#local girlfail content

[husbandhoshi]

[3:36 PM]

you don't think there's a better couch in the world than vernon's.

it's blue-gray and you think it's been through several world wars even though you remember the exact moment you picked it out at the local ashley furniture two years ago. there's a hole in the right-most cushion (from when vernon tried to kill a spider with a pen), and mascara stains (yours) you haven't quite figured out how to remove yet, but it is one of your favorite places in the world.

and quite frankly, it's the only place you want to be sometimes—especially now.

"vernon," you wail. "i think i'm destined to die alone. i'm going to adopt a million cats, move out of the city, and die alone."

you watch him fumble with his phone as he attempts to text the doordash guy the apartment code while juggling a box of tissues and your favorite four dollar trader joe's wine.

"hey," he says, as if attempting to calm a wild horse. "you know that isn't true."

he dumps his armful of crisis objects on the coffee table before taking a seat on the couch next to you.

this is the usual order of things.

somehow, you, local disaster, had befriended vernon, the most normal person in the world. and this—the wine, the doordash, the sad sza playlist he made you the week you met—somehow became a familiar ritual of yours. (even one you look forward to, seeing as you don't seem to run out of disasters.)

"he's an asshole," vernon supplies unhelpfully. "don't let it get to you."

"it's getting to me. it got to me. i've been gotten." you bury your head in your hands.

"you really deserve better." he takes some tissues out of the box and pats you on the shoulder, visibly searching for the right words to say.

quite honestly, vernon has never handled these situations with ease. he doesn't get worked up like your girl friends, and he doesn't throw his arms open for a long cry like your mom would. but he handles them, and you, with more patience than you ever think you deserve, and you think that's why you love him so much.

"who gets stood up on a hinge date?!" you snort into a tissue. "we had been talking for weeks!"

vernon shrugs as he wiggles the wine cork out of the bottle. "it just means you guys weren't right for each other."

you wad up your kleenex stack and vernon hands you another.

"i'm deleting hinge. and tinder. and bumble. and then i'm getting a cat."

"okay," he laughs. "i'll go with. i'll get one too so they can be friends."

"deal," you croak as you watch vernon stand up to get the delivery. "please tell me you got nacho fries."

"i got you two. with extra cheese sauce."

for the first time today, you laugh. you laugh big and loud because no one in the world knows you better than vernon, and you don't even think he knows it.

he looks at you, head tilted and eyebrows knit together like you've started speaking in tongues. you think he gives you that look at least once a day, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

you laugh again.

#this is actually an autobiography #local girlfail content #and vernon is my bff (REAL) #mine #vernon #vernon fluff #vernon x reader #vernon x you #rq

[etherishome]

Luck & Vain: Bait

Chapter 1 of Luck & Vain, a very indulgent Astarion POV rewrite of some Tav & Astarion scenes that will, eventually, lead to smut, ferally protective Astarion, emotional hurt/comfort, and battlefield intimacy. Tav is a girlfail, Astarion is a loser.

Wordcount: 2k

Content Warnings: sexual references, manipulation, mild gore, spoilers for The Pale Elf quest in BG3

He'd hoped this would be, at most, a problem for a week. By the end of that, he'd either be a tentacled beast or setting up a new life far, far away from Baldur's Gate and the events of the last few hundred years.

Instead, several nights of camping and feasting on small forest animals later, he's still here camping and feasting on small forest animals. The collection of campers had solidified into a handful of freaks and their wriggly tadpoles.

And freaks barely began to cover it. The Blade of Frontiers turned into a devil overnight. The devil-killer was going to melt soon. The wizard ate a very nice pair of pants. The brooding dark girl had an unhealable wound and worshipped suffering itself. The gith--well, actually, in comparison to the others, the gith was rather normal. Astarion liked her.

At the head of them all was Tav.

Tav did most of the speaking, whenever they had to go somewhere in a group. It was Tav who got them out of the ship and wreckage. It was Tav who led them into the grove. It was Tav who decided, quite without anyone else's input, that they were going to to the goblin camp, either to have Gut deworm them or to slay everyone there on behalf of those useless wretched Tieflings.

Fucking idiot.

Why waste what precious time they had before ceremorphosis on what was an endless, unpreventable cycle of small genocides in the world? Save the Tieflings and then you'll find some halflings being bullied by the local badger population or orcs being prevented from voting in local elections or the rest of Elturel's refugees unable to cross a river or something.

But they did need that worm removed. And those goblins did betray them almost the instant Tav, and consequently the others, let up their guards. And slaying an entire fortress of goblins was fun. So Astarion let it go. Partly.

