reiteka

[reiteka]

Disapproving distraction

Little fic about the Self-Same trial where Astarion is losing to his shadow self and Tav looks to distract it. Tav x Astarion. Tried to put as little defining details about Tav as possible so people can insert whoever they want in their place. Not properly proofread and I'm not really good at writing relationships or about people making up after a fight but I tried. Angst I guess, SFW. Not sure I'll keep it up since I'm not super happy with it.

Shadowheart had never hated her overreliance on Guidance more than at this moment. It seems that no matter what she did, her shadowy twin would dodge her every attack and, though Shadowheart usually had reasonable luck with evasion, she couldn’t seem to help catching every blow the Doppelganger landed on her. They had all been separated at the start of the Self-Same Trial courtesy of a raging shadow Karlach charging at them and allowing their counterparts the opportunity for a surprise attack, and though it was inconvenient to be facing her worst self alone, Shadowheart chose to see the loss of her companions as an additional trial set by her Dark Lady.  

She hadn't seen hide nor hair of Astaion or Tav since the commotion began and, though she hoped they were busy with their own Doppelgangers rather than with one another, she was far too accustomed to the two sneaking off together, even in dire circumstances such as this. Kalach was much easier to locate, what with her victorious bellowing and loud yelling to check in on her missing companions. When Shadowheart caught sight of her coming in her direction, axe raised and flames sizzling, she had to quickly remind Karlach that this trial was an individual affair and that they didn’t know what the consequences for attacking each other’s Doppelgangers were. Thankfully, Karlach halting in her steps and awkwardly looking between her axe and Shadowheart distracted the shadowy fiend long enough for the Sharian to cast a fireball at her replica. Blasting the Doppelganger back, Shadowheart went on the offensive, alternating between physical and magical attacks until the shadow version of herself dissipated, leaving only a purple glowing orb. Composing herself, Shadowheart turned to a gleeful Karlach, preparing to inquire as to the whereabouts of their leader and resident vampire when the sounds of shouting broke the dense silence of the ancient crypt.  

“Astarion please hold on!”, Tav’s distressed voice sounded moments before the two rounded the pillar of the small building where the team was ambushed. The pale elf held a scowl that could make milk curdle, striding forward, past Karlach and Shadowheart whilst completely ignoring a pleading Tav.  

Giving up on going after him, realizing that it would be better to wait for Astarion to calm down, Tav ran a hand over their face, heaved a hollow, exhausted sigh, and turned their priorities towards the two women who had been failing miserably at keeping their curiosity hidden.  

“Everything alright soldier?”, Karlach queried, a grimace on her face as she looked over their unanimously assigned leader. Bending down to pick up the glowing orb by Shadowheart’s feet, Tav straightened, their face expressionless and posture rigid, answering Karlach’s question with a statement that betrayed their inner turmoil. 

“Let’s set up camp.”.  

. . . 

Everything was not alright.  

Astarion had secluded himself away in his tent, Tav was sitting glumly by the campfire, and the camp itself was as silent as a dank old crypt dedicated to a Lady of Loss could be, minus the occasional scream in the distance and the scuttling of rats. Seeking answers and wanting to comfort Tav, Shadowheart took a seat to their left while Karlach planted herself down on their right.  

“Start talking soldier.”. 

. . . 

Astarion didn’t like to brood all too often, it was far too stereotypical for a nocturnal creature such as himself and he’d hate to lend credence to the tales of the brooding vampire, but he had to admit that he was awfully good at it. Tav regaling their companions outside his tent about the events that occurred during the Self-Same trial only served to further sour his mood and bring the unpleasant memories of the day to the forefront of his mind.   

