#gale you are being snide right now

[perenians]

horrendous attitude, darling. thank you.

(gale: oh, i do apologise. i meant to ask: are you studied in magic. namely, are you a wizard? which you are not.)

#i love him so much but when he said this i wanted to strangle his ass #i promise he's my favorite i promise #gale you are being snide right now #he is just pointing out facts but it feels patronizing. it does. #ALSO ISNT IT IMPLIED THAT HE COMES FROM A PRETTY PRIVILEGED FAMILY. AND THAT HIS EDUCATION WAS SO GOOD BECAUSE OF THE RESOURCES HE HAD #AT HIS DISPOSAL #I THINK IT IS. IF IT IS THEN GALE NOT EVERYONE HAS THOSE KINDS OF RESOURCES #gale is kind but i feel like he's a bit. snobbish at times #gale dekarios #per plays #bg3 #calm down per

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Burns Like Rum

Ship: Astarion x female!human!reader/Tav

Summary: Astarion's hunger worsens every day and you don't have any blood to spare—but that doesn't stop you from inadvertently tempting him at every turn. Luckily for both of you, you've both got the same idea to cure him of his hunger.

Word Count: 7,840 words

Warnings: sexual content (18+), menstruating reader, hungry Astarion, mutual pining, possibly OOC dialogue, vampire feeding, soft Astarion, no particular timeline but Astarion hasn't told you anything yet

18+ Warnings: period sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), hand job, bite kink, blood kink, aftercare, use of the words cunt & cock

Note: For my usual readers, more Stranger Things content is coming, I promise! But this bitey boy currently owns my heart so I'm gonna show him some love :)

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Astarion was hungry, and it was entirely your fault, for more than one reason.

The first was that, almost a month ago now, you had let Astarion drink from you. He'd been starving, and it didn't help that the others had given him strict rules about feeding, so when he flashed those sad but gorgeous red eyes at you, complaining of hunger, you'd all but gifted him your neck.

He'd practically drained you that night. You had been weak for days. Of course, the others, namely Gale and Lae'zel, were furious with you for letting him drink from you, but the sated, content look on his face after feeding made it all worth it to you. He'd become more comfortable around you after that, too, and you'd considered that an improvement.

It hadn't been all that bad, really, for him to sink his teeth into you and drink until your grip on him had grown so weak that he'd let up to check on you. In fact, it had been...rather pleasant. He'd been gentle, careful, his bite sharp but considerate. You knew then that you'd risk becoming anemic for a week just to feel the pleasure of his hand cradling your neck and head, his mouth against your neck, his tongue soothing the bite he'd left when he'd had his fill.

But in the weeks that followed, his hunger gradually returned, and with a vengeance. It was as if he'd never fed from you at all, suffering hunger pangs he hid from the others—but you noticed, recognizing them from the night he'd begged you to let him drink from you.

You'd offered him more of your blood since then, but he'd refused you every time. He could smell your guilt, your need to make him feel better simply because you felt responsible for his current pain.

"I won't accept blood from someone who feels obligated to give it to me," he'd said, and his tone made it difficult to tell if he was being snide or kind.

Sometimes, you simply didn't understand that man.

And then three days ago, you'd been injured in a fight. It was nothing fatal, the gash in your midsection missing any major muscles and not deep enough to jeopardize your organs, but it was bloody. You'd limped your way back to camp, your head swimming, the world around you growing darker around the edges with every step.

You'd fainted in Astarion's arms—although collapsed was a better word for it, according to Karlach—drenched in blood, some of which was yours and some of which that wasn't.

"You should have seen his face!" Karlach had laughed when you'd woken up the next morning, woozy but fine thanks to Shadowheart. The blood loss kept you off your feet for the day to recover, and Karlach had taken the time to visit you.

"What do you mean?" you asked, although you already had a good idea what might have happened after you passed out.

"You put him in a right pickle, collapsing on him like that, all covered in blood and losing more of it quickly," she said. "He didn't know what to do with you. It was— It was like he didn't want to drop you, but he really did want to drop you, because all he wanted to do was drink from you. Can't say as I blame him—he's not fed in weeks and you turn up with his next meal draining out of you." You hid your face in your hands with a groan. "Why'd you beeline for him anyway? Shadowheart's tent was just a few paces away!"

You glared at her through your fingers. "You know why I went to him, Karlach!" She, of all people, would understand. She had been the first person to find out that, as much as you flirted with them all, Astarion was the one you wanted.

"Well, obviously," she said, "but it didn't occur to you that he might...have an adverse reaction?"

Rolling your eyes, you snarked, "No, Karlach, it didn't, I was bleeding out and suffering from head trauma. I just...saw someone I trusted to keep me safe and ran to him."

She cocked her head to the side. "That's sweet, but stupid."

You snorted. "Yeah, I know—Shadowheart won't stop yelling at me for it."

You hadn't seen Astarion until that night, when the group of you had gathered at the campfire. It hadn't meant to be like that; you'd seen him and had wanted to talk to him, at least apologize for throwing your bloody body at him, but Shadowheart followed you closely to keep you safe and soon the others had gathered.

It had been like a very strange family dinner, made awkward by everyone dancing around exactly why you'd gone to Astarion, knowing a hungry vampire and fresh blood were not a good mix.

The final reason you were making his hunger unbearable made itself known at the end of the night, when it was just you, Astarion, and Shadowheart at the dying fire.

She must have caught sight of the way you kept looking at Astarion out of the corner of your eye, embarrassedly looking away or pretending to gaze into the trees behind him every time he caught you looking. She tapped your shoulder and told you she needed to get rest. The "you should, too" was implied, hanging in the air along with her worry about your healing.

"I'm fine, Shadowheart, really," you insisted. "I won't rip myself open again, I promise."

"I'll keep an eye on her," Astarion promised. "Nothing too...strenuous for her just yet." Something in his voice made you shiver.

She left the two of you alone. You looked first at the fire, then down at your hands, folded in your lap. Anywhere than at him.

You didn't even hear him move. You only knew he had when you felt him sit on the log beside you, one of his hands covering your own.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft. "I...am sorry I didn't visit you, it's just—"

"It's just that I threw myself at you when it looked like I'd taken a shower in blood and that made things a wee bit difficult?" you interrupted, the words spilling out before you had time to process that you were speaking. Embarrassed heat flushed through you instantly.

But Astarion only gave you that soft, slightly toothy smile. You drank it in, relishing his smile lines and the brief contentment on his face. "Something like that, yes," he said. "I was...worried I might hurt you if I saw you again and you still smelled so deliciously of your blood. I'm so hungry, darling, it's unbearable. All I wanted was to feast until there was nothing left of you, and I'd never forgive myself if I—"

"Stop." You held up your hand. "Please. I don't... Don't be so nice to me, it makes me feel like I'm on my deathbed."

Astarion laughed, throwing his head back. "I'd hardly call wanting to drain you nice, my love." Almost unconsciously, your gaze dipped to his exposed neck and you wondered idly what he would do if you were to bite him back.

Probably the strenuous activity Astarion had promised Shadowheart you wouldn't be doing.

He met your gaze, a sudden depth and seriousness in his crimson stare. "Stick with me, and you might soon be on your deathbed." Pointedly, he broke eye contact with you, letting his eyes drop first to your neck and then further down your body. You tingled, the feeling reminiscent of the anemia that had possessed your body in the hours and days after he'd drank from you.

You realized Astarion was waiting for a reaction from you, hoping for something more than your stunned silence. So you let your eyes drift across his body, resting on his mouth as you said, "Doesn't sound like a bad way to go out."

From the back of his throat came a sound that wasn't quite a growl or a groan, but somewhere in between, just as needy as either sound. "Don't tempt me, darling," he whispered. "I promised Shadowheart I'd keep you safe, and you certainly wouldn't be if I did everything I want."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Astarion..."

He closed his eyes, leaning toward you, releasing a tense breath. "Darling..."

"What if I want to tempt you?" You put your hand on his leg, sliding closer to him.

"Cheeky thing," he said, eyes opening in small slits. "But only when you're healed. I can still smell the blood on you." He sighed. "You have no idea how much restraint it takes not sink my teeth into that pretty neck of yours."

You frowned. "But I am healed," you said. "Just tender. Shadowheart wouldn't have let me leave her tent otherwise."

"I can't blame you for wanting me," Astarion teased, that familiar charm honeying his words, "but I've never been wrong." He cupped your cheek, his touch taking the bite out of his words. He offered you a small, sympathetic smile.

You put your hand to your abdomen, half-expecting to find that your wound had ripped open of its own accord. Your shirt and the bandage beneath it was dry—but a sudden twinge of pain, appearing only once it had been acknowledged, came from lower. You hissed.

Astarion sat up straighter. "What is it? Are you alright?"

"Shit. I think I've figured out why you still smell blood," you said through clenched teeth.

Astarion's eyes dipped to where your hand rested. "It's that time again already, is it?"

"It's early," you groaned. You stood slowly, regretting it instantly.

He tracked you as you moved, his gaze becoming dangerous and predatory. It was the look that had scared you when he drank from you, practically convincing you he wasn't going to stop. Still, his need for you burned through you like rum, its heat spreading through your belly.

"I didn't smell it before, not under all the blood you had on you," he said. His voice was deep, dark, dangerous. "But, oh, darling—I smell it now." He licked his lips and your stomach did flips that were neither pleasant or unpleasant. The hunger in his eyes was palpable

"I, ah, have to go. For your sake and mine. Um. So, uh, goodnight, Astarion. I...I'll see you when this is all over."

He stood up quickly. "Darling, do you need—" He cut himself off as you waved away his concern, crossing the camp to your own tent.

"No! Goodnight!" you called over your shoulder.

Astarion sighed. "...Night."

~❊~

You avoided Astarion like the plague. Well, perhaps not, because while you never wanted to see the disease, you were always on the lookout for your favorite vampire.

You caught glimpses of him through the open flaps of your tent, sauntering by with a swagger you found unfairly attractive. You saw him reading on his own when Shadowheart helped you changed your bandages, his handsome face fixed in concentration. A few hours later, you heard him arguing with Gale about the very same book, which had apparently gone missing, and you hated the flutter in your stomach at the growl in his angry voice.

"Stop that," Karlach said, glancing up at you as the pair of you cooked, Karlach helping you roast root vegetables evenly.

"Stop what?"

"Mooning over him," she said, jerking her head in Astarion's direction.

Your body flushed with heat. "I'm not—"

"You are, and we can all tell, and you should just get it over with, but only if you mean it."

You frowned, tearing your eyes away from the blessed sight that was Astarion basking in the sun. "Sorry, what?"

Karlach sighed. "If you sleep with him—" You spluttered. "—it had better be because you truly want him and not because you're bleeding."

You blinked at her. "Karlach, of course I want him, you've heard me talk about him before this!"

"I know, I know," she relented, "but I have a feeling there's more to our vampire than meets the eye." She glanced over at Astarion. "Just...be kind to him, dear. He's more fragile than he looks."

You followed her gaze over to him. He was stretching, his arms lifted high above his head, undoubtedly oblivious to the two of you watching him. Want and need bubbled up inside of you, both clamoring for Astarion, agreeing that he would fulfill them both. The deep-seated lust you'd had for him since he'd first put a knife to your neck burned even brighter as the breeze that had been kicking up dust all morning played with the silver hair curling around his ears.

His nostrils flared and you knew he'd smelled you. He looked over at you and Karlach and you froze. She waved cheerily, then frowned at you when you didn't move. You swallowed harshly and went back to removing the scales from the fish in your lap.

"He doesn't like not being around you either, you know," Karlach said, returning to the task at hand. "He's always looking at you when you're not looking. You're perfect for each other like that."

"I don't want to make this harder for him by being around him," you said, glancing back over at him. He was watching you as he poured himself a glass of wine. Had it been normal circumstances, when you weren't driving him insane simply by smelling like blood, you would have teased him for day-drinking. "He's already so hungry, I'd only make that worse. It was bad enough I threw myself at him covered in his favorite snack!"

Karlach snorted. The sound of a light laugh floated over to you and you looked up to find Astarion smirking into his goblet. He beckoned you over and your eyes grew wide.

"Excuse me for a moment, Karlach," you said, clearing your throat.

Karlach followed your gaze and giggled. "More than a moment, dear. I'll come back later to help you finish this." She left the log you'd been sharing and you waited until she was in her own tent again before you jumped to your feet and practically ran to Astarion.

"Hello, darling," he purred. "Care for a drink?"

"I could go for a little," you said.

Astarion smiled, that rakish charm summoning warmth that spread through your entire body. "I hope you like red," he said, and put his own goblet to your lips.

You held his gaze as you drank. You saw his nostrils flare, his pupils growing large. You knew he could hear how your heart was racing, could smell your arousal mixing with your blood.

He pulled the goblet away from your lips and took another swig. You licked the red wine off your lower lip and heard the breath catch in his chest.

"You're starving, aren't you?"

"You have no idea," he whispered.

"I might," you said. "Thought I'd say it's a hunger of a different kind."

Astarion's smirk was so wide you could see his fangs clearly. "Oh, really, darling?"

You nodded, taking a step closer to him. He breathed in deeply. "We could help each other, you know. Satiate our hungers."

His eyes grew dark, trained on yours. "Is that so?" He raised his hand, nearly brushing your cheek, but stopped himself just before he touched you. "You'd let me soothe your pain by..." His gaze dropped to your waistline. "...eating from you?"

A tremor passed through you at the sound of his voice, deeper than you'd ever heard it, laced with a danger and a seduction you were embarrassed to find attractive. Your body was tuned to it, his words seeming to drop like a stone from your ears to your core, spreading fire through your veins and melting your organs.

Astarion took a small step closer to you and took your chin in three gentle fingers, tilting your head up toward him. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you then and there. "I'm going to need an answer, darling."

"Yes." You couldn't get the word out fast enough. It came out breathy, nearly lost on the wind still swirling between you.

He chuckled. "Well, then. You asked for it." He dropped the hand on your chin back to his side. "Once everyone else is asleep, come find me. We'll find a quiet place and...have a little fun."

~❊~

Of all the nights, it had to be this one where everyone came to check on you before they went to sleep. Thanks to Astarion avoiding you like the plague when the two of you had become inseparable, your monthly bleed had become public knowledge. So practically everyone in camp came to you with solutions you declined, claiming to feel fine, even though your pain had worsened over the course of the day.

You watched Astarion slink off into the forest after the sun had gone down and waited until the others were sequestered in their tents, nearly an hour later, to pull your boots back on, stand on shaky feet, and follow the path you assumed he'd taken.

You had started to believe you'd taken a wrong turn somewhere when you heard his cool voice from behind you: "There you are. I've been waiting."

Astarion stepped out of the shadows. He ran his gaze over you, observing your slightly hunched stance, your hand on your lower abdomen. Your shoulders relaxed at the sight of him; he looked softer in the moonlight. The silver light fell across his curls and the statuesque panes of his face, somehow making that face that was so gaunt with hunger unbelievably beautiful.

He looked like a poet or a god, even in just the simple shirt he insisted on wearing around camp instead of the finer silks you knew he carried with him. Or perhaps it was the simplicity that made him so godly. You couldn't tell.

A frown graced his brow. "The pain is worse now, isn't it?"

You nodded. "Just a bit."

Astarion left the small hill he stood on and came closer to you. He offered you his hand. "Come on, dear, let me make you feel better."

You let him guide you away from the path you had taken and into a small clearing just a few feet away, conveniently hidden by thickets, trees, and tall grass. He stood aside, letting you take it in for a moment, as if waiting for your approval of the place. You looked down at the mossy ground and decided it would be soft enough.

"Well, this is nice," you said, seconds before you heard fabric rustling. You turned and blinked rapidly at what you saw: Astarion, his shirt now off and in his hands. You watched him lay it down where the ground was most level. Your breath caught horribly in your throat at the sight of the scar covering his back. You fought back the urge to ask, knowing it would only piss him off.

He turned back to you with a smile. "Your bed for the evening, my love," he said, gesturing to it.

"Oh, Astarion, I can't, I don't want to get blood on your shirt. What would the others—"

Astarion cupped your face in one hand. "The others will assume I hunted something and got messy," he said. "And I'll enjoy your scent while I have it."

Flutters in your stomach nearly brought you to your knees. You looked up at him, drawing in a tiny breath, and brought your hand up to hold the wrist that cradled your cheek.

"Please," you whispered, unsure of exactly what you were begging for but knowing what you wanted.

"Promise me you'll tell me if...I'm too much," Astarion said, and you got the sense he'd changed what he was going to say.

You nodded, whispering your promise, and wound your free hand into the hair at the nape of his neck, standing on your tiptoes to push your lips to his.

It was a messy first kiss. It was little more than teeth and spit, but it felt like heaven anyway, because his free arm was winding around your waist and pressing your bodies together, his leg sliding between yours. Bliss spread through you, starting at your core.

Astarion pulled away from you. "Someone's eager, isn't she?"

You whimpered and he stifled it with another kiss, softer than the first. He was gentle, more than you'd expected from a starving man. He cupped the back of your head and your hand dropped to his hip. You opened your mouth to him and reveled in the feeling of his tongue sliding against yours. He made a soft sound of satisfaction and pushed his leg up against your clothed core. You moaned loudly, your grip on him tightening. Need flooded you and your hips pushed down on his leg, finding relief in the pressure.

The two of you pressed your foreheads together, breathing heavily.

"Shh, darling, not too loud. You don't want the others to come investigate, do you?" His cheeky tone suggested he would love it if the others found the two of you like this—or, perhaps, further along.

You wrapped both arms around his neck and buried your head into his shoulder, heat burning through you, a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. You felt like there was a pendulum inside you, swinging constantly between wanting to slow down, afraid of coming off as too eager, and desperately needing him to get to it.

Astarion chuckled. "Don't hide, love." He smoothed his hand over your hair. "You do trust me, don't you?"

You kissed his shoulder and heard his breath catch. "With my life, Astarion."

"Are you ready?"

You nodded and he walked you over to his shirt and helped you to sit on it. He watched you lay down, his gaze falling your exposed neck. There was something more than hunger in his eyes; it made your breathing hitch.

Astarion crawled over you and placed his hand underneath your head before he kissed you. You draped your arm over his shoulders, holding him close to you, enjoying the soft touch of his lips against yours. It was chaste, as were the next few that followed it in quick succession, one after the other.

One hand slid down your body and stopped at the hem of your trousers. He tugged at the shirt tucked into them. "Darling? May I?"

"Please do," you said.

"Arms up."

He pulled the fabric over your head and tossed it to the side. He looked down at your torso from where he straddled your hips. His hands skimmed over you and he leaned down, pressing more gentle kisses to your neck and collarbones. Your body tingled with remembrance, practically yearning to feel his fangs sink into your neck, to feel your blood leave you with a burning that felt like intoxication.

"Astarion." His name was a breathy cry on your lips, and you saw how much he liked the sound of it when he looked up at you, a smile curving onto the lips still pressed to your skin.

"Yes, dear?"

You gently coaxed him back up to you with your hand on his chin. "Let me kiss you."

He smiled, brighter than the moonlight falling around you, and you pressed your mouth to his. He hummed happily into your mouth, a pleasant sensation that made you reluctant to break the kiss. But you did, kissing along his jaw and down his neck instead. You nipped gently at his neck, pulling a surprised laugh from him.

"Really, darling? Biting the vampire?" Astarion's eyes were sparkling with amusement. His face had relaxed into an easy smile. It was a good look on him; you liked it.

You giggled and placed another kiss over the bite. The pair of you rolled onto your sides and you peppered his chest with kisses, your arm wrapped loosely around his waist. You went back up to his neck and sucked lightly.

"So much for the others not knowing," he teased.

You looked at him through your lashes. "What if I want them to know?"

"Cheeky little thing," he whispered, dragging a finger down the side of your face. "As much as I love this—and believe me, I do love this—I can't wait any longer. I'm starving, darling. Let me taste you. Please."

Slightly subdued, you rolled onto your back. "Alright," you whispered, your chest tightening in anticipation.

Astarion climbed on top of you again. He undid the laces at the front of your trousers and slipped his hand inside them, moving slowly and keeping his eyes locked on yours.

The moment two of his fingers slid between your wet folds, your eyes fluttered shut and a happy sigh slipped from your lips.

