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timeforelfnonsense · 3 months

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Read Sunshine & Starlight on Ao3 Pairing: Dafni (F!Tav) x Astarion Rating: M (Later Chapters will contain explicit content) TWs: Light descriptions of canon level violence Tags: Meet cute bad, 3rd person alternating pov, chubby elf OC, Cleric Tav

Summary: Astarion had a plan. A nice, simple plan. All he had to do was not fall for her. After centuries of practice charming victims for his master, it should have been easy, but Dafni of Gwynneth was complications he didn’t see coming. Compassionate, selfless, innocence. She was every good thing Astarion had given up on after two hundred years of torment. There is something familiar about her. An inexplicable pull that draws him to her over and over again. For the first time in his undead existence, Astarion has something to call his own. Something to protect.

“Gods, my head.”

Dafni cringed, her nose screwing up in pain as she brushed the sand from her curls. She wasn’t entirely sure how she ended up on the unfamiliar beach. The last thing she could remember was connecting the transponder.

Judging by the ship's state, she was lucky to walk away with only a few gashes and bruises. Even the little glass jars and vials within her healer’s kit survived without so much as a crack. She got to her feet, cleaning off what grime and viscera she could.

She was back on the Material Plane, at least. Of that, she was sure.

There was a distinct heaviness to the Material Plane, which Dafni had yet to grow accustomed to in the two months since her wanderlust had driven her to leave the misty moors and majestic forests of the Moonshae Isles behind. She hadn’t realized just how thin the veil between worlds had been back home before coming to Bauldr’s Gate. Even in the Material Plane, the Isle of Gwynneth still echoed with the whimsical, wild magic of the Feywild.

Dafni riffled through her bag, procuring a filigreed compass from the disorganized heap of her belongings. She could feel the airy magic of home tickle her fingertips as she popped it open. The golden needle glowed as it flicked west.

There was a fey crossing somewhere nearby then.

Dafni tugged at the hem of her sleeve, her lower lip pressed between her teeth. If she were lucky, it would lead her to the court of the Summer Queen or some other court on amicable enough terms with her own. She could seek sanctuary there and send word to her mother.

Thesmia’s Spire of Laurel housed one of the most vast collections of elven knowledge outside of Evermeet. There was a possibility a solution to her problem could be found within the walls of her mother’s tower. Dafni’s lips pressed together in a tight line. She loved her mother, but Thesmia’s well-meaning coddling often bordered on stifling. The idea of running home at the first sign of trouble felt too much like an admission of defeat.

Besides, Nothing stayed a secret from the High Lady for long. It would not be a matter of if she learned of the tadpole, but when. No matter how much favor her mother had once held with Ordalf, she would not risk the safety of Sarifal’s Court for one eladrin. Especially not her.

She took a deep breath, the sweet, synthetic smoke of the nautiloid's smoldering wreckage scorching the back of her throat. Running home was not an option. She’d simply have to find a cure herself.

No easy task.

But giving up had never been in her nature, and this seemed a dreadful time to start.

Finding other survivors would be her best course of action. There was safety in numbers, and besides that, there was a chance other survivors may not have fared as well as she had. Magic tickled the tips of Dafni’s calloused fingertips; she still had a bit of power left she could save for more serious injuries. She’d make do with old-fashioned field medicine for anything else until she could rest. There was one thing left to do.

Her nose wrinkled as she cast a glamour over herself. She’d grown so used to wearing one she had almost forgotten how restrictive her mundane disguise felt compared to the vibrancy of her authentic appearance.

The magic felt itchy and stiff as if she were cramming herself into clothing two sizes too small. It felt wrong pretending to be something she wasn’t, but she had little choice. The majority of the common folk she’d come across in the Outer City knew very little of the land of Faerie, but the few who saw her for what she was, were quick to label her a trickster and deceiver. She’d need allies if she wanted to get through this ordeal, and she’d rather not start out with an air of suspicion hanging over her.

There was something exceedingly suspicious about that woman.

She didn’t look like the creatures from the ship, but something about her prickled at his senses. A nearly imperceptible otherness that made his hair stand on end. It was like she was blurry at the edges. Astarion’s brow wrinkled, try as he might to bring her into focus; some invisible force would coax his attention away whenever he came close to genuinely seeing her.

Astarion watched her, crouched low behind the turk of a felled tree. One of those brain creatures had captured her wrist in its tendrils. She gave it a punt, sending it a few feet back with a wet thud. She drew an elegant longbow from her back, releasing two swift arrows. The creature seized, collapsing into a heap of ichor.

Her lower lip stuck out in a pout as she wrapped a hand around the angry red mark on her arm. Light radiated from an amulet around her neck before flashing beneath her palm. A sense of instinctive dread skipped down Astarion’s spine as the air crackled with divine magic.

He felt like an idiot for missing it—the pale blue of her clothing. The eight-pointed star was engraved at the center of her breastplate. He had thought her a mind flayer thrall, but she was something much, much worse.

A cleric.

He almost laughed at the irony. Of course, he’d be spared by the sun only to be run through by a cleric. And a servant of the Protector of the Elves, no less. No one could claim the gods lacked a sense of humor. At least she was pretty. That would take some of the sting out of his demise, even if it was only a mind flayer’s trick.

Her freckled skin was the color of sage and stood stark against the pale gossamer fabric of her puff-sleeved blouse. She was fuller figured than most elven maidens, with wide hips and an ample bust that her light armor did very little to hide. Bouncy, pink curls fell around her shoulders from a high ponytail as she meandered her way up the cliffside path, mumbling to herself in elvish.

Always so quick to roll over, aren’t you? The memory of Cazador’s voice taunted.

Pathetic.

Astarion’s nails bit into the flesh of his palms. His lip pulled back into a silent snarl. For 200 years, that’s what he has been. Pathetic. Cazador’s wretched creature.

But he was free now and never needed to be pathetic again.

His chances of overpowering her would be slim if he relied on strength alone. But, if he could lower her guard, he might be able to get the upper hand long enough to get the answers he needed. He crouched low beside a fallen tree, doing his best to look shaken and meek.

“You there!” He shouted, “Can you help me?”

“Over here!” He called, waving her over.

Her breath caught as she drew close enough to see the details of his appearance. A pale elf stood before her. Lean and graceful.

“Are you hurt, friend? I-I think I have enough magic to heal you, so long as it isn’t anything too serious.” She stammered in clumsy common.

She watched, enraptured, as he ran his hand through a perfect coif of ivory curls. Dafni flushed, imagining her own fingers running through those soft, tossed curls.

He had truly been blessed with the aloof, dreamy beauty of Sehanine Moonbow. An incandescent majesty that demanded admiration and awe. He knew it too. His pretty mouth curled up into a sly, close-mouthed grin. His crimson eyes gleamed with amusement and knowing as he returned her gawking stare with an appreciative glance of his own.

