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oikasugayama · 5 months

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BSD MEN AS BOYFRIENDS pt. 1

pt. 1 Dazai, Kunikida, Atsushi, and Chuuya. pt. 2 Ango, Ranpo, Poe GN!reader!! Smut in Atsushi and Chuuya's, minor angst in Dazai's

Dazai

Dazai does not use petnames. He does not like them. He will not call you a nickname. He uses nicknames to tease and belittle people or to charm and persuade them. He's not manipulating you into liking him or wanting him. You've come to like him all on your own and he realized when you confessed to him that shit he likes you too.

Contrary to popular belief, Dazai has never been in a proper relationship. He's hooked up with people he's met at bars, paid for sex, maybe even had a FWB before but he's never wanted to put someone at risk by opening his heart to them. When he was in the Mafia he just wasn't able to feel like he can now in the ADA. (That's the trauma, babyyyyy) It's taken him a long time to be able to recognize that maybe he IS human, maybe he does want human things like companionship and love.

You're special to him. He lets you lead the way entirely. Every move made in your relationship is up to you. That's not to say that he doesn't plan dates or initiate intimacy--he does!!--but when it comes to big stages he makes sure you're still doing what YOU want to do and not just doing what HE wants. He's so used to manipulating and controlling people that he's afraid to do it to you so your presence makes him far more self reflective than he has been before. You call him your boyfriend before he calls you his girlfriend. You say you love him first and he says it twice as often now. He treats you with so much respect he's almost formal. He just thinks you're so incredible for being able to love someone like him. It blows his mind every time you smile at him with adoration sparkling in your eyes. He knows you mean it and that scares him sometimes.

He's a bit messy. He may break up with you once or twice, or try to "take a break" because he scares himself into thinking he doesn't deserve you and is better off dead or just alone. You understand that he's hurting far more than he lets on and you love him SO much so you never let him disappear, you always get him to come back. You know he's human. It's the best part about him.

Kunikida

He's a good boyfriend if you meet him AFTER everyone made fun of his "ideal girlfriend" list and some of the girls in his office taught him that love should be spontaneous and special and not something you plan out to the letter. If you meet him before that, even if you're a great person, he won't give you the time of day.

Though he gives up on the concept of an ideal partner, he does still think that he isn't interested in being in a relationship until he's 26. That is, until you come along.

He knows what it's like to be challenged--he works with Dazai's dumb ass every day--but you challenge him in a way he LIKES. You so innocently tilt your head and ask "why" when he says something must be done in the ideal way, and he doesn't have it in him to scold you for wasting his time. He explains things to you and offers to help whenever you need something. You're so polite and genuinely nice and helpful to him where you can be, so he returns the sentiment tenfold.

You get him off schedule one day by telling him a story of the last place you worked and he's so enthralled that he starts asking you questions and sharing some of his own work stories-- before he knows it, almost an hour has passed. You apologize and let him go back to work, but all he can think is that he doesn't want you to go away.

He courts you very properly. He waits until you're off the clock and away from the office to ask you on a date. He tells you he likes you and respects you and will never bring it up again if this makes you uncomfortable -- you say yes before he can give any more disclaimers.

He brings you somewhere you've mentioned wanting to go, makes sure you give you a little gift for saying yes to dating him, and he's very kind and gentlemanly the whole night. He even asks before holding your hand while walking you home and before kissing your cheek at the end of the night.

He keeps work and home VERY separate so even when Dazai notices that Kunikida seems more relaxed and happy and tries to pry the information out of him, Kunikida never tells anyone that you're dating. If it gets around the office, it's because you were talking about your boyfriend with Naomi and she pieced together that it was Kunikida, and she told Junichiro, and he mentions it to Atsushi who tells Kyouka and then everyone knows eventually. Not that it really matters. Once the initial chatter dies down after a few days, everything is back to normal

Atsushi

NERVOUS CLINGY INSECURE

We all know this. Almost everyone makes him a nervous boyfriend. Or a clingy one. It's because he IS.

He's afraid to introduce you to his coworkers because he thinks they're all more attractive and more talented and more interesting than him. You have to reassure him over and over that you aren't going to leave him and that it's not nice for him to think you'd boyfriend hop just because someone else came along. That's often how you have to make him calm down: ask if his insecurity is a reflection of you or your actions. He quickly realizes each time that no, you're right, he's projecting.

He LOVES cuddling. He gets cold very easily given how skinny he is. His favorite evening activity is laying in bed with you under blankets after having a hot meal. If he can crawl into the same sweater you're wearing he'll do it. Sometimes he just sticks his head under your shirt and lays his head on your chest to get warm. Or he'll put his hands in your pockets to keep them warm. He will siphon all of your body heat.

Speaking of heat... 👀🥵 Atsushi loves cockwarming. There, I said it!! He loves it!! He'll mewl in your ear all pretty and overstimulated while you play on your phone or read or book and he's trying to keep still because the point wasn't to keep having sex it was to just enjoy feeling connected to you but God it's so HOT he can't believe you let him inside your body ALL THE TIME!! WHENEVER HE WANTS???? his whole body burns and tingles with literal warmth but also love and some embarrassment at working himself up so much. He's blushing and squirming and there always comes a point where he can't take it anymore and he presses you down into the bed and fucks you. He can be rough sometimes, especially if he isn't focusing on keeping his tiger abilities under wraps, but you swear to him you think it's hot for him to manhandle you and hold you down and fuck the shit out of you. It often takes some convincing to get him to let himself go and actually do it.

Chuuya

A GENTLEMAN you cannot tell me he isn't a great boyfriend

Chuuya is amazing at compartmentalizing. There's a chance you don't even know he's in the Port Mafia when you start dating him. He's just a tough punk guy who holds the door open for you and brings you huge, BEAUTIFUL bouquets every time he sees you, and says sweet nothings to you when you're alone.

Eventually you ask him where he works in an incredibly casual way because you expect it's something like a garage or a business office, but when he kinda clams up and asks "you don't know?" you give him a confused look and he gets NERVOUS. He doesn't want you to leave him, he's so worried all of a sudden realizing that you don't KNOW what he does and how you're in danger just for being associated with him.

He finally tells you and swears that you're safe, he'll always protect you, and so will his connections. You honestly have to take a minute to think about it but then you nod and say it's fine, you've always felt safe with him and you didn't know before so you'll just keep pretending you don't know. "Just please don't tell me any of the details, I don't want to know."

When Chuuya leaves for long missions he texts and calls you almost every night from random phone numbers (some public phones, some burner phones). He always lets you know he's okay and tells you how much he misses you. He's not afraid of a bit of dirty talk and sending some spicy pictures when he's able to have a phone somewhere in private 🥵

Speaking of sex, he's very adventurous. He'll fuck you anywhere, any time. He always thinks you look good no matter what, but when you look ESPECIALLY good like when you wear his favorite color with your hair pulled away from your face, god he can't keep his hands off you. You could be walking through a grocery store and he'd be pressing you against a shelf and muttering in your ear how he could take you right here and no one would dare stop him. He also likes to hold you up when you fuck, doesn't matter if you have something to lean on or how much you weigh (I hc Chuuya LOVES big women and thinks anyone who doesn't is a coward). Chuuya can manipulate gravity, he's holding you every which way and getting the exact angle he wants.

#bsd headcanons #dazai x reader #Chuuya x reader #Kunikida x reader #Atsushi x reader #bsd x reader #Chuuya x reader smut #Atsushi x reader smut

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gay-dorito-dust · 7 months

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syzoth fluff hcs ? 😩😩 i love himmm

This is so ooc for him but fuck it. 🦦

Imagine if you will, you’ve been noticing that Syzoth was having trouble sleeping due to either his cold blooded nature and or nightmares that forced him to relive the trauma he’s suffered through. You’re heart broke for him and being the kindhearted and patient person that you were, you offered up the suggestion of being his personal heater but completely understood if this was too uncomfortable for him to do as of right now.

Syzoth, never use to such treatment from anyone -never less his own kind- decided one night, when everything was starting to take a toll on him, to take you up on your generous offer but he was so stiff and awkward in going about it that when he does get to your room. He either ends up dozing off across from you out of respect for your personal space or just straight up watches over you the entire night due to his unwillingness to wake you up from your slumber.

He’s such a sweetheart.

You’d wake up to see him slump over, fast asleep and you couldn’t help but smile at image of him standing/ sitting awkwardly in your room throughout the night as you would then scoot closer to him and drape your cover over him, immediately waking him up, making you freeze in place but upon realising that he wasn’t in any danger, Syzoth would close his eye again and instinctively cuddle up to you, basking on your warmth.

This soon becomes routine for the both of you as there wasn’t a single night where you weren’t cuddle up to one another with Syzoth leeched off of your bodily warmth by burying his head into the checks of your neck as he clings onto you like a lifeline, whilst you had finally felt that Syzoth had grown comfortable enough for you to rest your hand upon his back in order to keep him close. It melts your heart that whenever you go to pull yourself away, Syzoth immediately pulls you back down and practically caged you with his arms and legs as to keep you tethered to him because your warm and he doesn’t wanna let that go.

I wouldn’t be surprised if you woke up one day to him cuddling against you in his reptilian form. Give his snoot a lil kiss for me while your at it will you?

Upon hearing Johnny making Syzoth laugh one time, you’ve deemed then and there that he had to have the prettiest laugh that you’ve ever heard in your life. So much so that you try your damn hardest to make him let out a little chuckle or wholehearted laugh. All in order to hear the most prettiest sound to ever grace your ears.

Syzoth would be made aware of what you were doing after the first couple of tries by Johnny who was watching the whole thing from afar, finding your attempts humorous and the confused puppy dog look on Syzoth’s face even more humorous.

‘They’re trying to make you laugh dude.’ - johnny

‘Why? Why would they want to hear me laugh?’ -Syzoth

‘They think your laugh is cute.’ - johnny.

‘They find my laugh cute?’ - Syzoth, absentmindedly smiling at the thought.

‘They aren’t exactly subtle about it for starters.’ -Johnny, seeing you rummage through a beat up joke book, muttering ‘that’s jokes shit.’ Or ‘hehe, that’s a good one’ under your breath as you make a list of jokes to use for later.

