I'm Litsen, quite of a mess of a person from France. I'm in my mid-30s and I try to do things... Can't promise to be coherent or to make sense. Please, bear with me 😅
I mostly post about BG3, especially about Astarion, through screenshots and gifs, but also personal opinions and analysis of the characters, and also through a few fanfics, sometimes centred on my Durge, Ellith, and sometimes not (I like writing from the general "you" pov to explore some Astarion fluff or angst).
Oh and just in case you're not sure, I'm kinda genderfluid/nonbinary, and you can use any pronouns when you talk about me, I really don't care (But I'll always respect your pronouns of course 💜)
Also, here [updated], you’ll get some information about my blog (and myself), mostly PSA + I have the personal stuff tag for my life and rants, and the pet family tag for the fluffy babies!
Ah! And if you strongly disagree with me; it's ok. We can agree to disagree. But if you feel like being insulting, disrespectful and/or passive aggressive, you should unfollow [/block] me right now. It will be better for both of us.
Also: if you think using Gen AI is okay - or /can be okay sometimes/ - just unfollow me.
Thank you! 🙏
The masterpost about my Durge Ellith is HERE.
The masterpost for all my fanfics is HERE.
My opinions, headcanons and analysis:
Astarion and Irony
Astarion's boundaries
How Astarion handles tenderness and care
How a former sex-worker relates to Astarion's experience
Why does Astarion claim he enjoys killing so much?
Astarion’s state of mind in the first sex scene
Refusing to sleep with Astarion a second time
Astarion craves connection and a long answer to a comment about it
Night two: Astarion asks you how you'd want him to kill you.
Astarion's feeding and the "Hot Vampire Fantasy"
Astarion's midnight snacks, but on his own terms
Bonding with Astarion in the Shadowlands (Act 2 hc)
Being Astarion's friend
Astarion / Lae'zel: similarities and differences Part I - Part II
Astarion's scent
How the idea of Astarion’s ascension affected me (cw eating disorders)
Astarion's cheek biting
Act1 Astarion: When the mask falls for a second
My two cents to a post about Astarion's ptsd
My two cents about Astarion 'not getting cuddly'
My two cents to a great to discussion, esp. about AA being "kind when you're nice to him"
My two cents to an excellent essay about AA, concerning how he perceives love and if he needs his consort
General perception of Astarion's and Halsin traumas
Garlic love (silly little hc)
Durge pre-game chronology (questions)
The influence of the companions on Resist Durge
Degrading yourself
Gortash in French
Gale in French
Horny BG3 tierlist
Astarion's heartbreaking face during that first night and here for more
Astarion's type? (No.)
Astarion as a hero
"The charming rake", the anti-hero(?)
Astarion realises heroes don't have to be flawless
Minthara about Astarion running from the sun
Cazador and children (cw mentions of child abuse)
My two scents on the alignment system
The flophouse scene; Astarion's violence
"This isn't about sympathy"... or is it?
Durge created the Absolute: Astarion's reaction
Astarion/Sauron?
The Crimson Manor, AA's eternal prison + Health and safety violations in the Palace (crack post)
Astarion and Thaniel/Oliver: a similar story?
Astarion: An addict to blood and freedom?
Astarion, a "banisher of shadows"
Astarion's self-esteem and sense of worth
Helping Astarion on his healing journey: a few leads
What to do with the spawns after Cazador's gone for good?
Astarion Origin second nightmare
"Don't eat your friends"
Wyll encouraging Astarion in act 3
Karlach being proud of Astarion
Former Magistrate Astarion offering his service
The Gate as Astarion's home
Astarion always "ending up in crypts"
HC: Astarion's precious place in the Gate
Astarion's denial in the cells
My two cents to an excellent post about Astarion's reaction when Raphael reveals his scars
''Astarion and Durge never met before the tadppole adventure': STOP TAKING YOUR HC FOR CANON FGS
Astarion's painful decision to break up with Doomed Durge, or with a Mind-flayer partner.
My two cents to a lovely post about Radiant Astarion's tenderness
Astarion's views on polyamory
When dangerous places remind Astarion of his home
My personal tribute for BG3 (video)
Letting Astarion bite you during the first sex night, and the struggles of vampiric compulsions.
Other tags:
This tag for my screenshots
This tag for the gifs of all my fav Astarion reaction
Requests and asks:
First thing first: I'm really not into AU, unless it's the kind of more or less 'canon' AU in which different Tavs and Durges meet (because I like it when OCs interact!). So yeah, don't expect me to play with AUs, that's really not my cup of tea (Determinism is still a thing to me, with a lot of nuances, but still)
Just so you know, if you have any request in terms of Astarion screenshots (a dialogue or cutscene in particular, an expression, body language, or photomode silliness, that kind of thing...), feel free to send it to me.
Likewise, if you have a question about my interpretation of a scene, or a dialogue or banter, my askbox is open! It also works for my Durge, if you ever have questions about Ellith 🖤
I can't promise I'll do everything you might ask, but if I can and if it inspires me, I will. ✨
Ah, and here are the specs about my current computer system.
And finally, life has been tough lately, since gen AI is stealing my job and I'm very broke, so if you like my stuff, if you want to help me and if you can afford helping, I have a kofi here💜
I’m also on Stoat and Discord for mutuals (only) - Feel free to dm me here so we can get in touch 💕✨
I only have some dark stuff to share this time (more in production), so, @unovafarm @rdekarios @archduchessgortash @litsenn @cinder-rellish181 @lilhumanoid @optimisticgrey - you brought this upon yourselves, and thank you for the tags! Reverse tags back at you, and @bladesingerlily (welcome back to us!) @missfortunetherogue @lottavilja @r3drozebud @et-augury @cursed-nyxan - you're in.:)
CW: gore
Much later, after endless discussions with the others, Ethery would replay the battle in her mind often enough to make herself sick. Eventually she came to one conclusion: they had made only one mistake, and it was exactly the one mistake Marcus needed.
Whether Karlach finally lost patience with the cramped room or merely caught her footing on something unseen, Ethery never knew. For a single fatal second the tiefling stumbled out of rhythm, swayed, froze in place. Shadowheart immediately reached toward her with Sanctuary. Ethery fired another cantrip at Marcus.
Under different circumstances it might have been enough. But Halsin lunged toward Karlach with a roar, forgetting the very thing he himself had repeated to Ethery countless times: never open yourself in combat. He turned sideways to shield Karlach, exposed for no longer than a heartbeat. Astarion was already moving to cover him.
Marcus needed no more than that single second. The blow landed with horrifying force.
Halsin dropped out of bear form at once. He staggered, somehow remained standing, blood pouring down him in bright streams. A healing spell left his lips in a hurried murmur, slowing the bleeding before he collapsed hard onto the floor.
“I have him!” Isobel shouted. Sanctuary flared around Halsin’s unmoving body.
No.
No, this was wrong.
This could not…
Ethery screamed. Not words. Something rawer.
Scorching rays tore from her hands one after another, all of them aimed at Marcus’s face, his throat, his eyes. The red haze flooding her vision made aiming nearly impossible. Her skull pounded hard enough to split.
This was not the Urge. She simply wanted to kill.
She simply wanted Marcus dead. Dead painfully. Dead screaming.
She looked at Astarion for aid, and the vampire understood immediately. He discarded his bow and threw himself low, straight at Marcus’ legs. The Flaming Fist made his own mistake then - shielding himself for a fraction of a second with his empty arm against Ethery’s relentless barrage. Astarion struck at once. The slash was broad, theatrical, viciously precise.
Another scorching ray drove straight into the wound Astarion had opened. The smell of burned flesh hit a second later, thick and nauseating, together with the hiss of boiling blood.
Marcus shrieked.
“Astarion…” Ethery rasped, collapsing beside Halsin.
Astarion did not hesitate. He vaulted upward, drove his dagger straight through Marcus’ screaming mouth, then buried his fangs in the Fist’s throat. Karlach ended it moments later with one savage strike.
“Sorry, bear man,” she said thickly, dropping to her knees beside Halsin and Ethery. Both Shadowheart and Isobel were already pouring healing magic into the druid. He had not lost much blood, but he still wasn’t moving. “Sorry, soldier. Lost my footing and…”
“Shit happens,” Ethery muttered automatically. She did not even look at her friend.
She barely realized her hand was stroking gently through Halsin’s hair.
