#which in turn affects how he feels by the time tav speaks to him

[myrkulitescourge]

i'm surprised i haven't seen any text posts yet about the Unsubtle Differences between astarion’s tiefling party/high approval forest scene and the one you get after the goblin party.

there’s something so terribly interesting about how the conversation afterward plays out depending on which variation you pursue.

like, most people have seen the tiefling party version by now. astarion basking in the sunlight the morning after, playing off most of what tav says with relative ease, even when they ask about his scars and he tells them about cazador. his cadence is smooth and composed, his smile almost friendly, even though you know, as the viewer, he’s playing a game of manipulation at this point. the only real crack in his demeanor is if tav notices that cazador’s “poem” was written in infernal, which, understandably, startles him.

but recently i watched the goblin party version of this same scene, and everything reads so differently. unlike at the tiefling party, it’s still the middle of the night when astarion tries to leave, thinking tav is asleep—almost immediately after the act, in fact. when tav does speak to him, he’s visibly nervous, halting and stammering in the middle of lines delivered unflinchingly in the other version of the scene. he gestures broadly and fidgets more while talking, his smile comes and goes. there’s even some of his distinctive high pitched, fake laughter sprinkled throughout the exchange, almost identical to later scenes where he's very, very obviously uncomfortable (like if raphael mocks him and magics off astarion's shirt to show the party his scars in act 2, or when confronting the gur children in their cell in act 3, etc etc).

siding with the goblins represents something deeply familiar to astarion, a level of cruelty he's more than familiar with and embraces likely because cruelty and duplicity, to him, go hand-in-hand with the power and freedom he craves so badly—but he won't stay the night with this tav, even if he approves of their actions. no, in this case, he'll keep to what's familiar and attempt to leave them in the forest under the cover of the very same darkness he resents having been cast into by cazador. when he gets caught, it sets him on edge, and everything he says becomes such a blatant lie to save face that tav would have to be completely oblivious not to see through him, or maybe just not care enough to.

but if tav saves the refugees? challenges his worldview and comes out victorious? oh, he'll complain of the poor rewards for his trouble at the party and whine about it being boring, but he decides to stay with tav through the night while they're asleep and on past dawn. he takes a moment to enjoy the morning sunlight, returned to his life after two centuries without. the same is true if you have high enough approval that he asks before the party, in which case, you've almost certainly hit his biggest approval gains: trusting him and supporting his safety. maybe he doesn't trip over his words when he speaks because, well, maybe this is someone he doesn't have to worry about. someone who's already more than proven themselves a foolish, heroic sort with a bleeding heart or otherwise demonstrated that they're already in his corner. in other words, not a threat—at least not to him.

does any of this make sense. i wanna study this guy under a microscope.

#the text may be the same but the line delivery is so enormously different it HAS to mean something idk! idk! #what he knows best but doesn't quite trust vs what's new but seems almost safe seems like the differentiating factor honestly #at least in whether he decides to leave tav immediately or stay with them till morning #which in turn affects how he feels by the time tav speaks to him #not to rag on the goblin route but man #he seems. well. frantic when he gets caught trying to leave asap. #to the point where listening to him feels... pretty bad imo #i'd love to know if it changes his romance later on because that seems like. well. a rough start #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 meta #sort of idk #long post

[feyascorner]

until I come back alive

summary. in which you come back injured from a particularly unlucky battle, and Astarion realizes his feigned affections for you are not feigned at all.

warnings. angst, fluff, Astarion being bad at feelings

pairing. Astarion x GN!reader

a/n. this is super long omg ALSO TYSM for the love on my previous fic! It was my first post so I didn’t realize more than like two ppl would see it!! Kind of scary but also I can write more astarion so oh well 🙏

“The way they look at you is different from the way they look at us.”

Astarion raises a brow at this, glancing at Karlach who adjusts a log in the campfire paying no heed to the flickering flames brushing against her skin. She smiles to herself, genuinely, and he questions if she’s finally gone mad.

“So have you said the big ‘L’ word yet?” she asks excitedly, turning to him with a big grin. He shifts away from her, the increasing heat radiating off her body but she doesn’t seem to care, too busy staring at him expectantly.

“The what?”

“You know! The ‘L’ word,” she says the last part in a hushed whisper, as if it’d be a sin for anyone else to hear. Occasionally it baffles him how childish she can be, though he’d never voice these concerns out loud considering she could snap his poor body in half if she really wanted.

He also knows that she’s more emotionally capable in how she approaches these relationships (though one could argue it’s just innocence)—in ways he’s lost over the past 200 years. Though, he makes an effort to shove these thoughts to the deepest corners of his brain for the sake of his own sanity.

“If you’re speaking of ‘love,’” He emphasizes it with a strange accent. “No. I have not. Nor have they.”

She appears puzzled. “Why not?”

He sighs irritably, bringing a hand to adjust the cuffs on his hand. “Must everything be put bluntly? So glaringly obvious?”

“You love each other, don’t you?”

At this, he falters, just the slightest before plastering his usual grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Love is a wide spectrum, dear. Tav and I are whatever they want us to be.”

A late night partner would be the most positive thing he could refer you to. A fling, an amusement, or whatever words people described the arrangement between the two of you as, he didn’t care for it. He’d given himself to you, and you to him—-physically, at least, and you’d seem more than content with it. In return, he received protection, which was a sufficient payment in return for his hushed words of affection and kisses. A fair trade, he deemed.

Sure, he could’ve chosen anyone else in the camp. But he’d seen the way your eyes lit up at the sight of him, surely dazed at his flirtatious tendencies. You’d been an easy target. A survival tool.

And yes, maybe he’d played with your innocent feelings, but could you really blame him? He’d given you the nights of your life, for something so simple in return. It was a transaction.

Karlach waves a dismissive hand which brings him back to the present, propping herself on her arm behind her. “Life’s too short for that bullshit. Either you love someone or you don’t.”

“Fortunately for me, I have all of eternity,” he snorts. “Unless I were to suddenly lose the unwanted visitor inside my head and step into the sunlight, I’ll be here to watch the world fall and rise a dozen times over I’m afraid.”

“But they don’t,” Karlach frowns. “Tav doesn’t have eternity.”

He ignores the way his jaw clenches. He’s afraid, he thinks, of losing the freedom he’s just gained.

“Did you call me?”

Both the vampire and tiefling turn to your voice, where you stand blankly with an armful of logs clutched to your waist. Karlach opens her mouth to respond, but Astarion is faster.

“Nothing, darling. Just answering a few curious questions from Karlach here.”

“Oh,” you blink at him, shrugging before setting the logs beside the fireplace. “Well, Gale, Shadowheart, and I are going to the village across the forest tomorrow morning to check on the goblins appearing there recently. Won’t be back till noon so don’t wait up.”

“Don’t worry,” Karlach laughs. “I’ll keep the camp in order while you’re gone. If Astarion tries to bite Lae’zel, though, his fate’s inevitable.”

He rolls his eyes, opting to stand from his spot and take your hand. “Come along, darling. Any longer near this damned fireplace and my skin may melt.”

You nod with a smile, waving at Karlach before you follow him into his tent without a word of protest.

Easy, he thinks. Too easy.

He soon finds himself staring up at you from his place, laying his head on your lap as you read through a few scrolls you found throughout the day. He clicks his tongue and you look down, offering that sickeningly sweet smile again. “What’s wrong?”

“You have the most handsome person in this camp on your bloody lap and you want to read?”

You snicker at this, setting the scroll down beside you. “What do you suggest I do? Worship the very eyelashes on your face?”

“My body deserves much more praise than just the eyelashes.”

“Hm…” you pretend to be in thought. “That mole on your face is very obvious too.”

He gasps, immediately shooting upward as he grabs at his own face. “Tell me you’re lying.”

Your laughter rings throughout the tent, airy as you pull his hand away from his face. “I’m kidding, mostly.”

He stares at you as you recollect yourself, finding himself gazing at you far longer than he’d like to admit. Quickly, he adjusts, fiddling with the hand mirror he always keeps under his pillow as he watches you through it. “Karlach spoke of something ridiculous today. She said you were in love with me.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” he rolls his eyes. “That woman lives in a fairy tale I tell you. How she went through 10 years in Avernus is beyond me.”

There’s slight hesitance in your voice, and if he’d not learned your body language early on in your arrangement, he wouldn’t have even noticed it. “Astarion, have you ever been in love?”

He pauses at this, meeting your eyes head on now. There’s a heavier thickness in the air between the short distance between the two of you, and he immediately gauges what you want him to say. A lie readies itself at the tip of his tongue, his gaze searching yours for whatever fantasy that lives behind them.

Instead, your expression is blank. He finds nothing.

“No.” He’s not sure why he responded honestly, but it’s too late to take it back. “Have you?”

You look to the side. “I’m not sure anymore.”

“Anymore?” He shifts his head when you turn your chin further away, avoiding confrontation. “Has someone captured your impenetrable heart as of late? How intriguing—do tell.”

His teasing tone drops when you don’t smile at his usual antics. He’s not stupid—far from it. He knows you’ve begun to fall for him. It’s an obvious result from the 200 years of instinctive flirting he has tucked away in what remains of his soul, and it’s what he intended. What he needed.

The more enraptured you are, the longer he has protection.

He gently tilts your chin toward him, his fang visible through the grin that stretches across his face. “Tell me, pet, do you love me?”

Your eyes drop to his lips. “Do you want me to?”

A bunny caught in the fangs of a fox. It would be so easy to indulge—to go as far as to make you nothing but a puppet he toys with for his own personal gains. He can sense the way your finger twitches, itching to lace them with his own, and the crueler side of him forces his hand to stay put.

He wordlessly leans toward you, his lips grazing against the side of your neck. You shiver at the touch and he smiles wickedly to himself, drinking in the gasp that escapes you when he tilts your neck to the other side, where he usually drinks.

He doesn’t even have to ask. “Just—be gentle. Please.”

“Of course.” He unhinges his jaw, ready to plunge the knives of his teeth into where the sweet liquid gold rushes to your face, his shoulders finally relaxing when—

“I love you,” you whisper under your breath.

He stops.

Though unsure why, he freezes. Completely and utterly freezes.

“Astarion?”

He pulls away slowly, staring at you for a long moment before offering another smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You look exhausted, my dear. I think that’s enough for tonight.”

“But you didn’t even feed?”

“I can handle myself, darling, as much as I appreciate your worries,” he stands and holds the flap of the tent open, practically a silent demand for you to leave.

He should be ecstatic. Gleaming with joy from being offered a drop of your blood, but instead, he feels knots forming in his stomach. And the longer he watches you, the worst they seem the get.

Hurt flashes across your face and he ignores the sudden tightness in his chest.

“Okay, well,” you say, stepping out hesitantly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, my dear.”