So now whenever you try to syzoth laugh, he does so but not because the jokes are remotely funny, well some of them are with their straightforwardness but others go over his head, he’s laughing and smiling because of hard you’re trying to make him laugh and smile to the point the determined look on your face is enough wrangle a chuckle out of him. Syzoth thinks it’s very sweet that you adore his laughter, but finds you even sweeter when you do manage to make him laugh and he gets to see how your face just lights up from it in victory.

I genuinely don’t think that anyone has thought his laugh as amazing as you do, so needless to say you’re genuine comments towards him make his fucking day worthwhile. So he tries to reciprocate that kindness by adamantly sticking by your side and protect you from any and all danger, despite knowing that you could protect yourself but hey we all want to be protected by someone so we don’t always have to have our guard up 24/7. Which is exactly what you and Syzoth are to one another.

Johnny once teasingly called you both the others ‘emotional support buddy’ and it kinda just stuck from then on given how much time you spent together.

Will Syzoth use his power of invisibility to mess with you? The answer is always an defiant yes. He’s a secret menace. You can forget playing hide and seek - a game of which Syzoth knows next to nothing about- with this little cheat. For he wins by default because of his ability. Which you’d then have to explain to him how it goes against the rules because not everyone can do that and even if they did, it would only make the game unplayable. So a new rule would have to be implemented that Syzoth was prohibited from using invisibility to win.

It doesn’t matter whether your easily scared or not at all, Syzoth with use his invisibility to get ahead of you from time to time. So I wouldn’t put it past him to use his invisibility to sneak in some kisses upon your forehead, nose, cheeks and if he’s feeling particularly mischievous that day; you’re lips.

You could be looking for the bastard and he’s following behind you invisible, trying his hardest not to laugh whenever you look over your shoulder, not knowing your looking directly at him before looking forward, calling out his name once again. God forbid he ever steps on a creaky floorboard as it was a 50/50 toss up for him, it could either make you shit yourself or give you a hint as to where he is while you’re actively looking for him. However Syzoth trusts his ability enough to not make that vital mistake.

Will he use it to surprise you with back hugs? This goes without question but yes he absolutely would.

I think I’ve gone on long enough so I’ll end this here.

#mk1 #mk x reader #mk x y/n #mk imagine #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat imagine #mortal kombat x you #mortal kombat imagines #mortal kombat x y/n #reptile x reader #syzoth x y/n #syzoth imagine #syzoth imagines #syzoth x reader #syzoth x you #mortal kombat

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c0rpseductor · 5 months

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it’s so frustrating like i don’t mind depiction of incest i genuinely think more work out there needs to exist about incest bc it is such a deeply isolating experience and bc so many people feel alone and afraid to speak and cannot imagine having lives going forward and are crushed by all of it. there is so so so so much value in having fictional stories about processing it and real accounts and memoirs and open discussion and all that stuff. it is genuinely beyond important that incestuous abuse no longer be relegated to the darkness of secrecy simply because it makes people uncomfortable bc people living with the hell that is incest trauma deserve better than to be forced into isolation and silence. i will always ALWAYS advocate for these topics being discussed frankly. people go decades thinking it is their fault and that they are alone. it’s horrifying the way people who have lived through this become an afterthought and that needs to end.

so like i said like. it frustrates me, then, that the current discussion (where there is one) feels so weighted toward an exploitative and voyeuristic view and where cultural output about incestuous abuse is often like really offensive and clearly framed as being titillating and/or shock value. people joke freely about it in ways that are incredibly denigrating to survivors, there is still a culture of victim blaming and this idea of mutual deviance or dirtiness that makes it extremely difficult to come forward for fear of being not only blamed but fucking castigated for your own sexual abuse, you risk setting off a nuclear bomb in your already fucked up family, people don’t understand you. all the while there’s this air of fucking flippancy, and if you criticize that you’re a prude or a puritan or whatever the fuck else.

like, i get it. i can’t tell people what to do, what to like, how to process their own trauma. but treating it like a joke is not acceptable under any circumstances and that shit is fucking vile. be fucking respectful, be conscientious, you actually do owe it to the people around you and one day you will undoubtedly face social consequences if you continue to be cruel and thoughtless. it’s not even the writing at this point that makes me angry so much as the culture surrounding it where it’s so deeply fictionalized that incest itself gets turned into some sort of little game for people. i just saw people tagging an excerpt from the incest diary, a real human being’s memoir of abuse, with their ships. frankly if hell is real that’s where that kind of ghoulish behavior ought to send you. it disgusts me that i have to rant and rave and beg on my knees for scraps of human decency for myself and my fellow survivors who cannot or will not open themselves to this kind of Sisyphean debasement.

#and by the way if you do not like that i am angry: fuck you.

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ofstardustanddreaming · 2 months

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inexperienced relationships

preference summary: inexperienced reader with companions

content warnings: none

fandom: baldur's gate 3

characters: astarion, wyll, halsin

gender neutral reader

anon request

a.n. - i'm so sorry this is coming so late! it's been a busy month.

Astarion: He leans toward the idea that not every first has to be really special, where you have to convince him that some of these firsts are important to you. He'll be a little dramatic about the importance to you, but I think some of it comes from his trauma, where he wishes that he could have some of his firsts back as well. It might be a bit of an emotional wall, a bit jealous you could experience them still, while some dramatics probably just come from his personality. (You could mention the idea that he could take his time and try to reclaim his firsts through experiences with you as well.) But he comes around to your firsts being important, instead of pestering you all the time for a kiss. He'll take your firsts into consideration and he comes into realization how he felt heard, and how much he loves experiencing his firsts under a different light as well.

Wyll: He's a sweetheart when it comes to being your first in a lot of aspects when it comes to relationships. He takes the relationship at the pace you would like and it made you feel listened to. He's the kind of person who wouldn't push your boundaries, always willing to take it the pace you'd like. He would try to plan ahead for a lot of those firsts, wanting to engage in something that makes sense for you. Such as planning a picnic to set up for a first kiss, and making sure the theme is on point. Although, even though he makes sure you have your boundaries and wouldn't go beyond them, he likes to be a bit of a tease. He always kisses the corner of your mouth, or anywhere on your face but your lips, wanting you to be the one to initiate your first kiss. He always makes sure you don't feel uncomfortable, but loves to be a bit of a tease always.

Halsin: He is considerate, and he's someone who is willing to wait. He's been around for a while, he's willing to wait a little while longer for you. He's sweet, always putting in thought to what to do with your firsts. He's done a lot, so he likes to take this chance to really dwell on what he liked, and tries to apply what he learned to your relationship. He tends to be so slow though when it comes to engaging with your firsts, not wanting to rush you, it's such an opposite to the teasing ways of Wyll. It made you feel nervous about engaging in something such as a kiss, fearing he didn't want to wait for you and had changed his mind. Sometimes you just have to nudge him a bit, hinting that you're ready, and he'll start the process of the romantic plans he had to engage in the sweet situations of your firsts.

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manykinsmen · 4 months

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the more i think about how we (as both f1blr/f1 fic writers and the more general understanding of f1 fans/the f1 world) mythologise nico rosberg, the more i think i slowly begin to understand why he's such a divisive figure. it's actually not that much to do with taking sides over brocedes and the popularity of lewis hamilton, or even just that some people really really don't like his personality. it's because he's a living symbol of the trauma that motorsports, particularly f1, inflicts upon its participants and embodies it in an almost entirely new and much more viscerally upsetting way.

think about the other people that have had a similar role. many of them are motor racers who died tragically, mostly in some kind of vehicle or after an on track incident. we can mythologise these people in the ancient ways set out by tragic heroes. they have a few subcategories, the dead champions going out in a blaze of glory (senna, rindt, even schumacher in some ways) like achilles. the dead that should have been champions, taken cruelly early and depriving the entire world with their loss, grieved (gilles villeneuve, francois cevert, didier pironi, ronnie peterson, elio d'angelis) like hector. the minor characters who die, who had yet to make any particular impression on the world of motorsport, but whose deaths motivate their loved ones to achieve on their behalf, or inspire rage against a cruel system (roland ratzenberger, jules bianchi, anthonine hubert) like patroclus.

even those that didn't die like that generally bear some sort of physical mark of trauma, like niki lauda's burns and alex zanardi's amputated legs. these figures are held up as triumphs of endurance and willpower when they go on to succeed in motorsport, or elsewhere in sport. if they cannot succeed in some sporting capacity afterwards, then they are allowed to quietly fade into obscurity, like robert kubica and his damaged arm, clay regazzoni, paralysed from the waist down. the trauma of motorsport is understandable when it is rendered physically.

when we render it instead psychologically, emotionally, it becomes incomprehensible to us, uncomfortable for us to entertain. why does someone retire after winning the world championship? because it's dangerous? because you are hurting yourself? in professional sports, people carry around constant pain until their body breaks enough that they can no longer compete, which typically happens sometime in the mid-late thirties, frighteningly early in the average human lifespan. sports is not man vs man or man vs nature so much as it is man vs his own body. this is not the only way competitors hurt themselves, there is constant restriction: food, habits, time. how do you win? see family less, see friends less, practice hobbies less, spend more time training, focusing, studying, converting yourself into the perfect machine.

and then there's the individual traumas: the bridges burnt, the marriages sacrificed, the children neglected, the rival that becomes a nemesis, the best friend that becomes a mortal enemy, the self that becomes lost to become just another part of the car. richard siken says "how much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it's some kind of murder?". and then there's the losses, the disappointments, the criticisms from the team, from the press, from the fans. the constant battering of yourself against wave after wave of grief. the slow erosion of hope for all but a chosen, golden few. the knowledge that even if you win, there will come a point, inevitably, again, where you lose. you a winner until the next race. you are a champion until the next season.

what do we say to someone who says "i want to go home" and means it? who doesn't have to be dragged out of the race kicking and screaming? if they aren't a winner, we say they were never going to be. they are no one of any worth, they will be quietly forgotten. can you name a single one? if they are a winner, though, then what? what does this mean? we snatch at their winnings, their titles, try to take it away, retract it, somehow. but how do you say to them then that they aren't a winner? it is over. it is done.

they leave because they are hurting somehow, and their leaving leaves us hurting. it's betrayal, abandonment of the highest order. we as spectators are part of the race, the system. for nico to leave voluntarily is to criticise somehow, to point out the suffering and say you have hurt me. and we are included in that you, we know it subconsciously. that is why nico rosberg makes us uncomfortable, because he pulls back the curtain, reveals the trickery of it and all of us are suddenly standing in the light.