(a mini-fic for bg3 pride month day 3: "orange - healing")
this is the second of the fics + matching VP i plan to post for the rainbow flag days. this one ended up being longer than i planned, but it's still short and sweet! i should note that elenion uses he/they pronouns and i switched between them in this story. 🧡
it's ~1.5k words and can be read below the cut, or on ao3 here if you'd like to leave a kudos or comment!
(if anyone ever wants to be on or off that list, or if anyone would like to be tagged specifically for my pride month mini-fics, just let me know!)
(before the fic i also wanted to say that the first pose in the photos is by @jessiemeows from her Just a Moment More pose pack, for bt1xbt2 but refitted with bone zone. and the second pose is by @another-pale-elf-lover/Miam158 from his Couple Pose Pack, for bt2xbt4 but i refitted and adjusted it a bit with bone zone. so thank you to both of you for your lovely work, and to @worfs-glorious-hair for hosting this event!)
Elenion had fun playing at The Yawning Portal tonight.
And that was exactly the problem.
The crowd had been warm and respectful. They laughed, smiled, and didn't demand he be anyone other than a man with a lute. A married man, he should add, who took far too much joy in flirting with Gale in the audience just to make sure no one forgot. The crowd had learned to love that.
Tonight, he'd rambled too long about an old folktale before playing a song based on it, losing his place once because someone laughed at the wrong part and made him laugh too. By the final verse, the room was clapping along and Elenion had completely forgotten to stay composed. So he did something he hadn't done in a long time: he swept his arms wide, twirled on his heels, and dipped low into a grand, theatrical bow.
The audience loved it. His shoulder did not.
Pain caught beneath the old scar, sharp enough to make his smile go still for a heartbeat. He straightened smoothly anyway, because of course he did. Years of practice had taught him how to turn pain into poise. How to handle it alone before anyone had a chance to see.
Unfortunately, he had a husband now.
One who, judging by the look on his face across the room, had seen right through everything. Elenion gave Gale their most reassuring smile.
He didn't smile back.
By the time they reached the tower, the ache had settled deep into Elenion’s shoulder. They sank into the couch as Gale unfastened the cloak they'd worn on the walk home.
"If I may offer a brief critique," Gale said brightly.
"You may not," Elenion interjected.
"That flourish was musically appropriate, visually effective…"
Gale’s voice softened as he rested one hand on their unscarred shoulder. “And medically unwise.”
"A mixed review," Elenion said, huffing a laugh despite himself.
"A generous one," Gale said. "Let me help, dearest."
Elenion sighed. "Gale, I…"
I'm fine. I've handled worse alone, he was going to say. And then he pictured Gale's eyes going unbearably soft, his voice dropping into that gentle tone Elenion had never learned how to argue with.
"Fine," he murmured. "The balm is in the drawer by the bed."
"I'll be right back," Gale said softly.
He was gone just long enough for Elenion to consider standing up and pretending this had never happened. Not that they would've gotten far, since the ache had spread and they knew the balm would help. They used to apply it on their own in a rush, rubbing in just enough of it to soothe the worst of the pain before moving on with their day.
When Gale returned, he had the jar in his hand and a soft shawl folded over his arm. “If you are preparing an argument, I should warn you I have several counterarguments and one of them involves simply looking at you until you concede.”
Elenion hated how well Gale understood them. "Cruel tactics," they said with a smirk.
"Effective ones." Gale sat down beside them. "Shirt, please."
They eased their shirt off carefully. The usual enchantment that hid their scar had faded at some point, and Elenion didn't bother hiding it again. Gale knew its jagged shape by heart anyway.
Gale warmed the balm between his fingers, staining them orange-gold. It smelled faintly of calendula flowers, lavender, and beeswax, an old recipe Elenion's mother had taught them after the fire.
He worked the balm slowly over the old scar, his touch careful enough to make Elenion's throat tighten for reasons that had nothing to do with pain. His thumbs found the places where the muscle had gone tight and coaxed the ache loose with small, patient circles.
When the worst of the tightness had eased, Gale leaned in and pressed the gentlest kiss to the curve of their shoulder.
Elenion melted into it before he could stop himself. His eyes fluttered shut and he let out a soft, embarrassingly contented sigh.
"Don't say anything," he mumbled.
"I wasn't going to," Gale said, but Elenion could practically hear the grin in his voice.
Gale laid the shawl in Elenion's lap and cast a cantrip. A moment later, soft amber light threaded through the fabric, leaving it warm beneath his hands.
“There,” he said, draping it carefully over Elenion's shoulder. “Better?”
Elenion swallowed. "Annoyingly."
"Good," Gale said, his smile turning so smug it should've been illegal.
Elenion let themself sit beneath the warmed shawl, Gale's hand steady at their back, for all of three minutes before the tenderness became unbearable.
“I’m making tea,” they announced, bracing a hand on the edge of the couch.
Gale’s hand closed gently around their wrist before they could stand. "You are sitting still."
"I was. Briefly."
"Len."
“Darling.” They rose carefully before Gale could stop them. “You rubbed balm into my shoulder and bullied me with a shawl. Let me make tea.”
“You don’t have to take care of me just because I took care of you.”
Elenion paused. Then their face softened. "I know," they murmured. "But I want to."
Gale opened his mouth, then closed it again.
"Go wash the tavern smoke out of your hair," Elenion said. "Change into something comfortable. I’ll make the tea and come to bed."
Gale studied them for a moment, then surrendered with a sigh. "All right."
Elenion made the tea by lamplight, still wrapped in the shawl Gale had warmed for them. Orange peel, cinnamon, clove, and a spoonful of honey because Gale always claimed not to want too much honey in his tea and then drank it anyway.
It felt strange, even now, to have someone care for them like this. Stranger still to be allowed the joy of caring for Gale in return.
They smiled into the steam.
By the time they carried the cups upstairs, Gale had changed into a loose robe, his hair damp at the temples. He was sitting against the pillows with a book open in one hand, because apparently nothing could stop him from being ridiculous.
He looked beautiful.
He took a teacup in both hands, breathing in the steam before he drank. "You added too much honey."
"You always say that, and yet you always finish it," Elenion said.
Gale shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. Elenion settled close at his side, folding into him and letting their head rest near Gale’s heart. His robe had fallen open, and the scar caught the amber lamplight.
Almost without thinking, Elenion set their tea aside and brushed their fingertips along the edge of the mark. Gale went still, but didn't pull away.
They knew the scar still ached sometimes. They'd seen the bad days, when Gale pressed his hand absently to his chest after too much spellwork, or breathed a little more carefully as the old Netherese damage tugged beneath his skin. So they kept their touch light, gentle enough that Gale could stop them with the smallest breath.
They stayed tucked against him, feeling his warmth as their fingertip traced the shape the orb had left.
"I thought it would go with the orb," Gale said at last.
Elenion’s fingers stilled. "You mean the scar."
"The scar. The ache. The reminder." Gale looked away. "Mystra removed the danger. Some foolish part of me hoped she would take the evidence too."
"Evidence of…?" Elenion asked, though he already knew the answer.
Gale let out a humorless laugh. "My ruin. My folly. Choose whichever indictment sounds most poetic."
Elenion's heart ached at his words. It wasn't the first time he'd heard them, and he doubted it would be the last. He knew better than most how stubborn shame could be.
He lifted his hand from the scar to cup Gale's cheek. "Hey," he said. "Listen to me."
Gale finally looked back at him.
"I'll remind you a thousand times if you need me to," Elenion said softly. "This isn't ruin. It isn't evidence of failure. It's proof you lived."
He shifted just enough to kiss the scar, slow and careful. Then he lingered there for another breath, his mouth warm against Gale's skin.
"And," he added, lifting his gaze to Gale's, "it's also unfairly handsome."
Gale's breath caught. He tried to recover with a raised eyebrow. "A beautiful sentiment," he murmured. "I do wonder whether its author intends to accept the premise himself."
Elenion immediately glared at him. "This is about you."
Gale huffed a small laugh. "Convenient."
Elenion's glare softened. He opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it. He still didn't know if he could accept the premise yet, but Gale made it a little easier every day.
Gale’s hand found the shawl still draped over Elenion’s shoulder, warm from enchantment and faintly scented with calendula balm. His thumb moved over the edge of the fabric, careful and unhurried.
"I love you," Elenion whispered.
Gale kissed the top of his head. "I know," he whispered back. "And I'll always remind you too."
Elenion hid his smile against Gale's chest.
The ache hadn't vanished, and neither had the shame. Not completely. But Gale was warm beside him. Amber light softened the edges of everything, and orange spice tea cooled forgotten on the bedside table.
For tonight, that was enough.
