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Happy Autism Acceptance Day and Month
Whenever you are on the spectrum. Low or high support. Good at masking or terrible at it. Early or late diagnosed, self or officially. Impressive at your special interest or not really retaining any information. Non-verbal, selectively mute, echolalic or constantly rambling. “Not looking autistic” or obviously disabled. Hypo- or hyperempathetic. Struggling or content. We're all different.
Mods used: Otis_Inf Camera Mod, ReShade, Lighty Lights, Jun's Head Pack, Vessnelle's Hair, Kay's Hair Extensions
Originally created around October 2025 for the BG3 Yearbook (which is still very much under works, just delayed), but I thought it wouldn't hurt to post it early, the occasion really merits it.
I am still going through my art folder. lol This was a gift art @g-vlssz did for me, when I got her to watch DunMeshi. My BG3 Tav as Laios, given that Tav very much is a very autistic character - and he would totally be on board with dungeon cuisine. While his autism is definitely more the Kabru type of autism (his special interests are people and also sex), he is very autistic, no doubt about that.
This is also the younger version of Tav, when he was about 25 or so, rather than Tav by the events of the game, where he is about 32 or 33 (he is not quite sure himself).
Picking Up the Pieces
A complete fic
For some time, my brain has felt anxious about posting wips, so instead, I cooked secretly in solitude. I wanted to thank everyone who kept tagging me: @et-augury, @litsenn, @missfortunetherogue, @riddlerosehearts, @spillingteanotpermitted, @elceewunjo, @michanvalentine (I hope I haven't forgotten anyone, I kind of lost track of the tags at some point).
I'm sorry I couldn't always interact with your posts, December was a harsh time for me, but it always felt good to be remembered, it kept me going :) I hope you don't mind being tagged in a finished fic instead, but I'm so proud of myself I just have to share x) If you'd rather I didn't tag you in this manner in the future, just let me know.
Read the fic under the cut or on AO3 (with the dubious added value of author's notes).
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Astarion & Kirian, Yae & Shadowheart, Yae & Gortash Additional Tags: Named Tav, Autistic Tav, Yae of Evereska (OC), Elder OC, Blind OC, Genderfluid OC, Astarion's POV, Yae's POV, Cosy, Melancholic, Angst, Hurt With Little Comfort, Family Bonds, Fresh Relationships, Relationship Study, Pre-Canon, Act 1, Post-Canon, Nested stories, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Some Explicit Language, Internalised Ableism, Gore (Canon-Typical), Self-Esteem Issues, Minor Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Sensory Sensitivity, Avoiding Eye Contact, Literal Thinking, Social Struggles, Burnout, Helsik (Off-Screen) Words: 6,579 (4 chapters)
Important note: When writing Kirian, I tried to stay respectful to people with vision loss and avoid common misconceptions and cliches as much as possible. The resources here helped me a lot. If you think I could still improve on that aspect, kindly let me know.
Prologue: A Tale to Soothe the Longing Heart
He found Kirian on the veranda at the back of the house, the freshly risen moon dusting the wrinkles on eir face with silver, making the lines and irregularities all the more pronounced – a map of the course of eir life. And there was a map atop of the map, another layer spelled with ink and needles, in some places faded and barely readable, in others more fresh. The two webs – the natural one and the man-made – tangled together into veritable knots.
He could’ve walked in silently; sometimes he liked to tread so lightly his feet seemed to not touch the ground at all. Yet with Kirian, he always made sure to be audible – on Xan’s explicit request. Not ostentatiously loud; just audible. Casual strides, a sigh, a light knock on a doorframe.
“Good evening, Astarion,” the old person immediately uttered. There was only two of them in the house, ey knew it had to be him. Eir face tilted in his direction. Did ey see anything at all in the dim moonshine? Perhaps a slightly paler blotch against the backdrop of the night? The vampire had no certainty.
“A very fine evening indeed,” Astarion replied and made a little show of taking a deep, loud breath of the cool, pleasantly humid air. The garden, which he suspected to be Kirian’s pride and joy – and maybe a substitute for the untamed wilderness ey must have missed in Evereska – gave off a subtle fragrance. It felt refreshing even to his dead lungs.
“Aren’t you bored yet? Playing a night shift nursemaid to an elder like me?” A foxy grin stretched the inky flower buds and leaves covering eir cheeks.
Every flower, every bud, every leaf and every twig – one for each person, animal, place or event, Yae had explained once. Astarion doubted those words were to be taken literally, but he liked the idea of a plant-like tattoo that grew along with the experiences of the owner. He wondered which flowers stood for Xan and Yae.
Would there be one for him, too? Oh hush, you stupid thoughts.
“I would never!” he denied vehemently. Something told him Kirian could see right through his theatrics, yet he felt unable to shed the protective behaviour; he still searched for his footing around em.
Admittedly, it was rather awkward, living under one roof, no matter how big the house, with someone he barely knew – and not “barely” as in “we’ve been slaves together for decades, but I don’t care enough to learn more about you”. Were they supposed to get along? What if they wouldn’t? How did he even–
“You don’t have to.” Somehow, eir voice carried a mix of frail, mellow and firm at the same time. “I’m not as helpless as people think. If not for Xan and Yae, I would still live in my hut in the forest all by myself, and it would be a good life.”
“Do you regret it?” Curiosity got the better of Astarion. Ah, too late to take back the question, right? “Coming to the city?”
“No.” The vampire had only known Kirian for so long, and yet he’d already witnessed from em an array of placid smiles so diverse, it baffled him every time he noticed a new one. “I miss my old life, oftentimes. But I don’t regret my choices.”
A moth fluttered in flourishes next to the old witch’s hand, despite there being no light on the veranda to lure it in. Kirian sensed the stirring of the air; ey extended a worn finger and allowed the furry creature to land on its tip. Astarion’s red eyes traced the muted patterns on its wings. Moths were Yae’s favourite.
“What I mean is,” Kirian continued, “I agreed to the idea of you staying and watching over me, because I knew otherwise Xan and Yae wouldn’t leave, held in place by worry. But you don’t have to feel chained on my account. I’ll be fine. I may be old and almost sightless, but there’s still plenty of life in those limbs.”
Yes, there was, he could tell. Kirian’s presence struck him as an oddity, an oxymoron onto itself, calm and stable, vibrant and intense.
“A tempting offer, but Yae would be greatly disappointed if I promised to do one thing and then went for another. He doesn’t take kindly to pacts being broken,” Astarion finished with a dry smile. While he exaggerated for dramatic flair, the core of his words stayed true: Yae found comfort in upheld arrangements.
“You know him well.” The fox-like expression returned.
“I agree I do, but in truth, this is one of his more obvious traits.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
Astarion leaned against the wooden railing. The garden seemed as alive as its owner: birds and insects, invisible in the darkness even to his healthy and enhanced eyesight, chirped in the tall grass and among the tree branches. Maybe Yae’s beloved boredom and quiet evenings such as this one had their charms.
“So, since we’re consensually stuck together,” Kirian spoke again after a while, “and even blessed Corellon doesn’t know when Xan and Yae will be back, would you mind recounting to me the tale of the Absolute crisis?”
“Why do I have the suspicion it’s not the Absolute you really want to hear about?” Astarion allowed a carefully measured dose of cockiness to slip into his words, just to test the waters.
“You would be correct. Though I assume an occasional mention of the cult is unavoidable.”
The moth was still on eir palm, exploring all the ridges of the skin with diligence.
“Didn’t Yae tell you everything already?” Encouraged, Astarion decided there was no harm in being purposefully difficult a little longer. And part of him felt genuinely curious: what details had the parents heard from their son?
“He did. But you know how he is: concise to a fault. He’ll only tell you what he thinks you need to know. Verbosity isn’t a vice he indulges in often.”
Ah, yes. That sounded about right.
The vampire wondered what kind of narrative should he spin for Kirian. Some grand, ludicrous falsehoods in true Volo’s fashion? A comedic retelling of the most absurd trials and tribulations? A chilling description of their dramatic victories? What would ey find interesting?
He must have been silent for longer than he thought, and Kirian apparently mistook it for reluctance. Ey sighed and spoke softly, more to emself than to any audience:
“I missed him dearly every single day during all those years. But he has the right to come and go as he pleases; children aren’t born to be their parents’ property.”
Astarion felt a sudden grip on his insides. As much as Cazador had liked to style himself and his tormented slaves as a “family”, such words would never – ever – pass through his cruel lips.
The plain truth it was, then.
“Very well, I’ll entertain you. Just let me fetch a chair for myself.”
The moth took off and disappeared between the rafts of the veranda’s roofing.
The Revenant
Dark smoke belched into the azure sky, accompanied by the acrid smell of burnt organic tissue and strange materials. Yae lay on the sand, limbs spread, listening to the gentle lapping of water and to the raging fires. The damp grains were getting everywhere in his hair and in his clothes. The former was annoyingly long, he realised; the latter hadn’t been exactly fresh when he’d put them on, and the grime covering them now certainly didn’t serve as improvement.
He knew he’d eventually have to get up. He didn’t want to choke on the vapours, or to get hit by debris when something volatile in the wreck nearby exploded again. But now, as the stress response to the imminent danger abated, his body was tired dead.
His mind, on the other hand, felt clear.
But it shouldn’t. It was wrong.
From where he landed, he had to crane his neck in an almost painful way to catch but a glimpse of the blazing nautiloid. For the past few months, he had been just as derelict, unable to roll out and get a hold of himself. All things considered, Beshaba must have smiled hideously the day when just once in Hells know how long he’d mustered enough will to dress up and go out of his apartment only to be snatched away by mind flayers. Such rotten luck.
It made him think of his father. No, stop, he really shouldn’t.
The black void within wasn’t gone, but it had shrunk considerably; enough so he’d been able to get out of the malfunctioning pod, pick up a knife and find his way to the helm. Otherwise, well. That damn thing would have been his coffin. And he probably wouldn’t even care, just meekly succumbing to the cruel fate, but not without a sense of relief.