#nico rosberg #cw: trauma #cw: death #cw: injury #f1

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adventuringblind · 6 months

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Oscar the Matchmaker: Chapter Eight

Oscar Piastri x Reader x Max Verstappen

Summary: Reader travels back home to see her family with Max and Oscar. Things escalate a bit more then intended.

Warnings: religious things/trauma, sucky parents, talks of sexual activity

Notes: As someone who comes from a toxic church… this was much needed

Masterlist

Normally, Oscar is not a smug person. He doesn't rub things in people's faces (unless it's Lando). But in this moment, he allows himself to be a little smug.

The trio had made their way back to the females home for a weekend of their summer break. The last interaction he had with her parents was in formula two when they’d come to watch a race and got a glimpse of her terrible partners and her kissing around the corner.

He had to hold back his anger when he saw how uncomfortable she looked. Then he expected maybe her parents to do something about it. Instead they ridiculed her. Berated her. Essentially told her the devil had invaded her life.

She just stood there and took it. To the point where he stepped in and pulled her away because she looked distant. Numb to the world.

He hadn’t seen them since, and neither had she. Though he knows they talk occasionally.

Max, on the other hand, has never met them. Oscar had tried to give him a few pointers, but he'd already seen the fire behind his eyes. This was going to be a long weekend if Max had already settled for being an agent of chaos.

The trio makes their way to where their car is waiting to take them. The car where her parent are standing and waiting for them. Oscar wants nothing more then to see them pass out over their daughter and how well off she is. How successful she’s become without them.

She hugs them both when they get to the car. They look uncomfortable with the other two being around. “Welcome home. I thought it was just going to be you?” Questions her father. Oscar and Max both smile and go to shake his hand to introduce themselves, but he doesn’t reciprocate. Instead he frowns. And turns his attention back to his daughter.

“I said I wasn’t coming without them. If that makes you uncomfortable then we can always get back on the jet.”

“It’s fine- just be… decent, please.”

Oscar can hear Max inhale sharply. A look of annoyance crosses his features.

The Aussie is shocked that Max even agreed to such a thing. The entire point in coming here is to go to church with her parents, prove they aren’t possessed (or something like that) then leave. and frankly, max doesn’t seem like the kind of person to try to hold his tongue about his opinion for an entire weekend.

Their things go into the back and they climb into the (smaller then imagined) car. It’s certainly not something they normally travel in, but it feels like cuddling since its the three of them. So- Oscar can hardly complain much.

The majority of the ride is awkward small talk. Max eventually starts animatedly explaining something and in the heat of the moment his filter slips.

“Sorry- we don’t normally talk like that.”

“Good thing I can swear enough for the both of us then.” Max chuckles and the other two in the back start wheezing.

Yeah… it’s going to be a long weekend.

The house is relatively standard. Definitely not what they are used to seeing. Or at least, that’s what the female thinks as they they enter the house.

Her room has been emptied. It’s a little heartbreaking since they didn’t tell her. It’s like any trace of her existence has been erased. The bed is bigger then her old one and the room is void of any kind of decoration.

“Home sweet home.”

Max closes the door behind him. “I’m shocked they are letting us sleep together. They aren’t going to attempt an exorcism are them?”

all three of them toss their bodies onto the bed. “You have no idea how glad I am your here. It would suck to do this alone.”

“So- anyone up for purposely being as loud as possible and making the prudes out there think we’re having sex?” Max looks entirely to innocent. But Oscar looks even more so.

“Why fake it when we can do the real thing?”

“You two are terrible.”

The next morning is what she is absolutely dreading. Waking up when it’s still dark outside is not something any of them are good at. Add in that it’s for a religious event- They are rushing around getting ready.

It’s also sucks when they step out of the room, ready to go, the strength to face the inevitable.

“You’re not leaving in that.” Her father looks her up and down and her jaw tightens. The nerve of the man. She’s a fucking adult!

“I mean- she could be naked.” Oscar shrugs. It’s Max’s turn to keel over at a comment made. In reality, he’s not wrong. She wonders if it’s the lack of leggings for a dress that brushes the backs of her thighs. Or maybe it’s that he can see her shoulders.

Her parents start on some tangent that she tuned out about two sentences in. She makes eye contact with both boys. One looks exasperated like her and on the verge of just leaving early. The other is seething. Entirely red in the face.

Max’s hand hits the wall with an unrelenting force. “Sorry, I was compelled by the spirit… of anger! What the fuck are either of you talking about? either we leave here to whatever cult event this is, or we go home. But let her wear what she’s going to wear.”

The car ride is silent. Though she’s glad, because her nerves pick up immensely when they arrive. Max and Oscar pick up easily on her shaky hands. The product ends with her in-between them, the two males swinging her back and forth. She feels mildly like a child, but it’s calming, so she could care less.

The church is dead inside. Only a singular office light on. One that she dreads as she spent many hours inside of it. “Please tell me we’re not here to meet with the pastor.”

Her worst fear are come to life. Sitting on the sofa between Oscar and Max. Her parents on the other side and the pastor in a chair staring directly at her.

“I didn’t think you’d be back, y/n.” The voice she hates makes her shiver when it says her name.

“That makes two of us.”

“Are these your… friends?”

Max clicks his tongue. “Boyfriends.”

“It’s impossible to have two partners.” He sighs. Dissatisfied with Max’s correction. “You can’t possibly have a good sexual relationship between three people.”

Oscar coughs. “I beg to differ.” He shrugs and the pastor eyes him suspiciously.

“And why’s that?”

“I mean if you really want the details- just remember that you asked for it.” Oscar sits up in his seat and leans over his elbows. His hands now clasped in front of him. “Me and Max have a game we play that usually ends up in some kind of unpredictable scenario. I wouldn’t say we fight for control, we just race for it. She’s a bottom through and through and will do anything either of us says so that part is pretty easy. Plus, not to brag, but my rope work is getting better.” There is a few breaths of stunned silence as Oscar sits back into the couch.

The pastor looks at her parents. “Can we step outside for a moment?” Then the three get up and leave.

“That was the most brilliant display I have ever seen.l Max finally lets out the laughter he’s been biting back. “Did you see their faces? Priceless!”

“I don’t think my parents will ever talk to me again after this.”

“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing? All they do is make you feel horrible about yourself. It might not be a bad idea to cut contact for a while.” Oscar draws circles on to her thing. The pattern being one of comfort that he uses often.

“Can we call a cab or something? I am very ready to go.” She sighs.

“Great plan! But first I think we should really piss them off.” Max’s suggestive smirk can’t mean anything good.

It doesn’t take the three long to locate her parents outside of the office. They gasp when they see what she looks like. A few lovely hickies down her neck and shoulder. Her hair misplaced in all kinds of directions. They say nothing about it.

“It’s been nice seeing you, but we’re going to head back to Monaco now. Also, please don’t try to contact me again.”

They jump into some kind of lecture, but it’s to late. The trio heads for their ride that’s waiting for them outside the doors

Max, however, takes the opportunity to flip them off as they walk away.

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janesgms · 1 year

Text

Astro notes - 02

✨️ General Edition ✨️

Air placements could be more "air-headed" and hazy than water placements, specially when they're in places where they feel uncomfortable. this happens because air people's minds never stops and they will zone out all the time if you're not interesting enough to keep their minds on you.

If they also have personal planets in water signs or houses, then they will be kind of dumb too because they will be on their own world all the time. type of people who don't need drugs or alcohol to feel high, just a little bit of music lol

Underveloped leo mars & venus people with other earth/fire placements (specially moon) need to do therapy asap. they need to stop being bad and throwing their anguishes/traumas/bad energies on people who have nothing to do it, and they still do it thinking is not a big deal. You guys can be SO, but SO incredible and genuine people when you want, you shouldn't let your demons get control over you, because you're traumatizing others and losing your inner child slowly

Hi, how are you doing woman with heavy lilith energy? I know you think you'll never find true love and that men will always want to use your for their own pleasures but just know you will be happy in love one day and you're bigger than these negative beings 💖. But always be careful with people's envy in general.

Also, what is it that these women seem to make some insecure men hate them for no reason? Specially if they also have pluto placements These women (maybe subconsciouly) show that they won't lower their head to any trash of a man just bc they are men and i'm here for it. they're the true definition of powerful women when they learn how to use their gifts

Oh. my. God. why people are so freaking obsessed with spreading rumours about women with leo stelliums? leave us aloneeee 😭

People with young souls are such a pain in the ass smh... if you know someone who's a child forever (in the bad sense), this people is probably in her first/second life and they have a long loooong way to learn their lessons

Why do guys with gemini + cancer placements write and act like old men on social media? It's funny but also cute. they also can be such dads sometimes 🥺

Older souls usually get better with other older souls, they might find young souls really shallow or even "dumb". You usually get along more with people who have the same amount of lives as you or a close number

If you have the same amount of lives with someone, you probably feel connected to this person, it may be due to how you'll probably learn similar lessons in this lifetime

Quintiles and biquintiles are very important aspects to look in a synastry. they're as important as trines/sextiles/squares in my opinion

People with 12th house + taurus planets in natal need to be careful with smell addictions (drugs) and cigarettes even more than with alcohol

Venus in 1st house people marry with me now (it's an order 🔪)

I think natal houses are very forgotten when people talk about synastry. I know overlays are important but the natal houses are more because they reflect the native's nature. If you have the same houses in planets with different signs or houses that naturally match each other, it creates an important connection too

Virgo suns are the real clean freaks, virgo risings only look put together they are actually messy

10th, 6th and 2th house overlays in synastry are huge indicators of marriage.

