#cw: possible cptsd

[badaziraphaletakes]

Hello! Was looking for something on my blog and found this post

https://www.tumblr.com/turquoisedata/730723784383987712/i-am-literally-crying-because-shit-thats-me

And I wondered if you'd seen it/posted anything along these lines before? (You might have and I might have just missed it because Tumblr hates me and doesn't show me loads of stuff I want to see 🙃)

(if you have you can just delete this!!!)

Hi!

We've touched briefly on the fact that Muriel is very Autistic-appearing (thank you so much for the reblog pointing that out, @phoen1xr0se ! You're the best!) and how that has made people misjudge them as shallow/childish/naive/etc, but as far as I can recall we've never done a post about their traumatized behaviors. I'm so glad this person has done that here!

Thank you so much for sharing this EXCELLENT meta! It definitely didn't make me tear up... ;)

[frosnpls]

.

[systematic-breakdown]

polyfrag/cdd things that suck ass cus some of yall need a reminder that this shit is not just a disorder but literally an extension of cptsd. kept it to a small handful because the list would go on forever if there wasnt a limit. this intro is your cw/tw

if you wont/cant read the rest, at least read this:

i love system positivity and its great how much of it theres been. but we need to let both comfort and anguish exist in the same space with equal voices. to wallow in despair is to ignore the light. to cover it up is to invalidate the foundation. we need the yin and the yang.

if youre too fixated on the darker realities, take a moment to look at the brighter ones. if youre too fixated on the good sides, do your part to validate the ugly. you will do yourself, your system, and this community a service.

- never truly feeling complete. the ever-present sense that something inside of you is missing and youll just never know what it is. feeling “fragmented” in a very literal sense

- suddenly hating a food youve always loved and not being able to explain the indifferent grief that comes with losing one of the few things that made you you. also applies to activities, shows/movies, books, music, interests, etc.

- dissociating at the smallest stressor. wdym i no longer feel present/like a person just because vibes were a little off while hanging out with a friend. oh, we’re splitting because of it now? and its another group? ok man sure why the fuck not

- having a conversation with someone and slowly going from “i like/am familiar with this person!” to “if you asked me their name and what they were just talking about i could not tell you”. the transition was too slow to notice until youre suddenly Different from before. you want to “go back”, but it wasnt you. youve lost your reference and all you have left is an ache for something you cant pinpoint and a conversation with a stranger you now have to manage

- trying so hard to remember something that you KNOW happened but its just. gone. its on the tip of your tongue, you used to know the details intimately, you can recall vague colors or feelings but theyre off somehow. like it never happened. or it did and youre getting it wrong. you will forget this recall attempt. and the next. and the one after that too. until you stop trying to recall it. a lot of the time, “it” isnt even about trauma

- fear. exhaustion. exhaustion from what? nothing. nothing that you know of. why are you tired? why are you so tense? why can’t you fall sleep? why won’t you go to the doctors? to school? to a friends place? home? why does the thought of doing anything light your skin up like thorned fire? why does the thought of seeing anyone make you want to run until no one can find you? why does the thought of getting out from under your blanket only make you burrow more? sometimes you know why, sometimes you dont

- amnesia again. forgetting that you forgot. amnesia again. if you forget this, it’s over. if you forget this, then theres no point. if you cant even remember that you forget, you no longer qualify as sick. you are so sick that you wrap around to being normal and doesnt that sting? amnesia again. the word “normal” on you is like wearing an outfit that you loved in the morning and hated by noon. you want to look normal, sound normal, feel normal, be normal but that all just feels so wrong. you changed clothes. you changed. that’s what people tell you, at least. you take what people tell you as the truth. it’s not like you know what you did. people don’t like when you don’t remember so it’s easier to just pretend you do. does this make you “normal” yet?

- major control issues. wonder where that comes from. couldnt possibly be the fact that you are never in control of yourself (the one thing everyone else is capable of doing) /s. you cant even control others to make up for it... do you want to control others? doesnt that make you a bad person? but so-and-so did it and theyre not a bad person, right? the rules are different for you. and now you feel guilty for controlling others (something you didnt do) (but you feel like you did so you overcompensate by baring your neck more than usual) (and then you get angry for exposing yourself like that) (and the cycle repeats)

- it feels like something is touching you. sometimes it feels good, like warmth radiating from your heart or a well timed hug when youre feeling lonely. sometimes its little things, like shifting your arm to pick up a different color crayon or moving you to a different section of the grocery store. sometimes its the holy spirit in your bones, helping you do things without having to think about it. but its not always so passive and nice. sometimes it touches you in places you dont want to be touched. it moves you into positions you dont want to be in. it makes you hurt the way it hurts. there are so many "body feelings" and each of them is significant and distinct. you wonder if this is how they feel. then you berate yourself for personifying it, implying something happened to you at all

- constantly being triggered by people who seem "powerful" or have some semblance of "status" on the hierarchy you've learned to keep memorized. parents, bosses, pastors/priests, old people, anyone who is "above" you suddenly feels like a threat. that mixed with having extremely low self esteem means everyone is a threat. you were always given some lenience when you were "good" so you lower yourself further and teach yourself to depend on them. let them do what they want and youll stop feeling it eventually

- small, confined spaces feeling like a prison and a safe haven all at once. this is as close to peace as you can get

[ficbrish]

Threadbare

[AO3 Link]

[Here we go! @flufftober Spring Edition 2024! Thank you for the prompt 🥰 March 11th - New Beginnings]

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

tw/cw: Sexual content, blood, blood drinking, past abuse, cptsd, choking kink, interrupted masturbation, alcohol, light hurt/comfort

Late in Act III, Astarion finds Vistri cuddling with his old shirt alone in their rooms at the Elfsong.

LATE ACT III SPOILERS!

“...And gave him a taste of a flaming fist! ” Karlach howled, leading the whole tavern in laughter.

Other mugs echoed her pounding on the bar with a dull, banging rhythm. Little golden drops of mead spilled over the tops, dripping down the glasses and mixing with condensation.

Astarion personally never tired of this story of hers. A Flaming Fist had been inappropriately whistling at Shadowheart, and Karlach responded by knocking the man flat on his ass in one swing. While Astarion smiled quietly and nostalgically at her recollection of those events, the other tavern patrons, who’d never heard it before, were an eager and raucous audience.

Shadowheart’s face turned Karlach’s color. Shouting over the Elfsong’s laughter, she protested, “I could have handled it myself. Really!”

Wyll threw an arm over her shoulder, “Come, come, Shadowheart. Was it not a bit satisfying for such a gallant devil to step in and exact your revenge?”

A huge smile spread over her face, “Galant devil could describe any of us.”

Astarion raised his glass, “Cheers!”

Wyll met his delicate wine glass with his own burly mug of mead. Unprepared for how much enthusiasm Wyll would use, Astarion ended up with red all down his front. A collective groan sounded along with wild laughter.

“It’s all right,” he assured Wyll, whose eyes were apologizing faster than his mouth could move.

“Astarion, I’m so—”

Funny thing, how such a sight affected him. Astarion wasn’t used to apologies. Or friendships for that matter. Wyll’s genuine sorrow over such a small inconvenience was like a hearty meal to a starving soul. He couldn’t let the apology continue. It was too painful to witness.

“No, no! It’s all right,” Astarion insisted, “Please don’t put yourself out. I’ll just go change. This tunic is hideous anyways.”

It wasn’t. It was a pretty blue thing with silver thread. But there was a prettier blue thing with silver scales waiting for him upstairs in their rooms, one he was eager to get back to.

Vistri was having a lie down. She wasn’t sick, just exhausted. Her body was fine, but her mind was ragged. Astarion was only reluctantly dragged from her side through her stubborn, repeated insistence to be left alone for a little while. He had the sense she’d been saying it more for his sake than hers. She didn’t want to be the reason why he didn’t spend time with the others.

“You say no one else has my heart, but they do!” she’d said, “You do!”

He’d frowned at the way she used his own words against him. Especially so inaccurately. Astarion was right, there was no one else like her. He’d stand by that forever.

“That’s not—!”

“Yes, it is! Go down there and have fun. Let them earn your trust as I have.”

Raising his brow, he left her with one last tease, “Certainly not in the same way you have?”

His charm wasn’t enough this time. He was dismissed.

Let the others in .

Well, he’d gone down with the others, had a bit of fun, and now he was covered in wine. He had the perfect excuse to go back up and check on her. The fretting in his stomach turned into excitement. 

So much had changed in so little time, after two centuries of endless, torturous consistency, spilled wine was now just spilled wine. He would just change his clothes, maybe wash up a bit, and there would be more waiting for him to wear. Choices.

Sewing was a skill Cazador forced on all his spawn. Keeping them all as cheaply as possible, they had to make every article of clothing last. No matter the care, or the tending, their clothes always ended up degrading into rags and tatters. Astarion was almost jealous of the way his outfits got to age and die. They had a temporal escape, while his torture was bound to be endless.

It also had the side benefit of shame. Sewing was for servants. It reminded the spawn of who they were.

Now that was all over. Cazador was gone. Ended by his hand.

And he had so many new clothes.

He had choices. How bizarre! Astarion was sure he’d forgotten how to make them.

And then he chose her.

A smile brewed on his face just at the mention of her in his thoughts. He took to the steps three at a time, surely looking absolutely ridiculous. He didn’t remember much from his life before undeath, but the more time he spent away from Cazador, the more he realized how much his desire to avoid appearing foolish was part of the weight of those old chains. If he tripped and fell on his face, he would probably laugh from the rebellious feeling of it.

The tadpoles brought him the sun and then Vistri. She helped him find love, true freedom, and then true love.

He decided looking a fool was worth it the moment he stepped through the door. His eyes found her immediately on one of the sofas by the fireplace. The dancing reflections of the flames rolled over the silver scales on her brow in waves. He could see it from the door. She was lying down; her eyes opened at the sound of his entrance.

She seemed a little shocked, “Astarion!”

“Hello, dear!” he greeted with open arms and a wide smile. It felt like ages since they’d been in the same space.

Although, reading her expression, he was a little worried she wasn’t as happy to see him.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, “Are the others—?”

“Just me,” he stated, then dramatically drew attention to his ruined shirtfront, “I’ve been decorated with libations! I need to freshen up. Is that all right?”

“Of course it’s all right! Don’t be silly.”

Vistri was a sorcerer; she was used to her thoughts becoming reality. But her mind was reeling from his sudden appearance. Like he’d stepped from her thoughts, but with an entirely different attitude. The Astarion in front of her was all lightness and soft good-humor. The one in her head was a whole other, harder side of his.

Their storage trunk was near the fireplace as well, by the other sofa. As Astarion walked towards her to rifle through it, she slowly removed her hand from between her legs, careful not to let the movement show under the blanket, which wasn’t even a blanket, but his old shirt.

Gods! It couldn’t be more embarrassing.

He came over to her first, bending down to plant a gentle kiss on her damp forehead. Astarion looked at her curiously, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Vistri nodded, humming a high-pitched, “Mmmm-hmmm.”

His brow was all questioningly screwed up, but he decided to drop it, and started unbuttoning his tunic.