"There she is," he whispered, his eyes half-lidded, as he worked you gently and slowly. You felt the blood and arousal gather on his fingers as he grew closer to your entrance. He dragged them back up to your clit and rubbed in a slow circle. You gasped, arching into his touch. Astarion giggled. "Oh, you like that, don't you?"

You wriggled underneath him, trying everything in your power to get more of his touch. He smiled down at you, kissing your cheek and cooing softly at you. If he spoke words, you didn't hear them, too lost in the pleasure he easily, skillfully, brought to you.

Without warning, Astarion plunged both fingers into your entrance. You moaned, grabbing at his hair. He chuckled, curling his fingers inside you. Whimpers slipped past your lips; you couldn't have controlled them if you tried, but you were by no means trying. His smile grew with every sound you made, and you wanted nothing more than to see that smile.

Just as suddenly as he'd pushed his fingers in, he pulled them out. You whined instantly but he shushed you and removed his hand from your pants. A small streak of blood was left on the skin of your stomach as he raised his hand to his mouth. You watched raptly as he licked your blood from his fingers, never once breaking eye contact with you.

He wasn't even touching you and the fire in your belly grew at the sight.

Astarion moaned softly around his fingers. You watched his deft tongue catch every drop of blood, thinned by your arousal, from his hand. He whispered your name in a whine and you let go of a long breath.

Once he'd licked his fingers clean, he bent down and yanked your trousers off your legs. You spread them automatically and he put one leg between them. He pulled off your undergarments and sat back, admiring your naked body with a satisfied smirk.

"Look at you," he whispered.

The need for him to touch you won out over the desire for him to keep staring at you. "Astarion." His name was a loud whine, emphasized by your writhing hips.

He chucked. "Needy girl." His hand returned to your cunt, his palm applying pressure to your clit while his fingers toyed with your bloody folds. His eyes practically rolled into the back of his head, the smell of blood so heady even you could smell it.

He teased your entrance for a moment and pulled his fingers back up, the tips of them coated in thick blood that looked black in the night. He sucked it from his fingers with a toothy smile, his fangs peeking out over his bottom lip.

You pushed your hips up enough to catch his eye. "Please," you whimpered.

"Alright, love, alright," he said. He put his hand back and slipped his fingers back inside you. Relief curled through you—as did his fingers. "I'll starve myself a bit longer for your pleasure."

You cupped his neck and brought his face to yours and kissed him fiercely. He made a surprised but pleased sound into your mouth and quickened his pace. You gasped against his lips and he ducked his head to your neck, kissing you quickly with every curl of his fingers.

You twisted your fingers through his hair, rapidly kissing the top of his head, pushing your hips up into his hand. He chuckled, his breath ghosting over your skin and raising goosebumps. You shuddered in his arms.

"I've got you," he murmured, sucking a light mark into your neck. You felt his teeth prick you and saw the shudder that passed through his body at the tiny droplets of blood that appeared.

He pulled away from your neck and curled his fingers just so. You groaned.

"Astarion!" you cried, throwing your head back.

He grinned and quickened his pace. You sucked in a deep breath, fighting back tears of pleasure.

"Let go, darling," he whispered. "I've got you."

Astarion looked back down at your neck. He locked eyes with you as he pressed his tongue to your skin, slowly licking up the droplets as they began to run down your neck. The combination of his intense stare and the movement of his fingers was all you needed; with a loud cry, you came on his fingers, your walls clenching so hard around him he could hardly keep moving them.

He chuckled. "That's it, dear, that's it." He cooed softly, helping you through it with his voice, his soft touch, and gentle kisses to your lips.

You were breathing hard when he finally pulled his fingers out of you. You whimpered at the slight pain but realized your cramps had all but disappeared.

Judging by the state of his hand, you didn't want to know how bloody his shirt was. It looked as though he'd reached into someone's chest and ripped their heart out; his hand was drenched and rivulets of blood ran all the way down to his elbow.

Astarion giggled at the sight while you burned with embarrassment. "Well, well, well. Someone's happy, isn't she?"

"So are you," you said, nodding to the bulge in his pants.

He grinned. "Well, what did you expect? You were quite vocal, my needy little thing." His eyes drifted back down to your cunt, lust curling through his gaze. "Tight and wet and utterly desperate for me."

He licked a stripe up his hand, his eyes fluttering shut. "Oh, darling, you taste good." He sucked your blood off of every finger, pleasure sliding over his face.

You smiled. "There's more where that came from."

Astarion raised one perfect brow. "Can you handle another little death?" he teased.

You nodded. "I can take a few more."

He chuckled and groaned at the same time. "Oh, my love, don't make promises you can't keep."

You met his gaze as he finished cleaning off his hand. "Believe me, I can keep it."

The vampire grinned. "Very well, then. I'll eat good tonight."

He kissed you chastely as he put his hand between your legs again.

Astarion brought you pleasure unlike anything you'd ever felt before as his fingers slid over your blood-slick skin, teasing your folds and entrance with a smirk, often just barely inserting the tip of his finger before pulling it out again and tracing over your clit and smearing blood across your skin. He kissed and sucked on your breasts, leaving darkening bruises and tiny scratches from his teeth, licking up the tiny beads of blood that sprung from each nick. He kissed along the line of scarring and stitches you had gotten from your injury, fading fast but still a reminder of what had gotten you on your back for him in the first place. Now that he'd eaten a little, he was intently focused on bringing you to the edge and pulling you back, again and again and again.

He worked another orgasm out of you and was on his way to coaxing out the third when you stopped him.

"Is it too much?" he asked, frowning. His unbloodied hand moved to rest on your hip, his thumb smoothing over your skin. His eyes searched your face, looking for anything to tell him why you'd stopped him.

You shook your head. "I need more, Astarion," you gasped, slurring his name into Astari. The unintended nickname made him blush. "I need more of you. Please. Please."

The smile returned to his face, cockier than before. "Oh, darling. I need more of you, too," he said, looking into your cunt and licking his lips. "I could just eat you up."

You spread your legs wider. He settled between them. "Please do."

He breathed in deep and his eyes practically rolled back into his head. "You're going to be the death of me— Ah. Well, you would be, if I was alive."

You frowned. "Would this even be happening if you were alive?"

Astarion thought for a moment. "Let's not think about the logistics," he decided and licked the drying blood from his fingers off your abdomen. Your body trembled. He lifted your legs over his shoulders. You squeaked and smiled at him.

"Lay back," he whispered. You obliged him.

Wet warmth touched your skin just above your clit and you glanced down at him, watching him slowly lick the drying blood from your skin. He kissed your skin as he cleaned it, leaving you covered in slowly darkening bruises.

You stared at the stars as he pressed a soft first kiss to your clit. You let out a slow breath and he began to suck, his lips closing around it, his tongue licking light stripes.

You pushed your hips against his mouth. "Circles," you whispered.

"As you wish," he said, his breath fanning over your cunt and making you tremble. He went back to his feast, licking in circles this time, and you let out a soft whimper. You reached down and he reached up, lacing your fingers together and squeezing your hand. You squeezed back.

He moved further down until his nose bumped your clit and his lips found your entrance. He moaned, the sound deep and guttural, at the taste of your blood. He lapped at your entrance, his tongue sweeping up the blood as soon as it collected there. You shuddered, your breaths coming in heaves.

Astarion kissed your entrance once before he dove in, pushing his tongue into your cunt. You gasped and he laughed and buried his face in you.

Through the pleasure, you wondered dimly how he was breathing (did he, as a vampire, need to breathe?), but the thought was pushed away the moment his splayed fingers on your hip dug into your flesh and pulled you even closer to his mouth.

The sounds you were making were obscene: your moans were loud and coarse, and your cunt squelched lewdly as he drank your blood and arousal. You felt filthy, aware that the mix was running down your legs and buttocks but knowing the vampire eating you out was enjoying you too much to care.

Astarion himself was quite vocal, moaning into you and making you shiver. He whimpered, whined, groaned, and keened, growing louder with every swallow of blood. He alternated between watching you writhe and squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure.

You watched his hand slide from your hip to his bulge. He palmed himself through his trousers, hissing in pleasure, and the sight was enough to send you over the edge for a third time.

But Astarion didn't let up. He lapped at you, sucking so harshly your pleasure bordered pain, until your legs stopped shaking and your breathing evened out.

He lifted his head with a grin. "How do I look?"

You looked at him and started laughing. He was the smiliest you had ever seen him, his eyes practically glowing, and the lower half of his face was covered in your blood. His teeth were stained red and sticky blood dripped slowly from his fangs. It ran down his chin in rivulets and splatters dotted his lower cheeks like freckles. Some of it was even in his hair.

"You're ridiculous," you giggled. "And a messy eater."

He snorted. "Excuse you!"

"It's all over your face!"

He sat up with a grin, licking his lips. "You mean you are all over my face."

Satisfaction curled through you. "Yes," you said, reaching for him. He took your hand again. "Yes I am."

He wiped his face with his hand and licked it clean once again. You reached up and wiped some off on your thumb, then held it out to him. He took your thumb into his mouth and sucked. Your heart stopped beating.

"Feeling better?" he asked you, lightly placing his palm over your abdomen, applying a little pressure, and rubbing gentle circles.

"Much better," you said. "Thank you. But, ah..." Your gaze drifted from his beautiful, if slightly pink, face and down to his bulge. It was just as, if not more, prominent now that he'd gone down on you. "What about you?"

Astarion smirked. "I like your enthusiasm, but don't worry about me. Not tonight, darling."

You frowned. "Why not? What if I want you inside of me?" You walked two fingers up his leg and slowly covered his crotch with your palm. When he didn't protest and his eyes fluttered shut, you gave him a gentle squeeze. He let out a soft moan through closed lips and tilted his head back. You kissed the column of his neck and bit down gently. You sucked—hard—and a rumbling moan came from his chest.

"Because," he said finally, drawing in a ragged breath. "Because that would be a terrible waste of your precious blood." He looked at you with half-lidded eyes. "When this is over, I promise you, you can have as much of me as you want." He pushed his hips into your hand and you gave him another gentle squeeze. He gasped.

You nuzzled into him and his arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding you there. "And what if I want all of you?"

The question hung in the air. He looked at you for a long time and suddenly you saw the fragility Karlach had mentioned this afternoon, which felt like years ago instead of mere hours. You reached up to cup his cheek and, though you were stark naked, the sexual desire in the air seemed to have disappeared.

"I want all of you, Astari," you whispered. The nickname made his eyes grow wide. "All of you, in every way, for as long as possible. If you'll let me. If you want me, too."

He whimpered, and the sound was broken. You hated hearing that pain coming from him. "I want you, I do, I just..." He closed his eyes and you were suddenly very sure there was a darkness, a secret, he was trying to hide from you. You were certain it had to do with his vampiric master he'd so often complained about. "I'll try, my darling, I'll try for you."

You sat up on your knees and cupped his face in both hands and kissed him. You didn't break the kiss once as you pressed your body against his and held him tightly. You felt the scar on his back and wanted to ask but didn't, letting him keep his secrets for now.

His arms came around you, cradling your back and holding you tight to him. The kiss became a long-lasting hug, the both of you burying your heads in each other's shoulders until Astarion pulled away from you, a smile on his face. You returned that smile and sat back on your heels.

His eyes trailed over your body again. There was a note of nervousness in his voice as he asked, "Darling, would you mind...touching me again? I could use some relief."

You grinned. "Of course, my love. All you had to do was ask."

Relief crossed his face. He leaned back as you trailed your hand from his shoulder, down his chest, and back to his bulge. You tipped his head back with your free hand and kissed his neck while you rubbed him. He pushed his hips into your hand, sighing blissfully, and your hand was in his trousers in seconds. He grew loud, thrusting his cock into your hand with a power that surprised you.

"Take what you need," you told him, your voice hushed, your lips directly next to his ear. "Help me give you what you want."

He whimpered, your name a broken cry from his lips, and he cuddled into you as he came. He buried his head into your neck, hiding his eyes and barely holding back grunts. As his thrusts grew weaker and you slowed your hand on him, you felt hot tears on your neck and wondered what this poor man had been through that he hadn't yet told you.

You removed your hand from his pants and he immediately wrapped you in another hug, one strong enough to knock you down and knock the breath of you. You held him as tightly as he held you.

When Astarion at last pulled away from you, his tears had stopped but his eyes still shone with them. He kissed you softly.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I... Thank you."

You brushed some of his hair from his face. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. You were... It's just that no one has cared about me during sex in a very long time and...you did. So...thank you."

You took his hand and squeezed it. "Oh, Astarion," you cooed. "I always care about you. Like this or otherwise. You could stop this right now—or before it even began—and I wouldn't have stopped caring about you."

He smiled. "Oh, darling. I love the sentiment, but I'm not done with you yet."

Astarion kissed down your body and laid between your legs again. He licked another stripe up your cunt and you saw the coating of blood on his tongue before he swallowed. "Shall we try for a fourth? Or perhaps even a fifth?" He raised his brow, leaving the decision up to you.

You laid back. "We'll try for as many as you'd like," you said.

He bared his teeth in a feral grin. "All night it is!"

~❊~

You woke up the next morning sore and alone and with very little sleep.

Astarion had been relentless and stopped only when you simply couldn't take it anymore and he was practically drunk on your blood—all without making you bloodless and woozy. When you had finished for the final time, he had cleaned you up, helped you back into your clothes, picked up his own shirt, and walked you back to camp. He was so gentle that you didn't even mind the teasing about how you limped.

Dawn hadn't been far off as you each went back to your tents after exchanging a final, solid kiss. So you woke to the sound of everyone else beginning their day just a few hours later.

You felt the soreness in your core before you even moved. Biting back a sigh and not regretting it one bit as you pictured Astarion's happy, bloody face, you rolled over and hoped your recent injury would be enough for the others to let you sleep in.

You were wrong.

Shadowheart opened your tent a few minutes later with a urgency that made you jump.

"What? What's wrong?" you asked, blinking blearily in the bright sunlight.

"Are you alright? You never sleep in, you're always up making breakfast!"

You groaned. "Is that it? Are you just hungry?"

She peered at you. "Are you hurt? Did your wound reopen?"

"What? No! I'm fine, I'm just tired, that's all! I have lost a lot of blood recently, in case you forgot."

She sighed. "Oh. Alright. Well, just know the others are worried, too—Astarion especially."

You remembered how he'd checked in on you last night and had asked if he'd hurt you at all when you'd returned to camp and wondered if you had worried him by sleeping in. Suddenly you were grateful the others could chalk it up to his not-so-secret crush on you.

You dressed and hid the light bruises on your neck and collarbones in a high-collared shirt. You only noticed you were walking with a slight limp still after you'd left your tent and made your way across camp.

Karlach called your name and was at your side immediately. "You're limping! Are you hurt? Do you need me to fetch Shadowheart?"

You blinked at her. "What? No. I'm fine!"

"You don't look fine," Gale said, a few feet away, looking up from the book he'd been engrossed in for days. "Did you hurt your leg the other day? Or have your stitches ripped?"

"My, my," said a suave voice behind you. You turned and found Astarion grinning like a cat. "You do have quite the limp, there, darling. Are you sure you're alright?"

You huffed at him, your body remembering his touch immediately, his ghostly hands sliding across your skin. "I'm fine, I promise. Now hush and someone help me make breakfast."

Both Karlach and Astarion sat with you, Astarion very close to you and giving you a smile you couldn't help but return. Karlach stared at Astarion like he'd grown two heads, her gaze flickering between the two of you. She gasped very suddenly.

"Not a word," you hissed at her, knowing she'd figured it out.

Astarion smirked.

"And nothing from you, either," you added. "You're the reason I'm walking like this, you bastard."

He smiled sweetly at you, catching the fondness in the words. "And I gladly will be again." He took your hand and lifted it to his mouth, kissing it. Your eyes grew wide.

Karlach squeaked.

"You know nothing," you told her. "At least for a little while."

"Yes," Astarion agreed. "At the very least, tell Shadowheart nothing—I broke my promise to her to keep our dear girl from doing any strenuous activity."

You turned red and Karlach groaned, "Not before breakfast, please!"

Astarion opened his mouth—undoubtedly to say something about how you were technically his breakfast, based on the hour you'd returned to camp—but you moved quicker than he could speak. You grabbed him by the collar and yanked him toward you, kissing him heartily to shut him up.

A heavy silence settled over camp. You cracked one eye open and found the rest of your companions staring at the pair of you, mouths agape and eyes wide.

"Oops," Astarion muttered, sounding rather pleased.

You cleared your throat. "I, ah, I've been meaning to tell you all. Honestly."

Gale heaved a sigh. "How much do I owe you, Wyll?"

Your jaw dropped open. "You placed bets?!"

"Alright, you bloodsucker," Wyll said, holding his hand out and waiting for his payment from Gale. "You win."

"Yes," Astarion said, and you expected him to be wearing a smirk infused with his charm, his triumphant eyes on the others. But when you turned to him, he was staring at you, a dopey smile fixed on his face. "Yes, I did."

☞ ❊ ☜

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Acunin

part 2 (Sweet Like Wine) {here}!

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the Astarion taglist!}

#astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion bg3 #astarion fic #astarion smut #neil newbon #d&d #dnd #astarion baldurs gate #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion my beloved #neil newbon astarion #astarion neil newbon #vampire #vampire dnd #dnd game #bg3 gale #karlach #shadowheart #laezel #bg3 wyll #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion x you #astarion x y/n #astarion ancunin #case’s fic

[justporo]

Opening chests - A guide by Astarion Ancunín

As someone who's been merely seen as a body to use in the worst kind of ways, Astarion enjoys being needed for just about anything else.

You first noticed this when the rest of the party struggled to open a promising looking treasure chest which you all hoped would contain some direly needed riches - or at least something to make for a good dinner.

You were just about to step in and offer your expertise when Astarion made an entrance.

“By all the gods above and below! You bunch call yourself adventurers and can't even pick a simple lock such as this?” he exclaimed as he strode over with a swagger and a viciously teasing smirk. Gale moaned. He knew just like any of the others that Astarion was about to be insufferable when he put on a tone like this - more insufferable than usual that means.

“All these books and not a single one to be useful, just as always? Am I right - oh great Gale of Waterdeep?” the vampire barked back at the wizard's annoyed reaction.

Gale just pressed his mouth into a thin line, not willing to hand his pale companion more opportunities for snide remarks.

“I could always smash it with my axe,” Karlach chimed in and immediately grabbed for her martial weapon and took an enthusiastic step towards the chest.

Astarion threw out his arms to hold her off: “NO!” The tiefling just shrugged and casually hammered her weapon into the ground and leaned against it - an impressive show of her strength.

“My dear Karlach,” Astarion began “your uhm… enthusiasm is deeply appreciated.” (The sarcasm in his voice told another story. But Karlach still beamed at him) “But stuff like this is in need of a little more finesse,” the rogue finished and wiggled his long fingers.

You watched all of this as you crossed your arms over your chest. The lock really wasn't that big of a challenge. You could have probably done it in the middle of the night, with no light source and drunk out of your mind. But Astarion was keen to make a show of it seemed - and by now you were too interested to watch it play out as your less roguish companions watched.

Astarion produced his thieves tools out of his pocket with an artful flip and a wink he aimed specifically at you. You grinned at him. Despite his sometimes goofy or weird mannerisms and the cheesy lines he dropped on about everyone ( but especially on you), you couldn't helped but to be charmed by the vampire.

Astarion made to get to work.

“Now watch,” he exclaimed cheerfully “and take some notes,” he finished dryly with a pointed look at Gale who just threw his hands in the air at another unneeded jab towards him.

It was merely the blink of an eye and suddenly the lock made an very audible a click and fell to the dusty ground.

Astarion jumped up again almost as quickly as he had kneeled down in front of the chest. “Hah!” he exclaimed, twirled around to the party and made an obnoxiously gracious bow.

Karlach clapped, honestly impressed.

You just smirked.

Shadowheart rolled her eyes.

Gale immediately went to open the chest and- “It's empty,” he declared. “What a grand treasure you have revealed to us, oh great Astarion of Know-it-all,” the wizard spat. “It was all for nothing.”