Now, stripped of the paralysing misery, he discovered with a mild surprise constant anger simmering underneath. Anger at the world. Anger at himself. At his parents for having him. At his brother for not having him. At his aunt for trying to make him conform.
He’d been loved, he knew. It was the worst part; the reason that had forced him to leave.
Seeking distraction from ruminations, Yae turned his gaze to the side, only to discover a mangled body rammed into the sand right next to him, turned into a meaty sack on impact. Oh gods.
He rolled to the other side, and retched.
A heap of fleshy mush and bone splinters – that was what he should have been right now. How many deaths had he escaped in such a relatively short time?
Why did he suddenly care?
Why had he been spared?
The nautiloid had boasted an abundance of alien technology. His abductors could perform many mind-blowing feats, quite literally. Who knew the extend of abnormalities that had manifested once the ship started malfunctioning and crashing down? It could have resulted in some temporary and extremely local distortions of gravity, he supposed. Something akin to the effects of the spell called Feather Fall by some magicians. He just had been…
Lucky, he reckoned most people would have called it.
Next came an attempt to coax the battered, sore limbs to move, but it only resulted in a hoarse groan slipping through the half-elf’s parched lips. The useless body wouldn’t cooperate, what a surprise.
A deep inhale. Again.
With another croak, Yae sat up, a cascade of sand scattering down onto the ground. It got everywhere, and Corellon damn it, wasn’t it jarring. Dusting his jacket and combing his hair with fingers didn’t help at all.
And his hair. Not just full of sand, but also dirty, sticky with mucus, and obnoxiously long, getting in his face, tangling in his scarf. If this torment lasted even a second longer, he was going to claw out of his own skin.
Yae tried to tie it, but this only made things worse; he couldn’t stand the subtle tugging against his scalp. And the anger rose.
Another deep, deliberate breath. Yae let two thin strands of hair loose – one on each side of his face – and braided them. The repetitive motions, at least, allowed to somewhat bridle the frustration, to regain a tiny dose of composure. As though he reclaimed a bit of himself.
The knife had been pried from his hand, but didn’t land much farther away. Good. Yae grabbed it and sharpened against a nearby rock – kshshsht, kshshsht, kshshsht. Then he reached behind his head, put the blade against the messy knot deserving maximum punishment, and pulled.
As it turned out, he was a poor executioner. He hoped for a quick clean cut, but of course the knife still proved too dull for the task. Now the mop probably looked like a barber’s worst nightmare. It didn’t matter, though – the length of his hair felt much more tolerable. One less offensive sensation in his life. He could already breath a little easier. Maybe he wouldn’t erupt in screams. Maybe.
Why was his head so clear?
Limit situation, he thought instantly. Shock. Like a slap to the face, except with a maul.
A simple, elegant explanation. The nagging suspicion that it didn’t account for the current circumstances in all their complexity gnawed at the back of his head like an intellect devourer – no, actually, like a tadpole burrowing in the tender brain matter.
Speaking of which…
The joints and muscles protested with shooting pain when once more forced to support his weight. Of course they did – they lacked proper nourishment and exercise, and in spite of that deplorable state had just been severely strained – not just physically, but also magically. It’d been ages since Yae had cast a single spell, not to mention a whole string of them. The magic came out weakened, almost pathetic, but what could he have expected, being just a shade of a person.
Interestingly, the illithids had looked wiry and strong. Maybe turning into one wasn’t a bad idea altogether.
Yae snorted. The dark joke sounded bad even in his own thoughts.
There was a figure lying farther away on the sand, the same fair-skinned and dark-haired woman from before. A half-elf, as he could confidently judge by her features, and around his age, too; not that any of that mattered. Unconscious, but definitely alive. No visible major injuries. So she’d gotten lucky, just like him. Perhaps, once she was wake, she’d appreciate it more than his thankless self.
Yae truly didn’t wish for company. He didn’t want to be forced to open his mouth to another sentient being. To be dodging all sorts of pointless questions. To share obvious remarks about the weather. Well, not that obvious, since today it was raining corpses and fiery debris – but still.
He lacked energy for any of this.
It would be so easy to just slip away while she remained unconscious. She’d never even know he’d been here. He’d saved her life, he supposed (no big deal, he dismissed it immediately), and he would do it again, but he didn’t want gratitude, he just wanted to go…
Where?
He didn’t know where.
A cloud passed, and as though finding new determination, the sunlight cut through the dust suspended in the air. A sudden glint attracted the warlock’s eyes. The woman (Shadowheart. She has a name, he chided himself) was holding an object in a loose grip, presumably the same one she’d insisted on retrieving before leaving her pod.
Something stirred awake within Yae: curiosity. How… baffling. He had forgotten that one: what it was like to be curious about life, curious about the world around you, curious about mysteries and puzzles and the inner workings of the multiverse.
Curiosity was… agreeable. It lent taste to existence.
He had used to be so full of it.
By Selûne’s tits, bud, can you finally shut up with all the questions? My ears are about to wither and fall off from your constant yapping…
The object was composed of multiple concave facets made of some kind of dark metal covered with runes and joined by unknown orange-reddish substance, with vicious spikes jutting out from every vertex. It looked strange: in his line of work, Yae had encountered things like arjale or infernal iron, and hailing from Evereska, he’d obviously seen more than a fair share of elven steel. But this resembled none of them.
He could bet Helsik too wouldn’t know what the artefact was, damn her and her stupid curio shop.
His fingers itched as he leaned in closer, curious, hungry for knowledge – but then Shadowheart moved.
Shit. His chance to flit away was gone.
“What are you doing?” She asked as she hid the object and scrambled to her feet. The cleric attempted to lock her gaze with his – of course she did – and when Yae’s eyes drifted away, she squinted. Oh gods, this was going to be terrible. The woman tried to reposition herself and re-enter his field of vision, to which he now purposefully turned his face to the side, letting the annoyance show. No.
To Yae’s surprise, she stopped.
Which didn’t mean she no longer looked at him, and after a pause she blurted out with an almost hysteric giggle:
“You look absolutely mangy.”
He knew.
Shadowheart proceeded to scrutinise herself and with a displeased “ewww” she started picking off the bigger chunks of organic something clinging to her gear.
“Are you going to speak? You did before. Or you could pinch me. I’m sorry, this is so surreal, I just have to make sure I’m really alive and not having some freakish afterlife hallucinations.”
Pinch her? Oh no, no. He wasn’t touching anyone.
“What–”
But dust scraped against his throat and the rest drowned in a coughing fit. Yae doubled over, heaving, while his eyes watered.
Apparently this proved enough for Shadowheart, as her voice, now containing only fading traces of the previous amusement bordering on panic, drifted to him.
“Alright, now I believe you’re real. Yae, right?”
He nodded, still spitting grime.
“I hope we agree we need each other.” By the minute, Shadowheart regained her poise. “I’m not going to lie, those deadly blasts of raw, concentrated power you flung at the monsters do make the impression of a handy survival skill.” Yae blinked away the tears. Was she trying to butter him up? “The ability to pulverise opponents aside, you showed a lot of focus and nerve on the ship. Call me impressionable, but I can appreciate this sort of single-mindedness and tactical thinking.”
Focused? Single-minded? Good at tactics?
Him?
The person he remembered before he had turned into a living corpse rotting on his sofa could approach complex situations with cold, intellectual efficiency many people interpreted as lack of care or something more fitting a construct rather than a sentient being made of flesh.
Yes… yes, that was him, too.
For now, it was better to ignore the fact that the person had also hated making on-the-spot decisions and preferred to take the time to carefully analyse every minute detail, no matter how irrelevant.
Later. Yes, he’d have time to consider this discrepancy later.
“We need to take care of ourselves,” Shadowheart went on, unaware of the thoughts racing in Yae’s head – or perhaps too occupied with her own. “First things first: we need supplies, shelter, and most of all – a healer.”
He bit his tongue before he said no healer could ever help him.
None of them mentioned the githyanki warrior. Yae assumed she must have died. Unlucky.
The warlock checked his pockets for anything useful, though his hopes weren’t high. He had only gone out because he’d needed something to eat. He hadn’t planned embarking on an adventure. No, his fingers found no handkerchief.
So what did they found instead? A few coppers and a silver piece. His favourite ring. The key to his apartment. And a– a piece of rectangular, thick paper?
He pulled it out to see a tarnished and somewhat damp calling card in black and gold, announcing the proprietor’s name in fancy print. Print, not manual writing, Yae noted; the fact spoke for itself.
Ah, he remembered now. It had gotten tangled in his scarf when he’d fetched it from the table; impatient, he’d shoved the already worn card into the coat’s pocket, and then had entirely forgotten about its existence, just as when he’d first placed it on the table… which must have been a few months ago.
The Upstart
The beads slid ferociously along the thin metal rods of the abacus, glistening in the candlelight like tiny magical projectiles, ready to find its mark and annihilate it on the spot. Numbers could be as deadly, Yae had learnt. The seething fury with which he sent the pellets back and forth, causing them to rattle as they hit one side of the counting frame, then the other, then the first one again, threatened to break the instrument.
Yae was tired – so fucking exhausted – and it made him hate Helsik with his whole heart.
After the argument she’d retreated upstairs, claiming she had important arcane preparations to take care of, and that he should see to closing the store for today by himself and under no circumstances bother her. Yae suspected it was simply an excuse to dump more responsibilities on him while the dwarven woman just went to smoke her fancy herbs. She, too, must have been really angry; normally, she’d insist to do all the bookkeeping herself, as befitted a faithful servant of Mammon.
Or as befitted a person who’d known how to spell “avarice” before she’d learnt to walk. Yae could count money just fine. He didn’t care, and he’d have definitely preferred to be on his way home instead, but gods, she could trust him with that. He picked up the quill and noted down numbers before tormenting the abacus anew. The Devil’s Fee made a good revenue today.
He checked the columns again, because he knew she’d do it later, too, and he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of catching him on even the most innocent error. Over his dead body.