"Baldur's Gate, I'll remind you, is the other direction," he says.

The little band that infiltrated the goblin fortress had paused by a river to wash away the blood and viscera, but he could tell they were headed back in the direction of the grove.

"To tell the Tieflings now is their chance to run," Tav says. Stupid, selfless Tav.

"And perhaps get the others back at camp," Shadowheart says. "You really thought we were just going to march off on our own?"

Yes, Astarion thinks. I rather did. They'd finished off the goblins. And the best of them are right here. Who needs the wizard whose firebolts hardly ever hit anyways? And Wyll is certainly going to make his way to Baldur's Gate with or without the other's permission, eventually. Really, the others don't need this level of babysitting.

"Still no reason to go all the way to the grove," Astarion says. "That wood elf isn't going to be any help in removing our parasites. Best move in new directions. The longer we dick around on dead-ends, the more likely it becomes we have to consort with the devil."

He looks up from peeling goblin-skin from under his nails. Tav is doing that thing again, the one where she crosses her arms and tilts her head, one eyebrow almost raised, eyes tilted with compassion.

Gods, he's never going to solve his problems with her throwing their efforts at every sadsack around. He also won't win any popularity contests hurling venom at that stupid, kind face.

He needs control of what they do. He needs power. Her power, whatever odd control she exerts over these people here to convince them to drop everything and "do the right thing." He needs to take that and put all that effort towards getting to the bottom of these worms.

He raises his hands in defeat, for the moment.

"Fine, fine, we can tell the Tieflings we've saved their lives. But I swear to the gods, if any of them try to thank me for it, I'll drain them dry."

"Don't worry, you can skulk in the shadows while everyone else gets their hero's welcome," Karlach says. Astarion flinches, waiting for her to try heartily clapping him on the back again. Not only had it singed his vest the first time, but the force all but threw him to the dirt.

"Thank you for the consideration," Astarion says, giving her a half-bow of his head and drying his hands on his pants.

Gods, he needs to be in the city.

Satisfied, Tav slings on her pack and picks up her spear, heading back East, the setting sun lighting up her back as she goes. The others follow, too worn for the same chatter they'd shared on the way here.

Astarion is shocked he hadn't tried this already. Maybe, in the gluttony of his first few days free of Cazador, he'd thought he would put his old tricks behind him forever. Laughable concept, he realizes. Tools are tools, no matter who gave them to you. Even more laughable is be how easy it's going to be. Kind, gullible Tav, instantly forgiving of vampires and devils. Only someone who craves the love of others would be able to extend that kind of grace. She drips with desperation for intimacy. Astarion remembers her gentle flinch when gave that first, consented-to bite. The way her body curled just a little around his knees. The way she pressed a little more into his mouth than she did try to squirm away. She needs to be liked, she has to be loved. The harder to gain, the sweeter the prize. He can offer the challenge and the treasure. She'll be his.

Then Astarion will decide who they help and where they go. At least, more than he gets to now. Which is a start.

Unfortunately, the Tieflings do think of them as heroes and decide to throw a whole party about it. He hears party and thinks of candlelit rooms with red carpets and drapes, and wondering if they're red by dye or the blood of a few thousand Baldurians. Parties, he remembers as he watches Tieflings drag kegs and fireworks into the camp, used to be something fun. Drinking and dancing and mingling.

He sneaks a bottle of Blingdenstone Blush and skulked in the shadows of his tent, just as Karlach suggested.

Drinking, dancing, mingling. He hadn't seen the others outside the context of camping or fighting yet. Curious to watch how Wyll spun his Tiefling partners in delicate courtly dances with the same patience as he showed their children how to weild a sword when they'd first met. Funny to watch Gale, his constitution already greatly weakened by his hungry orb, be reduced to a stumbling bumbling moron by just a few sips. Even funnier to watch Lae'zel win every wrestling match.

A little sad to see Karlach sitting and standing alone no matter where she went, a generous berth given no matter who she spoke to.

A little annoying to see Shadowheart also skulking in the darkness. She didn't have to be so godsdamned dreary all the time.

Mostly, though, he watched Tav. She made her way around the party, talking to this or that Tiefling and each of the party members by turn. They all liked her so damn much. Or they were playing her, same as Astarion was about to. But he'd had several centuries of practice on that front, so he wasn't very worried when he saw Wyll invite Tav to dance or Karlach's puppy-dog eyes follow her where she went.