As a rogue, Astarion prided himself on his inability to be caught unawares, even when a shadowed version of Karlach charged at him and his companions from the shadows. No, what had stopped him dead, pun unintended, in his tracks was a shadow figure with curly locks, pointy ears and snarling fangs advancing on him. Surprisingly, it wasn't the figure’s appearance that tipped Astarion off to the identity of his pursuer but the gear that said figure possessed, specifically the bow he recently acquired as a gift from Tav for their heroism at Waukeen's Rest. Though he was aware this trial would involve some self-reflection, he thought it more metaphorical and he certainly didn’t expect the first time he viewed his face after becoming a vampire spawn to be a result of a Sharian trial in the form of some cheap imitation which seemed hellsbent on exterminating him.  

Regrettably, being too focused on trying to locate the features on his Doppelganger that Tav once described to him when trying to illustrate how he looked in their eyes, Astarion failed to notice how close the Doppelganger was until a dagger came flying at his face. Dropping low, ducking backwards and unsheathing his own daggers, Astarion found himself on the backfoot as the shadowy foe attacked with the same determination and precision he himself had displayed towards his enemies. 

This was admittedly humiliating for the smarmy vamp, not only because her often lectured their leader for nearly walking into traps time and again due to distraction which he himself was now falling victim to, but also because said leader had made their presence known, jumping from a nearby balcony, raising their weapon and preparing to rescue their vampiric beau.  

“Darling no, we don’t know what will happen!”. Neither were sure what would happen if they harmed a Doppelganger other than their own but he didn’t want to risk anything, especially when it came to Tav. The Doppelganger briefly acknowledged Tav’s presence before resuming his attack on Astarion which, despite not appreciating, was oddly reassuring given that the Doppelganger didn’t seem all that interested in harming Tav, only seeking to eradicate Astarion.  

Unfortunately, Astarion couldn't find an opening in his opponent's slippery defence and was forced to take retreating step after retreating step while Tav frantically called out to him, devolving into a panicky mess. If Astarion’s heart still beat, it would be hammering in his chest, especially when his Doppelganger managed to separate him from his daggers, causing him to leap back, leaving himself vulnerable to a finishing blow. As the Doppelganger readied its blade, Tav ran at it, grabbing it by its ridiculously sharp cheekbones and slimming their lips onto the imitations. Astarion didn’t know what was worse, seeing his lover pashing a shadow version of himself or watching as the thing immediately dropped its weapons, gripped Tav by the hips, and returned the intimate gesture. Had it not been for Tav cracking one eye open, looking at Astarion and then at his weapon, he wouldn’t have even realised that this was a distraction to give him time to gather his dagger and get the jump on his opponent.  

Astarion couldn’t really recall what came after that, vaguely aware of his body collecting his weapon and plunging it into the Doppelganger’s back before storming off to be alone while Tav called after him but too focused on the pain and sorrow polluting his mind to pay any actually attention to what he was doing. Objectively he knew Tav had done the smart thing, seeking to distract their opponent without risking the consequences of violating the Self-Same trail’s rules, but subjectively the tactic made him want to vomit. If he had witnessed such a scene at the beginning of their journey — before Tav showed him their infuriatingly unrelenting support and care, before he confessed his initial attempts at manipulation, before Tav made it clear that they would stand by Astarion as he took the fight to Cazador, before he had begun to care about the altruistic little fool — then he would have had no problem with Tav kissing a shadowy version of himself, he may have even teased them for it.  

Now though, now he felt sick, empty, pathetic. He was ashamed of losing a fight due to distraction, he was disgusted that Tav had to resort to such methods to distract the Doppelganger, but most of all he was envious. That thing had no trouble reciprocating Tav’s intimacy, it didn’t flinch at their touch, didn’t squirm in discomfort from their affections, didn’t shy away from grabbing them and returning the passionate kiss with equal vigour. Even this thing, this shadowy imitation of him, was far less broken than the real thing, even it could give Tav the physical affection and adoration they deserved, so why couldn’t he? Did Tav think the same? Did they realise when kissing it how much better it was than him, how much better off they could be? How- 

