I think what really bothers me about fanon!Astarion isn't just the woobification. That happens to every problematic white boy. It's annoying, but not news. It's that almost every trait that the fandom assigns him is something that is already explored through a different character in this very game
You want a character that's too focused on the task at hand to want to stop and help innocents? That's Lae'zel! Astarion is cool with dicking around, but Lae'zel spends most act 1 actively in a panic about the tadpole and pushes you to just find a cure already
You want a trauma survivor that is mostly self-serving but can't help but care about people in a similar situation? Well, Astarion disaproves of you helping slaves, but Shadowheart really wants you to look out for kids! Even when she gets tortured for it!
You want someone who is prone to sympathizing with the monstrous? Despite being a monster hunter, it's Wyll that has that covered! Astarion doesn't even like you sympathizing with a recently orphaned goblin kid
You want a proper courtship with a prince charming? That's literally Wyll's romance!
You want a character that tries very hard to be bad, but deep down enjoys doing the right thing, and starts to accept that over the course of the game? Shadowheart again! A massive part of her story is just that
You want the angst of a character still having been a minor when entering their abusive situation? That's the case for literally everybody except for him and maybe Karlach! He was an adult with a job
None of this is meant to be an attack on Astarion as a character, but pushing all those traits on him does the game a massive disservice. All these character's storylines exist in conversation with each other, they all benefit from the existence of the others. To instead pretend all those things apply to one character, is just
Well, it's incredibly boring
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@steddielovemonth Day 24: Love is the only thing we can take with us.
@thefreakandthehair
Steve looked around his room, it would be the last time he did. He could hear his parents still arguing downstairs. He knew he didn't have a lot of time, soon he'd hear his father's footsteps coming up the stairs.
"You're no son of mine!"
Steve hadn't felt like his son in a long time anyway. When he thought of dads he thought of Hopper at his graduation or Wayne watching the game with him. He'd called Hopper, Dad, when he woke up in the hospital and saw the previously dead police chief at his bedside. No, Steve Harrington hadn't been Richard Harrington's son in a long time.
He knew he didn't have much time, but he'd been planning for this moment, the day they would find out. It was inevitable, small town, nosy neighbours. Steve kept his room impersonal for a reason, it wouldn't last forever. Kneeling quickly he grabbed his box, it was all he would need.
The clothes he actually liked wearing weren't in this closet anymore, the beemer had always been in his name. Nothing else in the house mattered but this box. The last piece of Steve in these four walls.
"Steven?"
He'd asked her to call him Steve all his life, she didn't.
"Can't you see what you're doing to your mother?"
Maria Harrington hadn't been Steve's mother in a long time. Mothers were there for their kids when they woke up from nightmares. Claudia never judged when he woke up screaming on the couch. A true mother looked after their son when he was sick in bed, soup and comfort and love. Joyce brought him soup last winter, when the flu had him stuck in bed, he didn't even call, she just knew.
"I know, I'm leaving now."
"Please, Steven, there are places we can go to fix you," she cried. Mothers don't think their kid's heart needs fixing.
"You were supposed to be a real man!" Richard yelled as he passed him down the stairs. Fathers are proud of their sons growing into protectors and carers.
"This will never be your home again!" Was the last thing Steve heard as he closed his car door and placed the small box on the passenger seat. Parents always have a home waiting for you, even when they think you're wrong.
"Steve?"
Wayne is the first one to spot him as he arrives at the trailer. It's sunday, family dinner at the rotating family table. Tonight was meant to be at the Munsons.
"Steve, honey? You ok?" Joyce is the first one to touch him, worry in her eyes.
"I'm sorry, son." Hopper is the first one to read his teary eyes like a book. They all knew where he'd been.
Claudia gingerly took the box from him, "I'll put this in your room, sweetheart, let Eddie know you're back home."
Steve could hear the kids yelling around the picnic table outside; could smell dinner cooking. Robins laughter piercing though the air and Eddie's boombox playing loudly.
"Baby?"
There he was.
"Hey, Eds, think we'll have to move up that moving date, if it's ok?"
Eddie's features softened from worry to sympathy, "Course, sunshine, although I'm still surprised Joyce and Hop didn't kidnap you months ago.
Later, when he'd given everyone hugs goodbye, some were a bit tighter than others, he sat on the bed with his box.
"You wanna unpack that alone, or want help?"
"You can look, it's not a secret, just special," Steve replied, patting the space next to him. Eddie plopped himself down beside his boyfriend, lifting the lid.
Inside was a mess of bits and pieces. Eddie reached in and took out a stack of photos. Steve at his graduation, a big smile with Hopper's arm around his shoulders, Dustin beaming beside him. Robin putting Steve in a headlock at the quarry last summer, he refuses to say he let her win. Eddie at his first show back, scars on full display. And countless other memories.
There were also little toys from the arcade and pebbles and ticket stubs and letters and a full life story of one Steve Harrington told through the love of his family.
"This was all I went back to get, all I needed. Wasn't expecting them to know about you already, but I knew they'd find out one day. Couldn't let them have this, not after they spent so long trying to take my heart from me."
"I think it's high time we clear some space around here for all this, Stevie, time to let your love be out on full display."
When Steve fell asleep that night, wrapped in the arms of a boy who went to hell from him and staring at the new photos on the wall, he truly felt home.
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