The pleasant tinkling of a bell told him that, despite the hour, someone entered the store. This ruffled the warlock even more. Of course Helsik hadn’t bothered to lock the front entrance before she left. And now he had to deal with whatever nuisance decided to cross the door.
Just another reason to hate her.
Yae stepped around the counter and approached the railing of the entresol to watch the trespasser.
A man, circling the cabinets and display cases in a lazy gait, dressed in such an ostentatious ensemble it ached to look at him. The black coat with copious lapels was so heavy with gold embroidery and shiny metal ornaments, no power in the multiverse would convince Yae wearing the thing could ever be dictated by practical reasons. Helsik, on the other hand, would love it, the half-elf was certain. She’d constantly insist he dressed in a more extravagant way to make a properly “mystique” impression on their customers. Yae snorted.
The man’s head darted up and the dark eyes fixed right on Yae. The warlock expected a bored, unfocused gaze that’d match the nonchalant step; instead the stare was sharp, bold, calculating.
“We’re closed,” he informed the man in a perfectly impassive voice. Helsik had many times scolded him for treating the customers like intruders; he couldn’t care less, he literally wasn’t able to care, not so late into the night.
An easy smile stretched the man’s lips. He approached the staircase with a new spring in his step, and the heels of the steel-tipped boots – as uselessly ornate as the rest of his wardrobe – clicked at every stride, making Yae’s jaw clench.
He doesn’t like to be looked down on, does he, thought the warlock once the man stood on the same level as him.
“I’m well aware.” The dandy’s voice was deep and – probably, if Yae ever cared about such things – alluring. “I have an appointment with the Picklock and the Latchkeeper, the most crafty Helsik.”
Cunning sparks danced in the depths of the dark eyes. Yae merely crossed his arms.
“We’re closed,” he repeated stubbornly. “Come again tomorrow.”
The cordial smile morphed into a lopsided smirk. “We haven’t met before, have we? Please tell Helsik I’m here, and I am certain she will want to honour our appointment. I am–”
“I don’t care.”
Every warlock worth their salt knew there were beings who warded their names as precious things of power; yet some people treated theirs like skeleton keys, tossing them around freely and without inhibition. Yae realised who stood before him, of course; as much as he wished to live under the proverbial rock, the city was abuzz with gossip about this particular lordling, and the more ludicrous stories no doubt wiggled their way even into the most obscure bolt-holes.
A shining star of many a patriar’s parlour. No, on a second thought, a shooting star. And yet, not without reluctance, Yae had to admit it was the kind of person who would decidedly fit right into aunt Avalea’s parlour, too.
As much as it tempted Yae to make the man the target of his anger, he started wondering if he should indeed let the intruder upstairs. But Helsik had said she was not to be bothered, no exceptions. Surely if she had an appointment, she’d phrase that differently. Or maybe not? Yae had on many occasions found people frustratingly inexact. Even Helsik, so strict when it came to numbers, showed surprising lack of care for words every now and then.
Oh gods. But if she had meant what she’d said, she would get even angrier at him for ignoring her clear instructions. “Under no circumstances” wasn’t a debatable turn of phrase. Yae definitely didn’t need another argument with his colleague tonight.
What a shame no patron helped with this kind of predicaments. Granting spells and inhuman knowledge? But of course, we’ll make you a nice deal. Discerning intentions and expectations of other sentient beings? Apologies, that’s beyond our competence, you’re on your own.
Finding himself between a rock and a hard place, Yae decided it would be best to follow the instructions to the letter – the choice, at least, could be defended logically if anything had gone wrong.
He sighed. He was well aware logic wouldn’t save him in the face of emotions, and yet he clung to the hope.
“I’m sorry, sir, but my instructions were clear. Under no circumstances is Helsik to be interrupted. She is having a communion with her patron.”
If Yae’s behaviour irked the noble, he didn’t let it show.
“Such a pity.” The manner in which he spoke clearly indicated he didn’t believe a word of what Yae said. Still, the man didn’t look upset. Rather, he made the impression of a person who saw people playing cards, and without ever asking for an invitation, he sat down, drew himself a hand and joined as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
The man thought Yae had thrown a gauntlet – and decided to take it up.
No, no, no, Corellon have mercy.
Yet again adopting the lazy gait – which now made Yae think of a displacer beast circling its prey – the noble took a few seemingly disinterested strides to the side. Clink. Clink. Clink, went the steel-tipped boots, the sound now both jarring and a little menacing. Like a duellist looking for an opportunity to strike. A tiny hysterical laughter burst in Yae’s mind. So in the end, he did manage to infuriate the bothersome customer. No surprise, really, Kirian had always said the egos of the upper class bruised so easily.
Clink. Clink. Creak.
The lordling stepped on a warped parquet board. Another harsh squeaking sound followed, this time of badly oiled hinges, and a door of a nearby cabinet swung ajar. Blasted old flooring and even older furniture. Yae rushed to close it, but the man had already turned his head in one sharp, swift motion and peeked inside with an intent of an owl searching for mice.
“What is this… instrument?” he asked, pointing towards a half-finished clockwork stashed on one of the shelves.
“It’s a–” Caught off-guard, Yae’s brain found itself unable to come up with a smooth non-response that would terminate the topic, so instead, he spoke the truth. “I have been reading Emery Harpell’s hypothesis on the latent energies of non-occurrent portals and how they could be agitated into existence. They described a simple experiment they had conducted to prove their theories and I was, um, trying to replicate it. Out of curiosity.” And if Helsik learns I have been doing this during work hours, she’s going to kill me.
“Fascinating.” As hard as Yae tried, he could not detect sarcasm in the man’s voice. “Could I have a look? I consider myself… an inventor, of sorts.”
“Oh, do you?” The warlock’s retort came across more barbed than he intended, but he didn’t care. He knew nobles loved to consider themselves things they were certainly not.
“Actually, I do,” the customer sent Yae a wolfish grin. “Were Harpell’s theories not disproved in Arallyn Odesseiron’s treatise on fluctuations of spatiotemporal instabilities?”
“Oh, but Odesseiron made false assumptions which lead to significant deviations in her measurements, Harpell discusses that, too, in the revised edition of their dissertation. They also proposed a new method of attuning instruments using controlled microblasts of…”
And suddenly they were discussing varying ways of improving the experiment and the machine itself, so it could be used more reliably and in the field, any previous disagreeableness forgotten. The man suggested a few solutions Yae had already tried out, and the warlock wasn’t shy of pointing it out. It didn’t deter the noble, however; to the contrary, he seemed to thrive on the brainstorm. And to his own surprise, Yae thought he’d enjoy it, too, had his energy not been so latent and non-occurrent.
“I could use someone like you,” said the man finally, as he straightened up to scrutinise the clockwork and its maker with a new spark in his dark eyes. Yae’s mood had improved a little, and now it instantly plummeted right back.
Use. Of course.
“How much do you earn here? I can double that.”
Ah, a classic. Because, just like Helsik, he thought everything revolved around money.
“We’re alike, aren’t we?”
Another classic, straight out of aunt Avalea’s textbook for beginners.
“I’m afraid I’m a bit on a tight schedule, now that my appointment with the Hells’ Latchkeeper is apparently forfeit, but… Here’s my calling card. If you ever make up your mind, just pay me a visit.”
Yae’s expression had already returned to its default state: hard to read and unimpressed. He accepted the card, because it was quicker than arguing, and stashed it right in his pocket, without ever giving it a glance.
Once again, the bell tinkled pleasantly as the visitor opened the front door, but he stopped short of exiting.
“The time is always right to pick up the pieces,” he said. “To treat them like spare parts and build an entirely new invention. No matter which layer of Hell you have just crawled back from.”
The extravagant nobleman finally left, and Yae wondered why he felt disappointed.
Later, once the numbers were all neatly reckoned and the Devil’s Fee closed for real tonight, Yae spotted Crysta sweeping the streets close to the tenement he lived in. So her condition improved enough to let her work today. Good. At least he thought it was good, because he didn’t feel anything. He knew he should stop to ask how the voices have been, but instead he just nodded to the gnome woman, unable to be perceived anymore, incapable of the most basic interactions. Oh, he’d get an earful for that the next time, but the next time was better than now.
Taking off his clothes required an enormous act of will, and emotions within were both dull and threatening to erupt, to spill all over, to swallow the world. He lowered his forehead so it touched the surface of a small table in the living area. Gritting his teeth, he gave it a half-hearted bang. Then again.
I’m. So. Useless.
When his hand found an unfamiliar object – a calling card, rattled within his brain, but it didn’t mean anything right now – he just tossed it onto the table, among other clutter, to rot there. And once he finally undressed, he tossed himself onto the bed, ready for oblivion.
* * *
Yae crumpled the card and held it tightly like this for a few heartbeats, feeling the way the paper dug softly into his palm. Then, he threw it into the river.
“Let’s go,” he said to Shadowheart.
Some people went through exaggerated rituals to seal newly forged alliances: spitting in their palms, clasping hands dramatically. Yae simply met Shadowheart’s gaze; briefly, but deliberately. To him, the pact was already binding.
Green, he noted to himself as he started walking.
Epilogue: A Tale of Two Sparks and No Ignition
To all the friendships that could have been.
A breeze stirred and the pleasant tinkling of the wind chimes carried through the garden; the rustle of leaves and branches called back, a melody hummed softly by nature.
“You weren’t there yet, were you?” the witch asked.
“No, we only met later,” Astarion admitted.
“Then how do you know all the details?”
“You don’t think I’m lying, do you?” Feigning nonchalance, he scrutinised the nails of his left hand, an old habit of his resurfacing, a gesture of an uncertain man trying to assume control. But what use it was to manipulate through body language a person who couldn’t see? Embarrassed, Astarion let his arm drop.
“No. I think that even if you’re making this all up, you are being very accurate.” Kirian shifted in eir chair, trying to find a more comfortable position for limbs stiff of age. “Your words rekindled old memories, and I’d like to spin a tale for you in return.”