There was something about him. Something more than his spectacular beauty. It tugged at the very core of her. Familiar. Like finding something once beloved centuries after it was misplaced.

Still, she was sure this must be their first meeting. She rarely forgot a face. Especially one as lovely as his. Judging by his finery, he wasn’t the sort to visit her clinic in the Outer City, and she would certainly have remembered him from court.

“I could do a turn if you’d like?” He quipped, “So you can check for injuries, of course.”

Dafni’s face burned right to the tips of her pointed ears. She was supposed to be helping him. Not staring like a starry-eyed ninny.

“I apologize, I’m not normally so– Distractible.”

Dafni strained to keep her smile in place. The taste of soot and bile filled her mouth at her little fib. In truth, she was exceedingly and frequently distractible, even in the best of situations. It was a trait that drove her mother up the wall for years before she released Dafni from her apprenticeship.

The man cleared his throat, stifling a chuckle, “I’m fine, to answer your previous question. I’ve got one of those brain things cornered. You can kill it, can’t you?”

“I– Oh! Yes! Of course!” She stammered, plucking an arrow from the quiver at her back, grateful for the distraction from her self-induced humiliation.

The tips of her ears twitched ever so slightly to a distant rustling. Her eyes narrowed as they locked onto a shifting patch of grass beyond the cliff’s shadow. Her fingers flexed with tension as she drew back. She had been about to lose her shot when a frightened boar burst from the overgrowth.

“Good news,” she chirped, lowering her bow, “it was just a–“

Dafni froze, his slender arms wrapping around her waist. He pulled her flush to his frame. A scream had been at the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it at the cold steel brush against her throat.

“Shh. Not another sound.” He whispered against her ear as he guided her to the dirt below, “Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.”

“Bastard,” she spat in elvish. A crown of cascading foxgloves bloomed in her hair, her hold on her glamour faltering as the magic strained against her anger. “Spider Queen, take you.”

“ That was quite vulgar for a priestess .” He scolded, tipping her chin up to face him with the edge of his knife. “ Now, I believe I asked you not to speak.”

Dafni took hold of his arm and twisted as hard as she could manage. Did he think her a helpless child? A maiden, too frightened and frail to fight back? With a sharp jerk, she slammed her head into his jaw. Her captor recoiled, losing his grip just long enough for her to break free.

A dull throb began in her head, but anything was better than a slit throat. He snarled at her, spitting out a mouth full of blood. Dafni drew the long sword at her hip, holding it between them.

“Come near me again, and by the Seldrine, I swear, I will cut that smug head right off your shoulders!”

“You rotten brat!” He growled, “You’re in league with them, aren’t you? Those tentacled –”

Astarion winced, his gut twisting as a wave of vertigo washed over him. He clutched at his scalp, the sharp, nauseating pain behind his eye slowly melting into something else entirely.

Visions of an ancient forest so lush and vibrant it could have been ripped right out of the pages of a fairy story. Sunset-drenched marble columns and spires wrapped in crawling vines. The sound of feminine laughter. The bright, spicy-sweet smell of laurel on a temperate breeze. Wanderlust. So deep he felt it in the marrow of his bones.

Memories, he realized. Not his, but hers. Fragments of her life unfolding before him to him in a rapid reverie.

Chipping, cornflower blue paint, and creaking floors. A shabby townhouse. An elf with mousy brown hair and a sweat-laden brow. The sound of her teacup clattering softly against its saucer in her shaking hand. The sharp, minty scent of willow bark and creamy elderflower mixed as he twisted the pestle in his hand. The crunch of gravel beneath his boots on the way to the city gate. Nostalgia and homesickness as the old oak trees of the Cloakwood came into view.

A prayer on his lips as he twisted and writhed against his restraints. Confined to a pod, helpless as the Mindflayer approached, a wiggling tadpole between its gnarled fingers. The taste of sick that threatened to escape his throat. Like ice and shadow, a whisper of darkness crept beneath his skin, calling for vengeance.

“They took you too. I saw it during... Whatever just happened.” He offered her a crooked grin, his voice playful as he continued, “And to think I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. Apologies.”

He saw her relax a tad as he sheathed his dagger. He scooped her bow up from the dirt, offering it to her with as apologetic a look as he could manage.

“Apology accepted. I suppose I might have done the same if I thought you were a thrall.” Her expression softened, and she extended a courteous hand, “I’m Dafni, by the way. Practitioner of Corellon’s holy arts, ranger of what I’d like to think is above-average skill, and I suppose, as of today, fellow tadpole haver. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Astarion,” He offered her a shallow bow, taking her hand into his own, “and I can assure you, the pleasure is all mine, darling.”

Her pulse quickened as his lips brushed against the back of her palm. He had caught a whiff of her on the ship, but he hadn’t been able to truly appreciate the nuances of her scent at such a distance. She was floral, woodsy, and tart, with a subtle earthy sweetness that made his mouth water.

“ Astarion, ” She said, speaking each syllable of his name as if she were savoring it, “What a pretty name.”

A shiver slipped down his spine. He had never given his name much thought, but something about the sound of it in her melodic elven accent felt almost intimate.

“Well, aren’t you a dear? As much as I'd prefer to stand here and listen to you say my name, I think we may have more pressing matters to attend to.” He said, gesturing to his temple, “Do you know anything about these worms?”

The cheer fell from her girlish face. Her lower lip snagged between her teeth as she drew in a sharp breath. “I met a woman aboard the ship. She told me they would turn us into mind flayers if we didn’t get them extracted in time.”

“Turn us into….” Astarion let out a burst of bitter laughter. “Of course, it will turn me into a monster. What else did I expect?”

A frown touched the corners of her mouth. Her heart ached for him; his tone may have been glib, but beneath it, there was a genuine pain. A world-weary resignation she hadn’t accepted from someone so bold.

“Hey,” She spoke in a quiet, comforting voice.“I know things look pretty bad, but that means they can only get better, right?”

She offered him a small, hopeful smile, placing a gentle hand on his arm. She cringed as she felt him go stiff beneath her touch. Dafni’s face grew hot. She pulled back immediately, tucking the offending hand behind her back. With the exception of their introductory rituals, most denizens of the Material reserved touching for acquaintances and kin. A lesson she’d learned the hard way after a few humiliating encounters.

She watched as a touch of chagrin flashed across his pretty face, fading the moment his gaze flicked up from the withdrawn hand. An easy smile formed across his lips. Blite and rakishish, but his eyes still held a touch of uncertainty.

His reaction felt practiced as if his discomfort mattered far less than the risk of it being perceived. A furrow formed between her brows, her lip catching against her bottom teeth as she bit back her apology. It would be best to drop it. She suspected an apology would draw more attention to his reaction and embarrass him further.

