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galacticgraffiti · 5 months

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☾✧ Blacklit Night ✧☽

Rating: Mature (for heavy themes) Summary: Astarion meets Sebastian. You know how this ends. Wordcount: 5k TW: angst, vampiric compulsion/Cazador's compulsion on Astarion, references to past abuse and torture, memories of past NonCon, verbal abuse.

Author's Note: This contains spoilers for Act 3 of BG3, specifically Astarion's companion quest. As always - don't like don't read. Even though there are no explicit sexual themes, I would prefer minors did not interact with this post or my blog.

Masterlist ⋆ If you prefer AO3

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Blacklit Night

The night is dark, and the sparse light of the stars speaks of violence, not peace.

One would think that a city like Baldur’s Gate never sleeps, but it does. There is a moment, when all the fishermen have come back from sea, when the workers have returned to their homes and their children, where the lords and ladies of the upper crust stare silently at each other from across long dinner tables. That moment is the holding of breath before the first death of the night:

The sun still shines just barely, dark creatures lurking in the safety of the darkness, not yet able to step out of the shadows. Warm lights begin to glow from windows as the sun sets, as families have their hearty meals, as the nobles retreat to quietly behold each other, to joke about the peasants or hate their rich counterparts in peace. The world breathes one last breath of golden sun, the sea turns red, and the last of the light fades.

The nightlife begins: Taverns grow loud with song and fun, drinks are poured, first one, then two, then one too many. The hardship of the day is washed away, travellers finally arrive at their destinations - slipped in at last light, we got so lucky - and dutiful students of the Society sneak out of their bedroom windows to get high on mushrooms from the Underdark and kiss beneath the pale moonlight.

The life of daylight is one Astarion barely remembers. It has not been long, a few months, maybe a year or two. Who can tell these days? It’s always dark and there is always pain. When he is not allowed to leave the palace, time passes differently. Godey tells him weeks have passed, but Godey lies. Astarion does not dare ask his siblings. He makes notches on the wall behind a rotting coffin, but the only marker to go by is hunger, and the hunger is eternal.

Yes, it has not been so long since the life of daylight - his life, a life that belonged to him - was taken from Astarion. Even if he can’t tell exactly how long, that much he can say. On the nights he is allowed to go out - to hunt for prey - he can see that the fashions haven’t changed much. He can tell that the bartenders have not aged (not visibly at least), nor been replaced with someone younger and better looking. There is still the same elven girl behind the bar, with the blue hair and the brown eyes who always smiles at him when he orders a drink he carries around all night to look like he belongs. He never smiles back, afraid to reveal his fangs on accident, afraid he would scare her much more than he ever could by being stand-offish and rude.

Astarion misses the daylight more than he misses anything else about his old life. He misses the sun burning his skin that was pale even before death took him. He misses the warmth of it- a kind of warmth that can not be imitated by anything else, a warmth that seeps into your bones and makes you feel like soothing embers glow inside your bones. Nowadays, he is always so cold. Cold in the way a forgotten graveyard is, devoid of life and devoid of comfort.

Astarion pulls his cloak tighter. It is finely embroidered with black and silver peacocks, complimenting his own silver hair and his pale complexion - or so Leon tells him. Mirrors do not show Astarion’s image anymore. The cloak is finely woven, just good enough to make it seem like he might have a little more money than he lets on, but not so garish as to catch the attention of heaps of thieves and robbers. Attracting prey is a delicate game, and Cazador has perfected it. Not that he ever needs to do the dirty work himself, of course.

No, it’s Astarion’s hands that will be bloody, Astarion’s lips that will feel numb, Astarion’s skin that will burn at the memory of a loving touch unwanted, and Astarion’s mind that will be burdened with the knowledge of what their face looked like in the moment of betrayal. How their eyes begged for mercy that he does not have the power to grant.

Cazador loves it when they arrive scared to death. Cazador drains the pain and the fear and the suffering from the air to swallow it whole, to gorge himself on it until he bursts. He strokes Astarion’s silver hair, he tells him that he gets better at it every time, but this one still is not good enough.