And as he lies wide awake in the middle of the night with nothing to accompany him but his own thoughts, he finds that all of them are overruled by his endless need for warmth. Not just anyone’s but the one he’s become accustomed to the past few months. No matter how much he curls up in his bedroll, all he can feel is the chill of his own body.

And he hates it more than he expected.

——

By the time he awakens, you’re long gone.

He’s rather productive. Taking walks, gathering supplies, catching up on his reading, he refuses to sit and lie around as the others await for you and your companions to return from the goblin village.

He even entertains sitting through one of Karlach’s dances, which somehow ends up being more entertaining than he’d imagined. While she didn’t fall flat on her face (which he admittedly looked forward to), it burnt through time regardless.

The peace is broken when he hears footsteps rushing toward the camp. He’s memorized everyone’s intervals when sprinting or pacing, so he’s quick to identify Gale and Shadowheart. He listens keenly for your own footsteps.

There are no third pair of footsteps at all.

Shadowheart stumbles into the camp, in a panic compared to her usual self, as she points toward a spot on the ground and snaps at Gale to put something down.

He only sees when she moves out of the way that this something, is rather someone.

You’re writhing in pain, eyes shut in an unconsciousness that’s surely preferable to what you’re feeling. You’re sweating, groaning in your sleep and everyone is immediately rushing to you.

His face would’ve gone pale, if it weren’t for the fact that he was already as ghostly as a sheet.

“What happened,” Lae’zel demands in place of him, and he opts to mindlessly push Gale to the side, who doesn’t say a word from the expression on Astarion’s face. He doesn’t know what he looks like, but from Gale’s reaction, it’s better he never know.

“Damned poison arrows,” Shadowheart hisses. “I’m completely out of magic for today. I need to make an antidote by hand before their condition gets any worse than it already is.”

Astarion brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheek. The creases between your brows soften for the slightest moment before they’re back again.

Lae’zel and Shadowheart are arguing again—something about how one thing would’ve happened if another thing hadn’t. He’s not even sure what they’re arguing about, but in an instant, rage flickers in his chest.

“Do something!” He snaps, suddenly making the camp go quiet. “Or are you just going to stand there and watch them die?”

He suddenly feels a hand grab his, and his eyes shoot down to see your own. Even in your sleep, you reach out to him. Even in the deepest part of slumber, you search for him. It makes him feel like the shittiest and luckiest person alive, especially as the your hurt expression from last night flashes in his mind.

“Help them,” the words spill out against his will, his tone breaking down into something more desperate. “Do something. For God’s sake, anything.”

In the moment, he doesn’t care about protection. He doesn’t give a shit about any of that because the second he’d seen you in genuine pain, it was all he needed to completely forget about the stupid reasons why he approached you in the first place.

All he cared about was your life.

Everyone glances at one another knowingly, but even Lae’zel doesn’t break the silence. Shadowheart spares him a furrowed glare before rushing to gather the antidote.

You only awake hours later. Certainly during the middle of the night, to the ceiling of a tent that’s certainly not your own. You slowly urge yourself to sit up, a pounding headache ringing in your skull, but your worries about it vanish when you hear his voice.

“Quite the nap, darling.”

You snap around to see him on the other side of the tent, albeit only a few feet away from how crunched it is. Fascinating, he thinks, that even with your disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes, he finds you more beautiful than before. “What happened?”

“You nearly died.”

“…how?”

“Poison,” he’s fiddling with his dagger, refusing to look at you. He can’t. In fear of what he might say. “Caused a reasonable panic too. Seems like our companions have grown more attached to you than anyone’s expected.”

You purse your lips, and he quickly mortifies at the exceeding need to part them with his own. You don’t seem to notice. “You too?”

“I was certainly worried our esteemed leader may kick the bucket earlier than anticipated, yes.”

“No, I mean,” you scrunch your eyes sheepishly, and he thinks it’s adorable. Gods he must be going insane. “Have you…grown attached?”

He raises a brow. “You just woke up from a life threatening experience and that’s what piques your interest?”

Your cheeks turn a shade darker. He wants to touch them. “I just…I was worried all day. About us. I got too distracted and of course, that’s on me, but one of the goblins took advantage and—“

He wants to climb into a coffin, guilt eating away at what remains of his organs. But when you fidget with the ends of his bedroll blanket, he can’t tell if his stomach is churning from shame or something else.

You stop, close your mouth, then open it again. “When I passed out, I was just thinking about how I would hate for us to part like that. I didn’t want last night to be our last moment.”

“No,” he says firmly. “While you’d been asleep, I’ve had quite some time to think, darling. And more time to wallow in my self pity for being stuck with an actual weirdo. I mean, do you hear yourself? Worrying about such a stupid encounter while on your deathbed? You should’ve been cursing me with all the strength you had left if you were going to think about me of all people!”

You smile a bit, and he grits his teeth at the way his throat goes dry. “I’m just glad.”

“For getting poisoned?”

“No,” you roll your eyes. “I’m glad I didn’t scare you off by telling you I loved you. I was afraid we wouldn’t talk like this anymore.”

His body wills him to freeze up again. To push you away, and to force the fantasy that his feelings towards you were nothing but manipulative. That you were nothing but a way to survive to him. But no, he couldn’t stand such cowardice any longer. Not after nearly losing you.

You offer him a pathetic laugh. “I don’t expect you to say it back, nor for you to feel the same way. I just—felt like you needed to know. It doesn’t change anything between us I hope. It just felt wrong to keep it to myself any longer and the way you reacted just made me regret it so much-“

He wraps his palm in front of your mouth, his other hand pulling you closer to his side in an instant. With your faces inches apart, he sighs irritably. “As much as I’d like to keep hearing your voice, I can’t stand its contents any longer I’m afraid.”

He lowers his hand, staring straight at your wide eyes as he narrows his own. “I do. Like you, I mean. A lot more than I’d like to admit, quite frankly.”

You blink as if you’re staring at a miracle.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mumbles with a scoff. “I’ve had these feelings for a while now, I just didn’t wish to face them. When you said that to me yesterday, I just didn’t know how to respond, and for that, I am sorry. But losing you—I’m not sure what I would have done, but it’s certainly not a pretty sight.”

Your eyes soften and he’s certain he can lose himself within them for years. “I’ve never heard you sound so—sincere.”

He raises your knuckles to his lips, keeping them close even as he speaks. “I approached you out of necessity, I’ll admit. But it seems you’ve grown on me in a way I haven’t experienced since I’ve turned into a spawn. What you are to me—it’s difficult to describe.” He pauses. “Sometimes, I can still feel my heart beating with you.”

As your fingers brush against the side of his face, he swears he can feel it again. He almost feels warm, maybe even safe. And he’s sick and tired of denying himself of your embrace when death is around every corner.

You’re soon curled up into his chest, with his chin atop of your head. He’s not sure how much time passes—maybe hours, or even days as he continues to observe your face, committing each and every detail to his memory. And when your breathing steadies, falling into deep slumber, he finally has the courage to whisper the words against your hair.

“I love you.”

#astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #light angst #angst with a happy ending #fluff #comfort #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #astarion

[calypso707]

Can I request a Druid tav x Astarion? Where over time and a ton of talks about it Astarion allows tav to try different ways to flatten his scars on his back? Different lotions/creams and massages? Not necessarily making them disappear but flattening them enough so their not as raised and angry.

That’s a good one, i hope you'll like it, it was a bit more challenging but I enjoyed writing it. I've done it differently, though. I preferred to write the first time they treat his scars. Please don't hesitate to send me feedback ! Enjoy ! (๑˘︶˘๑)

OS - Astarion x Gn druid reader : On your skin.

Since you were a child, you had always imagined that you'd spend your life in the Circle, at the service of nature and protecting the balance. But recent events had completely turned your life upside down: your kidnapping by mind flayers, the crash of their nautiloid, the victory over the goblins… Not to mention the roommate you had in your skull. And these events, however improbable, had driven you to create the strangest alliances.

Your favorite time of day was when you returned to your camp in the Wilderness. You enjoyed the calm that settles all around you as soon as night fell, you liked to hear the wood creak under the fire, you loved to gaze up at the sky as if to interpret the messages left by the stars, you even caught yourself listening for the animals prowling nearby. Oak Father, you loved those quiet moments. You knelt at the edge of the shore, not far from your tent, your eyes closed and your breathing stilled to the rhythm of the waves undulating in the wind. You allowed your mind to wander, you were surrounded by strange companions and you had permitted your heart to fall in with the most unusual being of all.

Astarion.

A vampire.

If your Circle were to find out… For many, vampires were an abomination of nature, but for you, he was just a magistrate with immoral tendencies and a liking for blood. You did not know if the feeling was mutual, and you did not particularly want to find out. Astarion cherished his freedom and it was just as meaningful to you. He had spent much of his spawn life in the service of a cruel lord who had submitted him to all kinds of vices. You thought back to the inscriptions carved into the flesh of his back and how he must have suffered.

A throat-clearing sounded above you and you opened your eyes. Speaking of the devil.. You did not even hear him coming. Astarion was standing in front of you, looking… Unsure?

"I've been thinking about what you said. About my… Scars."

You stood up to face him properly, inviting him with a nod to continue.

"I would like you to treat them to make them less, well.. Noticeable," he added. "They do not, of course, affect my beauty, but if you could make them more pleasing to the eye, I would not say no."

You rolled your eyes at his words. The two of you had discussed this several times. You simply offered to help, you had no wish to erase them because they were part of him. You just wanted to make them less sensitive so you were waiting for him to give you permission. "All right, I will take care of it. Let's go to my tent, so we can have some privacy"

You gestured for him to follow you, which he surprisingly did without protesting. You entered the tent, which was large enough for just one person. On the right was your paillasse, surrounded by books of various subjects. On the left, a huge solid wood table held all your herbs, elixirs, ointments and recipes. You invited him to sit on a wooden stool beside you.

"Let me have a look"

Astarion seemed to hesitate for a moment and finally removed his shirt before tossing it onto your bed. He seemed almost… uncomfortable. Yet it was not the first time you had seen him half-naked. You stood behind him and slowly brought your fingers to his scarred skin.

"May I?"

"Yes," He replied in a breath, his unease was palpable. He seemed vulnerable.

You gently ran your fingers over his upper back, cautiously brushing his scars. You felt him flinch slightly at the warmth of your skin, which contrasted with the coldness of his. It was the first time you had seen them so closely. The Language of the Hells had been carved into his flesh two centuries ago, and you could still guess the pain he must have felt. According to him, it was a poem, a very strange poem. The cruelty of the act made your heart ache and your stomach twist. How could he have survived such pain?

"It was a surprise. As you can see, Cazador's surprises are never good ones," commented Astarion.