Dafni tried to keep her tone even, as if nothing had happened, “Maybe it would be a good idea to look for a cure together. There is safety in numbers, after all. Maybe we will get lucky and find the gith woman from the ship or another survivor who knows where we might find a cure.”

Astarion’s posture relaxed slightly, his head tilting to the side as he considered her offer. Dafni could feel her pulse quicken with each passing second. Truth be told, she was desperate for him to accept her proposal. The idea of facing such a task alone was more than a little bit daunting, and despite having made his acquaintance at knifepoint, there was something about him that set her at ease. Perhaps it was the comfort of being among her people; maybe it was his playful charm, she couldn’t say. But, she was confident she would feel much better if they stuck together.

Dafni let out a breath she hadn’t noticed she’d been holding when Astarion responded, “You know I am usually more of the go-it-alone sort, but you do seem like a useful person and to know. If we could find an expert– Someone who knows how to control these things… We might still have time. Very well, I accept.”

#dafni of gwynneth #astarion #astarion ancunin #tav x astarion #bg3 fanfiction #sunshine & starlight #elf writes #tavstarion #astarion fic #astarion x f!tav #astarion x tav

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elfyris · 2 years

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a wip wednesday actually on wednesday! tagged by partner in crime @dumpsterhipster bc i think you just like to see me suffer but honestly mood. again i wont officially tag anyone but at the same time @choilacanth my beloved if you wrote anything more please do share it with me so i can scream to the heavens anyways this wip is kinda long and i dont wanna clog dashes as its once again not fanfic but og writing so i’ve put it under the cut thank you love you bye also tumblr ruined my format i cry

A strong grip on Lula’s arm stops her from going forward, magic crackles across her fingers as she spins her body around, ready to send untameable magic through the assailant’s face only to instantly fizzle out when Ekkor’s kind eyes meet her furious ones. Her arm drops as a heavy breath escapes her lips.

“Don’t do this.” His face pleading, he picks up her hand that she let fall and places her palm over the left side on his chest. Lula feels the erratic pulse of his heart, she looks at him in confusion, raising an eyebrow quizzically. “This isn’t you, this isn’t the Lula I’ve grown to know, and like.” He smiles shyly as he signs, if it were any other moment she would’ve relished in the confession. But it’s all wrong, the timing, his words - angrily, Lula places her other hand on his chest and shoves Ekkor roughly, not to hurt but enough to make him take a step back away from her.

“You don’t know that! You don’t know what Lula you have grown to know,” She hisses, her own hands furiously signing back. “I can’t just do nothing, Ekkor. I have to help them.” Her voice drops.

“You’ll only make it worse, this war-” “This isn’t war, I’ve seen war! This is genocide and I will not stand idly by whilst people like you murder my people.”She regrets what she said almost immediately when Ekkor’s face crumples, his head turning away from hers. Lula reaches out for his hand but he flinches as if her touch burns. He isn’t like them at all, she doesn’t know why she said that, all this time he’s been the only one to show her kindness whilst the rest of his family left her to starve. “I’m sorry, you’re not like them-” She stops as his hands cup the tips of his ears, in another life they would’ve had sharp tips like hers had it not been for the mutilation. She is wrong. The war wasn’t because of people like him, but he was a product of an age old war just like she was. They just happened to be born on different sides.

“Come with me.”He wasn’t looking at her hands so he didn’t see what she said. Lula reaches out for him once again, cupping his face and turning his head to look at her so he couldn’t look away. Tears spill across his lashes like stars in the night sky, and they make her feel just as small. “Come with me.” She gulps nervously, relying on his lip reading as her hands cup his face to keep him focused on her. His eyes widen at her words.

“You’re right, this isn’t me but it isn’t you either, I’ve seen the real you.” One of her hands slide down his face to rest on his chest, in the same spot he placed her hand just moments before.

“So come with me, I can’t do this alone.”

The silence between them is louder than it ever has been, he doesn’t sign and she has nothing left to say that wouldn’t just be words vomiting from her heart. The silence is almost painful.

“Ekkor-” He presses his lips to hers, his head leaning into her palm and her body goes flush against his, their bodies fitting together as if they were each made for this moment. Her mind goes blank, simultaneously forgetting everything about what was going on but her mind reeling with Ekkor, the softness of his lips, the underlining taste of wine and how his hands held her with so much gentleness. As if she was going to break. Or run away. Which is exactly what she was planning on doing, so reluctantly, she pulls her lips from his and his eyes snap open. Uncertainty flashes across his face, panic, doubt, regret all showing their ugly faces.

“I’m sorry-” She clasps her hands over his as he begins to frantically gesture, and she squeezes them softly, reassuringly. “I forgive you, but I am okay with the kiss, so please don’t continue to apologise about that.” She smiles warmly, she brushes her lips against his knuckle tops and takes a step back, clicking her fingers nervously before signing, “Are you coming with me?”

#wip wednesday #dont come at me for editing i dont edit i just write a wip and then never look at it again #im a very inconsistent writer and thats my charm #elf writes #OH BETTER TAG THIS AS #mutilation tw

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doodlemcjazzhands · 1 month

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"I know I will be long dead before you read this..."

#letter writing #preparing for a little swim #regulus black #marauders era #regulus fanart #marauders fanart #kreacher #house elf #my art #house of black #slytherin #artists on tumblr #hp fanart #hp #Regulus

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unsanctitude · 2 months

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tried to make a new elf to introduce to the abysmal ecosystem here. brought to you by Women who stare at thiings

#my art #oc #elf #dark elf #i designed this immediately after watching someone play oblivion so shes kinda dunmer inspired (she isnt one though #shes MY elf. MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE!#MINE!#MINE!!!!!!!!!#um i feel like i had more info but im too lazy to write it down now ill do that when i bump the post tomorrow or something #i love her thoughhh ohhhhhhhhh she can be trusted unless every other elf i put here #oh i discovered the sharpen tool im gonna abuse the shit outta that thang

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galadrielspeaks · 2 years

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you guys seemed to enjoy my cringe-fail legolas sexy gimli post so here’s some more of my thoughts ab that dynamic:

-when legolas goes home and announces his engagement to gimli thranduil is shocked but every other elf is like “yeah checks out. that kid’s always been a little weird.”

-gimli goes home to announce his engagement to legolas and every dwarf promptly loses their SHIT at the fact that THE gimli, son of gloin, is betrothed. only to further lose their shit at the fact that it’s to that weird elf prince that they have never heard speak unless to send some sort of diplomatical message for his father but some dwarflings once saw him sobbing in front of a tree in the middle of a rainstorm while gripping a fallen branch.