“At least you are trying to make yourself useful the only way you can,” Cazador says, as if Astarion had any choice, any say in the matter. “At least I won’t have to tell Godey to have to punish you again. It really is a shame, bruises heal so slowly on your delicate skin. Although the screams make it nearly worth it, don’t you agree? Come now, boy. Won’t you dine with us?”

The memory of Cazador’s rotten voice seeps into Astarion’s bones when he turns around a corner and nearly trips. His tongue tastes the blood of putrid rats a hundred times over, and it’s all Astarion can do not to retch. He closes his eyes for a second to breathe, stumbling for just a second.

A warm hand wraps around his upper arm before he can catch himself.

“My gods, have you been walking long? You are freezing!”

“I’m fine, I just have-” Astarion’s words die on his tongue when he looks up at the man who caught him.

Maybe man is not the right word - still nearly a boy, with long hair and a deep voice that won’t rightly fit his delicate features. His lips are full and his eyes are dark, and the fingers wrapped around Astarion’s wiry arm have a strength to them that one would not expect. He makes Astarion wish his heart could still race just to get high off that feeling once more.

Astarion stiffens and pulls back from the stranger’s grasp, cursing his mind for being so soft and so stupid even after everything that has happened.

You are just a silly boy. This behaviour must be corrected. You will learn to obey. Obey.

“I am fine. I can handle myself.” Astarion says again, straightening his collar, his voice cold. He rips his arm from the boy’s warm grasp impatiently. If he is too nice to him, the boy will follow, the boy will ask-

“Would you like to join me for a drink? I was just about to go in.”

No.

Panic rises like bile in Astarion’s throat.

You will learn. Never let it be you inviting them. Make them think it’s their idea - lull them in safety, spin a web around them while they bask in your beauty and attention. Make them think they have caught you, not the other way around. Find me the most beautiful of them, and bring them to me. Godey will have a wonderful time breaking your bones if you don’t. Find the ones that make your heart ache and betray them. Bring them to me. Obey.

Astarion opens his mouth to decline, tries to deny the seed the Cazador’s commands have planted inside his chest. He can’t do it- he never can.

“Of course. Tell me about yourself.” A pleasant smile settles in the corners of Astarion’s mouth, plastered on by Cazador’s words. Bring me the most beautiful of them. Never decline the offer of a drink.

The stranger holds the door of the tavern open for Astarion, his frame taller and broader than Astarion’s own. His face has not the shadow of a beard and his hair shimmers in the golden light. His eyes are kind. He does not look like he comes from a noble family. There is too much excitement, too much of a need to prove himself worthy. The only thing that could have saved him- gone.

No noblemen. Never noblemen, never their children. They will bring unwanted attention.

Astarion closes his eyes for a moment. There must be something that can save him- there must be something he can do-

The stranger leads him to an empty table in a low lit corner. With the darkness gone, he looks a little older now- his features less soft, his nose stronger. And still…

“I’m passing through town,” he explains with a gentle voice. His hands lay on the table, open and inviting. “I am a jeweller, and I heard there is good trade to be made in the city proper. I had some… complications on the road. I- my name is Sebastian.”

Sebastian.

Astarion hates it when they tell him their names. He can never forget them, they carve themselves into his dead heart and burn him with the acid of his betrayal each day like snake venom dripping down his throat.

Sebastian. Each letter a drop of poison.

Press your lips together, maybe the words won’t slip out. Maybe it’s not too late to save him, maybe-

“My name’s Astarion,” says his treacherous tongue. “I’m a magistrate in the city.”

Sebastian’s eyes light up.

“Astarion… my first acquaintance in the big city, and he is named after a star. I must immortalise our meeting in a piece of my work- a necklace maybe, or a ring…” His voice drifts off when he realises that Astarion’s hand is gripping the table so tightly his knuckles are white with pain. “Oh, I- I am sorry. I have been told I can come on a little strong. All I meant was- what a lucky coincidence to have stumbled upon someone who knows the city so well! How lucky for you to have accepted my invitation!”

Astarion’s unbeating heart aches at the excitement in Sebastian’s voice.

“How lucky indeed,” he says, Cazador’s eternal smile making his lips ache. Never stop smiling. Make them feel like they are wanted- like they are the only thing you have wanted all night. “I was already on my way back home- I had given up on the night somewhat, you see. To have stumbled into such a dashing stranger- it was me who got lucky.”