The glance the vampire threw at Gale couldn't have been more sharp had he used his dagger on the wizard. “You all got a great learning opportunity. You should be grateful!” Astarion answered and pursed his lips

“Learned what exactly, Astarion? We could see nothing,” Wyll commented dryly, earning another dagger glance.

Astarion clicked his tongue and strode off as the others seemed to have lost interest in the damned chest now that it had proven worthless.

“Don't come to me again then, crying for help,” the vampire snarled as he walked off, shoulders slumped a little. There might have been just the tiniest tinge of hurt in his voice.

“No one asked him,” Gale muttered. But now he earned sharp looks from the others too.

“What?” the wizard asked offendedly looking around the others.

“Every once in a while even a Know-it-all like Astarion deserves a little praise,” you said as you looked after the vampire. “The next time he opens a lock up for you, you better give him a little pat on the back. We all should, actually,” you closed and then went to go after Astarion.

The others muttered in quiet agreement.

And in fact, from there on out, Astarion became the designated lock picker of the party. And you were happy every time you saw Astarion's ruby eyes sparkle a little with pride when you asked for his help.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #fanfiction #astarion x tav #baldur's gate iii #bg3 #baldurs gate #astarion x you #astarion x reader #drabble #poro drabbles

[whatacaitastrophe]

Guilty as Sin?

Summary: After confessing his feelings for Tav, Gale fantasizes about them back in his tent, because he's an idiot who said they needed to wait a little longer to explore their mutual desires.

Rating: Explicit Words: ~1k

Tags: Pillow Humping, Masturbation, Gender neutral Tav, Tav is referred to as "You" Song Inspo: "Guilty as Sin?" - Taylor Swift Author Notes: Shout out to the Magic Man discord server for making me write this, and shout out to Taylor Swift for writing a song about masturbation.

“It’s quite thrilling— to fight off such grim creatures as this region throws at us. Especially at your side.”

Despite the raised eyebrows from Shadowheart and the snide remarks from Astarion (“Really? You’re telling them this now? Right now?”), Gale wasn’t sorry for confessing his attraction to you after the heat of battle. Now that Elminster had quieted the orb in Gale’s chest, he was no longer afraid to be candid about his attraction to you. After all, the mere thought of kissing you was, until recently, a threat to Gale’s very existence. He was touch starved, and now that he could finally do something about it? Why would he wait to finally lay the groundwork of his desires with you until you were alone. 

Besides, saying it in front of Astarion also had its perks. The vampire could no longer feign ignorance to the connection Gale shared with you. Therefore, Astarion could no longer continue flirting with you, or do anything else the two of you were doing in the dead of night while everyone else slept, without blatantly walking into Gale’s territory. 

Declaring his intentions with you (and hearing you say that you felt the same way) sent a message, loud and clear: You belonged to Gale, and Astarion needed to back the fuck off. 

The only misstep Gale made when confessing his attraction to you was insisting that it wasn’t the time or place, that the two of you needed to wait a little longer before exploring your desires. If he’s being honest with himself, that just might be the stupidest thing Gale has ever said. 

That was the thought that kept Gale up after everyone else went to sleep, tossing and turning as he silently kicked himself for not immediately inviting you to his tent. There was a reason, of course, Gale wanted the gesture to be as beautiful and grand as the object of his affections, and he couldn’t do it after a full day of flinging spells at shadow-cursed creatures. Damn his lofty ambitions for getting the best of him, even in the simplest ways. 

Gale huffed with frustration as he rolled onto his back, the thoughts of you plaguing his mind and making his cock impossibly hard. As Gale slid his hand over his chest, he could only pray that  this would be his last night indulging in a fantasy about you instead of indulging in the real thing. 

Closing his eyes, Gale started off slowly—palming himself over his pajamas, squeezing his shaft gently. He imagined it was you: You with your soft hands that he’d had the pleasure of brushing against while sitting around the campfire. It was you that slipped deft fingers beneath the hem of his trousers, stroking Gale’s cock with feather light touches. It was you who pulled Gale’s trousers down past his hips, allowing his already leaking cock to spring free from its confines. 

“I’ve been waiting for this, for so long.” You said in his mind as he slowly stroked his cock, imagining the way you’d tease him because oh— you would tease him, Gale was certain of it. After all, the two of you had already spent weeks flirting and verbally teasing each other. Why wouldn’t you want to drag it out a little longer. 

“Please,” Gale begged audibly, speaking only to the image of you in his head. “I need more.” Gale stroked himself harder as he imagined you complying with his request, leaning forward and enveloping his cock with the wet, hot heat of your mouth. Gale arched his hips into his hand, a soft moan tumbling from his lips at the thought of you swallowing his cock to the hilt until it tickled the back of your throat. 

When he couldn’t take it any longer, Gale reached for one of the many pillows he had in his tent and rolled over desperately, placing the pillow between his legs as he straddles it. A soft moan left Gale’s mouth as he braced one hand on the ground and held the pillow in place with the other. As he began grinding against the pillow, the vision in his mind shifted. 

You’re beneath him now, your body ready and waiting to take him. Gale imagines what you sound like when you moan as he slides his cock inside of you— how pretty your voice sounds when Gale is the source of your pleasure instead of someone else. How pretty Gale’s name will sound when it’s sung from your lips as he fucks you. A quiet moan passes through Gale’s lips at the thought as he ruts against the pillow, aching and desperate for you. 

“Harder.” Your voice is crystal clear in Gale’s mind, as is your body trembling beneath him as he fucks you the way you requested. With a subtle flick of his wrist, the pillow becomes warm beneath him. It’s not quite the same as having a body beneath him, but it will do. Gale’s hips snapped desperately as he chased his pleasure and pretended that it’s not a pillow beneath him, sheathing his cock as he moved, but the velvet warmth of your inner walls. 

“Gods, you look incredible,” Gale whimpered softly as he pictured his thick length sliding in and out of you. “You take me so well.” He whispered to no one as he doubled his efforts, hips rutting erratically as Gale’s climax swiftly approached. 

“I love you.” 

Those were the last words Gale imagined leaving your lips before slapping his hand over his mouth to muffle the moan that escapes him as he cums with a shout. Hot spurts of semen burst from Gale’s cock as he rode the pillow into his own personal oblivion, ruining the fabric beneath him the same way he imagined ruining you. 

It was only once his cock was spent and over-sensitive that Gale collapsed onto his bedroll, panting, sweating, and dizzy from the intensity of his climax. The visions of you fade away slowly as Gale stares at the ceiling of his tent, leaving him only as satisfied as one can be after masturbating while the object of their desire slept a dozen feet away: spent, but already aching for more. 

Tomorrow. 

Tomorrow Gale would volunteer to stay back at camp so he could save his strength, so he could save his magic, for you. 

Tomorrow, Gale would make you completely and utterly his. He needed to. 

Because if he didn’t, he was going to run out of pillows. 

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #gender neutral tav #gender neutral reader #bg3 smut #baldur's gate 3 smut #gale smut #gale one shot #gale fic #gale fanfic

[trashcatsnark]

Ngl, despite how absolutely fluffy my oneshot was and how eventually soft they will be- I cannot help but make Petra (my tav) and Gale's dynamic like 20-30 percent more hostile and bickering than canon, because A) I love hostile bickering couples and B) I think larian really fucking missed out on the dynamic of having the tav/durge custom pc be a rogue and non-magic user and being gale's like opposite Like, they did a great job leaning into the variation in dynamic with him if they're a different kind of spell caster- sorcerer, bard, and fellow wizard, but like in the dev notes about Gale griping everytime you make him sneak, steal, or do any rogueish behavior- it literally states he thinks those things are beneath him. Like it's not even just about his old man knees, he genuinely is like *really petty crime??? that's what you're reducing me to?* and we're shown over and over that Gale can be petty and patronizing why wouldn't he have a few more snide remarks for a rogue pc early on, let Gale be meaner to me.

And then if we could have more flavor text and options to rp a character who isn't really into magic, not actively hostile or mean but instead of a non-spellcaster being played as a complete blank slate wide-eyed over it- a character who just doesn't find much need for it, sees it as impractical, is more of a who needs a healing spell when you have a needle and thread sort of person- with Gale??? Ah, the banter, the bickering, playful ribbing and jabbing insults, snarking to each other about it- "Oh, did you wound not heal well? Ah, if only there had been someway to properly remend the flesh without suture, perhaps as if by magic..."

A part of Gale kind of being hurt because so much of his worth and value is defined by magic, so a part of him feels if someone can't see the value in magic- they can't see value in him, but then they do want him around, they do keep him around, and even let him show them some magic and he thinks he's worn them down, they're starting to see the value of the weave and by extension him. Not quite clocking that it's the other way around. That they're taking an interest and doing his magic lessons because- it's clearly something he's passionate about, he loves, and that gives it more value to them. And the idea that the weave's worth could be seen as secondary to his instead of the reverse is just- insane to him.

And as the romance progresses and he reveals more and more his ideas of how his worth is connected to his utility, his talent, the promises of "I could do more, I can be more, don't you need me to be more" because of course they want more, everyone does, he's not enough- he needs to be more powerful, more talented, more magical, more capable, more useful, and they know now what he can do, what he used to be able to do, and if he makes the right choices- how much more he could. And they let him know in no uncertain terms, they fell for him before they ever did his magic, that the things he conjures and casts are beautiful and they love them but only because they are done by his hand, and he's what gives that magic it's meaning- not the other way around. And if he never conjured stars to the sky again, that's okay- they return every night all on their own and all they wish is to see them with him.

This is so long and rambly, but I just- ugh, the opposites attract angle feels soooo slept on in game and out and I get why but god I wish we had more options to rp a pc who just wasn't super into magic unless it's through the filter of someone they love and their love for it and what that'd do to Gale's everything

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #petra of nowhere in particular #see the key point here is a love an even soft enemies to lovers and i love opposites attracting #and i just think petra and gale should bicker and pine and then she shows a genuine interest in his interests and they're both like oh... o

[mysteryinkkat234]

Rose Petal (Astarion x F!Tav/Reader)

I AM HERE and NOW! It is finally done. After getting sidetracked by Mortal Kombat and Fear & Hunger, and being uninspired, I rise again from the depths to continue the story of Fangs & Nightshade. The biggest inspiration is you guy's compliments and critiques, I cannot thank you enough! If you're interested in Astarion and Luxia's story, let me know and I can @ you on the next point

Summary: Before entering the Shadow-cursed lands, Luxia wished to finish some unfulfilled business around the area. While adventure, she continues to translate the strange marks on Astarion's back, while also bonding with Astarion as well.

This is 18+ and deals with a lot of heavy subjects, especially about sex, if you are underage or your account does have an age, DNI

Spice Level Pepperoncini Pepper (100 - 500): This smut contains talk about safe sex and blow jobs. This isn't super smutty but there is still sex in it. We're teaching Astarion about safe sex, hurrah!

Word Count: 4,200+

Read and Bookmark this story on AO3

If you want to read the first part of Fangs & Nightshade, See The Night of Pleasure and the Past

The road to the shadow-cursed lands was supposed to be short. However, Luxia said there was still unfinished business even after the Emerald Grove. Her night with Astarion still lingers in her thoughts, the memory is still fresh, and she can remember his face. He looked dazed, it could’ve been from lust but there was something under it that made her feel horrible about it. Luxia has had sex, she’s studied it (IN BOOKS) about how it brings people together, even if they weren’t dating. There was no satisfaction that night, only a longing for more.

These impure thoughts came to Luxia while she was writing in her journal, thankfully one of the few personal things that she had when she was kidnapped from the Nautiloid. Thankfully she and Gale found an Infernal translator book in the Underdark and she was studying it hard, writing down the few Infernal letters she could remember. 

“Oh, how I love it when you’re studying, completely enamored by your work, your adorable little pout and noises you make when you think,” Astarion’s voice startled her, almost breaking her quill in the process, Luxia looked up to see him stand above her, his arms crossed and his familiar sly smirk, “I swear you love that book more than you love me.” His snide comments made Luxia snicker.

“It’s not a book, it’s my journal. I was writing and translating your scars,” Luxia showed Astarion her journal, pages full of scribblings and study of various plants, both overworld and Underdark, flowers, the monsters they encountered including intellect devourers and mind flayers, “actually, perfect timing, I was wondering if you can show me the scars again, I think I’m missing a few letters.”

“An excuse to take my shirt off?” He quipped back.

“Haha, amusing,” she laughed sarcastically, “but please, may I?”

Without another word, Astarion turned around pulled his shirt over his head, trapping his arms. Luxia silently drew the scar, writing the Infernal letters as she went. However, some letters just looked like marks or straight lines. “Do you mind if I…touch it?”

She could see Astarion tense up, she did touch them when he was holding her up, but deliberately trying to touch them…it brought back the memory of when they were first carved. “C-Can’t you just look at them?” He was almost mumbling, clearing his throat.

“Infernal letters are written close together, I want to know I’m writing the right one so nothing gets lost in translation, the better to understand them,” Luxia explained, squinting at the letters, but even with the fire light and darkvision, it still was hard to understand, “you can tell me if I’m going too far, ok? I promise I won’t linger.” Her voice was softer, that same voice was so gentle, like a rose petal.

Astarion took a deep breath, rolling his neck. “Alright, just don’t scratch me ok?” he tried to be humorous. He looked over and saw Luxia smiling assuringly. 

She nodded silently and reached out. Her thumb made contact with his skin. He felt a chill, not a bad or cold chill, it was breathtaking. Her thumb moved up and down different parts of his back, feeling at the letters. Her skin was so soft for someone with demonic ancestry, her nails only grazing. He felt the same way when she was caressing and massaging his hand that night. He took another deep breath and exhaled with comfort.

“I’ve been thinking about our last night together…ceaselessly,” Astarion whispered that last word. Luxia stopped touching his back, closing her journal and putting it in a drawstring bag, he turned around, putting his shirt back on, “I’ll be in quite a spot of peril if you let me keep distracting myself dreaming instead of doing. We can’t have that, can we? It would be very dangerous.” He put on a bit of baby talk, making Luxia snort. 

“Or maybe you can stop putting yourself on the front lines all the time, that’ll probably help,” she quipped back, taking Astarion aback, she smiled, laughing at the fact he was shocked, “I know what you’re trying to get at. Buuuuuut…I’m not sure.” She was playing hard to get, the same way he was. 

“Ah, you need a bit of enticing, let me see,” Astarion delved into his mind palace, picking his lines carefully, “Hmm, how about this one: When I’m with you, I feel practically alive, yet I crave only to die again…with you.” His voice became soft, but Luxia could see through it.

She laughed, his sham words were something she was used to, and she decided to play along. “Oh, how romantic~,” she said with a fake-dramatic tone, the back of her hand meeting her forehead, “so many honey-dipped words, like usual.” She laughed off her comment.

“Not as half as sweet as when I tasted you,” he quipped back, Luxia was truly taken aback, and her heart leaped, “I swear, you should watch how much of that tea of yours that you love so much because I might just devour you alive.” She could feel her cheeks heating up, feeling like she was talking to her first crush again. That didn’t stop Astarion though. “Hmm, how about another then: Every part of your perfect body… whispers temptation - it’s as if the Gods made you just to ruin me.” 

I swear, the Gods are playing the sickest joke known to mankind. Astarion thought to himself. It’s almost hilarious that she fell for him so hard, she was hanging on every word he was saying.

Luxia could feel something stirring in her stomach like the feel of butterflies fluttering every part of her body. Her infectious giggle cleared the silence, she was truly hooked. “Ok…what else?” 

“Hmm, how about if I said these little words… Everyone’s favorite…” the…something, Gods dammit, he was reminded of how she held him that night, she felt…warm, comforting, “...I love you.” The words slipped out, with no thought of how he said them, they came almost naturally.

Luxia’s smile was contagious, her smile led to the ground, and not being able to look at him probably. “Are you having fun?” Her head came back up. Her moonlit eyes, it was one of the key traits that Astarion noticed about her when they first met, he noticed that night that blue rings circled her pupils, almost making them look like they were glowing. And the dark eyeshadow surrounding them, it’s almost like she wants people to look at her directly.

He laughed. “I am, it’s hard not to with you,” Astarion straightened himself up, clearing his throat, “now, as much as I relish standing around and saying all my favorite lines at you, I’d much rather we got to experience each others’ … full portfolio of talents once again.” Aaaaand there it was.

Luxia felt like she was holding her breath, waiting for him to just say it already. “I’ll come to your tent once everyone is asleep,” she explained plainly, That familiar smirk finally appeared, Astarion seemed satisfied, and he simply swayed his hip back and forth on his way to his tent, but not before Luxia grabbed his wrist, “actually…besides that, would we be able to talk, privately, one-on-one without anyone eavesdropping.

Astarion let out a dramatic sigh. “Gods, I hope you don’t talk my ears off with your research.”

“This has nothing to do with that, I promise. And then afterwards…” Luxia wiggled her eyebrows, trying to be saucy.

It was enough for him. “I’ll be waiting.” he whispered in her ear, giving her cheek a small kiss, finally leaving for his tent. 

Astarion got to his tent, comfortably snuggled in his plush pillows and luxurious silk blanket. While everyone was eating and conversing around the campfire, he was reading through one of the many books the party had picked up during their adventure. He didn’t pay mind to the title, most of them faded over time, and he began scanning through the words. It was only when he read the first two sentences that he realized he picked out an erotic novel.

‘…My nightgown flowed with the breeze in his room, I could feel Archibald’s hot breath hit the back of my neck as he kissed behind my pointed ears. His skilled fingers unzipped my gown.

“Do you swear to give your mind and body to me?” His whisper was gruff, goosebumps littered my body.

“Yes, Archie,” I whispered back.

“No. In this room, that is not my name. What is my name, pet?” His hand wrapped around my neck, his nails almost digging into my skin. 

“Yes…master~” I moaned, his other hand slowly dipping into her now-soaked garments…’

“Whatcha reading?” A sudden Luxia appears at Astarion’s tent, it seems to be a pattern. Astarion gave her a side glance, one eye on her and the other still on the book.

“Just doing some light reading,” he smirked as Luxia continued into his tent, stumbling through all the pillows. She tried to look at the book but the title was illegible, “you know, I never took you as someone who would enjoy something so obscene, sweetheart.” Luxia’s eyebrow arched.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you wish for dear Archibald to grip your neck and call you ‘pet’?”

Luxia’s face flushed, trying to snag the book from Astarion, but he was too fast. She tried to grab it, but one of those damn pillows trapped her foot, making her fall onto Astarion’s chest. “Where did you get that!?” 

“Took it from your stack of the many many books you have found on our journey, quite the saucy read.”

“I probably just grabbed it without looking inside it,” Luxia explained awkwardly, trying to compose herself, successfully grabbing the book, “but I don’t think you want to talk about the book, do you?” Her eyes looked like they sparkled with the candlelight in the tent, her mouth half open, her small fangs poking out.

Astarion smirked, his laugh was quiet but still contagious. “I hoped you would come. I have missed you. And now you’re all mine, and I’m all yours. Until the morning at least,” he rolled her over, trapping Luxia in his arms, her brows knitted together, “now, let’s see where the night takes us~” He kissed the top of her, slowly moving down to her neck.

He was moving too fast for her though. Luxia gently tried to push Astarion’s head away. “Before we get to…all that, we need to talk about the night before.”

“What? What is there to be said? It was a night of pure ecstasy and pleasure.”

“Maybe for you but… you kind of rushed the whole thing?” She tried to talk straight with him

Astarion broke down mentally. “Were you…not satisfied?” He didn’t sound like his usual confident self, he sounded almost like a small boy getting in trouble for stealing.

“NO NO! It wasn’t that I wasn’t satisfied, but you kind of…it’s hard to describe… you were chasing your pleasure.” 

He sat up straight, looking down at Luxia, tilting his head in confusion. Luxia stood up with him, looking up and trying to read his face. She could see his chest slowly heaving, his eyes darting and looking all around his surroundings and not at her, his mouth pursed stubbly. Conclusion: Astarion doesn’t know about his pleasure, or what he likes. He can only assume what others want from him…

Luxia slowly put her hands on his shoulders, trying to signal to look at her. It was disheartening to see him like this: his usual suave and confident attitude was gone, all that was left was a shell of him. His eyes, like before, looked clouded over, almost barely making eye contact with her. “Tonight, I want to take this slowly, and talk through it all.”

“What?” 