My spell-check thinks calendula isn't a real word, which is very annoying. So fun fact: calendulas are also known as "pot marigold" and are a yellow or orange flower that's known for anti-inflammatory properties and can be used to help with wound healing and skin irritation!
Well. I am rather pleased with him. Hope you'll like him as well, folks 🩶
Gale as the Evening Start from Alphonse Mucha ✨
Yes I know, I know, Mystryl is technically dead at this time, but she was still (as Mystra is now) the embodiment of the Weave, so I put her old symbol instead of the newest Mystra one, as a marker of Gale's love for magic, rather than Mystra herself.
And I've swapped the original design from Mucha to have a good view of the orb.
Others in the series can be found here :
Astarion as 'The North Star'
Shadowheart as 'The Moon'
Wyll as 'The Morningstar'
Lae'zel as 'The Comet'
Next (and last, for now), Karlach ❤️🔥 No idea when I'll get to her though ^^
WIP THURSDAY!!!
Thank you so much much @litsenn for the tag!!
I began the second drawing of my redraw of my the red Sorcerer Caedus character sheet.
Caedus with their camp outfit!!
I’ve often seen very dark interpretations of the letters specifically sent to Astarion during the epilogue party — sometimes even used as proof that the Radiant Hopeful ending is actually miserable. As always, everyone is entitled to their own opinion, and I’m not trying to change anyone’s mind here, only to offer an alternative reading. One that is entirely my own, humble and deeply personal. If someone resonates with it, wonderful. If not, that’s perfectly fine too.
I write because I enjoy it, because it’s fun, and because I want to share the things I find meaningful, moving, or fascinating about a game or a character.
But above all else, I write for myself.
So, we know these letters are sent by the Gur and by Sebastian. In both cases, they offer an overview of how things developed for Cazador’s victims — the vampire spawn imprisoned in the dungeons — both for the children and for the adults.
Let me proceed step by step, one piece at a time, before getting to the literal analysis of these letters. After all, the context — and the people we are talking about — matter too.
The Power of Hope
The way I see it, these letters are actually very much in line with Astarion’s Radiant Hopeful ending, because even if they do not describe perfect or idyllic situations, that is precisely the point. They speak of hope — and that hope shines through completely.
So let’s take a small detour and talk about hope itself. What is it, really?
According to the dictionary: “A feeling of confident expectation regarding the fulfillment, present or future, of what one desires. More generally, trust in the future, or in the successful outcome of someone or something.”
Hope is not definitive fulfillment. It is not the finish line. It is the beginning of the journey.
Which may discourage those who prefer absolute certainty instead — even though absolute certainty is, in itself, an impossible standard to achieve.
But real hope is something far more fragile, difficult, and powerful than that.
Hope is what survives even when pain does not disappear. It is the ability to keep imagining meaning, connection, change, or a future despite uncertainty, fear, trauma, or suffering. It does not deny darkness. It exists alongside it. It is resilience.
It is hopelessness that truly paralyzes. Because it convinces people that nothing can change, that there is no point in trying, trusting, building, loving, or continuing. It is complete annihilation.
Hope, on the other hand, creates movement and openness. It is an act of courage, especially after trauma, as in the case of Astarion and his fellow vampire spawn. It means accepting vulnerability again, allowing yourself to try again despite everything. It means admitting that the future still matters to you, even after the world has given you every reason to stop believing in it.
And perhaps the strongest form of hope is not the one that says, “Everything will definitely be fine,” but the one that says:
“Things are still difficult. The pain is still real. And yet, I believe something better is still possible.”
And it is within this context that the content of those letters truly belongs: a context of hope shared by multiple people who endured the same fate.
The Desire to Live
And here, I think, it is important to underline something: the spawn — all of them — ultimately want only one thing: to live. Which is no small desire, especially once you choose to recognize their personhood.
In BG3, there is even a beautiful song associated precisely with this theme — one that is often linked, while still resonating with the other companions as well, particularly to Astarion, and certainly to themes of survival, guilt, the desire to live, liberation, vulnerability, love, and the fear of death. And that by extension, it can be applied to the entire game as one of its central themes.
Of course, I’m talking about I Want to Live.
A title could hardly be more evocative in this case.
When Astarion finally comes face to face with the imprisoned spawn, Tav/Durge is given the opportunity to offer them promises of freedom. The prisoners are divided between adults and children — physically, through separate cells, but also conceptually, through age and experience.
The adults have been there for so long that many of them no longer even remember how long it has been. They are the ones for whom hope for the future has almost entirely eroded away. Starving, abandoned, locked away without ever being given the chance to feed for centuries.
And Astarion himself has several remarkably significant things to say about them — lines that are deeply important for understanding who exactly we are talking about here:
“Decades of hatred will have piled up inside of them. I can’t even begin to imagine.”
“Cazador didn’t keep me in luxury, but I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“They are in a state far beyond anything that ever happened to me.”
And Astarion knows exactly what he is talking about. One of his own lines confirms it openly: “I've had periods where I was so hungry, I was all but robbed of speech and reason.”
But let us look more closely at Tav/Durge’s dialogue options in response to Sebastian’s question: “And then? What happens to us?” Obviusly, assuming, as he himself considers almost impossible, that the group of heroes actually manages to defeat Cazador.
The dialogue options are:
“We’ll set you free — what else?”
“That depends on you. Can you control your hunger?”
“What do you want to happen?”
“I have no intention of freeing a bunch of ravenous spawn.”
In the first case, Sebastian responds without even a trace of hope left in him. After so long spent in the darkness of those dungeons, he simply does not have any left. How could it be otherwise? He no longer has the strength to envision an “after,” a future, perhaps even a life worthy of truly being called a life. He is simply exhausted. Overwhelmed.
And so he says only: “From this nightmare? It doesn’t seem possible…”
And it is interesting to see how it is precisely Astarion who offers words of comfort here, reigniting a small light within that total darkness:
“I promise you, I know that feeling all too well. But it can be done.”
Very few words — and yet they express so much.
And again, if confronted with the second dialogue option about the vampiric hunger, Sebastian responds this way: “I don’t know, it’s all I’ve ever felt…”
And once more, Astarion rekindles that same fragile light with his own words:
“Trust me when I say I know the feeling. But you can resist the urge.”
And I think it is genuinely beautiful to see how, even with Ascension only a step away and already filling his mind (by the narrator: "You can see the fear in his eyes, but also the hunger. The tichk smell of blood in the air and the promise of power being so close are intoxicating to him"), these small glimpses of an alternative path still emerge from him.
Equally interesting is Sebastian’s response when confronted with Tav/Durge’s third dialogue option — a direct question. No assumptions. No compromises. No predetermined fate. Simply the recognition that his wishes matter too, which restores to him a measure of the agency Cazador stole centuries ago: “What do you want to happen?”
And Sebastian answers:
“I don’t know. I just don’t want to die down here. Please.”
This line matters enormously.
Because at the core of all of this — beneath the hunger, the fear, the trauma, the monstrosity, the risk, the darkness — what remains is something painfully, deeply human: the desire to live.
And indeed, if Tav/Durge instead chooses the final dialogue option, faced with the prospect of being abandoned alongside all the others in total darkness, hunger, and oblivion, Sebastian reacts with pure, unfiltered despair. Almost panic.
“No — no, you can’t leave us here. Not now, not like this!”
But the most interesting part is that small, spontaneous, betraying admission: “Not now.”
The implications are huge.
Something changed the very moment Tav/Durge and Astarion set foot in Cazador’s dungeons. Even if only unconsciously, something stirred within him and allowed him to imagine… something. An expectation, pheraphs.
Because for the first time in centuries, someone saw them. Someone spoke to them. Someone acknowledged, at the very least, that they existed.
In this context, Tav/Durge’s dismissive words become even crueler from Sebastian’s perspective, because a small and unexpected light has been rekindled.
And that is almost worse than never having had any hope at all.
Only for him to add that devastating: “Not like this.”
Sebastian does not simply not want to die. More than anything else, he does not want to die like this.
In darkness. In hunger. Forgotten beneath the earth.
Because even in their most degraded state, all but robbed of speech and reason, as Astarion himself would put it, they still long for something to change.
They long for something better.
They long to be free.
The words that follow the refusal to help them —the curses, the bitterness, the centuries of resentment and anger finally unleashed onto Astarion —are simply the natural consequence of a betrayed expectation.
The Vampire Spawn Children
The conversation with Chessa is completely different from the one with Sebastian.