His words weep the false sweetness of a lie, but Sebastian seems not to notice that Astarion’s throat burns like acid.

“You flatter me,” he mumbles. “I know I- you don’t have to be nice to me if you would rather wish to go home. I would not blame you.”

Everything in Astarion’s body screams, every muscle fighting against the inevitable command, every nerve alight with panic and hatred: Hatred against Cazador, and against his own weakness. Astarion watches with wide eyes as his own pale hand moves across the table to cover Sebastian’s. He cannot stop it, just like he cannot unhear Cazador’s whisper in the dark. Find out what they like and give it to them. No matter what it is. Most of all - make sure it is you.

“Nonsense,” say Astarion’s numb lips. “There is nowhere I would rather be than here. Why, your company is much better than the silence of my bedchamber.”

Sebastian smiles a tentative smile, his eyes lighting up at the touch of Astarion’s hand on his.

“So you have nobody… waiting for you?” His voice shakes a little even as his fingers glide across Astarion’s smooth, pale skin. He has never done this before. Astarion can tell. “Nobody to get home to?”

The question makes Astarion’s head spin. The bond won’t allow him to talk about Cazador. When they ask you where you live, where you are going - lie. Lie convincingly.

“Some of my siblings live around here,” Astarion mumbles. “I stay with them when I am in the district.”

“Ah.” Sebastian’s voice is an odd mixture of relief and disappointment. “You know, I-”

They are interrupted by a barmaid asking for their order. Astarion breathes, digging his nails into his palm until he draws blood. He can’t do it, not with this one. He is too sweet, too innocent. All he wants is a taste of the excitement of the city.

Give him that taste.

No.

Yes. He wants it. You provide.

Conversation with Sebastian is so easy. As the wine flows, his hands wander, drumming on the table, tugging at his shirtsleeves, playing with a family ring. He is never still, and Astarion is enraptured by it. Sebastian’s whole life story could probably fit on two pages, but Astarion always finds new questions to ask him.

Show interest. Make them feel wanted.

No. Astarion asks for his own sake. He begs Cazador’s command to let him care about Sebastian, this sweet stranger. To drink the wine, to joke and show interest just because he wants to. Just this once.

Sebastian does not notice. Sebastian talks and smiles and laughs, his hands in the air, on Astarion’s shoulder; then on his thigh when Astarion places them there. And Astarion finds himself not minding to be touched. Not by him. Sebastian’s touches are not one of hunger or desire, they speak of interest and intimacy in ways Astarion had forgotten.

With some time, even the compulsion of Cazador’s voice fades into the background. Astarion’s attentions are fully focused on the delicate man with the strong hands across from him. Sebastian’s voice is gentle and deep as he tells of his journey from his village through the wilderness. He passed by Moonrise - so far away from the city, where Astarion has never been! He tells tales of his family and growing up in a small village, of his childhood helping out on a farm and of the smith that took him on as an apprentice years ago. He speaks of his work with a deep reverence, and Astarion’s pretend-interest soon turns into real fascination.

The way Sebastian describes his work is almost magical. How the metals come alive beneath his hands - it’s like Astarion can see it now, the heavy swing of a hammer, the delicate touch of fine tools and strong fingers to fit precious stones and bend any material to their will.

Enchanted by the other’s presence, soon their fingers intertwine, their heads so close together they can taste each other’s breath, smelling of honeyed wine as the other patrons fade away into the background. It’s only the two of them, in their own little corner of the world, lit by candlelight and sweet attention.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Sebastian whispers, his breath warm on Astarion’s face. Warm in the way the sun is. How much he has missed it.

“I could say the same.” They are the first genuine words Astarion has uttered in a long time. “I have met many travellers, but none of them have been like you.”

Sebastian’s eyes darken for a moment, his fingers playing with Astarion’s paler ones.

“None of them?”

Astarion grits his teeth, pressing out a truth that terrifies him.

“None of them have made me want to protect them the way you do. I’ve barely known you one night, and I cannot bear the thought of your suffering.”

Sebastian laughs the easy giggle of someone who has never known real pain.

“Why would I suffer? I am here. And… I’ve found you. A little star among mere mortals.”