-thranduil only gives his blessing to the proposal once he realises just how angry all of erebor is that their most eligible bachelor, gimli, the silver-tongued battle ready diplomant and descendant of kings, has been stolen away by thranduils weird tree-hugging naked star gazing hippie son.

#legolas #thranduil #legolas thranduilion #legolas greenleaf #lotr #gigolas #i’m on my cringefail elf bullshit #gimleaf #mirkwood #gimli #gimli son of gloin #tolkein #i genuinely want to write a fic ab this but i’m currently in the process of writing a very Large fic that is taking up most of my time…#maybe i can make some drabbles about them though #who knows!#are kid dwarfs called dwarflings or have i commuted some sort of egregious error here #cringefail legolas

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bardicblast · 3 months

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#dnd #curse of strahd #rahadin #dnd rahadin #dnd art #artists on tumblr #dnd character #dungeons and dragons #drow elf #dnd drow #i am goncharoving my way out here guys #wanting to do art featuring our rahadin but we dont know anything about him so im filling out the gaps vaguely #peeking just a little into his wiki page with half my eye so i can confirm One Thing #i am fighting the hardest battle over here trying to not spoil anything from how the original lore went down #i learned my lesson not to search for anything bc the guys on reddit wont bother hiding imortant details from the title #i am still laughing..when i was like collecting and writing names together i stumbled upon the name vasili which i did not remember where #that came up so i went okay imma just search it and a piano dropped on me immediately #i am still torn between: this detail fucks im glad i know vs it would have been bonkers if i experienced the piano drop during session #plus the amount im on the cos tag this info is everywhere so there is no way around it anyway

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wiltedreamofbaldursgate · 6 months

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You, Blinding Like the Sun

characters: Astarion x gender neutral Elf!Tav/reader word count: +1.5k Rating: teen and up. sfw. trigger warning: very loosely implied trauma on both sides. read on ao3

Astarion despises you so very much because you’re everything he isn’t, everything he has never been. Not even alive could he have held a candle to you, because you’re perfect and he is falling, and he hates that he is falling for you.

He despises you.

From the moment Astarion first laid eyes upon you—confident, selfless little elf, blinding like the sun—he has despised you. You with your dazzling golden eyes, the sweet flush on the tip of your pointy ears. Your artfully arranged hair, kissed by the sun to make it shine like fine silk. The cute little freckles sprinkled all over your unmarred skin—skin that has never been touched by undesired hands. You who lived long enough to choose a name for yourself—to make a name for yourself.

How he despises all of it.

The way you win anyone over with nothing but an honest smile; the sheer purpose in your every step. That nasty confidence of yours that isn't some skill you ever needed to acquire because, to you, it comes all-natural, of course—you were born with it. Astarion can tell it's true because he’s spent two centuries mimicking the behaviour of people just like you.

And he despises you for it.

Before you were even born, the gods have bestowed their gifts on you, and here you are, not even knowing what power you hold, how very blessed you are. You wouldn’t even care if you knew, because the fact of the matter is that you have no need for gods nor gifts nor skills. Not when people gravitate towards you as if you have hung the stars. And how dreadfully inviting you always are, so very accommodating.

Come sit by the fire, Astarion; isn’t it cold and lonely over there?

Come feed from me, Astarion; you look so terribly starved.

Come enjoy yourself, Astarion, have all of me, Astarion, I don’t ask for anything in return, Astarion.

Astarion, are you alright?

Everything you say or do, everything you are—he fucking despises it.

He despises how laughably easy it was to fool you, to fuck you, to make you fall for him; honestly, don’t you know any better, darling? Probably not, because it’s evident that you aren’t all there in the head sometimes.

After all, who in their right mind would let a starved beast feast at the most divinely set table, have it indulge in the sweetest of wines as if it were nothing, as if it weren’t everything to him? And it’s only by luck that you’re still breathing now, that he hasn’t ripped out your throat to drink up every obscenely delicious drop of you.

But of course, you come with an excessive amount of luck—so much of it that it makes up for your lack of brains. Hells, the worst thing that has ever happened to you is the little fiend lingering behind your eye, the very same thing that has set him free after centuries of endless suffering, and he despises you. Astarion despises you so very much because you’re everything he isn’t, everything he has never been. Not even alive could he have held a candle to you, because you’re perfect and he is falling, and he hates that he is falling for you.

You with the soft lilt in your voice, a reminder of a language that weighs like lead on Astarion’s tongue. You with your easy smile that he can’t help but return with an unfamiliar one of his own. You with your blood that tastes like the very sun. Astarion hates that he never even stood a chance against you because you care. Because you either love sincerely or not at all. Because you somehow love him.

And he hates that his gaze keeps following the alluring sway of your hips; that he finds himself instinctively reaching for your hand whenever you hold it out to him, and that he hates it even more when you don’t.

He hates the way you say his name—not because you mock him for that childish name of his, no, but because it makes him want to hear it from your lips over and over and over again.

And most of all, he hates the way you speak of victory. How dare you make it sound so believable—probable, even? He hates how he trusts your words to come true, that real freedom is at his fingertips. If you think it’s possible, it has to be, doesn’t it…?

Yes, Astarion well and truly hates how much he wants you, trusts you, craves you. Your blood. Your smile. Your love. All of you. It makes him feel like an idiot because all you had to do to mess up his perfectly fine plan was to exist next to him. You are the stake hovering right above his heart, and he is so fucking scared of the inevitable impact. Because sooner or later, his love for you will bite him in the ass—it always does. It hasn’t happened yet, but here he is, already hurting.

It hurts Astarion to watch you get injured in battle, and it hurts even more to see your eyes frantically dart over him to make sure he’s alright after. It hurts that he wants to make love to you so badly but doesn’t quite know how. It hurts him to guard over your trances, to watch you struggle through each night, haunted by your very own ghosts—and that he can’t do anything to ease your suffering. It makes him feel weak, and he is tired of feeling this way, tired of being so fucking useless to you. You haven’t realised that he is nothing yet, but you will soon enough, and Astarion is afraid—always afraid that that will be the end of it. The end of him. Around you, he can feel his mask slip all too often, all too easily, and he is afraid of your blindingly loving gaze upon him. What do your golden eyes see?, he wonders, too afraid to ask. Why don’t you look away when you see him laid bare? He’s afraid that there’s something wrong with you, because how could it be any different?

In fact, Astarion is mostly afraid for you, because every day he learns that you’re not perfect at all. There are more knots in your hair than he can count, and you always seem to have a nasty sunburn spread across your shoulders. You sometimes cackle like a goose around the fire, and you’re too gullible, too good for your own good. And you can die so very easily…

Deep inside, Astarion is terrified that one day you will glide through his fingers like sunlight at dusk.

He’s terrified that there won’t be anything he can do to save you.