You looked up at the mirror in front of you, and although his reflection was not visible, you could see you touching his invisible skin as delicately as possible, his face was turned to the mirror, examining your every move. You detached yourself to search through your ointments and took one you had prepared earlier. It was a derivative of Silvanus' elixir, based on boiling theriac and mugwort bundle. Returning to stand behind him, you took a generous quantity of the mixture with your fingers before applying it delicately to the marks. Astarion twitched again, looking over his shoulder at you.

"I am sorry" You said.

"No, it is cold. But it feels… Nice"

You slowly knelt behind him and carefully applied the ointment, making sure his skin properly absorbed the treatment. The effect was almost instantaneous, and the scars seemed less vivid to the naked eye. It would take several applications for it to be fully effective. You ran your fingers along the long lines that ended at the lower part of his back and noticed that a shiver ran through his body. This moment was different from the others you had shared, even more intimate because he had allowed you to get closer to that part of his past he hated. He had allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of you.

"Do you feel any difference?" you asked, looking up at him as he swiveled on the stool to face you. You wiped your fingers on a clean cloth.

"Hm.." He made a move as if trying to stretch his skin. He seemed a bit surprised. "I used to feel them, itching. I no longer feel that discomfort"

"It will require repeated application for it to be more effective, but it is a good start"

"Oh, are you offering me private sessions for massages?" questioned the vampire, a mischievous smile on his lips.

You smiled at his question and, as you stood up, he grabbed your arm to pull you towards him. He wrapped his right arm around your waist and his left hand slid down your forearm. This embrace took you by surprise, but you did not push him away, on the contrary. He took your hand in his and brought your fingers to his lips, softly. He half-opened his mouth as he slid your index and middle finger over his lower lip, revealing his fangs. A shiver of excitement ran through your body.

"It means a lot, you know, what you do for me. I will never forget it."

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

I hope you enjoyed it, feel free to have a look at my other writings on Astarion ! Love ya !

Astarion x gn druid reader : On your skin (pt.2)

Astarion x gn reader : A thousand thanks

Astarion x gn reader : No place for love

Fic : Astarion x Fem! bard Tav : Fruit of the Poisonned Tree

#romance #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion vampire #astarion x gn reader #baldur's gate iii #baulders gate 3 #baldurs gate #astarion ancunin #astarion my beloved

[ficbrish]

Part of my Flufftober Spring one shot collection

"The Pale Elves"

cw: Sickness, teasing, cptsd

Tav Vistri, Shadow-Cursed Lands, near the end of Act II

“You look a little pale.”

“Rich. Coming from you,” Vistri chortled.

It was true, Astarion’s skin was a colorless white. It used to shine with the kiss of the sun, but then he died, and in rising again, kept death’s pallor. Vistri didn’t have much room to talk though. She had a lavender, periwinkle sort of tone, which was rather light for a drow.

But even more so tonight. Her coloring was different, more silver than purple.

Which, in turn, colored his response. Usually he’d play along, tease her for being just as pale as he was. Instead, Astarion fretted over her with a surprising amount of concern. He didn’t consider himself to be a particularly empathetic person, and yet here he was, hurting at even the prospect of her discomfort. Worrying like a mother hen! It was wrong. All of this was wrong.

“No, I mean it,” he said, “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted.

No more than a second later, she sneezed.

There was a handkerchief dangling in her face when Vistri opened her eyes; a frowning Astarion at the other end. Grudgingly, she snatched it out his hands, furious at her sinuses for their poorly-timed betrayal.

No one ever passed her silk scarves from their pockets when she needed one. His thoughtfulness landed in her heart like a burn on frozen skin. He also wasn’t allowed to be right. They were in the midst of the Shadow Curse Lands, hot on the tail of those Absolute cultists. Of course, she’d rather stay at camp and rest! Her muscles ached to the bone, and the power of the curse this close to Moonrise made her head pound. Grumbling, she blew her nose with an unfortunate honk.

“What in the hells was that?!” Astarion asked, laughing.

Come to think of it, he’d never seen Vistri blow her nose before. Such a normal thing. He wasn’t prepared for her to do it so abnormally.

“What?” she asked, genuinely confused, having lived with that sound her whole life.

“It’s like a…” his laughter cut off his words, “Like a fucking foghorn! What is that?”

Offended, she answered, “I’m blowing my nose!”

Astarion fell back, laughing, into his bedroll. He tried to right himself, but this newly discovered quality of hers kept him too weak to sit up.

“It’s not funny!” she pouted.

“Yes!” he was struggling to speak normally, “Yes, it is!”

He was lucky his uncontrollable laughter was so precious to Vistri. It made it almost not matter that it was at her expense. Almost. Her pride still prickled, hardening the casing of her chest. But he broke it so easily. The sound of his beloved laugh lifted her heart, like a hearth roaring on a snowy night.

She tried her best to sound serious, “Keep that up and maybe I’ll start feeling less generous.”

“You don’t mean that!” he chuckled warmly, crawling his way back to a sitting position.

“Yes,” she crossed her arms, “I do!”

“No, please!”

Even the affectation of anxiety and regret in Astarion’s voice tugged painfully at her heart. She leaned in and kissed the side of his head, whispering, “You know I could never deny you.”

His remaining giggles stilled into a soft, happy smirk.

“You couldn’t?”

“Never, ever.”

“Well…” He paused, stopping himself from admitting something painfully sincere. Then continued with a teasing brow, his tone changed, “I’ll have to remember to take advantage of that, won’t I?”

Vistri leveled her brow with his, “I thought we were learning how not to take advantage of each other.”

“Ugh! You’re quite right,” he pouted, then cheekily bent his frown into a warm smile.

They joked around about it, but theirs was a sacred promise. An experiment.

Is love real?

Are they worthy of it?

Wrapping her arms around Astarion’s neck, she purred, “That doesn’t mean you have to keep your hands off me.”

He chuckled softly and drew her in closer, holding her tighter. Caressing her nose with his, he savored the lightness in his head at her proximity. His nose flicked hers aside, tilting her head up to align her lips with his, leaning forward to gently meet them.

This was the new world they were exploring. One where they kissed for the sake of a kiss.

She felt his hands cradle the back of her neck. Everything in her relaxed. Tensions she didn’t know she held suddenly let go into his embrace.

“Lucky us,” he spoke against her ear.

#vistarion #tav x astarion #astarion x tav #wip wednesday #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #BrishFics #astarion #astarion ancunin #fluff

[spicedrobot]

maybe something with omeluum and a peculiar (sex pollen) mushroom from the underdark?!

(tumblr ate this ask, but I still had the email of it so here you go !!)

this also has blurg in it because I love them together I hope that's ok 🥰💖🙈 there's also slight spoilers for act 1/underdark/myconid colony content!

-

Tav returned to the myconid colony more quickly than Omeluum had anticipated. Normally, it would attribute Tav’s expeditiousness to his competency, but as the half-elf withdrew the requested specimen from his bag, Omeluum gave pause. Tav's movements were jittery and clumsy compared to the capable, dexterous ranger that it had observed previously. 

It wanted to inquire about the specimen’s procurance—it had only learned of the mushroom from a half-rotten journal which gave only vagaries to the fungi’s location—but Tav didn’t appear in good health. His dusky complexion was splotched all the way to the tips of his ears, and his skin glistened with a sheen more commonly found on illithid than humanoids. For a moment, Omeluum worried that his transformation had begun. Though the other telltale symptoms had not yet manifested, and Tav requested no assistance with the tadpole as he had done before. He simply stumbled away after payment was exchanged, his large druid companion tailing closer behind him than the rest. 

Curious, indeed. But if Tav’s condition was not an immediate cause for alarm, then Omeluum could turn its attention to the strange new specimen.

Unfolding it from the cloth it was wrapped in revealed an innocuous mushroom with a dark blue stem and supple, rounded caps. At first glance, it would seem at home with the other species nestled in the colony’s meadows. Omeluum wondered at its properties: the journal had been as vague about them as it had its location. 

It retreated to the small dwelling that constituted as the Society’s residence within the colony, away from the prying receptors of the myconid who may look poorly upon such a rarity dissected for research. Omeluum donned gloves and eyewear before handling the specimen directly. Overly precautious, perhaps, as few of the more dangerous Underdark fungi affected illithid in the same manner as its native denizens. 

As it turned out, Omeluum’s precautions had not mattered in the slightest.

After a few hours of inspection and initial observational notes, a dreariness began to overtake Omeluum. It may’ve suspected something was amiss, but it was past its normal time to rest, so it retired with little resistance.

It woke some time later to a hard grip on its shoulder.

“Omeluum, are you well?” 

Blurg was leaning over it, shaking it awake. Omeluum sat up in its bedroll and looked blearily at Blurg. His brows and mouth were pinched with concern, and his face was oddly colored in the dim light.

Strange… as strange as how Omeluum was feeling. Its skin tingled, felt as slick as it did after a proper and sumptuous meal. There was an unusual softness to its thoughts as well, as if they were a viscous solution being filtered by mere gravity. And the warmth—no, the heat—radiating in curious places—along its tentacles, beneath Blurg’s grip, and lower, much lower—

Omeluum meant to speak. Instead, it released a quiet, throaty rumble that shivered down to the tips of its tentacles. 

Impossibly, Blurg’s complexion darkened further, rich purple blooming over his cheeks and nose. He released Omeluum and began to pull away, but Omeluum grabbed his wrist.

They both froze. Omeluum hadn’t meant to do that. 

“That new specimen. It’s done something to you,” Blurg breathed.

Omeluum could find nothing to protest such a claim. It had been in perfect health before. “That would also explain the strange state of our infected companions.” It spoke slowly, each word rising soft like a bubble that was apt to be forgotten as soon as it popped. “Where is the specimen?”

“I’ve placed it in a more suitable container outside. Speaking of…” Blurg kept looking down at where Omeluum was holding him, then to his own feet, unwilling to meet its eyes. “... you should get some fresh air. Well, fresher. That mushroom’s spores have permeated the dwelling. Smells like a brothel in here.”

“A nice brothel, or a poor one?” Omeluum said as carefully as it could. It could not smell, at least not in the ways that other beings did. Its tentacles began to curl in on themselves, dragging along their own lengths restlessly. 

Blurg laughed. The comment seemed to ease him, and he looked at Omeluum properly. “A fine one.”

“And what aromas comprise of a fine brothel?”

Blurg’s gaze dropped to its tentacles. His shoulders tightened again. Omeluum felt the tension in Blurg’s wrist, his throbbing pulse, but he didn’t pull away. And Omeluum didn’t let go.

“It smells… good. Honey-sweet like a sussur bloom. And like sex, of course.”

Omeluum’s mind supplied what its olfactory senses lacked. It had tasted honey before, and it had felt the soft petals of a delicate sussur. Sex, it barely remembered; it hardly ever considered such acts as an illithid. But at its mention, Omeluum tightened its grip on Blurg’s wrist. Blood thundered under its palm, and the heat within itself grew to a fever pitch.