Vistri subtly wiped her fingers on her thigh, then sat up, “Here, let me help you.”

“I’ve got it love,” he insisted, “You just lie down. Say… Why aren’t you in our bed?”

The way she smiled and repeated the words, “Our bed,” in that bright tone allayed all Astarion’s fears in an undead heartbeat. He was welcome. She was just as happy to see him as he was her. Poor love was just worn out.

He sighed and bent back down to kiss her. Her pulse pounded, he could feel it rush at the brushing of his lips. A rumble brewed in his middle and his fangs ached. She gave a little moan without meaning to, losing herself in the power of his affection.

“Don’t get too excited,” he teased, “I’m only here for a moment.”

“Why only a moment?” she asked genuinely.

With a smile, he tucked her braid behind her ear, “Didn’t you want to be alone?”

Her eyes were wide, like a begging dog, “I can be alone with you here.”

Astarion froze. He swallowed heavily, then giggled, “What a silly idea! Doesn’t that defy the whole concept of being alone?”

She pouted, and he rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he scoffed, sitting down next to her, “I can be—Hang on!”

Upon reaching for her hand, he finally noticed her blanket. Her expression filled with panic at his recognition, and too late, she tried to hide it.

He chuckled with sinister delight, “Why, is this my—?”

“No!” she stubbornly refused.

“Bloody liar! ” he laughed.

“It’s not!”

Vistri was cuddled up with his old shirt. She must’ve taken it out of the trunk and sat down nearby.

“That’s why you’re not in bed! You came over here for my shirt!”

Blushing deeply, Vistri was struggling to accept her fate. She couldn’t get out of talking about her feelings now. Eventually, she admitted, “...I did.”

His query was meant to tease, but there was something… raw and needy in his voice that made it something entirely different, “You were…”

She was nuzzling his old rags like they were something precious. Intentionally. Used her alone time to fish it out of the stuffed trunk, and secretly treasure it. While he was just downstairs in the tavern, missing her, she was up here longing for him.

“You were holding onto my old shirt?”

Vistri rolled her eyes and groaned. She couldn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s ridiculous!” she exclaimed.

Astarion made a “tsk” sound and smirked, “Aw, don’t reject it now, darling. My poor shirt! You’ll hurt its feelings.”

“No! I don’t want that!” she whined, as if that were something possible to really do.

He held it away from her reaching grasp, “Nuh, uh! Apologize first.”

“Astarion!”

“That’s my name, dear. Not an apology.”

Vistri frowned. Astarion leaned in and kissed it into a smile.

“I hate you!” she giggled, playfully pushing him off her.

“I hate you too,” he said lovingly, “Now! Walk me through the process of deciding to take out my shirt. Was this before or after you shooed me away?”

“Must I?”

Savoring the look on her face, he nodded, “You must, dearest.”

She bit her lip, “Okay. Ugh. Fine. You left and I…”

“You what?”

“I missed you! ”

“Hah!” he boasted.

“Arsehole!”

“An arsehole you love to kiss,” he grinned, “Shall I call you butt breath?”

“No!” she protested, laughing, “Please no!”

“Here,” Astarion handed her his old shirt, “Hold this.”

He stood and finished undoing his tunic, then threw off the soiled shirt underneath. Bare-chested, he climbed over to her side.

“Scoot over,” he demanded.

“There’s no room!” she laughed.

He pulled her tight once his body was flush against hers, “We’ll make it work.”

Vistri felt dizzy. Like she was flying.

“Okay.”

Not letting it go, Astarion asked, “So you missed me, and then what happened?”

With his fingers absently drawing figures on her waist, Vistri had no fight left. Sighing, she continued to expose herself, “I started thinking about… When we met, and I first saw you.”

“How you adored me instantly?”

“No, actually. How much I despised you. Like really, really just wanted to… shake you.”

“That’s so romantic.”

She chuckled, “I’m sorry. It’s horrible, but it’s true. But then… I also…” She shifted so they were chest to chest, and she could look at his face as she spoke. Without thinking, her nose nuzzled his as she admitted, “I really liked you.”

He sort of snorted and sighed and called out in the same second, like a baby that didn’t know if it was hungry or tired or perfectly content. That didn’t know whether to coo or cry.

“You did?” he asked, heart on his tongue.

Nodding, Vistri admitted it all, “I think I’ve come to learn… It wasn’t you I was mad at, but everyone else you reminded me of. And part of me knew that, and the unfairness of it made me hate myself more.”

“Wanna know a secret?”

“What?” she chuckled.

“I hated myself and liked you too.”

Grinning, she humorously exclaimed, “And that’s why we had sex!”

Astarion gave a hearty laugh. It was rich and deep, and sounded like relief from a long-ago burden.

Instead of joining his mirth, Vistri’s expression grew more serious, “I don’t believe there’s a single thing I could hate about you. Not now that I know you.”

“Not a single thing?”

“Impossible.”

He caressed the length of her ear, gentle like a caretaker, then kissed her cheek.

“So what was that you were saying, about thinking of how much you hated me when we first met?” he whispered, stroking the side of her face with the tip of his nose.

“I didn’t hate you, I was falling in love. That’s what I was thinking of. Falling in love.”

“With me?”

She laughed, “Who else?”

He kissed her forehead, waiting with bated breath for her to continue.

She breathed deeply, leaning into his kiss, “I wanted to run down and get you, but we can’t be together all the time.”

“Who says?”

Chuckling, she shook her head, “We can’t!”

“And the next best thing was my shirt?”

“The one I met you in.”

He’d almost thrown it out. Now that he had new clothes, he no longer needed Cazador’s old rags.

But he couldn’t. And he was glad he didn’t.

“And then you just decided to relax here? And daydream about me?”

“Uh…” she said way too awkwardly for him to just accept.

Brow raised, Astarion repeated, “‘Uh? ’”

“It’s just so incredibly lame!” Vistri looked horrified.

“Then I have to hear it!” he giggled, thrilled to have her in this little trap she set up herself.

“I was… Oh gods! ” she rolled her eyes, “Can I just… tadpoles?”

He laughed, “It’s so embarrassing you can’t speak it?”

“Yes.”

Laughing even harder, he agreed. He put his forehead to hers even though they didn’t need touch for brainworm-to-brainworm communication. Relaxing into his embrace, she let her memory play out through his senses.

Vistri was thinking of him, and Astarion found beauty in himself he could only see through her eyes. Like freedom, it was overwhelming. A goodness he could drown in. That she could drown in. He was her, and she was him.

Knots in her stomach, tied like strings of fate, spelling his name in her blood.

Rushing, pounding, flowing. Her heart.

Stillness. Serenity. Bliss.

After lying down on the couch, she held his shirt to her face and breathed into it. Even washed, it smelled like him. Like his heat and his lusts and his heavy soul. She kissed its loose threads like it was his chest, where his heart was. Imagined his arms around her like they were now.

Astarion felt Vistri loving him; fell into her blurred line of desire and devotion. He could taste it on her tongue as he kissed her now and felt her love him through that too. Past and present blended, and they shared all of it like one being. In her memory, her hand traveled between her legs at the thought of his laughing face. Then there was the sincerity in his eyes as they both kneeled over his grave. I want you, spilling out of his lips. She was touching herself, thinking of him, adoring him, with the shirt she’d met him in clutched to her throat. As they lived through it together on the same sofa, he kissed her again and again.

She didn’t even mean to break the connection, but his mouth was too distracting. He just couldn’t help himself. It felt like coming home after two centuries.

“How rude,” he muttered, “I seem to have interrupted.”

“It’s fine,” she said breathlessly, “I’m glad you came back.”

He chuckled warmly, “Darling I was just downstairs. At your insistence!”

“I know,” she said plainly, holding him tighter.

His heart ached, still absorbing what he’d just felt and seen through her memory, “You… Thinking about me–how you love me–makes you…?”

Unable to look at him, she buried her face in his chest, “I told you it was lame!”

Helping her out of hiding, he lifted up her chin, “I don’t think it’s lame.”

His tone sounded like he thought it was the most extraordinary thing. A miracle that couldn’t even be perceived, even with it plainly in front of him. It tore her heart open, but filled it rather than took.

Astarion kissed her neck, “I think it’s quite hot actually. Makes me want to finish what you started.” Vistri felt the heat of her blush again, and he moaned, “Fuck! I love when your blood rushes.”

He scraped his fangs hungrily against her skin. Her heart grew heavy with the weight of his need. She wanted to be the reason he felt better. Stronger.

“Go ahead, Astarion,” she said comfortingly, “Have a bite.”

He kissed her neck, from her chin down to the base of her throat, and bit into the muscle that connected her shoulder. Vistri gasped, surrendering to the sharp pain, and to him, leaning into his bite. Her blood dripped between them as it rolled messily off his lips.

Just allowing himself a taste, Astarion released Vistri from his fangs, licking up the remnants and kissing her wound until it closed. The hunger wasn’t sated, but he was dizzy with power nonetheless.

“Are you all right, love?” he asked, still concerned despite knowing how much she loved it.

“More than all right! Are you—?”

He met her warm smile with one of his own, “More than all right.”

“Good.”

No other partner ever cared. Neither had ever been asked genuinely what they wanted or who they were. No one else but them, making such questions a lyrical aphrodisiac for them to exchange.

Astarion could read her arousal in a thousand different languages. His tongue could feel it in her frantic heartbeat. His teeth could smell it in her glistening sweat. She was a meal ready to be devoured, prey begging to be taken. His hands traveled along her waist, and she twitched pleasantly. All the places that usually tickled made her shiver with want.

Vistri was always so ecstatic that it was him touching her this way, and no one else, that her skin would cry if it could. He could have clumsy hands and awkward touches, and still his embrace would make her shake. Astarion could easily bring ecstasy to her, even if he didn’t know what he was doing, just because it was him.

But gods did he know what he was doing! He played her body like it was one of her instruments, and all he did was fondle her torso.

His fingers lingered just under her waistline as he rubbed his arousal against her thigh. Throbbing under his pants, Astarion let his hand dive into her knickers. The wet lace made him groan.

“You’re soaking,” he sighed, licking his lips, “Might I have another taste?”

Whimpering as he teased her sensitive skin with brushing fingertips, Vistri pleaded, “Yes!”

First, he undressed her one article at a time, unwrapping her like a gift.

It was better than being alone. The whole purpose of her rest was to not think. She didn’t want to disappear, not anymore. She wanted to be present, but out of her head, and this was so much better. However, her heart still ached and missed him. Demanding more touch, more feeling. 

Being wanted by Vistri was the prettiest sight. Astarion had only ever known admiration, not adoration. Images of her in her memory ran through his mind; and with them came echoes of her emotion as she’d nuzzled into his old shirt, desperate for his lingering smell, pretending it still held his warmth. As the monster in his head screamed to devour her, he slid a finger up and down her soaking slit.

Following the roll of her hips, he almost lost himself in their rhythm as he teased her clit. Her desire was one he’d never known, a love he’d never felt. Vistri gave herself to everyone, but never like this. It was the same for him. Everyone had him, but no one knew him like this. Between them, old habits were entirely new.