“Oh? I’m all ears.” Astarion stretched, his mind already distracted by hunger – in the way one might be distracted by a persistent itch – but he could probably stay a little longer and listen, just to indulge Kirian.
“When Yae was young, we often visited Candlekeep together – the three of us, you could call it family trips. You know Candlekeep, right?” An unexpected lopsided smile settled on Kirian’s face as eir voice grew… mischievous? “The grand library south of Baldur’s Gate. The veritable fountain of knowledge. The place where Alaundo’s name is spoken in revered hush. And, if reports are to be trusted, a castle that in bird’s-eye view resembles a cake with too many candles.”
Yes, ‘mischievous’ was the correct word. Kirian’s lack of veneration for the august institution tickled Astarion, and he thought he might yet become fond of em. The sarcasm melted into a gentler tone before turning truly acerbic, however.
“Both Xan and Yae love it there. My spouse is on friendly terms with many members of the Avowed, and we were always given a warm welcome in the fortress. And Yae? You could never drag him out from between the book-laden shelves, and he spoke with librarians more readily than with any children.
“I remember one particular stay, however. A wealthy man was visiting Candlekeep at the same time. Not just any petty nobleman, but a person of consequence, we were told.” Eir nose crinkled. “I never saw him, but I did see his entourage. Gilded carriage, a host of servants in impractical livery, I’m sure you know the type.”
Astarion bounced his leg, but otherwise made no sign of acknowledgement, nor did he attempt to interrupt.
“There was also a boy, around Yae’s age. A page, yanked around by an ill-natured gnome. Days passed and their master held endless councils with the most self-important of the monks, probably trying to uncover a dusty prophecy that would stroke his ego. My patience wore thin and I finally approached the gnome and scolded him for treating the boy worse than a dog. The creature tried to yell at me, too.” Kirian smiled at the memory – with condescendence rather than mirth. One thing ey’d learnt as a witch had been to handle the stubborn and the quarrelsome. “Eventually, the boy was allowed to wander more freely until his master would have need of him.”
The itch started growing intolerable, and Astarion considered excusing himself and leaving for tonight – surely the pointless soliloquy could wait until he’d had his drink.
“The next day, we were leaving. Xan was bidding farewell to his monk friends, but I couldn’t find Yae. It was unusual, to say the least. He loved the book collections of Candlekeep, and loudly complained when forced to abandon them, but he’d always show in the Court of Air on time, no matter how unhappily.
“I found him with the other boy. It seemed they had spent a considerable amount of time running around, amassing what they called ‘spare parts’ and tinkering with those while trying to decipher a blueprint they had snuck out from the library.” Ey paused. “Have I mentioned how rare it was for Yae to not want to part with other children?”
“Yes, you have,” Astarion blurted before biting his tongue. Kirian’s face froze for a split second.
Damn it.
“I’m almost done,” ey assured him in that impassive manner that kept you guessing if the person speaking was mad at you. So it ran in the family, eh?
“He seemed pleasant enough and well-mannered. The pageboy, I mean. But there was a challenge in his eyes, a flicker of a dark, brash spark,” Kirian mused, compassion plain in eir voice. “Later, Yae described him as ‘smug and stupid, but kind of brilliant.’” Hearing that one, Astarion snorted. It sounded exactly like Yae’s way of praising someone. “I have never learnt the boy’s name, and Yae didn’t ask about it, either. ‘Oh, you know, we didn’t have time for such trivialities, Ki, we were inventing,’” ey imitated eir young son’s response.
“But it was clear Yae was enamoured with the boy. He wouldn’t stop talking about him for an entire week. He was excited, because he thought he made a friend.”
Astarion could picture that very clearly: Yae and his infatuation with the concept of friendship.
“He wrote him a letter. We had trouble sending it. Yae only knew the boy lived in a huge, opulent mansion. My spouse told me in private that the pageboy’s master was a figure to be avoided, but either didn’t know any details, or didn’t want to divulge more. Eventually, we just resolved to send it to Candlekeep, so the monks could deliver it for Yae.”
Ey sighed.
“It took him four months to stop awaiting response.”
* * *
Fate works in spiteful ways, thought Astarion, pacing down an Evereskan street of yellow, polished cobblestone.
How many lords with bloated egos were out there? How many of them liked to behave in ostentatious, operatic ways? How many had young pageboys? How often the pageboys were mistreated? The kid Yae had met in Candlekeep could have been anyone.
What about the gnome? Astarion remembered one that would fit the description. But that could be a coincidence, too.
I have never learnt the boy’s name, Kirian’s words resounded in his mind. Would it change anything if he’d told em?
What difference did it make if the pageboy and the tyrant were the same person? The man was dead. He didn’t matter anymore. Astarion’s next meal mattered.
He crept out of the city gates and into the surrounding wilderness.
So maybe the man and Yae had met thrice. And maybe each time there’d seemed to be a spark, but the circumstances had not allowed for ignition. Where would he, Astarion, be now, if the spark between him and Yae had not found any fuel to sustain itself?
A letter without a reply. A forgotten calling card. Loose threads, never meant to weave together.
It doesn’t matter, he chided himself as he ducked behind a bush, pricking his ears to keep track of an approaching prey, letting the hunger guide his motions. Not all lost pieces can be gathered back up.
On his way home later, he could pick some wildflowers for Kirian. He had passed patches of bloodroots and bluebells. Ey would probably like those. That was what mattered.
Couple Tags: 20 Questions
Yae ~ Astarion
Thanks to @litsenn, @spillingteanotpermitted & @elceewunjo for tagging me, reading your and everybody else's answers was interesting ❤️ As previously, this is old, so leaving it as an open tag to anyone who'd like to join, please tag me back if you do :)
Disclaimer: Yae is aromantic (nebularomantic), asexual and autistic. In my headcanon, he and Astarion are in a queerplatonic relationship (denoted by the tilde ~) rather than a romantic one. Therefore some answers might be unconventional. You have been warned :) Also when I mention intimacy, I mean it in a general sense.
👄 How do they refer to each other? (“This is my...” girlfriend, partner, fiancée, etc.)
We’re starting with the boring one, I’m afraid. They usually simply go by names, or sometimes by “partner” or “friend” (especially Yae, he’s infatuated with the concept of friendship, to quote Astarion’s assesment on the matter). Yae also believes there’s little more intimate than a person’s name (did he learn that as a warlock? Nah, I think he always held that belief), because it’s the only word that encapsulates the entirety of their being. Astarion finds it uncharacteristically lofty for Yae, but he doesn’t argue.
🌟 What’s their celebrity couple/ship name?
Unfortunately, the only one I came up with so far is Bloody Reason 😂 I’ll take suggestions!
🌙 Night out or night in?
Depends. Yae is a domestic creature, while Astarion likes to go out, so they need to negotiate and accommodate each other :)
💤 Sleep in, or up-and-at-’em?
Yae’s sleep schedule is messy (if not none-existent). He’d often stay up late, both because he wants to spend time with Astarion, and because he can forget the passage of time when he’s engrossed in a topic or an activity. He’s most likely to go to bed between midnight and dawn. Unless he needs to go out, Astarion likes to accompany him and stay in bed at least until Yae falls asleep. If it’s already near dawn, the vampire is likely to sleep or trance next to Yae.
And then, it really depends on how merciful Yae’s brain feels. Sometimes he’s blessed with undisturbed sleep, other times he wakes up way too early and can’t fall back asleep for the life of his.
He’d also probably switch entirely into nocturnal schedule to match Astarion and to be able to enjoy less stimulating circumstances, if not for the fact it’s healthy for mortals to see the sun every once in a while.
🛌 Who hogs the blankets?
I don’t think Astarion needs blankets (do vampires get cold? That is the question), and he probably prefers to syphon Yae’s living body’s warmth anyway, so while I wouldn’t call it hogging, Yae can have the blankets to himself. Astarion just snuggles under them when he wants.
😴 Who snores?
Yae, probably, not often and quietly. He makes lots of tiny noises when asleep or when happily sharing physical intimacy. Astarion knows he wouldn’t live to see another day if he’d call him “my little humming bird”, but the temptation is very, very present.
🚔 Who gets them both in trouble? What for?
Usually Astarion, with his vampiric and roguish shenanigans… unless Yae gets so focused on warlocky pursuits, he stops noticing passage of time, the world around him – and potential danger of said pursuits. But usually Astarion.
🥂 What do they do for date night?
They don’t really do dates. Yae doesn’t understand the concept (“So how is that different from hanging out?”) and Astarion is inexperienced (or doesn’t remember his experience). But they spend a lot of quality time together.
🎂 What do they do for their anniversary?
I’m not sure if they have a date they’d consider their anniversary. Maybe the day they started living together? As with dates, I think they’d spend some quality time together and try to be extra mindful of each other. If possible, maybe they’d travel to visit a new place (or a new plane, ahem) together.
🎨 Any hobbies in common? What do they like to do together?
They usually do some sort of parallel play. However, they do like to read together! And the habit started with the Necromancy of Thay, no less. I have a whole headcanon about this and I don’t want to spoil it too much, as I hope to write a story about what exactly happened.
Otherwise, they take walks, discuss things, play boardgames – Yae even lets Astarion win once in a while, hehe
☁ Who’s the big spoon? The little spoon? / What’s their favorite cuddle position?
So one of Astarion's big discoveries (there was plenty of them, heh) was that Yae isn’t touch averse, as the vampire first thought. To the contrary – once the warlock became comfortable around Astarion, it was as if a switch flipped. Not that Yae became clingy, but definitely a lot more receptive.
Yae likes being held and have his chest compressed (it feels nice for his unusual sense of interoception!), so he’s typically the little spoon, with Astarion's arms wrapping around him tightly. For the same reason, he likes when Astarion lies atop of him, but is just as often the one to lie on Astarion. Yae also often leans on Astarion, especially when sitting next to each other and doing each their own thing, with the vampire holding him loosely.
😈 What’s their favorite other position?
Close to each other.
🍯 What cutesy nicknames (honey, sweetie, doll, etc.) do they have for each other?