10th house: means admiration, public life, adoration, social status, career you will always find this person cool, you will wanna be seen with her and you will cherish her on her career life, people wil lfind you good together. a power couple

6th house: means routine, everyday life, health & also work. you will care for this person's health and you will be part of her daily life, also cherish her work. a couple who does everything together lol (go to the gym, shower, skin care, cooking, brushin teeth even 😭)

2nd house: means material posessions, gains, sensations. you will gain material posessions when together, you may be posessive of them, you will bring money to the house together, you will be successful. a luck charm couple.

The vesta aspects in your chart can indicate how you will feel about your partner in the moment you lose your virginity.

vesta positive aspects to ascendant: you will find your partner expressive, personal, beautiful and you will like it

vesta positive aspects to venus: you will find your partner loving, soft, feminine, beautiful, delicate and you will like it

vesta positive aspects to mars: you will find your partner sexual, masculine, passionate, fiery, fast or aggressive and you will like it

Psyche conjunct personal planets in synastry mutually will make both of them thinking of the other 24/7, they will also feel a mental connection to each other

Venus conjunct ascendant in natal will make the individual very beautiful but they won't see that and hate pictures if they have 12th house placements or the venus is in the 12th house 😭 I wish they could see themselves the way other seem, they would feel more confident (even if they show they are, is just a natural thing for them, it doesn't mean they think they are confident)

Your death in your last past life could show in this lifetime as an inexplicable pain sometimes. I was murdered in my last life by my husband who cut my head off and I feel a pain in the back of my neck when I travel long rides and I rest my head in the seat - is so annoying tbh

Remember you may not have any past life in this world because this could be your first life (that's why you could be a shallow person, but I doubt any first liver would be reading this post, nah, they're probably busy being a kid lol, i kind of see why)

12th house people could naturally attract medium people from a young age without even realizing it, and these medium are also 12th housers/pisceans lol

You will always aspire to be like people who have personal placements in the sign of your north node

People with euterpe (27) in libra positively aspecting personal placements in mercurial or venusian signs, can have a beautiful singing voice, a sweet tone that remembers you of sunshine and freshness, or just a pleasant voice in general, even if it's not good technically. This can also apply to euterpe positively aspecting the venus.

Sagittarius mercuries need to be careful of what they say, they always hurt someone when saying something without even noticing 😟

This is a serious one, tw: murder. I just found out someone made black magic to kill me, and there are 4 obsessor behind me now. Now guess what I have in my lunar return chart? Sun, pluto and mercury in the 8th house. I also have bml in the 8th house and 8° in my solar return chart. Be careful with 8th house planets in solar/lunar return charts guys... (And send good energies to me)

Now this is it! I'll fix this post later, bye! Good night guys Update: I'm not dead and they're gone now <3

#astro notes #astro observations #astrology #synastry #aesthetic #astrology notes #astrology observations #astro community #past lives #souls #soul

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 4 months

Text

Homelander being obsessed with his sister HC V

Warnings: siblingxsibling implications, Homelander being such a narcissist that he falls in "love" with his own sibling, dubcon, manipulation, stalking, basically all the horrible parts of HL come out to play, MC has blonde hair and blue eyes like HL, different plot than 'All I Ever Wanted, All I Ever Needed', stockholm syndrome, dealing with aftermath, mental trauma

I II III IV

Oh you poor fool, did you really think Homelander would keep to his word? No, this only meant that he had to act under your radar. Stealth was required now to feed his desire to be close to you always.

He let you think that he was taking a step back. Grudgingly let you resume your previous life though you found little comfort in the family you once lived with. Time with HL changed you. Everything you'd known about your life was an utter lie manufactured by Vought. The hero you'd adored was. . . a complicated creature that wasn't like the golden man on the tv.

HL will draft thousands of texts to you but hesitate on sending them to you. He'll break and send you at least a text every other day. Tolerable, you think. You didn't know that he'd be using his enhanced vision to watch you read them and gauge your reaction.

Now is the time that stalker HL comes out to play since he can't be caught or you really would never forgive him. He didn't want another fight. He hated fighting you. It fought against his natural instinct to protect you. Plus you packed a punch that actually bruised his ribcage making it difficult for him to breathe for the next two days.

Often on his patrol breaks (and when he knows you aren't home) he'll fly by your apartment just to make sure nothing was out of the ordinary. You know, checking your drawers just to reassure himself that you were taking care of yourself and doing your own laundry. Particularly your undergarments.

Careful not to leave a trace when he does these inspections. Never staying too long.

You're non the wiser when you return to your apartment although you do notice how you have to buy more underwear lately.

He likes to keep the clothes he's taken from you under his pillow. When he goes to bed he pulls them out from their hiding place and places it next to his face.

your absence in his own apartments is suffocatingly pronounce

he hates how quiet it is, hates how his room is so empty without you there

and grudgingly you miss his familiar presence too

Your bed is suddenly too large without Homelander laying next to you. You hated when he'd pull you close to his chest in the middle of the night, refusing to relinquish you even if you had to pee.

You find yourself actually missing him and fuck does that make you resent him more. He completely uprooted your life. Him and Vought.

When exactly did you starting hating him less to actual start contact with him? You hate that you cracked after three days of being away from Homelander. Three days and you missed him like you hadn't seen him in a week. Hell, you'd been stuck with him for close to two months before enough was enough. That time spent together, all that trauma bonding, was bound to leave it's mark on you.

Loathing the idea that you may have developed a degree of Stockholm Syndrome. You'd read about it in books and seen it played out hundreds of times on tv.

You're annoyed when you close your laptop after spending hours of research. Especially after encountering this little passage: "An alternative explanation suggests that being in a captive or abusive situation generates intense emotional dynamics. Over time, individuals may adapt their emotions and develop feelings of compassion towards their abuser, particularly when subjected to kindness."

For the most part, Homelander had been kind to you (except, ya'know the whole fucking kidnapping thing). There were definitely moments where he made you uncomfortable but overall his intentions weren't necessarily malicious.

You recall a few times when Homelander leaned in too close to you and you thought. . . well you thought he was going to kiss you. But wouldn't that be messed up? Why would he do that? You didn't quite understand those odd moments where it sounded- it sounded like he was in love with you. There was nothing familial about the way he'd eye you.

In a short amount of time Homelander had done so much damage to your mental health. You found yourself unable to be without him. Perhaps that was the cruelest thing he's done to you.

#reader insert fanfiction #reader insert #the boys series #the boys imagine #the boys #the boys x reader #the boys tv #the boys amazon #homelander #the boys homelander fanfic #the boys homelander #homelander headcanons

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waynewifey · 8 months

Text

aporia — b.w

part one : dear mr. wayne

part two: aftermath

part three: aporia

epilogue

sumary: aporia suggests “an impasse”, a knot or an inherent contradiction found in any text, an insuperable deadlock, or “double bind” of incompatible or contradictory meanings which are “undecidable”. [reference]

pairing: battinson/bruce wayne x reader

genre: drama & romance

warnings: mental health struggle, miscarriage, car crash, a lot of internal dialogue

word count: 2k

A/N: the more i write, the more i put myself in this story. i feel like this ‘you’ is so complex i can’t help but try to explain her further. part four will be bruce’s perspective on all of this + an epilogue. i’m so grateful for the amazing feedback given on the last two parts and for the new followers, thank you so so much. i hope you enjoy this. (also this gif??? HELLO???)

GOTHAM. USA.

— bargaining.

the uncomfortable silence makes you want to scream. she told you that was a normal reaction and they couldn't get rid of those moments, they were essential for your self reflection. the problem was being alone with your thoughts, even for just one minute. they keep deciding you won't recover any time soon. everyone keeps holding you like a cracked vase. even negligence was better than being put under the microscope.

"i don't know what you want me to say" you respond, your gaze anxiously shuffling between the objects in the room. the woman's eyes, however, don't ever leave your face. she holds that journal like a scientist analysing a mutation. like you're some weird thing.

"you should say whatever you feel like saying." that's what she always answers. dr. quinn was extremely stoic, even for a therapist. you still liked her, though, because her pragmatic approach helped you shift your point of view and see yourself from an outside perspective, which made you want to help yourself. after weeks of feeling extra irritable, still trying to forgive your husband for lying to you, you realised maybe everything was too much for you to handle by yourself. you wanted to go back to the real world but before that, you had to do this. a quick chat with your psychiatrist and he gave you the contact to harley quinn.

"i think i've been way too mean to bruce" your confession has her nodding, like that observation had been made sessions before and she was waiting for you to realise that. "he's been so supportive and helpful, but sometimes words just fly out of my mouth and i don't even mean them"

"do you think it's easier to blame him than to come to terms with what actually happened?" you can't answer, because this was all you've asked yourself lately. you were a coward, hiding behind his suffering to prevent confronting yours. it's easy to curse him, to reject him, but it's not what you want to do. lately it feels like you don't have any control over your emotions and actions. you thought maybe if you pushed away the last person that still cared for you, you could disappear in your loneliness and finally stop hurting. "y/n you've been through something terrible. the kind of thing we never think it's gonna happen to us. i know it doesn't feel real, but you have to face it that it is. the thing about trauma... you have to keep living with it. you have to keep going, because it doesn't go away. but this is your life and you don't get to stay on standby. you hurt the people you love because it's better than hurting yourself. you told me you feel bad about it, so why won't you change?"

why won't you? you don't even know where to start. it felt comfortable living in sorrow forever. horrible, but comfortable. again, it was in fact easier to blame him than to accept this was reality. but he's right outside, been waiting for you for two hours, as he has done twice a week for over a month. you weren't being fair to him. he didn't deserve this. dr. quinn sees the defeat in your eyes and sighs in a mission accomplished type of breath.

"think about this, okay? we'll talk on friday." you nod, as if you weren't already overthinking it.

bruce sees you before listening to you. he's created the habit to stay in the waiting room with headphones in, blasting loud music. he didn't want you to feel like he was prying on you. he also didn't want to listen anything you had to say about him. you had the right to be mad at him, given everything that had happened. he knew you didn't mean it when you bomb dropped the word 'divorce' every now and then. it would take you some time to get back to normal and he wouldn't rush you.

you walk to the car quietly and get into the driver's seat. he agreed to let you drive to and from therapy. the office was actually in dr. quinn's house, a little bit on the country side of the city, if you could call it that. it was a 50 minute drive with no traffic, roads empty enough for you to drift off in you thoughts. he watches you drive, eyes brightening up a little more everyday. he realised that trying to shield you from the world wasn't going to work out. you need to learn how to be on your own. he needs to learn how to care for you while away.