No! You didn't find me. I found you, Astarion wants to scream. Run. Run while you still can.

Cazador’s frigid voice seeps back into his skull like the cold embrace of death, and Astarion’s happiness leaks out of his heart and drains away through the creaky floorboards of the tavern when his Master’s compulsion grips him tight once more.

Give them what they want. Then bring them to me.

He doesn’t want to. He tries to shut his mouth, tries to pull his hands away, but he can’t do any of it. Sebastian smiles at him, his eyes only speaking of newly found adoration and interest. Astarion wants to shove him away, but the closest he can get is pressing out a few words, as close to the truth as he can manage, though his body barely allows those.

“Oh darling, I think it’s me that found you.” Astarion’s smile burns on his lips. “You should lea-”

The words burn in his throat like bile, and as much as Astarion tries to get them out, there is nothing in all the hells and all of this world that could overcome Cazador’s command. Astarion chokes, then clears his throat and wipes away Sebastian’s concerned hand on his face, holding the sun-warmth of his hand gently. He is so full of life.

“I’m fine, my love. Just a bit of… wine stuck in my throat. Do forgive me.”

Sebastian smiles softly, his hand settling on Astarion’s pale arm, restlessly drawing intricate patterns.

“What is there to forgive? Do you need anything? Do you want me to get you something, a cup of water perhaps? Let me help you.”

“A drink would be lovely.” Astarion is desperate. Never has his heart seized like this in the face of his prey, never has he wanted to get away from a target as much as this one. Never has he hoped to forget a name as desperately.

Please, just this once.

He would beg on his knees, he would give up the last of his dignity if he had any left at all. Not this one. Not Sebastian, with his gentle eyes and his sweet smile and his delicate hands. Not Sebastian who has never done anything wrong in his life other than come to Baldur’s Gate and try to help a stranger. Not him. Anyone else, but not him.

Astarion stares after Sebastian when he gets up from his seat. A soft touch of the shoulder and Sebastian vanishes into the crowd filling the tavern, on his mission to help Astarion. If only he could be helped. If only a glass of water could fix what is broken inside him.

Astarion tries to get up, he really does. If he can leave, maybe Sebastian won’t find him, and Cazador will never have to know. Better to be bruised and beat up and hungry for an eternity, better to be degraded and burned and starved for months than to see the look on Sebastian’s face as he realises that Astarion has betrayed him. Better to let Godey break all of his bones a hundred times over than to know that Sebastian is dead because of him.

It does not help. Astarion’s fingers prickle with hatred when he digs them into the table, trying to will himself to get back up, to leave and never return. To hope that Sebastian is gone by the time Cazador lets Astarion leave the palace again. Even to be dead and buried would be better than betrayed and drained. It’s all Astarion’s fault. He should never have let it get this far, should have run the second he saw the kindness in Sebastian’s eyes.

It’s all for naught. Astarion’s skull is pounding with Cazador’s compulsion when Sebastian returns to the table, a cup of water in his hand.

Someone who makes your heart ache. Bring me them so I can make you watch, make you scream and cry and beg for their life. You know nothing you say could ever move me to let them go, but oh, how sweet it will be to hear you sing and pray to me for their release. And pray you will, boy.

Astarion smiles at Sebastian and hates himself for it.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” he asks, even if the venom nearly clogs his throat - knowing that tomorrow will never come, not for Sebastian. He will die tonight with Cazador’s fangs in his neck, going limp like a doll as the sunlight of his life is drained from him. And Astarion will have one more name to carve into his heart.

“I’m going to the market!” Sebastian is vibrating with excitement. His hair shimmers in the low light when he bends closer. “I brought some pieces with me, and I want to see if I can get a licence to sell them, maybe down at the market by the docks. I heard there is a forge near here, I might try to find that as well. I just… I want to see as much of the city as I can before life catches up and I have to return to work.”

Astarion digs his nails into the roughed up wood of the table, but not even that pain can keep the next words from slipping over his traitorous lips.

“To the market, hm? That’s exciting, my darling. Quite the journey from here though if you want to get there early enough to ask for a trading licence. Do you know where you will stay tonight?”