This one is long 🫣
I’ve mentioned it before, but they don’t do pet names since for Yae those are synonymous with bullying. I even once drafted a short scene depicting how Astarion had to unlearn using all the “darlings” when speaking to Yae. It was supposed to take place in the Shadow-Cursed Lands:
When at the end of the day Yae came to the cliff, Astarion already sat there, posed with his back against the pewter trunk of a tree crowned with a thick, tousled mop of bloody red leaves. “You know, I liked how you told Halsin off before,” the vampire said in lieu of a greeting. “You heard that?” Yae took a seat on the ground by the same tree, not too close to the other man, his eyes fixed on the impenetrable blackness of the chasm yawning at their feet. “Darling, not all people in this camp are dumb and deaf.” “Pet name.” Astarion grunted. It was part of the agreement between them – a pact, as the warlock mockingly referred to it – that Yae wouldn’t get mad when Astarion called him one of the affectionate names out of the force of habit. Instead, he was allowed to bluntly point it out, and Astarion was supposed to repeat the offending sentence without the use of the term of endearment. “Yae, not all people in this camp are dumb and deaf.” It annoyed the hell out of the vampire, especially as Yae was relentless and just would not let even a single instance slide. It was also the first time he had this sort of a private ritual with anyone. A stupid, absolutely infuriating… private ritual.
However! They still have a very specific term of endearment for each other, and that’s “obnoxious” (bear with me!). They first used it in the usual way when they had trouble getting along, but then kind of reclaimed it, first jokingly, and turned it into their own word. When they still weren’t sure what they mean for each other, Astarion would sometimes say “You’re obnoxious, Yae” in the same voice one might say “I love you” both to tease Yae and test the waters. Here’s another sneak peak:
“You’re obnoxious.” Yae didn’t know why, but suddenly whispering felt more appropriate. Astarion hummed, soaking up the warmth of the living body. “You’re obnoxious, too,” he murmured back, his face buried safely in the fabric of Yae’s shirt right next to the neckline.
However however! Later (likely post-canon) Yae starts to concede a little, and in private or during intimate moments Astarion talks to him sweetly.
🌶 How often do they have sex?*
Rarely, and I mean it. For Yae, sex isn’t enticing at all – he knows it’s important to other people, but he doesn’t understand it. It’s either boring for him, or overstimulating. Neurodivergent nervous systems can be like that.
However, he does eventually agree to have sex with Astarion – in post-canon events – a bit in the way he sometimes lets the vampire drink his blood; because with Astarion, he becomes an unconditional giver once he feels he can really, truly trust the vampire with all of himself, without his boundaries being disregarded.
I don’t want to say he never enjoys it, but it costs him more than NT people and if it was with another person, he’d simply decide it’s not worth the effort.
🔥 What’s their safe word?*
They don’t really have a safe word, it would only confuse Yae. They use direct communication, “stop” or “no” mean exactly that.
💖 What do they do that the other loves?
Not sure if it fits here, but after Astarion’s vulnerability to sun returned in the less than ideal moment, and Yae had a depression relapse, they have developed a co-regulation habit, where they hold each other and quietly, repeatedly whisper each other’s name (for grounding) or short phrases like “it hurts” (to validate difficult feelings instead of bottling them). Maybe they don’t exactly love this (given the circumstances), but they both definitely appreciate it.
Otherwise, it’s safe to say Yae loves everything Astarion about Astarion, and Astarion loves everything Yae about Yae :)
The first thing they ever truly appreciated about each other was sarcasm. In Act 1, Astarion was shocked to discover that the gruff warlock was capable of snickering, and he did so at his crude jokes and snide remarks. And when the vampire wasn’t trying to flirt, he had a direct and unfiltered manner, which Yae welcomed with a relief and reciprocated. It encouraged Astarion to speak even more bluntly to the warlock. They didn’t expect it, but soon they found themselves complaining loudly together about how stupid and pointless certain convenances are.
So in short, Yae appreciates Astarion being a rascal – he thinks the vampire is genuinely funny. The traits that might be off-putting to some are endearing to Yae.
Another surprise discovery for Astarion was how soft and shy Yae becomes once he’s emotionally close to someone. He’d call him “cute”, but that’s another blacklisted word, haha
They have also learnt to appreciate each other’s complimentary qualities. Where Yae is intelligent and good with careful planning, Astarion is quick on his wits and has good reflexes. The vampire can mingle with the crowds quite effortlessly, but it’s Yae who’s better at negotiating and bargaining. And so on, don't tempt me to make this even longer.
🌹 Who was the first to say “I love you”? (How did that go over?)
Astarion. Aside from the fact that Yae gets stuck trying to figure out the difference between platonic and romantic feelings, he also finds the phrase doesn’t satisfy him. Logically, he knows this is the correct way to describe their bond, but what irks him is the fact that he can say “I love you” to a friend, to a family member etc. So again, what’s the difference? He craves precision. (He does start using “I love you” eventually, because he doesn’t want Astarion to think he doesn’t reciprocate or is being difficult on purpose. But he never abandons his mental search for the “perfect” phrase.)
I don’t have a complete headcanon about how it goes, but I’m pretty sure it involves Yae getting flustered and confused and possibly blurting out something Astarion wouldn’t know how to interpret x)
💍 Who proposes? How?*
No one, they never marry.
🌼 Kids, pets, or plants? How many?
After meeting Scratch Yae would really love to have a dog, but is afraid he wouldn’t be able to properly take care of one if depression or burnout strike again. But who knows, maybe Astarion will secretly get Shadowheart to give him a dog care 101 and then bring a pup home :)
Neither Yae nor Astarion want children.
As for plants, I think it’s very possible they would be gifted some seedlings from Kirian’s garden. Obviously they cannot not take care of them :3
🕷 Who kills the spider?
No one! Yae catches it in a glass and carries safely outside.
All About Your OC
Choose an OC and answer the following questions so we can learn a little more about them. Feel free to include all your OCs if you want.
Thanks for the tags, @elceewunjo, @spillingteanotpermitted, @riddlerosehearts and @play-me-a-durge (sorry if I missed anyone, I'm a bit messy recently). Not sure who's already done this, ignore me if you did :), but gently tagging @baelthi, @izumiphoenix, @rivereverie, @arlynx and @michanvalentine.
TW: mentions of self-harm, depression, suicidal tendencies (nothing in-depth)
For those who haven't seen it yet, Yae's big introduction post is here.
OC name
This part of Yae’s lore is woefully underdeveloped, I'm afraid 😅 For his name, I chose a string of sounds that was pleasant to my ear, soft, melodic and androgynous (at least to me). I didn't bother with meaning, which is unusual for me. I just heard it in my head and I knew: yes, this is it.
I never mention Yae’s surname, because Xan doesn't seem to have a canon one, and I need to confess I don't like the sound of “Feur’sel” (Zenith’s surname mentioned in the game), so I headcanoned it belongs to Zenith's mother Avalea. If I ever come up with a surname for Yae, rest assured you'll be the first people to know.
As for nicknames, Yae dislikes them, because pet names were part of bullying he experienced in the past. Astarion learns it the heard way. That's why you'll see him using far less “darlings” or “sweethearts” in my fics than you might expect, and rarely towards Yae. I think the two eventually grow close enough to use terms like “love” or “my sweet”, but it still occurs sparingly and is reserved for special, intimate moments.
Does your OC have any nervous ticks or self-soothing habits?
Probably more than I know.
I mentioned in Stealing Moments of Comfort that Yae has a ring he likes to use as a stim toy. It consists of three interlocked metal bands with engravings. I’m slowly working on the backstory of this object, here’s what I have so far. It’s perfectly mundane: holds no magical enchantments at all and is made of some common metal. However, it was found by Yae and Helsik when the two still worked together – among much more valuable objects originating from another plane. Since it’s more of a curiosity and wouldn’t fetch a copper among Devil’s Fee customers, Helsik didn’t even notice Yae kept it. (He tends towards Lawful, but he has his moments.) Is there more to it? Maybe.
Otherwise, I can picture Yae getting very fidgety in general the more agitated he is. He absolutely waves his hands and cannot just sit still, he needs to walk around. Which is probably a major surprise to people who only know his deadpan self.
As a kid, when he had trouble regulating difficult emotions, he sometimes resorted to banging his head against walls and other solid surfaces. He doesn’t do it anymore, though I suppose he sometimes feels like he would.
Finally, Yae likes the sensation of his chest being compressed, so I think he sometimes subconsciously hugs himself or sits in weird positions that cause his organs to squeeze. He also often sleeps in fetal position or hugging a pillow to his chest, as discussed here.
Let's say your OC got kidnapped, what would save them?
Aunt Avalea taught Yae to weaponise those of his traits that come across as unsettling to allistic (non-autistic) people, so if he’d get a chance to talk to his kidnappers, that would be the first thing to try: to throw them off-balance, and then to use it to his advantage and bargain for his freedom, since you could say pacting and bargaining is his vocational skill.
Otherwise, he would use the Power of Intellect – given enough time (or faster, if tadpoled), he'd be able to observe his surroundings, notice small details, his kidnappers’ routines etc., connect the dots and come up with a good tactic to get out. But yeah, this one would require time. If things are happening fast, he’d be in a pinch. However, if his magic isn't suppressed, he’d still have quite a few options.
If your OC has a partner, are they opposite or rather similar?
The short answer is: yes x)
From the outside, Yae and Astarion can seem like the exact opposites: one neurodivergent, the other neurotypical; one reticent and impassive, the other loquacious and expressive; one coldly intellectual, the other charming and seductive; one tending towards order and law, the other chaotic and impish; one preferring quiet and boredom, the other itching to experience everything after 200 years of slavery.
But the qualities listed above aren’t always true, or aren’t the full truth, as both characters are much more complex.