He’s terrified of what he might be willing to do to try anyway.

You wake from your restless trance with a choked cry. It seems like you always startle into consciousness, unsure of where you are even moments later. It’s not the first time that Astarion wonders what could possibly be haunting your memories, but the way you tremble and make yourself look smaller keeps reinforcing his sickening suspicions.

Forcing down the anger soaring through him, he leans over to where you’re lying next to him. Cooing softly, he brushes a strand of hair from your forehead, cautious to barely touch your sweat-drenched skin. His eyes lock with yours, and together you wait for the tightness in your chest to ease, your hurried breath to slow down.

You grab his hand to hold it against your racing heart, and Astarion wants to tell you that you’re safe; lying is what he does best, after all. He can’t bring himself to say those false words, though, not to you—never again to you. He has already tainted so much of what you have together and although you’re not perfect, you’re special. This is special and he will do anything to make it last.

When your breath has calmed into a gentle rhythm again, Astarion wraps his arms around your waist, gently pulling your back against his chest. His lips are still warm from your blood circulating underneath his skin as he presses them against your temple.

“Rest,” he whispers. “I got your back, sunshine.” Astarion’s words are hesitant and shaky, even in his own pointy ears. Long years of disuse have perverted the inflection, and he doesn’t trust himself to say any more—not for now, at least.

It takes you a moment to realise that Astarion has spoken in your common mother tongue, but when you do, you tilt your head to find his almost timid gaze again.

“I know you do,” you answer, a lazy smile tugging at your lips, making your perfectly melodic words sound so much lovelier. “Thank you, Astarion.”

The pale elf brushes his lips against yours. It’s a quick, sloppy kiss, and he doesn’t recall ever kissing someone like this before—rushed and imperfect; real. He takes in your smile one last time before he buries his face in the crook of your neck, taking in your warmth, your scent. Everything that is you.

Astarion loves to be blinded by the sun.

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate tv #gn reader #gn tav #elf tav #hurt/comfort/angst #fanfic #baldur's gate fanfiction #emicha writes #wilteddreamsbg3

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ghostbsuter · 8 months

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Danny 'always checks if the billionaire he's staying at got a basement/cave' fenton, peacefully eating at dinner.

Bruce speaks up, smiling light. "So, Danny. How are you liking your stay so far?"

Danny, meeting his eyes, answers easily. "Yeah, it's been alright."

The teen keeps staring at Bruce, leaning on his hand and not even trying to hide it.

"I'm sorry, but are we not gonna talk about the fact you're batman and have a massive cave underneath your home?"

Bruce chokes immediately, "Excuse me?" He looks rather baffled.

Danny isn't done yet, deciding that Damian is his next victim. "Or the fact that Ra's al ghul's grandson is next to me?'

Someone is coughing hard, another is hysterically laughing. He doesn't knows who.

"Or," he meets Jason's eye. "He apparently died and came back?"

Danny leans back into his chair, honestly confused.

"You all reek of death, even Mr. Alfred does!" The statement is followed by ridiculous gestures and Duke shrugs.

"You get used to it." He explains, chewing.

"Really? Kinda strange. If I hadn't researched batman before, I'd 100% think Bruce is a villain."

"Amen to that, Bruce being a secret villain seems more plausible than vigilante."

"Yeah!"

The rest of dinner and after was spent on all ridiculous points and theories towards the waynes, Duke and Danny got on like a house on fire.

To the dismay of both Dick and Bruce, for different reasons.

Dick for not being the favorite and Bruce for being found out so fucking fast, he still is recovering.

(He was only slightly glad Stephanie wasn't here during that reveal.)

#dcxdp #dpxdc #fic prompt #writing prompt #dc x dp prompt #dp x dc crossover #duke thomas my beloved #signal needs more attention #imagine he and danny do daylight patrols #everyone just thinks signal got a new power #the kids are convinced that danny is a elf #there is a rumor that signal and phantom are runaway elves #and that santa is hunting them down #man is canonically going ho ho ho and chasing the two teens #Menacingly ofc

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the-likeable-wizard-mack · 11 months

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timeforelfnonsense · 3 months

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Read Sunshine & Starlight on Ao3 Read the previous chapter on Tumblr Pairing: Dafni (F!Tav) x Astarion Rating: M (Later Chapters will contain explicit content) TWs: depiction of mild anxiety Tags: Cubby elf oc, Cleric!Tav, fluff Elvish Translations: N'Tel'Que'Tethira - City Elves

Dafni sat cross-legged beside the fire, elbow-deep in her heavy canvas pack, plucking out anything of use she could find amidst the collection of random objects that had taken up a semi-permanent residence there over the years. Her mother had always said that her organizational skills left much to be desired. She could picture her golden brown eyes as they rolled in response to Dafni's insistence that she was simply well prepared.

Dafni yelped, her finger finding the sharp edge of a knife. She pulled her hand free of her pack, examining the tiny laceration. A bit of blood had welled up at the tip of her finger. She popped the finger in her mouth, gently sucking on the wound. Her face scrunched in displeasure as the smell of iron stung her nose. Frustrated, Dafni grabbed her pack, dumping its contents into a heap atop her bedroll.

She immediately pulled out her father's compass, her crinkled map of the Sword Coast, and the offending knife, sorting them into the 'useful' pile along with a few other adventuring essentials she'd found mixed in with her clutter.

She separated her clothing next. One by one, Dafni tossed each article to the side save for a single length of translucent azure cloth. She pressed the peplos to her nose, drawing in the sweetness of elven laurel and fertile soil. It had been over a year since she last returned to her village, but the smell of home still clung to her vestments.

Her chest ached at the thought of home. If she had just been able to content herself living among the wood elves— If she had never left the Feywild in the first place, Dafni might have avoided the dire situation she'd found herself in altogether.

She signed, kicking out her crossed legs and flogging to her back.

There was no use dwelling on the what-ifs. A part of her would always belong to Gwynneth and the kaleidoscopic splendor of the Feywild. Still, the world was wide, and Dafni had been born with a voracious sense of curiosity that would never have allowed her to content herself with living the neat, simple life her mother had planned for her.

True, Bauldr's Gate had taken some getting used to at first, but life in the city was already shaping up to be an excellent adventure. Twin Songs was a colorful hodgepodge of architectural influences. Temples and shrines to more gods than she could have imagined lined each street. Some people might have called the mishmash of aesthetics as garish, but to Dafni, there was strange loveliness in so many dissimilar things coming together to make something entirely unique.

She'd found a townhouse there, just beyond Wyrm's Crossing. A white brick building with dark wooden archways. It was covered in crawling vines and star-shaped blossoms. The front garden was overgrown, but she could still identify a few familiar herbs among the chaos. A bergamot tree grew near the edge of the waist-high lattice fence, its branches bowing with the weight of unplucked fruit. When she spotted the crooked 'for rent' sign in the window, Dafni knew she'd found her new home.