“Let’s explore your desires, my desires,” her hands slowly snaked around his neck, her fingers getting caught in the back of his head, “you don’t have to assume I like something, you’ll just know.” Luxia’s fingers rubbed softly on his strong forearms, he may have been leaner than most of the party, the leading contenders being Shadowheart and Lae’zel. 

“I…Uh,” Astarion was taken aback, he wasn’t sure where his arms should go, where his eyes should be looking, he tried to compose himself, “How do we begin?” 

Luxia found it almost sweet how he asked, she smiled softly. “Maybe, let’s start with undressing, get comfortable,” Astarion nodded, moving back as both of them were casually taking off their tunics and pants, soon naked, “if you can, what are your ‘yes’ and ‘no’s.”

“My what?”

“Like, let’s start with the ‘no’s. Your ‘no’s are things that you do not want to happen to you during sex. We can start with that, what things do you not want me to do to you?”

Astarion looked down for a moment, his eyes grew dark, thinking about those two centuries…two centuries of pure agony and torture. “No tying me down, I want full control of my body.”

“Ok, understandable,” Luxia nodded assuringly, “anything else?”

“Hmm… no cutting me or bruising me, our battles do that just enough.”

“That is true.”

“Don’t touch my back, I do like your arms around my neck, but no touching the scars.”

“Promise.”

“...I don’t want to be called anything that will belittle me…I think that’s it.”

Luxia nodded as he talked, some would assume if you nod the whole time, you’re not paying attention, but she hung on to every word he said. “Thank you for telling me Astarion. It takes a lot of trust to tell people these things,” she held onto his hands, rubbing the back of his hands, giving them each a small kiss, “let me say my ‘no’s then. I also don’t want to be bound or called degrading words. Also, nothing that’ll make me bleed. Even if you set your ‘no’s, there might be things ‘in the moment’ that’ll make you uncomfortable. If that happens, you can tell me to stop, tell me no, or we can have a safe word.”

“Safe word? Why not just say stop?”

“I mean yeah, you can say that, but a safe word can make it more intimate, something that we can use, just the two of us.” Her hands moved back to his forearms again. “Anything you have in mind?”

Astarion made eye contact, actual eye contact with Luxia, this felt like a fantasy, someone that genuinely cares about. Not someone to manipulate his feelings, not someone to take control of him.

“Rose petal,” he said, he said it so sweetly, “soft, gentle, delicate…like you.” his hand moved to Luxia’s cheek stroking it. She laughed, holding his hand. 

“Bold of you to think I’m delicate.” Her eyebrow arched, she’s been seen to take a beating to the Hells and back, but she’s not delicate.

He laughed. “Less about you being physically delicate, more of how you don’t take shit from no one. You speak your truth…not many people can do that nowadays.” Astartion was surprised and also confused about Luxia, he wasn’t sure she was using her ‘trustworthiness’ as a ploy to get what she wanted. But no, she’s just… willing to help anyone and everyone.  

She laughed, getting flustered. “Thank you~ at least someone noticed,” her arms lazily fell behind him, trying very carefully not to touch his back, Luxia gave him a sweet kiss on his cheek, “Now that we have our set of rules, it’s time for our ‘yes’s. What are things that turn you on, besides my blood of course~” She teased.

Astarion looked like he was ready to answer, his mouth was open, but not a word came out. What…did he like in sex?... He never gave it any thought for 200 years. As he thought, his hands moved down to Luxia waist, his idly tapping, almost ticklish. 

She had an idea. “How about this, how do we start this night? Do you want me to…kiss you…oooor maybe start from the bottom to the top?” Her touch was so gentle yet her words stung him that he felt a chill down his spine.``

“A kiss my dear, I’m tired of waiting,” Astarion composed himself, finally getting a good grip on her waist, “I can still taste that delicious mint. That hint of that Gods awful wine tasted so sweet.”

“Then kiss me, don’t be shy~” Luxia whispered close to his face. Astarion closed the gap, his mouth interlocked with hers. The kiss felt less quick than the last night they had together, it was more sensual, he was truly taking his time with her, his tongue only poking now and then. 

“Ah~” they parted, Luxia panting, “I swear you take my breath away every time.”

“I cannot help it, darling, you are just absolutely delectable~” Astarion moaned out, continuing to attack her face and showering her in kisses. His hips rutted, his penis grinding against her.

“How about we try something new for you? Instead of you pampering me, I pamper you,” Luxia whispered, almost mischievous-like. She broke their heated kiss, slowly and gracefully trailing kisses down onto his chest. Her lips continued to pepper his pecs, ghosting around his nipples. Astarion’s breath hitched, and his back arched. “Oh~ I didn’t know you could be sensitive. I love the noises you make~”

“S-Shut up~” he gasped, Luxia’s tongue circling his right nipple, just barely touching the areolas. “C-Can you stop for a minute?”

As he said that word, Luxia immediately lifted her head, a trail of saliva glistening in his almost unblemished skin. His face, his ruby eyes blown out, his breaths shallow. “Gods, you’re going to be the end of me, dear Luxia,” Astarion laughed at his comment, “I didn’t know you were a secret minx!”

She giggles, her finger tracing circles and spirals on his abdomen. “I’m not a minx. I’ve met many colorful people in my time at university. We don’t all have the same kinks, but there are still parts of us that are still sensitive to touch. Like what you saw with my neck our first night together,” she blushes, combing through her messy midnight blue hair, “I love it when the back of my head is scratched.”

“Oh, like this?” Astarion smirked, his hand swiftly moved to the back of her head, his nails scratching the baby hairs like scratching a cat’s head. Luxia sighed, fully in the zone. Her head moved back into his hand. Her head whiplashed down to Astarion’s face, giving him a long kiss, her hips moving all on her own. “I need you~ so badly.” He groaned out.

“Do you need me? Or do you want me?” She whispered.

“I don’t care, I need you inside me Luxia, shit~” Astarion was cut off, his shaft was getting uncomfortably hard being rubbed up against her. “Y-You’re more of a tease than I thought.”

She laughed, straightening herself up. “OK then. You remember the safeword?”

“Rose petal~” It sounded so gentle off his tongue.

She smiled. “Ok, You want to be inside me,” Luxia left Astarion’s waist, confusing him, “then be inside me~” Her azure lips kissed the tip, her tongue quickly lapping precum dripping from it. “Is this what I do to you? I guess you weren’t lying when you said I distracted you in battle. Let me help with that.” Her mouth wrapped around the head, not going any lower, suckling it a little.

“Gods~ cheeky little thing aren’t you? Teasing me, barely giving me… time to breathe.” He laughed, trying to mask his moans and not to wake anyone up. They both seem to forget that they were at camp and not on their own, they both want to be on their own, in their bubble of delicate pleasure. 

A trail of saliva kept her and his shaft connected, she licked her lips. “I’m not teasing you~ It may look like it, but I’m simply giving you please…the pleasure you deserve,” Luxia’s hand moved slowly around him, squeezing at random spots, making Astarion huff out, “No rush…no roughness. Just you *kiss* and me *kiss*, and nothing else. Release yourself for me, don’t hold it back.” She finally inserted his whole member into her mouth, she gagged for a moment before bobbing her head.

Astarion’s head was sparking with bliss. Her mouth, Gods, her mouth, just from her kiss alone he already knew how soft her lips were, feeling them on his length. His head whipped back, he could feel it coming, his hips jutting into her mouth. He could hear her whimpering, trying her best to keep up with him. “That’s it darling~ Hold on for just…F-Fuck! Luxia fuck, keep going-”

His breaths were staggered, and his hand moved down to her hair, almost instinctively. His fingers almost dug into her scalp, he was so distracted by pleasure that he didn’t notice Luxia, she was trying to get her mouth off of him but Astarion was not letting up. 

Her hands moved to his thighs, this was probably the only way to get his attention, and her gag reflex was the absolute worst. Her nails dug into the skin of his thighs, trying hard not to pierce his skin. She tried to speak, but she was too deep in, she had no choice. The nail on her ring finger pricked Astarion, making him flinch and loosening the grip on her hand. “R-Rose petal,” her voice was hoarse from his constant thrusting, “rose petal.” She said it more plainly, trying to break him out of his trance.

Astarion blinked, his eyes more clear. Luxia moved her hand to his, the other rubbing his hip bone. “W-What? What happened?”

“You did that thing again, chasing your pleasure,” she explained calmly, she kissed his cheek, trying to calm his nerves, “Do not rush, let me slow it down for you~” She stroked his member more slowly, just like before, his build-up was still there, but more lethargic. He sighed out a moan, his eyes were soon closed shut. His head was thrown back. She smiled at his expression and decided she wanted to hear more. Luxia started suckling the tip again, and soon his body was spasming. 

“F-Fuck~ Luxia. I can feel it,~” Astarion panted through his words, “Keep going…keep goingkeepgoingkeepgoingkeepgoing- FUCK!” He squealed as he came, he tried his hardest to cover his mouth, almost embarrassed by the sound he made. His discharge sprayed into her mouth, but parts hit the corners of her lips. 

She sat up straight, her thin fingers scooping up the last bit of cum that started rolling down her cheek. Astarion opened his eyes, his tears blurring his view but he could see Luxia’s blue skin, the moonlight shining from the crack in his tent reflecting on it. She looked radiant, even with her sweating and her hair a bit messy, her blown-out white eyes looked down at him. He was enamored.

He felt his body tense up when Luxia stood up. “Do you have any towels, cloth?” She said simply. Astarion’s stunned face made her smile. She cleared her throat to snap him out of his trance. 

“W-What? Uh, yeah. I-It’s in the corner.” He stumbled through his explanation. Astarion saw Luxia turn her back, seeing her tail sway with her hips, his mind was still in a hazy stance, but he could smile, seeing her move inquisitively. She leaned down which instinctively made him whistle, she responded with a giggle, holding now two fluffy towels and a water bottle.

She gave one to Astarion as she took a hefty swig of water. He dried off the sweat on his body, still looking at her.

Luxia sighed, she began crawling toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “How do you feel?” She asked quietly, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. 

His arms moved with a mind of their own, wrapping around her torso. “Gods,” he sighed, his finger tracing her infernal spine: there were ridges like a mountain, and he could also feel the pointed end of her scapula, almost pricking his finger, “I can’t remember the last time I’ve ever had such…intimate sex before. It felt so…good.” The word intimate felt like he was saying it for the first time, maybe it was. Astarion could see her eyes slowly closing. Apologize now?... no, let’s not ruin the moment…I have something better he thought. “I mean it by the way.” His voice was quieter, making sure he didn’t break her sleeping trance.

“Mean what?” She asked with a whisper.

“Your body. Impeccable. I truly believe the Gods made you for me.”

Luxia laughed. “Thank you, very lovely of you, Astarion.” She soon had her eyes completely shut, her breathing began to slow down.

Astarion felt in his heart something…Gods dammit that something. He wouldn’t be able to tell anyone except himself, he closed his eyes, trying to meditate, trying to do anything to let his mind wander. He could hear the echoes of her giggling, it was going to be a long night for him. 

First Tag List!: @bambamwolf87

#fanfiction #baldurs gate tav #baldur’s gate 3 #astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion learns about safe sex #fluff #light smut

[hungryblackbird]

Thinking again about my own post-canon, and how diligently Séa works to learn Wish in hopes of gifting Gale a lifespan that matches their own… It’s selfish, yes. But they are fey-born— they come by it honestly. And they’ve been having to act selflessly for so long, it seems only fair.

They work hard. And they succeed! Because of course they do— even before the tadpole, they had powerful friends, and were an extremely talented caster in their own right.

And it should have just worked. That should have been it. There were the potential side effects, yes, but they knew of them and were more than willing to suffer them if it meant being able to grow old and grey together.

That would have been too easy. Instead, it is Mystra who answers the call. The Wish will be granted— they’d earned that much, they’d followed the rules to get to this point. There would be no tricks (there is a snide comment there about how she isn’t Fey, after all). They would be allowed equal lives— another 500 or more years together. With one condition: Gale must come to her and ask her himself.

And Séa can’t even fight back on it. Can’t say all the things they wish they could. Because you can’t argue with the God who once again holds the love of your life’s life in their hands. All they can do is insist that he doesn’t have to face her alone.

I waffle back and forth on what I think Gale’s reaction would be. On whether he would go forward with it with confidence and without hesitation (after Séa had regained their strength, of course. There’s a lot of fussing and “you should have told me’s” and “I should have been there’s”), or if there would be an argument and feelings of dread.

There is, of course, also a great deal of pride. Wish is no simple spell, and he’d actually been looking into it himself, only other things had taken precedence at the time. He’s still shocked at the lengths others will go for him simply because they care. (And there’s also a slight twinge of jealousy because he was beaten to the punch.)

At the meeting, Mystra attempts to be cruel. Attempts to poke and prod and needle. But this isn’t about her. She is a means to an end. A conduit for a well earned Wish that she is now obligated to fulfill. The interaction is distant— terse and formal, no more said from Gale and Séa than what needs to be. She does not get the rise she hopes for.

And in the end, there is a great deal of petty satisfaction: she tried so hard to convince him to cut his life short, and now she’s forced to allow him to live while he only eyes for another.

#/sighs/ this post wasn’t supposed to be a whole thing but HERE WE ARE #i’ve gone over it too many times in my head lmao #i hear ‘tragic human/elf relationship’ and say ‘but… what if happy ending instead?’ #there’s still tragedy in it! i mean… they adopt a human and tiefling child for godssake! #but also they both have so much love to give the world and each other they deserve those extra years :’-) #i keep editing this to add more to the tags since they didn’t fit the initial tone of the writing lmao #oc: séadhna andrus #otp: worth more than kingdoms

[sorcerous-caress]

I’m a die hard Shart’zel shipper (Astral Hearts too I guess, shadowheart does have two hands). But now I can’t stop thinking about Yeehaw Shart and and Yeehaw Bae’zel both being rival bounty hunters that are forced to work together to catch a criminal on the loose. The increasing tension between the two as they spend more time together. One of them has to come out on top eventually (pun intended).

-Ex-lurker

Ngl anon I have no eggs in the bg3 shipping basket. I haven't even dipped a toe in that pool yet, I'm barely aware of the ship names let alone what's the popular dynamics in them.

The only ship I'm a complete die-hard for, is me and Shadowheart's dad.

But i love talking about topics i know very little about so here are my two cents.

The reason Shadowheart hates gith is because of the artifact mission she went through right? She saw how brutal they were and that she was the only survivor.

Laezel doesn't hate Shadowheart from the start, she treats her with the same indifference and disdain she does with anyone else. But the more Shadowheart is openly hateful towards her, the more Laezel grows aggressive.

The thing is, both of them are similar in the way they can be "too mean" or "too snide" for other people's liking. Laezel would openly insult you and see nothing wrong with it if it's a fact, Shadowheart would tease and bully you over small things like she does with Astarion and Gale.

In theory, they make great friends.

Which is why I think it was Shadowheart who extended the olive branch after holding a knife against Laezel's throat. When she saw she couldn't kill her, she thought it would be better to have her as a friend instead.

And they really grow on each other, sure they're still mean and the snide comments never stop, but it's more playful or mutuality agreed on now.

They have a special kind of connection that both of them lack with the other companions who are either "too nice" or "too stoic and cold" (cough Minthara)

If we're in this yeehaw cowboy universe, I'd imagine that Shadowheart also stole an important artifact from Laezel's people.

They end up working together for a common enemy, Laezel finds out about the stolen artifact, drama ensures. They have this whole talk of "we need each other, like it or not" and agree not to kill each other until they catch the criminal.

But oh! They slowly start actually enjoying each other's company. Laezel is more funny than Shadowheart cares to admit with her dry humour, and Shadowheart is more beautiful than Laezel wants to admit.

Then when they finally find the criminal, one of them gets the golden opportunity to catch them and become the hero of her people.

But what's that? Catching the criminal right now would cost the life of the other women? And even if they swore to kill each other, something stirs deep between them as they decide to save the other one and letting the criminal escape.

They both are aware of this silent confession, of the weight that decision held. Yet both of them refuse to speak about it or acknowledge it.

#♡Shadowheart x Laezel ship #♡ex lurker anon

[rurpleplayssims]

"Why are you slowing your pace Tyler?"

"I'm not!"

"Don't bullshit me dude. You're stalling because we're walking past Althea's house...where Zoey now lives."

Tyler huffed behind him and Jasper rolled his eyes.

Why did Tyler ever think it was a good idea to propose to Zoey?

All of this mess (besides the joy of Zoey's baby being born soon) started when Tyler made the very out-of-character and impulsive decision to ask her to marry him.

Jasper had been happy for his new friend at the time but he'd assumed that Tyler and Zoey knew each other a lot better than they had. He had also come to the conclusion that they had both agreed they could live with each other's ambitions and dreams.

One of Zoey's dreams had been to become a mother.

Tyler had failed to admit to her (and himself at the time) that he didn't want to be a father, at all.

Jasper knew it wasn't his business to get involved, but both Tyler and Zoey had failed to keep the township out of their breakup.

The fact that it was a small town made it harder, as they all knew each other.

Jasper didn't want to judge his friends but he was frustrated that they weren't able to simply talk to each other like the grown ups they were.

Even if it meant Tyler didn't see his child, and Zoey was cool with it, they needed to talk and sort their shit out.

The dust hadn't settled and hadn't even started to settle because the wind was still blowing a gale around their relationship with each other.

An arrangement needed to be made but Jasper couldn't be the one to tell them to do it. He'd suggested it to Tyler but Tyler, for whatever reason, always clamed up and kept silent.

Jasper sensed it was Tyler's way of dealing with stress. He hated seeing the pair of them upset and he knew the rest of the town thought the same.

"Tyler, if you miss her, why haven't you called her?"

"I don't miss her!" came the snappy and childish response. "She doesn't want to see or hear from me!"

"Did she tell you that?" Jasper asked calmly.

"Some things don't need to be said to be understood dude" Tyler snorted. "She did look upset and she did apologise, but what was I to say? Your forgiven for ruining my life?!"

"It takes two to forget to use a condom Tyler" Jasper sighed. "And anyway, the timing isn't great, but you two need to move on. The baby's here to stay - you're hardly going to tell Zoey to abort it are you?"

Tyler sounded furious now and quite defensive. "What-no, how can you even-?!"

"Then why are you holding onto the whole 'I don't want it' if you know nothing will happen every time you say it?" Jasper said gently. "I'm not without understanding mate. But you need to talk to Zoey."

Tyler snorted again. "I don't want to talk to her anyway!"

Jasper rolled his eyes again. "Then why did you alter your daily jog to go via this route? Past Althea's house? Are you hoping that Zoey will spot you and speak to you?"

Silence but Jasper continued.

"She's hardly going to come see you voluntarily. You told me that she looked quite upset when she left yours and you didn't comfort her."

"I told you, she wasn't interested in staying with me and what the fuck could I say that wouldn't end with her screaming in my face like she always does?!" Tyler snapped, his patience waning which was a shame.

He'd always got on well with Jasper but his preaching was getting on his nerves.

That's because you know, deep down, he is right, came the calming reassuring tone of his mother.

Tyler didn't want to think of her right now, his emotions were already a mess and thinking of her would make him bawl his eyes out.

"Sounds like you're on Zoey's side" Tyler snidely said, glowing at the back of his friend's head, refusing to admit that he was wrong.

You don't want the baby, his nasty insecurities sang maliciously at him. He clenched his hands into fists.

His insecurities always spoke in his cruel father's tone and the thought of the man made Tyler want to punch something hard.

They continued in a nasty sing-song jeering tone.

But nobody cares about what you want boy! You're going to become a daddy whether you want to or not! Zoey's going to regret the day she even met you!

Jasper's eyes were going to get stuck looking at his forehead if Tyler kept making statements like that as he rolled his eyes again.

Not realising what was happening in Tyler's mind, Jasper tried to reason with him...again.

"I'll level with you Tyler" Jasper said, his voice sterner and his patience on the way out of the door.

"You need to stop acting like this mate. The world does not revolve around you and she needs your help now more than ever."

Jasper's tone softened as he spoke next.

"I get that you are scared, I get that you worry you're going to be a bad dad! But worrying about it and acting this way will only make it worse for you! You keeping all these thoughts and feelings wrapped up in your head is not healthy mate!"

