#yaestarion

[burnt-by-marigolds]

The person who's happiest when he's elbow-deep in gore and the person who's happiest when he's elbow-deep in (profane) lore, being cute together.

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"You can forget just how much colour there is in the world."

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Dark Smoke and Empty Mirrors – WIP snippet #3

The crunch of dirt and debris 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. The vampire knew for certain the warlock wasn't weak – the power he wielded against enemies! And yet…

He 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 the warlock 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 the warlock doubted if the feat was ever possible.

⊱✿⊰

Dark Smoke and Empty Mirrors WIP snippets: snippet #1, snippet #2.

[burnt-by-marigolds]

My AO3 invite has arrived! I'm nervous, but also excited! Actually sharing my fanworks is still a fairly new experience to me, but hey, let's embark on this adventure and see where it leads. 

So to celebrate, here's a WIP snippet of what's been brewing in my head (there are spoilers!). The flophouse scene proved to be a source of an unending flood of thoughts to chew on, and this line stuck with me in particular:

Dark smoke and empty mirrors (WIP snippet)

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… I like the way they swirl around your ears, Yae’s half-bashful, half-nonchalant voice sounded 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 sentence would remain unspoken.

The vampire felt like he was looking into hundreds of broken shards – all of them empty to match the man's hollow self. But the reflection he cast in Yae’s eyes? It was his only one, yet just another lie. And to make things even worse, the rogue hadn't conjured it up himself, he lacked any control over it – once Yae saw through the illusion, he would definitely ditch Astarion.

And it was probably going to happen tonight.

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Am I the only one who gets slight "breaking the fourth wall" vibes here?

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Couldn't resist myself and joined the trend.

Astarion still trying to maintain his smooth persona (internally crumbling).

Yae getting incredibly shy and nervous.

BG3, what are you doing to me, what if I'm going to start writing fanfics next.

Made with Picrew:

[burnt-by-marigolds]

Dark Smoke and Empty Mirrors – WIP snippet #2

Slow but steady, I'm working my way through the fic. Today's motto is:

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 the cleric had tried to be, the medicine probably wasn't going to help. He only drank it to make her feel better. 

The man 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, the Evereskan 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, the half-elf 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 that was fine.

No. It was Astarion’s acceptance, and the concern that followed, that made the warlock shelf 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 Evereskan to make his own choice. 

But do be careful.

The half-elf 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, the warlock 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 on the smooth surface floated the translucent creature. That's it, the man thought. If he ascends, it's all over. If he does, I'm taking the tadpole.