"i'm sorry," you caught him off guard, observing the curves of your face. he frowns at the unexplained sentence. you glance at him but look back at the road. "for the way i've been acting. for pushing you away. for being too complicated. i know you're trying to help… thank you for staying."

"darling, of course. for better or for worse, remember? i'm never leaving you. we're getting through this, together. and don't you worry about me, i'll be okay when you are too, alright? you're doing great, i can see how much you're working towards it." he holds out a hand for you and you take it, intertwining your fingers. his calloused palms are softer now, courtesy of the months without batman-ing. they still embrace yours entirely and warm the cold tips of your fingers.

"i love you" the sweetness of that feeling dominates your tastebuds and it's almost like the day you started dating. that innocent type of love that consist of the pure enjoyment of each others company. however, your attempt to savour the moment is ruined by a shape in your peripheral eyesight.

"i love you too" bruce's voice is muffled by the anxious thoughts taking over your mind. the panic starts to overflow. he notices your body getting stiff and the wheel looking loose on your hand. your breathing lost it's rhythm to creaking gasps. there's something wrong. your eyes are frozen in a vehicle. he's seen this van before. maybe not this one, but an identical one, in a security camera tape in court. it looks exactly like the one that took you. "baby, hey, hey. i'm right here." you don't pay any mind to the man beside you. you can't, not when your instincts are telling you to run. not when you can feel the gun getting knocked on your head over and over again. bruce is saying something. the tears are blurring your sight. this is too much.

he's calling you screaming at this point, tears are rolling down your cheeks and you still haven't looked away from the van. there's a bump coming up, the car is dangerously fast and you're not driving at all. he goes for the wheel but isn't quick enough. the tires wiggle, going in their own direction. the car changes lanes, getting in the wrong way of the street. another car is coming and the impact isn't light. your head is thrown forwards, the airbag covering your face. the windshield shatters and little pieces of glass get stuck in your hair. the crash isn't too bad, you're both still awake and only the front has been smashed. but you get out hyperventilating, falling onto the ground and weeping.

bruce gets out as well, only a scratch on the forehead. he has to kneel on the dirt to hold you up. for a while, he doesn't say anything. the other driver is standing, phone in the ear. he's also fine. the cars were the only damage. two other drivers stop by, offering help. you wish he could help you, but it seems as if there's something inherently wrong with you.

— depression.

the weeks following the accident were harsh. it took a while to get you believing in recovery again. you still weren't sure. somehow there was press at the site, so pictures of you crying next to a car crash made it to the papers. there's minor commentary online about you faking it for your husbands popularity. most of the netizens feel desperately sorry for you and have painted you to be their new princess diana, the comparison seems wild to you.

you only go online every three days or so, because you can't resist the urge to know what bruce hasn't been telling you. jokes on you, he's actually been a lot more transparent lately. you agreed that the batman would show up to the sentence of edward nashton, to pressure the jury with his presence. it worked and the criminal got life without parole. the lawyers said that your public presence impacted on his trial, as 20 years was the standard. you were just glad he wouldn't do that to anybody else ever again. the case got national and your family from outside the state, that you not-so-kindly kept in the dark, started making contact, victimising you all over again.

but things were getting better, gradually. it had been almost a year and it felt like that chapter of your life was finally being finished. you were trying to get your life back, including your driver's license. it was suspended for a while after the accident, so now you had to submit a bunch of medical records to prove that you were mentally fine to drive again. that's how you found yourself in bruce's home office, searching everywhere for your documents. you could've asked him where he put it, but he had just fallen asleep in the living room and you didn't want to disturb him.

in one of the desk's drawers, you find a folder with the local hospital logo on it. you open it, shuffling through the papers you've seen before. only one stands out, with "ob/gyn" on the top of the sheet. you wonder if there's anything helpful there. your eyes start reading the words one by one, listing the examinations they've done on you. the subject changes abruptly.

the ultrasound analysis reports the miscarriage of an unknown pregnancy to the patient's spouse.

you feel like you're about to throw up. the world starts spinning as you force yourself to continue to read.

the fetus was estimated to be in the development stage of the beginning of the second trimester. the miscarriage was most likely a result of several mechanical trauma. dilation and curettage was performed with the patient in a medically induced coma.

you try to remember to breathe in and breathe out just like dr. quinn taught you. you expect the tears but they don't come out. the panic doesn't come. it's suddenly so quiet. it's not like a hole has been punched through your chest, it's like you have no chest at all. it's like you don't even exist. you somehow sit down, your body does. you feel as if it's moving on it's own and you're just watching from afar. your thoughts sound so distant, so irrelevant. you can only think of the baby that had once been inside of you and you didn't even realised. you didn't have the time to love him. you've had him there, right there, the thing you wanted the most in the world and he was taken from you. everything was taken from you.

if a tree falls on a forest, and there's no one around to hear, does it still make a sound? it felt like your fall was silent.

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dwyntwo · 6 days

Text

Okay, so... as a collective fandom, we can agree that bullying Kaz is fun, yeah? There's just something about seeing the guy down at his lowest and then prodding him with a stick and going "Come on, do something."

But I'm going to stand in his corner for a bit in this post.

Something that never really sat right with me is the collective implication that Kaz isn't good enough for Inej (and never will be).

I'm totally with you: he didn't deserve Inej in the first book and maybe not even yet in the second because he didn't give her anything to work with. He didn't even visit her after she was stabbed, or show her how relieved he was when she recovered. And this is just the thing: he didn't deserve her because of his BEHAVIOUR, not because he's inherently less important or less valuable or less of a person than her.

However I've read so many post-CK fanfictions where Kaz has been working on himself, is openly communicating with her, basically kisses the ground she walks on, treats her as his equal and goes above and beyond to make her as comfortable as possible, and still everyone INCLUDING Inej (and Kaz) goes "I/she deserve/s so much better than me/him". And THAT implicates that the reason Kaz wasn't good enough for her was not his behaviour towards her, but the fact that he as a whole human being is just "not enough" and "less valuable" than her, and that viewpoint has always made me super uncomfortable, especially considering his trauma.

Now I know what you're going to say, and I absolutely agree: trauma never excuses abhorrent behaviour. But there's just something icky to me about looking at a traumatized person who has not only been making an EXTREME effort to overcome their issues, but also shown amazing results, and going "They don't deserve X", "They're less than X" etc. just because they haven't fully healed yet or might never fully heal. It gives "Traumatized people are damaged goods"-vibes, which is especially weird considering my next point: INEJ IS TRAUMATIZED TOO AND HER TRAUMA GETS IN THE WAY OF A GOOD AND LOVING RELATIONSHIP JUST AS MUCH AS HIS.

She literally admits to herself that she wears as much armor as Kaz does and was being kind of hypocritical when she told him to remove his. Inej is a flawed character (which somehow seems to be a controversial take in the fandom), and to put her on a pedestal because of how virtuous and "better" she is than Kaz takes all the nuance out of her. There are definitely some parts in the books where I felt like she was in the wrong or toeing the line, but the others never really call out her behaviour the way they do with Kaz, not even in their internal monologue, so we're left with this image of an Inej who can do no wrong and a Kaz who simply got lucky.

The fact that in aforementioned fanfictions (that I still absolutely adore btw) Inej too thinks he isn't good enough for her despite everything he does for her and for himself, and despite how far he's come also turns her acknowledgment of her own self worth into something ugly and vain in my eyes. She loves herself, but she also loves Kaz, so I don't think she, or any good partner, would look at her boyfriend who clearly already thinks very little of himself and go "Yep, this fucker isn't good enough".

So often people will look at a healthy happy couple and go "He/she could do so much better than her/him". Like that's a whole person you're putting in a competition of "Who's more worthy?" as if they were some object that is of better or worse quality.

I don't think I articulated this too well and there's a lot more to be said about this, but I hope you understand the gist of it. Post CK-Kaz who works on himself and openly communicates ABSOLUTELY deserves Inej, and I will ROT on this hill.

Now I've been nice to him for long enough I think *whacks him with a crow bar*

#wtf is wrong with me omg #kaz brekker #six of crows #soc #inej ghafa #ck #crooked kingdom

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cupcakeslushie · 8 days

Note

I sincerely see little issue on you coping like that, as long as its not, you know, graphic

Would i be uncomfortable? Very. Im still not quite over my own experience

But I'd be lying if i said i hadnt thought of putting some characters i relate to in such things and having they deal with it and feel like i did (as much as they can in the circumstances)

Yeah as long as this stuff isnt fetishized im on full support of it

Okay I feel like I’m stuck in a loop where the target is still being just slightly missed. I appreciate your intentions with this ask, and I can see where you were going. But “as long as it’s not graphic” and “as long as it’s not fetishized” are still putting qualifiers on art.

Art has no bounds. As long as triggers are tagged properly, and put behind a “read more” for the visually graphic images, any art can be created. When we start requiring stipulations for artists to meet before making art, we start the process of sanitizing it. If you read the warnings and still click on the post, then your discomfort is on you. If you aren’t mature enough to know your own limits in what you can handle, the artist shouldn’t have to issue a statement decrying their art, and listing all their traumas for some kind of purity tribunal to then decide it’s okay, and only when it’s being used as a coping mechanism.

It’s kinda funny, after all this, I likely wasn’t even going to actually DRAW anything sexually graphic, and at most, simply hint at it. But it doesn’t matter. If I wanted to, I should be able to, as long as it’s given all the warnings required. If I don’t like certain triggers, I avoid them. I’m not delusional enough to think that in all the whole, wide expanse of the internet, people will pander to my specific icks, likes and dislikes. I curate my own internet experience.

I can only hope, as I go about my day, that I am given the same courtesy of being warned ahead of time in the summary and tags, that I’m giving. But if another artist does want to draw that, I’m not going to request to see their trauma resume, just so I can approve of what they made. If I clicked, after reading the warnings and knowing damn well I would be triggered, I’m not going to be mad at the artist. That’s on me.