Tyler was startled out of his sulking by Jasper's tone.

Jasper continued.

"You keep going on and on about how neither of you wanted this, at this time. What exactly do you think will happen each time you make that statement?"

Tyler was lost for words and Jasper knew without even turning around to look at him.

"We are all here for you, each of you. I know it might not sound like it right now, but we are. I'm here to listen but you need to listen to yourself Tyler. You sound like you don't know what to do and that's ok!

"It's ok to not be ok sometimes!"

Tyler's lip wobbled but Jasper didn't see.

"...I don't know what to do Jasper" came the voice of a man who felt like the meek and intimidated child he'd been when his father had taunted him.

Jasper smiled kindly as they walked.

"Admitting that is the first step mate. Now c'mon, let's jog!"

#CampbellQuayBaCC #Campbell Quay #CampbellQuay #The Sims 2 #TS2 #BaCC #Build a City Challenge #The Sims 2 BaCC #Founder:Campbell #Campbell Round 4 #Spring: First Year #Jasper Morgan #Tyler Ellis #Jasper giving out the stern talk now #This conversation took AGES to get right #Hope I did it justice!

[pengychan]

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 22

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

Art by @swanpit​.

[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]

A/N: a chapter entirely from Héctor’s POV because it was about time.

***

“You know, when you two become really famous - and trust me, you will - I think Ernesto is going to be every bodyguard’s worst nightmare.”

“Huh?” Héctor finishes gulping down nearly the entire water bottle he was handed as soon as he walked backstage and turns to look at Armando, who is looking out through a gap in the curtain with a chuckle.

“You know, mingling with the crowd like that, taking selfies with absolutely everyone.” Their manager vaguely gestures to the scene Héctor cannot see, but can definitely imagine. He can hear the laughter outside, clamoring, people calling out Ernesto’s name. More than a few are calling his own, too, and Héctor would lie if he said he wasn’t flattered… but he really needs some more water before he can even think of going anywhere without risk of collapsing. 

He shrugs, tilting up the bottle so he can get the last few drops of water over his head. It was a pretty intense performance, and euphoria aside it’s left him feeling as though he walked a few miles in a desert. “Ah, he’s always done that. You know him by now, he loves an adoring crowd. He’s still getting used to success.”

“You two are on track to get far bigger crowds than this soon,” Armando laughs, letting go of the curtain. “He’d be out there all night taking selfies, then. And being an absolute security nightmare, as I said. But that will be the problem of whoever we hire for security, all things considered.”

Héctor laughs, drying off some sweat off the back of his neck with the towel a stagehand - Raúl, wasn’t it? He always feels bad when he can’t remember someone’s name - just handed him. “Ay, maybe by then he’ll be used to it and he’ll be content to keep away and let them fight each other for a chance to get a glimpse,” he says, and shrugs. “I can see him playing hard to get to. Want me to go out and tell him we need to head back?”

“Ah, no need. He’s heading back.” Armando mutters, and covers his mouth with the back of a hand before yawning. “I don’t know how you two do this. I am ready to collapse and I didn’t have to leap across the stage for two hours while singing and playing.”

“I’m more tired than I look, and I bet so is Ernesto. ” Héctor laughs, choosing not to mention how offended would be if he heard someone referring to his dancing as ‘leaping across the stage’. 

“He doesn’t look tired at all.”

“Oh, he is, or else he wouldn’t be heading back. And after only twenty minutes in the crowd? Must be exhausted.” Héctor throws the empty bottle towards the bin, and grins when it gets right in - a perfect shot. “He’s just never going to show it if it kills him.”

***

“Ay, mi amigo, this concert killed me.”

“Por Dios, you really are getting old.”

“Chingate.”

“Is that a white hair I see?”

“There is no white hair.”

“Oh, and how can you be so su--”

“I check every morning and get rid of them.”

“Ah,” Héctor says, letting himself drop on his bed. They have each their separate room, actually - they have joked over not having to share one anymore is a tangible sign they are making more and more money - but they always had a tradition to have a toast together in their room after each performance, and neither is willing to put a stop to it.

This is going to be far from their first toast of the evening, and likely they’ll have more than one, so Héctor decides it would be wise to call home and say hi to Imelda and Coco before he is completely wasted. He pulls out his phone and calls while Ernesto is busy filling the glasses, smiling broadly, waiting for his wife’s face to pop up on the screen. 

What does pop up on the screen is a big, toothless smile. 

“Babababababa!” Coco exclaims, clearly her favorite thing to say. Héctor likes to think, with no small amount of optimism, that she is trying to say papá.

His smile becomes, if possible, even broader. “Coco! Mi vida! Where’s--” he trails off when a long, pink tongue suddenly appears on screen to slap her wetly across the face. Sometimes Héctor has to wonder if Dante is indeed a Xolo or if he happens to be crossed with something else entirely, like a chameleon or an anteater. There is no way that is a normal dog tongue. 

Coco seems unconcerned, however, and reacts to the tongue slathering half her face in drool with gales of laughter. There is more laughter, and the camera turns away from the scene to show a still snickering Imelda. “She wanted to see her-- Dante, down now-- her papá, I figured you’d like-- I said down!-- to say hi.”

“Isn’t it a bit late for her to be up?” Ernesto speaks up, sitting next to Héctor with a full glass in each hand. Whatever he used to keep his hair in place is beginning to give up, his jacket is off and the first few buttons of the shirt are undone, but he still looks much more elegant than Héctor, who rather looks like he has walked out of a bad argument with security. Effortlessly handsome as always. 

And Héctor is almost tipsy enough to say as much aloud.

On the screen, Imelda rolls her eyes while pushing back the hair that has escaped her bun with her free hand. Héctor can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking the same thing. “Héctor, call a priest. Someone’s got to chase my mother out of his body.”

As Héctor lets out a sound that is half a snort and half a laugh, Ernesto raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I see. But when I sing a bit too loudly and wake her up, I am the bad guy.”

“You are after we spent two hours making her fall asleep,” Imelda points out. 

To be entirely fair, Ernesto usually means well. Coco loves listening to her parents singing, and has fallen asleep to their voices almost every evening, but with Ernesto it is a different story. Not that she doesn’t love listening to him too - she does - but his voice seems to make her want to do anything but sleep. She gets excited, bouncing and flailing all limbs like she’s trying to dance before she can even sit up on her own.

Ernesto makes a face. In the background, Héctor can hear the sound of Coco’s ceaseless cooing, some yapping that is probably an argument among the chihuahuas, and a thumping sound that he assumes has got to be Dante’s tail hitting the floor at a fast pace. 

“She’s not asleep now though, and it’s not my fault.”

“She has been fussy all evening, I couldn’t get her to sleep. As much as I would love to blame the tiny terrors you insist on calling dogs, I think she’s looking for you two.”

The thought of Coco looking for him is both adorable and somehow the most heart-breaking thing Héctor has ever heard, or so it feels at the moment. He is not tipsy enough to downright tell Ernesto he looks ridiculously handsome and open that can of worms they all keep ignoring is even there, but he is tipsy enough to tear up. “Ay, let me speak with her-- papá is going to be home soon, Coquito! I promise! I’ll make it up to you! Write a brand new song! And a present!”

“Por Dios, Héctor, you have been away three days…”

“It feels like such a long time!” Héctor protests. 

“Babababababa!” Coco declares on the other side of the line. 

“Heard that? She agrees! Imelda, let her see me again…!”

She does, and there are a few minutes of cooing back and forth. Ernesto doesn’t join the cooing, but he does smile and even wave at Coco when he forgets to feign annoyance. Eventually Imelda laughs, declares it enough, and lifts the phone to look into the camera again. “How did the concert go?”

Héctor is happy to let Ernesto do the talking there, let him gloat about how big everything was, how dazzling, how successful, how wild the crowd went. It’s nice seeing him so excited: occasions like this are when he’s at his happiest. It actually takes him some effort not to stare at him as he talks… and he notices, with a glance at the screen, that Imelda is indeed staring at him with a soft look Héctor knows well. Ernesto doesn’t seem to notice, too taken describing the applause they got; Héctor feels something much like a lump forming in his throat for a moment. 

Last time they had a video call with Imelda while away for a concert this long, they did a lot more than talk. They put up a really good show for her, really.

Héctor makes a very conscious effort not to think about that, and downs the glass Ernesto filled for him with a gulp. It helps, and it also gives him an excuse to get up and move a few steps away to the liquor cabinet. He’s refilling the glass when Ernesto bids Imelda goodnight and holds out the phone for him to take. He smiles at her.

“Mi amor! Would you like me to sing for Coco? As a last resort?”

“Ah, that may help. I can’t seem to be able to make her settle…”

“I can sing,” Ernesto offers.

“Don’t,” both Héctor and Imelda say immediately, and Ernesto throws up his hands, leaning back against the wall.

“Ay, my art is not understood here,” he mutters, and downs his own glass, entirely forgetting about the toast they had been planning. He doesn’t protest further, however, and just leans back, listening as Héctor sings at Coco through the phone. To Héctor’s immense pride, Coco does finally settle down to sleep.

“You should write this one down,” Ernesto muttered after they have bid Imelda goodnight and the call has ended. He’s filling the glass again, and he empties it in one gulp. “Would be a success.”

“Ah, that’s just a lullaby I came up with for her.” Héctor sits with his own glass, and drinks about half of it. “I don’t think it suits our style, anyway.”

“We can liven it up a little.”

“I’d rather not. I haven’t finalized it yet, but it’s… I don’t think I’d want to share that with crowds. Which, if Armando is to be believed, will keep getting bigger and bigger.”

Ernesto lets out a laugh that almost sounds like braying. He is getting drunk all right. “Hah! Of course we will. To success!” he adds, lifting the glass before bringing it to his mouth without apparently realizing it’s empty. The look of pure disappointment on his face is enough to make Héctor burst laughing, sitting down heavily beside him and leaning against his side. Ernesto scoffs. “Hey, stop that--”

There is some squabbling, a glass falls thankfully without shattering, hands are slapped away and hair is ruffled. By the end of it they’re both snickering and laying against each other, like they had the first time they got drunk on a bottle they had stolen from Ernesto’s father’s stash and drank in secret in old Rafael’s orchard as kids. Well, as a kid and a young teenager respectively. Ay, Ernesto was always such a bad example. He should tell him that. Actually, he will. 

“You know,” Héctor mutters, turning. “You were always such a bad exa--” he trails off, realizing belatedly that Ernesto is looking at him, no longer smiling but wistful, in a way only someone with all walls down can. Their faces are close, and Héctor’s smile fades. They stare at each other and something aches, the sense of absence he has been trying to ignore. 

He is happy with the life he has, but sometimes he... and Imelda, he’s sure, they just lay there and try to ignore the empty space beside them in the bed. If he only leans in… if he just--

“I think I should go lay down in my room,” Ernesto says abruptly, and stands just as suddenly, almost toppling back as a result. His skin is flushed, and his eyes are darting across the room, never pausing on Héctor. “It’s-- late. Yes. Late. We have the plane early tomorrow.”

It doesn’t depart until midday.

“... You know you can stay here. If you’re too drunk to make it back to your room,” he adds quickly with an unconvincing smile, as though that can in any way hide what he truly means. 

We could. If we want. If you want.

“I…” Ernesto hesitates, his gaze finally resting on Héctor. A look of painful yearning crosses his face for a moment before he turns away. “Had a glass too many, but I can make it to my room. I’ll see you in the morning,” he mumbles, and makes for the door, as quickly as his unsteady feet can get him. 

“Ernesto,” Héctor calls out, heart beating somewhere in his throat. He stops at the door, back rigid, and doesn’t turn when Héctor speaks again. “I meant it. If… if you want--”

“This isn’t about me,” Ernesto cuts him off, his voice unsteady as his gait. Something sinks in Héctor’s chest just as his best friend mutters a ‘good night’ and yanks the door open, quickly stepping out. The clack as it shuts again seems to reverberate in the room. What he means, what they both know, hangs unspoken and heavy in the room long after he’s stumbled out of the door, leaving Héctor alone with an empty glass, an empty gaze, and empty bed.

It wouldn’t be the same. For either of us. 

As he lays in the middle of a king-sized bed, empty spots at either side of him, Héctor finds himself unable to sleep. He wonders how Ernesto bears it, trying to sleep every night with that emptiness around him. Héctor will soon be home, and one spot by his side will be filled again - but the other one will remain empty, a gap he and Imelda have been trying to ignore for far too long. How much longer?, Héctor has asked himself more than once, and he finds he has the answer now.

No longer.

***

When Imelda picked Ceci as Coco’s godmother, Héctor had a few concerns. 

Not that he didn’t think she would be happy to be asked - she was - or that he doubted she would take the role very seriously - she did - but he mostly wondered how she would get along with Ernesto when it came to organizing… everything that godparents are meant to organize together. As it turns out, the answer is ‘not very well’.

“Can you hurry up and take the measurements already? She’s drooling all over my hand!”

“I’m trying, but as you are unable to keep her still--”

“Why don’t you try to keep a baby still?”

“Because then I’d have to leave the measurements to you and you’d make a mess out of it.”

“Gagagagagagaga!”

“See, she agrees with me.”

By his side, an ear to the door and a hand over her mouth, Imelda is trying with all her might to stifle the giggles that shake her frame. Héctor bites back a laugh himself, takes a mental note to tell Imelda picking Ceci was a great idea, and keeps listening.

“She’s not agreeing with-- ugh. This is stupid. Can’t we just buy her the ropón like any normal godparents?”

Ceci gasps as though she just heard him suggest they should throw her in the baptism water naked as the day she came out of the womb, and possibly leave her to drown.

“There is no way my goddaughter is going to wear a store-bought ropón. I will make her one. All you need to do is keep her still now, and buy her a decent gold medal. Not silver, you cheapskate. Gold.”

“Me, a cheapskate!” Ernesto couldn’t sound more insulted if she accused him of stealing candy from children. Which he has done on a couple of occasions, Héctor recalls. “For your information, now that my career is well on the way I spare no expenses.” Well, some expenses, but they are getting more money than ever before now and there will be more in the future, Armando tells them. “I think silver is more elegant, is all.”

“What does a baby care about elegance?”

“I don’t know, why does the crazy seamstress need to make her a ropón from scratch?” 

“Bababababa!”

“See, now she’s agreeing with me!”

Ceci’s response is a barrage of expletives that have absolutely no business being uttered in the presence of anybody below the age of twenty-one, and Imelda would normally throw the door open to make her displeasure known... but Ceci could always get away with more than most. That, and Imelda is too busy snickering in her hand.

Ah well. It’s not like Coco is old enough to learn the words she’s hearing now, after all. 

“Are you sure they won’t kill each other during the ceremony?” Héctor sniggers, and Imelda grins back.

“They know that if they try I’ll bring them back and kill them again.”

“Heh, true. Guess it’s a good thing Ernesto is fine with coming to Santa Cecilia now,” Héctor says. Not that it has kept him awake at night, but he and Imelda had always known they would want their children to be christened in their old parish in Santa Cecilia, more out of tradition than anything else… and the godfather being allergic to the entire town may have made things tense. “Still can’t believe old Estéban actually went dry.”

“I guess people change,” Imelda mutters, but the smile on her face is different - more muted, somewhat melancholy as she keeps looking at the door behind which Ernesto and Ceci are still squabbling over Coco’s delighted squeals. She doesn’t need to say anything more for Héctor to guess exactly what she’s thinking.

He did, too.

This is not about me, he said, and he meant it. The man he was before, the man Imelda rightfully argued would never be able to put Coco’s needs or indeed anyone else’s wishes before his own, would have never uttered those words.

“... Yes. They do change,” he finds himself saying, very quietly. 

There is silence and there it is, the thing that has been hanging between them for a good while now and which neither has spoken of. There are probably better moments to finally talk about it than now, with the man in question in the next room over squabbling with his co-godparent, but Héctor knows that they have waited long enough. 

“I’ll make some coffee,” is all Imelda says, and he follows her to the kitchen. There is a brief silence while she prepares the coffee machine, and then she breaks it. “So… nothing happened these past three nights?”

“No, nothing,” Héctor says quietly, sitting at the table. Not out of lack of want or opportunity it just-- did not. Much like Ernesto hasn’t been seeing anyone else, and entirely ignored a dancer’s honestly rather clumsy attempt at flirting the previous week. Not for lack of opportunity, but he just… did not. 

“You know I do not mind,” Imelda says, her voice still very quiet. “Surely he still wants you. And you do want him. I mean--”

“You do too,” Héctor replies, and reaches over to take her hand, pulling her gently towards him. She looks down, and their gazes meet. “And it seems-- unfair. Without you.”

“Unfair?”

“It is not the same. It was one thing when we were all in it together, without you it would feel...” he tries to find an appropriate word, fails - congratulations, songwriter - and sighs. “Not the same thing. I’d rather keep the memory of what we had rather than risk ruining it by forcing some kind of imitation. And I think he feels the same. When I had a moment and tried to suggest we… he was the one who stepped out.”

She smiles faintly, stroking back his hair. “So I am included in the package, then?”

A chuckle, and he wraps his arms around her torso before craning his neck to keep looking up, chin resting over her chest. “You created the package, Imelda.”

“I recall. Not how I expected the evening to go. I only wanted to shut his mouth.”

“I mean, I also did that.”

“True.” She is quiet a few moments, her fingers running through his locks. “... You know why I felt-- it needed to end.”

“I know.”

“The priority must be Coco now, and I thought - I knew - that Ernesto would not have been able to accept that. Take the backseat when needed to make sure her upbringing is as normal as it can possibly be.”

“... I keep picking up a past tense.”

Imelda’s hand pauses in his hair. She looks at him in the eye, her gaze soft. Thoughtful. “He did change. I think he will make a fine godfather.”

“Are you considering…?”

“I am. If he’s willing to give another try. And if you are.”

“... Yes. But we are all in this or no one is, so it is your decision. I know there may be challenges if, well... people finding out, or when Coco asks for an explanation growing up, or-- if anyone mocks her for it, I don’t know what I would--”

“We don’t need to scream it from the rooftops,” Imelda says, and resumes stroking his hair. “It is no one’s business but our own. Neither should we go out of our way to hide. We’re doing nothing wrong.”

Héctor holds her a little tighter. “I know. But if you still feel it is best for Coco, both Ernesto and I understand.”

“It is Coco I am thinking about.” She cuts him off, and sighs. “Well-- her as well. I have been wondering, should she somehow find out either way what there has been between the three of us - I know it’s near impossible unless we tell her, but just imagine - what would we be teaching her?” The hand in Héctor’s hair pauses, and she looks down at him. “That no matter if she’s doing nothing wrong and hurting no one, she should take the path of least resistance and do what she’s told is proper? Forego her own happiness because people who don’t understand it may disapprove?”

Ah. That is… not something Héctor thought about. He slowly pulls away, and grabs both of Imelda’s hands. “I’m sure that won’t happen. She’ll be as brave as her mamá.”

“Then it’s time for her mamá to be brave.”

“Ay, mi amor--”

“Uh, apologies for interrupting, but I think your coffee is spilling over the stove.”

“Gah!” Héctor jumps back and almost falls off the chair when Ceci’s voice rings out. Imelda blinks, and turns to look at the doorway. Ceci is there, her measuring tape and notepad in hand, one eyebrow raised. Héctor stands, giving her a smile entirely too wide. 

“Ceci,” he says quickly. “Whatever you heard, it was, uh. Not what it. Sounded like.”

Ceci’s left eyebrow joined the left one almost up to her hairline. Imelda sighs and places her hand on Héctor’s shoulder.

“Turn off the strove,” she says before turning to Ceci. “... How much have you heard?”

“Enough to hurt my brain, to be entirely sincere. Not out of bigotry, mind you, but... him of all people? Unless I understood it all wrong. Please tell me I understood it all wrong.”

Imelda’s lips curl in a faint smile, and some of the tenseness in her back disappears. When she speaks, she denies nothing. “No accounting for taste, I suppose. I would be grateful if you could keep what you heard private.”

“Of course I am not going to go around telling, who do you take me for?”

“A bruja?” Ernesto’s voice carries over from the next room, causing Héctor to wince and, of course, spill hot coffee on his hand. Ay, maybe having that conversation with Ernesto and Ceci a couple of doors away was every bit the lousy idea he thought it may be. To his relief, as Ernesto walks in with Coco in the crook of his arm, it becomes obvious he only heard the last few words and has no idea of what the concersaton is even about. 