Crawling his way down her legs, he had another taste. Vistri’s hands caressed his head and her fingers wrapped around his ears in a way that made him hum with security.

She cried out at every lash of his tongue.

He whined licking her, the rushing blood just under her skin overwhelmed his senses as much as her taste. It made him feel alive. Pangs of need made his fingers tremble as they pushed into her, stretching her. She moaned, a song promising this would always be his. He wanted to fuck her until he saw stars.

And it felt good to want. The desire he felt was his. All his.

“Astarion,” she called out his name in a breathy voice, her body tensing with pleasure. Even without tadpoles, he knew how close Vistri was.

The next words from her lips yanked his heart out of his chest and brought it to his sleeve.

“Yours. I’m all yours.”

He’d planned to pleasure her in so many ways, but those words took away his will to perform. They didn’t need ecstasy as much as each other. She’d touched herself thinking of his laugh and his expressions; of his being, not his figure. Vistri just wanted him.

Lifting his head up, he asked, “Can I—?”

“Get back here!”

She pulled on his shoulders as he rushed to her lips, climbing her torso. She was so small, but it felt like miles. Ages until they were face to face.

His mouth was like a bully, commanding hers about. Vistri struggled with things like self love and acceptance, but could adoringly savor her taste on his tongue. It was so sweet mixed with his underneath. Astarion took her by the wrist to rub her hand along the outside of his trousers, almost growling as rutted into her palm. Being used by him was the best thing in the world, just as being used by others was the worst. Her ecstasy from it was as sharp as her bruised soul.

One long, deep, “Uuuuh,” from Vistri was the final snap in Astarion’s composure. One hand went to her neck as the other started undoing his laces. 

He licked along her jaw, and spoke in the crook of her throat as it called to him, “Do you know what it means? When you say you’re all mine?”

“I know what it means,” she looked him squarely in the eyes, seriously, which was unusual for either of them, “I say it because I know what it means.”

When there was enough give, Astarion pulled his trousers and pants down in one motion, just far enough to reveal himself. He spread her thighs apart and rubbed his aching cock along her belly to show off how deep he’d go.

Writhing, wanting him, she uttered, “Fuck, I love you.”

Astarion buried himself in her, saying he loved her too. Vistri screamed his name so loudly it probably answered what was taking him so long to change to the others downstairs.

“Wait, is the door locked?” he asked, suddenly remembering.

Vistri groaned, realizing it wasn’t, “Shit. Nooo.”

It was a rare occasion for their rooms at the Elfsong to be empty of everyone but them. Anyone could come back at any time, and they were in the middle of the room.

“Well, we don’t want to make an unsuspecting audience out of Shadowheart’s parents. Do we?”

Cackling, she suggested, “Or Withers.”

Astarion giggled, “Old bastard might try to join.”

Vistri’s laughter made her shake and pulse so pleasantly on his cock, he didn’t want to leave.

“Go lock it,” she could barely get the words out, overtaken by hilarity. Like she was wearing that cursed amulet again. 

Sighing with frustration, he reluctantly pulled out of her and got up, tearing the rest of clothes off of his legs. Her slick covered his whole length, making the air cool on his dick as it bounced with his steps.

At the sound of the lock snapping shut, Vistri stupidly called out, “Please!”

He stood by the door smiling with his arms crossed, “Please, what?” The crimson-violet scream of his skin, his retreated foreskin, and the precum pooling at his tip betrayed his casual nature.

“Fuck me!” she begged.

He smirked and held up two fingers.

Vistri buried her face in the side of the sofa to hide her laughter, “I cannot stand you!”

Wishing to see her face again, Astarion dropped his game and broke into a full run. She squealed as he leapt to her, and then cried out as he tore through her again. He savored the look on her face. Her eyes spilled the truth of her heart. Their expression exposed her even though she wasn’t trying to hide anything. Vistri belonged to him, gave herself over to him to use and take care of at whatever whim. As long as she was his .

“What was that about not being able to stand me?” he smirked, distracting himself from the pleasure shaking his spine like a tree in a rough storm. He wanted Vistri to find ecstasy at least once before giving into his.

Running her hands along his chest and stomach made him almost whimper. Vistri licked his earlobe and kissed his ear before whispering, “I lied. I actually adore you, and want you all the time.”

Roughly, he pushed her down into the sofa. He wrapped a big hand around her delicate neck and held it firm, like a brace. Slowing his thrusts to an unbearably slow pace. A teasing rhythm.

“Do you adore me now?” he asked. It was impossible for even Astarion to tell if he was asking out of seduction or sincerity.

“Even more,” she promised.

A devious smile tugged at the corner of his lips, “Turn around.”

After tucking pillows, and his old shirt, under Vistri for a better angle, Astarion playfully bounced his hard cock against her ass. They both laughed at the smack, but grew serious as he began to touch her from behind. She rocked back into his palm so deliciously he had to angle himself against her. With a slight push, he was covered to the hilt. They shivered in tune with each other. Vistri felt ripped open at his thrust; his hands firmly holding onto her hips grounded her.

She reached back for one of them, and his finger twisted around one of hers as they met.

He froze, “Is this still what you want?”

“It is all I want,” she answered, caressing his finger.

Even though Vistri couldn’t see his smirk, she could hear it, “Then let’s give the others an update on our whereabouts.”

He roughly pumped his hips, angling deep.

“Astarion!”

He wanted them to hear it, everyone her voice could reach; hear the news that she was his. Going faster made her louder.

“Astarion! ” 

“Yes,” he groaned, as he felt her tightening around him, “Yes.” It was a word he wasn’t used to meaning, and the truth of it felt like the sun tingling like home on his skin.

Gasping through the edges of death, in unison, too quickly, they cried out.

Astarion wanted to see the stars, and there they appeared behind both their eyes. They never really knew why it was called a little death before they met. It became clear the first time they transcended flesh and spirit together under the thrall of an all-consuming ecstasy. In that bliss, they were gone from the world, and in coming back to it, were reborn into their shaking embrace.

He rocked his hips gently, even when there was nothing left to spill into her. Just because he didn’t want the moment to pass yet.

As Astarion sat back on his knees, Vistri turned around and covered his face with a flurry of breathless, grateful pecks. He chuckled, and wrapped his arms around her. Vistri threw hers over his shoulders too and pulled him tighter.

“Never leave me alone again,” she half-joked.

Astarion was so happy his words had a sobbing laugh under them, “Oh, I’m never leaving you alone again!”

They squeezed each other even closer at the same time. Never wanting to let go.

Miraculously, nothing got on the couch. So all they had to clean off was each other. After freshening up, they crawled into their bed. Which wasn’t really their bed. It was rented. But, unless tents and bedrolls counted, this bed was the first sort of home they’d claimed together.

“This is my favorite part,” she said as she nuzzled into his chest.

“What are you talking about?”

Vistri hummed happily and sighed, running her fingers along his arm, “This.”

Smiling, he bent to kiss her head. She gave another happy hum.

“You’re perfect,” she said.

“No, I’m not,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

Looking up, she poked him on the nose and refuted his denial, “Yes, you are!”

Astarion smirked and made a show of trying to bite her finger. Vistri squealed, laughing.

“No, don’t bi—”

A series of loud, rapid bangs on the door snatched them from their lighthearted moment, and instinctively, they got ready to fight. Each made a protective gesture over the other. Astarion sat up and pulled her closer by the waist, as she positioned her body in front of his.

Drunken shouts answered them before they could call out and ask who was there.

“—en it!”

“‘S’locked! ”

“OY! WHY’S THE DOOR SHUT?!” That would be Karlach.

Vistri smirked at Astarion.

Brow raised, he remarked, “Looks like this time, we forgot to unlock the door.”

She snickered, “Ready to let them in?”

He made a show of thinking about it for a moment as kicks and insults shook the door, “Hmmm, I don’t know. I think we should make them wait.”

The burst of laughter that left Vistri was loud enough for the others to notice, and the muffled shouting now included their names.

Astarion rolled his eyes and got out of bed, “You’ve done it now, love.”

As he walked to the door, he took a look back at Vistri, who had sunk back into their bed, holding her sides in a laughing fit. He felt as free as she sounded, and so full of happiness Astarion couldn’t feel his feet on the ground.

Vistri was wearing his old shirt. She’d insisted on changing into it when they got dressed. Telling him she didn’t want to spend a second without him wrapped around her.

The sight made him smile so broadly his cheeks ached.

[cosmicwolfdog]

Pinned: Under Construction

Hello! My name is Cos (he/they/it), I'm 21, and this is my blog for all things alterhumanity! My main blog is @cosmicconstruct, and my other sideblog, @library-of-cos, is a record of anything I feel represents my gender/species well. My gender and alterhumanity are linked in various ways and in general my identities are more of a nebula than concrete, separate categories.

I am not new to identifying as nonhuman, but I am relatively new to finding community for it and as such I am working out how to put my identities into words. I'll update as I go, but the current list is as follows:

Cathearted

Wolfkin/dogkin

Satan/siren conceptkin

Angelkin (fallen)

Other things I am considering:

Liminality conceptkin

Clairvoyance and/or possession conceptkin

Cosmic horror conceptkin

Eden/utopia conceptkin

(A lot of the struggle is just understanding how I experience conceptkinity)

DNI/content warnings below the cut

My alterhuman identities inform, are informed by, and generally interact with my psych disorders. DNI if you believe that having psych disorders, including psychosis, invalidates a person's alterhuman identities. Also DNI if you believe that any exploration of or identification with psych disorders beyond the clinical is inherently "feeding into the illness".

This blog is likely to mention: sex, kink, weed, discussions about/mentions of psychosis, autism, possibly CPTSD including religious and medical trauma (not an exhaustive list. I usually tag cws but occasionally may forget.)

This blog will not contain any porn or content that is otherwise intended to arouse. However, it may contain discussions about sex and kink. As such, I would prefer that this blog be 16+ and that anyone under the age of 18 not interact directly with posts that contain such topics. Thank you!

[cryptidwannabe]

spoilers for doki doki literature club ahead!

Tw/cw for mentions of sh and suicide/everything ddlc needs a warning for! Please stay safe :)

i just finished my first playthrough of ddlc yesterday, and I just wanted to say how well it's done. It's a really great example of how the form of media a story is being told through can make or break storytelling; the horror of ddlc is only really possible as a game. Yuri and Sayori are ironically really good representations of certain mental illnesses, and your character's reaction to Sayori's death is also very well done. The guilt you'd feel in real life is well represented, and to really hit you hard, it adds on a reminder that you're playing a game of choices; theoretically, you should've been able to prevent this (even though you can't). Yuri's self harming behaviors and obsession tying into each other reminds me a lot of my OCD and how certain anxiety triggers can in turn trigger sh urges, even if I don't exactly feel anxious (but rather some sort of other strong emotion). The fact that after Monika messes with her a lot, any strong emotions or thoughts are completely too much for her is also very relatable as someone with sensory issues who's also very emotional. So even if it was unintentional, Yuri ends up becoming a good (albeit obviously very exaggerated/intense) example of autistic, OCD/anxiety, and depressive traits, along with some borderline personality disorder or CPTSD traits being exhibited. I unfortunately don't have much to say about Natsuki as of now, as I don't remember her route very well and I chose Yuri's route during my playthrough since her and Sayori have always been my favourites.