#ask slushie #kendratello au #tw rape mention #tw sa mention #tw discussions of rape

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pastshadows · 11 days

Text

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 13: Imprisonment

Summary: Astarion remained a spawn after ending the reign of Cazador with your help. After defeating the Netherbrain, you and Astarion stay together, moving forward with your lives. You reside in a small house in the city. One night, after an awkward and concerning interaction with him, he disappears without a trace.

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.2K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

The guards aren’t gentle as they march you through the streets, soaked in the mid-morning sun. You were not even extended the courtesy of putting on shoes, and your feet are chilled by the stone-paved roads that have yet to amass any warmth from the sun as they are gouged by pebbles and glass squishing in revolting puddles of fluids you dare not give much thought. The guards push and prod with unyielding pointed tips of their gauntleted fingers, chewing your skin and causing pinprick points of blood to plume on your pale blue shirt.

Mr. Blackwell trails the procession, spitting lies and causing a stir. Waterdhavians whisper in hushed tones, snickering and gawking. Parents holler and cheer as their unruly children throw rocks with their trilling laughter as you progress through the crowds toward the Waterdeep County Jail, which lies just beyond the city walls. It’s a mercy when you reach the large, square-shaped complex.

You instinctively scan the building and surrounding area, counting guards and inventorying potential escape routes and exits. The corridors and halls are a maze as you’re ushered through them into a small, cramped cell. Rubbing the raw skin of your wrists, you realize you don’t occupy this cell alone. Dirty faces with sunken eyes barely reflecting the low light are huddled along the walls, peering at you through the murk. Some are sullen and morose, barely lifting their heads at your arrival, while other’s lips are twisted in repellent smirks.

The air is damp and chilled without the sun to warm it, and you shiver harshly, wrapping your arms around yourself to try and muzzle the nip that feels like it’s penetrating your bones. The Weave doesn’t heed your call when you reach for it, and there’s an uncomfortable hollow pang where your magic usually resides in a burning reservoir.

You limp to the back of the cell and eye a corner that might give you an advantage if one of these ruffians decides to try and see what you’re made of. This is not the first time you’ve been in prison, and just as in the animal kingdom, the weak are conquered.

“I wouldn’t sit there if I were you,” an amiable voice from your left warns. “Tempting as it is, that’s the… lavatory corner.”

“Thanks for the warning,” you mutter with a cringe, peering around to scout out a place to sit and think about how in the Hells to get yourself out of this mess.

“Here,” you hear shuffling, and the woman’s voice growls, telling off whoever was beside her. “You can sit with me.”

You squint to make out details in the dim illumination. The woman is as dirt-streaked as the rest of the prisoners. The Tiefling’s white hair is tied back, and her flaming orange eyes starkly contrast the drabness. She pats the floor beside her with a sincere and kind smile that gives her an appearance of harmlessness. Then again, all the best and worst scoundrels appear innocuous at first glance.

The options are limited, and she looks less malicious than the rest of the brutes huddled around you, so you sit with a feigned affable smile.

“I’m Hecat,” she holds out a deep purple hand. “A pleasure.”

“Nice to meet you, Hecat,” you shake her hand but do not offer your name in return.

You glare at your upturned palms, trying to claw at the Weave, but it doesn’t matter how deep you dig; you cannot even get the faintest of sparks or magic to emit. Having your magic suppressed like this feels akin to having a limb amputated, and you let your head rest on the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“A sorcerer?” Hecat chimes pleasantly while she throws and catches a small rock for amusement, “Right?”

“How do you know?” You hiss more harshly than you should, narrowing your eyes at the Tiefling.

“Oh! Easy now,” she chuckles and puts up her clawed hands innocently. Hecat points to your face. “Your scales. Draconic sorceress, right? Not many of your kind around. You blend in with those as much as I do with horns.”

“Oh,” your fingers idly dawdle over the glassy-smooth, iridescent scales engraved into your skin. “I’m sorry. I— I’m a little on edge.”

“Not a problem,” Hecat nods curtly with a toothy grin. “We are all a little on edge given the environment we find ourselves in. I’ve been in more pleasant sewer canals.”

“Me too,” you can’t help but let out a small laugh, remembering Astarion’s expression when you told him you had to go trudging around the sewers under the Lower City.

“Come now,” Astarion cringes with an exasperated huff, “Do you really expect me to go down there? In these boots?! With this hair and these nails?! You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“You don’t have to join us, Astarion. You are free to lounge around camp while we do all the hard work,” you giggle, rolling your eyes at his theatrics as he glowers at you with crossed arms. “I’m sure Karlach or Halsin won’t mind getting out for a bit.”

“Absolutely not! No, no. Nope! Don’t you dare think about asking me to stay behind.” Astarion clicks his tongue disapprovingly, jutting out a hip and cocking his head defiantly. “There is no way in all nine Hells I will let you go without me. I can’t trust those fools to protect you sufficiently. Where you go, I go, my love. Always. Even if that means I have to go gallivanting through the bloody sewers. Gods above. Well, come on then - lead on. Let’s get this over with.”

“I’m definitely going to splash you when we’re down there,” you laugh mirthfully, jogging away from him, trying to retreat quickly.

“That had better be a joke, Kamena!” He growls. In a couple of soundless, long steps, Astarion picks you up by your waist, crushing your back against his muscular chest, kisses your neck and grumbles low near your ear. “Don’t jest, darling. I bite.”

Astarion whined every minute you spent down there. He annoyed everyone except for you, of course. You could happily listen to that voice nonstop, even when it’s complaining, scoffing at your not-so-funny jokes, or calling you “idiot” or “pig-headed.” Gods. You wish you could hear his voice now. You swallow the urge to cry and scold yourself for being weak. This is not the place for another pathetic breakdown. Inhaling a deep breath, you contract and relax every muscle, from your shoulders to your toes, to centre yourself. You’re not a maiden that needs saving from the jaws of a dragon; you are the dragon, and you will pour oceans of fire and eat the shadows whole.

“Your magic will do you no good down here, I’m afraid. They have an anti-magic field wrapped around this place.”

“Lovely,” you sigh while inspecting your bloodied feet, trying to pick slivers of glass out of the soles.

“Did they drag you straight out of bed or something? Hecat queries.

“You could say that,” you mutter, cool and dry.

Gods. I should have stayed in bed this morning.

“Animals,” Hecat scoffs. She shuffles around and offers you her soiled coat. You glare at her with questions in your eyes. She shrugs nonchalantly, “You look cold. We can share while we’re stuck here.”

The days in prison drag by slowly. It’s hard to know how much time passes in places like this where the sun does not rise or fall, but you’ve been paying attention to the stone’s temperature to figure it out. During the day, the walls and floor are still cold but generally dry. During the night, the bricks are bitterly icy and damp. It’s the best you can do in your situation. Your best guess is that you’ve been here nearly a week. You’ve been watching the guards, their routines, counting how many are on duty at once.

The prison corridors and halls are always well-lit by several wall torches placed at specific increments to leave no corner or cell door obscured by shadow. Sneaking out of this place is unlikely to be feasible. Magic is also out of the question, and there’s no knowing how far the barrier extends. From what you can gather without looking too suspicious, there are always ten to fifteen guards on duty. Pairs of them walk in perfected circuits.

You’ve been taken from the cell a dozen times for interrogations that you’re not sure usually happen. The guards query you about attacking Mr. Blackwell and why you would do such a thing to such a nice man. Then, they move on to his son and ask you where Aldous is. When you don’t answer the guard’s questions, they try to beat the answers out of you.

You’re tired, battered and bruised from head to toe. The last time was particularly rough, and you’re sure that one or more of your ribs have been broken, as indicated by the large hematoma that now extends up your side and the need to take shallow breaths lest the pain make you nearly faint.

Despite the dire situation you find yourself in, you’ve become increasingly close to the Tiefling, Hecat, coming to rely on her much more than you want to. The first night, you accidentally fell into your trance. The other prisoners thought that might be an excellent time to see if you had anything valuable to offer them. Hecat had stepped in and scared them off. She was a formidable Fighter that much is clear to you. Now, you take watch while she sleeps, and she watches when you trance. She also assists you with your wounds in any way she can, which is admittedly not much, but she tries. You continue to share the grimy coat, although she tends to let you have it more often.

If Astarion were here, he would say it’s because you’re “grumpy when you’re cold.” You can practically hear his voice tutting you, and it makes you want to laugh and cry concurrently.

The other captives in your cell have started to dwindle, and the room isn’t so crowded now. You and Hecat have taken a corner to yourself, far away from the dreaded lavatory corner.

“How are those bones of yours today? Hecat asks when she sees you yawn upon waking, wince and strangle back a whine.

“Never better,” you smile, but your voice sounds breathy.

“When they come for you next time.” Hecat snarls with her fists balled at her sides, “I’m going to take them out.”

“Don’t bother,” you sigh, shaking your head. They didn’t seem to take any other prisoners, but you haven’t yet figured out why. You assume Mr. Blackwell has paid them off, “I wouldn’t doubt if they were being paid to torture me personally. It’s fine.”

“You must have pissed off someone with deep pockets.”

Neither of you speaks to the reason you’re in prison. For all you know, Hecat murdered her entire family, or perhaps even worse. But, right now, you need each other, and the alliance has turned out to be rather helpful.

“The guards deviated from their routine last night,” Hecat whispers low, leaning in by your tapered ear. “There was some commotion, but I couldn’t make it out, and they all left their posts.”

This commotion she speaks of, you pray, is not Astarion. Hopefully, Gale has been able to talk some sense into that marvellously beautiful bastard. You’re relieved he hasn’t come in here, blade swinging. It would just cause a further scene that there is likely no coming back from. You believe, on some level, Astarion knows this. You can and will get yourself out of here. It’s just going to take a little time.

But Good Gods, you miss him. His voice, his fragrance, the way he feels like home, safety and happiness. You miss his lips on yours, his hands on your body, and his cock stretching you.

Not the time for these thoughts. Hells, Kamena. Get a hold of yourself.

“Would it have given us a chance?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Hecat shakes her head, “They were all summoned to the gate for something, and if what you’ve said is correct, that gate is the only way in and out of this godsforsaken place.”