Héctor silently thanks God for the fact they won’t have to talk things through in front of Ceci just as Ernesto pauses on the doorway and blinks, realizing all eyes are on him. 

“Is-- something on my face?” he asks, taken aback. In his arms, Coco squirms and coos, holding out her arms to Imelda. She immediately goes to pick her up, her face just a little reddened, and Ceci clears her throat. 

“Well, I think it is about time I am off. I'll send you progress photos of the ropón," she says quickly, and is out of the room and towards the door as fast as her legs can carry her. 

Ernesto blinks again, watching her retreating back until she’s gone. “What crawled up her--”

“Not in front of Coco!” Héctor almost screeches, his own face dark red, and Ernesto trails off. 

“Right-- what’s gotten into her?” he asks, and looks back at them. “... Actually, what’s gotten in all of you just now?”

Héctor works his jaw, and glances over at Imelda. She looks back at him, bouncing Coco in her arms for a few moments, and finally turns back to Ernesto.

“... Would you like to stay for lunch?” she asks.

He does.

***

[Back]

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#pixar coco #hector rivera #imelda rivera #ernesto de la cruz #coco #mind the gap

[timeforelfnonsense]

The Bargain

Astarion x Dafni

Rating: M 

Ao3 || Sunshine & Starlight: My on going bg3 series  

I want to add a TW up here: The first half of this fic depicts Astarion having a panic attack/being in fight or flight. The portrayal was informed by my own struggles with BPD and panic attacks. I think it's important to remember our responses to trauma are often flawed and imperfect. It was very cathartic for me to write tbh. I'm very proud of this one and I think a lot of Dafni's character really shines through! This one has a good bit of canon d&d lore mixed with some homebrew/folklore about the fey (WotC pls feed me more feywilds canon I am DESPERATE for it!). Elvish Translations (via candle keep): arael’sha: Heart-friend (used in contexts like beloved or my heart) The stars shining right through your eyes: A common elvish idiom referring to one's youth or naiveté.

A gust of wind blew through the putrid bog carrying the damp, acrid smell of rotten vegetation and sulfuric swamp water. The gray, splintered walls of the tea house groaned, the top half of the gnarled structure swaying. It was shocking the poor construction of the ramshackle hovel hadn’t killed the hag for them. Astarion had made his way to the small alcove hung above the crumbling foyer hoping to find his paramour. He felt his heart sink when he was met with nothing but the witch's clutter. Astarion rocked on his heels. There was something deeply wrong with this place, even with Ethel dead. Oppressive energy hung on the stale air. Filling the whole space with an undoubted misery that left him feeling raw and exposed.

Deep down you like being leashed, don't ya?

Gale and Wyll had begun to make themselves at home below him. He observed them as they languidly poked about, looking for anything of the hag’s that would be of use. Wyll had already summoned a raven to send back to camp, a note attached to its foot informing the others that they wouldn’t make it back for the evening. The old bat had not given up without a fight and they’d been left battered and exhausted. Astarion winced, his arm brushing against the wall.

He was bleeding. Fantastic.

He had been too preoccupied with the feelings this place drew out of him to notice the long gash running down the top of his forearm. Ethel had tried to drag him to the gaping chasm at the center of her abode when the fight was no longer in her favor. He had struggled and thrashed against her but she only dug her twisted claws in deeper. She’d nearly succeeded in pitching him over when a fatal arrow from Dafni’s longbow sunk into her eye with a wet squelch, exiting the back of her skull.

He already felt like shit from being tossed about by a hag and that discomfort was only compounded by the growing need for a drink. The scorch of thirst started to lick at the back of his throat. He must have been bleeding into his sleeve for some time. His body was eager to replace what was lost.

Is there still rat stuck in your teeth? Slave!

Perhaps Dafni would allow him a little nibble. Just the thought of the sweet strawberry wine in her veins eased some of the discomforts. Astarion pressed his back against a hideous wardrobe, sliding down until his backside hit the ground. He had made a point of exercising restraint when it came to drinking from her. He never wanted her to be under the impression she was only a meal to him. But he was famished and she was his favorite treat.

You're one thirsty night away from betraying everyone!

Or maybe not...

There had to be something else edible nearby. He took in a deep breath only to be met with the nauseating scent of an overripe corpse. He coughed and sputtered, forcing the repugnant smell from his lungs. Any thirst he might have had was chased off by the gut-twisting aroma. It seemed he wouldn’t be taking a breath for the rest of the night. While his undead nature freed him from the necessity of breathing he’d always been partial to it. The feeling of his chest moving up and down had served as a steadfast reminder he wasn’t  truly  dead despite all he had endured at Cazador’s hand.

Vampire? Ha! You’re nothing but a ravenous cadaver, spawn!

“You bastard! You ruined it- You ruined everything!” Mayrina squawked.

“Are you daft! I helped you!” Dafni spat back.

Well, he found her.

It would seem Dafni’s damsel in distress was none too pleased with her would-be hero. Astarion groaned, bringing his head to his knees. He was agitated as it was and the squabble happening outside was only making the tightness in his chest worse. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to tune them out. Astarion grit his teeth, the pain in his arm was growing more acute by the minute and the strange magic of this shithole had his nerves ragged. His body jolted at the crack of a hand against flesh ringing out across the yard outside followed by a string of elven cursing. A torrent harrowing memories shot through his brain as the appalling noise hit his ear. The simmering dread morphing into fury. A low growl fell from his snarling lips as he tore down the stairs towards the yard.

“The hag promised she’d bring my husband back from the grave if I gave her my baby! I just needed to wait a little longer but you had to stick your nose where it didn’t belong!”

“You promised your child to a hag? You do know hags devour babies, yes? They swallow them whole and within a week the child is reborn a hag daughter.” Dafni’s yelped as Mayrina‘s palm came down across her cheek. She brought a hand to the stinging flesh in disbelief. Foxglove bells dripped from her battle messed hair, hot summer rage threatening to boil over. She took a deep breath in attempting to soothe her nerves but her soundings did little to help. The magic that covered this swamp, was arcane and wild- Much the same as dark and forbidden places in her home plane. Hags often built their homes in places where the barrier between the material and faerie was thin enough for fools from both planes to seek them out. It was unsurprising the shadowy influence of the hag had mingled with the magic of a crossing to create a bubble of negativity. It was likely provoking more extreme reactions from the already distressed woman. “I understand you are upset, but my patience is growing thin. I am only trying to help you. I’m no stranger to hags. They are creatures of my homeland and I can assure you there is always a greater price. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Don’t you judge me! You can’t possibly understand-” Mayrina sobbed raising her open palm for another strike only to her wrist caught in the iron grasp of Astarion’s alabaster hand.

Oh no.

“You foul little wrench!” Astarion’s voice was acid, his teeth bared, “She saved your miserable life and you dare raise your filthy hand to her? I have half a mind to tear your throat out but that seems kinder than you deserve.”

Dafni’s heart was pumping a mile a minute. She’d seen Astarion cross but this was completely different. Astarion’s body was completely rigged. His shoulders forward, back straight. His red eyes glowed with ferocity as his grip on Mayrina tightened. Normally when he was upset he’d get stroppy or belligerent. He’d needle the target of his disapproval with snide remarks until they were as frustrated as he was. He could be rather rude and bab tounged when he felt like it but it was always a cool, controlled vexation. This was unfettered wrath far stronger than Mayrina’s actions had earned.

“I-I’m sorry!” Mayrina uttered with a shaking breath, “Please, let me go!”

“Why?” He snarled, cocking his head to the side, “So you can attempt to strike my beloved a third time?”

“Please, arael’sha, let her go…” Dafni wrapped her hand around his shoulder, her eyes soft and concerned, “I’m fine. She shouldn’t have hit me but I’m in no danger from her and you know that.”

“Fine.” He shot her a loathsome look but yielded to her request, tossing Mayrina’s hand with disgust, “You and your gods damned bleeding-heart. Let the shrew disrespect you if you’d like. I don’t care.” Astarion turned on his heels staking back into the tea house his fists balled tight at his side.

Dafni nibbled her lower lip, her fingers worrying the hem of her sleeves. Astarion had made himself scarce after the incident with Mayrina. It upset her to see him so distressed. Her instinct had been to tear after him when he stormed off. But, she knew him well enough to understand he would need space and time to calm down before they discussed it. Any attempt to talk to him before that would only serve to upset him even more. She made herself busy tending to her friends in the meantime. They had a few injuries but nothing she couldn’t patch up. She might have been too worn out for magic but Ethel had kept a decent supply of herbs and tonics for her less exotic ‘lotions and potions’ that would do nicely. She even found a few things worth snagging for her own medical kit back at camp. If they had to be stranded for the night, at least it was somewhere well stocked.

Gale had a burn on his arm she’d treated with a salve of aloe and quince. Wyll a nasty knock to the head, that while painful, by the Protector’s grace, didn’t appear to be a concussion. She’d put on a kettle of willow bark tea and instructed him to drink at least two cups of the stuff as soon as it was ready. She had done all she could for now. More than anything they both seemed fatigued. With a little rest, they’d be on the mend.

The worn staircase creaked under her weight as she made her way to the second level of the house. Astarion sat on the splintering floor, his back propped up against a cluttered cupboard. His scarlet eyes glassy and fixed on a far off point. He was clutching the top of his right forearm. Between his fingers, Dafni could make out a tell-tale dark stain of red on his sleeve.

“You are hurt!” She gasped racing to his side, “Why didn’t you fetch me! Let me clean and bandage that for you.”

“Don’t touch me.” His voice came out in a low growl as he twisted away from her.

Dafni took a step away, her hands held up. “I won’t touch you without your consent but I need to tend to your arm soon. I’m worried about you.”

“Why should I want your help?” He glared at her arm still held tight against his chest. “You certainly don’t want mine.”

Dafni let out an exacerbated exhale, “Is this about what happened earlier?”

“No, it’s about you and your compulsive need to martyr yourself at every chance! It is foolhardy, reckless, and incredibly selfish! You can be so juvenile- The stars shining right through your eyes! And I can’t always be there to mind you, Dafni! Today it was just a slap but one day you are going to try and save the wrong person and I’m going to find you bled out in an outer city gutter or worse!” He was scolding her in earnest now. His bottled-up feelings coming out in a torrid of icy words. “Is rushing into other people’s disasters to prove to mommy and the gods you are a big girl really worth it? ”

“I do tend to put the needs of others before my own” She admitted, “Oftentimes to my own detriment but, please, don't talk to me as if I am a misbehaving child.” Dafni kept her tone calm and even as she continued, “I care for you and I can tell you are feeling overwhelmed. I want to support you but I can’t do that unless you help me understand what’s going on?”

They sat in silence for a while. His lean frame was closed off and wound tight. As if he was prepared to bolt at the slightest disruption of his already fragile state. An anxious tremble coursing through him every few moments. He refused to face her but Dafni could have sworn she saw the wet shimmer of tears forming in his eyes.

“My patience was already rather thin and then I heard that insolent twit strike you…” He spoke at last, finally met her gaze with an absolutely despondent expression. “And something just snapped in me.”

“I’m sorry you had to hear all that shouting. I’m sure listening to her smack the daylights out of me wasn’t pleasant for you. Especially when you were already feeling uneasy.” Dafni said as she slowly brought her head to rest on his shaking shoulder. Astarion dropped a smidge of tension from his body as he buried his face in her roseate, satin-soft curls. His breathing grew more steady by the second. She could sense the storm of his disquiet coming to an end. “I want you to know I appreciate you standing up for me. I might not have agreed with the method but I know your heart was in the right place.” She hesitated, “Can I ask you a question?”

He gave her an uncertain look but nodded, “If you’d like to.”

“Do you feel like it’s your job to protect me?”

He shifted a bit his eyes darting away as his good arm rubbed the nape of this neck. His body language all but screamed the answer but he was clearly still trying to craft a response. “Sometimes. Is that a satisfactory response?”

“Hmm?” Dafni mused, “If you elaborate, yes.”

“Why?” The word came at a long, petulant whine. His brows were knit tight, “I answered the question, did I not?”

Dafni brushed a delicate finger along the straight line of his ear. She smiled as a shiver of delight ran throughout him. A faint flush made its way across the bridge of his nose and to his cheeks. So light you’d miss it if you didn’t know what to look for. “Humor me?”

“I don’t like seeing people hurt you.” He said toying with a stray tendril of her hair, “You always see the best in everyone and everything. The world is full of malefactors who would be more than happy to take advantage of that and for some reason, beyond my control, I’ve decided keeping you happy and whole is just as important to my survival as my own well being.” He groaned pinching the space between his brows with the hand of his unmarred arm, “So you see my motivations are far from selfless. Happy?”

Dafni tried to will the bright grin that threatened to take shape across her lips away. Worried she might frighten him off with her enthusiasm. “Your elaboration was sufficient.” She tittered, no longer suppressing her smile. Her eyes shimmering with mirth as she spoke, “I have an idea! How about we strike a bargain?”

Astarion’s mouth quirked with a warm smile of his own, “Wasn’t it the dangers of fey bargains that caused this mess in the first place?”

“Yes, but I am no hag and I’ll give my word to say only what I mean. No tricks. Creatures of Faerie are bound by our word, we never go back on a promise once given.” She explained, “Now, I respect you far too much to lie and say I’ll stop helping people when I think they need it but, I, Dafni Ríwen of Gwynneth, Daughter of Thesmia Ríwen, cleric of blessed Corellon Larethina give you, Astarion of Baldur's Gate my word that I will try to pick my battles rather than jumping in headfirst at every opportunity. In exchange, I ask that you treat me as your equal from now. I watch your back and you watch mine. We protect each other. Always. Do we have a deal?”

“I can agree to that.”

With a bargain struck between them she leaned in close brushing her lips against his cheek, a gentle tingle of magic, sweet as spring spreading through them both. “Now, I insist you give me that arm. You might like the smell of blood but to me, it reeks of iron.” With a half-hearted laugh, he relinquished the injured arm to her at last. Drat. Was nothing simple? The gash was much deeper than she’d thought it to be. “ Hmmm, this will need stitches, unfortunately. At least until I can rest and heal you with magic. I’ll need to boil some more cloth for bandages and find a needle in this mess.” Dafni procured a small flask of pale yellow liquid from her pack, a bit strong for such a simple procedure but with his, she didn’t want to retrigger his fight or flight by stabbing him with whatever dull needle she could scrounge up. “In the meantime take a  very  small nip of this. It’s a bit of poppy syrup diluted with dandelion wine for the pain and nerves. Drink up. I’ll be back in just a moment.”

Dafni made her way back downstairs creating a list of supplies in her mind: She’d need to boil some cloth in witch hazel for dressing, a steel needle, and thread, alcohol to clean the wound, something to keep everything clean and safe while she worked in the filthy alcove...

When Dafni returned she found Astarion lounging rather contently with a lazy grin on his beautiful face. She had told him to take only a small nip! Oh well, at least he’d sit still for her. She sat back down, carefully placing the silver tray of makeshift medical supplies beside her.

“This stuff is great, Daffodil!” He chuckled, swirling the remainder of her laudanum around the flask.

“A nip, Astarion. A nip! Now give me that.” She scolded, snatching the glass bottle from his loose grip. He only laughed, completely bemused by her annoyance. “Alright, I’m going to clean out the cut with some alcohol. It might sting a bit.” Dafni explained, rolling her eyes, “Though I hardly think you’ll notice in this state.”

He winced a bit as the alcohol came in contact with his flesh, his nose scrunching up in displeasure but he sat otherwise stone still. Methodically, she began the work of suturing his arm. He was very lucky she’d been able to bum a needle and thread off Gale otherwise she would have been forced to get creative.

“You are a cleric. Doesn't daddy Corellon grant you all kinds of healing power? Why did you bother to learn how to mend people without magic?”

“Ok, first off  please  do not refer to the divine being that created our people as ‘daddy’ ever again.” She shook her head with a giggle all the while continuing her task, “Secondly, I learned because of situations just like this one. Magic takes a lot of energy. I can’t just cast unlimited healing spells and the wilds can be dangerous. I never wanted to find myself in a situation when I was unable to care for myself or my sisters. Besides, I needed something to study while they and my mother worked on their wizardry.”

“I want to know something else. Why did you let that fool girl get away with slapping you?”

Dafni mulled the thought over for a bit as she finished the final stitch, snipping the thread with a pair of sewing shears she fully intended to steal. “Because I felt sorry for her. She had clearly already suffered enough without my vengeance. Humans live such fleeting lives, Astarion. They are over before our people even reach adulthood. They experience so much loss and decay in such little time. I think it can make them blind to the long term implications of their choices.”

“I still think you should have let me kill her for disrespecting you.” He shrugged, “But I suppose I can understand your thinking.”

“As I said, she’s suffered more than her fair share. But I appreciate the sentiment.” She gathered a length of linen, winding it snugly over his arm. “All done! You were a model patient!” She teased before adding with sincerity, “I hope that wasn’t too bad.”

“It wasn’t bad at all. Thank you. For everything.” He paused for a beat, his eyes falling to the well-worn floorboards, “You are the first person to treat me like a man in a very long time. You make it easy to forget I’m an undead horror. I’m eternally grateful for you even if I’m not the best at expressing that.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that Astarion.” She scowled, “It hurts my heart when you say things like that about yourself. We might not always see eye to eye and I won’t lie, you can be an absolute pain in my backside. But you will always be a person to me. Never a monster.”

“Always so sweet.” He sighed, slumping against her shoulder, nuzzling his favorite spot in the hollow of her neck. “I wish I understood you. All that time and I don’t think I’ve ever really understood you- how you can be so... good. Yet, frustratingly you’ve always seemed to understand me better than I understand myself.”

He spoke with an unmistakable familiarity, far beyond that which they’d formed over the past few days. Their people lived many lives. Longing to return to Corellon’s side in Arvandor but unable to as punishment for confining themselves to a single shape. Two elves could find each other in more than one lifetime. It was far from unheard of.

The Feywilds did funny things to a person's memory if they weren’t used to its magic. Even affecting the reverie of those from other lands who spent time among their eladrin cousins. The crossing or the magic of her bargain could possibly have provoked things long forgotten.

Or he was simply three sheets to the wind.

Regardless it was refreshing to have such a candid conversation with him. Free of affectation or pretense. Even if he was almost certainly going to forget all of it and be right back to his cocksure self by morning.

“I disagree.” She stated, “I think you understand me better than you think. You’re just a little out of practice when it comes to letting people close to you. You didn’t ask but, as I’m positive you’ll forget this little talk by tomorrow, I also want to add that I think you are secretly very sensitive. I’ve also seen the puppy eyes you give me when you think I’m not looking. Totally adorable! You are just afraid to let people see that side of you.”

“Puppy eyes?” He chuckled nipping softly at her throat, “I think I preferred thinking you were scared of me.”

“Sorry to disappoint, sweetness.” She tuted placing a light peck on his forehead, “You need to rest. I’ll be here when you wake.”

“Oh, my darling, Despoena.” He muttered exhausted against her shoulder. “It was so lonely here without you. I’m glad you found me at last.”  

Dafni’s heart stopped dead in its tracks.

How?

He named her.

The memories of one’s primal life were lost after their first century. Leaving only glimmers and fragments behind. For the fey eladrin, true names- The names they had carried when they sprung from the blood of the Creator, were the most sacred and personal of those precious among them. Names held power in the land of Faerie but none so much as a soul’s true name. They were not to be shared with even the closest of loved ones, and yet in his haze, Astarion somehow knew?

“Astarion… I’ve never told anyone my true name. Not even my mother knows it. How did you know it? And what do you mean by ‘I’m glad you found me’? Are you having some kind of waking reverie or are you just high out of your mind? I’m a little taken back- And you are snoring. Great. You blurt out my only true secret and then it's off to Sehanine Moonbow with you.”

As desperately as she wanted to puzzle out the evening's events she was tired in mind and body. The others had already settled in for the night and she’d be wise to do the same. She settled herself in for trance, Astarion’s head on her shoulder, his hand intertwined with hers. Praying her reverie might provide some answers.  