Anyway, even without all of that, I really do think it's a great psychological horror game and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it and why it's so effective. As a horror fan and someone interested in the possibility of making my own stories, it's a really interesting case study for me while also being enjoyable as a horror experience! It might end up becoming a hyperfixation for a while, so I do apologize in advance for that hehe

[boopspubby]

🖥️ Intro 🐡

Hello and welcome to my blog!

I have had many tumblr blogs throughout the years, I may seem new but I have been using the site for over 10 years. :-)

He is some info to help you know if my blog is a good fit for you! I am very chill but opinionated lol.

Politics and such: AnCom, radical leftist (socially, fiscally, etc.), warqueer/radqueer, 420queer, angelqueer, pro radical bodily autonomy, BLM, pro-Palestine, pro-freak, pro-drugs, pro-piracy, pro-fiction. My contact stance is "if they can't consent don't fucking touch them". If you have questions about my opinions or stances on anything feel free to ask. :-)

Theology/religion/philosophy: Absurdist-existentialist, Shinto, Appalachian folk influence, Eclectic Gnostic influence, possible neo-romanticist (not the art era kind, the "my lover is basically a god" variety), Witch.

Mental/physical: I am disabled and neurodivergent. I am part of a system, I have been diagnosed with A LOT, from CPTSD and personality disorder unspecified to dysautonomia and IST to autism and ADHD inattentive. My medical records show around 50 diagnoses at this point, I would love to give y'all with similar maladies something to related to, but frankly I'm too lazy to list everything rn. If you have a specific question just ask. :-)

Genderish: genderfuck, amorgender, altersex, femboy, lumipuppic, stargender, pupstar, spacebodic, pitterpupsoundic, celestipangic, cosmiclatteic, spacecute, boywifecute, nephoastragender, stelnumic, spacething, space sweetheart, cvnt, enientic, littlefemboyic, constellangelic, stellarseraph, wishstaric, scaredboy, seaoftstarsic, guiltyangel, guiltydog, oceanbodiment, fretumgender, seabomination, seaperilic, Neptune gender, frutigerogender, waterwebic, goldfish (chubby/fat queer people with memory issues), astrobyssian.

Orientation: hypersexual, omnisexual, gaybian, paraphile, kinkster, objectum, ambiamorous, consang/pseudo-consang, plantsexual, pupsquishlovic, NCCNC, happily engaged.

Therian/otherkin: I am some sort of alien oceanic puppy water creacher thing, but my current list is goblin, Florida cracker cur, borzoi, APBT, dumbo octopus, seraph, ocean sunfish, raposa (Drawn to Life), vaporeon (pokémon).

Other ID: cis-permahigh, cis-permatired, subtremage, dogstimmic, lost puppy syndrome.

General interests and hobbies: video games, music, photography, art, true crime, forensics, IT, drugs, table top games, space, witchcraft, bugs, nature and animals, weird things, horror, vulture culture, more to come.

Other socials: find me on bluesky under the same handle, boopspubby. IT IS NSFW AND 18+.

CWs/ratings: I will touch on explicit topics from time to time but my account will remain mostly SFW. CWs include religious topics, politics, sexual content (mild, think discussions and non-explicit artistic depictions, suggestive humor and text posts), gore (artistic depictions, nothing real), creepy things, bugs, mental illness, traumaposting, reclaimed slurs. My bluesky is NSFW AND 18+ ONLY. More to come.

[sickrobot]

✩⋆charlie's digital scrapbook⋆✩

they/them

⋆

In this blog i will post memories and bits of everything that surrounds me, i hope they can mean something to someone else too.

You can find my photos under the hashtag #sickrobotpics and my text under #sickrobotxt

⋆

abt me!!

likes: folk punk music, exploring nature, toys, clowns, collecting things (bones, leaves, dead bugs, trinkets), books, drawing, videogames ecc...

⋆

A very important thing abt me is that I suffer from cptsd and I have many triggers, so here are some that can be useful to know in this blog, in case someone wants to dm me for any reason : domestic violence, anything related to the father figure, child abuse and sh/ed

cw: probably write abt cptsd, violence, maladptive daydreaming and addiction

⋆

DNI

ed/sh blogs, NO NSFW IN ANY POSSIBLE WAY (including dd/lg and nsfw agere), terfs, transphobes, transmedicalist and homophobes

[ficbrish]

You have my Bloody Heart

[AO3 Link]

[Here we go! @flufftober Spring Edition 2024! Thank you for the prompt 🥰 March 12th - Banter, Joking, Fun]

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

tw/cw: Sexual content, blood, blood drinking, past abuse, cptsd, choking kink, alcohol, food, hurt/comfort, light injury

Late in Act III, Astarion and Vistri sneak out for a date night.

LATE ACT III SPOILERS!

The others were asleep, filling the room at the Elfsong with silence and snoring. Astarion and Vistri, however, were wrapped around each other in their bed, wide awake.

“Let’s sneak off,” he whispered, stroking her hair.

His voice sent shivers from Vistri's ear to her neck, then traveled down her back, flipping her stomach like a coin. The sensation was familiar and terrifying, like she was preparing to cast some new higher-level spell. She held back her laughter, trying her best not to be too loud. The Elfsong provided real beds, but less privacy, and they’d already been yelled at too many times for disturbing everyone’s slumber.

Turning around to face him, softly, Vistri exclaimed, “Race you!”

As she sat up to get out of bed, Astarion pulled her back in. Bringing her into a close embrace, he traced her jawline with a delicate finger then slowly kissed the silver scales along her brow. Vistri sighed, and he answered it with a kiss. Long and gentle.

It left her dizzy, and devoid of all sense but him. Astarion took advantage of the opportunity to get a head start.

Forgetting the need to be quiet, Vistri laughingly shouted, “Bastard! ” and chased after him on shaking legs.

A sleepy Gale frustratedly groaned on the other side of the screen, “Mystra’s tits… ”

Withers silently and dispassionately watched his pawn and her distraction make their way towards the exit in a whispered, giggling rush. He wasn’t worried the world might fall, but noted it as a possibility.

Wyll and Shadowheart jumped at the slamming of the door, even from opposing sides of the room. Almost like it was choreographed, they suddenly sat up, reaching for the knives stashed under their pillows. Realizing it was nothing, just those damn elves again, they fell back asleep.

“I won!” Astarion bragged as they hurried down the tavern stairs.

Vistri leapt onto his back and lightly nibbled the point of his ear, “You cheated!”

“Ow!” he laughed.

“Oh, did that hurt?” she gave it an adoring peck, “Is that better?”

If she kept doing that, Astarion was going to have to sit down for a little while. He never knew touch could ignite so many feelings. Lust and a deep sense of safety never went together before. He never knew he could have both, until she came along.

“Much better,” he said with a bit of a sigh.

He walked through the rest of the tavern with Vistri on his back, but had to let her down once they stepped outside.

“Nooo!” she protested as he squatted to set her down, “I wanted to ride you!”

Astarion smirked, “I know you do, dear.”

“Not like that!” she chuckled freely.

“Sure, you don’t,” he teased, smiling brightly, “But I’d rather hold that lovely lavender hand of yours—Take a stroll by the water? Side by side?”

Wriggling his fingers invitingly, Vistri took hold of them in happy disbelief. Like it was the first time. His hands were a miracle she could twist her fingers around.

How could something so exciting be so calming at the same time?

Touching, hand-in-hand; everything was good in the world.

“Thank you,” he brought her fist up to his lips, kissing along her knuckles like a prayer. He adored the way she still blushed after all these tendays.

With quite a bit of city between the Elfsong and the docks, a habitual quickening lurched in Astarion’s stomach. Old thoughts warned him not to stray too far from sanctuary this late into the early morning hours, lest the sun come up. Knowing that wasn’t an issue for him anymore made it easy for him to shake off such worries and relax. Then he tensed up again, remembering the problem would return once they rid themselves of the tadpoles.

Unless… No.

Hope was the ultimate poison.

Vistri must have noticed his mind wandering, for she called out, “Hey, Astarion!”

He brought his attention back to her. Vistri was smiling so widely, obviously delighted. He noticed her pointing towards something off to the side somewhere.

…To a stack of hay.

A scoffing groan and rolling eyes vented his instant regret upon turning to look. They were almost entirely compatible, the only caveat being Astarion hated puns.

“I hate puns,” he’d complained in those early days of knowing each other.

Vistri couldn’t help herself, and shrugged through her response, “Guess you’re just not a punny guy.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake …”

They weren’t immediate friends.

In getting to know her, Astarion learned she poked him so he’d fight back. It wasn’t from a mocking impulse to cut him down by the tendon. Vistri wasn’t getting a rise out of him to punish him for his reaction. It was a plea for his attention. An invitation to assert his power, to take it from her. A plea for his affections.

Astarion pulled her closer, tight against his chest in an embrace that would have been threatening with anyone else. Her wrists he held firm behind her back, pushing her further into him, so very tightly. He took them into one hand to roughly grab her chin with the other, forcing her to look up into his eyes. The cool night air breezed passed them, but the heat between them didn’t dissipate, only grew.

His stare laid bare her soul, his tone both a knife and a feather, “My dear, I do believe that merits some pun-ishment.”

Vistri humorously cried out, shocked and delighted that he played along for once. Astarion stole a kiss from her open mouth. She whimpered as his lips wrapped around hers; his tongue reaching out. Taking hers.

Astarion sighed, losing himself in his own trap. Always, always that seemed to happen with her. Pulling away, he twirled Vistri around, releasing her with a cheeky smack to her bum.

Giggling like fools they reunited their hands.

A passing cat delayed them in their journey to the seafront. It was so fluffy, grey, and glorious, how could they not stop for a chat? Vistri cast Speak to Animals, and reached out to Astarion’s tadpole, letting him into her mind so she wouldn’t have to translate cat to elf.

The floof had a majestically deep voice; a rumbling, theatrical roar, “Good Evening. Would you happen to have any ham?”

Smirking at Astarion from the corner of her eye, Vistri gave the feline a little bow, “Forgive us, good fellow. While we’ve been known to ham it up, we have none upon us at the moment.”

“Blast! The gods are cruel tonight. To set such a heavy heart on the hunt for warm ham.”

“Deepest apologies,” she said hand to heart, “If I knew you were looking for ham, I would have lowered my voice and given it a bit of a warble before greeting you with something like, 'Mighty night stalker! We have been honored by your graceful presence! Is there any way poor souls such as us could hope to please thee? ’”

The cat slow-blinked in response, purring in delight at such a wonderful display of servitude. 

Astarion leaned in, whispering to Vistri, “Might I offer a bit of sausage?”

“Do you really have some? Or is that just a euphemism?”

“Oh, I really have it,” he answered suggestively, stroking her arm. It sent more of those shivers through her. Then plainly, he stated, “But I also do happen to have a bit of it in my pocket.”

“Oh, you’ve got more than a bit in your pocket, my dear,” she smirked heatedly. Then frowned, “But really! You can’t give sausage to a cat! It’s not good for them!”