The townhouse belonged to a family of elvish nobles from the Upper City who had long since left for their country estate. However, their retainer had assured her they wouldn't have an issue with her using the lower floor of the property as a clinic so long as she could afford the rent.

Business had been slow initially, but she'd gained a measure of favor among the city's elven refugees. Dafni's mouth tipped downward, her thoughts drifting to the trembling woman who'd come to her door in the wee hours of the morning.

There had been an outbreak of fever spreading amongst the elven refugees of Rivington. Dafni had held her shaking hands as she described the illness: fever, chills, a flushed appearance, excessive perspiration. The Sylvan Sweats, she was sure of it.

A nasty disease is left to run its course but treatable with the right combination of herbs and magic. She kept her shelves well stocked, but she'd need something more challenging to come by than the willow bark and elderflower she'd sent the woman home with to ease her people's symptoms.

Naralis Blessing. That had been her purpose in setting out for the Cloak Wood. The flowers were rare in the material plane, only growing in places where the veil between it and the Feywild was particularly thin. Even if she hadn't found them growing naturally, the conditions of the forest were perfect for her to conjure some up herself.

Dafni's fingertips brushed against the delicate skin just below her eye. Yesterday, she'd been on a mission to help her people, and now she was the one in desperate need of a healer.

Gale had spared no detail when explaining the gory details of ceremorphosis. Disorientation, hallucination, headaches, bleeding orifices. They should have been hip-deep in misery by now.

Yet, she and her new friends remained miraculously untentacled.

He and Shadowheart were suspicious of the lack of skull-splitting horror, but Dafni was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Gods willing, their luck would continue and she'd have a cure and be on her way back to the Rivington elves before they even had time to wonder what was keeping her.

Dafni's eyes fluttered shut, and thoughtful reflection began to bleed into half-formed reverie. She might have drifted off completely had she not heard the sound of Astarion's voice.

"Pardon me ah— Daffodil, was it?"

"Dafni," she corrected with a snort.

"Right. My Apologies. I'm not usually one to forget the name of a beautiful woman. A side effect of our little hitchhikers, perhaps."

She waved her hands before herself, a flush forming across her cheeks. "No harm done. Was there something you needed?"

Astarion pushed aside the pile of clothes Dafni had left out on her bedroll before sitting beside her. Her flush grew impossibly hotter as his pale hand brushed against a pair of her candy colored panties.

He glanced up at her, wearing a close-lipped smile. "Oh, nothing in particular. I just wanted to see how you were faring before we turn in for the evening. I'm happy to take the first watch if you'd like. I'll be awake for a while anyway. This is all new to me. Trudging around the wilderness all day and curling up in the dirt to rest is a little… novel," his expression soured for a moment before shifting back to indifference, "but I doubt I'll be getting much rest until we can procure some more comfortable accommodations."

Dafni brought her palm to her mouth to stifle her giggle. It was terribly impolite to laugh at the discomfort of others, but the idea of an elf turning their nose up at nature was, as Astarion had put it, a little novel to her.

"I'm sorry!" she said as she bit back another peel of laughter, "I hope I haven't offered you it's just where I come from, N'Tel'Que'Tethira are particularly unheard of. Hearing an elf so dissatisfied with a night beneath the stars was a bit of a shock."

"Oh, no offense taken." Astarion offered her a dismissive wave of his hand. "I take it you aren't baldurian then?"

"Actually, I am! Only recently, though. I'm from the Moonshaes, originally."

Astarion gave a thoughtful hum. "What brought you to the city then?"

"Wanderlust, mostly," Dafni explained, "I lived with a clan of wood elves before coming to the city. We traveled all over the Isle of Gwynneth. I loved it but I was just… ready for a change."

"Wood elves? How charming." he flashed her a dazzling grin, adding, "Although, I hardly think it was fair of them to keep such a lovely creature all to themselves in the wilderness."

Dafni was beginning to wonder if Astarion took some sort of sadistic pleasure in making her blush. Gods, all it took was a few honeyed words and Dafni had found herself reduced to jelly. In her fluster, she had forgotten to mind her glamour, allowing a cluster of pale yellow and peachy pink flowers to blossom among her loose curls.

"Was there anything I could do to help you feel more comfortable?" Dafni blurted out, desperate to shift his attention away from the garden spring to life in her hair, "I—I could brew you an herbal tea to help you relax, maybe? Or, umm, I could share my bedroll. Not like that, of course! Not that I don't think you are handsome. You are very handsome. I mean, obviously. I just mean I could let you use it so you'll be more…comfortable."

Dafni groaned, burying her face in her palms. She jumped at the feeling of an icy hand wrapping around her wrist. Astarion tugged her hands away from her face. When Dafni finally mustered the courage to face him, she was met with the first genuine smile she'd seen grace his perfect lips all day.

"Oh no, darling, tea isn't really my drink. As for the bedroll, well, maybe another time."

Dafni yanked her wrist free of Astarion's loose grip, "You are a ruthless tease! Has anyone told you that before?"

"Alright, no more teasing for tonight; you have my word," Astarion said with a low chuckle; his fingertips brushed against her temple as he plucked a yellow flower from behind her pointed ear. He rolled the stem between his index and forefinger, glancing at her through his dark lashes. He brought the blossom to his nose, drawing in a deep breath. "You know, I think I might like you, Daffodil . The two of us are going to have a lot of fun together."

#astarion #dafni of gwynneth #bg3 fanfiction #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #tavstarion #elf writes #sunshine & starlight #astarion fic #astarion x f!tav

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elfyris · 2 years

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WIP WEDNESDAY actually on a wednesday i didn’t at all plan this ehe as per usus, tagged by @dumpsterhipster and bro im tagging you back and @choilacanth my two belovedds <3 anyways here is wip :3

At first, the words were whispered as uncertain rumours trailing from the King’s Keep, servants in the hallways gossiping after the King had an emotional episode during a private Assembly of the Council meeting. They started off small, whispered in tones that signified that the two talkers weren’t supposed to know, that it was forbidden to know but no force in the world can stop talking servants.

‘Magic is going to be banned,’ They’d mutter to one another whilst cleaning dishes or swabbing the floor.

‘But they can’t ban magic, it’s magic,’ someone would always argue and the other would simply shrug, to only say they heard it from the cook, who heard it from the maid, who heard it from the guard she was sweet with. Not always in that order. And so the rumour will spread, never deviating for the words were scandalous enough, and thus before the rumour could even be confirmed to the common folk, half the nobles found themselves gossiping over the exact same words.