#astarion #bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 early access #dafni of gwynneth #feywilds #d&d #that sweet lore #tw panic attack #tw past abuse #elf writes #sunshine & starlight

[threadsketchier]

ere dawn’s light

To get October kicked off, I’m posting a wee thing I wroted @azalea-scroggs about a month ago.  Just a filler scene for the time Luke spends between his conversation with Vader and being taken up to the Death Star in ROTJ.

The lift door slid shut, cutting off his view of Vader, and Luke let his eyes fall closed in turn, sealing him away from the car and the stormtroopers flanking him.  He hadn't held high expectations of their next face-to-face meeting since Bespin, but the disappointment and frustration still gnawed at his resolve.

They were moving upwards, and a pang of mortal panic seized him as Leia’s words rang through his head.  Luke, run away!  Far away!  This was his last slim hope of escape.  Only two troops escorted him now; he could in theory overpower them with cunning, fight his way out of the turbolift as soon as it stopped, even leap off the landing platform if he had to and let the Force break his fall, dashing away to become just another shadow in the night-cloaked forest, fleeing both his enemies and allies…

The car stopped with a soft clunk, and Luke pried his eyes open and released the breath he’d been holding.  No, he’d made his choice.  No more running and delaying.  His last words to Vader held more bite than the half-hearted protests and declarations he’d received for his pleas.  He wasn’t truly giving up on his father.  The darkness consuming Anakin’s soul was proving difficult to penetrate, but it wasn’t impervious.  The man who met him on this walkway tonight was defeated, a far cry from the savage wraith who’d terrorized and besieged him in Cloud City.  His heart - whatever was left of it - wasn’t in the act, even as he went through the motions.

A lone Lambda shuttle, exactly like the one he and the strike team had arrived with on the moon, occupied the landing platform, open and awaiting.  The two stormtroopers marched him toward it, and four more exited the shuttle to meet them as they approached.  Luke’s mouth stretched in a subtle grim tic they were unlikely to notice.  Definitely no escape attempts now anyway, especially without his lightsaber.

He’d been expecting more rough treatment since being frisked upon his surrender, but to his mild surprise and unease the troops merely gestured for him to take a seat once they led him into the passenger hold.  So sit he did, rather stiffly, waiting for additional restraint that never came.  And then he realized: Vader had to have hand-selected these troops, who were wise enough not to stir a hair on his head unless they were commanded to do so.

If he’d been taken directly to transport, they must be leaving immediately.  Luke took several more slow, deep breaths to try to calm himself inwardly as much he appeared outwardly.  The Emperor both mattered and didn’t.  He was the galaxy’s oppressor, but more intimately, he was his father’s oppressor.  The Alliance was on its way to take care of the former.  His focus was on the latter.

Minutes crawled by without a sign of any change.  Luke recalled Vader’s orders to search the area and his stomach twisted.  Perhaps this would postpone takeoff.  Somehow he doubted this time that Vader was as invested in finding them, but he was still fiercely glad his friends were hidden within the Ewok village for now.  He didn’t need them being harmed and held as bargaining chips again; the very thought wearied his spirit.

A trace of pride kept his spine ramrod straight in the seat to the point of discomfort, and his mind was too fraught in turmoil for him to use the Force for something as trivial as detaching from his bodily sensations.  After what felt like a very long while Luke allowed himself to slump forward slightly with a faint sigh, cuffed hands shifting forward to rest on his knees.

“Impatient to meet your death, Skywalker?” one of the troops nearest to him remarked snidely.

Something about the startling irreverence of that question made Luke feel that he could relax rather than adding to the tension.  After everything he’d been through and was burdened with, dying was the least of his concerns.  Looking unfazed and affecting an air of disinterest, Luke tilted his head upwards to reply, “A little, yes, actually.  I’ve been waiting for four years now.”

A thin crackle that could have been anything from a snort to a click of the tongue issued from the helmet’s comm speaker, and the soldier’s grip tightened around his blaster, but no further provocation came.  The heavy blanket of silence descended on the hold again.  Despite the morbid humor falling flat, the exchange compelled Luke to shake off the smothering sense of anxiety and hostility and allow himself to settle into the Force’s pacifying currents.  If they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, he might as well meditate.

Time shed its veil as his mind slipped free of binders and armed guards and proclamations of destiny.  His father’s presence hung in the near distance like an encroaching storm, its violence subdued and turned inwards upon itself.  With gentle caution Luke dared to brush its edges, his intent whispering into the gale, I’m still here.

Sudden realization lanced through his heart and nearly thrust him out of the meditative state before he let the emotional surge dissipate.  Security was relatively lax because Vader knew he wouldn’t leave.  Seeing his son come forth of his own volition, he was trusting him to carry out his decision.  Trusting, and dreading this confrontation in equal measure.

It doesn’t have to be this way, Father.

The tightly coiled storm finally advanced, drawing nearer, and Luke snapped out of his trance to see a dim wash of ambient lighting reaching the passenger hold - dawn had arrived.  Several hours had to have transpired since he’d lapsed into meditation.  On cue, ponderous footsteps reverberated up the shuttle’s ramp, followed soon afterwards by the respirator.

Luke found himself oddly bereft when he felt the ship embark without Vader bothering to see him.  Perhaps avoidance was easier for him, however temporary it was.

Once airborne, it was a short flight to the Death Star.  As soon as they landed, Vader did finally emerge from the cockpit and dismissed all of the stormtroopers with a curt gesture.  Once more it was only the two of them alone.

One last gasp of hope kept Luke still upon the seat, his gaze compelling his father.  It’s not too late.  We can leave this place, just you and me.

Vader remained impassive, staring back at him, until it became apparent that the moment had passed and he was merely waiting for Luke to submit to the inevitable.  Letting his face harden into a stoic mask, Luke rose at last and walked right past him, striding down the boarding ramp with his shoulders squared and head held high, as if the rows of troops and officers lining the docking bay were his own ranks, and he was traversing the length of the Yavin moon temple’s grand ceremonial chamber again, on his way to accept the honor of sacrifice one final time.

#Parenting is Hard™ #take ur son to work day #my fics #star wars #luke skywalker #darth vader #anakin skywalker #ROTJ

[theateared]

Just a small drabble that features a kinda-date-but-not-really-because-they’re-both-dating-other-people sort of deal.  Very fluffy with some mild angst.  All dialogue’s in Hural.

                                                           _____  . ( 🞮 ) .  _____

     When Murr had first mentioned the dragon migration, Kuro had thought it was a joke.  A joke that he wasn’t getting, apparently, for he didn’t find it very amusing  -  but when Murr kept asking him to attend it with him, he got the sinking feeling that he was being serious.

     “And this ‘dragon migration’,”   he’d started, voice full of sarcasm as he stared at the other through half-lidded eyes, wholly expecting him to crack:   “Where can we see it?”

     But then Murr had given him a clear-cut destination.  Overwhelmed by his confidence, Kuro had felt inclined to say yes, if only for the payout later when it was inevitably revealed to be a fabrication.  They’d have to stop circling random places at some point.  I can afford to kill some time, he’d thought, almost snickering as he agreed.  Murr had lit up like a Christmas tree.  He supposed, in some way, that made the wild goose chase he was bound to be taken on somewhat worth it.

     “How much further?”   he asked, bag slung over his shoulder.  They’d had to travel for a couple of days using his squad car, passing through district after district until he lost count of how many borders they’d crossed.  When he’d finally been able to leave the vehicle behind he hadn’t done anything to stop the audible sigh of relief.  Even Murr had been growing irritable,  -  and he had his excitement over dragons to keep him sane.

     “Gettin’ there,”   Murr promised, continuing the short hike up the rocky cliff.  He supposed he had Killian to thank for this amazing idea, and he would’ve done so had he not revealed himself to be a total nutcase.  This was the only good idea he’d ever presented Murr with since they’d met.  He felt that that in itself took away Ryder’s right to credit.

     They ascended the cliff together in relative quiet.  Both were tired and worn, and without Murr’s steadfast determination to see dragons in real life, they may have stopped by now.  The further they went, the more curious Kuro became.  It woke him up enough to look around, taking in the dull fog.

     “If that stays we won’t be able t’see shit,”   he remarked snidely.

     Murr glanced over, then snickered.   “Shut the hell up, man.”

     At some point, the mist faded.  It was as if they’d risen above a treeline, clear surroundings totally different to the shrouded scenery below.  The rock beneath their feet became smooth, as if sanded down for walking on, and the night sky was a deep shade of indigo, stars routinely twinkling as if on a timer set by God.  The moon hung low, round and full, appearing much closer to them than it was.  As they came to a stop near the edge of the cliff, rock jutting out like the head of a shark, Murr wandered alarmingly close to the brink and peered over it.  Kuro immediately lurched forward, securing his arm in a vice-like grip.

     “What’re you, fuckin’ stupid?  Get back befer y’hurt yerself.”

     He wasn’t surprised when Murr wrenched his arm free, continuing to do as he pleased.  The Sheriff watched with his heart in his throat as his friend swung his legs over the lip of the cliff, feet dangling, tempting the abyss forth with every candid swing of his feet.  He could see it now: fate reaching up like a hand beneath the bed, talons wrapping tight around the man’s ankles and dragging him into the dark below.

     He went and sat beside him.  If the talons came, they’d be claiming them both.

     “So, I ended up researchin’ this myself since the source is less than reliable,”   Murr started, dipping into his jacket pocket and retrieving his notepad.  It was flipped open, relevant page marked with a thin threaded bookmark.  His neat cursive scrawl was illuminated only by the moon.  Part of Kuro felt that was right;  Murr’s ramblings were meant to be consumed by low-light.   “They’ll come soon.  Apparently they pass here headin’ west.  Nobody knows where they’re goin’, just that they won’t be back for at least a millenium.”   He looked at him then, crimson gaze full of wonder.  The light pooling there was more than just the moon.   “I’m so excited that I can barely stand it.  T’think I’m gonna see dragons in real life…!”

     “Did y’have doubts that they existed?”

     “Well OBVIOUSLY!  I mean, you know how majestic ‘n’ perfect they are!  I thought they were just works of fiction.  Cool mythical beasts.  Kinda ironic now that I think about it, though--  for me, they were trapped in stories the same way that princesses were trapped in towers.”

     Kuro thought briefly about the statement, then decided it was endearing.  Murr’s mind had always fascinated him.  When they were children, his friend’s imagination had seemed endless.  He’d been too young to understand the extent of their childish games.  Aléjandro Murphy had never played pretend ‘normally’;  he’d dragged Kuro through cyberspace;  made them live as fugitives in treehouses;  had them both fighting monsters and evading curious ‘men in black’ while carrying the secrets of the universe in their socks as they charged through thick woods and streets tinged by the coming of sunset…  they’d been to the end of the world together, even if only in their minds.  Now that he was there, tempting fate by sitting so precariously, only their silhouettes visible from a distance, courtesy of the moon’s pallid glow, it truly felt as if they were the only ones in the universe.

     Do you feel that too?  That undeniable comfort?  I think you only feel that kind of comfort if you know you’re with a person that makes death seem small.

     “Oh, look!”   Murr cried softly, arm sweeping wide as he gestured towards a curious glow in the distance.  This is the most alive you’ve looked in decades.   “They’re comin’!”

     Kuro would be the first to admit that he felt slightly mystified when the dragons finally showed up.  They were little more than tiny blots against the night sky at first, seeming to move slowly, though when they got closer, Kuro realised how wrong he was.  They were flying in a coordinated cluster, scales giving off the illusion that they were glowing as they passed the full moon.  Murr had gone rigid, holding his breath, eyes glued to the beautiful spectacle as the dragons darted past.  Kuro’s breath was stolen as one curved particularly close, blast of air billowing past them both like a gale as the creature disappeared into the night.  Despite its quick departure, they’d both gotten a good look at it  It was a lot like a plane in that they underestimated just how big it was when it was far away.  Its true size, though hulking over them incredibly briefly, had been staggering.

     They came in droves, appearing suddenly and vanishing just as quickly, like comets, like shooting stars, large wings blocking the light, long tails serving as their cosmic trails.  Though he wasn’t able, all Murr wanted to do was get up and follow one.  Maybe if he wished hard enough, he’d take flight and follow the beasts into a new age.

     Speaking of wishes…

     When Kuro finally turned his head, prepared to tell his friend just how stunning that display was, he saw Murr clasping his hands tightly together, eyes screwed shut.  He thought he could see the slightest hint of a tremble, as if his body was clenching in pain.

     “What’re you…  doin’?”

     “Shh.  I’m makin’ a wish.  My notes said it was a good idea.”   When he heard Kuro snort, he tacked on a defensive:   “Don’t laugh, this is serious business.”

     “How old are you again?”

     “Old enough t’feel like I need a good wish or two.”

     As per his request, Kuro fell quiet, though not without a derisive huff.  The silence somehow felt alive with a power that he could not place--  as if he’d stepped into a slice of time that was far bigger than he was.  Eventually, Murr relaxed in place once more, eyes opening and regarding the moon with an almost crestfallen glint.

     “So?”

     Murr turned his head slowly, one eyebrow arching.   “‘So’ what?”

     “Wha’d y’wish fer?”

     Murr’s mouth fell open, eyebrows knitting together before he reached out and swatted at Kuro’s leg.  Somehow, the Sheriff had offended him.   “C’mon!  Don’t y’want my wish t’actually come true?  Don’t try t’sabotage me like that!”

     “Wishes don’t come true, Murr.”

     “Not with that attitude.  No wonder the stars have never aligned for you, y’fuckin’ grump.”

     That was part of the reason he was so reluctant to confess the truth.  Though he echoed Kuro’s sentiment deep down--  beneath all that childish wonder was an adult pain, something so tumultuous and raw that it dispelled mystique by force--  some desperate part of him wanted to believe that making a wish would do something;  that just this once, the universe would hear him, heed him.  The second reason that he didn’t want to say something was because it was cruel.

     I wished for you.  I wished for us.  Even though I know it can’t happen.  Even though we have lives completely separate of one another now, I wished that we could return to the way we were.  I wished that you would open your eyes and see me, see how much I’m hurting and take me in, take me in even in spite of your marriage.  And that’s why I’m even more sure that you’re right: this wish won’t come true not only because they don’t, but because even if they did, divine intervention would turn a blind eye to such selfishness.

     “C’mon,”   Kuro prodded, legs stretching before he relaxed once more, head resting on a shoulder as he gazed imploringly at him.   “Tell me.  Quit actin’ like a child.”

     The eye contact sent a jolt of electricity through him.  Though he knew that Kuro had trouble with face blindness, it really felt like he was seeing him, that he was able to see through his eyes and to the truth without him needing to say a word.  His mouth suddenly felt incredibly dry, a familiar heat crawling up the back of his neck.

     Have I already exposed myself?  Does he know?  Think of something.  Say something.

     “Hah…”   He forced a smile, glad he was sitting down for his knees suddenly felt weak.   “... I wished for a new season’a Passcode.”

     The silence stretched between them, eyes locked on one another’s before Kuro tore his gaze away with a harsh laugh.  Though it stung slightly to have such disapproval aimed at him, Murr couldn’t help but feel relieved to receive his scorn.  It was much better than receiving his hatred.  Had he kept pushing, he might have ended up saying something that he’d regret.

     “Are you fuckin’ serious?  That shit makes me sad.”      “Big words for a guy who had--”       “Shut the fuck up.”

     He did.  While Kuro spent his time snickering to himself, Murr tried to recuperate, tried to duct tape his feelings back together.  He was glad that he had ‘embarrassment’ to blame for the slight hint of colour on his cheeks.

     “This was nice though…  it was everythin’ I hoped it’d be.  Thank you for comin’ with me, Kuro.  I know this…  wasn’t exactly your idea of a weekend but this was important t’me.  I really appreciate it.”   He fumbled almost nervously with his hands, unable to keep looking in his direction.  As soon as he was facing away from him, he felt slightly better. Regardless of the wish, he knew that this was a memory he wouldn’t soon forget.

     “You kiddin’?  I originally came because I thought y’were jokin’ ‘n’ I wanted t’be there fer the fallout.  But this night has actually been one of the best I’ve had in a long time.”

     Murr tried to keep himself from lighting up too much too quickly.  Knowing that Kuro had had a good time made him feel so happy that he couldn’t put it into words.  He suddenly felt shy, like a school boy that had been confessed to.  If only that was so.  He knew it was pointless to hang on like he was--  hell, he knew he should let go for his own sake, nevermind Kuro’s--  but every time he felt close to unearthing the cumbersome feelings that had rooted themselves deeply into his heart, he felt Kuro replant them.  It was in that quiet intellect, that reliable resolve, that rare smile…   no matter how hard he tried to let go, he couldn’t do it.

       You were almost mine.  That idea haunts my dreams.

     “I’m glad…”   he admitted, staring out into the dark night sky, feeling pleasantly lost.   “You don’t know how glad I am t’hear that.”

#☆ — i never promised you your dream boy. ❜ ( main. ) #☆ — i'm just here to destroy. ❜ ( ic. ) #drabble * #/ murr's gay and sad what else is new

[emospritelet]

KoL Prompt: 26 - “Whisky is a perfectly acceptable alternative to turkey”

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Part 20] [Part 21]

AO3 link

Gold was beginning to wish he hadn’t agreed to come out for a drink.  Granny’s bar had been reasonably quiet when he and Dorothy had arrived, but now the dinner service was in full swing, and the raucous laughter and clatter of cutlery against plates was making him flinch.  Jefferson suggested that they get a booth, which cut a little of the noise, and ordered burgers and fries for the two of them, slapping the large padded envelope he had brought on the table next to him.  Gold wasn’t hungry, but he didn’t say anything about the burger, figuring that Jefferson wouldn’t listen, and Dorothy would probably eat it if no one else did.

He wished that he could stop stressing out over what she might find out; he told himself that it was likely that Belle both had a boyfriend and was happy with him.  After all, who would ever treat her poorly, if they were lucky enough to be with her?  Her boyfriend would be intelligent and funny and outgoing, easily making friends and with a good career.  He was probably the outdoors type, which was why he looked tanned. The two of them no doubt went hiking or skiing together.  She would have met him at college, and they would go on to get married and settle in a pretty little suburban house and have three kids who they would take upcountry at the weekends.  She’d be happy.

Jefferson was rattling on about some new procedure he’d been reading about, but Gold was only listening with half an ear as he constructed the perfect life for Belle inside his head.  Eventually Jefferson sighed, clicking his fingers in front of Gold’s eyes and making him jump.

“You’re not even listening, are you?” he said, sounding both irritated and amused.

“Sorry,” said Gold, and Jefferson shook his head.

“Fine, I’ll stop with the work talk,” he said.  “Thought it might pull you out of yourself for awhile.  You done with that drink?”

Gold nodded, pushing his glass across the table and reaching into his pocket for some cash.

“Next round’s on me.”

“Fine, but you’d better eat something when the food gets here,” warned Jefferson.  “I’m not carrying you home, okay?”

“Don’t fuss,” sighed Gold.

“Yeah, you can say that, but I still remember Glinda’s birthday party.  I’m not doing duets with you when you’re drunk: you can’t hold a high note and it cramps my karaoke style.”

Gold chuckled.

“I promise to pace myself,” he said.  “Are you working Christmas Day?”

“Nah, Whale said he’d cover,” said Jefferson.  “I covered last year, and it’s nice to spend the whole day with Grace.  You could always come over, you know.  Have Christmas dinner.”

“I’m working,” said Gold.

“After your shift, then,” said Jefferson.  “I don’t like thinking of you alone with a bottle of whisky on Christmas Day.”

“Whisky is a perfectly acceptable alternative to turkey,” said Gold absently.

“As a doctor I can assure you that isn’t the case.”

“Well, maybe I’ll come over for a drink, then,” he said, sitting back.  “It’ll probably be late, though.”

“There’ll be plenty of leftovers, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” said Gold, and meant it.  “I suppose you’re off work on New Year’s Eve, too?”

“I’m gonna be in this place, waiting to see out the year with a bang,” confirmed Jefferson.  “You working?”

“As always.”

“Next year you should let someone else take over for once.”

“You volunteering?” asked Gold, with a grin, and Jefferson pulled a face.

“Oh, God no!”

“Thought not.”

The diner door opened with a blast of cold air, and they both looked around as Dorothy hurried over, shrugging out of her coat and pulling her hat from her head.