“It’s not?” he asked bawdily, “Come now, I thought sausage was an excellent thing to give to a pussy.”

Vistri tried her best not to let her amusement show on her face, “Well, if I wanted to come now, that would be just the thing.”

Astarion pulled a bit of sausage from his pocket, “I wasn’t kidding.”

As she burst into laughter, he broke some pieces off the top of the link. Kneeling, he offered them to the cat.

“Do you like sausage?”

“Mm–I love sausage!” it purred, eating from Astarion’s palm.

The wet, hot breath and fuzzy nose of the creature felt so delicate. Trusting. As if he were someone gentle and worthy of it. Tadpoles still linked, Vistri could feel his heart flutter in her own chest. A sense of preciousness and renewal overcame her through him.

Sated after his nibbles, the cat parted ways. First allowing them to indulge in a few chin scratches. Astarion, already at cat level, was given permission initially. Then Vistri was invited in to even out the other side.

She laughed as they continued towards the docks, asking, “Why on Toril do you have sausage in your pocket?”

“I figured… In case you got hungry…”

That tickled Vistri so much it stole her breath away, snatching the sound from her laughter. When she caught it again, her voice was strained, pitchy, “You were gonna feed me sausage?! ”

Swept along by her current of laughter, Astarion’s features joyously softened.

“It was a set up for a bit,” he admitted, his expressions free, thus very silly.

Moonlight glittered across the water when they approached it. The image quieted and then stilled them. Hand in hand, they admired Shadowheart’s new goddess, and the sea raging calmly under her glow.

“I love you,” Vistri said without looking away from the distance.

Astarion turned to face her, and feeling his gaze like a blush on her cheeks, Vistri turned to face him too.

Squeezing her hand, pouring his heart into her eyes through his, he whispered, “I love you too.”

It was peaceful.

After a while, Vistri began swaying their hands in a childish arc; back and forth with more enthusiasm than rhythm.

Amused, he asked, “What’s on your mind over there?”

With the smile of a fey, she proposed, “Let’s go do something naughty.”

The something naughty Vistri had in mind was a game. She called it, “Let’s go find an abandoned house to break into.”

He smiled widely, reborn at her suggestion. A greed that lusted after defiance more than the forbidden rumbled through his chest. Delicious enough for him to sink his teeth into. Skirting rules together was a breaking of chains, a reclamation.

Strolling down the streets, arm in arm, they pretended to be house-hunting. Pointing out every derelict building they passed. Exchanging questions like some vapid patriar couple. 

“Do you like that one, dear?”

“Oh, no, dear! How dreadful!—What about that one over there?”

“Gods, no! Would you want to emerge every morning smelling like fish?”

Until they found the perfect one.

It didn’t reek of blood or the undead, and was barely noticeable. Like a dilapidated honeycomb in an otherwise thriving hive, it was crowded by the surrounding buildings. Something about it felt forgotten, swallowed up.

“After you, my heart,” Vistri said, inviting the expert to handle the lock.

Expert indeed, Astarion had the door open at what seemed like just a touch. He waited suavely by the door, weight balanced on one hip as he leaned into the open door frame, feet cheekily crossed.

Inviting her in with a wave, he said, “Now you, beloved.”

Astarion scooped her into his arms as she passed him to carry her across the threshold. She squealed, and they both laughed themselves breathless.

The room inside was dusty and spattered with decaying furnishings, but there were no corpses or squatters in sight. At least on this floor level. Its hearth looked like it had been neglected for generations. But there was a charm, like what rotted in the shadows was bright and warm in the light.

Vistri kissed his cheek, “It is perfect, my love!”

As Astarion set her down, she noticed he couldn’t help staring at her neck. His hunger was like an intoxicant, luring her to his mouth. Vistri ran her palm along his chest, just over his eager heart. Their blood rushed together as predator and prey. Ready to steal; to surrender. Astarion closed his eyes to lean into the sensations of her gentle strokes. From his sternum, they went lower, until she was gently brushing along his belly.

“Does it ache, my love?” she asked tenderly, heated.

“It aches,” he begged, his tone warbled with yearning.

Battling her own desire, Vistri savored his. Bringing her neck closer to his mouth was a temptation for both. Astarion retracted his upper lip, letting his fangs show, almost touching her skin. Vistri moaned, running her hands through his silver curls. Her pounding pulse was so near he could reach for it with his tongue.

Standing on the precipice of fulfillment, Astarion fought ravenous impulses. The longer he waited, blind with his bloodlust, the more he proved who was in control. It was a strangling effort, but worth it just to show Vistri she was someone worth protecting. Cherished. That he was the man, not the monster.

His whining groan broke over the crook of Vistri’s jaw in a hum. Its explicit nature pulled the longing thread at Vistri’s core. Astarion was trembling, desperate to give in to the curse inside.

A series of sharp, jagged gasps escaped him at her caress of his damp face. Vistri grinned, committing his twisted features to memory, “Did you forget to eat today, love?"

He licked his lips before answering, “Yes. May I?”

“May you what?”

“Eat you up.”

Vistri pressed her neck flush against his open mouth, pushing tender flesh into sharp teeth. Still waiting for verbal confirmation, Astarion refrained from biting down. He cried out, and it turned to a low, rolling growl.

“Good boy,” she purred, her words brushing his sculpted cheekbones.

A pause. An eternity.

“Now take,” she finally commanded.

His teeth sunk into her veins with such fury Vistri was stung with a shock of fear. Like vertigo, it blurred reality, dizzying perception. Instinctually, she whimpered.

Pulling away at her flinch, Astarion searched her expression and gently whispered, “Hey.”

Vistri saw so many things before her sight settled entirely on him. He smiled kindly into her shocked expression, grounding her mind as it reeled with past and present.

“Are you all right?”

His tender tone was a salve, ceasing her spiral. Bringing her back to the present. Finally perceiving his beloved face, she chuckled, relieved and grateful.

“I am now,” she answered, nuzzling into his neck.

Astarion’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight. He planted a series of pecks in her hair, and she felt seeds of worry in them.

“I’m okay,” she insisted, unwilling to budge even a little from his adoring embrace.

“Hold on, love. You’re bleeding quite a bit.”

Lightheaded now he mentioned it, she let Astarion fuss over her. He examined her neck, frowning. Then he tore off his shirt to wrap it around the weeping bite. Putting pressure against the wound, he looped the ends across her, and tied them together under her opposite arm.

“Is that too tight?”

“Not at all.”

“I’m so sorry, darling. It looks like a nasty cut. Perhaps I tore away too quickly.”

“I don’t know why I...”

He took her hand, “It’s all right.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Vistri. Look at me.”

She saw her friend. Her lover. Her companion.

“Good. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Okay.”

Overwhelmed with a wave of affection, Vistri pressed her forehead into his. Astarion was a dream constantly coming true. She nestled the tip of her nose against his; he shut his eyes in contentment.

“I love you with all my heart,” is what he wanted to say, but he meant it too much. So instead, he teased her.

“Gods! You bleed like a geyser!”

Vistri’s laugh broke over his face. Astarion could taste her on his tongue.

“I do not!”

“Just look at us, dear,” he said, referencing the bloody mess between them that spilled down both their shoulders.

It came from her, and rubbed off on him. Vistri loved the way it painted his skin crimson-black. Her life was his, and here that fact was artfully displayed.

“Sit still a moment!” she demanded, overcome with a sudden idea.

Curiously obedient, he waited.

Vistri dipped a finger into the blood drying on his shoulder, coating its tip. She brought it to clean skin, painting something on Astarion’s chest.

“What are you doing?” he chuckled warmly.

“Hold on!”

She licked her fingers in an attempt to freshen her “paint” and resumed her tickling strokes. Astarion kept laughing and twitching, and she kept giggling and telling him to hold still. The moment, like a cosmic opposite to the night Cazador carved his poem, knocked out the past for the present and set a new future.

“Now take a peek,” she said proudly, wearing an expectant look.

Astarion looked down to see a crude drawing of a heart. It was surprising how deeply the gesture touched him. He was prepared to be pleased, not so affected it filled him with awe.

“You silly thing,” he said thankfully, presenting himself for a kiss that she happily accepted.

“Now for you to sit still.”

She nodded.

He also bathed the tip of one of his fingers in her blood. Then put it to her lips. Vistri felt the curve of a heart. One side of her lip then the other, converging down into a point near her chin.

“There,” he said, eyes bright.

“Is it–?”

“A heart,” he nodded, “To match mine.”

Gently, he took hold of her chin. Cradling it, caressing Vistri like treasure, Astarion leaned forward to lick the bloody symbol. Kiss after kiss, he washed it away. Reaching first with his tongue; sealing each touch with his lips.

Vistri was hypnotized, enthralled. She forgot to breathe until he stopped.

Astarion opened his eyes to hers. He didn’t even have to search for her reaction, the emotion was so clear in her eyes. Bearing witness to her exposed soul was narcotic. He longed to melt into everything he saw.

Speechless, they stared at each other. Tadpoles weren’t necessary for them to share each other’s thoughts. Astarion knew the exact tone in her mind’s eye as she expressed every adoration pouring out of her countenance. Vistri similarly could spot the ache in his gratitude, casting a dark cloud over his hard-fought peace.

Heart pounding, she broke their busy silence, “No use in all this good blood going to waste…”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“But–”

“Astarion,” she interrupted. He paused, waiting for her to continue. Nodding, she said, “Trust me.”

Without further hesitation, he pulled her close by the waist. Caressing her throat with sure, shaky fingers, he leaned closer to smell her neck. His previous attempt mocked the man and the monster both. He knew he was better than that. Determined to live up to his self-expectations, he unraveled his soiled shirt from around her to reveal her gift.

She laid herself out for him on a forgotten, fraying carpet. He crawled over her, just like that first time. But unlike then, he took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly as he leaned in to strike.

Just before reopening the wound, Astarion stopped himself, asking quietly by her ear, “Are you ready for me, love?”

“Yes,” she pleaded.

By the gentle scrape of a fang, her blood ran fresh. His tongue met its icy warmth, and he gasped at the taste of a favored meal.

Vistri cried out at the pain. Moaning, “More,” so he wouldn’t stop.

Growling, he licked up every dirty inch. She writhed under him as he lapped her up.

“More. I want more of you,” she muttered.

When he hit the line he wouldn’t dare cross, Astarion stopped. Not daring to steal a drop more than he already had, he kissed the ragged bite marks closed. At first, he felt guilty at her gasping and twitching, assuming it was due to pain. His guilt was absolved at a glimpse. For he saw right away she was overcome with a different kind of ache.

Drunk with the power of her blood and by the possession of her desire, Astarion longed to play her parts like a symphony.

“Oh, my dear,” he said warmly, “I think I remember mentioning punishment.”

“Pun-ishment,” she corrected, stubbornly provocative despite her dizzying need.

“And now you’ve reminded me why,” he smirked, running a hand along her thigh.

She sighed at his touch, and rolled her hips as an invitation.

He watched as she unbuttoned her tunic and trousers. Her knickers were plum-red in the dark of the room. Then he helped her out of them, and stripped off his bottoms. When he crawled over her again, they were skin to skin. 

