I’ve Been Trying To Get Some Good Dialogue Scene Screenshots Of Astarion, And My Field Research Suggests

I don't need drugs, I've got: character whose arc is about reclaiming their identity and autonomy and healing and ending the cycle of violence and learning to be loved

My Tav

I'm hoping to eventually post some snippets / maybe a completed fic on here once I get something presentable, and I'm trying to motivate myself rather than get caught up in anxiety. So I thought I may as well informally introduce my Tav. She's very much still a work in progress, but I'm trying not to put too much pressure on myself to have her extensively fleshed-out when I only really just started actually writing her story. I made up a lot about her as I played the game, but now I'm taking that raw material and expanding upon it. Anyway, this is River:

Name: River*

Gender: She identifies as a woman and goes by she/her, but her gender isn't really crucial to her sense of identity.

Race: Half-elf

Age: Half-elf equivalent of mid-twenties

Class: Paladin (Oath of the Ancients)

Appearance: I imagine her looking a little different than her in-game version, mainly in body type and hair length, as well as some facial differences. She's about 5' 8" (Astarion won't let her forget that she's nearly a whole inch shorter than him), but not as lean and obviously muscular as the type 3 body option in-game. She's strong, but isn't as slim as the other female characters. The vanilla game doesn't have the option, but I imagine her with long wavy hair that she usually wears braided for combat and down when at rest. She has numerous scars.

Personality: She's very introverted and quiet, preferring to observe and listen than be any sort of center of attention. She's extremely good at reading and understanding others, but is rarely understood herself. She is giving to a fault, and needs to learn not to be the "therapist friend" all the time. Being high-masking autistic, she comes across as weird or just quiet to most people who don't know her. She's defined by her selflessness, empathy, and passion, though she struggles to express the latter openly. Despite her social struggles, she will stand firm when defending someone and upholding her oaths. She hates it when people (Astarion) call her a self-sacrificial paladin stereotype, because it's true.

Overview:

She is pretty similar to Wyll in a lot of ways, in that she wears the mask of the protector, always putting everyone else first, driven by compassion. While she becomes extremely attached to her companions very quickly, she struggles greatly to form the genuine, profound connection she desires. She doesn't like to talk about her past because though she craves emotional intimacy like a drug, it also terrifies her.

She's a paladin, sworn to the Oath of the Ancients, because she feels fundamentally like an outsider. In her mind, if she can't belong among people, at least she can protect and care for them from afar. Chronic self-isolation has led her to feeling extremely off-balance once this group of tadpole-infested weirdos decides that she's the person to follow around the wilds of Faerun looking for a cure. She has never been accepted as a leader of any kind before, so she's uncertain, but finds drive in the fact that people are putting their faith in her. She would give anything to not let them down.

River finds Astarion intriguing from the beginning, and immediately wants to get through to him. She can see the mask he wears, even when others insist on taking him at face value. She doesn't support his more sadistic tendencies, but she sees the good in him from early on, and can tell there's much more to his story. Him being a vampire isn't that big of a deal to her; she is practical, and has a good sense of his character by then. She feels understanding and care for him more than anything else, so she puts her trust in him. (Interesting, considering her oaths, as the forces of nature aren't too keen on undead... Foreshadowing?) She ends up falling for Astarion in act 2 because of how he's finally opening up a bit, and she can see the soft, bright, passionate, incredibly strong man he is under the facade. After a whole lot of patience and consistent support, of course. Astarion shows time and time again that he seems to accept and understand River in a way nobody else, even their other companions, ever has. They're the one person in each other's lives who has never judged the other. Well, Astarion judges and openly mocks her plenty in the beginning for her bleeding heart, but never for the things she feels that deep-rooted shame over, like her autistic traits.

They're both learning together what it means to form connection after a lifetime of disconnect and loneliness, in a world that does not accept either of them without conditions. They may look like opposites to those who don't realize that their asymmetry is simply reflection. They challenge each other in the best ways, and deep down, they know a lot of the same pain. It sounds cheesy, but I think they balance each other out in a way that pushes them both to be better, braver people.