“Ast, can I come in?”, Tav’s voice, soft and uncertain, called from outside his tent, interrupting his spiralling self-depreciation. Astarion didn’t want to let them in but he wanted them there by his side, the desire for their company and fear of being vulnerable around them caused conflicting emotions to arise in Astarion. Choosing to remain silent, Astarion hoped that Tav would realise what he wanted, understand that he was too stubborn, too insecure, too afraid of screwing up the one good thing in his dark and desolate life to invite them in, that they would push through as they always did when he relapsed into his practised routines, seeking the real Astarion hiding behind the protective yet self-destructive facade. Whether they were simply too insightful or he had unknowingly leaked his thoughts through the tadpole connection, Tav entered the tent, closing the flap behind them and crawling onto the bedroll, maintaining just enough distance from Astarion to not invade his space but close enough to let him feel their presence.  

He knew the right thing to do was talk to them, to have a grown-up conversation about what happened and how to move forward, instead he turned his back on them, waiting with ears pricked for the inevitable sigh they would give out before leaving. He wouldn’t blame them if they did leave, he would’ve left if he was in their shoes.  

“I’m sorry Astarion. I panicked and didn’t think about what would happen or how you would feel. But that sounds like an excuse and you deserve more than excuses and more than apologies but I just...I’m so sorry.”. He could hear the genuine anguish in their voice, how their voice cracked throughout, his own heart aching as he listened to them. He wanted to forgive them, wanted to tell them it was all water under the bridge, but he wasn’t ready, wasn’t ready to be vulnerable, wasn’t ready to admit just why the scene he witnessed earlier cut him so deep. But he didn't want them to be sad, didn’t want them to think he was angry at them. But reaching his hand behind his back and sliding it into Tav’s was something he could do, something he was ready to do.  

They stayed that way for a few minutes more before Tav spoke up.  

“You know, for a literal replica of you, that thing was quite subpar when compared to the real thing.”. Now that got Astarion’s attention, got him smirking and rolling over to face his little love.  

“Really? Do tell.”. 

“Well, he felt wrong, hollow as if he wasn’t even there, he didn’t smell like you, like that ‘undead smell covering’ cologne you’ve concocted and...”. 

“And?”. 

“He was an atrocious kisser.”.  

Peals of laughter escaped Astarion at their confession, chuckles wracking his body almost as severely as the convulsions he experienced when picking up that damn amulet from the Adamantine Forge.  

“Well Darling, that’s what you get for kissing a cheap imitation when you have the real deal right here.”. His hand released Tav’s and his arms wrapped around them, almost as if by hugging them he could maintain this joy, this feeling of content that he was so unused to but so happy to embrace. Snuggling into his chest, Tav blinked up at him shyly. 

“You’re not mad at me?”. Brushing a stray lock of hair behind their ear, Astarion leaned in, placing a kiss to their forehead.  

“Not at all my love.”. Sighing, Tav sunk into his embrace, prepared to sleep off the day's drama. “After all, Shadowheart’s the one at fault here.”. 

“What?”.  

“But of course, after all, had it not been for her insisting on taking part in that Gauntlet of Shar, we wouldn’t have been in that mess to begin with! I know it’s been a while since she’s been out of camp but honesty, I’m starting to think her silly dedication to her Goddess is a detriment to the team.”. Whilst Astarion prattled on about how Shadowheart had endangered them all with her foolish devotion, Tav ruminated on one final thought before dozing off in the vampire’s arms. 

Lady of Sorrow, please guide Shadowheart and stop her from murdering Astarion in the near future.  

Didn't know how to end it but I feel like humour is a good way to let people be vulnerable without feeling too exposed. I'm not great at closing off fics. I call Astarion Ast because I'm weird and lazy with words.

[reiteka]

I have an idea for a fic and am looking to see if anyone would be interested in reading it or if it would be a waste of time. General idea is that Tav and Astarion are struggling to defeat Same Self Trial Astarion so Tav uses a certain, let's say, distraction technique and Astarion is not a fan of it. It would be SFW. I just feel there's not enough people talking advantage of the fact that the Same Self Trial means 2 Astarions and exploring the idea that Astarion may not even realise it's him since he doesn't know what he looks like. Let me know if anyone would be interested in reading this if I wrote it

UPDATE: people encouraged me to post it so I did it.