“Are you ready for me?” he repeated, this time with his cock nestled against her begging sex.

Repeating herself like a season, she pleaded, “Yes.”

Her body welcomed his so enthusiastically, a rough thrust took just a simple suggestion of his hips.

Vistri’s shouts broke into fragments, consumed by the pleasure building between them, “…Star…”

Pretending displeasure, he chided, “Is my rut not worth my full name?”

“No. It is! It is…”

He needed more, and took it with a faster rhythm.

“Astarion!” she cried out, every vowel and syllable of his name clear as diamonds while she tightened and pulsed around him.

It would have been so easy to let go too, but he wasn’t done. He bit his lip with a roaring sigh, and didn’t slow the roll of his hips until he was sure her ecstasy had tapered. Watching her incoherently mutter sweet nothings brought a boasting smile to his face.

“What was that, dear?”

“Thank you,” she repeated louder.

So sure of himself, he flipped her onto her side and wrapped around her. His mind played through the moment he’d bust into her with such clarity that his skin sang with remembered sensations. He shook his head to clear it as he pushed himself between her thighs.

The way she rode every thrust at that angle made their faces screw up tight. They cried each other’s names, chanting them.

“Vistri… Gods, Vistri…”

“Ah–ah–Astarion… Astarion…”

They gave in to it together; their bodies seeming to shake off their souls. If this was death, there was nothing to fear.

The possession of ecstasy refused to let them go, coming in waves that bore new waves. Maybe they’d set a new record. Maybe just a second had passed.

Neither was willing to break their embrace.

Panting, Vistri tossed her head back and sighed stupidly, “Could fuck the whole Underdark and never find that.”

Astarion filled the derelict room with a full-bodied cackle. Senses returning, they were able to finally let go.

Most trespassers would have sensibly left after making so much noise, but they weren’t most. To be fair, they had intended to leave, but got swept up in the moment. What started as simple quipping while getting dressed, evolved into a full on game of playing house.

Pretending to be a married couple getting ready in the morning, they exchanged remarks about the new day.

With no idea that it actually was a new day. All the windows were shuttered tight, and their attention was so focused, they managed to miss the cracks of sunlight.

“Do remember to go to the bank today, dear. We don’t want to be late on rent.”

“Rent? Are we poor?” Astarion asked, breaking character.

“Rent doesn’t mean poor!”

Looking off to the side with a raised brow, he muttered, “Oh, yes it does.”

Vistri laughed and gave the tip of his nose a peck before chiding, “Play along!”

After getting dressed, they had “breakfast”. Vistri poked at the empty hearth and Astarion brought over “tea”.

“Your toast is ready,” Vistri said, wiping her hands on an invisible apron, “Please refrain from soaking it in jam again. Your doctor spoke to me personally this time.”

“Perish the thought! I’d rather an early grave than go a day without a handful of your homemade jam.”

Astarion motioned like he was serving them tea.

Vistri accepted her mimed cup with a, “Thank you, love.”

“Say, do we have anything other than toast?”

Meeting his eyes directly, she answered, “Yes, sausage.”

To them, it was the funniest joke in the universe. They collapsed laughing on weak knees, and wiped tears from their eyes.

Then they noticed the cracks of sunlight.

“Shit,” Vistri whispered, realizing no one knew where they were. No doubt the others would be searching, possibly worried.

She looked to Astarion, who’d come to the same conclusion. He shrugged, tossing them back into a shared fit of hilarity.

“Guess we should get back,” he laughingly suggested.

“Gods! They’ll be raging!”

[cottoncandykit]

Nyello! you can call me K, Angel, or Dahlia!

A little about this space;

This is a sfw environment. I’ll be posting things for stimming and soft things i enjoy. age regression content. I want this to be a safe space for me to explore things.

This is a sideblog! so follows and some interaction may come from my main blog @perditionanddiatribes which is semi nsfw but only about the cw show supernatural. and swearing. i’m sorry if that makes anyone uncomfy i don’t know how to fix it (*´-`) but that’s me!!! i’m trying to make friends!!

If you need me to tag something let me know! otherwise i don’t tag unless it’s to talk to myself.

PLEASE be kind here. I have been through so much and i am tired. 🌸

About Me:

🦊 I’m 26! in big years. I’m not sure if i exactly have a Little Age, i seem to swing wildly.

🦊 Am a pet regressor (possible otherkin/therian but idk the terminology or anything. i’m just non human in an animalistic autism way). fox kit, wolf pup, some sort of small dog, just a straight up werewolf pup. There’s a whole list of creatures and animals in my mind palace zoo.

🦊 i’m a two-spirit lesbian! I use any pronouns other than he/him. I really enjoy neo pronouns so get creative if you want! she/they/fae/pup/it/fox/etc.

🦊 AuDHD, CPTSD, BPD, Bipolar, among other things. I’m also physically disabled.

🦊 Indigenous and Finnish!

Some of the things you’ll see on this blog:

🌸 sfw autism/age regression specific content of my favorite characters. (Stiles Stilinski, Dean Winchester, Spencer Reid, and others)

🌸 paint mixing

🌸 glitter possibly

🌸 soft things (texturally)

🌸 things that make me feel safe and comfortable

🌸 pet regression (sfw otherkin/therian stuff???)

🌸 age regression, and things with caregivers (not kink affiliated)

🌸 will update this as more specific things show up.

DNI if:

💥 MAPS

💥 Terfs

💥 NSFW specific accounts. or age play accounts.

💥 zionists

Thanks for stopping by! Say hi if you want to i like to talk to people. 🦊💞

[borderline-abysmal]

silas, stygian system

— he/it/ey, 18

— i follow/interact from @gloaming-sometimes

pro-ed/anti-recovery/competitive self destruction accounts dni please. i dont put trigger warnings unless my descriptions/wording is graphic, and if i do tag a warning it will be in "tw [topic]" format. general warnings for this account include but are not limited to: csa/cocsa, talk of (past & present) self destructive behaviors (sh, addiction, ed, shitting on myself, so on), parental abuse/toxic family dynamics, bullying trauma, possible unreality/dissociation/psychosis triggering content (mainly through the overlap in dreamcore/weirdcore imagery and traumacore edits, but ill probably talk about my own experiences w/ dissociation/psychosis at times which could trigger others with those symptoms), possibly gore/blood occasionally (might tag it, might not), general vents that might get quite Angry at times lmao, ummg and thats all off the top of my head but like i said this list is non-exhaustive. i will always tag flashing lights and similar stuff as "cw flash" but i probably wont rb much with that bc it can trigger my own tics lol

more about me & tagging system under the cut :3

— ive been in the traumacore/ventcore community since. 2018 or 2019? but i havent been all that active since 2021(?) or so, but regardless its always been a good coping mechanism for me and lord fucking knows i need more of those. so here i am.

— ill make original edits sometimes maybe

— all posts of mine are ok to rb and otherwise interact with unless otherwise stated

— this account is for me to be unfiltered and get shit outta my system when i need it

— cptsd/pf-did, bpd + avpd, autism + adhd, ednos, episodic psychotic symptoms, addiction + sh issues, chronic physical conditions (pain, gastro, etc.), and more but thats all thats relevant here i feel

— sometimes my psychotic episodes include clinical zoanthropy delusions along with the other more common symptoms. my episodes are mainly brought on my trauma/stress and dont happen super often. if i am in an episode this should go without saying but dont reinforce my delusions or reality check me (in the case of the latter, you can if ive given you permission/asked you too ofc)

— even when i am not in an episode i identify as nonhuman as a weird way of coping/processing stuff

tags

— stygian.txt for all my posts

— s.saves for posts i wanna come back to

— stygian makes for original edits

— cw flash for flashing lights and similar stuff

— tw [topic] for more graphic vents

[thisbrilliantsky]

.

[with-love-from-hell]

headcanons for an Mc with cptsd and the brothers accidentally trigger them? (Not during the actively violent parts in the Canon game....just little things that remind them of trauma.)

Ah yes! I can definitely do this! As someone with C-PTSD, It is something I see in fics a lot that I havent ever felt relatable to my own experience so I will try to reflect that in here for anyone else who's experienced the same thing in the fandom! (I've been thinking about making this into a series as well but its on the backburner for now until I finish the main two I'm working on)

The Brothers Accidentally trigger Mc's C-PTSD

Fandom: Obey me

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Headcanons

Written for GN!MC

CW: C-PTSD, panic attacks, Self-injurious behavior (e.g. hair-pulling, head-banging, scratching), implications of past abuse, somewhat suggestive on Asmo’s part, spoilers for lessons 16+

Lucifer

He, frankly, has no idea how we got here.

One minute they were fine, but the next Mc is shaking violently and sobbing.

When he tried to approach uou for comfort, you began screaming "No" at him and completely backed yourself as far away as possible

Lucifer is usually pretty insightful but it will take him a few minutes to figure out what it is he did wrong.

Eventually he will realize that it was the way he raised his voice at Mammon after he tried to swipe one of his priceless vases from the common room.

He will approach you slowly, soften his voice as best he can, and try to calm you down by getting you to take deep breaths.

He won't get too close at first for fear of having you bolt on him, but as you come down from the panic he will slowly inch closer.

Once you're lucid enough, he will apologize and ensure that aggression was not directed at you, and that he wasn't going to hurt you.

Lucifer will also offer you physical comfort if you want, holding his arms out for you.

He will completely abandon all of his tasks and take you to either his room or the study, and will spend the rest of whatever is left of the day listening to calming music with you.

He will make you whatever your calming drink of choice is (tea, coffee, hot coco, warm milk, etc) and ensure you're drinking enough water.

He will play games with you as a distraction. Chess, checkers, cribbage, mancala...(really whatever game you want to play)

He will also ensure you have some tactile comfort, whether that be a feather from his wings, one of the plushies he won you from the Carnival, or the gyroscope in his office.

If you want to talk about it, he will be there to lend an ear. Really he wants to learn more about you and other humans, so this will be something he is very intently listening too. He may ask some questions, but will only have you answer them if you feel comfortable doing so.

He will ask what your triggers are so he can avoid doing something to hurt you- even if they go against his usual nature.

Expect him to be very careful from now on, chosing his words carefully and watching his tone the next time he gets angry at one of his brothers and you're around.

Mammon

He really doesn't mean what he says when he insults you. He just is too embarrassed to admit how he feels.

But when he tells you your useless and stupid for the hundredth time, it finally makes you snap.

He stands there dumbfounded after you run away from him sobbing, not really knowing what to do.

After he snaps out of his daze, he immediately goes to find you. He had gotten into the habit of the insults, and you would never really give a response other than a wince and going quiet.

Well...now that he thinks about it, that's maybe a sign it has been grating on you.

He finds you in your room, sobbing relentlessly on the floor with your arms scratched up to hell and back.

At first he panics- seeing you hurt yourself terrified him. He rushes over to you and tears your nails away from your arms.

When you begin to beg him not to hurt you and profusely apologize for being "just a stupid fuck up", his heart breaks.

He would apologize relentlessly and admit to you everything- why he insults you all the time, how worried he was, how much he loves you.