I'm currently working on a fic that I think will consist of several chapters occurring at important and illustrative points in both the game's narrative and their relationship. River has a lot of growth across the story in terms of self-acceptance, confronting her relationship with her Oaths, connecting, and reclaiming her identity. I love writing her and Astarion in any given situation, not to mention her relationships with the other companions. She's far from my best-written or most unique original character, but I care about her and her story. I'm trying to take my time and not put pressure or judgement on myself, and to just have fun with it. I'm also on the verge of committing to a post-game fic about Astarion and River, which I have SO many ideas for, involving tons of fluff, healing, Astarion's bucket list of "Things I Want To Do Now That I'm Not Slave To An Evil Vampire Lord", and plenty of interesting vampiric chaos in the Underdark. That story will be a bigger commitment, but I feel so inspired to write it. Something about writing her and Astarion is just so comforting to me.

While this character is very much like me in a lot of ways, she's also different in crucial ones, and I think I'm learning a lot by writing her.

(Now, I'm on my way to starting a Dark Urge playthrough, and I have some Ideas of how River could fit perfectly in that role, from what I know about the resist Dark Urge storyline. The angst and metaphors would be dialed up to 100. With some backstory changes, it could work really well, I think. So don't be surprised if she potentially becomes a Dark Urge AU version of herself in the future haha. Writing fanfic has been so freeing because I can just DO that if i want to. My character can be fluid. There are no rules. Hells yeah.)

*(I came up with her name before I even got the game, and so her name being in the main theme song makes it seem cheesy but I don't care lol)

Thinking about narratives where the setting is a mirror of the main character almost as though they're an extension of one another and that sense of connection drives the plot and makes both the place and the character better by the end of the story as though they helped to heal each other

He's never done anything wrong, ever, in his entire life, actually

Gods I just love that Astarion is pansexual. I love seeing images of him kissing both men and women. I love that he is flamboyant and that so many women find him sexy. I love that his queerness wasn’t sidelined to make homophobic gamers comfortable.

And I will fight any of those dumbasses who insists that he’s actually gay, because miss me with that stereotyping bullshit. He makes my little bi heart so happy.

Resisting the urge to get the BG3 mod for Stardew Valley because I have ~responsibilities~ and simply cannot afford to fall into another sdv phase at this moment

Just a personal post, with a dash of Astarion because this is my life now

So I've gone my whole life denying myself writing fanfiction (despite being a writer since forever) because of the powerful internalized autistic fear of being "cringe". But after playing BG3 I just can't do it anymore. Astarion as a character just inspires me too much and I have so many scenes I want to write that in my mind, its criminal weren't included in the game. Honestly, once I gave myself that permission, I've written more this past month than I had in the past six months of my original story. It's been so fun and rewarding and has taught me a lot about what mental hang-ups I still have as a writer, even when it comes to work I know I'll never share. I'm basically just novelizing the story of my Tav and Astarion now, and it's so much fun. I'm sure a lot of my ideas have been done a million other times by other people, but this is my version, and I'm reminding myself that there's value in that. I'm still learning that it's okay to be self-indulgent and "cringe" sometimes. I just want to see the characters I love be happy and get the treatment they deserve, even if I have to write it myself. I'm being creative and it makes me happy, so maybe that's what matters? It's freaking me out now to even post this, but I'm really trying to learn how to express myself honestly again after so long masking and being so concerned with appeasing others. The fear of judgement or "doing something wrong" is hard to get over. Maybe someone else relates.

Stealing Moments of Comfort – complete fic

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relantionships: Astarion & Tav, Astarion / Tav

Additional tags: Angst, emotional hurt/comfort, friendship/love, nebularomanticism, banter, character study, relantionship study, autistic Tav, sensory sensitivity, overstimulation, implied/referenced self-harm, self-esteem issues, loneliness, childhood memories, (some nice some not so much), canon-typical violence, (but only described in flashbacks), spoilers for Act 3 (Baldur's Gate 3), Astarion is trying his best, Yae is also trying his best

Summary: Running into Petras and Dalyria in the flophouse proved to be a tense experience. Now Yae and Astarion both worry about the future and their ambiguous, unexplored relationship, weighing the possibility of turning into an illithid or ascending. Yae suffers from overstimulation; Astarion comes to comfort him, convinced it’s the last warm moment they share.

Read on AO3 or under the cut.

⊱✿⊰

I… did it, I guess.

I have written and published my first fanfic. Which is a lot, given my complicated relantionship with the skill known as finishing, and the fact I dropped writing almost ten years ago and only picked it up again recently.

Thanks to everyone who liked and commented on my wip snippets, for every little bit of encouragement. I know I needed it.

Shout out to @thekindredcollective and their BG3 Spring Cleaning event for giving me the push to finish it sooner than later.