Truthfully, you don’t know if that’s even the way out. At most, you know it’s the way out of this wing or sector, but what lies beyond the door is a mystery.

“We just have to bide our time.” You smile half-heartedly at the memory, “A smart friend once told me that “with patience, anything can be done.”

“Sounds like a smart friend indeed,” Hecat winks. There must have been a little too much fondness in your voice when you said that. Damn. “Patience has never been a virtue of mine.”

“Nor mine,” you laugh, but it’s low and almost sullen. You want out of this place before you get taken for another talking to. “But I don’t think we have much choice in the matter right now.”

“Will this friend of yours be coming to perform a heroic rescue anytime soon?” The Tiefling teases with a toothy grin. She’s obviously caught on to the fact that this friend of yours is a little more than a friend. You’re going to have to be more careful, “Throwing rocks is getting very boring.”

“I am hopeful he’s smarter than to come barging into a place he doesn’t know, but there’s still time for him to do something stupid, so who’s to say?"

Hecat laughs, “So, is this friend smart or stupid?”

“I’d wager a little bit of both,” you sigh. Missing Astarion hurts in a way that’s hard to describe. You’re undecided if talking about him is making it harder or easier, “He’s the most cunning man I know, but he can be reckless and a little murder happy.”

“Oh. Murder happy? I like him already,” Hecat says, and although it’s silly, your jealousy flares wildly. It takes considerable effort to remain poised, “What if those brutes come again and take you?"

You’re not sure if her concern is really for your safety or because she thinks you’re the best chance she has of escaping this place.

I assume it’s the latter.

“Don’t worry about it. Really.” You assure her, hiding your fear behind confidence. The beatings have only been progressively getting worse. You’re not sure how much more your body can take.

You are, of course, a little worried that if you do take Hecat with you when you escape, you’re releasing a murderer back into the city, but you’re going to need her fighting skills to get through the guards. You suppose if she is some heinous criminal, you can deal with her after. Astarion would likely be happy to have someone to murder.

Hecat puts a hand on your shoulder to get your attention, “Should we go over the plan some more?”

“Sure,” you nod and start reviewing all your possible escape routes and options.

Currently, you both think the best course of action is to rush the guards when they try to come and drag you away, but that will need to be done at night when fewer guards are on duty. Unfortunately, the guards do not appear for you at night often. There’s a concerning abundance of details that remain unknown. Like the prison layout, for example. You’ve only been in this corridor and one other where the small room of your torment exists. You don’t remember much of what you saw on the way in. There were too many twists and turns, and they made you walk briskly so you couldn’t get a good look at them. Hecat mentioned her arrival was much the same.

You’ve only seen the outside of this place once when you were being brought in. You remember very high stone walls, guard towers and gates. None of these would be any trouble if you had your magic, but you don’t, and you can’t imagine they would stop the anti-magic barrier until you’re at least outside of the complex, which means you will need to figure out how to get over the fucking walls or through the gates while being chased by guards.

No wonder Astarion always says that murder is efficient.

“Not exactly much of a plan,” Hecat snorts, but she already knew this.

“I never was much of a planner,” you shrug and comb your fingers through your increasingly filthy hair, trying to brush the knots and snag out, but to no avail. “Chaos was always more my thing.”

“I like you,” Hecat laughs. “I’ll take the first watch tonight. Get some rest.”

Your cottage amid a heavily forested area is hidden away on the outskirts of Rivington, close enough to the city to enjoy the comforts, shops and taverns and easy access to the forest so Astarion can hunt freely. You’d offered to be his primary food source, and he’d giggled at your enthusiasm to be a vampire’s juice box.

The wildflowers grow in patches, filling the air with a honey-sweet aroma. The tall trees filter the dappled sunlight as they sway slightly in the afternoon breeze. You tap on the door before opening it a crack to warn Astarion to get away from it if he happens to be nearby upon your return home. You only open the door a crack, enough to fit your body through, close and lock it promptly.

“Darling,” Astarion chuckles as he strides toward you with a bemused grin. It doesn’t matter how long you live with this man. You’re always awe-struck by his beauty, especially when he’s smiling at you like he is now - broad, happy, and unashamed to show his fangs. “You know you don’t have to knock when you get home. How many times must I tell you? I can hear your trampling approach long before you arrive.”

“I’m aware. You keep chastising me,” you roll your eyes with a snort. “What if you were tranced or otherwise occupied? Maybe I am extra quiet one day, and you don’t hear me? It’s just safer this way. It hardly takes any effort to knock on the damn door.”

“You, my sweet, fiery love, could never hope to be quiet enough to be successful in such an endeavour,” he taunts with a hand on his hip and boyishly handsome lop-sided grin. “You do realize that even if the sun touches me, I will be fine. It’s not an immediate death sentence. You have seen it for yourself.”

You cringe at the memory of the docks as it warps your heart, making your chest burn with a mixture of rage and despair. You still have nightmares of watching Astarion’s hopeful expression contort into one of mourning as his milk-white skin starts to smoke and turn matte grey. It was just not fucking fair, life rarely is, but this was an injustice that you’re having a hard time reconciling with. Astarion had accepted it with little fuss, but to you, it was unacceptable. You curse every single God in your head for their abandonment of the hero before you.

"I know,” you mutter. Your body suddenly feels heavy, laden under the weight of memories of watching the sunrise together, basking in the sun with him in meadows and fields, the way he was so captivated by colour, and you slam your palms onto the table to stabilize yourself. “I will find a way for you to walk in the sun again, Astarion.”

Astarion’s demeanour changes instantly. He knows this is a sore subject for you, even more so than himself.

“Kamena.” The timbre of his voice lowers into an auditory caramel, soothing, buttery and rich, “It doesn’t bother me any longer. I missed it briefly, but the shadows are part of me. I am at home in them. You are all the light I need in my life. You are my sun, Solicallor.”

The guilt makes tears start to prick your eyes. Astarion should not have to be comforting you over this; you should be comforting him. Your stomach sinks nauseatingly like an anchor has been tied to it and cast into a bottomless ocean. The feeling is so physical that your head spins and throbs.

“I will find a way,” you say, quieter than a whisper through a clenched jaw, but your voice sounds distant even to yourself.

“Sweetheart?” You totter on your feet, and Astarion wraps a solid arm around you. He places his hand, which feels colder than usual, against your forehead and cheeks, “You’re hot.”

“Why, thank you,” you try to giggle through this rather odd stupor you find yourself in and sag into him, allowing him to hold your body weight up.

“Not exactly what I meant.” His warm voice is steeped in cottony concern with a hint of alarm, “You’re a vision, but I mean, your skin feels hot - too hot. I think you have a fever.”

“Oh,” Astarion guides you to a chair to sit on, helping you into it. “I suppose that makes sense. I’m not feeling great.”

“You’re sick?” The tenor of his voice increases into a high treble, showcasing his worry.

“Maybe,” Astarion’s eyes are streaking around the room. No doubt, for some potion, scroll or other supplies that could help. He looks terrified, and you guide his eyes to you. “It’s okay, Astarion. Mortals get sick sometimes. It will pass. It’s nothing to be troubled over.”

“But I—“ he swallows thickly, making his Adam’s apple bob, “I do not know what to do. I haven’t had to worry about being sick in two centuries, and I hardly have practice taking care of someone ill. Tell me what to do. Please. Tell me how I can help you.”

“You don’t have to take care of me.” You walk his bouncing eyes back to you. You would find this a little humorous if Astarion weren’t so clearly distressed. He must understand that not every sickness is terminal, right? In another situation, you might taunt him playfully, but you decide reassurance is the best route. “Everything is okay, my love.”

Astarion places his hands on your forehead, which starts to sheen with sweat and then to your neck and chest. He looks utterly disorientated and afraid, believing a fever might kill you.

“I’ll help you get undressed and into bed,” he finally instructs, but his voice shakes.

Astarion’s fingers have less finesse than usual as he undoes the claps and ties, keeping your robe on, and removes it. Scooping you into his arms, he takes you to the bedroom and gently places you on the bed. Astarion busies himself with removing your underclothes until your bare, even while you protest that you’re okay. He glowers at you, and you’re sure he’s going to call you an idiot, but he keeps his mouth closed, deciding he probably called you an idiot enough with his eyes.

He has.

He pulls his shirt over his head, folds it neatly just as he did for your clothing, and starts unlacing the ties of his breeches. Astarion catches you staring and winks with a roguishly handsome grin, and you think this, right here with him, is bliss. Fever be damned.

“What are you doing, Astarion?” You chuckle but watch in rapture, taking in how magnificent he is; all toned muscle, perfect skin, perfect hair you long to tangle your fingers into and those damn breathtaking red eyes, “I mean... I wouldn’t say no.”

You would, in fact, scream a resounding “yes,” or probably several.

“Bloody Hells. Get your head out of the gutter,” he teases, head falling back and laughing, deep and gravelly. “You have a fever, and I am deathly cold. I don’t know much about mortal sickness, but I’m pretty sure we need to try to break your fever, yes? What better way than to curl up with your cold, vampiric lover.”

“I will take any chance I can get to cuddle naked with my vampiric lover,” you giggle, patting the bed with a theatrical pout, “What are you waiting for? Get in bed, Aerasumé. Come cool me down. I am ever so warm.”

“Always so eager.” Astarion chuckles, climbing into bed and pressing your back to his chest, making sure to get every contour of his body to align with yours. He places a gentle kiss on the back of your neck. “If you’re not feeling better come nightfall, I will fetch Jaheira. She’s still in the city being an absolutely fantastic mother, I assume?”

“Yes, she’s still in the city. She’s helping with rebuilding efforts. I spoke to her the other day, but you don’t need to trouble her.” You shiver against him, and he rubs your arm with his nose in your hair, gripping you tighter to him. “This will pass.”

“I could steal some Potions of Healing or whatever else you need.” His words come a little too quickly, not in his usual balmy, drawling baritone. “Tell me what you need, and I will get it, or I will be fetching the Druid come nightfall. I will drag that wizened elder here if I must.”

“I only need you.” You roll over to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your forehead on his. Astarion hugs you tight as if he’s afraid you might drift away. “Tell me why you’re so scared, Astarion. Surely, you’ve seen sick people before. It’s normal.”