He would do his best to calm you down (I say do his best because he may end up making it worse before he realizes what you need)

From here on out, he definitely would be more mindful of the insults, trying his best to be open with you about his feelings, or at least be more gentle with his teasing.

There may be times when he slips up, but he makes sure to atone as best his can

He would also be very sensitive to when others insult you, making sure to immediately come to your defense. He would also take you aside afterwards and remind you just how much you mean to him, how smart you are, how helpful you've been to everyone, etc...

Levi

In hindsight,  Levi should have seen this one coming...Of course he would fuck everything up

He wanted to be closer to you, but he remembered that being closer to someone entails you seeing his deeper flaws...and well...his impatience and easily triggered frustration are definitely some big ones.

But even so...your reaction to him throwing his controller and yelling when he dies the thousandth time on his new game seemed to be way over the top.

One minute you were sitting excitedly in the chair next to him, watching him game...and the next you were literally cowering in the furthest corner of his room and shielding your body from him as best you can.

He tries to approach you, but your screamed apologies for what you'd "done" to "make him angry" make him halt.

After a few moments of gears turning, it clicks to him that you've experienced something like this before...but directed at you.

Cue the festering guilt. He never meant to hurt you...damn these video games, you're more important to him than some stupid boss fight.

He will likely text one of his brothers (either Lucifer or Satan) and ask what to do, because he is terrified of hurting you more.

Once he has an idea of how to help though, he will be very calm and gentle, albeit nervous. He will likely offer you tactile comfort- like his Ruri-Chan pillow, or letting you pet his tail.

Once your comfortable enough, he'd hold your hand and make sure you know you've done nothing wrong, and that this is something he needs to fix himself.

And he will work on it, but it will take a bit of time. Old habits die hard for Levi, so he will have to be very intentional about his work on his irritability, and will probably opt for easier games when you're around to avoid outbursts.

Satan

This is the exact situation he'd feared would happen.

It really was an accident...and Satan knew that. But he just couldn’t help getting angry when you knocked over a stack of rare books... especially after one of the books ended up ruined by one of his absentmindedly placed candles. 

His room was always a mess, and even he knocked over the stacks of books littering the floor from time to time...and besides, he was the one who insisted you come to his room to read because he found the clutter in his room more comfortable, so he knew a lot of the blame fell on him. 

Regardless, he was so used to lashing out at others and blaming them for his upset, that his anger came out directed toward you. 

He impulsively snapped at you, scolding you intensely for being clumsy, careless, and unaware of your surroundings. 

He regretted the words the minute they fell from his mouth as your eyes grew misty with tears and your body began to tremble...He must have raised his voice louder than intended.

He tried to apologize immediately but you flinched when he approached. His heart ached when he say you jerk your body away from him so violently, as if you were afraid he would lay a hand on you. 

He stood, dumbfounded, as you ran from the room in a fit of uncontrolled sobs and shuttered breathing. 

He caught up to you quickly though, because- in your re-activated state- you became disoriented in the spiraling halls of the HOL. 

He found you on the floor in the music room, curled up against the Grand Piano as you rocked yourself back and forth and cried. 

He would hesitate to approach you, worried he may frighten you more...but after hearing your hyperventilating become worse, he sucks back his anxiety and approaches you cautiously.

He would sit next to you- as close as you’d allow him to get- and gently reassure that you were safe and that he wasn’t going to hurt you. 

He would try to help guide you through some circular breathing exercises, finding that doing it with you helped ease his worry as well. 

Once you were breathing evenly again, he would apologize about his reaction to the accident, taking the responsibility of ensuring his room is free of hazards that could get in anyone’s way regardless of if they were clumsy or not. 

If you weren’t able to talk, he would try to help you communicate how you could - squeezing his hand to yes/no questions, ASL if you know it, or in drawing/writing.

He would offer to go on a walk if you still found yourself activated, doing his best to help you back down mentally. If you didn’t want to leave the house, he’d have you help him make some tea and some baked goods to distract your thoughts.  

Satan would definitely opt to read in your room or the library with you more often than not because he cant trust himself to ensure his room is clean enough, and he tried his best to continue improving his anger-management techniques he learned from some self-help books. 

Asmo

Asmo is a bit confused as to what’s happening with you, and that fuels his own worry. 

Did he do or say something wrong? One minute he was kissing you on his bed, making slow efforts to explore your body...and the next you’re screaming for him to get off of you and to stop. 

Obviously he listens. He wouldn’t ever dream of hurting you. Just the thought of it tears him up inside. 

He tries his best to comfort you- trying to hold your hand, give you a hug, or give you sweet kisses to calm you down, but it ultimately makes things worse. 

It isn’t until you lock yourself in his bathroom that he starts to try to put the pieces together. Once he realizes you’re experiencing reactivation, he will feel terrible for not figuring that out sooner. 

He wont intrude into the bathroom, but will speak to you through the door. He will do his best to present himself in a non-threatening way, reassuring you that he isn’t going to hurt you like others had in the past and apologizing for not recognizing what you needed. 

After he hears your sobbing cease, he will announce he is entering the bathroom. Asmo will be very careful in opening the door slowly, announcing his every action before he does them. 

When he sees the fistfulls of hair stuck to your hands and scratches littering your face and neck, he will have to fight the urge to wrap you into a tight hug- reminding himself how that only worked to make the flashback more real. 

He will ask to touch you before he does. If you give him permission, he will gently stroke the areas where you had hurt yourself, muttering healing spells over them as he does.

If you try to talk to him, he hushes you. He doesn’t want to hear any apologies for the trauma response and he want’s you to rest yourself in every way. 

He will offer to draw you a bath if you’d like, not pushing you to even have him in the room while you relax in the warm water. 

If you want him there, of course he’d be there though. But if not, he won’t give any objection. Instead, he will gather as many soft things onto his bed as he can, and get anything you need to feel grounded. 

Soothing music or sounds? It’s queued up. Sensory toys? He’s already grabbed a bunch from your room. Calming oils/scents? He’s lit 40 candles already, don’t you worry. 

After you get out, he will help you into a nest of blankets and pillows and hold onto your hand while you relax, doing what he can to help. Anything you ask of him, he’s right there to grab it- and he is going to always be reassuring you that he’s not mad or upset with you. 

Beel

He didn’t really expect this to happen when he gathered you in his arms for a tight hug after having a long day at RAD. 

Perhaps it was the hazy gloom in his mind that made him forget to ask permission before touching you- like he usually does. He would ask to touch you out of courtesy before and wanting to respect your personal space, but now realizes he needs to do it every time because of this. 

The minute he wraps his arms around you from behind In the hallway, you yelp loudly and squirm out of his grasp. In the process, you manage to contort your body in such unnatural angles in a desperate attempt to get away from him...so much so that he’s worried you seriously injured yourself. 

But when he reaches out to your shoulder, you yelp once more and back yourself as far away from him as you can. 

Everything about you looked and felt panicked. The labored breathing, wide eyes, relentless tears, and shaking body. 

Beel felt his own nervousness rise at your response. He hadn’t intended to hurt you, and he was worried you thought maybe he was trying to. 

Against his better judgement, he reached out again to try to comfort you. This time though, you jolted backwards, slamming your head against the lockers behind you. 

Beel panicked, fighting the urge to cradle you in his arms while also trying to make sure you were okay. 

Before he could really make any concrete observations though, you began screaming at him to get away from you- catching the attention of other demons in the hall. Beel would also be panicking, desperately trying to look around for one of his brothers to help. 

Likely either Satan or Lucifer would be the ones to calm you down, getting you grounded back to reality by taking you into a less crowded play (Satan would likely bring you to the library, Lucifer would bring you to his office). 

Beel nervously looks on while they practice the grounding techniques with you, taking note of how to help you in the future. 

After you’ve calmed down, he would profusely apologize to you for not realizing he had hurt you and having no idea what to do. Even if you say you forgive him, he still feels very guilty. 

He would be open to talking about your triggers and identifying what helps when you are reactivated. He would also go out of his way to learn more and teach his other brothers should they accidentally trigger you as well. 

Belphie

Well, it is simply said that whoever your MC is with C-PTSD...seeing Belphie in general is probably a pretty huge trigger. 

For the sake of these headcanons though, lets just say that you were able to move past the whole “He killed you in a very gross way and then tried to act like nothing happened” bit that is canon in the game, but that sometimes him cuddling you too tightly triggered you pretty severely.

He would be uncertain how to respond when you suddenly seize up and go completely catatonic when he tries to cuddle up next to you in the attic when you both lay down for a nap. 

And Belphie would probably notice pretty quickly. He’s very observant, especially when it comes to you and Beel. 

He thinks at first he may have squeezed you a little too tight and you were just uncomfortable. He may crack a joke about you needing to relax because a firm pillow just isn’t comfortable, right? 

But he casts all jokes aside when your body begins shaking violently beneath him, and he sees your thousand-yard stare with tears cascading from your eyes like waterfalls. 

At this moment, he panics. He doesn’t know what’s happening, and he’s very scared. At first he may think you’re having a seizure. 

When he brings his hands to your face to try to hold your head still, he becomes even more concerned with the way it sounds like you can’t breathe. 

He would ultimately call on one of his brothers (likely Beel) to help. Once Beel is able to get you to calm down (thanks to what he’s learned from Satan and Lucifer), Belphie would be eerily quiet.

During Beel’s attempts to get you to relax, Belphie overheard him quietly murmur that Belphie wasn’t going to hurt you again, and that would ultimately shatter his heart. 

Sometimes he forgets just how much damage he’s done to your psyche, despite the fact that you had forgiven him. 

He would probably leave- at least for a bit- because he’s worried about re-triggering you. You would either have to seek him out again yourself or get Beel to bring him back to you. 

After a long talk with many apologies on his end, you’re able to make peace with it. Belphie understands he can’t undo what he’s done, but he wants to learn how to make things easier for you. 

He will do what he can to help you when you’re triggered, and get whoever you think is the most helpful at helping you down from reactivation- because he knows it wont be him. 

He would also make an intentional effort to be even more observant of your moods and physical movements for signs that you may already be in an elevated state that he may make worse. 

Overall, he just really doesn’t want you to associate him with the terrible things he’s done anymore...but he doesn’t blame you for it. 

[fearofahumanplanet]

Predator: Concrete Riven (WIP Intro)

Jane Doe doing fanfic??? It's not as unlikely as you think!

Genre: Action-Horror, Thriller, Science Fiction

Primary Influence(s): (films) Predator 2, Prey, Predator, Predators (comics) Bad Blood, 1718, the original AvP run, Concrete Jungle, Big Game

Word Count: None, so far

Started: October 2022

Finished: ?

Music Genre: 90s hip-hop and alternative

Available to Beta Read: No

CW (for story, not post): Gore, drug use (more detailed list to come when I actually write it)

Taglist: Ask to be added or removed! Full taglist at bottom of post.

Plot

She's back in town, and she's got a lifetime to kill.

It is the winter of 1999, and the inhabitants of downtown Los Angeles are settling in for a chilling turn of the millennium. Down the frozen-over streets of Skid Row, where the homeless, the downcast and the unfortunate live in rows of exposed tents, the police celebrate their Christmas season by making a unified effort to clean their precious city of those too impoverished to sleep anywhere else.