“I do not think… I should be outside in my current state.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? The affects may lessen—”

Omeluum shook its head. It pressed Blurg’s hand to its chest. Tentacles parted to make way for it, then drew closer again, sliding along his exposed forearm. There was a sensation, almost like a current, where their bodies connected. Omeluum closed its eyes, felt them cross in its skull, felt its lower half quiver.

“Omeluum,” Blurg choked out. His hand flexed against its chest, his claws digging into its tunic, scoring covered flesh. His voice was closer. He was closer. “Are you in pain? What should I do?”

“I…” Omeluum swallowed, shifted. It was humid inside and out, wet skin and heat. It was leaking through its tunic. “Will you touch me… offer succor?” It was almost too easy to ask, with its eyes closed, with Blurg so close, sharing its breath. “It… it will help.”

“Touch you.” Almost a question. His voice rose, cracked. 

Omeluum opened its eyes. Blurg was staring at Omeluum, staring hard. His nostrils were flared, his eyes bright. He was inhaling the spores, scenting Omeluum. 

He was interested. In an academic or sensual sense, Omeluum had no preference. It just wanted, burned. Its trousers were slick with it, its tentacles writhing, clutching what it could of Blurg’s arm, weaving between his fingers, leaving warm, damp trails in their wake. 

Things proceed quickly, then. Omeluum shifting over on its bedroll and Blurg all but falling into it. Its tentacles never quite freeing Blurg, dragging relentlessly over him until his hand slipped into Omeluum’s trousers. Then its tentacles clung. 

Omeluum tossed its head back and groaned at the touch. It had felt hot, and with fingers pressed against it, it was unbearable. The pressure it hadn’t been able to identify rose—desire, desperation—in organs that were all but vestigial. It throbbed and grew against Blurg’s hand, twisting and pulsing as something emerged from its body. Tentacles of some kind, Omeluum hadn’t even known that about itself, its dormant physiology normally so forgettable, so unimportant.

Blurg swore, his head half-tucked into Omeluum’s shoulder. He was embarrassed, and Omeluum knew it was asking too much of its companion. But shame wasn’t enough to make Omeluum push him away.

As the uniqueness of Omeluum’s body unfurled to Blurg’s touch, he groaned, leaned in closer, began to observe the mystery between Omeluum’s thighs. There was no way to tell him how to do it. Omeluum didn’t know itself. Yet, they were learned men, weren’t they? Blurg tested the external appendages first, stroking over them, petting along and between.

 Omeluum clutched at him. “Perhaps… internal stimulation?”

Blurg went purple in the ears, then he pressed a finger inside, careful with his claws. There wasn’t much room for it, but it was better like this, hotter, deeper. As he grew more confident, he hooked two fingers within, ground his knuckles against something firmer than the surrounding soft, twitching muscles. Omeluum began to rock into this touch instinctively, felt its insides seize and swell, tender and more sensitive than it would’ve dreamed. The sensation was incredible. Its external appendages agreed, dripping and twisting, curling around Blurg’s wrists, pulling him closer, trying to draw more inside.

“Blurg, I—” Omeluum whispered. Its hands clasped the back of Blurg’s tunic, claws nearly rending the fabric in its desperation. 

Blurg’s words, though gruff, were little more than a moan.“Well, get on with it.” 

He shifted his hand harder, circling against something new, something deeper, that spotted out Omeluum’s vision. Its tentacles were acting on their own again, salacious, twisting around Blurg’s throat, slipping against the edges of his ears. It wanted to push inside Blurg somehow, his mouth, stuff him full, have him choke—

Strangely, it was that thought that undid Omeluum, had it writhing as wildly as its tentacles, spilling in a hot rush over Blurg’s hand. The motions were uncontrolled, and it felt Blurg’s nails against it, but it was not enough to put off its ardor, in fact, it only seemed to enhance it.

When Omeluum’s thoughts dared to drift outward, it realized its tentacles were twisted around Blurg’s jaw, their tips trailing around his mouth. He was wet with Omeluum’s touch, marked. His breath was shallow, his pupils dilated. 

“I think I’m also in need of… assistance,” Blurg said. 

The spores, Omeluum thought belatedly, and looked down. 

Blurg’s trousers were tented with desire. A desire that Omeluum had never dealt with before. But Omeluum felt certain that, between them both, they would be able to figure it out. 

#omelurg #omeluum #blurg #bg3 #sex pollen #asks #fics

[ollypopwrites]

Ch. 4 Damage Gets Done

Words: 4.8k

Pairing: Gale x Named Female Tav

Rating: M (I personally think it's a T but just to be safe lol)

Summary:

Since the time she had learned how, Isra occasionally liked to wildshape to sleep. If her bed was some particularly uncomfortable ground, being a small animal provided a way of burrowing around and finding comfort. Or if she was cold, she could transform into something with fur and be mostly unbothered by the chill for a while as she slept.

Warnings: language, misunderstandings/miscommunication (I know I hate it too, just stick with me), jealousy, mentions of Mystra and how creepy she is, thoughts of death and dying (cuz its Gale).

Notes: It's time to yearn, boys.

You can also Read on Ao3!

Since the time she had learned how, Isra occasionally liked to wildshape to sleep. If her bed was some particularly uncomfortable ground, being a small animal provided a way of burrowing around and finding comfort. Or if she was cold, she could transform into something with fur and be mostly unbothered by the chill for a while as she slept. It had been such a night the first time she encountered Gale by the campfire, half expecting him to realize it was her immediately. Maybe it was the wine she could smell on his breath that night, but he did not catch on. 

And when he first petted her, the intoxication of touch from him, despite her wildshaped form, overwhelmed her. 

If she was honest she could not remember the last time she had been given such gentle affections, and her body ached for more. And he seemed pleased to have a friend, something she could not provide the same way after showing him her feelings for him in the Weave. He had pushed her away and though it hurt, she had allowed him his space. Gale had courted a goddess and how could she or any mortal ever compare? He was always talking of her, or creating simulacrums of her visage, and constantly channeling the weave of which Mystra intrinsically was made of. 

Both Selune and Eilistraee had been as dear to her as such far removed entities could be since she had emerged from the Underdark with her parents. That first night topside as a little girl, when she looked up and saw the beautiful silver orb of light, she had been moved to tears. It followed her and guided her as she traveled,  and she had felt the presence of the deity  gentle and comforting — what would it feel like to be scooped up and held in either of their embraces? She could hardly fathom the idea of it. 

Gale and Mystra’s was a strange dynamic, one that made Isra’s stomach turn. But as she had told Shadowheart, whose Goddess was diametrically opposed to her own, Isra never found it to be her place to speak on someone else’s faith. She was no crusader or missionary, she was just a girl who loved the moon. Who was she to impede on the love affair of a mortal man and his goddess?

Despite it being sneaky and a bit dishonest, she thought the guise of ‘Vesper,’ as he called her cat form, was a decent compromise. Selfishly, she got to steal time with him, and although it created an entirely self-inflicted new form of pining, he got the gift of ignorance of her pain and a friend.

If anything, she should have known her luck was running out the day they took on the goblin outpost and freed Halsin. She had kept track of time, taking into account her exhaustion from the fight earlier in the day and left Gale’s side before her spell would have given out. Even better, he had been sleeping when she left. 

As she exited his tent, however, she forgot to take into account the nightly watch. So distracted by her own thoughts of Gale and trying to remember exactly how it felt to be held by him, to carry the feeling with her to her bedroll — she dropped the wildshape spell halfway to her tent. 

“You’ve got to be joking.” 

It was Shadowheart. By the fire for her watch, with an eyebrow raised, lips perked up into a teasing smile and laughter dancing behind her eyes. Isra froze before immediately hiding her face behind her hands. 

“Fucking hells, I’m an idiot.” 

“Yes,” Shadowheart joked back, her voice at least quiet. 

“Please — just — gods, don’t tell anyone.” 

“I thought he had finally lost it,” Shadowheart said, “talking about a mysterious house cat no one has ever seen before.” 

Isra was panicking, kicking herself; the whole thing was stupid to begin with and she had to be dumb enough to get caught on top of it. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” Shadowheart assured her. “Consider us even for the nautiloid.” 

“I hardly think saving your life is equal to -“

“Oh, shall I tell him then?” 

“No!” Isra hissed. “No. Fine. Even. That’s it. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, Vesper.”

Yet, this close call was not enough to make her give up being close to him. Isra had hoped to keep it going until they went to the Underdark where she could simply stop and he could believe his new feline friend was safe somewhere on the top ground.  She knew she was selfish, but she promised herself that she would stop before the real damage was done. 

However, she  lost track of time. She used to be able to take any animal form for an entire night but with the tadpole she seemed to be starting all over. Two hours was what she could manage now. 

And now she was here, in his tent, halfway in his lap with her secret out in the open to the one person she dreaded finding out. 

“Fuck.”

Gale’s expression was hard to decipher but it was not a happy one and she wanted to flee. He was grimacing, eyes tightened so the vague crows feet at the corners were more pronounced than usual.  He had said her name with such a sharp intensity that made her stomach drop. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I’m so sorry Gale, I - “ I wanted to be close to you, I wanted to hear your dumb hums of interest as you read something interesting, I wanted, I wanted, I wanted. She felt tears pricking her eyes, half mortification and half overwhelming guilt. “I should go.” 

“I believe that would be best,” he replied and then grunted, as if physically pained. 

Isra turned tail and ran, not caring if anyone saw her leave his tent. 

Luckily, there was little time for personal concerns the next day, given that they were moving into a new territory. Everyone did their part as they  moved camp as a whole and headed to the Underdark, scouted out a good spot to call home base for the time being and settled in. 

The Underdark was just how she remembered it. Damp, gloomy, and although not without its own beauty, a generally dreary place. She immediately missed the big open sky with her beloved moon, and fresh air of the forest. Few of them had journeyed down below the surface before, so she took her time to remind everyone of the basic rules of the Underdark. She provided them all jugs, telling them that if they came across fresh water to bottle as much as possible. She warned them not to get separated, to keep a keen eye out for creatures in dark spaces and most importantly to watch their step. A tumble there would prove fatal. 

Astarion kept looking at the stone ceiling, and she lamented with him the loss of the sky. Karlach was eager to get moving, just to get out of there quicker. The others seemed fine, Wyll’s spirits were not weakened, Shadowheart found the place fascinating (despite their entrance via a Selunite stronghold), Lae’zel wondered aloud what strange beasts she could decapitate and mount, all while Gale seemed quietly studious. Halsin had joined them as well, and he was adamant this route was safer than the mountain pass. She was willing to brave it, the Underdark was treacherous but it had once been her home. She knew she could lead them through it.

Isra had chosen to not bring Gale along for the first few ventures further into the dark, opting to give him his space after they had been explicitly avoiding each other. Shadowheart, Karlach and Astarion had been her team, who all had their obvious advantages in the dark spaces. After assisting a lovely myconid colony with some invasive duergar and gathering some information about Absolute cultists deeper in the Underdark, they decided to visit a mysterious abandoned wizard’s tower. 