They both hide their vulnerabilities, they both mask, they both nurture deep wounds, they both have no idea how to be close with someone else, they can both be cynical and sarcastic, they both don’t believe in either gods or heroes, they both think the world is a cruel and lonely place, they both want to be accepted just as they are. They both learn to open up, they both begin to cherish real proximity, they both start to view the world as less hostile and dismal than they thought. The list could probably go on, but in short, the most important common trait for them is that they follow a certain path together, side by side.
Is there a story behind making your OC? What inspired you?
I feel like there is no simple answer to this one.
I could probably say that Yae was derived from a different OC of mine, one that was even more depressed than him, an extreme nihilist passively bent on self-destruction (if that makes sense; but believe me, in comparison Yae is a little ray of sunshine). They’re also both smart and analytical. That’s one ingredient.
The next component is Xan, my favourite companion from BG1: when I first launched the game, I already knew I wanted my character to be his child. And Yae resembles him in a way, both in his not-exactly-optimistic disposition and occasional dry, biting wit. But I pride myself in thinking it’s not just a mindless copy-paste; the qualities make logical sense in the context of Yae’s upbringing, neurotype and experiences, and manifest in different ways than Xan’s.
There’s more traits of various characters I added to the mixture. I should probably name Jeremy King from Xoxo Droplets, with whom I was obsessed at the time, to the point I initially wanted Yae to have green hair and orange eyes :D I changed his colouring (also because I wanted him to resemble his family more), but the sidebraids are still a tribute to Jeremy (though again, I have a good in-fiction explanation why Yae wears them). Jeremy is also known as a downer, a nerd, and that kind of person who’d impishly prank other people into doing or saying stupid things while maintaining an entirely serious facade. I can definitely see Yae doing the latter if you get under his skin deep enough.
Another honourable mention should probably go to Kazuhiko Amamiya from MPD Psycho (before you start looking it up, a fair warning, it’s very graphic, with both physical and sex-themed violence and nudity), as I feel his “DNA” is also woven into Yae’s.
I could go on for longer, but suffice to say Yae is a compound of my various interests, characters I loved at various stages of my life, and themes I wanted to explore, both personally and generally. Which is probably a truism x) I just don’t think he was born in a single moment of inspiration, no.
On Yae’s Scars
@echoechowhiskey’s question about Yae’s attempt at “fixing himself” (in the comments; thank you a lot for that!) made me think how I mention his scars often, but I never provided a full in-depth explanation for how he got them and the meaning behind them. Mostly because I was saving it for some unforeseeable future – maybe a fic? In the meantime, the concept matured and crystallised.
CW: Ableism, mental health. Please remember autistic experiences vary greatly. If you believe something I wrote is inaccurate or badly phrased, kindly let me know.
Apparently the post has won Tumblr's Mature Content Label Award, not sure if because of touching on real world problems or because of obviously very graphic depictions of hands of an otherwise fully clothed person. Either way, Tumblr, you're doing this wrong.
From the fiction’s pov, the story goes like this: being neurodivergent, young Yae had trouble connecting with others, especially with other children. He wasn’t stupid; he noticed he was somehow different, but no one was able to explain to him why or how or what to do about it. No matter how hard he tried, other kids called him weird or scary, some didn’t want to play with him, other excluded him or outright bullied him. Some did seem to befriend him, but then left him for other, more “normal” peers. The problem was less pronounced at a younger age, but gradually intensified, of which I’ll speak below.
(This isn’t really a place to go into this in greater detail, but just for context I’d like to mention studies show that people are generally able to – on a subconscious level – recognise an autistic individual based on short interactions and subsequently less willing to interact with them or befriend them, as they perceive them as “not quite right” and therefore “dangerous”. It doesn’t matter if the autistic person displayed any objectively harmful behaviour.)
People around Yae, even those who honestly cared for him, didn’t know how to help. He was told to be more polite, but he didn’t understand why people thought he was rude; he was told to smile more, and he didn’t understand it either – in fact, forcing a smile only made things worse; he was told to make eye contact, but it was so draining and uncomfortable, and sometimes literally painful.
In the meantime, his father, being an accomplished bladesinger and enchanter, started teaching him wizard’s craft. Yae was smart – not a talented, miraculous genius (sorry, this is self-indulgent, but I have to say it: autism is not a superpower), just smart and curious and focused – and for a while everything seemed to be going well, with Xan happily (sic) convinced his son was following in his footsteps. And when Yae spent the time in the library, he wasn’t getting frustrated by his lack of social acumen.
But unaddressed problems don’t magically disappear.
Puberty hit, and the world of teenagers proved more complicated and nuanced than the world of little children. Yae also gained enough awareness to realise what I wrote above: that none of the well-meant advice worked for him. Adults were unable to help him solve his problems. Frustrated, he came to the conclusion he needed to find a solution all by himself. He started a secret research, as self-conceited as a fourteen-year-old can be. He devised a spell he believed would make him like his peers. Instead, the magical energy went awry and melted the skin of his face and hands.
“The pain is gone, though,” said Shadowheart, studying her palm with an unreadable expression. Then she glanced at Yae. “You mentioned once your scars don’t hurt anymore, right?” He nodded. He briefly remembered himself trying to cast the volatile, only half-researched and barely formulated spell. He could recall the blinding light, the searing agony as if the skin of his face and hands had been melted, but little else – until a few moments later, when his alarmed father burst into the room and immediately collapsed next to him. Xan held his crying son tightly. “Why have you done that?” The grown man demanded; he was surprised how much his own voice trembled. “I just wanted to be like everybody else,” came a choked response, and the boy immediately broke into another sobbing fit. Every hic and whimper caused his scrawny frame to shake, and cut deeply into his parent’s heart. (…) “The physical pain is gone,” Yae, sitting on the small porch with his friends, said in a level voice. “The emotional…” He returned Shadowheart’s gaze, his own eyes calm and wistful like steely rain clouds. She understood. – from this WIP
This was the moment when Yae made two very important decisions, one I have spoken of before, and one I have never mentioned. I’ll start with the latter.
He elected to keep the scars. I want to stress it: in my headcanon, the scars were entirely possible to remove. Yae’s father had helped to save the city of Baldur’s Gate from Sarevok Anchev in the events of the first game, and his “aunt” Avalea (Xan’s previous wife in my hc) had a lot of political pull. Together, they would have eventually found a healer skilled enough to undo the damage.
It was Yae’s conscious choice to keep the scars.
Now let’s delve into the metaphorical meaning of it all. The spell doesn’t only represent all sort of ableist and ill-conceived attempts at “healing” autism; it symbolises all ways of making a person conform to the norm without accommodating their needs, for example Applied Behaviour Analysis (ABA) or masking. It’s like training a person to be palatable to others by suppressing their natural behaviours without really addressing the core of the issue. Such approaches have been shown to have detrimental effect on an autistic’s mental well-being, causing for example depression (which Yae also has, for a number of reasons). That’s when the spell backfired and caused harm instead of helping. After the event Yae realised he couldn’t control the circumstances of his life, and that he couldn’t really be anyone else but himself. He chose to keep the marks to always remember this simple truth, and because he decided to embrace the “ugly”, unsavoury parts of life as well. He didn’t want sugarcoated falsehoods.
(Another side note: I think Yae isn’t that good at masking, maybe except the professional context, but the experience is one of the reasons he was able to quickly see through Astarion’s act, and later even became a point of mutual understanding between the two.)
It doesn’t mean Yae magically came to terms with his life and lived happily and in harmony with himself ever after; or that he never tried to mask again. No, we’ve already seen magic can’t solve such problems. Yae still struggled, but the scars represent the course he had chosen. They’re like a compass, helping him to navigate and to re-adjust when he’s lost; or like an anchor, grounding him in his conviction. Staying true to himself became more important than the impossible task of becoming appealing.
Another key thing I’d like to mention is that he doesn’t wear the scars proudly – he wears them naturally. (So much that sometimes even I forget he has them 😅) This creates a paradoxical situation in which people who meet him for the first time gloss over the visible marks of him being atypical, and still focus on the “vibe”: they’d call him “strange” or “intimidating”, but rarely anyone comments on his physical appearance. Some even find him handsome or cute.
The other choice the teenage Yae made is the one I’ve mentioned a lot: he forsook the path of a wizard. He may have decided to accept himself, but it didn’t mean he didn’t feel scared or powerless. (Or lonely because of rejection.) So he conducted another kind of research, one that ended with him forging a warlock pact with a mysterious eldritch entity. Yae wanted guidance and knowledge; he also just “wanted someone to be there”. The irony of the situation is: the entity never gave any sign it’s aware of Yae’s existence. Think of an ant trying to borrow some of your energy. So while Yae values the bond he has with his patron and feels more secure with it, he remained alone. And for a while, he stopped trying to change that.
Yae's hand burns are from this mod. His gear is the Wanderer's set by badwitch69, dyed with Boring Dyes.
When Water Gets as Thick as Blood
Chapter 2: The Blood
Just a regular screenshot, but let's be honest, Shadowheart doesn't need elaborate vps to shine
I hope it's okay if I once again tag wip people in a finished piece/chapter (as previously, it's always alright to let me know if you don't want me to do that!): thank you, @elceewunjo, @riddlerosehearts, @missfortunetherogue, @spillingteanotpermitted, @litsenn. Leaving an open tag for anyone who wants to share a work in progress or a finished piece, be it writing, art, vp or anything else. Tag me back, so I can enjoy your creations :)
This has been rotting in my wips for several months, until I finally recently re-read it and realised that a) I don't hate it, b) it's basically 90% done. So I finished it and here, let it rot no more.
You can read the first chapter, A Scheme Born from Care, here: [Tumblr], [AO3]
And this one under the cut or on AO3.
The beautiful divider (Astarion themed, but hush!) was created by @echoechowhiskey.
Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Astarion & Shadowheart & Yae, Astarion ~ Yae, Yae & Zenith Additional tags: Autistic Tav, Named Tav, Lae'zel (minor appearance), Withers (minor appearance), Zenith Feur'sel (well), Gale (minor appearance), Yae's POV, Shadowheart's POV, Angst, Emotional Hurt, Loneliness, Death of a Family Member, Friendship, Family Bonds, QPR (not in the focus), Banter, Fluff (not much in this chapter, but still), Relationship Study, Pre-Canon (one scene), Act 2 (flashbacks), Spoilers for Act 3, Late Act 3, Post-Cazador, Post-House of Grief, Radiant Hopeful, Moonblessed Adventurer, Shadow-Cursed Lands, Nested Stories, Selective Mutism, Description of Decomposition Words: 3,191
Note: The fluff is still there, but the story took a turn of its own and now there's angst and exploration of a death of a family member, too. Be mindful of the tags.
The Blood
Everybody is a book of blood. Whenever we’re opened, we’re red. – Clive Barker, Books of Blood
A bead of sweat glistened in the sun as it lazily rolled down Shadowheart’s brow.
“Ice-cream,” she said, her voice coloured with amusement. “You took me out to have ice-cream. How… normal.” Her eyes twinkled as she scooped up another spoonful of thawing strawberry sorbet. “And so lovely,” she purred.
“Are you sure it’s ‘normal’ by your standards? When was the last time you indulged in some, let me think of a compelling description, solidified fruit juice?”
Shadowheart just stuck her red-tinted tongue out at Astarion.
“I bet more recently than you.”
Yae inched his seat to chase the slowly moving shadow of the porch’s frayed awning. The tiny parlour’s even tinier proprietor, a wizened tiefling lady with thin dove-white hair, smiled at him through the window that served simultaneously as a counter, not ashamed in the least of her gums being completely toothless. He nodded before focusing back on the ribbing duo.
“Fair, but the kind of iced… liquor… I’d indulge in would have a much richer hue, not to mention a truly divine bouquet. The right type of the liquor, I mean.”
“Just don’t ask Gale to create some for you,” Yae offered, impassive gaze trained on the table.
“Oh? Why?”
“He’d just turn it into gelatinous gooey. Trust me.”
Astarion blinked, wondering if he missed a joke here. But he wasn’t a man who’d easily admit something had thrown him off. Instead, he peeked into Yae’s bowl.
“I know the selection of flavours was far from extensive, but – vanilla? Really? I’m just relieved your taste in partners isn’t as woefully plain as your taste in sweets.”
Yae almost choked on the “woefully plain” dessert, and Shadowheart decided to come to his aid.
“You’re one to talk. Just admit you don’t even remember what vanilla is like.” And then, to needle the vampire further, she asked: “Want to share, Yae?”
The other half-elf looked at her with raised brows.
“I’m fine with what I’ve got. You can have some if you like, though.”
She immediately – and very deliberately – plunged her spoon into the disputed meal, but still displayed enough tact to not take even as much as a thimbleful.
“By the gods!” she sighed. “This vanilla ice-cream is simply delightful! Astarion, it’s such a pity you can’t taste it.”
The vampire rolled his eyes even as he couldn’t stop grinning. Then he leaned slightly towards Yae.
“I think there is a certain way–”
“No.” Yae said with that mild indignance they all knew wouldn’t last. “You’ve just insulted me. And we’re in public. Stop being obnoxious.”
Astarion let out an exasperated laugh, sensing incoming defeat.
“I can’t believe you’re letting Shadowheart win this bout!”
“I don’t care, I’m not kissing you.”
“Suck it.” Shadowheart licked her spoon in the smuggest possible gesture of victory.
It would be a customary turn of phrase to say that silence followed; but for Yae, it would also be untrue. He stayed acutely aware of most sounds of the Lower City, unable to filter them out. Seabirds cried greedily in the distance, heavy machinery rumbled in the docks, metal hooves hit the cobblestones – the list went on and on. His brain picked on a rhythmic rattling, and identified it as the elderly tiefling lady vigorously whipping fresh cream. The crimson skin of her seemingly brittle hands was dotted with darker spots, as if she’d just dyed them in a pool of mashed raspberries. One would almost expect the joyous granny to leave behind dripping red stains.
“Yae?” Shadowheart was gazing between the hanging ferns that adorned the porch and off into the distance, past rickety roofs, farther towards the bay, where waters frothed with pearly sea foam and coruscated with daylight. “May I have a request?”
Delicate fronds swayed and swished, and caught in her bleached hair. The sudden formality of the question forced the man to consider the context anew before he nodded.
“Tell us about your family.”
It took another few heartbeats to carefully analyse what she might really be asking for before he decided he needed more to work with.
“Why? What do you want to know?”
“Oh, come on.” She clicked her tongue. “I’m not stupid. You took me out because I was sulking, right?” A gloom settled over her features while she toyed with her empty cup, watching leftover trickles flow from one side to another, a delightful shade of strawberry red. It quickly passed, and her face brightened, a ray of inner light dispersing dark musings. “Anything. You’re the only one here who still has a family – or any memory of it. Indulge me, will you?”
He sighed. The topic was still too open-ended, but he really wanted to do as she asked. He searched his mind, until he stumbled upon a face that would be familiar to his friends.
“Well, you’ve met Zenith.”
* * *
“What a slaughter.”
As they approached, the crumbling ruins of what had once been village houses stood in the dark, bent and crooked, like a coven of gnarly hags huddled together over a cauldron.
“Don’t be dramatic, Astarion. The corpses here are so old they’re barely anything more than scattered dust and bones.”
The vampire whiffed, crinkling his nose.
“I’m disappointed, dear. I thought a devoted disciple of our lady Shar would be better at smelling crusted blood and spotting quite recent cadavers?”
The cleric rolled her eyes. He wasn’t wrong, though: on a deeper inhale, the cloying rot in the air became obvious. In the greyness of the darkvision, a few humanoid shapes, still retaining flesh, dotted the place, their limbs twisted at odd angles. They must have been the source of the buzzing she only just now realised she had been hearing.
“It’s your speciality,” she snorted nonetheless. “Are you going to indulge yourself?”
“Thank you, I’ll pass. In case it wasn’t obvious, I don’t enjoy rancid, several days old gore any more than you’d find maggot-ridden food delectable.”
“Hush! Your senseless bickering is guaranteed to wake the corpses and the shadows up!” Lae’zel stepped carefully between the mangled bodies and crouched to inspect them. “Shadowheart. Isn’t this an emblem of Selûne, who you also call the Moonmaiden?”
“I don’t call her anything,” the Sharran barked. “Though I can’t say I’m terribly sorry more of her foolish worshippers ended up dying. Serves them right for choosing the wrong side.”
“Those aren’t tieflings,” noticed Yae. Strange, most fresh dead they had stumbled upon in those lands cursed with darkness eternal were either some unlucky refugees or Harpers. He approached the githyanki warrior. “Adventurers? But what–”
His brain started piecing together the small details. A lock of golden-brown hair, once thick and wavy, groomed with care, always catching sunshine beautifully – now matted with blood that looked almost black. The holy symbol of a Selûnite cleric, in the past placed reverently on the small, elegant home altar when its owner had not been wearing it, but here just trampled into the dirt. And the too familiar crest of the Greycloaks – gods, he still remembered the loving hands that had embroidered it deftly using the finest threads, how the needle had flitted between the manicured fingers, how the soft of the thumb had gotten pricked, and a red droplet had almost spoiled the work, gods, how old had he been, just watching, transfixed, on the floor next to a crackling fireplace, with his books and toys scattered about, he couldn’t have been more than…
The other three kept exchanging remarks and snarks, planning their next move. Yae heard the words, but didn’t understand them, already on his knees, and soon the only sound in the world was the ringing in his ears.
The flies burst into the air as he struggled to turn the body over.
* * *
“How is he doing?”
A group of raucous teens ran up to a wall on the other side of the alley, carrying a tin with sploshing red paint. One of them shot Shadowheart a brassy glare, clearly meant as a warning, though their still childlike, slightly chubby features somewhat ruined the effect.
“Already gone back to Evereska, as far as I know.”
“Too bad.” The cleric bit back a snicker and looked away from the rowdy lot, so eager to leave their mark on the bricky skin of the city. “I hoped to meet him again here in the Gate. He seemed fun.”
A tall girl with cropped hair won the argument over who gets to hold the brush first, and with a triumphant wave of her hand a bright red scar bloomed on the building’s old facade, weeping with paint.
* * *
“If this is Yae’s brother, I’ll carry him to our camp, smelly and rotting or not.”
Funny how brain works on such occasions, never mind its status of a tadpole nest. Yae suddenly could not think of a single word in Common, and all that left his mouth, lips moving on their own accord before silence would claim him, was a stammering version of:
“Chraith’kan zharn.”
Lae’zel half-blinked; her ochre eyes darted away, strangely dim. Yae thought he must have butchered the phrase, but his vocal chords no longer worked, leaving him unable to apologise. The githyanki nodded, then hefted the body up. He stared at the puffy, clammy cheeks, one of them as white as a fishbone, the other marked with dark, bruise-like blotches. Zenith looked exactly how Yae felt inside – dead.
The sound of clearing a throat brought him back, causing the surroundings to come again into focus. The voice next to the warlock was unexpectedly soft: not even a tiniest speck of implicit sarcasm, or tease, or sultriness. “May I touch you? Let’s get going.”
Yae wanted to say he could walk just fine, but the words were dead, too. He took Astarion’s gloved hand to feel another presence – an anchor that wouldn’t let him drift too far away into the crushing loneliness that had already started licking at his feet and knocking at his heart.
Shadowheart watched all of this, petrified, a hand over her mouth.
Can’t say I’m terribly sorry more of her foolish worshippers ended up dying, a vicious echo ebbed and flowed in her mind. Serves them right for choosing the wrong side.
Fuck, the single word rose up above all else and buzzed underneath her skull like another fly over a corpse.
* * *
“So what were you two like as kids?”
Yae rubbed his ring; the etchings scratched lightly against the soft fingertip, a grounding and pleasant feeling. Bright crimson motes – bits of rust? cracked scabs? – peppered the ground and were swept away by a breeze.
“Not much.” Yae mumbled. “He’s almost a century older than me.”
“Well?” Astarion challenged with a cheeky smile. “I’m around two centuries older than you.”