There is anger and resentment on both sides, certainly, but these children were turned only recently and have only recently been confronted with what their new condition actually means — particularly the concept of vampire hunger.
And we should not forget that we are still talking about children.
Human beings whose prefrontal cortex — the area of the brain responsible for impulse control, long-term planning, emotional regulation, risk assessment, and weighing consequences — has not yet fully developed. This provide important context for understanding their reactions.
Unlike Sebastian, whose despair has been worn down by centuries of imprisonment, the children are still in the midst of a much more immediate and chaotic emotional response. Their fear is raw. Their anger is raw. Their hunger is raw.
Indeed, “I’ll kill you” becomes an almost reflexive phrase on the lips of a child who not only abhors what she has become, but who is traditionally expected to embody the very image of innocence.
Another interesting detail to note is how the hunger and newfound aggression seem to leave them confused, almost clouded in their thinking.
And when Tav/Durge recognizes them for who they are — the children from the Gur camp — Chessa responds in a rather peculiar way, as though she can no longer clearly remember who she is or where she came from.
"Camp... monsters hunter... the Gur camp? Oh gods — my parent's camp! Chessa, focus. Resist the beast inside you! You promised. "
Another line that seems to support a similar interpretation is the one that occurs when Tav/Durge tells the children that their parents are looking for them. Chessa replies:
“I miss them. I think. Or perhaps it’s the hunger… oh, I don’t know. It’s so hard to tell! You should go, leave us here. We shouldn’t be out there. We’d hurt our families.”
There is something profoundly tragic in this response. The boundaries between affection, instinct, memory, and vampiric craving have become blurred.
Taken together, these lines may offer us a glimpse into what it feels like to be a newly created vampire spawn.
And yet, despite that confusion, Chessa still arrives at a remarkably lucid conclusion: “We shouldn’t be out there. We’d hurt our families.”
This suggests that some part of her still remembers being a Gur — a young monster hunter — but also that she still cares about her family, enough to choose to stay behind rather than risk putting them in danger.
But let us take a closer look at Tav/Durge’s dialogue options in response to Chessa’s suggestion that they should simply be left there to rot because they are too dangerous.
"I'm going to help you. How do I free you?"
"Never give up hope. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about."
"I'm sorry it had to end this way. Good luck to you."
"The world will be a safer place with you behind bar."
If Tav/Durge responds with encouragement with the firt two options, the Chessa’s reaction is, despite the harsh words she reserve for Astarion — the one who kidnapped them — and for her and the other children as bloodsucking monsters deserving nothing but oblivion in Cazador’s dungeons, remarkably significant.
The narrator says:
"Behind the exhaustion, starvation, and fear — recognition stirs in her eyes, and with it — hope."
Hope — the central theme, explicitly invoked within the game itself.
Beautiful. Powerful. Capable of moving mountains.
The Gur children are frightened, hopeless, consumed by hunger, and painfully aware of the danger they pose. "You really mean it", says Chessa. And yet, when the opportunity finally presents itself, the possibility of a future begins to reappear. The possibility of returning to a life. Of seeing their families again. Of being something more than the monsters they fear they have become.
Because they, too, like Sebastian and the other spawn, do not want to die.
They just no longer want to live this way.
It is therefore hardly surprising that, when faced with the prospect of being abandoned and left to Cazador, Chessa reacts much like Sebastian does—directing her anger and bitterness toward those who have betrayed her, and wishing upon them the same fate: that Cazador would drain them to the very last drop.
Astarion’s Spawn Siblings
Of course, Astarion’s brothers and sisters do not want to die either.
Quite the opposite.
In Astarion’s Origin run, with the right dialogue choices, Dalyria can even go so far as to directly ask Astarion to save them — from the lies Cazador has fed them for centuries and from the eternal damnation awaiting them at the end of the ritual.
They, too, desire a future.
And it is beautiful that, after finally destroying the monster who tortured them for centuries, when Dalyria asks: “What does this mean for us?”
Astarion’s answer is:
"It means you have a choice. You can hide here, living in the shadows like parasites, or you can be more than what he made us to be."
Let us pause for a moment and focus on the key points.
Dalyria’s question carries an expectation. Astarion’s answer carries a message of hope.
But he is not speaking only about his brothers and sisters. He is speaking about all of them: the spawn imprisoned in the cages, his siblings, and himself.
The words “it means you have a choice” matter enormously, because Astarion knows exactly what he is talking about. Because he has experienced firsthand, throughout his journey alongside his companions, both the intoxicating thrill of freedom and the uncertainty that comes with it — the kind of uncertainty that can be frightening, overwhelming, and even paralyzing. To quote his own words once again: “‘You can do whatever you want’ sounds terrifying — and it is.”
Anyway, the restoration of choice is something immense, especially for people who have been deprived of it for so long that they may even fear it when it is finally returned to them.
And it is important to note that this is not a promise of happiness.
It is a promise of hope.
Once again, the recurring theme.
Because now a future exists. And a future implies possibility. Possibility implies choice.
And choice implies consequences.
It is hardly surprising, then, that Astarion ultimately concludes his speech to his siblings by acknowledging the other side of freedom as well:
“You can choose differently, of course, but the consequences are on your head.”
But the fundamental point remains: the hope that all of them may become something far greater than what they were made to be by the monster who spent centuries shaping them in his own image.
And it is within this same thematic thread that another line from Astarion, one I find particularly relevant, should be considered.
If Astarion chooses not to Ascend but instead destroys all of the imprisoned spawn because of the risk that they might prove too dangerous, then no future remains for them. Yet even then, the way Astarion sees them has changed. The image he carries of them is now different — hopeful:
“I was able to go out into the world and make better choices. To go against my nature and become more than a blood-sucking monster. Maybe they would have done the same.”
Here too, when speaking about the vampire spawn, the same themes resurface: choice, agency, change, hope, and personhood.
And once again, there is no certainty.
No guarantee.
Only the possibility that they, too, might have chosen differently.
The Letter from the Gur
Context matters. The protagonists of this story matter. And now, finally, let us examine what these oft-discussed letters actually say within that framework.
A framework of possibility.
A framework of hope.
The beginning of a journey, not its conclusion.
To the spawn Astarion,
Greetings from the family of Ulma, hunters of monsters and keepers of peace across Faerun.
We know this letter finds you well, for although we hunt you no longer, we do sometimes keep a watch. Your restraint and control over your bloodlust has been admirable. Indeed, it has been an inspiration for our children, who have struggled with their own hunger.
These last months have been a difficult time for our people. We have protected and nurtured our children as best we can, and we have learned much. Herbs we once used to dull our foes' minds are now sedatives to ease hunger and pain, restraints built to hold the undead now protect them from themselves. There has been a lot of pain, but a lot of progress too. Our children learned discipline and control, while we learned compassion and patience.
There was a time when we would have destroyed any undead creature, our own blood or not, and called it a mercy. But then we met you. We saw that redemption was possible. Difficult, yes. Painful. But possible.
You saved our children first from Cazador, and then from us. For that, we thank you.
We will watch you still, but with more admiration than fear.
Walk in peace, Astarion.
First of all, the letter opens on a cordial note and speaks on behalf of the entire tribe of monster hunters. To highlight just how significant this change is, let us recall Gandrel’s words back in Act I: “Vampires are godless parasites. We don’t need a reason to destroy them.”
The difference is already enormous, and we are only at the beginning of the journey.
These monster hunters remain in contact with the vampire spawn who freed their children and showed them that an alternative future is possible.
Not easy.
Not certain.
Possible.
And it is something Astarion continues to demonstrate to them day after day, serving as a living example for the Gur and ispiration for the children. It is true that the Gur still keep an eye on him,but this is not about control.
It is about growing trust. It is about learning, admiration, as they themselves admit in the closing lines of the letter.
And this, too, is something still in progress.
After centuries of bloodshed on both sides — monster hunters killing vampires, vampires killing monster hunters — Astarion represents an extraordinary and wholly unexpected exception.
Erasing all that blood is not easy. Fear may persist, and it is almost natural that it does. But this, too, is something destined to evolve, just like everything else in this story, and likely for the better now that a window of possibility has been opened.
Perhaps it is only a matter of time before that window is thrown wide open:
There was a time when we would have destroyed any undead creature, our own blood or not, and called it a mercy. But then we met you. We saw that redemption was possible. Difficult, yes. Painful. But possible.
The letter also highlights another important point. Ulma states that she knows the letter finds Astarion well: “We know this letter finds you well.”
Which is the exact opposite of the image of the miserable, wretched vampire that many people describe.