It was supposedly the place to find some materials needed by a friendly refugee mind flayer in order to do some research on their unusual tadpoles. When she discussed her plan and her party, no one seemed to protest (besides Lae’zel who reminded her a ghaik had gotten them into this mess in the first place) and they planned to head out after another night of rest. At camp, she settled in to work on some alchemy with the new extractions she had made of some of the plentiful mushrooms of the Underdark. 

Every once in a while she glanced up around the camp, everyone was getting along, although most of them had taken to whispering as if something was on the verge of finding them and leaping out of the shadows. Karlach’s gleeful laughter broke the spell at something Astarion said, echoing off the walls and it made Isra smile. She caught the eyes of Gale who was watching her and she immediately looked away from him and back to her task.

 It had been days since her secret was exposed, days of pushing the thought out of her head, avoiding him beyond what was polite and he had done the same. Circe slithered up her back, coiling around her shoulders and resting her head down, offering a welcome distraction as she continued her work. They chatted about the day, Circe casually mentioning that she seemed to be avoiding the resident wizard.

Isra was grateful no one else could understand the snake as she brushed off the comments. So caught up in her task of extracting essences and not allowing Circe to extract any information from her, she did not hear the footsteps approaching her. 

“Do you have a moment?” 

Gale had gotten little sleep the night of the revelation. The orb ached in his chest, and the absence of Vesper now that her true identity was revealed felt like a heavier loss. She was clearly mortified, he was certain she was near bursting to tears when she realized she was found out and he wanted to go tell her not to worry herself. He wanted to offer comfort, to assure her he found it rather sweet, but the ever present pain he felt was a reminder why he couldn’t. 

It did not help that now she was outright avoiding him. Better in the grand scheme of things, he had reminded himself, trying hard to grasp onto the logic of it. He was trying not to lead her down a path of agony for them both. But he could not deny that he missed her. 

It was silly, since she was always there just across camp. Isra, however, would not even look at him and just as she had allowed him to take his space there was little he could do but allow her to run off. 

It was hard enough before but this was a special form of self-flagellation. He had borne it all with a polite smile, until she had passed him over for Astarion of all people to join her on a journey to a very intriguing wizards tower. If being denied the chance to see such a place was not enough, Astarion’s new place at her side was. He was flirty by nature, and handsome was an understatement when describing him; he was also conniving and (quite literally) blood thirsty. He knew the vampire had propositioned her at the tiefling party, and he also knew that Isra was regularly feeding him her own blood. 

Jealousy was now rearing its very ugly head, and despite reminding himself he was certainly not in any position to be jealous, he knew the feeling well. The Gods were not an entirely monogamous group, as it were. He felt as he had when Mystra told him of other lovers; helpless and very, very human. 

But the last straw seemed to be the fact Isra had not even considered him to join on this journey. He told himself that the only reason he was breaking the unspoken barrier between them was because he had to see that tower. So he marched over to where she was idly chatting to the snake on her shoulders, crushing up mushrooms in her mortar. 

“Do you have a moment?” When she looked up at him, her eyes widened, with panic or shock, he was not sure. 

“Yes,” she said cautiously, then turned her attention back to her task. 

Silence rang between them, filled only by everyone else doing their own tasks and the scrape of the pestle on the stone. Irritation flared in him. 

“Apologies, I meant to ask; may I speak with you privately?” His tone was polite, forced, but polite nonetheless. He added a terse, “please,” for good measure. 

“Ah, sorry, yes,” she set her mortar and pestle down, a gentle word to Circe had the snake sliding down her arm to curl around the tools. 

He had already turned away, walking some distance towards camp to a nightlight frond within visual distance of the camp but not close enough to be overheard. Isra followed him, chewing on her bottom lip until he worried it might catch on her sharp canines. She met his eyes resolutely, chin tilted up to do so and face set into a neutral expression.

“I understand that you have taken on a position of leadership in our merry little band,” he began, “a position well earned, I might add, but I would advise you to take into consideration the strengths of everyone before organizing your outing parties.” 

Her lips parted, eyes widened in shock, and then she frowned, “I’m sorry, is this a random lecture or do you intend to say what you really mean, Gale?”

“What I mean is,” he said, slowly to counteract the flaring irritation at her retort, “Shadowheart’s healing abilities are an invaluable asset down here, as is Karlach’s brute strength, but Astarion has no place poking around an abandoned wizard’s tower.” 

“Astarion is incredibly good in the shadows,” Isra shot back, “look around, Gale, the entire place is shadows.” 

“A valid point,” he conceded, “and yet, not every situation requires his brand of finesse.” 

“So who shall I take instead?” Her tone was sharp, “since you’re so obviously bothered by your lack of input on the matter.” 

“You are much cleverer than this Isra,” he said, in the back of his mind he knew he was being condescending and not making a good case for his own inclusion in the party. His ire, however, was taking the reins. “But if you insist on playing the fool: who amongst our party is, in fact, a wizard? Not only a wizard, but Mystra’s former chosen and learned under her tutelage and that of one of the greatest wizards in the realms?”

“Oh, were you Mystra’s chosen? You’re so humble for  never mentioning it before,” Isra rolled her eyes. 

He ignored the sarcasm, forcing instead more brightness with his factuality. He would not take the bait. “I did indeed,” he said. “A wizard’s tower is a labyrinth of curiosities that we protect fiercely, it is a sanctuary of our own making — of all our group, I am best suited for any challenges that may face us there.” He folded his hands in front of him, pleased with his speech, “and I believe you understand that the goal of learning more about these Illithid stowaways in order to eventually evict them, is more important than whatever personal challenges there may be between us.” 

The sardonic expression on her face quickly shifted to something softer and much sadder. “I —“ she started but then seemed to deflate before him.  She took a deep breath, and gathered herself, once again the fearless leader he had seen day in and out for the past months.  Aloof, and stoic. “You’re right. I apologize. We leave tomorrow immediately after everyone has gotten enough rest, make sure you have what you need.” 

Normally Gale loved hearing someone admit he was right. This time it felt empty. “I am at your disposal,” he replied, his own tone of insincere and overt brightness making him cringe internally. 

Isra looked like she might say something else, but then reconsidered and asked, “is there anything else you wanted to say?” 

There were a great many things he wanted to say to her, ranging all the way from poetry to just plain and simple declarations. “No, my case has been made.” 

She smiled a little, “top of the class, as always, Gale.” 

His heart ached with longing at the joke and the fond way she delivered it. He forced himself to smile back, nodded and then used the last of his willpower to walk away. 

Gods above, he was in love with her. 

The tower was a ways from their camp, and they had to double back towards the docks where the bodies of enemy duergar were beginning to rot. It was somewhat treacherous, they had to go one or two at a time along certain ridges and up rocky walls. 

At some point they stopped to take a breather, Shadowheart and Karlach down below on an outcropping of rock while Gale and Isra were above on the cliffside. Shadowheart’s heavy armor was weighing her down, she needed a breather before taking on more rock climbing and while all four of them sticking as close as possible was best, pairs were acceptable to Isra for a short rest. 

“Bread?” He offered her and she declined politely. “Isra, it’ll be hours before we head back to camp and breakfast was well before we even started this trek up the side of what seems to be eternally extending stone wall,” he said, exasperated. “Have some bread.”

He half expected her to make a comment about his lecturing, she normally did, or at the very least to roll her eyes at him. But she did neither. She took the bread, took a bite and then went back to staring at a very old, very detailed map of the Underdark. 

Disappointed by the lack of reaction, he hummed slightly. His next choice of words could break the wall of ice between them, or it could make it worse. Making casual conversation had not yet worked, and despite knowing that the distance between them was best he couldn’t help himself. 

“Do you often take the form of a cat at night?”

The way her eyes stopped flitting about the page gave away her shock at the question, her posture did not change much and in the lowlight it was hard to tell but he thought she may be turning that lovely magenta color. Her eyes closed tight as she scrunched up her face in a cringe. 

“Gale, I truly am sorry,” she said. “I’ve tried to give you your space after… after… well — you know. And then I let it get in the way of —“

“It was not meant as a slight,” Gale interrupted. “Only curiosity.” 

Isra seemed unsure, she licked her lips and then nibbled slightly on the bottom one (he would do damn near anything to have the privilege to do the same). She pursed her lips slightly until she spoke again.

“Sometimes.” Was all she said. 

 Brain momentarily befuddled thinking about her lips, he frowned, “pardon?”

“Sometimes,” she repeated, seeming like she was forcing herself to speak. “I take to wildshaping to sleep.”

Ah, yes he had asked her a question. Coming back to himself, chest aching vaguely with his renewed interest and proximity to her, Gale rubbed the mark of the orb and forced himself to meet her eyes. 

“Do you find it more comfortable?”

Isra chewed on some bread, buying herself time before she responded. “If the ground is particularly uncomfortable, yes.” 

“Are there varying levels of comfort while sleeping on the ground?” 

“As someone who has slept on the ground most of their life: yes,” she said. 

Gale wanted to whisk her away to his tower, where she could leisure away her days (in cat form or otherwise) on his bed. In fact, thinking about his bed made him pine for it deeply, his fireplace, his favorite chair, and his extensive library.

 “I’ll have to take your word for it.” 

There was a silence, not tense like before but companionable, and contemplative. Isra broke it when she added, “if it’s cold I like to transform into something with fur, helps keep it at bay.” 

“We ought to get you a coat, or at the very least a better blanket,” he frowned slightly.

“Coats are expensive,” she told him, with a shrug. 

“But you hunt, surely,” he said, “couldn’t you make something with fur?”

“Never took to sewing and tanning,” she shrugged. “Usually I sell whatever pelts I get my hands on.” 

Gale made a mental note to find a nice blanket for her next time they came across a trader. Nothing long forgotten and repurposed like clothes she wore now, or scrounged together from scraps of their enemies belongings like her tent back at camp — something new and just for her. He could tell her not to worry herself anymore about the Vesper situation, he could further mend this break between them. But it was comfortable again and comfortable conversation was all he could afford. 

They chatted a bit on the way to the tower, until the building was in sight. It was magnificent, even in its deteriorating state. A large looming beacon of civilization amongst a sea of barren rock and caverns. They navigated all the way through, down into the garden — picking through personal diaries, book collections and forgotten belongings. The Sussur tree flowers made Gale wildly uncomfortable, and he noticed both Shadowheart and Isra were fascinated and befuddled by it but he found it quite clever that it powered the lift which brought them to each floor. 

Isra had pocketed a book, The Roads to Darkness, that had obviously been well loved by the wizard who created the tower. They found the spores they were hunting and the rest was pure curiosity. At the top floor he saw Isra freeze in place, befuddled by what she was seeing. Several magical  automatons populated what was once a workshop, most of them were in disrepair and clunking about loudly. 