#elf writes #elfscript #i like elfscript mayb i make that the writing tag #wip wednesday

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beedokwrites · 9 months

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A fantasy romcom staring a half-elf trans girl who hasn’t realised she’s a girl yet. But think she has the best plan ever to escape having to marry an orc.

Only to realise she kind of likes orc girls.

On Itch

And Amazon

Or scribblehub, if you are also poor like me.

#writing promo #fantasy #trans protagonist #trans author #author on tumblr #writeblr #elf #orc girl #going to do some specific promos for my stories

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songofsoma · 6 months

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can’t believe i never posted the commission i got of karlach and daefina from the talented @b0zart i’m still so in love with it

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wilteddreamsofbaldursgate · 3 months

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Starlit Skirts

Astarion x fem!ElfTav|| ao3 || Masterlist

Rating: T Word Count: +2.5k A little smile stole onto Tav’s lips. “I would’ve married you in the half-hour between having my back blown out and breakfast this morning, if you’d let me. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Better yet—the day before that. A lifetime ago…” By the way his lips tenderly began to mirror her own, she could tell that it was decided. Astarion would be her husband by morning.

a/n: Valentine's Gift Exchange for @marcynomercy ; happy early Valentine's Day! ♡

Tav was growing bored, positively so.

The early Autumn sun had pleasantly warmed her back when Astarion had first helped her onto the wooden step stool. Now, the chamber was bathed in the scattering light of late afternoons, the sun’s weakening sunrays crawling past the useless cheval glass in front of Tav.

Suppressing a yawn, her gaze wandered over the thick cotton sheet that was draped over the mirror, and—for the lack of anything better to do—she began to count the loose threats standing out from the tightly woven fabric one more time.

“I’m bored,” she declared when her eyes started to strain but a moment later.

Silence.

Tav rolled her eyes. Sometimes, it was rather irritating that Astarion only shut up when he was engrossed in his needlework—or when his mouth was otherwise occupied.

“You could at least entertain me a little,” she tried again, her voice light as she swallowed yet another yawn. “Since you’re keeping me on my toes like this all day...”

It was no use. As if he hadn’t heard her, Astarion continued to kneel at her feet, rearranging her skirts every once in a while to have them fall in a specific way Tav wasn’t privy to.

Astarion had been working on her wedding dress for months now, and although she’d donned the dress for a number of fittings, she’d yet to see the actual gown.

Astarion was adamant about keeping the look of the finished dress —his wedding gift to her— a secret, covering every reflective surface in the room, having her blindfolded if the need arose; working well into the night when their Elven eyes could only see in scales of grey.

So, all Tav knew about her wedding dress was that it was quite heavy, which was at odds with the cool gossamer fabric that felt so wonderfully soft against her skin, mimicking her lover’s sweet embrace…

Tav wasn’t able to suppress a third yawn. Not only was she bored, no, she was exhausted.

It was the second day in a row that Astarion had her stand in front of him for hours on end, and her body was becoming increasingly stiff. She wasn’t used to feeling this drained by doing absolutely nothing, but she supposed it couldn’t be helped.

“Don’t move,” Astarion muttered all of a sudden, pearl head pins secured between his teeth as he grabbed Tav’s wrist to keep her left arm from moving.

He’d pinned the dress’ knee-length sleeves to its skirt some time ago, insisting that he needed to see where they would overlay with…well, he wouldn’t tell her with what exactly.

Tav, frowning at his sharp command, hadn’t even noticed that she’d tried to roll back her shoulders, instinctively wanting to ease the dull ache in her joints.

“And no peeking.”

How had Astarion even known that she was glancing down at his silver locks when he was still re-pinning and inspecting the hem of her sleeve?

“Sorry,” Tav said, a tad too meekly to be considered honest as she ironed out her slouching shoulders.

Astarion acknowledged her with a huff, but that was more than enough for Tav. Wherever the Vampire’s mind had been wandering for the past hours, he was now back in the same room with her.

She would not let him go again.

“How much longer must I suffer, heart of my heart? My feet are getting so, so tired,” Tav pouted, accentuating her misery with a deep sigh. “I don’t think I can stand like this for another moment.”

It only took a heartbeat for Astarion’s busy hands to pause in their movement.

Tav allowed herself a triumphant, albeit small grin. If there was one thing Astarion couldn’t endure these days, it was her discomfort.

“Another moment is all I need, love. Promised.”

“I would so love to believe that, but you said the same thing at least three moments ago, you big old liar.”

Astarion scoffed, although Tav could hear a small grin of his own in his voice.

“Darling, it’s not my fault that I have to alter this dress every other damn week.”

Now, Tav let out a peeved laugh. The nerve of this man!

“It is, though!”

“Well, kind of,” Astarion admitted sheepishly. “Maybe?”

“Surely! Half of it is, at the very least.”

Astarion’s hands began picking at her skirts again. “Haven’t we already established that that was an accident?”

“You really are shameless, Astarion, truly,” Tav shook her head, the grin on her face widening.

How she wished she could see his face now! She could almost picture the way his eyebrows were knitted together, trying to hide his embarrassment behind a mask of concentration.

The dull ache in her spine was all she needed to decide that she’d earned herself that very sight of him. A look wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Slowly, Tav lowered her eyes, glancing down at Astarion through her eyelashes.

The bodice of her dress was ivory, she couldn’t help but notice entirely against her will; or a gentle cream. Maybe a very pale grey? It was already hard to tell in the growing half-light…

Tav bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to peek at the dress, really; she just couldn’t help it. And it wasn’t her fault that she could see past the crown of Astarion’s curly head. Or that she noticed the golden thread he pulled through her skirts, sewing on…a pearl? A crystal? It was something shiny for sure, but what?

Tav craned her neck, trying to get a better look at—

“Eyes up, damn you!” Astarion cried as he tilted his head back, catching her in the very act of gawking at as much of her dress as she could catch. “I swear I’ll have you blindfolded again.”

Tav’s eyes darted back up, pointing obediently towards the useless mirror as if they’d never left it to begin with.

“Oh, don’t you threaten me with a good time, darling,” Tav sighed dramatically, trying to make light of the way her heart raced.

“Let’s see if you’re this cheeky later tonight, shall we, pet?”

“That could be arranged—if you’re on your knees like this again…”

“Tempting. Very tempting indeed,” Astarion purred, his hand vanishing under her skirts without warning.

His nimble fingers trailed up from her ankle towards her knee, splaying out across the back of her thigh as he gently tugged her leg against his chest.

Tav gasped.

She didn’t dare another peek at him but was sure he was still looking up at her, face half buried in her skirts. The image inside her head expelled any lingering sense of her earlier fatigue.

“But let’s finish this first, alright? It really won’t be long now—you think you can endure your plight for a bit longer, you poor thing?”