Astarion is doing well, and he is free — free from both Cazador and the vampire hunters. And he is free because he proved that vampires are capable of choice. To choose who you are, rather than being defined by what your nature or past dictates.
That does not mean he has become a saint, of course. After all, he does have certain needs.
Indeed, when Ulma write: “Your restraint and control over your bloodlust has been admirable,” she is not saying that Astarion has gone back to feeding exclusively on animals or that he spends his days constantly starving (in the sewers, lol).
Astarion still kills people. He still enjoys violence. But he has learned to manage his hunger well enough to apply discrimination in how he feeds.
Which, once again, implies a choice.
Astarion chooses to feed on criminals, on dangerous individuals, to place his natural predatory instincts in the service of something closer to the greater good.
And he clearly enjoys doing so, as demonstrated by the little dance he performs at the end of his Origin run. And in this case, the narrator’s choice of the word “flourish” is hardly accidental.
As I have written elsewhere, he is a well-fed vampire who is not suffering from hunger, even if he remains dependent on blood in a way the Ascendant does not.
For anyone interested, I explored this topic in more detail HERE.
And now we come to one of the most controversial — and most criticized — parts of the letter, where Ulma describes how difficult and painful the past months with their undead children have been.
But what does this passage actually say?
First of all, let us remember that we are talking about children. As mentioned earlier, these are individuals whose prefrontal cortex is still developing. We cannot reasonably expect from them the same degree of maturity, impulse control, and emotional regulation that we would expect from an adult.
And if, as discussed above, they are also very recently turned vampire spawn, it follows naturally that they would possess even less control over their impulses and hunger, especially in the beginning.
So yes, it has been difficult. It has been painful. Both the children and the Gur have had to adapt, to learn, and to find new meaning in circumstances neither of them ever expected to face. Measures have been taken to ease their hunger and to prevent them from harming themselves or others.
But the passage also says something fundamentally important — something that strongly suggests the temporary nature of such precautions:
“Our children learned discipline and control, while we learned compassion and patience.”
The children learned to manage their impulses over time and with the support they needed.
But that is not the only transformation taking place here.
This is the story of two groups changing together. Both sides are being transformed by the experience in the best way.
And that may be one of the most hopeful aspects of the entire letter.
For the first time, the vampire hunters themselves have changed their perspective. The very tools they once used to kill are now being used to protect and preserve life.
The Gur have learned to see people where they once saw only monsters.
It is worth noting that now they are beginning to develop ways to help them. All of them, not just their own children. Because now, like Astarion, they have learned that discernment is possible. That distinctions can be made among vampires. And that is hugely significant, because before this, no one was trying to alleviate vampirism. The only solution anyone had ever considered was destruction.
I will conclude with what I believe is the most important point of all: the desire of the vampire spawn children themselves.
No matter what they have become. No matter the difficulties they will face along the way. They have what they truly wanted.
To be reunited with their family.
And, together with them, to keep living.
To keep living, and to do so with something they had almost lost forever: hope.
The hope of a better future.
A hope now shared by both the children and the people who chose not to give up on them. And personally, I find that genuinely beautiful.
The letter from Sebastian
On the other hand, there is Sebastian’s letter, which does not speak about a small group of vampire spawn learning to adapt alongside their families. It speaks about a wave of vampire spawn unleashed into the Underdark.
And that is perhaps the most frightening scenario imaginable.
But, like everything else we have discussed so far, it is only a stage of the journey — one step in a process that has only just begun. Not something fixed in time and space. Not the final destination.
But let us take it one step at a time.
After so long in a vampire's cell, I'd almost forgotten how to write. Never mind what to write. But what can you say to the person who unlocked your cage and gave you your life back? Or gave us some kind of life, at least.
After you killed Cazador and opened our cells, we fled into the Underdark. There were thousands of us - a ravenous wave, mad with freedom and out for blood. And Gods, did we find blood.
We swarmed every monster and unfortunate in our path, drinking what we could. We lost hundreds along the way - some to beasts, but most just disappeared into the dark.
It wasn't easy, but eventually Cazador's house spawn calmed us and took control. They found some old ruins we could call home and we've been there ever since, building new lives for ourselves.
We're not free down here, the dark will chain us forever, but we aren't the prisoners we once were either. And that's thanks to you. You looked in our cages and saw people, not monsters. And here, down in the shadows, we're trying to live up to that.
Thank you, now and forever,
- Sebastian
The letter opens on a melancholic note:
“After so long in a vampire’s cell, I’d almost forgotten how to write. Never mind what to write.”
This is a measure of the damage that was done to him, and it helps us understand the condition of the other vampire spawn as well.
In Cazador’s dungeons, Sebastian was barely a man anymore. He was a ghost. An echo. And yet, even then, he still carried within himself a single desire: “I just don’t want to die down here.”
The fact that he is now writing a letter is itself a sign of progress.
A sign of life.
A choice.
An act that implies identity, memory, reflection, language, and agency. And Sebastian is slowly reclaiming all of those things.
He is reclaiming his personhood.
Immediately afterward, he admits that he does not quite know what to say to the person who freed them and gave them their lives back.
Or rather, as he himself carefully qualifies it, not exactly the lives they once had, but something different, more complicated:
“Or gave us some kind of life, at least.”
This ties in beautifully with the end of the letter, where Sebastian describes what that life actually entails — the difficulties and compromises that come with it:
“We’re not free down here, the dark will chain us forever, but we aren’t the prisoners we once were either.”
I think this is perhaps the most misunderstood line in the entire letter. Because many people focus exclusively on the first half: “We’re not free.” But Sebastian does not put a period there. He writes: “but.”
That but is fundamental.
It is the entire letter.
It is the entire concept of hope that spread among them, beginning with Astarion. "Maybe never seen the sun again is just the price of freedom".
Indeed, as Sebastian himself immediately goes on to say, they are no longer prisoners. And because they are no longer prisoners, they now possess something they lacked before: choice.
The choice of how to face their imperfect lives.
The choice of what to make of the future they have been given.
The choice to seek out whatever beauty, meaning, and joy that future may still contain.
But perhaps the most important passage of all is this:
“You looked in our cages and saw people, not monsters. And here, down in the shadows, we’re trying to live up to that.”
Once again, we return to the restoration of their dignity as people.
Not objects.
Not monsters.
Not sacrifices.
People.
And that recognition gave them something extraordinary: the hope that they might be far more than what Cazador created them to be. And it is to that possibility that they now cling.
It is an incredibly powerful message.
Astarion saw them. He acknowledged them. He did not decide for them. He respected their wishes and made them possible.
“I just don’t want to die down here.”
And if the Gur letter is the story of people who learned to see humanity in monsters, then Sebastian’s letter is the story of those monsters trying to become the people someone saw in them.
And Sebastian is grateful from the depths of his heart, not because everything is now perfect or neatly resolved, but because he has been given the opportunity to act and to build a future of his own.
Once again, we return to the same idea that has run through all of these letters.
Not an ending.
A beginning.
Not certainty.
Possibility.
Not the promise that everything will turn out well.
The chance to decide what comes next.
Sebastian’s words are steeped in gratitude, but also in hope:
“Thank you, now and forever,
Sebastian.”
And personally, I find that profoundly moving. Because those are not the words of someone lamenting a life that is not worth living.
They are the words of someone who was given back the chance to live at all.
But let us take a step back and examine another of the most controversial passages in Sebastian’s letter: the flight into the Underdark.
Thousands of starving vampire spawn pouring into the darkness like a wave, descending upon any living creature they can find to satisfy a hunger that has lasted for centuries.
“A ravenous wave, mad with freedom and out for blood.”
How could it be otherwise?
Let us remember that at the beginning Astarion himself described them this way: “They are in a state far beyond anything that ever happened to me.”
And yet, he also added, when speaking about their hunger: “Trust me when I say I know the feeling. But you can resist the urge.”
What does that mean?
It means that Astarion recognizes two things at once.
First, he acknowledges that their condition is catastrophic. Worse than anything he personally experienced. He does not minimize their suffering, their hunger, their trauma, or the danger they represent.
But at the same time, he refuses to reduce them to that condition. Because he knows from experience that hunger, no matter how overwhelming, is not the entirety of a person.
He knows control is something that develops over time. It is not an innate gift. And indeed, the letter neither denies nor softens this part of the story.
Quite the opposite.
It acknowledges it openly and even emphasizes it.
And Gods, did we find blood.
We swarmed every monster and unfortunate in our path, drinking what we could.