Link: https://www.tumblr.com/reiteka/766485331409289216/dissaproving-distraction?source=share

[reiteka]

Denial

I don't really do this but since I was forced to get tumblr I figured I may as well put this up here. Just a Human Alastor x Reader type thing. Murder involved, marriage of convenience, female reader, passive? reader (it's mainly Alastor's thoughts so reader doesn't do much in the fic). --- means insert whatever name you want. I haven't proofread this in a long time so expect mistakes. This is 1 of 2 Alastor X Reader fics I've done so let me know if anyone wants the other one (Also never posted on tumblr before and don't know how it works).

...

Alastor didn’t love his wife.

Being best friends since they were young girls, Alastor and ___ mothers had treated one another like sisters, spending all their time together and even giving birth within the same year to their respective children. How ecstatic they were when one had a boy and the other a girl, how darling it would be if the two would conform to the classic romantic trope of developing from childhood friends to star-crossed sweethearts. Fortunately, for their mothers, they did marry but not due to their fondness of each other. Alastor and ___ didn’t love each other, but they didn’t hate each other either. They married to not only make their mothers happy but also out of convenience, to cease the unwanted advances of the opposite sex and to silence the needless prattling of others with their incessant questions or assertions of ‘when are you getting married?’ or ‘still single at your age?’ or the most repulsive of all ‘your biological clock is ticking dear’.

Though they were married, and to the outside world a happy couple, they lived as strangers. They shared one roof but slept in separate beds, in separate rooms, at separate ends of the house. They had dinner together, engaged in conversation about how her day was or how his radio show was faring or about the recent killings and disappearances taking place. And although they generally enjoyed the other’s company, there was an undeniable line that would never be crossed, an unspoken agreement that they would only ever be acquaintances and never entertain the thought of giving into the charade they had concocted to fool their family and friends. Alastor respected such an agreement and in no way did he want it to change.

Alastor didn’t love his wife.

So, when he met the young lad from the bookshop, he didn’t feel anything towards the boy. He didn’t flinch when the blonde’s demeanor brightened like a mutt whose owner had returned home to play with him. He didn’t stiffen at the genuine smile that slipped easily onto his wife’s face when greeting the boy manning the counter, a smile he had spent hours rambling out perfected jokes in an attempt to receive a mere glimpse of, to spy the miniscule curling of her lips, given to him not out of politeness but out of genuine joy.

‘A pleasure to be meeting you my good man! The name is Alastor, yes the one from the radio show. Many thanks for always assisting my lovely wife here in her literary endeavours.’ When he wrapped an arm around her waist and introduced himself, it was because of his duty to fulfill his responsibilities as her husband, not because he enjoyed the look of shock and heartbreak creeping onto the boy’s visage. He took no satisfaction in the way the boy withered under his stare as if shrinking in on himself, both from Alastor’s intimidating aura and his place at the woman’s side.