“Fascinating work,” Gale admired, “still running after all this time.” 

 He half expected them to attack. However, when Isra approached the largest, most intricate one, it did not raise a metal finger. 

“New sounds through damp and dark oppression break,” it said, “is it the foe, that foul contemptuous heel?”

Isra’s brow furrowed, and she seemed to be figuring some unknown puzzle. “The book!” She whispered and dug in her bag to pull out the book. “‘Or art thou friend, a rescue from my lonely wake?” 

“Come out of love for me, not love for blood and steel. Command as you see fit, my lord, my liege,” it said in its strange tinny voice and gave a small bow. 

“Good manners for a hunk of metal,” Karlach commented. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Gale began, “I love poetry as much as the next wizard, but using it to command an automaton…seems a bit self-indulgent to me.” 

“One of the letters, I think she said something about being holed up with only… Bernard.” Shadowheart frowned. “This must be him. It. Whatever.”

 “‘The silence stretches on -’” Isra said ignoring her companions and reading from the book, “‘Please, can I hold your hands, for just a while?’”

“Of course, my love. Don’t be afraid, sweet girl.” The machine’s tone echoed, its unnatural movement and lifeless eyes mismatching the sweet words. “What can I do? Say, would you like a hug?”

Gale was aghast, as Isra agreed. The strangeness of the moment made it tense, as the unfeeling thing encouraged her into its large arms with stuttering movements. An empty charade of an intimate moment with Isra in a cage of mechanical limbs. It was meant for someone shorter than her, smaller in general. 

“Remember: you are loved, Lenore,” it whispered in the imitation of a lover. “So much. You’re doing great. And everyone will be so proud of you. As I already am.”

After Bernard released her, he went about his pointless patrol of the top floor, gears whirring with each jolting step. The other constructs let them mill about the top floor and they stopped to  gather their wits before heading back towards camp. Isra and Karlach sat on the ground, perched on the edge of where a fallen wall gave a view of the rocky terrain below. Shadowheart was praying, as she often did in any given downtime, and so Gale left her be and sat with the others. 

“How’d you know what to say?” Karlach asked her. 

Isra procured the book from her pack and showed it to Karlach, the very page with the verse she had exchanged with Bernard. “He started speaking and it was so familiar.” 

“Huh, clever,” Karlach replied, then turned Gale, “watch out or she may take your job as the brains of the operation.” 

“A worthy opponent she may be but I think my particular niche of knowledge will maintain my long standing position,” he said confidently. 

“Think he just called you dumb, mate,” Karlach teased.

“I do have my moments,” Isra replied with mirth. “I'm sure we all remember the acid vial I mistook for a Health potion.” 

“Astarion’s hair is still ruined in that same spot,” Karlach cackled along with both of them. “Strange thing, though. The old bag of bolts was made for what? A snuggle?”

“I’m certain they have security protocols,” Gale replied, “but the last thing I expected it to do was hug you, Isra.” 

She was quiet for a moment. “She lost her dog, lost her lover — and after finding out she tried to tame a bulette into a house pet… Bernard doesn’t seem so far-fetched.” Isra frowned, “the things he said. How lonely must she have been.” 

“Are all wizard towers lonely?” Karlach asked. 

“It certainly isn’t a prerequisite for wizard towers to be lonely.” 

“Was yours?”

“No,” he said confidently, but he did feel  he was trying to convince himself as much as Karlach when he added, “I had Tara, and my books. Hard to be lonely in that company.” 

“Isn’t Tara a cat?”

“She is a tressym,” he corrected, “and never let her hear you mix that up.” 

They chatted for a bit longer before heading out. Gale behind Isra who took the lead, it was a long trek back but filled with easy conversation. Eventually, as they always seemed to be, Isra and Gale were far enough ahead of the other two that their conversation could not be overheard. 

“Were you lying?” Isra asked out of the blue. 

“I don’t make a habit of lying,” he replied, “but I could be more precise if I knew what you were referring to.” 

“About your tower,” she clarified, “not being lonely.” 

“Ah.” 

“I only ask because,” she paused, chewing on her lower lip again, “well I have Circe. And I can speak to her. She’s… dearer to me than I could say. But… It is lonely sometimes, even with her there. She’s not…she can’t…”

Hug. 

The word travels from her tadpole to his, unwillingly, accompanied by visions of the automaton Bernard, wrapping large unfeeling arms around her. Days of traveling through woods with no other person around. Curling up at night as a cat in a hollowed out log, hiding from the rain. His own tadpole transferred images back, sitting alone by the fire while Tara ventured out to find him trinkets to consume. Hearing people down below on the streets cajoling drunkenly at the end of the night. The lights of Waterdeep’s night markets twinkling from afar, bodies like little ants mulling around. All of those people, living lives, laughing with friends, dancing with lovers — and he could have none of it. Lonely was certainly the word he would use to describe it. 

They both opened their eyes as the connection faded, realizing they stopped mid step. Gale found himself at a loss for words, it felt invasive on both ends every time any of their tadpoles connected. There was no real choice of what was revealed, no choice to look away to respect the other’s privacy. However, it had bonded them all in a way that no other situation could. To feel each other's feelings, to live another’s memories in perfect view — it was intimate. 

“Everything alright?” Shadowheart said as the other two caught up, stopping along with them. 

“Yes,” Isra answered before Gale could. “Tadpole stuff.” 

“Damn wriggling shits,” Karlach grimaced. 

They ventured on. With the other two there the conversation had been brought to an end, not that he knew what to say still. The night’s of Vesper the cat at his feet made more sense than ever. He dearly wanted them back.

Notes: thank you for reading :)

#bg3 fanfiction #gale dekarios fanfic #gale dekarios x tav #gale x tav #gale of waterdeep x tav #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #olly writes

[queen-scribbles]

Certain as the Sun

@pillarspromptsweekly fill #78, the long-awaited Ederity wedding fic that killed me with cute. (Roll For It elements: Dengler for my NPC the Watcher gets along well with, candlelight/kiss, and flirting/affection)

Charity had always been an early riser. This was not because of her faith or her livelihood, though it certainly came in handy for both, but just the schedule she kept naturally. Today she was up early even for her.

If it counted as ‘being up early’ when you were so excited you didn’t truly fall asleep. She was going to spend the day running on joy, adrenaline, and murkberry juice, that was certain as the sunrise. And she didn’t even care.

Charity ran through her mental list as she waited for Tavi to arrive. She’d  picked the flowers last night, as late as possible so they would at least be sort of fresh. The chapel was all set up, though Tavi would have to light the candles. She’d pulled out her dress and made sure it was in good condition... The only thing left to do was curl up on the couch with Sparrow and doze until Tavi got there to help her get ready.

It was both too long and not long enough when there was a brisk knock on the door, followed by Tavi letting herself in before Charity had even made it to her feet.

“Thanks for helpin’ with this, Tav,” she said, carefully moving Sparrow from her lap to the couch as she stood. The calico let out a half-hearted mrrr of protest before curling up and going back to sleep.

“You kiddin’? I wouldn’t miss this for the fuckin’ world,” Tavi grinned, running one hand through her hair. “It’s absolutely worth bein’ up at the asscrack of dawn.”

Charity laughed. “Still, thanks. This whole thing’s so last minute, it’s nice havin’ a friend who can be here. Now....” She pulled out her ponytail and shook her head so her hair fell loose around her shoulders. “You said you aren’t great with hair. What can you do?” It was best to get right to business; they only had about an hour until sunrise.

Tavi grinned apologetically. “Ponytails and braids, and even the braids are kinda shitty.”

“Well, luckily, I know some styles that fit those limitations,” Charity said with a smile. She ran through a few of them, explained the reasons a bride might choose them, but left it up to Tavi. If she was willing to help out at the last minute, the least Charity could do was make it easy for her.

“Eh, fuck it, I’ve always liked a challenge,” Tavi smirked at the end of the list. “Let’s do the first one you mentioned, with the braids back to a ponytail. That’ll look real pretty on you, an’ I think I can manage it.”

“If you’re sure,” Charity shrugged.

“Yep. Sit down and tell me where to find what I’ll need.” Tavi cracked her knuckles.

“String for hair ties is on my dresser, the flowers to weave in are in the spare room,” Charity said as she settled into the lower-backed chair in her living room.

“About those, anything special with how they go in?”

“Kinda?” Charity played with a lock of hair. “There’s red, yellow, and white flowers, you do one at the start of each braid, three of each color, but there’s no set order for the colors. You can alternate, group ‘em together, do it randomly. It’s your choice.”

“Got it,” Tavi nodded. She ducked in the two rooms in turn, emerging with everything she needed. “Pray for me,” she said teasingly, “or you’re gonna be real lucky Edér loves ya no matter what.”

Charity snorted. “You’re just fillin’ me with confidence, Tav.”

“Hey, you’re the one who asked me,” Tavi reminded with a laugh. “An’ I do have a rough idea of what I’m doin’, it just won’t be perfect and fancy.”

“Doesn’t need to be,” Charity assured her, then fell silent in order to not be a distraction while Tavi worked.

<>O<>O<>

It was good her hair didn’t need to be perfect; Tavi’s assessment of her skill proved accurate. She got the braids in, relatively straight and only a little lumpy, the flowers miraculously unbruised, and tied the loose part up in one of the messy buns Charity used for gardening before sticking more flowers in the ribbon securing it.

“There we go,” she said triumphantly as she stepped back. “Pretty as a picture.”

“I’m so relieved,” Charity deadpanned, grinning as Tavi rolled her eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Anything else you need me to help with?”

“Actually, since you’re gonna be waitin’ in the chapel anyway, t’ be our witness, could you light the candles? There’s a lot, an’ if I have to light ‘em and get dressed it’ll take too long,” Charity explained as she glanced out the window. There was the faintest hint of pink showing. They really did need to hurry.

“Sure thing,” Tavi said. “Again, anything special?”

“There’s two skinny ones an’ a wider one a little apart from the rest at the front, don’t light those. But all the rest.”

“Alright, sure.” Tavi gave Sparrow one final pet before heading out toward the chapel.

The first flutter of nerves hit as Charity stood in the doorway of her room, looking at the dress laid out on the bed. I’m getting married. Exciting as the thought was, it was also a little intimidating. She traced her fingers over the flowers embroidered down the sleeves and along the hem; red and yellow stitches twined together against white linen, painstakingly and lovingly done by her mother. I wish you could be here, Charity sighed as she carefully slipped her shirt off so as not to wreck Tavi’s work on her hair. I wish it was safe to tell you... But it wasn’t, no matter how sure she was her parents would love Edér, so she would have to content herself with having her mother there in spirit via the needlework on the dress and equally beautiful woven sash, also in the traditional red and yellow.