Stealing Moments of Comfort

We are a team, aren’t we? You’re still with me?  – Astarion to Tav, Act 3

⊱✿⊰

Putting a tent up so close to others was a matter of practicality: it ensured safety. And, well, maybe companionship had become a welcome thing during all the travels and adventures together. But tonight? Seated by a small table, Astarion glanced at an empty mirror placed among other clutter, wishing he could disappear – just like his reflection had two centuries ago.

And that silly ragged owlbear plush Yae had put on a cushion next to the tent’s entrance. The serious Yae, who barely ever cracked a joke, for some unfathomable reason found it amusing. At this very moment, Astarion regretted not throwing the toy away – because even the stuffed animal seemed to regard him with contempt. The worn beady eyes whispered: You’re pathetic.

Angry, the elf unscrewed a jar of preserved blood. So easy for others to judge him! He hadn’t really hurt Petras, the idiot’s face would heal eventually – unless the wretched fool would get sacrificed first, in which case it didn’t matter anyway, right?

Righteous chumps and their double standards.

Astarion remembered the moment he’d held the other spawn to the golden light filtering through dusty window panes. The thrill of being in control, of being feared instead of fearful. The cloying scent of undead flesh turning to ash. Dal begging him to stop and the knowledge – oh, the knowledge – he had the power to do however he pleased…

And then Yae had spoiled it all.

Frustrated, the rogue slammed his forehead against the table, and raked all ten fingers through his silvery curls. 

I, um… Well, the way they swirl around your ears. I like it, Yae’s half-bashful, half-nonchalant voice rang in his mind. Gods, please, there couldn’t possibly be a worse moment to remember how the warlock had offered to be Astarion’s mirror. The initial hesitation, then a quick barrage of words, all in fear otherwise the thought would remain unspoken.

The vampire felt like he was looking into hundreds of broken shards – all of them empty to match his hollow self. But the reflection in Yae’s eyes? It was his only one, yet just another lie, conjured up beyond his control. Once Yae saw through the illusion, he would definitely ditch Astarion.

And it was probably going to happen tonight.

⊱✿⊰

Yae wished his head wouldn’t hurt so badly, as if someone was trying to gouge his eyeballs out. He wished the light of the flames flickering in the center of the camp wouldn’t be so painfully bright, threatening to send him reeling whenever he looked directly at it. He wished Karlach’s hearty laughter, as she entertained Wyll with one more anecdote about her time under Zariel, wouldn’t ring in his ears like a sheet of metal struck with a rod. 

Shadowheart’s herbal tea left a bitter aftertaste on the warlock’s tongue. He sighed and emptied the bronze cup in one swig. Blah. No matter how thoughtful she had tried to be, the medicine probably wasn’t going to help. He only drank it to make her feel better. 

Yae rummaged through the contents of the chest, huffing in exasperation. Where had he put that damned sleep mask? All he really wanted right now was to lie down in his tent, wrap himself in a blanket, cut off as much stimuli as possible and try to forget all the misery.

A soft clink, grating to his oversensitive hearing, made the half-elf wince. His hand had knocked against something smooth and cool. With furrowed brow, Yae pulled out a glass jar with the Emperor’s astral tadpole in it. Oh, right. He had almost forgotten about the little parasite. It writhed languidly in the vessel. Even now, he could sense its profound loneliness, and a twinge of sympathy coursed through him. There were times when he felt like he was being stored away in a glass jar, too, prevented from truly connecting with other sentient beings.

Was this why the thought of potentially turning into an illithid didn’t frighten him as much as it disturbed others? Or why he had felt so safe and comfortable while visiting the myconid colony? Because a sense of belonging was woven directly into those creatures’ very nature?

Yae flopped down onto the dirt from a squat, settling into a cross-legged position. Pensive, he watched the listless tadpole swim about its prison.

At first, he had been ready to accept the Emperor’s offer. It was such an incredible opportunity, he would have learned so much, gained insights beyond normal people’s understanding. And in exchange for what? The body he had never been particularly fond of? This imperfect vessel, prone to headaches and sensory overloads? Or his “remarkable” personality and lack of social skills – qualities that seemed to put off everyone around? Yae’s patron didn’t show disapproval, so honestly, the choice appeared obvious.

And yet.

I want you to stay you. 

