong. Even now. Especially now. You need not prove it to me.”
Please refer to this very short list of crimes if there’s any confusion:
1. Forced Thetis into a relationship with a mortal so that her child would not overpower him
2. Often beats Hera
3. Threatens Hera in front of all the gods terrifying all parties, humiliating her, and ruining the mood
4. Threw sweet Hephaestus from Olympus when he defended his mother, Hera, the last time Zeus was beating her. The fall left him crippled
No, there will not be a trial and questions will not be answered.
Thetis, while it was very kind of you to save him before, the thought is useless under my reign. If it’s any consolation, this will be my only executive decision
amandla
tangentwithtanner
areudirty
pixelskylines
gamechangershow
dailybridgerton
romaincrisis
gummygunk
origamiaround