Tav swallowed. This time, it was her turn to hide her embarrassment as she tried to look absorbed in the little dust particles floating through the day’s fading light.

“I suppose I can. But only because it’s you.”

“Good girl,” Astarion nodded approvingly against her shin before he withdrew, his hands taking up their work outside her skirts anew.

As it turned out, Astarion did keep his word this time.

It didn’t take very much longer until Tav could feel one final tug at her sleeve. A moment later, Astarion shook out her skirts one final time before he rose to his full height in front of her.

He unfastened the pincushion from around his wrist as he considered Tav from head to toe, circling her to examine his work.

“That should do,” he announced, coming to a halt behind her. “Close your eyes, love.”

Just like he always did, Astarion made to unfasten the lacing of Tav’s bodice.

Unlike the other times, though, she turned around before his fingers could hook under the lacing on her back; her arms came up to protectively wrap around her middle.

Astarion raised an eyebrow at her.

“What is it?”

“I want to see it.”

A deep frown settled between Astarion’s eyes as he slowly stepped behind her once again.

As if it were a dance, Tav turned to face him once more.

Astarion ran his hand through his hair, his crimson eyes searching hers as he tried to make sense of her silly game.

“You know why it’s called a wedding dress, my sweet? Because it’s worn on your wedding day— and that’s the day you’re going to see it.”

“Well, I’m wearing it right now,” Tav established with a shrug, earning herself a puzzled look from her lover.

Fiancé.

“What?” asked Tav. “We could be wed in a moment. Or three, considering you haven’t done your hair yet. The courthouse is right around the corner.”

Astarion, clearly surprised by her sudden proposal, opened his mouth, exposing his fangs for but a second before he pressed his lips into a thin line.

“All these months of wedding planning just to get it over with in one short moment?” He asked calmly. There was no bite in his voice, just honest curiosity.

A little smile stole onto Tav’s lips.

“I would’ve married you in the half-hour between having my back blown out and breakfast this morning, if you’d let me. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Better yet—the day before that. A lifetime ago…”

By the way his lips tenderly began to mirror her own, she could tell that it was decided.

Astarion would be her husband by morning.

But the pale elf was nothing if not a tease.

Taking a step towards Tav, his hand came up to her low neckline, fiddling with a detail Tav didn’t dare peek at—not under his intense crimson gaze.

“Why so impatient all of a sudden, dearest?”

Even while standing on the little step stool Tav had to raise her eyes to admire his beautiful face—the same face she wanted to look upon until the end of her days.

“I’m exhausted, Astarion. And maybe I’m even scared that time’s running out,” Tav murmured, putting into words what had troubled her for the past weeks as her hand reached for his. In an instant, his fingers intertwined with hers. “And I really don’t want to labour through another dress fitting, now that it’s getting all serious…”

Astarion pretended to look wounded as his thumb brushed over the back of her hand.

“Darling, and here I was thinking that we were already quite serious before our little accident.”

It was true—Tav had already put a ring on the Vampire’s finger a good decade ago, allowing them to not only spend their nights but days together.

There’d never been any need to rush to get married until now.

The Sunwalker’s Gift caught the fleeting daylight as Astarion raised his other hand to cup her cheek.

He considered her for a moment as she leaned into his touch.

“Are you sure?”

Tav only nodded once.

“Always been,” she whispered without any hesitation before she pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand. “And my feet are literally killing me. My spine, too. And, gods, my shoulders—”

Tav’s moaning was interrupted by a quick peck on her lips. The tip of Astarion’s nose brushed against hers as he pulled back just enough to look at the blush on her face.

“We can’t have that, can we?”

“Absolutely not.”

Astarion nodded understandingly, his hand moving from her cheek down her shoulders, along the long sleeves of her dress. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he lifted her off the little stool, hugging Tav against him for a moment longer than necessary.

“Time for your wedding gift, then,” he whispered in her ear before he set her gently down on her feet in front of the mirror.

“Will you close your eyes one last time, love?”

Tav let out a delighted little laugh as she squeezed her eyes shut—this time she really wouldn’t sneak a look.

The heavy cotton sheet that had covered the tall mirror for months fell to the floor with a thud.

“You may look now,” Astarion said, his hand still lingering —trembling?— on her hip.

Tav’s wedding gown was unlike anything she’d ever seen.

Not knowing where to look first, she gaped at the tiny crystals sewn along her neckline as they caught the light of the golden hour fading into shades of blue.

Brilliant embroidery shot down her batwing sleeves like silver linings, naturally guiding her gaze down to her skirts.

“Oh,” Tav breathed, watching the lonely form in the mirror brushing her fingertips over the starlit skirts cascading down her swollen belly like water.

Golden threads brought pearls and crystals together in the most breathtaking constellations, making Tav think of the few fleeting moments between night and daybreak when the sky is at its softest periwinkle, kissed by the gentle fingers of the morning sun.

“Well,” Astarion cleared his throat. “I wanted it to be unforgettable, but since you’d other plans…”

Dumbstruck, Tav could only tear her eyes from her reflection because she needed to see the man who had created all of this. What would she give right then to watch him stand next to her in the mirror?

“Astarion—” was all she could get out before the first tears began streaming down her face. “It is—it really is unforgettable!”

Astarions pulled her back against his chest, his chin resting atop her head as he urged Tav to look back in the mirror.

“Oh, don’t mention it,” he purred against her dark hair. “It’s just some fabric wrapped around my entire world.”

Tav hiccuped up a laugh, leaning back into Astarion. Maybe it was the tears, or the standing up all day, the babe growing inside her or just the dizzying feeling of profound happiness, but she didn’t quite trust her balance.

“Would you look at my swooning little bride,” Astarion grinned as he turned her to take her in, his hand unwilling to stray from her waist.

“Do you like it?”

Tav nodded vehemently, accentuating the truth of it with more tears.

“But I don’t have your gift ready yet, I’m afraid,” she pouted as Astarion tugged some loose strands of hair behind her pointy ears.

“No hurry, my heart,” he said, wishing with all his undead heart that he could see himself standing beside his bride in the mirror, caressing her ever-growing belly that had been so tedious to work with. Maybe one day he would. “Unlike you, I’m patience incarnate; I can wait a moment longer. Or however many more moments that little accident of ours may need.” Tav dared to stand up on her toes and pressed a lingering kiss against Astarion’s lips. “Let’s go show off this masterpiece of a dress in the meantime?” Astarion grinned as he beheld Tav lifting her skirts so that she could get a better look at a section of embroidery he’d laboured over for weeks. He wouldn’t tell her that her happy smile was the very thing that made her dress shine—that knowledge was his selfish little present to himself. “Why, darling, that’s a gift I'll gladly accept for now.”

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #astarion fluff #astarion x elf tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #emicha writes #wilteddreamsbg3

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