It wasn’t Lae’zel’s or Wyll’s strong convictions that made Yae waver, nor Shadowheart’s vehement protests. They didn’t understand, didn’t want to undergo the change, and it was fine.

No. It was Astarion’s acceptance, and the concern that followed, that made the warlock shelve the idea – almost literally. The vampire, as loath as he proved to use the tadpole himself, never tried to dissuade Yae from embracing illithid powers; he turned out to be the only person in the entire camp who encouraged the other man to make his own choice. 

But do be careful.

Yae groaned and bent slightly as if from physical pain. He wished he could repay Astarion in kind. He wished he could just say: “Sure, go ahead, do the ritual if it’ll make you happy”. But he couldn’t – and despised himself for it. Deep inside, he was certain he’d lose Astarion and hated his own inability to let the vampire go. 

Yae raised the glass jar to his eyes again. Behind the faint reflection of his grey irises floated the translucent creature. That’s it, he thought. If Astarion ascends, it’s all over. If he does, I’m taking the tadpole.

⊱✿⊰

Astarion hated many things in existence, and waiting idly for a bad event to occur was one of them. No, he should take control and face the inevitable on his own terms – better to get it over with than count the hours. He only needed Yae to bear with him for a little longer; once he ascended, he would be happy to go his separate way, just–

Well, perhaps “happy” was an overstatement.

Astarion stood up, ready to wield his preferred set of weapons: charms and smiles. He swallowed the feeling of disgust and sauntered towards the center of the camp.

“Shadowheart, dear.” It almost scared him how easy it was to adopt a playful tone. “Have you perchance seen Yae?”

“You two just can’t stay away from each other, can you?” the not-exactly-cleric-of-Shar teased the vampire as she shifted her grip on an uncorked bottle of Amnian Dessert Wine. “I have, in fact. He came to me feeling bad, so I gave him some herbs. He said he was going to sleep early.”

“Feeling bad?”

Shadowheart sighed.

“You know. Overstimulated.”

Yes, Astarion knew.

⊱✿⊰

The crunch of dirt under careful footsteps warned Yae someone was approaching even before he heard the lilting “darling, it’s me” and the rustle of the tent’s flap. 

“Do you mind?” the half-elf snapped from between the covers. “You’re letting light in!”

“Yes, yes, just give me a second–” The flap swished back down. “You know, sometimes I could swear you’re the vampire in this relationship. Don’t you have your blindfold, excuse me, sleep mask on?”

“So? It doesn’t fit perfectly. There’s a tiny slit,” Yae grumbled and shifted in his bedroll – not to face the visitor, but to bury himself deeper in the blankets. People always found it hard to believe just how sensitive he could be. “What do you want?”

Astarion’s cocky façade didn’t crumble one bit. Still, something about the other man’s frail state ruffled him. He didn’t want to see Yae suffer; he needed to see him strong. He knew for certain his friend wasn’t weak – the power he wielded against enemies! And yet…

Astarion pushed the intrusive thoughts aside.

“Honestly, you surprise me,” the words carried a very precise weight of nonchalance. “You always act like you’re the only person with an intact brain inside your pretty head, and yet when you feel sick, all you do is wrap that silly cloth over your face and hide away from the world.” Another sound followed the rogue’s words, a more dry and crinkly one, like… a sheet of parchment? Yae huffed.

“Oh, I have pursued many solutions already, both preternatural and mundane. I even dared to ask my patron to show some clemency, but the magic they grant me isn’t exactly of curative nature.”

“Patron-shmatron,” Astarion snorted. “The powers don’t care about the well-being of their subjects, I thought you already knew that. But speaking of magic – have you talked to Gale?”

“Yes.” Yae sighed. He realized the vampire wanted to help, but the underlying suggestion – even if not deliberate – that he hadn’t tried hard enough to resolve the matter still annoyed him. “He proposed casting Leomund’s Tiny Hut and filling it with darkness. The problem is, I can’t work the spell myself, and if he does, he’d be stuck with me for several hours, which is… far from ideal.”

“Is it? Say a word, and I’ll drag him here and tie him to a pole,” Astarion offered with mock gallantry mixed with a drop of sultriness. “Of all the people in this group one could share a tent with, he’s not the worst choice.”

Yae groaned.

“No!”

The vampire let out a snicker. Right, the grumpy little pet wasn’t a fan of suggestive jokes. Now probably even less than ever.