His heart shatters into a million pieces at the look on Sebastian’s face: surprise that quickly changes into tentative excitement, like he can’t fully believe what Astarion is implying. He can see the flush that creeps into Sebastian’s cheeks, smell the treat that has been forbidden to him ever since he has craved it. Not even the hunger hurts as much as the inevitable pain of losing this beautiful stranger to Cazador’s greed and bloodlust.

“I was hoping I could rent a room here. But you are right, maybe it is a little far from the market,” Sebastian says, his eyes now lingering on Astarion’s lips, on his exposed neck. His heartbeat betrays him: fast and uneven, stumbling with desire Astarion was hoping would never bloom.

Take the room, he wants to say. Take it and don’t leave it until the sun is up and creatures like me have crawled back to where we came from and can’t hurt you anymore.

What he says instead makes the tips of Sebastian’s ears go flushed and rosy.

“This place is not exactly known for its trustworthy clientele either. I know… someone in the city. I’m staying at his place - if you come with me, I promise we won’t be disturbed.”

The smile on Sebastian’s face is tinted with tentative lust, his eyes wandering where he has not let himself look. Astarion curses himself as an alluring smile appears on his own lips. All he wants is to slip out of his skin and leave behind a beautiful shell, empty and void of any trace of him. Anything not to have to feel like this anymore. Dirty and used, an instrument to another’s thirst for power.

Sebastian leans in closer, his breath mingling with Astarion’s own. He smells sweet, like honeyed wine and thyme.

“What exactly are you planning to do with me if you have to make sure we won’t be disturbed?” He sounds genuinely curious in a way that makes Astarion’s breath stutter.

Another man would ask the same question, already knowing the answer, relishing the implications, the innuendo. Another man would already have his hands on Astarion’s thigh without being invited to, would already be kissing his neck without even paying attention to the telltale scars on his throat. Another man would never have taken the time to try and get to know him, would not have invited him for a drink in the tavern but shoved him up against a wall and had his way in the dark of the alley. Another man would have let his hands wander where they don’t belong, Cazador’s words stopping Astarion from doing anything about it as unwanted fingers cling to his thighs, and unwanted lips caress his chest. Another man would have deserved death. Sebastian is not another man. He deserves better, and Astarion cannot give it to him. The moment Sebastian laid eyes on him was the moment he died.

Astarion tries to find terrible solace in that as he leads Sebastian outside, their fingers interlaced as they wander through the quiet alleys of the lower city.

“Where does this friend of yours live?” Sebastian asks, his eyes full of wonder as he takes in the view of the city in the moonlight. “I- I need to paint all this tomorrow night, it’s beautiful.”

Astarion does not answer, but his fingers squeeze Sebastian’s for a second. It’s enough to make the other man turn to him. Sebastian’s face goes soft, a smile tugging at his lips.

“It’s not only the night that is beautiful. So are you,” he whispers, stepping closer, cupping Astarion’s jaw in one large hand. “If anyone could inspire me, it would be you. How did I get so lucky- my first night in the city, and I find the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on. I have never… no one has ever caught my attention the way you did. Not even at home- there was never anyone-”

He is rambling now, and yet all Astarion can hear is his heartbeat, so fast and excited, so nervous as he moves closer. Astarion wishes he had the strength to stop him, but even if there was any way to resist Cazador’s compulsion, his body is weak. It always has been. It has always betrayed him.

“What I mean to say is…” Sebastian hesitates. He cocks his head, unsure of how to proceed. His heartbeat is so fast Astarion thinks he can feel it in his own chest, and his hand on Astarion’s chest is warmer than the sun. “I… I have no experience in these things. Nobody has ever- well… taken me home with them. I don’t- what I mean is- will you kiss me?”

Astarion freezes, and his whole self shatters at the sweet question that nothing could have prepared him for. Sebastian’s words are extinguished by Cazador’s cold voice in the back of Astarion’s mind.

Make sure it is you they want.

Astarion is good at what he does. Better than he wants to be. They all want him. None of them ever ask if they are what he wants as well.

Sebastian’s lips are soft when Astarion’s own meet them. He is warm, so warm he seems to glow from the inside. His hands are careful, not greedy, and if Astarion could let himself, he would shatter beneath their touch. The kiss is not much more than a gentle touch of lips, not driven by hunger or desire. Sebastian’s only desire is to be known, to be tasted. It is the only wish Astarion can fulfil before he leads him to his death.