Charity smiled to herself as she pulled the dress on--just as careful around her hair--and tied the sash. She knew as well as any Eothasian the red was for life and the yellow for prosperity and happiness, but it was funny in this case how the colors also matched her and Edér’s hair.

Speaking of her hair.. She peeked in the mirror to check and was relieved it still looked good. No slipping or drooping or frizz.

The sky out her window was decidedly more pink. She really should hurry; Edér would be waiting for her, and they needed time to complete the ceremony so she could get back out of the dress, maybe remove some of the flowers from her hair, before Hendyna showed up to help her get ready for the ‘real’ Berathian wedding. She’d gotten away with the half-truth that her dress’ design was from her Ixamitl heritage, but being completely ready hours before the wedding might make her friend suspicious.

It took all of ten seconds for personal preference and the warm weather to justify going barefoot, which meant she  was ready, and just in time. With a smile at her reflection and a deep, shaky breath, Charity picked up her bouquet(iris, white heather and camellias), squeezed her necklace pendent to steady her nerves(overwhelmingly giddy rather than scared, but still jangling), and made her way back to the chapel.

She could see the candlelight through the windows, but was quickly distracted from both that and the still-cool earth under her feet because she’d been right. Edér was waiting for her.

Charity watched his smile bloom like the coming sunrise, lighting his whole face as his eyes crinkled at the corners from the breadth of it. She was pretty sure her face was the match of his.

Edér whistled softly as he reached for her hand. “Char, you... you look....”

She laughed when words failed him, because she knew the feeling, and replied,  “So do you,” through her achingly wide smile, heart beating faster as she linked her fingers with his and his outfit registered. His green shirt was an exact match for the one she’d lent him months ago, after their (brief) snow battle. The one she’d ‘borrowed’ from her father and never given back. “Where’d that come from?”

“Oh.” He smiled sheepishly and squeezed her hand. “You, uh, never asked for it back, and I kept forgettin’.... Found it yesterday an’ figured wearin’ it today was as good a way as any to give it back.”

Charity raised an impish eyebrow at his insinuation and somehow grinned wider. “Temptin’ as that is, dontcha think you might draw a tad too much attention if ya meander back to town from my place shirtless? Keep it for now.“ She pushed up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll reclaim it later.”

“If you two stand out there flirtin’ much longer, you’re gonna miss the fuckin’ sunrise!” Tavi hollered from inside the chapel. Edér and Charity both laughed bashfully and squeezed their joined hands tighter.

“She’s got a point,” he said, still smiling wide enough to crinkle his eyes at the corners.

“She does,” Charity nodded. “Nervous?”

“I was, a little,” Edér admitted. “That’s good, right? Knowin’ this is important an’ all. But...” He met her gaze steadily. “I’m not anymore.”

She giggled like a love struck teenager because it was her wedding day and she was allowed. “Same. Shall we?”

“Absolutely,” he grinned back and opened the door.

It looked like something out of a storybook; rows of candles lit down either side and across the front, rays of the sunrise spilling in through the windows to highlight the motes dancing through the air. Tavi was waiting at the front, grinning ear to ear. Her outfit was different, Charity noticed--still grey trousers and knee-high black boots, but she’d pulled on a surcoat over her sleeveless tunic that was the fanciest thing Charity had ever seen her wear. The ruffled hem almost brushed the tops of her boots, and the mid-bicep length sleeves were ever so slightly puffed, unless Charity’s eyes were playing tricks on her. The teal and grey color scheme was both typical Tavi and a very good choice.  It didn’t take long for them to traverse the length of the chapel and reach her. Charity raised an eyebrow and cocked her head toward Tavi’s outfit, and the elf just shrugged and mouthed ‘Later’ with a wink as she stepped around them to stand in the center aisle.

A traditional Eothasian wedding would have a witness each for bride and groom, but Tavi was the only one Charity and Edér trusted enough to know how fully they were still practicing Eothasians. And since she was good friends with both of them, they’d agreed that would be enough. The Berathian ceremony was the one that would count in most kith’s eyes, anyway. They could tweak traditions for this one.

Which they had done--been forced to do--in a couple places. Charity set her small bouquet down in front of the unlit trio of candles. She and Edér each took one of the narrower candles, lit it from the line of candles along the front wall, and returned them to their places before facing each other and joining hands.

Charity took a deep breath. This was another change; normally the priest officiating would not be one of the kith getting married, but--as with the witnesses--they didn’t have much choice. “Edér....” The swell of emotion in her chest choked her, and he squeezed her hands encouragingly. This, this is why priests don’t do their own... But she had Edér for support, steady and certain as the sun. She squeezed his hands back with a grateful smile and started again. “Edér, do you freely pledge your heart to me, swearing to stand by me and me alone, holding fast together through any dark times that come until the Light of joy shines once more in our lives?”

Edér smiled wide at her rush to get the words out, thumbs rubbing the backs of her hands, and nodded. “I surely do.”

Another shaky laugh and wide, giddy smile--Wael’s eyes, was she tearing up?--and it was her turn. “And I freely pledge my heart to you, swearing to stand by you in all things, binding myself to you and you alone, holding fast together through any dark times that come until the Light of joy shines once more in our lives.”

They loosened their grip and turned to face the candles. Their inner hands came together again, Edér’s palm pressed to Charity’s knuckles. On cue, Tavi stepped forward and wrapped the palm-wide yellow scarf(the most delicate thing Charity had ever knit, she was actually rather proud how well it turned out) around their joined hands.

Almost through, Char, you can do this. “Do we both pledge to respect and cherish each other, honoring our commitment in times both easy and hard, until the Wheel parts us?”

“I do,” Edér said, slipping his fingers between hers.

Charity grinned wide as she replied, “I do, too.” She took what she hoped was the last steadying breath and proceeded. “Upon... Upon our solemn, freely given oaths, I now proclaim us bonded in marriage from this day on.”

She and Edér each took one of the narrow candles with their free hands and brought them together over the wider one in between until the wick kindled. Then they set down their candles, and together unbound their hands, though neither let the scarf drop as they stared at each other, the world seeming frozen in breathless anticipation.

“And now, Mayor Teylecg,” Charity broke the spell, grinning wide, voice catching, “you can kiss your wife.”

Grinning so wide she thought his face might split, Edér tugged on the scarf to bring her closer, then let go to instead wrap his arms around her waist. “Nothin’ I wanna do more, Missus Teylecg,” he said, and obliged.

Charity was vaguely aware of Tavi whooping loud enough to wake the blazing dead, but that played distant second fiddle to her husband--husband!--holding her close for a kiss so passionately, purely joyful it took her breath away. She wrapped her arms around his neck, almost dropping the scarf as her hands curved the back of his head and she went on tiptoe to deepen the kiss. They both held it as long as they could before pulling away.

Charity settled back flatfooted, her hands slipping around to cradle Edér’s jaw. “You’re a real good kisser, husband,” she whispered.

Edér grinned boyishly and rested his forehead against hers. “You ain’t too bad yourself, wife.”

She giggled and tipped her chin forward to steal another kiss. “I love you.”

He grinned even wider and kissed the tip of her nose. “I love you, too.”

“Much as I’ve been lookin’ forward to this and loathe as I am to fuckin’ interrupt,” Tavi began as she did just that, “Hendyna’ll prob’ly be here before long t’ help you ‘get ready’, Char.”

“No, you’re right,” Charity sighed. She pushed up on her toes for one more kiss from her husband. See you in a couple hours, love.”

“Can’t wait, darlin’,” Edér said, giving her another sun-bright smile as he (reluctantly) let her go.

Neither can I, Charity agreed silently as she headed back to the house.

<>O<>O<>

The Berathian ceremony paled in comparison. It was lovely, of course, and she was touched by how much the people of Dyrford seemed genuinely happy for them, and Harbinger Boedmar did a fine job. But to Charity, that one was window dressing, a show to satisfy local customs. The first one... that was the one that counted, in her mind. She really would need to find some way of thanking Tavi for the suggestion.

But that could be handled later, because she was enjoying the party. Dengler and Peycg had outdone themselves with the food, and their staff insisted on handling the serving so the two of them could join the reception, knowing how close they were to Edér and Charity. There was music and dancing and everyone she considered a friend in her chosen home was here....

But the best part--well, aside from the fact Tavi had actually dressed up for them, and stayed that way for both ceremonies--was that Edér hardly left her side through the whole joyous, wonderful party. There were moments, of course, when they were pulled in opposite directions, but they always found their way back together.

“So happy for you,” Dengler said, shaking Edér’s hand while Peycg eschewed any trace of formality and just pulled them both into a hug. Both were common sentiments among the many friends and well-wishers, and it made Charity almost feel bad about her slowly rising urge to leave. She treasured her friends, but wanted to be alone with her husband, and finally the latter won out.

“Whaddya think the odds are we can sneak away?” she whispered to Edér, head resting on his shoulder.

“Well,” he surveyed the crowd. “They all look pretty happy and occupied. But we are the reason they’re here, so... ‘bout the same as sneakin’ away from that stelgaer.” 

She snorted a laugh and rubbed her hand along the scars that still marked his arm. “’Least they won’t try to maul us...”

“True,” Edér laughed.

“Whatcha talkin’ about?” Tavi asked as she plopped down in a nearby chair.

“How to get outta here without folk makin’ a fuss,” Edér said. “We’re both ready to call it a night.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you are,” Tavi smirked.

“Not like that!” Charity automatically protested, but blushed and conceded, “Well, alright, yes like that, but I’m also just... tired of bein’ social.”

“I understand,” Tavi said with a wink. “You two just leave, I’ll handle any questions or whatever.”

Edér raised an eyebrow, one arm settling around Charity’s shoulders. “You sure, Tav?”

“Hel, Teylecg, I’m already wearin’ the closest fuckin’ thing to a dress I’ll likely ever wear in my life for you,” she laughed, tugging on the ruffle-hemmed surcoat.  “I think I can play diplomat for ya, too.”

“‘Preciate it, Tavi,” Edér said with a smile and Charity seconded that.

They waited for the right moment--when almost everyone was caught up in another fast tempo song--and snuck off, hurrying through the twilit streets hand in hand. They didn’t slow until they were almost halfway back to Charity’s--theirs now, and gods that made her giddy--house.

“Evenin’ stroll’s a good way to end things, huh?” Edér said, slipping his hand from hers to wrap his arm around her shoulders again.

“Nice an’ peaceful,” Charity agreed softly, before letting mischief color her voice as she amended, “though it ain’t over ‘til I’ve gotten this shirt back....” and wrapped one arm around his waist to tease her fingers under the green fabric meaningfully.

Edér chuckled, flinching as she brushed a ticklish spot. “I like the sound of that, but hang on til we get home, huh?”

“S’ppose I can manage that,” she said playfully. “Long as we don’t dilly dally too much. Husband.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Wife.”