But this is the start. It is part of the process. Some of them died. Some of them chose differently and disappeared into the darkness, with all the consequences that implies.
As Astarion himself says: “You can choose differently, of course, but the consequences are on your head.” After all, freedom does not necessarily mean morality or right choice for everyone.
The journey began in blood, chaos, confusion, and loss. But Sebastian does not stop there.
“It wasn’t easy, but eventually Cazador’s house spawn calmed us and took control. They found some old ruins we could call home and we’ve been there ever since, building new lives for ourselves.”
The spawn who spent centuries trapped in cages do not remain forever frozen in the state in which they emerged from them.
They were traumatized, starving people suddenly confronted with the terrifying realities of choice, responsibility, and survival. And yet, despite the chaos of those first days, the story does not end in destruction.
Quite the opposite.
It ends with stability. With community. With a home. With the beginning of new lives. And with the determination to live up to the faith of those who looked into their cages and saw people rather than monsters — not the feral creatures “all but robbed of speech and reason,” as Astarion once described himself during the worst periods of his own starvation.
Radiant Hoperful Astarion
I will conclude by bringing the discussion back to Astarion and his Radiant Hopeful journey, closing the circle where it began.
Because the story of the vampire spawn imprisoned beneath Cazador’s palace is, in many ways, Astarion’s own story.
They are the mirror he does not want to look into, for fear of recognizing himself.
Astarion and the spawn are connected not only by blood—as the terms of Mephistopheles’ contract make abundantly clear, and as Cazador himself delights in reminding everyone during the ritual—but also by the very themes that define Astarion’s narrative arc.
At least, the version of that arc that leads toward hope rather than power.
The experience of victimhood. The experience of being treated as a pawn or a monster. The desire to live. The desire for freedom. They represent the Astarion who was never abducted by the mind flayers and never given the opportunity to change his fate. All of them.
Without the tadpole, without Tav/Durge, Astarion might have remained exactly where they were: trapped between hunger and obedience, convinced that survival was all he could ever hope for.
But let us pause for a moment and look at how Astarion’s own journey begins before following its development throughout the three acts of the game.
In this regard, I find Minthara’s words about Astarion particularly significant:
“He has been deprived of freedom and strong blood for so long that he is addicted to both. As long as those addictions hold sway over him, he is still a slave.”
In this respect, Astarion is not so different from either the vampire spawn children or the horde of ravenous spawn that poured into the Underdark. Craving for blood and freedom.
After so long spent suffering, without the opportunity to feed, basic needs inevitably take over.
Even reason itself.
And in that sense, at the beginning all of them are slaves to their own necessities.
And to be a slave is to have no choice. Even in freedom. Especially when one is intoxicated by the feeling of that freedom without yet understanding what true freedom really is (accountability, consequences).
But slowly, something begins to change in Astarion as well. And it changes step by step the moment he meets Tav/Durge. Why?
Because from the very beginning — for those who choose to play the story that way (no hard feelings toward those who choose to stake him during the bite scene or hand him over to Gandrel, lol) — Tav/Durge sees a person in Astarion.
Not a monster.
Not an object.
They see his potential, hidden beneath all of his addictions — including his addiction to power, I would argue (though Minthara would probably disagree with me on that point, lol).
“I want to know what the world sees when it looks at me. What do you see?”
Astarion asks this question while standing before a mirror that cannot reflect his image. And in this case, physical appearance has very little to do with it.
Later, in Act II, after the encounter with Araj, Tav/Durge is given the opportunity to ask Astarion a direct question: “How would you like me to see you?”
And his answer is disarmingly simple:
“As a person. Is that too much to ask?”
(For those interested, I have discussed Astarion’s relationship with the figure of the monster in greater detail HERE)
And despite the fear, all the doubts, the resistance, the setbacks, the temptations, the power always within reach; despite his conviction that “I can’t be what you see in me,” after rejecting the ritual and finally freeing himself in every sense possible — from Cazador, from the hunger for power, from the cycle of vampire lords endlessly replacing one another, killing and being killed for a throne that ultimately belongs to no one — he arrives at a very different conclusion:
“But you saw something in me. Someone else I could be.”
And after revisiting this theme of being seen—a theme that runs throughout Astarion’s entire positive arc and is repeated again and again during some of the game’s most important and emotional moments—how powerful does Sebastian’s statement in the letter become?
Let me quote it again, now reframed within this broader context:
“You looked in our cages and saw people, not monsters. And here, down in the shadows, we’re trying to live up to that.”
Astarion did for those vampire spawn exactly what Tav/Durge did for him: he saw a person where others saw only a monster, and in doing so, gave them the possibility of becoming something more.
He gives them trust. And with it, he gives them hope.
Just think about what he says to Tav/Durge during the graveyard romance scene: “You trusted me when it was an objectively stupid thing to do.”
Not unlike trusting the spawn imprisoned beneath Cazador’s palace—a choice that, at least at first glance, might appear equally foolish.
Radiant Hopeful Astarion is not important because he is perfect. He is important because he is resilient. Because he chooses to face hardship rather than run from it.
He matters because he becomes living proof that a person can be more than the worst thing that was ever done to them.
And that is precisely why Sebastian, the Gur children, and the other spawn see in him the very same thing he once saw in Tav or Durge: proof that a different future is possible. And it belongs to them.
And I think nothing summarizes all of this better than Astarion’s own words during the epilogue party:
“My present, my future… they are mine.”
Simply beautiful.
A few small, entirely optional author’s notes:
And now, after rambling far beyond all reasonable limits, I shall retreat into some dark hole and hide out of sheer embarrassment.
I think I may have outdone myself this time when it comes to length.
The funny thing is that I always start from a very simple idea. In this case, I only wanted to analyze the letters. But then my brain did what it always does, the connections suddenly became obvious, the protagonists of this arc grew clearer and clearer and demanded their own voice in the discussion, the themes took each other by the hand, and what was supposed to be only Astarion’s story somehow became the story of all of them.
A demonstration that sometimes a small spark can burn so brightly and so intensely that it sets many hearts ablaze.
And in some way, those letters represent the epilogue of that journey.
By that point, it was already too late to stop.
As always, anyone who made it this far is a hero. Thank you for reading. <3
PS: Thanks to @oonalovesastarionssimpleplan for sending me the final screenshot — it was essential!
I have a question about your opinion on Astarion's romance scene in Act 1 and his answer to the question of what he wants. He says pleasure. However, in his confession later, he says that for him, sex is still tainted. Do you think he had hope in Act 1 that the sex would be better now? Why else would he want to do it?
Hey, hi! Thanks for writing to me, and sorry it took me so long to reply.
Unfortunately, I have far too many things to do and far too little time to do them. Sob. I wish I could split myself in two, at least—so one version of me could handle Tumblr while the other dealt with real life. (Though honestly, I’d probably need a third version of me just to rest on the couch and watch my favorite TV shows, lol. And now that I think about it, my daughter would say there should be yet another version of me, so one could always stay with her.)
Anyway. It’s a complicated subject. Obviously—as always when it comes to Astarion.
The short answer: Astarion chooses to use sex to secure his own survival despite what he truly thinks of it. And no, Astarion did not think sex would be different the first time with Tav/Durge. Quite the opposite. And that is precisely why he was pleasantly surprised and affected when in my humble opinion it turned out to be really different despite his pessimistic expectations.
The long, elaborate answer full of digressions (lol):
“The pleasure” he says he wants during the first sex scene is part of his script. He is not being entirely sincere when he answers Tav/Durge’s question. In essence, he is telling them what he thinks they want to hear. As he later reveals in his true confession in Act 2 of the game, he was following his “nice simple plan” to secure his own survival. And he was doing so in the only safe way he knew: through his charm and his body, by seducing the person he considered the strongest and most reliable—someone capable of protecting him.
If he had managed to awaken feelings in the other person, he could have used them to avoid being abandoned. But, as we know, his plan fails the moment he is the one who unexpectedly begins to feel something. Something he had never planned for, and something entirely outside his “nice simple plan.”
Why does Astarion decide to deceive the player even after they have shown themselves to be open and compassionate toward him:
I’m not justifying his behavior, of course, but I am dissecting it in order to understand it better, even though I personally believe he could not have done much better given the condition he was in during Act 1 of the game.
So, Astarion can certainly be described as an asshole, a manipulator, and an opportunist—but for him, these are not merely personality traits, which in many cases is an attribution error among the so-called cognitive biases. That does not mean it is entirely false, of course, because Astarion does manipulate and take advantage when he can.