“Apologies.” The sick half-elf couldn’t see it, but he was certain Astarion flashed him a not-so-repentant smile. “On second thought, maybe it’s not such a brilliant idea. I mean, you two would probably get lost in some incredibly boring, unnecessarily convoluted arcane dispute and you’d forget entirely about my existence.”

The unconvinced hum from between the blankets clearly indicated Yae doubted if the feat was ever possible.

Astarion glanced at the yellowed parchment he had “borrowed” from the group’s shared supplies.

“Why not cast Darkness around yourself, though?”

“I don’t have any magic left. And it’s better to save the scroll in case we need to use it against enemies.”

“Nonsense. You need it now.” He sat down next to the bedroll. “Take that stupid rag off your face. Cast the spell.”

“It’s only several minutes, it’s a waste of the scroll,” Yae protested.

“It’s several minutes of respite, for gods’ sake! Just do it!”

“Fine, fine, just keep it down, will you? Ugh…”

The warlock untangled from the covers and pushed the sleep mask up to his forehead. He then took the parchment from Astarion. Once the words of power filled the air, shadows clotted and amassed, obscuring the inside of the tent in an almost suffocating blackness. Even gifted with darkvision, the two men were unable to pierce it. Yae sighed; to him the pristine darkness proved so soothing. 

Astarion tried not to think how much the tent now resembled a tomb. At least there were two people in it, he reassured himself; as if to prove that point, he sought out Yae’s hand. It jerked at the unexpected touch, but didn’t shy away.

If only it wasn’t the last time they held hands like this… Even so, Astarion would treasure the memory.

For the next few moments, they just sat, a layer of darkness like a shroud upon them. Eventually the magic faded; the light of the campfire and torches once again danced on the tent’s canvas, shining through. Yae dropped onto his back, letting go of the cold fingers, and slung one arm over his eyes.

“You were right.” To his surprise, Astarion’s voice sounded disheartened. “It was pointless.”

“No, I–” He suddenly felt like an ingrate. “You were right. It was nice, if brief. Thank you.”

The vampire lay down on his side next to the warlock and propped his head on an elbow.

“No matter how many scrolls I lift from careless wizards and foolish nobles, it won’t be enough. An inefficient solution is no solution at all.” If only I had the power to protect you.

“I still appreciate it,” Yae muttered from under his elbow.

“Me wasting resources?” Astarion forced some of his stylemark tease into the words.

“Yeah. You wasting resources on me.”

“It was irrational. You haven’t forgotten you hate it when people act irrational, right?”

“It was thoughtful. Even I can see that.”

“Come now, don’t try to make me feel good.”

“No, really. It’s not your fault all spells are designed as if someone had a very complex dragonchess ruleset in mind.”

This finally drew a chuckle from Astarion.

“You’ve noticed that? Horrendous when it comes to practical, everyday purposes.”

Yae didn’t respond. Despite the fatigue, his spirits lifted a bit as well; the shadow of today’s events cleared in his mind, like a dispelled magical effect. Well, maybe it didn’t withdraw completely. The memory of the acrid smell that had filled the flophouse’s small common room still lingered in the corners of the man’s psyche. It threatened to spring to the fore should he concentrate on it too much, to coat his tongue again, to worsen the already bad headache. But at least for now, he had the strength to ignore it. Wasn’t it nice to just enjoy Astarion’s company in comfortable silence instead?

“I’m a scum.”

Yae started as his friend’s voice brought him back. It took a few seconds for the words to register. Something didn’t add up. 

“Where does this one come from?”

“Can’t you see? I’m doing it again. I’m acting nice because there is something I want to talk about and I’m trying to soften you up.”

The tiniest of smiles formed on the half-elf’s lips. Astarion no doubt believed what he’d just said; his voice had that distinctive, almost anxious tinge.

It is true that brains generally prefer simple explanations – but Yae was never quite satisfied until he had a chance to take a thing apart and understand every minute detail of its inner workings. The reason given rang true, but he didn’t think it was the only, or even the most important one. It took almost all his willpower to not immediately open his mouth and argue. But by now he knew that in return he’d only get a snarky comment about being a smartass.

“Well, at least you’re not trying to seduce me anymore, so I’d still say that’s a step up.”

Astarion scowled.

“As a former magistrate, I swear, someone should immediately revoke your smartass license.”

Oh, well. He got called a smartass anyway.

“Yeah, right, just tell me already why I should hate you so I can tell you why I’m not going to.”