Sebastian’s breath is staggered when Astarion pulls away from him, his hands tangled in Astarion’s silvery hair. He closes his eyes and shudders, reaching out to pull Astarion against him as his back hits the wall.

“Again. Please.”

Astarion trembles. How could he say no?

He kisses Sebastian with all the desperation of someone with everything to lose.

Notice, he begs silently. Notice that something is off- wrap your hands around my neck and feel the scars- tell me how cold my skin is, see how my eyes glow in the dark- run, and I will try to let you get away.

Sebastian makes a noise in the back of his throat and parts his lips to let Astarion in, and he is lost. Astarion closes his eyes and lets it happen. There is nothing he can do, and he is so tired of fighting the inevitable.

They are both breathing hard when they break apart, Sebastian’s hands on Astarion’s waist, Astarion’s fingers digging into his shoulders as he pulls him in when all he wants to do is push him away.

“You’re incredible,” Sebastian whispers. “Astarion-”

“Sebastian,” he breathes, and that one word holds more reverence than all his prayers ever did. “Sebastian, you have to g-”

The night air changes, and all the warmth Sebastian’s presence has brought to Astarion’s bones vanishes in an instant. The cold creeps back in like iced water, and it is the coldness only death brings.

“Astarion, who have you brought me tonight?”

Astarion closes his eyes. Not here. Not now- they were supposed to have a moment more- never outside, Cazador never comes outside. He waits in his chambers like a cat waits for the mouse. Long fingers pull at his shoulders, and he can’t do anything but limply let go of Sebastian. Sebastian, whose voice is still gentle, but also scared and confused. Sebastian, who slips away as Cazador commands Astarion to leave.

When before, all Astarion wanted to do was tell him to run, he knows now that it is too late. And he wished for the impossible: To die by Sebastian’s side.

“I- what? Astarion, what is-” Sebastian’s voice is rough with terror, and Astarion can’t look at him. Cazador’s fingers dig into his skin.

“Did you think you had found the love of your life? Did you think he would save you?” The world sinks into darkness as Astarion is dragged away. Cazador hisses the words, and there is no telling whether he is speaking to him or Sebastian. “Oh, come now, boy. You should know better than that. He is not your saviour- he is your ruin.”

The sharp hand lets go of Astarion, and suddenly, cold lips are near his ear, whispering words addressed only to him.

“Keep your eyes open. I want you to watch.”

There is a fraction of a second where Astarion can scream, but it’s too late already. Sharp fangs sink into Sebastian’s neck, and Astarion watches, wide-eyed. His throat burns with words he wishes he could have spoken before, and his cheeks are suddenly wet with tears.

“Sebastian!” Astarion does not recognise his own voice, broken and bizarre in the face of this impossibility he knew was coming. “Sebastian, I’m so-”

The last thing Astarion sees is the hatred in Sebastian’s eyes that burns like a thousand dying suns. Then, Cazador’s staff comes down and the world goes dark.

The return of Angstarion. I hope this concept consumes you all as much as it has consumed me.

@purgetrooperfox @ashotofspotchka @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @ulchabhangorm @samspenandsword @rescuethewretched @pinkiemme @baba-fett @witchklng @ladykatakuri @certified-anakinfucker @fanfiction-i-llike @voidinfernal @foxferret02 @rosieofcorona @savagemickey03 @perseny @margoisthemoon2 @shiiunn @saucyhedgehog @tonysoffice @pupshr00m @supercalifragilisticprincess @palpipeen @silly-gooseastarion @mila-bee @shit-i-say-throughout-the-day @idkwhatsgoingonwithme @aeryntheofficial @jekasha @gub @nogitsune-the @solarrexplosion @hexqueensupreme @unofficialavenger90 @frankiesghost @curtaincaramba @kimiheartblade @niqhtfell @campfull-of-weirdos

Extra special mention to @babygirljoelmiller for being so brave and finishing Cazador's palace.

#angstarion #astarion #bg3 #astarion x sebastian #sebastian bg3 #oh lord this took a toll on me fr #nsft #baldur's gate #angst

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