“Of course, I have seen the infirm before,” he says, hands roaming your body in gentle, soothing caresses. You know Astarion is trying to use himself as a vampiric thermometer, but his touch always feels good - so you won’t complain. “The difference is I have never cared about anyone before. Whether they lived or died was of no consequence to me. You are the first person I truly care for. I love you. I can’t lose you. I could not bear it.”

“I love you too. You will not lose me to a fever. You’re stuck with me for hundreds of centuries yet.” He smiles widely at that and kisses you intimately, slow and savouring, with his fingers combed into your hair, massaging your scalp. You suppose one of the perks of having a vampire for a partner is you can’t exactly get him ill.

“Stuck with you for hundreds of centuries, am I?” He pulls you in so that your head is resting on his shoulder and his on yours, “I think I can live with that.”

“You think?” You purse your lips, jutting out your chin in a way that mimics how he does it. It takes a monumental amount of effort to keep your giggling suppressed. “I’m offended.”

Astarion knows you too well and simply chuckles at your display, “You know an eternity with you still wouldn’t be enough, silly thing. Now. If you’re quite done being dramatic, what would you like to do with our day lazing around in the boudoir?”

“Will you read to me?”

“Of course, love,” Astarion points at a pile of books beside the bed. He chooses which book to read on any given day depending on his mood, so he’s always in the middle of several at once, "What would you like me to read today?”

“You pick.” You giggle, making sure it’s the sweetest, chiming giggle he’s ever heard. “But will you do the voices?”

“I don’t know,” he glowers at you playfully while you wrap yourself around him, slinging a leg over him. You’re sure he’s softer than any silk you could ever import, “It’s terribly unbecoming of a hero.”

“Please, Astarion.” You pout, batt your lashes, and give him your best puppy-dog eyes. “I am sick.”

“Ugh,” he rolls his eyes, trying to look irritated, but it fails as the corners of his perfect lips twitch up, “You’re too fucking adorable. It’s inconceivably irritating. Fine, but only because you are not feeling well! If you ever tell anyone about this, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“What fun!” you snicker.

“Get up, dragon girl!” Hecat is furiously shaking you from your trance.

It takes you a minute to become fully aware of the clash of steel swords vibrating like a swarm of angry bees bounding off the cold stone walls. Metal boots thud, sprinting down the corridors with the angry wails and roars of battle.

“What in the Hells is going on?” You ask, looking to Hecat for answers. Your heart is pounding in your chest, requesting more breath than you can give it without feeling the shooting agony of your fractured ribs.

“I don’t know,” Hecat shrugs. “I tried to get a look, but the bloody cells are designed so you can’t see much of anything going on beyond a couple of feet.”

Please. Please. Don’t be Astarion.

Shoving and pushing the other prisoners away from the cell door, you try to get a good look, craning your neck to see if you can view anything over the stone lip, but as Hecat had said, visuals are limited. These cells are built depressed into a thick block arch to block prying eyes. You can see, at best, about halfway up the corridor, give or take a little. The melodies of battle are only increasing, but where there were bellowing battle cries and roars. Now, there are screams and pained yelps for help, but whether the screaming is from the attackers or the guards – you're unsure.

You and Hecat slink to the back of the cell together, giving yourself distance from the other prisoners so you can talk in private. Thankfully, everyone else is too focused on what’s happening outside the cell to pay you any heed.

“This wouldn’t happen to be your daring friend trying to rescue you,” Hecat waggles her brows with a saucy grin. “Would it?”

You shake your head at her, “No, I doubt it. My friend would not create this much havoc.” Something doesn’t feel quite right, and it’s nagging at you. You rub your arms to try and dispel some of your rising anxiety, “No. This wouldn’t be a rescue for me. Something else is going on here.”

Hecat gives you a once over, “You’re not wearing any shoes, and your ribs are still broken. You’re in no shape to be running, even if we manage to get out of here. Much less battling with guards and who knows what.”

“You let me worry about myself,” you scoff, crossing your arms with a scowl. Hecat has no idea who you are, and you’ve kept it that way on purpose. Although, you are sure that you don’t look very battle-proficient right now. “If I fall behind, you can leave me and get yourself out. You don’t owe me anything.”

“You think I would leave you behind?” Now it’s Hecat’s turn to scoff and glower at you. You like her, but you only trust her as far as you can throw her, and that isn’t far at all.

“Look,” you try to put your silver tongue to work. The last thing you need right now is to fight with the one person who has helped since you got here. “I didn’t mean it like that. If I become a burden, you need to watch out for yourself. I might not seem like much, but I have been in countless battles. I can hold my own with or without shoes and intact ribs.”

Hopefully.

“Can you use a sword?” Hecat’s pacing, tapping her lips in the usual way she does when trying to think, “If we could procure some from the guards, we might have a better chance.”

“No,” you admit, almost sheepishly. “But if we can get our hands on a dagger, I am slightly better with those. I am death incarnate when I have my magic, though. If we can get out from under the suppression, that’s where I will really shine. Admittedly, I won’t be much help here.”

“That’s okay,” Hecat smiles, patting your arm. “We planned to run, and I think that’s exactly what we should do as soon as we get the chance.”

“I agree. Running is our best bet. There are too many guards for only the two of us.”

Hecat nods and keeps talking strategies, but you’re drawn away from the conversation as you listen to the screaming getting quieter and the clash of blades reducing. There’s an odd aroma in the air. You’ve smelt it before, but it’s not quite strong enough to connect any specific memory to; it smells organic, earthy, wet, and cold. Whatever that smell is, even if your brain cannot comprehend it, it seems your body does. You’re shaking, surging with adrenaline, but you cannot place the unease you’re feeling.

There’s commotion in the hallway by the cells near the front where you can’t see. All the prisoners seem to gasp at once and start screaming, skittering and flailing. You can hear the sound of boots grating on the ground as they press themselves up against the walls of their cells. The high-pitched screeching of iron bars being wrenched on and doors being forced open increases the utter cacophony. People shout, but you cannot make the word out when it’s buried under so much noise.

You and Hecat push your way to the front of the horde, everyone trying to stick their heads through the bars so they can see what’s going on. They step on your bare toes with boots, and elbows smash into your already smashed ribs, making you let out a whimpering breath.

Hecat is right. You’re in no shape to fight or run.

Suddenly, it hits you like a gust of icy wind of a summer’s day, freezing you to your core and sending shivers down your spine. Your maltreatment wasn’t done as some pointless abuse at the hands of petty guards - no. They weren’t truly interrogating you for information or because they were paid to make your stay here extra special.

Someone wants you to be weakened, hurt, and your magic stripped away.

Someone needs you to be weak and helpless.

But that still begs the question - who and why?

You catch rapid glimpses of a pale arm here and an ashen leg there. They are sickly looking, slim and emaciated. Your heart palpates in your chest as you remember where you last smelled that raw organic scent.

The Szarr Palace.

You drift to the back of your cell, taking Hecat with you until your backs are pressed against the stone. Hecat quirks a brow at you, obviously confused with the dread you’re sure is framed in the features of your face. Sticking your hands behind your back, you hope she didn’t notice them trembling.

You swallow and whisper, “Have you ever fought vampire spawn before?”

Questions march through your head like a restless army, but you try to focus on the most important ones. How many spawn will you need to outrun? You shudder at the thought. You know firsthand how quick vampire spawn are, and your fingers hover over your broken ribs.

Hecat gawks at you with brows raised so high they look like they might be trying to mount her scalp. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Vampires,” you repeat hoarsely, obliviously trying to fight back tears. “Have you ever fought them before?”

You just got Astarion back, and now you might fucking die here in this prison after being arrested for a crime you didn’t even commit. What kind of cruel joke is this? Why can’t life give you a damn break? Why can’t you have a happily ever after with the man you love?

Fear suddenly relents and bursts into anger, and you stoke those flames to kindle it because anger is far more productive than fear.

Hecat is looking at you with a slack jaw and round eyes, “How do you know what’s out there is vampire spawn?”

“I have had a lot of experience with vampires.” You try to keep your intonation as unwavering as possible. “You don’t have to take my word for it. You will see them soon enough.”

“Yes,” Hecat confirms. Her forehead creases in worry, “I have some experience with them, but not much. I tend not to enter into battles I’m not sure I can win.”

Smart woman. Maybe I need to take a page from her book.

“The plan is still the same,” you instruct. “Run and only fight when you have to.”

“They are fast!” Hecat is pacing now, hands in her hair. “There’s no way we can outrun them, especially with you injured and magicless.”

“With this much blood, they will be frenzied. Their bloodlust will make them distracted. It works in our favour.”

“And the others?” Hecat points to the horde of prisoners still trying to figure out what’s happening, craning their necks at the gates.

In another life, you might have tried to save them, but you’ve learned that not everyone can be saved.

“Fodder.”

Hecat eyes widen at your detached answer, but she doesn’t have time to argue with you as the first spawn start coming into view from your cell. Everyone jumps back from the bars as their bloodied fangs snap, claws clench, and they hiss like snakes. Their eyes bore into you, black and glowing crimson like Astarion’s siblings when they were under Cazador’s compulsion.

“Oh, fuck,” you hear Hecat stutter as several more come to stand before the cell.

“Get ready,” you slide your feet across the stone floor, curling your toes into it, testing your purchase.

The spawn lunge at the cell door. Their teeth snap around the iron bars with loud, metallic pinging. They wrap their hands around the bars and pull with ferocious growls. The metal whines under the force, the stone where the door is moored cracks and crumbles, and the door gives way.

The spawn flood the cell like an ashen wave, cresting with bared frothing fangs over a restless, screaming sea.

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I love reading your comments :) Keep them coming (if you feel like it - of course 😅)

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

Expect us to stay in Kamena's POV 75% of the time, but we will be returning to Astarion's eventually. I want Astarion's POV to remain interesting and special, so there will be less of it. We're still going to explore more of what he got up to when he left though.

Vampire attacking the prison? Why? Is it Mr. Blackwell's doing or something more sinister?

I just want to express that I hate, loathe, detest, Mr. Blackwell.

#astarion x you #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion romance #astarion x mc #astarion ancunin #astarion smut #baldurs gate astarion #shadows of the past

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