But for Astarion, breaking out of old patterns is extremely difficult, because those behaviors are not mere habits or character flaws: they are survival strategies forged through two centuries of abuse and coercion. It is not simply a matter of “changing his attitude” or “stopping being an asshole,” but of giving up the very tools that kept him alive for two hundred years.
Patterns such as seducing others to gain protection, manipulating before being manipulated, hiding vulnerability behind sarcasm, reading other people’s desires in order to adapt, distrusting kindness, or associating intimacy with a transactional exchange do not come out of nowhere. They are trauma adaptations.
There is also another important aspect: trauma does not live only in thoughts, but in the body as well. Even when Astarion rationally understands that Tav or Durge are not Cazador, his nervous system may still react as though the danger were still present. And he acts accordingly.
Moreover, his identity has been warped for centuries by devastating messages: that his only value was his body, that charm was his only talent, that without a master he was nothing, and so on.
What Astarion truly thinks and feels in relation to sex:
Now, as you said, sex is a troubled, layered, and sadly contaminated concept for him. And not only that, but the very concept of intimacy is as well.
It is all condensed into this line:
“Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels… tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing.”
Astarion says, “Even though I know things between us are different…” and already here a fundamental distinction emerges. On one side, there is the rational mind, which recognizes that with Tav/Durge the situation is not the same as before—that there is no coercion, that there is affection and respect. On the other side, however, there is the emotional and bodily level, which still cannot keep pace with that awareness.
When he adds, “being with someone still feels… tainted,” he chooses a very significant word. He does not simply say that being with someone is difficult, frightening, or unpleasant. He says tainted: contaminated, stained, corrupted. It is as though intimacy itself, in his experience, has been poisoned by everything he endured. It is not the present that is wrong, but the past that has left such a mark that it stains even what could now be good.
Even that small hesitation before the word tainted—the ellipsis—is eloquent. It feels like the sign of someone struggling to name what he feels, searching for the right word for something painful and shameful. There is vulnerability in that silence.
Then comes the second part: “still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing.” The word still is extremely important, because it conveys that all of this is still happening, even though he knows the situation is different, even though he wants to open himself up, even though he is trying. There is a sense of frustration and helplessness in it: he would like to experience the present in a new way, but the past keeps resurfacing.
Finally, the words disgust and loathing are not accidental. Disgust evokes an almost physical repulsion, an emotional nausea tied to sex and to the way he was forced to experience it. Loathing, on the other hand, is something even deeper: self-contempt, internalized hatred, the feeling of being dirty or degraded. He is not speaking only about sex itself, but also about how those experiences have distorted the way he sees himself.
Why sex and intimacy feel so deeply tied to self-loathing for him:
Astarion’s body is capable of having sex, of feeling arousal, and of leading and completing the dance of the senses with precision and great skill. And yet he is completely dissociated—from himself and from the other person—without them necessarily noticing the enormous and heavy baggage he carries with him. And when it is all over, nothing remains but disgust and contempt for himself.
But it is not a contradiction.
A much broader discussion could be opened here, psychologically speaking, but in short: during sexual violence, body and mind can move in two different directions. The body may respond physiologically—arousal, lubrication, erection, even orgasm—while the mind is in a state of fear, paralysis, or dissociation. This does not imply desire or consent: these are automatic responses of the nervous system, not a choice. Research clearly distinguishes between bodily response, subjective experience, and consent. They are different things.
This helps explain how a person can “function sexually” while not truly being there at all (to be clear, this refers to lack of agency, not to consensual sex work).
For Astarion, as someone subjected to prolonged sexual exploitation and coercion, this is very coherent, and it can be applied in a broader sense as well.
His body “knows what to do” while the mind withdraws, so what remains is disgust. What remains is the devastating, self-loathing thought: my body participated even if I feel disgust, so perhaps I am into it, perhaps I’m broken or twisted. Perhaps I really am nothing more than something to be used for pleasure. So all the terrible things they said about me for centuries are true—for example, that it is his only talent.
And this is where a huge part of the shame may be born. The guilt, the disgust, and the cognitive dissonance between what is actually a fact and what one believes to be a fact—or between who one truly is and who one believes oneself to be. Let us remember, in fact, that Astarion’s bodily response is pure survival, a pure adaptation to an impossible situation.
So his disgust is not directed solely at what was done to him—not only at the physical repulsion of being forced into intimacy with someone he does not know, does not desire, and may even find unpleasant—but also at what he believes that experience has made him or revealed about him.
Other factors that may contribute:
Everything that is connected to the sexual act, to what it represents within Cazador’s system, and that goes beyond Astarion’s personal experience as a victim of sexual trafficking. Namely, the deception he carried out for centuries against unsuspecting victims led to their deaths, which casts him as a kind of trap—a morally devastating role, where he becomes both victim and unwilling instrument of harm. And the fact that even the most important relationship of his life began under those same dynamics.
Here, pre-existing and repressed guilt, along with a more general sense of shame, certainly find fertile ground to further contaminate his perception of intimacy.
And it doesn’t end there—there are other aspects to consider. For example, the unexpressed anger over the loss of his agency, having been completely under Cazador’s control and unable to make him pay for it or even show him the slightest disrespect without being torn apart in body and spirit. From there, that sense of powerlessness turns into a kind of shameful weakness.
Then there are the flashbacks, because for him contact is no longer just contact; it can trigger bodily memories of invasion, control, or obligation.
Finally, there is identity confusion: after centuries of playing a role, it becomes difficult for him to tell what is real—what he wants, what he feels, what he enjoys—versus what he learned to do because he had to. That uncertainty alone can be deeply unsettling.
The relationship with Tav/Durge: the difference that fractures the cycle and Astarion defenses:
All of this remains my personal interpretation, but I believe that despite Astarion’s trauma surrounding sex and intimacy, and despite the dysfunctional—even self-destructive—dynamics he carries into his relationship with the player as a means of survival, small glimpses of genuineness begin to emerge between him and Tav/Durge, even without him fully realizing it. And this starts as early as the bite scene.
Here’s why: in the first sex scene, even while following the prepackaged script he had refined over centuries, something begins to change. I talked about that HERE as well.
Tav/Durge truly takes Astarion’s real pleasure into account by offering him their neck—through their blood. And, in my view, it is precisely through the blood that a first genuine bond is formed between the two of them.
Something that, if we think about it, is entirely new for Astarion. Tav/Durge is his first, as he says himself after the bite night. And he says it almost like a blushing virgin. In this sense, he truly is one, given that Cazador always fed him nothing but putrid rats and insects. He’s not lying; it’s simply the plain truth.
This small detail places Tav/Durge outside of anyone else Astarion had ever encountered in his entire existence as a vampire spawn.
In this sense, Tav/Durge is special. Unique. But the moment is even deeper than that. By offering their blood, Tav/Durge also unconditionally accepts Astarion’s vampiric nature—the very thing for which he feared being cast out and killed. And that, too, is something entirely new. Someone knows his nature and trusts him.
It is the first time he can begin to feel safe, accepted, truly seen—not through the lens of a monster, but simply as Astarion.
So, in my humble opinion, Astarion truly begins to open up and experience new sensations (not feelings yet, mind you) from their very first encounter in the woods. This is regardless of whether he finds the player objectively attractive.
Sex has little to do with it—that’s part of the script. Everything else isn’t. After all, there’s a reason that in Act 2, despite his unhealthy behaviors, Astarion makes his confession, saying he wants something real, while also opening up about his vulnerabilities and what a relationship with him would actually entail. And he does so because, from the moment of the bite scene, Tav/Durge treats him like a person—offering him what he needs (blood included—for me, that’s where it starts; when it comes to a vampire, it’s not just a detail) without conditions and without judgment—completely outside of every pattern he knew.
In fact, if you reject him the second time he offers to spend intimate time together, he says that he has had countless lovers he can barely remember. But he will remember Tav/Durge.
And in that moment, he no longer has any need to lie or play the part of the seducer, since he has just been turned down.
Anyway, Astarion develops genuine feelings for Tav/Durge even as he moves through these internal conflicts, which make any form of true intimacy complicated and hard-won. What follows is a gradual process of reconciliation—between body and mind, and eventually between himself and another person.
And again, this is not about sex. That comes later, only once intimacy with Tav/Durge begins to exist beyond the purely physical.