“You said yourself those two hundred years don’t count. Which makes you younger than me.”
“By mere two years! That’s hardly any difference!”
Shadowheart laughed.
“Astarion, please don’t interrupt when adults are speaking.”
The man scoffed, not ready to give way in this round of teasing.
“Yes, yes, who cares about the past long and invariably gone? Shadowheart, dear, since you’re so eager to talk about us adults – why don’t you tell us your plans for the future? Once the big bad brain is gone?”
“How very optimistic of you,” she retorted before turning more thoughtful. “Oh, I don’t know,” she murmured. “Maybe I should retire to a quiet life on a farm.”
“How very tame of you,” Astarion parroted her, but toned the bite in his voice down a notch.
“Oh yeah?” An arch smirk made a grand return. “I don’t think you’re in any position to judge.”
“I didn’t mean to judge you. I merely meant it’s hard to imagine you acting so… domestic.”
“Maybe. Maybe I’ll travel a little instead. See what the world is like when it’s not threatened by too much power in the wrong hands. Maybe I’ll…” Her voice trailed off. Whatever idea was forming in her head, she didn’t yet seem ready to name it out loud. Instead, she turned the tables. “What about you? Inspire me. What is your future with Yae going to look like?”
“Boring,” Yae said quickly.
“Undoubtedly.” The warlock didn’t like the wry smile on Astarion’s lips. It suggested the vampire knew something he didn’t.
* * *
“Hey, bud. What are you reading?”
“Nothing!” The boy yelped. He abruptly closed the book in question – small in size, worn to the point of almost falling apart, its soft cover rumpled and faded, the spine damaged from being frequently overbent, some of the pages marked with dog ears and nearly coming lose.
“Oh, come on. This is a library, and you are you.” Zenith strode over and took the well-loved tome from Yae’s skinny hands. “The Marvellous Adventures of Jasmine the Dark Stalker across All the Wildspace and Planes. Huh. I had no idea father still kept that anthology.”
“You know it?”
“Sure. Read it when I was a pup like you.” Zenith thumbed the tattered pages, some of which bore faded dark, wine-like stains. “It’s all rubbish, made-up so little kiddos would flush with excitement.” He added with a smirk Yae suspected every older brother mastered at some point.
“Oh, I’m aware,” the younger boy said, trying to come across as nonchalant. “Well, it’s not entirely nonsensical. It mentions real locations.” He tapped another book, almost as worn as the previous one, which seemed to be a treatise of sorts. Apparently, the library had been a witness to some comparative studies. “Here it says the Great Mortuary exists! It stands proud amidst a run-down district in Sigil, a city that folds unto itself like a torus, and it’s a dome-shaped mausoleum adorned with spiky buttresses, surrounded by a collection of smaller vaults. It is a home to a faction known as the Heralds of Dust, who–”
“Woah, woah. Are you maybe quoting the guide? And you’re sure you know the meaning of all those words?” Zenith laughed at the child’s eagerness. “Easy. You’re not going to become a planewalker one day, are you?”
Yae felt his cheeks burn hot.
“What if I am?”
“Then I’ll have to warn you, bud: you’re doomed.” The last dreary words were delivered with just the right amount of misery in Zenith’s voice, his features carefully schooled into a familiar, resigned expression, which in Yae’s eyes was a perfect impersonation of their father Xan.
The two brothers burst into unrestrained laughter.
* * *
“Lady Shar, please forgive me the moment of weakness.”
Shadowheart knelt in front of her tent, still in full gear, her bag tossed carelessly aside, where it landed between the shrivelled herbs she’d tried to cultivate despite the land being so infertile. The tears on her cheeks had already dried, and the dark traces of smudged mascara made her look severe and unyielding.
From her vantage point, she could observe the commotion, if she cared to. Yae waved frantically at Withers. The impatience of the living clashed with the immovability of the multiverse, for what was the worth of a single mortal’s life?
“I cannot bring this one back,” she heard a solemn response to the warlock’s silent gesturing. The cleric bit her lip. She should rejoice, shouldn’t she? The Selûnite would stay dead.
“Please, my lady, punish me in whatever manner you deem appropriate–”
“Listen, you greedy freak,” Astarion joined the argument – and contrary to Yae, he was very vocal about his frustration. “I know we’re a little short on money, but I assure you, we’ll pay you back and then some. Once we get to Baldur’s Gate, I’ll be happy to bring you the contents of the entire Counting House, so you can fill your sarcophagus to the brim and bathe in the coins, or whatever it is you do with all the gold.”
How strange, she thought. Astarion was usually so passive, a follower through and through. He always made sure to inform everybody of his displeasure whenever they went out of their way to help someone. And yet…
It didn’t escape her how there had been less squabbles between him and Yae as of late. They tended to sulk together outside the camp until late hours. Lae’zel had suggested they were just enjoying each other and releasing some tension, which Shadowheart doubted. Yae had once confessed to her about his indifference in those matters and she still remembered that faint, embarrassed, but ultimately pleased smile when she’d replied she didn’t care and would skewer with a spear anyone who dared to mistreat him because of this.
Yae.
Her hand hurt briefly, but it was a different sort of pain that caused her eyes to gloss once more.
Why was she tested so harshly? Her lady wouldn’t even speak to her anymore. Was she really a beloved disciple? One destined to greatness? Mother Superior had on one occasion said the strongest steel is tempered in the most severe conditions, and recalling this, Shadowheart felt the overbearing heat of Grymforge anew, pictured the enormous and magnificent structure, heard the echo of the eardrum-damaging clangour of the great hammer, saw under her eyelids how Lae’zel triumphantly brandished the steaming adamantine sword.
It stood to reason the price was steep; of course the Lady of Loss would tolerate no attachments. How could you wish for the highest honour of serving the Nightsinger, if you faltered to let go of unimportant distractions?
What was Yae to her anyway? A stranger she had met by chance a few tendays ago.
Gale appeared for a moment, handed the tired warlock something, spoke a few words of encouragement in his usual warm voice, then respectfully left.
Shadowheart sighed. Even Gale? Despite the fact he and Yae were on tense terms at best? The wizard nodded at her as he passed along, heading towards the place where Lae’zel guarded the body, away enough so the stench wouldn’t trouble the camp.
The body, right. Another stranger. No, not even a stranger; no one. No one. An enemy.
There came a quiet snapping sound, followed by a loud screech that made her teeth ache, and then a frustrated shout split the air. She lifted her head just in time to see Yae dumping Gale’s implements and storming off, Astarion following.
Slowly, Shadowheart rose up.
She approached Withers, but didn’t speak to him; their strange ally didn’t heed her presence either. Did his deathless eyes, trained on a point on a different layer of reality, reflect indeed the intricate currents of fate he so often offered cryptic hints about? The cleric shook her head. From between the razor-sharp blades of crimson grass that could cut fingers to the bone if one wasn’t careful, she picked up the tools Gale had given Yae: a small writing tablet and a piece of chalk, now broken in two. With her gaze, she traced the unfinished words and the jagged line zigzagging towards the edge of the tablet.
W I T H E R S
P L E A
She wiped any lingering dampness off her face.
“Lady Shar, forgive me my transgression.”
what are Yae's ideal sleeping conditions? c: temperature, texture of surface, texture of blankets (or no blankets) etc? ( @ranger-jahen )
Hey, hey, thank you so much for the interesting ask!
Yae’s ideal sleeping conditions are: in his own bed, in his own bedroom, period. Which means he has a really hard time during the events of BG3. Tents provide little to no privacy or shelter, bad weather means everything gets damp, and lets not even start talking about insects getting everywhere – it’s a sensory nightmare. But I have a headcanon that even in Act 3, Yae sneaks out of the Elfsong every once in a while to spend the night in his apartment, despite the place being cheap and shabby. To some extent, he can understand why Astarion calls the Szarr Palace “home” – familiarity is an important factor, even in such twisted circumstances.
If Yae could routinely cast Darkness and Silence around himself for the night’s rest, he would. The less stimuli, the better. Living in the Lower City probably wasn’t an easy experience for him – lanterns and torches shining through the windows, passersby (often drunk) making noise late at night etc. I imagine he often had to choose between airing his room or shutting the sounds and lights off. He always has some sort of earplugs and a sleep mask on hand.
Being autistic causes Yae to have problems with interoception, i.e. with reading physiological signals that come from the body. This has many consequences, but one of them is the fact that he enjoys pressure against his chest and stomach. He would be an avid lover of weighted blankets if such a thing existed in Faerûn, haha.
However in his late teens, Yae got convinced that mature people shouldn’t sleep with plush toys (I think he’s secretly jealous of Karlach shamelessly displaying Clive and not being called out for it; it’s also why he gifts Astarion a stuffed owlbear and thinks it’s cute, but he wouldn’t keep it himself), so instead he often hugs a pillow or a blanket. For the same reason, his favourite sleeping position is curled up on his side, knees close to chest, so he can feel the pressure in his inner organs.
To his own surprise, Yae finds out it’s really nice to snuggle up to someone else during sleep. In this context, feeling another person’s presence and some skin to skin contact are very reassuring to him. Even when not snuggling directly, he likes to hold the other person’s hand before falling asleep.
Since in this case “the other person” means Astarion, there’s one more thing to consider, and it’s body heat – or rather the lack of thereof. I think Yae gets annoyed when he’s already all warm and cosy and then some cold vampire waltzes right into his bed, haha. So Astarion probably needs to warm up first – take a hot bath, sit by the fireplace for a few moments, or use a hot-water bottle. I’m not sure if it’s mentioned anywhere in the D&D lore, but I also have a headcanon that drinking blood temporarily makes a vampire more lifelike, so Yae can probably tell if Astarion hunted any given night – or may get teased that if he doesn’t want a cold dead body in his bed, he needs to feed his partner properly. Which usually earns Astarion a pillow to the face or an elbow between the ribs.
I hope I haven’t gotten too rambly and that this answers your question! I really enjoyed thinking and writing about all of this :)