Despite the circumstances, Yae’s dry response did bring Astarion a little comfort. Which, somehow, also made things worse.

“Nice things just don’t last, do they? They are meant to be… fleeting.” The vampire paused. That wasn’t how he’d rehearsed the lines. Gods, after two hundred years of honing his casual, disinterested tone, he should be able to use it at will, like a street magician casting Dancing Lights for the amusement of the crowd. Instead, wistfulness crept into his words, but he wasn’t some teary-eyed puppy, damn it! Astarion clicked his tongue and pressed on. “When we started to get along… I immediately began to wonder how long it would take for us to stop.”

“Yeah. Me too,” whispered Yae.

The red eyes flicked in his direction, filled with disbelief.

“Really?”

“Really.” All of a sudden, the warlock felt immeasurably tired, and it had nothing to do with the headache or overstimulation. “It happens every time. Whenever I meet someone interesting and start thinking there might be a connection. I’m too weird for normal people and too normal for weird people.” He sighed. “Sorry. You were talking. I cut in.”

Despite the uneasiness, Astarion chuckled.

“I don’t know, I rather dig your brand of ’weird’.” And that’s the problem. “Look. I know what you think. You dislike that I fried Petras’s nose a little. I promise you, the fool won’t suffer any permanent damage.” Here came the defensiveness again. Once more, the vampire tried to quickly don his favoured armour of nonchalance – not a shining one, but tarnished with bitterness. “Well, it had to happen someday, right? You had to realize I’m not a person you want to keep around. I don’t blame you. I’m not going to try and convince you to change your mind. You’ve already shown me plenty of patience. But– if you’d only let me stick around for–”

“What are you talking about?”

“Tsk, come on!” The pale elf’s voice thrummed with frustration. Was Yae feigning ignorance on purpose? “I saw the look on your face! When I asked if we’re still a team, you didn’t even bother to reply! You avoided me for the rest of the day!” The words just… spilled, an almost accusatory tide instead of a graceful flow. Astarion pressed his mouth into a tight line.

“Oh, by the gods.” That was exactly why Yae hated all sorts of social interaction – no, why he feared them. So many assumptions. People invariably digging for hidden meanings. “I was unable to say anything! I– I needed time to myself! You know I always need time!” Vexed, he fidgeted with a ring on his finger – a perfectly mundane object with some simple etchings, made of three interlocking bands of metal. Of course the entire situation boiled down to him doing or not doing something, not having the correct expression, not showing the expected reaction, needing to process things. And now his voice was cracking while blood thumped in his ears – and he hated it with all his heart, because you shouldn’t show such intense emotions, Yae, it’s unprofessional and makes people uncomfortable.

Exhaustion and shame enveloped him like the pungent smoke – sticking to him just like the smell had stuck to hair, clothes and skin. Now he wished he could just cast Darkness again – to wrap himself in it safely, vanish, and possibly never return.

The uneasy silence that followed suddenly made both men aware of other, more distant sounds. Scratch barked happily, and the owlbear cub hooted back at him. Someone laughed. Was it Halsin? Probably. The sound had that warm, growly undertone.

“Just say I’m a cruel, horrible person, a monster, and let’s have it out of our way.” If only Astarion could run away from the mixture of desperation and defeat that burned in his chest. Wasn’t it what he wanted all along? For people to believe he was strong, intimidating, ruthless? He had tried hard to cultivate that image, but never once anticipated there could be a time when he’d regret others seeing him this way.

Another howl of throaty laughter echoed through the camp. What was the term Halsin had once mentioned to Astarion? “Deimatic behaviour”?

Yae’s head throbbed. He covered his eyes with open palms, trying to stop them from popping out of the sockets. Most of the time he felt utterly unequipped to deal with his own life, with all the setbacks and problems – and no matter how much he wanted to be there for Astarion, he simply lacked the energy. The half-elf’s brain spluttered and nearly came to a halt like a malfunctioning Gondian clockwork – its favoured reaction in stressful situations, to just shut off. For the past few hours, he had gone through numerous versions of this conversation. In his mind, he knew exactly how to say all the right things. He was kind, understanding, wise – and, most importantly, able to offer Astarion precisely the words the vampire needed to hear.

Right now Yae’s head was as empty as a patriar’s promise.

And yet, something stirred in the petrified mindscape. Something alien that had in the last few weeks become intimately familiar, a part of himself. 