He didn’t follow his wife around the shop to dissuade the boy from talking to her, he was just interested in finding out what books his wife was currently reading. And yes, his smile did seem rather strained and his eyes quite murderous when the boy happened to glance over in their direction, but it was not an intended hostility, the boy was simply paranoid and misconstrued the polite and friendly stare Alastor was directing at him. He didn’t try and pry information out of his wife later at dinner because he felt threatened in any way, because he didn’t like the way she giggled when the boy made a feeble attempt at an ill-advised pun. He just wanted to know who he was and how often she talked to him and what she thoug̸h̴t̷ ̶o̷f̴ ̸h̸i̵m̴ a̴n̴d̸ ̵i̸f̷ ̸s̶h̵e̷ ̵t̵h̷o̵u̸g̸h̶t̵ ̵h̵e̸ ̴w̸a̸s̸ ̸c̸u̸t̷e̴ ̴̞̍͌͝͝ö̸̩́ŗ̵̟̾͐́̂ ̷͉͙͑h̵̛̘̹̬͑͊̔̎̂a̴͉̥̓n̴̝̯̬̿̋͑d̸̲̱̬͎͉̀̋̈̎̆ş̷̺͙̺͗̀̈̃̄ͅo̶̖̮͐̽̐̑̆̍m̴͖͕̼͈͋̓͗̒ḙ̴͂ ̸̣̙̂o̵̳͗͛̆͗̋ṛ̸͉̯͑͗͐ ̵̭̳̭͕͇͑̇f̸̻̺͙̰̐ű̵̧̫͎̜̥̹̈́���̶̮̀n̶̞̞̐��̈͐͠ỉ̶͔̦̝͎̱̬̋̽̄͐͠ȩ̷̘̫̩͖͂̇r̷͎̤̒͐ ̴̫̯̺̮̄̈́͘̚o̷͖͙͓͗̅͐̂̕̚ṙ̴̻͓̼.̸̡̞̇.̶̦̇̇̃́͑

He was just curious, and his distaste for the boy had nothing to do with the blush that coated his wife’s face when the boy gave her a forlorn goodbye and wished her the most pleasant evening in the world. As if her evening wasn’t already perfect with Alastor by her side!

Alastor didn’t love his wife.

He was just tired of the bakery he frequented when his show ended or when he took one of his infamously rare lunch breaks. It just so happened that the new café that had taken his fancy was coincidently located across from the same bookshop where his wife would make a near-daily trip to with the goal of perusing their rather limited stock. His face never darkened, his smile never turned sinister because of jealousy or some other Neanderthalic emotion when he witnessed their interactions, he simply found it disgraceful how shamelessly the boy acted towards a married woman. He didn’t absolutely loathe the fact that his wife was giving attention to someone other than himself, someone completely undeserving of such an affectionate gaze and her indulgence of idle, mindless chatter. Of course, it wasn't her fault, she had always been oblivious to the advances of others who sought to captivate her with tainted promises of friendship while hiding their heinous desires for more intimate relations. It was his job really, as her husband to remove such scum from her periphery, to exterminate the uncultured and salacious boy that couldn’t understand nor respect the simple fact that should have been glaringly obvious by now: ___ belonged to Alastor.

Alastor didn’t love his wife.

He was simply looking for another meal that catered to his...unique palate. It was pure coincidence that he happened past the bookshop which was known for staying open late into the night. It was a coincidence that the boy happened to be closing up, that Alastor happened to be late in finishing up his show that night and that it just happened that not a soul occupied the usually bustling street. It wasn’t that Alastor wanted to prolong the boy’s suffering. Sure, he may have offered the boy several choices ranging from never talking to his wife again to leaving Louisiana altogether, despite knowing that no matter what option the boy chose Alastor was going to kill him regardless. And he may have let the boy run from him for five minutes before he got bored and knocked him to the ground, even though he could have caught up with him in a manner of mere seconds. And he may have allowed the boy a few curtesy blows before easily and pitifully overpowering him, taking no small amount of pleasure in how the hope that still lingered in the lad’s eyes seemed to diminish with the knowledge that the tall, lanky radio host was deceitfully stronger than he appeared. Yes, he did make the boy’s death as slow as possible, letting him bleed out rather than killing him straight away, mocking him the entire time, ingraining the fact that the boy had brought this fate upon himself for daring to covert what was Alastor’s. And he did inevitably choose to dispose of the body rather than contaminate himself with such an unappetizing individual, making it so that the only ones to see the boy again would be the maggots that made him their home. But it had nothing to do with ___.

With a lighter step, a jauntily whistled tune, and the sequel to his wife’s favourite novel tucked under his arm, Alastor made his way home, thoughts of how he could convince his wife to let him purchase her books so that she needn’t bother herself with leaving the house at the forefront of his mind.

Alastor didn’t love his wife...

But that didn’t mean someone else was allowed to love her either.