#THEEEEEEEEESE were good and great and perfect and I am madly in love with Astala (in other news: water is wet) thank you for indulging me!!

[wild-houseplant]

couldn’t resist mate, you put a snippet in my head, sorry!!

In the doorway to Astala’s room, Shianni pauses and folds her arms. She watches on as her cousin’s feet and cane wear tracks into the protesting floorboards.

“I’m having a hard time believing you when you say you’re not nervous,” she remarks with contrived off-handedness.

Astala pauses long enough to raise an eyebrow. “Why would I be? No shems in the house, and Zev’s in the next room. I’d hear if someone came in through the door or window.”

“… Right. The fact that you said all that makes it clear you are carefree and haven’t given a thought to any of what you just mentioned.”

Her cousin shrugs. “What can I say? I like to be practical.”

Shianni fights the urge to roll her eyes. “Uh-huh. You like to walk back and forth while you’re being practical, too, don’t you?”

“Got it in one.”

“Riiight. Well, remember to shout if you get stuck in the hole you’re wearing into the floor, and I’ll fish you out before the Revered Mother arrives.”

Astala snorts, hobbling a little quicker. “How charitable of you.”

She takes a leaf out of her cousin’s book and shrugs. “What can I say? I’m that kind of person.”

Her witticisms are frustratingly unassuaging, and her hip-flask is empty. With a wave to Astala, Shianni excuses herself and darts into Cyrion’s room, where Zevran is perched on the end of her uncle’s bed, gripping the threadbare quilt with white knuckles. His smile looks like he bought it from a swindler.

Cyrion sits beside him as close as he dares. One spindleshank arm is out administering ineffectual, friendly pats to the groom’s back. They both look up as Shianni clears her throat, and she considers it invitation enough to march inside.

“I need to borrow Zevran, Uncle,” Shianni says simply.

Zevran’s on his feet before Cyrion can finish nudging him into action, and when she’s got the younger man out of there, she deposits him into her cousin’s room.

“I–Shianni?” Astala finally comes to a stop, holding a hand out to Zevran. He almost stumbles over himself to go to her. Their fingers lace together with remarkable ease, and the visible calm that comes over the both of them releases a breath Shianni didn’t know she was holding.

“Stay there, both of you,” she instructs, resisting the urge to tease their affection. “I need to get something.”

They frown, first at each other, and then at her. She offers no explanation, turning on her heel and striding into the kitchen.

Her work boots sit beside the dining table, precisely where her uncle exhaustedly beseeches her not to leave them, and she makes quick work of removing the laces and tying the ends together. With one long piece of leather, she smiles smugly to herself and makes her way back.

She can hear the murmured conversation from ten paces away, and when she turns the corner, Shianni catches them in the middle of all manner of tooth-rotting sweetness. She runs her tongue over her teeth for posterity and strides in. “Right, hands out.”

Astala’s go out first, cupped as if to receive something. Shianni tsks jokingly.

“Not like that, you fool. I’m not giving you any more presents. No, take each other’s hand and then hold it out to me. Yes, like that. Now hold still…”

“Shianni, we’re not even meant to be seeing each other before the wedding,” Astala protests weakly. “It’s bad luck.”

“Watching you two fret and stalk like a pair of stressed chickens is even worse luck for me, I promise you,” Shianni assures them crisply, looping the shoelace around their hands and wrist and tying it off. “Think of it as being for the greater good. You always were great at putting others first.” She smirks. “’Sides, don’t you feel better now?”

Zevran’s eyes dart down to their bound hands, and then over to Astala, whose own face has fallen into a suspicious squint. A wicked grin breaks out over his face, and he sidles a little closer to her.

“Oh, I am feeling the very best at the moment,” he purrs. In her periphery, Shianni catches Zevran’s fingers stroking Astala’s hand, and her cousin’s face goes brick red.

“Right,” she declares, not waiting for an answer. “I think my work here is done. If you’ll excuse me, I have to see someone about a cake…”

HELLO HI I was meant to be answering your @s but I saw this and veered straight into ya ask box x) SO! For Astalaaaaaaaa beloved Astaaaalaaaaaa can I ask for 15, 18, 27, 29, and 31??? 8D

Hi hello!!!!!!!! :D :D :D You can't see me bc I'm behind a screen but I'm waving like crazy!!!!!! Let's go get those asks!! (They're beautiful) But first we got a cut. It got long again U_U It also gets a heavy on the first question with Zevran's self-image (warning for extremely low opinion of himself)

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