Ok, I’d say I’ve rambled quite a bit, as usual. I hope this helps clarify things a little, even if it doesn’t fully resolve the contradiction. With Astarion, there’s rarely a simple answer—and I think that’s part of what makes him so interesting to explore.
trying to get back into the tag game so thank you @litsenn and @archduchessgortash for the push to get to it today! (I know I've missed about a 1000 tags from you both and everybody else and I deeply apologize for my lack of interaction and deeply appreciate y'all continue to think of me)
No writing or BG3 anything(unless you squint since my mind lives in dnd land and these are probably maybe possible future oc foder), but I broke into digital media about a week ago and so far I don't hate it. Been the first few things I've created in years that I am actually happy with and I'm legitimately proud (which is new) of myself for how well I feel I'm picking it up considering it's been over a decade since I made art and have never used digital mediums.
I never got to really define my style all those years ago either so this has been extremely cathartic.
Anyway have a flower gal I started this morning and will be steadily working on today.
And the merlady I have yet to get back to finishing (she was my first attempt at this so I definitely would like to finish her up)
Technically I drew that merphae first but used the ref so badly and dont love it all, so it doesn't count.
I'll leave this open for anyone who's got something to share since I am so woefully behind on my own tags.
Thank you for the tags, @saylofwaterdeep, @optimisticgrey & @woundedsoul12!
And for the uno-reverses: @gortashsrighthand, @carnivaley, @ele-millennial-weirdo, @lucretiouswept, @defira85, @cinder-rellish181 & @litsenn!
I love reading/seeing all of your wips! 🥰
Let's do two bits today, shall we?
The first is a crumb of the bread on the other side of the shit sandwich that was Mara meeting Tara in the Dead Gale/Dead Everyone AU. I'm saving the full scene for the fic itself. 😈
TW: referenced suicide attempt (but Mara knew she would be resurrected)
“I believe it is my duty to inform thee,” Withers scolded as Mara cast a cantrip to dry herself off, “that thou cannot solve all of thy problems by drowning thyself.”
“Until I face the Absolute, you bet your bony ass I can,” Mara returned through clenched teeth. Then, she added, “And I jumped off a roof.”
“I retrieved thy soul echo from the bottom of the Chionthar,” the skeleton corrected.
Mara scowled. “The roof was near the river. It must have… bounced.”
“Soul echoes do not bounce.”
The second one is Gale in the Fugue.
TW: Dead Gale
“... Mara…” he whispered into the oppressive, if familiar, gray of the Fugue plane. “I must get back! She needs me.”
Gale scanned the seemingly endless horizon that he knew was, in fact, very far from infinite; it only appeared that way to the dead, as a means of further dampening spirits that were already quite drenched in malaise as it was. He found it more than a little excessive upon repeat viewing.
After rotating almost a full circle, he spotted the skyline of the City of Judgement and immediately strode toward it at a brisk pace. Gale expected that he would soon find himself experiencing a sort of slingshot of the soul—right back into the world of the living, as before. However, recent events were… a mite unprecedented in his reckoning.
Mara had lost control of her Urge. Entirely. She was trying, fighting hard enough that it had broken his heart to hear the fear in her thoughts as he'd used the tadpole to contact her, but she was losing the battle. He'd tried everything he could think of in the unfairly miniscule window of time he'd had to work with—short of outright attacking her, that is.
He shuddered even to think such a thing, but maybe… he should have reached out with more. After what had happened in the Underdark, he simply no longer trusted Mystra to offer assistance that followed his intentions. Not where Mara was concerned, at least. Nonetheless, if he could have rendered her unconscious or even effectively restrained her, he would have had more time to find a way to help.
He had been certain he could reach her with the tadpole, and he was right. He did reach her, but it didn't matter. Nothing they tried had allowed her to regain control. That damn thing inside her had murdered him… and it made her watch!
Gale's blood practically boiled at the thought. How… why would anything be so cruel?! It was clear to him now that it was not a simple curse, or even something as mundane as possession, not that any possession could truly be called mundane, but what was affecting her was too powerful, too clever to be easily exorcised. It was… complicated. Fortunately for Mara, and the Sword Coast itself, Gale of Waterdeep was quite adept at complication. He would figure this out.
While he might find himself resurrected within minutes or hours, he knew he couldn't count on that. And… Mara might not have stopped at him. What if no one was left to pay Withers? Would she remain trapped inside her own mind, forced to watch that horrid thing run rampant? There must be something he could do to ensure that would not happen…
Ha! There was indeed, but he'd best get closer to the city before he made his first attempt, as that was where he would need to be should he fail. With any luck, his circumstances and the importance of his mission would grant him a measure of leniency.
It was impossible to tell exactly how long it had been since his arrival, and the Fugue played tricks. He knew already that wise as he might have been to such things whilst living, the rules placed upon the dead were… different.
After an inestimable amount of perambulation, as he neared the serpentine lines of souls awaiting judgment, he caught a flash of something… someone familiar. A fiery light flared momentarily, only slightly dimmed by the leaching gray of its surroundings. Someone was yelling, their tone sharp with fright and anger, though he could not piece together a single word. He knew that voice, didn't he? Great black wings flapped behind another figure as he squinted, wishing he could influence the weave to sharpen his sight across distance, but he knew already that it did not answer the dead. In the blink of an eye, whoever had been there… was simply gone.
Curious as he was, he had more important matters to contend with at the moment. Saving the woman he loved from unspeakable evil, for one. He was close enough to where he needed to be now.
Gale sighed, shook his head ruefully, and puffed, “The moment of truth. Here we go...”
With that, he began to pray.
A gentle uno-reverse to any who tagged me, and to... @missfortunetherogue, @dr4gonwriter, @afilmnoirdetective, @bladesingerlily, @echoechowhiskey, @flamemittens & @perpetualmaladaptivedaydream.
Thanks a lot spillingteanotpermitted @optimisticgrey @archduchessgortash @missfortunetherogue @lilhumanoid @gortashsrighthand @starlit-serpent @bloodsol94 and @scoldingdarjeeling for the tags 💚 It's been a while since the muse visited me, and I'm sorry for making you wait (Uno reverse tag to all of you, friends!)
I've started to work on a little something today, taking place during the Third Act in the House of Grief, post battle against Viconia.
Ellith wandered through the large chamber, sticking their tongue at the many Shar statues that adorned the place. As they reached one corner of the room, a subtle breathing sound caught their senses. And a smell too. A sweet, familial scent which happened to be eerily comforting.
There were a few sobs as well, from behind those heavy doors. Without waiting for their friends, Ellith pushed open the wooden panels and stepped into the room. Weapons, supplies and a few other outfits… nothing unexpected here; nothing other than the huddled form hidden between the weapon racks.
The bard didn’t hesitate and walked straight to the curled-up figure, as their own fingers brushed against the hilt of their dagger.
A human woman. Grey hair tucked in a loose bun, her face hidden in her hunched knees. Ellith could smell the fear oozing from her very being, but the heavy flowery smell was all around the place.
And then it hit the bard’s nostrils and mind.
Lavender.
She smelled like lavender.
Ellith’s head started to spin, and they had to take hold of the rack on their right to keep balance. It took them a few seconds to catch their breath. They needed to keep their mind sharp; No matter how harmless this woman seemed to be, she could be one of Viconia’s followers.
“Look at me!” Ellith commanded with a stern voice, fighting against the dizzy spell. “And tell me who you are.”
Their threatening shout alerted the other companions, and before long, the sound of their quick footsteps was getting increasingly closer.
The old woman obeyed, slowly raising her head to reveal her face. Wrinkled and tired, with a deep sadness in her eyes. She looked positively terrified... and lost.
“What are you doing here?” Ellith asked, trying to keep their voice stern… but the face in front of them was making it quiver.
“Forget her…” Shadowheart whispered as she joined Ellith’s side. “Just another victim of Shar’s bewitching. I suppose her memory’s gone. Let’s not waste our time with her.”
Ellith nodded. They knew their friend was correct… and yet, there was something about this woman that kept them stuck. The scent, those deep brown eyes filled with fear… why were they so familiar?
“Wh-Who are you…?” The woman asked as a spark of recognition appeared in her eyes. “I know you…”
Taken aback, Ellith stumbled backwards, only to plough into Astarion who had joined the party. “Careful, honey-bun,” he said with a gentle but playful voice. “Remember that you have a few curious friends around.”
If you read The Uncanny Urchin, you might have an idea about what's at stake here...
Gently tagging @elceewunjo @burnt-by-marigolds @lucretiouswept @theya-art @wasteful-sam @judasiskariot
@bloodless-sandpiper @bhaal-battle-beer-bard @echoechowhiskey @et-augury @izumiphoenix if there's anything you want to share 🌟