----------------------------------------------------

OH MY GOD I DID IT THEY’RE MARRIED NOW WOO.

I’m gonna type up something separate with all the details about the Eothasian wedding headcanons, but I will say Charity’s dress is loosely inspired by this one(yes, Ranna, I was in your Ixamitl tag :D), just with less poofy sleeves, and Tavi’s outfit is from the Vailian clothing concept art, the one on the far right

#queens fic #pillars prompts weekly #charity #eder teylecg #tavi illani #otp: brighter than the sun #ederity #eothasian idiots

[emms-jules]

Catch Fire - Chapter 3

Chapter 2: https://emms-jules.tumblr.com/post/618793286894796800/catch-fire-chapter-2

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24269344

If Emma was asked that question five years ago, she would have easily said numerous reasons.

"I want to be with Julian. I want to officially be his. I want to spend my travel year with him. I want to answer his calls. I want to reply to his messages. I want to say I’m sorry. I want to take care of the kids with him. I want us to damn our lives as long as we got to live it."

But this was a different time now. She may still want the same things, but the person she wants to be with might not want it anymore.

Chapter 3

After fixing her luggage and putting the photos of her parents from the envelope back on her wall, Emma changed into a green nightgown and was instantly asleep. She woke up early, around 7 a.m. Mexico City is two hours ahead of Los Angeles, so Emma doesn’t feel groggy. She decides to start doing her usual morning routine during her time here; running laps around the beach.

She changed from her nightgown to a pink sports bra, topped with a loose white crop top, black athletic shorts, and her running shoes. She braided her hair and took her phone and earphones before heading out. Like yesterday, she was instantly engulfed by the smell of salt and the sound of the waves crashing. How I missed this. Smiling to herself, she started her music and began running.

-----

She was already heading back to the Institute when she noticed someone exiting its doors. A shock of red hair was going down the porch. It was an unmistakable face, especially since she dated the girl’s brother before. It was Paige Ashdown: Cameron’s younger sister, an ex-Cohort member, and the one who called Ty “stupid” once and insulted Dru’s figure when they were little.

She seemed to be fixing her hair and noticed Emma when she looked up. She looked surprised, then she smirked. “Emma Carstairs, as I live and breathe. I did hear you’re coming back.”

“What are you doing here, Paige? Is there some demon activity needed to be reported?” She asked, confused and a bit irritated with her presence. Despite the redhead’s choice of joining the new Clave, she was still wary of her presence, memories of the Cohort still fresh for her.

Paige laughed. “Demonic? No. But activity?” She laughed. “I guess so. You should go ask Julian.” She replied, suggestively glancing up his room.

Emma froze upon realization why Paige was at the Institute. And why she was leaving in the morning. And why she was fixing herself. She wanted to vomit. Seeing Emma’s reaction, Paige laughed.

“Say hi to the Blackthorns for me.” She said, before leaving.

Emma stared at her retreating figure for a few moments, unable to grasp what she learned. After a while, she shook her head as if to remove her thoughts and headed inside. She can already hear the chatter inside the kitchen, so she decided to go there. She needed water and was debating if she needed food. The morning conversation left a bile on her stomach.

Everyone was present except for Helen, Aline and Olly. Dru was busy preparing the table, while Ty and Tavvy were talking about a new game that they wanted to purchase, and Julian was cooking bacon and eggs. Mark and Cristina came in a few minutes later, with Tina going straight to the coffee machine.

“Dru, where’s Helen and Aline?” Emma asked as she opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, chugging it quickly.

“They have a meeting with Alec and Magnus today. They brought Olly along per Clary’s orders.” Dru stated, sitting down.

At the mention of Clary, she mentally reminded herself to talk with the girl soon. Cristina approached her and bumped her hip with hers.

“You went for a jog?” The girl asked, drinking her coffee. Emma nodded and regarded the coffee with disgust. She hated it.

Tina mocked her then leaned to a whisper. “I saw somebody leaving his room earlier.”

Instinctively, they both glimpsed at Julian, who was busy cooking.

“Good for you. I, on the other hand, actually came face to face with her as she left the Institute. And for a walk of shame, she giggles a lot.” Emma replied, unintentionally closing the fridge door aggressively.

Cristina snickered, though she wasn’t heard. Emma was busy looking at Julian with steam coming out of her ears. Cristina took this as a signal and left Emma’s side to sit with Mark. Emma sauntered to Julian’s side, regarding the bacon and taking one, munching it.

“You know you should wait until everything is cooked right? Tavvy will stab you.” Julian spoke. Emma wanted to say something witty, which was her normal answer. Unfortunately, she was not in the mood to joke around.

“So… Paige Ashdown.” She stated, toying with the plate of eggs. She felt Julian tense, making her glance at him. He already went back to his cooking.

“I didn’t know you had interest in anything about me.” He uttered casually, not taking his eyes off the frying pan. That reply was supposed to punch in the gut like last night. It didn’t affect her though.

“Listen, I know that it’s not my business, but of all the girls out there, you decided to choose an ex-Cohort member?” Emma hissed. She was trying to lower her voice so that no one else could hear them.

Julian finally focused her way, leaving the frying behind him and shrugged. “It’s not like she’s my girlfriend or anything.”

Emma gaped at him. She didn’t know if she was supposed to be relieved that the two weren’t official, or upset that Julian, as it turns out, was only up for the physical part of a relationship. She vaguely remembered the time when Magnus removed his feelings, and Julian suggested that being together without feelings was the best solution for them.

“Are you hearing yourself? In case you forgot, she was the one who called Ty stupid back before she was sent to the Scholomance. And do you remember what she called Dru? Speaking of, do they even know about her?!”

Julian shrugged. Again. “Emma, it’s been years. Also, they don’t seem to mind in the rare occurrences when they see each other around the house.” Julian leaned closer to Emma, his breath fanning over her face. It sent shivers down her spine despite her temper. “So you see, I don’t bring her to the Institute when unnecessary. I prefer to have my personal endeavors all to myself. And our relationship, whatever it is, is clear between the two of us. I wouldn’t go around dragging her along like you did her brother.”

Emma gasped in shock. Now that was low. Even though she didn’t have strong romantic feelings involving Cameron when they dated, she knows that she liked him enough to date him. She wasn’t ashamed that Cameron was her first kiss and more. He was a good guy. Julian knows that too.

The frying pan gave off a loud sizzling sound, sending some oil from the pan jumping, hitting Julian in his forearm. The boy hissed, diverting his attention from Emma to his arm. He opened the tap and extended his hand to it. Emma was too angry to care.

“Screw you, Julian Blackthorn.” She cursed, and was heard by everyone at the table. She found them staring at her wide-eyed.

Emma turned and walked away from the kitchen and went to her room, remembering uttering the same words once to Julian back in the London institute. She could hear Mark asking Julian if he was okay, and somebody turning off the gas.

-----

Once Emma decided that her furious scrubbing was enough, she rinsed and dressed before heading out of her bathroom. She found Cristina waiting for her at the foot of her bed.

“Okay. It’s story time, come here.” The girl said, gesturing to the spot beside her.

Emma followed in a huff. As she sat, Cristina took Emma’s brush from her night stand and combed her freshly-cleaned hair. Emma began explaining her encounter with Paige and the conversation with Julian. When she finished, her hair was already dry and fixed by Cristina in a full braid. She thanked the girl.

“I never thought Julian would say that kind of thing to you.” Cristina began, settling herself against the headboard of Emma’s bed.

Emma scooted next to her. “I get that he’s mad at me still, or whatever weird reaction he has upon my arrival back here. But that’s not the point, Tina. It’s like he’s really changed.” Her voice dropped into a whisper. “It’s like I don’t even know him anymore.”

Cristina placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not like you can expect him to not change at all. I don’t want to blame you, but I want to be honest with you. Aside from his siblings, you were the only constant thing he had left. And you left.”

Emma feels incoming tears prick her eyes. She blinks furiously to stop them. Cristina hugs her sad friend. “My advice for you: let your relationship be for now. Why don’t you start making it up to the kids? They’ve missed you, and maybe along the way you’ll mend your friendship, at least, with Julian.”

-----

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“That’s great, Emma! Now let me try.” Tavvy excitedly took three throwing knives from one of the tables and positioned himself behind the throwing line. He was contorting his face as if to concentrate, which Emma found cute and wanted to squish him in a hug like she always did. Tavvy will always be a little boy to him.

After the conversation with Cristina, the two girls decided to eat a late breakfast. Tina cooked her Mexican scrambled eggs, consist of all types of bell peppers and onions. After that, Emma decided to go and invite Tavvy to the training room, much to the youngest Blackthorn's delight.

Tavvy released knife after knife, hitting the bull’s eye two out of three times. Okay, maybe he wasn’t a little boy anymore.

“Well done! You only missed one, because you released the knife with an awkward throw. Lean back a little more before releasing.” Emma angled Tavvy’s body before giving him more throwing knives. This time, he got them all correctly. They both squealed in excitement.

“I don’t know what I’m even doing here, Tavs. I think you’re already good at this.” Emma commented, walking to the targets and retrieving the used weapons.

Tavvy hummed, his face smug and looked indirectly at Emma. “I guess Julian is a good teacher after all.”

Emma narrowed her eyes before realizing. “You didn’t really need my help, did you?” She asked. Tavvy was trying hard not to smirk.

Emma laughed, dropping the weapons and running to the boy, tickling him. “You’re such a show off, Octavian!” She teased, as Tavvy landed on the floor, laughing and trying to breath in between. He was trying to take Emma’s hands off him.

“Emma! Emma s-stop!” Tavvy struggled speaking, laughing his head off.

Emma continued laughing, finding herself really glad to be back in Los Angeles for the first time. She missed these moments, and was happy to have more of them back. Despite her joy, she can’t help but feel a little bit of sadness and shame for leaving all of them behind so sudden five years ago. I’ll make it up to them, she thought. I’m back, and I’m never leaving them again.

“Emma! Corazoncita!” The door of the training room opened, revealing Christina clad in Shadowhunter gear. She stopped short upon seeing Emma wrestling Tavvy to the floor, and giggled at the sight. “Okay enough tickling. The poor boy’s red all over!”

Emma sat up, holding out a hand to Tavvy. He took her hand, still laughing. His red face was slowly coming back to its normal color. Emma ruffled his hair before turning to Cristina. “What’s up?”

“There’s reports of illegal activity over Santa Monica Pier. Since Helen and Aline aren’t here, Julian and Mark  got the message and we’re planning to go tonight. Are you up for it?”

Adrenaline shot through Emma like lightning. Apart from her bond with the Blackthorns, this is another thing she missed most. She smirked.

“Is that even a question?”

#tsc #tsc fic #tda #tda fic #jemma blackstairs #emma carstairs #julian blackthorn #Shadowhunter Chronicles #the shadowhunter chronicles #the dark artifices #Lord Of Shadows #queen of air and darkness