Something I did for my Mafia AU where Ema is the Boss and Franziska just worries about her girlfriend coming home way too late.
Technically the first fic I ever wrote to completion and put some effort into making look nice. I’m just. Real embarrassed about my writing abilities but hey! Fics are for fun it shouldn’t matter if it’s a masterpiece or not!
(fluff, unedited, postgame, established relationship)
There's "being diplomatic because it's a bad idea to offend your next-door neighbor," and there's whatever Wyll is doing. (That bastard did not deserve any of their tomatoes. Granted, they had too many than they knew what to do with, but Astarion would rather feed the hard-working ants in their backyard than let them make it to her mouth.)
"Snowball does not bite," Astarion shouts, from upstairs. He hopes Araj hears it as she leaves. "Unless you're a b-"
"Astarion," Wyll says.
"Mrow," their cat says.
Astarion heads down the stairs. Snowball's tail whips around in the air, further proof Araj must've unnerved her somehow. Wyll carries her to the sofa, and Astarion pets the soft fur under her chin until she is purring again.
"Do you know what your dad did? He gave our tomatoes to someone you clearly hate."
Wyll actually looks a little sad that Astarion is tattling on him to the cat.
"Just because you relate doesn't mean biting people is always justified, you know."
"I know. Like the garden spider that bit me. When I was tending to our tomatoes. That wasn't justified, for instance."
Wyll huffs. "I can't tell anymore if you're annoyed at our misjudgement in handing our cat to Araj, or if you've grown protective of the tomatoes, too."
"I can defend the honour of our cat and our tomatoes in the same court, love."
"I'm glad," Wyll says, leaning in. Astarion watches him place a hand on his chest. He's about to say something saccharine again. "That you have room in here to care for so many of us."
Astarion's heart doesn't- shouldn't- beat, but something like a cupid's arrow shoots through it.
"You're a storybook prince," he grumbles, and cannot stop himself from kissing Wyll.
"Mrow," Snowball says, annoyed that they've stopped petting her.
been thinking of a fic idea i don't have time to write so i'm posting the premise and it's free for the taking if anyone is interested
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The rain droplets glance off his cowl, further soaking the stones on the ground. The wet, worn rocks on the paved path gleam under the moon’s light. It’s high and bright in the sky, well past a reasonable hour to bother most people. But he knows this household keeps to a nocturnal schedule. He reaches their door and knocks. Leaves rustle as a mouse startles at the noise and flees the bush he is next to. He doesn’t hear the footsteps of someone coming to answer him. How long should he wait? Does he knock again, or invite himself in? They are friends enough that the inhabitants wouldn’t mind. The door swings inwards before he makes a decision. Astarion lounges against the door frame, awash in warm, homely lamplight.
For a moment, he only twirls a coin between his fingers, over his knuckles, sliding it along the back of his hand; fidgeting.
“Hey.”
“Hello, Mattis.”
“Is Wyll home?”
Astarion huffs. “Don’t go hiding your favorites, darling.”
Mattis wrinkles his nose. “Well, have you signed a contract with a devil before?”
“No, I didn’t have to. My sire kindly did that for me.”
Congrats, Mattis, you messed that up bad. He wants to bite his tongue so hard he can take back what he said.
“Sorry,” he replies. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Ha!”Astarion exclaims. “Oh, that’s cute. You really have been spending too long with Wyll if you’ve learned to apologize. I’m not so easily offended, don’t worry.”
Astarion pushed himself to stand straight, and Mattis slips into the house, giving him a stink-eye.
“Don’t call me cute.”
Behind him, Astarion shuts the door, and a laugh bursts from him.
“Sorry,” he says when he’s done. “Wyll’s looking after his father. Probably overnight. Human bodies are such a mess when they’re old, you know. Gives me something to be grateful for. What’s going wrong in your life?”
Mattis takes his hood off, combs a hand through his hair to get the rain out. He’s too agitated not to keep pacing circles in the room. He slams a hand in a table, feels brief satisfaction as his nails dig in the wood.
“Mol signed another contract,” he confesses, finally. “And I- I don’t know how to get her out of this one.”
There’s a looseness between the handle, in Three. It’s a bad blade. Talon knew that when he haggled for it with the urchin wearing the yellow raincoat. Still, he’s made it work until it was worth it.
He spots the indigo-cloaked figure is two intersections behind him, again. Unease. On the sewer-height low Noxian streets, the noxious namesake holds true. Talon wonders if Three can take the upcoming one.
The figure attacks before he can. Slight wind and whistling passes the nape of his neck when the day is clear and when there are no birds perched close to them. Talon digs a foot in the dirt and runs a sudden right turn. He leads the chase to a dead-end alley he trusts, and leaps onto the windowsill. The assaillant’s head enters the alley and Talon throws. Seven hits the thigh while the assassin slinks from Five. A shout.
They charge, cloak puffed around them like a cobra, the dagger strikes, a lightning-quick silver fang. Talon wields Three. It nicks as the blades meet. Talon leaps down, presses in, draws a line of blood along their dagger-arm. They take a step back and lose just enough balance. Talon stabs forward. His hand sinks halfway through the chest and leaves the knife there.
The body slides to the ground after it is done screaming, and Four protrudes from its chest. Talon leaves the scene with his hand soaked in blood.
But he does, he wants to say. He’s smiled countless times before. It’s always with his mouth closed, so it’s not big or- gods-forbid- radiant, but he’s got better things to be minute about than controlling the corners of his mouth.
He’s smiled when a knife flies exactly the way he envisioned. When he finishes training and a good stretch makes his muscles ache satisfyingly. When he finishes laundry and his beloved blue cloak is spotless again.
He’s smiled when he lies down in his bed after a mission and the night is quiet yet safe. When he goes to a market and he smells something good and he remembers he has the money to buy it (these days, he only steals if he doesn’t like the personality of the merchant).
It’s true he doesn’t smile when there’s people hanging around him though, so that’s what he replies.
The other person smiles back, and it’s big and shows a bit of teeth. Talon hates that it doesn’t even look deliberate.
“Fair enough.” And, after a pause, “I hope you find someone you want to smile with.”
hey, welcome. chari, he/it, fic writer and occasional artist
i’m not the most socially apt but i’d love to chat, especially if you like my stuff. asks are always open for anyone, same with dms. also send me lynx posts to make me happy
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current interests:
bg3 - astarion, astarion/wyll, insane about the game in general
league of legends - talon, talon/sett, talon/ezreal
rogue trader - marazhai
past interests: pokemon, arknights
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socials:
megacharicific on ao3
megacharicific on bluesky
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tags on this blog:
i always tag fandoms and characters so you can filter out what you don’t like. i try to tag possible trigger warnings but am often too lazy and don’t
#chari draws - art
#chari writes - short writing warm ups, usually
#chari’s personal posts - other posts i make
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i have an alt mostly for bg3 darkfic, message me if interested!