Yae’s tadpole gently brushed against the creature nestled in Astarion’s brain. The vampire suppressed the urge to shrink back, realising the immaterial caress wasn’t an intrusion, but an invitation. Almost a plea.

Let me in. Otherwise I don’t know how to express myself.

Astarion’s nostrils flared. Why couldn’t Yae just talk like a normal person? 

The brief spike of irritation died out as quickly as it had occurred. If Yae could, he would. There had been times when Astarion was so starved he lost the ability to speak, hadn’t there? He glanced at the other man with compassion he rarely allowed himself to show, and let the tadpoles swirl together, establishing a connection.

Yae sighed; his confidence surged. 

Usually, social interactions were so… confusing. He remembered playing Three-Dragon Ante with his older brother for the first time. Zenith didn’t explain the rules beforehand, stating that Yae would learn “as they went”. This discouraged the younger boy from the start, and the whole experience turned rather frustrating, with Zenith proving to be a messy teacher, mentioning various options in a rather haphazard way. Talking to other people posed an even greater challenge – you had to constantly keep guessing what the unwritten rules were, and those tended to change without warning, while others acted like they expected you to read their minds.

Well, actually reading minds was wonderful. Direct, raw, complex yet clear. With this, Yae could work.

So, is your parasite bothering my parasite because you wanted me to know you’re terrible at cards?

Hilarious, the warlock thought back. But gods, didn’t it feel good to uncork and be able to communicate again. He kept the connection unintrusive, just skimming over the surface of whatever Astarion was willing to share. As he calmed down, the sense of peace sipped into the vampire’s mind as well, and they non-verbally conveyed bits of what had troubled them today – just enough to notice how similar their fears and worries were.

You do sometimes feel like a mirror, Astarion’s thought was uncharacteristically quiet, bashful.

Yae took an audible breath.

“You’re not a monster,” he whispered. The physicality of the sound felt so out of place. “And even if you are, I don’t really care.” It was true. No matter how tempting it would be, he didn’t want some idealised version of Astarion. He wanted the real person. “You’re a friend. Yes, I’m worried sick – quite literally – not because of you, but about you.”

“You don’t want me gone?” 

“No. I’m sorry I didn’t say so immediately. Sometimes I’m dumb like this.”

Reassured, Astarion withdrew from the mental connection. The vampire didn’t hate it – and it was kind of adorable how elated it made Yae – but right now he wanted some privacy, at least in his own head. The two parasites twirled together for the last time before gently untangling.

Yae stared at the faint outline of the tent’s ceiling for a few more moments, bracing himself. He recalled again how Astarion had encouraged him to make his own choice regarding the special tadpole. It really was the time to repay the kindness.

“Astarion… I just wanted to make it clear. Once we face Cazador… Whatever you decide, your fate will be in your own hands.”

Astarion let out a loud exhale. Good. Oh gods, good. He wanted freedom. Above all, he wanted to be his own person. And it felt so validating Yae recognised this. 

The worst part, though, was that deep inside the unconditional acceptance chipped the vampire’s resolve to steal the ritual for himself.

Astarion shook his head. He shifted to face Yae more fully – as much as the cramped space allowed – and focused on something nice instead. At least he hoped it was nice.

“Friends.” He tasted the word. “You seem pretty attached to the idea. Not that I don’t like it,” he added quickly, “quite the contrary… but…”

He trailed off, suddenly uncertain if he really wanted to broach the subject. Not knowing was so nice, after all. And one serious talk was more than enough for tonight.

Yae thought back to his life before he had been kidnapped by illithids and infested with a tadpole; before he had moved to Baldur’s Gate; even before he had reached out to his patron and formed a pact. The tired poetic cliché would dictate it felt like a lifetime ago. If only memories had become a nice, gentle haze; if only the past would turn into a vault full of precious personal mythology. But the images danced in his mind, sharp – and while some weren’t unpleasant, those he’d rather forget burned the brightest.

The first one seemed innocent, happy even: a young boy, scrawny and awkward, perusing through his father’s magical tomes stored safely in a cozy, elegant library. Behind the window, the charming alleys of the Evereskan residential area soaked up the sun, the polished cobblestones almost glowing. The view reminded the boy of an oil painting – pretty, marked with a touch of gravity.

The thick aroma of special inks mixed with distinct scents of paper, vellum and papyrus, and the dusty undertone always made his nose tingle. Whenever he grew weary of reading, he would spend time contemplating the leather bindings, tracing embossings with his small fingers, staring at the marbled endpapers until he’d get dizzy.