“Right,” she said briskly, fixing Gold with a beady eye.  “It’s as I thought.  You’re a fucking moron and the guy she’s with is just a friend.  Engaged to someone else, as it happens.  So would you pull your pretty head out of your ass and ask the poor girl out before she dies of old age?”

Gold felt his heart clench, but he tried to keep his emotions in check, reaching for his glass before realising it was empty and letting his fingertips dance awkwardly on the table top.  He licked his lips.

“She’s - she’s single?” he asked, and Dorothy rolled her eyes.

“I’d like to ask what gave you the impression that she wasn’t, but we all know low self-esteem’s a fucking drag, so just trust me on this one, okay?  She’s single.  Very single and very in love with you and very eager to say yes if you just fucking ask her.”

“Right,” he said, his voice echoing strangely in his head.  “Right.  Okay.  I - I’ll give it some thought.”

“I swear by all the gods…” she sighed, sinking into the seat opposite.  “Fine.  I’ve done my bit, it’s up to you now, you big dork.  Is that my drink?”

“I ordered a couple of burgers, as well,” said Jefferson.

“Good, I’m starving.”

She took a slurp of her drink, and Jefferson waved a hand to get Ruby’s attention.  She blushed a little as she came over, and Dorothy became very interested in her drink.  Gold rolled his eyes.

“Can we get another round?” asked Jefferson.  “And maybe an extra portion of fries?”

“Sure thing!” chirped Ruby.

She jotted down the order before trotting off, and Gold eyed Dorothy.

“You know, for someone who talks a lot of shit to me about asking people out, you’re really no better,” he said, and she frowned.

“Shut up.  I’m - preparing myself.”

“To do what?” asked Jefferson.  “Perfect the art of telepathy and ask her out that way?”

“Don’t you start on me,” she said, wagging a finger.  “I don’t see you dating anyone.”

He shrugged at that.

“Too busy being a dad,” he said.  “If Grace suddenly turns around and decides she wants another parent, I’ll be back on the market.  Besides, I haven’t had anything more serious than a one-nighter in years, and I’m way too pretty to get hurt.”

“Why am I taking relationship advice from you two idiots?” remarked Gold.

“Because we care,” said Dorothy.  “And we want to see you coming into work happy.”

“With that post-coital glow I just know Belle wants to give you,” added Jefferson.  “And that you’re just dying to give her.”

Gold frowned at him.

“I’m stressing out enough about my Secret Santa present, without worrying about something that will probably never happen, thank you.”

“Well, you could always give her one of these,” announced Jefferson, patting the padded envelope in front of him.

“What’s in there?”

“Our calendars, what do you think?”  Jefferson beamed as Gold groaned.  “I got some advance copies.  They’re shipping the rest next week.  I’m on the front cover!  Take a look!”

He opened up the envelope, sliding out three of the calendars and handing them over.  Jefferson’s picture graced the front, a pose which had him looking off into the distance as he prepared a syringe, one knee up on the edge of a gurney, the leg bent enough that it hid his genitals.  His belly was pulled taut, his muscles well-defined, and Gold could understand why he’d made the cover.

“Well, you look good,” he admitted.  “Perhaps they didn’t bother adding my picture in.  No doubt it would spoil the aesthetic.”

“Au contraire, Dr December,” said Jefferson.  “You look awesome.”

Gold began flipping through the calendar, grinning as he saw Miss Blanchard, photographed with a jug of water obscuring one breast and a small pot plant hiding the other, a thoughtful expression on her face.  Next was Graham, toned and perfect, one hand on the frame of a saline drip and another holding a patient’s chart in front of his groin.  Dorothy’s picture had her with her back to the camera, looking back over her shoulder with a glint in her eye and a grin on her face as she held up a blood pressure cuff.

“I look hella cute,” she observed.

“Okay, here are your dri— oh!”  Ruby’s eyes went wide as she saw the calendar, and she blushed fiercely, pushing the tray of drinks onto the table.  “Um - your order.”

“Thanks,” said Gold, and smiled at her.  “Charity calendars for the hospital, Miss Lucas.  Perhaps you’d like to buy one.”

“I - uh - sure,” she said lamely.  “I’d love to.  It’s - it’s for a good cause, right?”

“Nurse Gale is looking particularly fine, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yeah,” she said, blushing harder as Dorothy buried her head in the calendar. “I’ll - um - just get your food.”

She rushed off quickly, dark hair swishing.

“I hate you,” said Dorothy, from behind the calendar.

“No you don’t.”

Gold turned the page, grinning as he saw Leroy with nothing but his security guard’s hat protecting his modesty.  The man was seriously hairy.  He turned the page again, revealing the month of May, and his heart skipped a beat. The picture was taken from above, and Belle was lying on the hospital gurney on her front, resting on her elbows.  She was completely naked, her feet kicked up behind her and crossed at the ankles.  Dark curls tumbled over her pale shoulders, and there was a medical textbook open in front of her, a copy of Gray’s Anatomy.  She was looking up at the camera through thick dark lashes, smiling slightly, a hint of promise in her expression, and he swallowed hard as his gaze travelled up the page, along the groove of her spine and over the perfect curves of her buttocks.  The sight of her made his heart thump.

“I’m guessing it’s gonna be May at your place for the rest of the year,” observed Dorothy snidely, and he sucked in a breath, flipping the page and seeing nothing.

“Holy crap, Gold, where have you been hiding that ass?” asked Jefferson.

Gold sighed, flipping through the rest of the calendar until he reached December.  Looking the picture over critically, he supposed it could have been worse.  He was standing with his back to the camera, only his nose and the edge of one cheekbone visible as he studied the chart in his hand, the other grasping the handle of his cane.  He supposed his butt wasn’t bad, considering.  It wasn’t exactly something he had ever looked at.

“I don’t say this often, but that is one biteable butt,” added Jefferson.  “Damn those loose scrubs!”

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, as Dorothy and Jefferson chuckled.

“Just think, pretty soon everyone in Storybrooke’s gonna see that ass,” said Dorothy.  “Pretty sure you’ll get some new admirers.  Zelena’s probably gonna paper her walls with Dr December.”

“Thanks, that’s not at all terrifying.”

“Here are your burgers, and one extra fries,” announced Ruby, sliding plates onto the table.  “Oh, nice ass, Dr Gold.”

Gold frowned as Dorothy and Jefferson snickered.

“Told you,” said Dorothy.

“Miss Lucas, are you single?” asked Gold suddenly, and Ruby looked confused.

“I - uh - yeah, why?”

“Oh good,” he said lightly.  “Because Dorothy here is also single and would very much like to buy you a drink.  In fact why don’t I buy you both a drink and you can go and sit in a quiet corner somewhere and get to know each other? There’s some mistletoe over by the bar, I believe it’s an excellent ice-breaker when people want to kiss each other.”

Ruby’s mouth had fallen open a little and a shade of red was spreading up her cheeks.  Dorothy rounded on Gold with a look of fury in her eyes.

“Oh, so you can’t say ‘hi’ to Belle without freaking out like a big wuss, but the chance to embarrass me and all of a sudden you can’t stop flapping your mouth?”

“Oh my God, does he like Belle?” asked Ruby, wide-eyed.

“It’s - it’s not like that…” began Gold.

“Yes it is,” said Jefferson and Dorothy, and Ruby sighed in relief.

“Thank God, I was ready to ask you out for her myself,” she said.  “She likes you, okay?  More than likes you, if you must know.  Just ask her out and stop being a dork about it.”

She wandered off, still blushing, and Gold glared at her back.

“There,” said Dorothy, sounding satisfied.  “You heard the woman.”

“Fine!” he snapped.  “I’ll do it, if only to shut you up!”

“Never gonna happen, but okay.”

Gold flipped the calendar closed, cutting off the view of his rear end and reaching for his drink.  He was going to do it.  He was going to ask her out.  It was time.

“So it’s a no on the calendar for a Secret Santa present?” asked Jefferson. “Pity, that would have been easy.”

“She’ll already have ordered one,” he said grumpily.  “I need to get her something more - her.  Unique.”

“Well, that’s easy,” said Jefferson.  “Just think about what she likes, and what would make her happy.  Then try and condense that into something that costs around thirty bucks.  Piece of cake.”

“Easy for you to say,” said Gold absently, and tapped his fingers on the table top.  Something that would make her happy.  I wonder…

A thought occurred to him, and he sat up straight as it took form.  It might take some effort, and it wouldn’t technically cost anything beyond the calling-in of a favour, but if he could make it work, it would be perfect.  He grinned as he thought about it, reaching out for one of the fries.  Perhaps the festive season wouldn’t be so bad after all.

#hey nonny nonny #fic: kiss of life #rumbelle fic #my fic #sprite's festive ficlets #dr gold x candy striper belle #rumbelle

[minijenn]

Bot Battle Preview 2

Kinda workin rapid fire on this chapter, the sooner I get it all done, the better tbh. I am having fun with it though, I love writing me some nerds, boy lemme tell you, and this chapter is fucking full of em lol: 

“Hm…” Peridot finally spoke up, her ongoing silent musing coming to an end as she nodded complacently. “Good. Yes, this is adequate. Thank you, you can go now,” she said to Pearl in particular.

“Uh… what?” Pearl raised an eyebrow, exchanging a confused glance with Ford.

“Hm?” the green Gem paused, confused herself until she clapped lightly, waving the white Gem off. “Um, that will be all?” Pearl let out a small, incredulous scoff at this, realizing exactly what Peridot was playing at with her dismissive attitude, and deciding she was going to have none of it. Still, Peridot persisted as she leaned over to Steven and whispered to him rather obviously. “How do I get her to leave?”

“Excuse me, I’m not leaving,” Pearl said, her hands on her hips as she looked down to the green Gem  critically.

“Ugh… very well then,” Peridot rolled her eyes. “I suppose you can here and hand me supplies as I call for them, even if that’s not what you’re supposed to do… Same goes for you, you… oddly appendaged human,” she said to Ford, barely sparing him a second glance.  

“Pardon me?” Ford remarked somewhat harshly, crossing his arms as he scowled down at the green Gem. “Neither of us are simply going to stand around passively while you do all the work on the drill, Peridot. If we want to get this project done right, then we all need to-”

“Oh, no, I have it covered,” Peridot assured succinctly. “After all, I don’t want a Pearl and some basic human getting in my way. Really, you’d both only slow me down.”

Needless to say that both Pearl and Ford were quite offended by the green Gem’s haughty remarks, yet before they could say anything to challenge them, Steven interjected instead. “Peridot, that’s not fair,” the young Gem shook his head earnestly. “Pearl and Mr. Ford are two of the smartest people I know! They just gotta help us build this drill thingy; they’ll do a great job on it, I’m sure!”

Peridot only let out a small, snide snicker at this, not taking Steven seriously whatsoever. “No, no, you must be confused. A Pearl can’t build a thing like this. And a human certainly couldn’t.”

“And why is that?” Dipper asked rather caustically, starting to take offense to what the green Gem was saying himself as Steven and Mabel were too.

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” Peridot asked plainly. “You humans are simple. Your society and your very understanding of the physical properties of the world around you is lightyears behind, at best. And don’t even get me started on your painfully primitive technology. If your engineering skills can’t even match up to the most basic of Homeworld’s tech,” she said, turning back to Ford and offering him a smug, satisfied grin. “Then how in the stars could you possibly expect to design and construct a machine this advanced and complex?”

“Oh, I have a feeling you’d be very surprised by what I know when it comes to engineering…” Ford muttered quite angrily, knowing he had much to draw on thanks to his 30 year stint traveling the many diverse, often futuristic landscapes of the multiverse. “In fact, I’d almost be willing to wager that I have even more knowledge on that front than you do.”

“Ha! Don’t make me laugh,” Peridot chuckled coldly. “As if your weak organic mind could even measure up to the lowliest of Gems! Speaking of lowly Gems…” Her teasing smile only widened as she turned to Pearl, who was already quite incensed herself. “You should know better than anyone that you Pearls aren’t even for this sort of thing! You’re for standing around, and looking nice, and holding your stuff for you! Right?”

“Ugh! That’s enough!” Pearl snapped fiercely, refusing to hear any more, even though she knew it was true. By Homeworld’s standards, at least. “If we’re going to work together, Peridot, then you’re going to have to listen to us. Both of us.”

“Listen… to you?!” At this, Peridot broke down into another heavy gale of laughter, one that only served to irritate Pearl and Ford even more. “Did you teach her to talk like this?” Peridot asked Steven with an incredulous smirk. “Because that’s just rich!”

“Uh… what are you talking about?” the young Gem asked, still not following.

“Uh, duh,” the green Gem said, as though it was obvious. “She’s a Pearl. She’s a made-to-order servant, just like the hundreds of other Pearls being flaunted around back on Homeworld!”

“Wait…” Steven mused, his eyes wide as Mabel let out an awed gasp beside him. “There are… hundreds of Pearls?!”

“W-well, yes,” Pearl admitted with an embarrassed blush. “But-”

“And she looks like she’s a fancy one too…” Peridot remarked, examining Pearl’s sash before the white Gem snatched it away from her with an appalled gasp.

“Hundreds of Pearls…” Steven repeated, still dumbfounded by such a fact.

“I wanna meet every single last one of them!” Mabel quipped, jumping up and down excitedly. “Especially if they’re anywhere near as cool as our Pearl!”

Despite her ongoing mortification, Pearl couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at this, touched by the sentiment despite the green Gem’s cynicism. “Well…”

“So,” Peridot interupted once more, looking over the white Gem expectantly. “Who do you belong to anyway?”

“NOBODY!” Pearl shouted harshly, refusing to allow herself to ever return to the simplistic, servantile mindset she was created with again.

“Then… what are you for?” the green Gem asked, baffled. Pearl gave her no response, instead swiftly turning away in the hopes that it would curtain this uncomfortable conversation, but of course, it didn’t. “Well… you can belong to me for now,” Peridot concluded. “And so can the human,” she nodded over at Ford, who was rather shocked by the implication. “After all, I’ve always wanted a pet of my own. Ha! A Peridot with a Pearl and a pet human! What would they say back home?”

“Oh, absolutely not!” Ford exclaimed hotly, his hands clenched into tight fists. “I am nobody’s pet! Especially not yours, you… you egotistical, impudent little brat!”

“Yeah, that’s right!” Pearl spoke up before Peridot could even try to get a word in edgewise. “Listen here, you tiny twerp! In case you’ve forgotten, you’re on our turf now! And I didn’t fight a thousand-year war for this planet’s independence to take orders from the likes if you!”

“Excuse me?!” Peridot gasped, appalled by their brashness. “I’m a natural technician, and a certified Kindergartener.”

“Well she sure does act like one…” Dipper remarked to Mabel with a small, amused grin as his sister chuckled to herself.

“I was made for this!” the green Gem continued insistently. “You were made to wallow around in the dirt your planet is made of,” she said, shooting a hard glare up at Ford. “And you were made to take orders, not give them!” she finished, snapping at Pearl relentlessly. “Which is why you’re both going to stop your incessant, rebellious behavior and listen to the Gem in charge here, at once!”

“Oh really?” Pearl countered as both her and Ford leaned in forward towards Peridot amidst the palpable growing tension. “We’ll just see about that…”

#hahhaha ohohoho tension #peridot's a little bitch i love her #jen writes #universe falls #bot battle #uf preview

[cavalier-life]

Lyo/Jax #5

Prompt was “Kiss … where it doesn’t hurt.”

This has been -almost- done for a few days, so thank you for being patient!

“Thenext time I tell you that you’re exaggerating in regards to yourMaster, remind me of this day.” Jaxan’s aggrieved tone brought asmile to Lyorek’s face, though the Zabrak was quick to conceal it.The Jedi’s left eye was already turning into an impressive shiner,swollen and purple, and he had another bruise on his jaw that lookedvery much like an exact impression of Nox’s boot heel.

“Didyou let her step on your face? Because it looks like you did.” Lyoknew he’d done a poor job of hiding the hint of laughter in his voicewhen the Jedi glared at him, the black eye managing to give the looka menace that the normally sunny demeanor Jaxan possessed could neveraccomplish.

“ShePUNCHED me. Twice. And kicked me. And that’s just in the face! I lostcount of how many times she hit me everywhere else. And that’s-after- she tired of smacking and jabbing me with her saber hilt. She’s so small! I’mnot even sure how she got up there to hit me in the face in the firstplace!”

TheZabrak’s blatant snickering earned him another scowl, which only madehim laugh harder. “I warned you!” Lyo managed, breathless. Jaxanshoved his shoulder, nearly dislodging him from their bed and pushinghim to the floor, but even that failed to silence the Sith’sobnoxious giggling.

“It’snot funny, Lyo! Every time she hit me, she’d laugh mockingly and say‘You’re dead’ or 'dead again’ or… 'how have you survived thislong?’.” Sullenly, Jaxan propped his elbows on his knees, leaninghis aching face in his cupped hands. The brush of his own palmagainst his bruised jaw made him wince, but it stung far morelistening to Lyorek’s gales of laughter at his predicament andhumiliation. “She’s… she’s…” He stumbled, reaching for theappropriate word. “She’s so -MEAN-.”

Lyomade a choked sound of amusement, and Jaxan’s embarrassment sank sofar into him that it felt like it was etching itself into his bones.He squeezed his eyes closed, and so he missed it when the Zabrakmoved closer to him. It was the touch of his hands that made Jaxanlook again, and when he did, Lyo’s bright red-gold eyes were mereinches away from his face. The laughter was banked.. not totallyabsent, but that would have been a lot to ask of anyone, if he washonest with himself. The Sith’s hands lay over his own, gently drawingthem away from Jax’s bruised, swollen face.

Busyinghimself opening a kolto pack, Lyorek smoothed the cool gel over thebruise on the Jedi’s jaw, his fingers gentle. “Sorry. I shouldn’thave laughed. It’s -funny-, but I know better than anyone what it’slike being on the receiving end of Darth Nox’s idea of training.That’s why I told you not to spar with her… I didn’t want to seeyou like this.” His thumb traced over Jaxan’s lower lip, expressionsoftening in understanding. “It may not feel like it right now, butshe is helping you. I hated her for years, thinking she was justmocking me and playing nexu and womp rat games. But then I got into atough fight with..” His eyes flickered to the side, and then hecontinued smoothly, “a military squad, and all those times I’dthought she was simply beating me up came back to me, and I cut myway out of there and survived. Don’t get me wrong.. I still hate hersometimes when she makes me feel incompetent, or stupid. Or both.”

“Shedoes that a lot,” Jaxan grumped, and Lyo’s smile returned for amoment, quick and bright.

“Ofcourse. And you’re right, she is mean, and snide, and venomous. Butshe’s a better teacher than you realize, until you are the only oneleft standing at the end of a hard battle. And Jax..”

Jaxanfelt his heart flip over at the intent look in the Zabrak’s eyes.“Yes?” he asked.

“Iwould prefer that you were the one left standing, if you’re going tobe in a fight for your life.” The admission came in a very low,quiet tone, almost as if Lyorek was barely able to get the words outin an audible manner. If the Zabrak blushed, it was not somethingthat was visible given his coloring, but something in the way hedropped his eyes, fidgeting with the open kolto pack, told Jaxan thatthe Sith was certainly feeling off-balance with the direction of theconversation. It was no surprise when he immediately changed topics.“Do the bruises feel better?”

“Theydo.” Despite his words, Jaxan flinched noticeably when Lyo’s thumbtouched the bruised area of skin on his jaw. The Jedi had the graceto flush at being caught out, a half-smile curving up the uninjuredside of his mouth. “They still ache, but.. the kolto is helping.”

Lyorek’sfingers shifted under his chin, tilting his face so that the bruisewas turned away. His lips brushed the corner of Jaxan’s mouth,carefully. “I don’t want to hurt you. Tell me, if I do.”

Slow,soft kisses trailed down over the edge of the Jedi’s chin, thenfollowed the line of his jaw away from the sore side before brushingagainst his ear. The feather light caress of the Zabrak’s mouth andthe teasing flick of his tongue against his skin made Jaxan close hiseyes, breath catching in his throat at the forceful rush of emotionthat he felt at the touch. “I will,” he promised, drawing Lyorekdown onto the bed, where they both proceeded to quickly forget about every single bruise until much later in the day.

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