She might do all the talking for their group, but gods maybe she shouldn't. He watches her try to coax some quiet Tiefling into the party, and instead he stamps off in a fury and Tav slinks away, face red with the embarrassment of failure. She also manages to say something that sent Lae'zel's chin flying into the air in disdain. Whatever could that be?

Tav isn't all failures. She brightens up that bard girl's face, and spends a long moment in what looks to be a very serious conversation with the wood elf . Gods, what was in that man's food? Halsin absolutely dwarfs her. Astarion watches as the massive druid's demeanor shifts, sliding from a stoic Oak Father impression to something a little more mortal. He even laughs.

Her rounds finally brings Tav to him.

"You know, I never pictured myself as a hero," Astarion says as she approaches. "Never thought I'd be the one they toast for saving so many lives. And now that I'm here..."

She does that thing again. Arms crossed, head tilted, eyes searching. Astarion calculates. He can't pretend to be like her. She'll be satisfied. He has to give her a challenge. He has to make him her project. She needs to want to fix him. He has to make her desperate.

"I hate it. This is awful." He takes a swig of his wine. Rakish delinquent, tempted by the light. Tempted by her.

"It's not that bad. Think of all the goblins you killed," she says. Her eyes crinkle in a laugh waiting to happen.

"True," Astarion muses. "That was fun. Still, I would've liked more for my trouble than a pat on the head and vinegar for wine."

"True, the goblins would have thrown a wilder party." Her eyes keep falling to his neck, as though wondering what he found so appealing about them. Or perhaps she just doesn't know how to be coy.

"I'm just looking for a little more excitement," Astarion says with a whine. "Is that so much to ask?"

He watches her eyes closely, waiting for her to bite, to take the bait, to accept that closeness with other people she must want so desperately.

"That had better not mean 'I want to kill something,'" Tav says.

Gods, he can't risk subtlety at all, can he? She's actually too dumb for it, poor thing. Or maybe she's just never been pursued before. It's only fair, in a poetic sense, for them each to be a sort of first for one another, he thinks. 

"By the Hells, sex, my dear. A night of passion."

Shock steals Tav's face. Yes, Astarion decides, that will make him her first, in just a few hours. She can't hide an emotion to save her life, could she? 

Astarion steps a little closer, cocking his head and looking down into her face. "Let's wait until things quieten down. Once the others are asleep, we'll find each other."

She doesn't respond immediately. For the first time, Astarion realizes she could conceivably turn him down. That would be embarrassing.

Tav settles, the shock sliding off her face, her shoulders relaxing. But there's an air of hesitancy still. Does she not trust the offer? Is it virginal nervousness? 

Does she not want him? 

"Alright," she says. "I'll see you later."

There we go. Just as usual.

"Indeed you will, my love," Astarion says, putting all the honeyed liquor into his voice he can. "Indeed you will."

She doesn't walk away immediately, soft eyes searching his face. Gods knows if she could make anything out on it at all. It seems rather hit or miss what she picks up on, and he's had so much practice hiding. Everyone knows he's a charlatan, but so long as they can never put their finger on what precisely he's lying about, Astarion still has the upper hand. 

"You're eager, aren't you?" Astarion purrs. "But we need to wait a little longer." He gestures to the party around them with his wine bottle.

Tav turns, watching the party. Astarion steps forward again, just close enough that he feels the heat from her back radiate against his corpse-cold chest, dropping his face to whisper beside her neck. 

"Once everyone's in their bedrolls, we'll slip out of ours," he said, taking that moment to slip his wine bottle into her hands. "And find each other."

yeah its a slow start but i have to get to know my take on ppl before i plunge in. couldn't find exactly what i wanted so i had to go write it. ugh wish me luck i haven't done this in so long. anyways, tav is a Girlfail because not all of are good at video games and every time i read a fic about how cool and suave and perfect tav is i'm like well that can't be me and MY girl. also astarion is NOT shocked and surprised when a Tav only wants to cuddle him without sex because i 3000% believe cazadork also would have had astarion bring him gentle sexless lovesick girls who fantasized about soft cuddly moments too. intimacy itself in any form is traumaloaded for him. i believe this to my core. <3 thanks wanted to keep Tav kind of neutral as far as physical description. i think that's fine. i like to assume people have more or less blended together visually for astarion at this point. i do want to have her be a melee fighter of some sort though for yummy battlefield intimacy reasons. also, astarion is an assassin rogue bc fuck arcane trickster.

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #bg3 #bg3 tav #female tav #femme tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #astarion is a loser #tav is a girlfail #i stand by that #luck & vain