It was a safe haven, away from the confusing demands of the world outside.

Inside the library no one made fun of his naivety. No one scolded him for being rude when he didn’t mean to be. No one ridiculed him for not being able to stay still. No one told him it was bad to show emotions. No one stared at the ugly bruise that lingered on his forehead, a mark from the time when, overwhelmed with frustration, he had banged his head against a wall. No one showed impatience at his silence, and no one sneered when he couldn’t stop talking about a treasured topic.

The books, even though full of power and magic, felt safe.

Xan of the Greycloaks encouraged those studies. A rather consummate pessimist, he would have, for once, been somewhat proud if his son had become a wizard like him. Perhaps he was trying to spare the boy at least some of existence’s misery; and perhaps he honestly didn’t realise his child had at some point decided all attempts at connecting with others were simply ill-fated and thus not worth the effort. 

It was certainly a blow when his son – for some unfathomable reason – chose a warlock’s vocation instead, but at least the father could find solace in the familiar, unmarred sense of impending doom.

The boy was an adult now and even though every day he feigned indifference, deep inside he hadn’t changed – deep inside, he still longed.

“I’ve always just wanted someone to be there,” Yae whispered into the darkness. Another picture sprouted in his mind: an adolescent version of himself, scared and wounded after a magical accident, reaching out to an eldritch entity precisely for this reason.

Astarion went quiet, letting the words sink in. 

Friends.

He smiled, remembering the shy kiss the other evening, on the bank of the River Chionthar.

Fine. He wasn’t going to argue about labels. He sat up.

“Alright. I’m going to get my bedroll.”

“What? Why would you–?”

“Because we’re doing a friendly sleepover. What did you think, you naughty boy?”

“I didn’t–!”

The vampire’s laughter rang in the air. The darkvision made the tent’s interior dull and grey, but he could imagine the lovely shade of rosy pink colouring Yae’s face. 

“Easy, darling. Should I also get that terrible owlbear plush?”

“Hey, the owlbear is cute!” Yae protested, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice now. Good.

“You must really be unwell. This is the first time I’ve heard you use the word ’cute’ willingly. Anyway, I’ll get a blanket, too. We’ll throw it over the tent to block off more light and sounds.”

“You’re going to smother me.”

“Possibly. If you’re into it.”

“What–? Argh, stop teasing me!”

“I’ll be back in a few!” Astarion left the tent before Yae could complain more.

As they were falling asleep, their fingers – deathly pale and light pink – hooked loosely, resembling the interlocking bands of Yae’s ring. Astarion wondered if things could really last, or if he’d simply stolen another moment of comfort. 

Or maybe those moments weren’t stolen at all. Maybe they were given freely.

Epilogue

A cry of anguish filled the blood-reeking air.

Yae slowly collapsed onto his knees. He didn’t touch Astarion, not knowing if the vampire wished for physical contact. Instead, he simply was there – a quiet, supporting presence. Astarion shuddered and sobbed; Yae felt his heart clench painfully.

“What do you need right now?”

“I don’t know. Let’s leave this cursed place.”

Later that evening, Yae browsed through his belongings. The jar was there, stuffed safely between layers of clothing. He plucked the little parasite out and held it at the eye-level. 

The small thing wriggled, begging for company. It just wanted someone to be there. 

Yae’s face twisted with sadness and guilt.

Emperor? Can you hear me? He took a deep breath. Please don’t be mad. If I don’t do it, the temptation will always be there. 

Swiftly, before doubt could wash his resolve away, the half-elf dropped the tiny creature to the ground and squashed it with his boot. It was yucky, like stepping on a slug. He winced at the sensation.

The loneliness was no more. 

With that, Yae went to find Astarion and see if there was anything he could offer his dearest, dearest friend.

I can't handle Astarion in his little robe.

He looks so cozy.

Just me losing my mind over Astarion's storyline (spoilers)

Playing bg3 for the first time and literally had to take a few days off playing after the Cazador fight and the graveyard scene just to emotionally process because I was a wreck. Thought I was safe, only to log back on, talk to Astarion, and get the conversation where he’s starting to heal and he’s smiling so genuinely and then pulls out the “this is a gift, you know” callback line. Had to take another day off because I was sobbing again I cannot put into words what this character has done to my brain chemistry. Having the time of my life with this game. Very normal and fine