An Irish mob enforcer going by the name of Clíodhna Sweeney is on the run, an exile from her family in Boston and a marked target for enraged local gangs. A Gulf War veteran by the name of Henriqua Mora lives in a tent on Skid Row, fighting with her fellow vagrants for the only home they have left.

Walking very different lives, Clío and Henri nonetheless find themselves on the same path when something from space comes calling their names, taking Skid Row as its newest playground. Having already survived a Predator two years prior, Los Angeles has no idea what awaits them - for this one is far crueler than the last, far deadlier, and most of all, it is sick, bitter and vengeful.

The code no longer applies, and the hunt is on.

Major Characters

Clíodhna Sweeney - A former Irish mob enforcer and war veteran who has finally broken free of her family in Boston. Fleeing to Los Angeles in hopes of somehow surviving the morgue rule, Clío finds her Irish luck as bad as ever when she enrages a gang of skinheads. On the run in what she hoped to be refuge, her New Year's gets even worse when she becomes a fallen Predator's favored target - and now she's in for one final fight for her life.

Henriqua Mora Figueroa - A Gulf War veteran stranded on the streets of Skid Row, "Henri" is trapped in a war with a cocaine addiction that's killing them and the increasing police intervention of the "homeless problem" that's killing them even faster. Having lost a leg in the war and warding off crippling CPTSD, Henri unexpectedly finds themselves at Clío's side at the worst possible time.

"Riven" - An enigmatic Predator with particularly brutal methods, unique technology and a sadistic, contemptuous personality, Riven has come to LA in search of blood - blood as bad as their own.

And some surprises ;)

Themes & Things

This may be a fanfic, but I'm treating it just as I would one of my original novels, and that means all the heavy themes and anarchist politics you guys have come to expect! This one in particularly is centered around the effects of CPTSD, the stigmatization and perspective of war veterans, and the kind of cracks violent loss leaves in your mind.

We'll also be exploring along the way (in less detail) things like police brutality, the way cities try to sweep homeless populations under the rug instead of truly helping them, the sins of the past coming back to bite you, living with drug withdrawals and physical disabilities, ASPD and BPD, and how the history of Skid Row led to such a staggeringly high homeless population and crime rate. But with Predators, of course!

Taglist

@aohendo, @athenswrites, @impaledlotus, @bardic-tales, @creepypyromancer, @marinesocks, @writingpotato07, @hey-its-quill, @dogmomwrites, @andromedatalksaboutstuff, @bpdgotmelike (ask to be added!)

[daddyreid]

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hi! my name is sabrina (but you can call me brina) & i am so glad that you've found your way to my blog! the following is a masterpost of my introduction, rules, works & other fun stuff!

important: this user has cptsd and is emetophobic! please do not interact at all with any topics regarding v*mit. please tag emetophobia (the fear of v*m*iting or anything related to it) on your fics if possible!

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whether you're new to this blog, know me strictly from my fics, or are simply curious about the author, i am so glad that you're here! here are a few things about me to get us acquainted :)

name: sabrina (or brina) age: 23 pronouns: she/her myers-briggs: enfp orientation: bisexual my comfort shows: criminal minds, brooklyn 99, once upon a time, heartstopper, supernatural, stranger things, wednesday my comfort characters: spencer reid (criminal minds), bucky barnes (mcu), steve rogers (mcu), peter parker (mcu), anakin skywalker (star wars), sam winchester (supernatural), peter pan (ouat), albert dasilva (newsies), eddie munson (stranger things), steve harrington (stranger things), xavier thorpe (wednesday), enid sinclair (wednesday)

♡

important: all daddy/dom content will be tagged under "dd ___" to avoid getting flagged! (ex. #dd eddie munson)

content tags: #brina.txt, #reblog.txt, #published by brina, #from the library, #blurb.txt, #hc.txt, #photo.jpg, #moodboard.jpg, #gif.gif, #film.mp4, #art.jpg, #18+, #nsfw-ish, #nsfw, #cw bdsm, #cw dd/lg

character tags: under construction

personal tags: #brina.txt, #personal, #ineBRIated

[ficbrish]

Stay A While

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

[AO3 Link]

[Kinktober 2023 prompt thanks to @absurdthirst! October 21st - Hair Pulling, Masturbation]

[[TW/CW: Cptsd, blood]]

Summary: Astarion wants to linger the morning after one of their initial trysts.

Takes place in Act I.

[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]

“Where do you think you’re going?” Astarion’s droll tone harbored a tinge of excitement.

Vistri froze in her tracks, but answered with her back still to him, “Surely the others are waiting.”

He clicked his tongue with a slow shake of his head. “Back to camp,” he observed dryly, drawing out the word camp, then giggled, “How droll!”

She turned to face him; not an agreement to stay, just to hear him out. His pointy-toothed grin charmed her more than she’d like to admit.

“What’s the rush, darling?” he asked mischievously.

The only rush she felt was her pulse, but she couldn’t say that even if he already sensed it. Admittances such as those were for late nights spent together—Well… They said those sweet things all the time, and to anyone, but it was different when they actually meant it. Truth belonged to the midnight hours and their illusions, where it could hide in the dark. But it was simply out of place under the sun.

Vistri crossed her arms, suppressing a creeping smile, “I’m guessing you have other ideas?”

Admittedly, Astarion was curious. The tadpole gave him freedom, a new lease on undeath, but Vistri opened up entirely new pathways of pleasure. He woke up feeling the best he’d ever felt after drinking her blood. Only to be topped when they added a fuck into the mix. In a bit over a tenday, Astarion had a few of the best mornings of his life. He didn’t think it was possible to feel any better. Unless…

Light filtered through the trees, adorning him in spotty shadows. Rays of sunlight hit the side of his face, making one of his eyes sparkle like a rich ruby as the other was cast into darkness. He held up his hands innocently and made a show of looking side to side, “I don’t see any search parties.”

Ah, to never be found. Oh, to stay in this little grove and fuck ‘til death.

Vistri raised her brow, tentatively interested, “Say there were. Just how disappointed would you be?”

That was his cue to walk towards her, “Be careful of the way you talk to devils, girl. You might entice one. The sun may be high in the sky, but you’re never safe alone with a monster.”

The word, monster, stuck itself in Vistri’s mind like mud on a boot. She tried to scrape it off and put it on Astarion, but she couldn’t. She looked into his scheming, slanted eyes and said, “I’m not afraid of you under the moon either.”

He uncrossed her arms and wrapped them around his waist, “You little fool.”

His mouth was so close to hers, Vistri felt dizzy, “I’m no fool.”

They were nearer to each other now than they’d been all morning. Vistri always fell into her trance on his chest and came back to the present with her face against dirt. He never held her after the sun rose, never kissed her good morning or farewell. It wasn’t like he’d set a clear boundary; he just never did any of those things, and she wasn’t going to be the first to do them. Whatever this was existed for the sole purpose of trading themselves for a bit of ecstasy, and they were simply each other’s catalyst. And that was fine. It’s the way she wanted it to be. It’s the way things always were. There was nothing special about this time, about him.

Astarion smirked. She tried to move away but he held her forearms against his sides in a firm grip.

“You’ve only survived thus far because I chose it.”

She continued fearlessly to meet his gaze. It was a misplaced confidence, like she had no concept of a reality where he’d actually ruin her. So much trust she laid on his unworthy shoulders, if it wasn’t foolishness, it had to be self-destructive.

She laughed at him. A real bitchy, mocking laugh, “Oh, you chose it?”

He grabbed her throat, tilting her head back with his thumb, “Yes. I chose not to rip you apart. Every. Time.”

“Pity.”

“No, not a pity,” he purred dangerously, “You’ve been so worth it.”

Vistri fought herself and lost. Swept up by a sudden rough current, she immediately gave over to drowning. She just let go, let it happen, and took a terrifying leap at his kiss.

Astarion moaned in pleasant surprise. He had a few more moves queued up before going there himself, but he didn’t mind the way she leapt in first. Her tongue was otherworldly, like it had been spilled out of Sune’s gossip at Loviatar’s tea party, salacious and indecently lush.

Nothing in the world compared to the way he felt. Like the sun, he colored all the greys in Vistri’s world. He felt like everything fascinating, and thought she was worth keeping alive. Someone, who felt as good as he did, deemed her worthy of life.

He was so grateful to himself for obeying his impulses. Astarion didn’t know whether she’d deign to touch him like this in the daylight. Come to think of it, she was the very first person he’d touched in 200 years under the sun. Yes, he’d pulled a blade on her then, but she was still the very first. And his first true drink. And the first fu—

“Oh, shit!” Vistri pushed him away, remembering herself and their unwritten rules made of habit, Sorry!”

Their kisses were only meant for teasing, their touches only meant for petting. She wasn’t supposed to love him at the end of her lips. Unless it was for pretending.

“Don’t be sorry,” he muttered, bringing her mouth back to his.

She felt her knees grow weak. Stupid knees. Backstabbing cunts.

“I kissed you,” she protested.

“And I kissed you back,” he went in for more.

Vistri eventually broke away again, “But we don’t kiss in the mornings.”

“And I usually don’t drink in the mornings,” he spoke into her neck, “But I think… I think we can do whatever we want. Don’t you, darling?”

He could take her blood, “I want you to drink me.”

He could take her body, “And ravish me.”

He could even take her heart, “Just make it hurt for me, lover. Would you?”

He grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled it until she cried out. His voice dripped with a bright, shiny toxin, “Oh, I can make it hurt, if that’s what you like.”

She tried to nod, but his grip was too tight on her scalp, so she just begged, “Please.”

Astarion licked her neck from base to chin, then crashed into her mouth after whining, “Gods but you make a mess of me!”

Lines like that were usually bullshit, it’s why he said them so readily. But as it tumbled out of him now, it felt real. Maybe he was just that good of an actor, and he’d really begun to believe his part. That would be so much more convenient if it was. He picked her up, overcome with a desire to possess her. He didn’t own her, didn’t belong to her, but he could steal her away from gravity. She wrapped her legs around him, and he moaned deeply; tangled in her lips, in her hair.

The others were definitely going to have to wait. That or just start the day without them.

Vistri felt her back press into a tree, just like on the first night. She kissed him and felt every star she’d ever seen. That night, she thought it had to be a fluke, a trick of the bad wine. But Gods! It was still there. It was screaming. Her heart broke whenever he pulled away, and mended only when his lips were back on hers.

He chuckled, “I’ve got you right where I want you, little pet.”

“Where’s that?”

“At my mercy.”

“You did try to warn me.”

“I’m not a nice man to be alone with.”

Her smile messed up the kiss. He was so adorable. And he was right. So right. Vistri shivered as he nibbled at her ear. It felt a lot like love, but it wasn’t. Great fucks pierced the soul like great works of art. But that wasn’t care, it was an appreciation for expertise. Sure, Astarion felt indescribably right, but that didn’t make him her god. She’d just finally met her match.

He unbuttoned her corset to fondle her breasts. She twitched whenever he brushed her nipples delicately with his fingertips, and he giggled like a naughty fey each time. The line between reaction and performance was beginning to blur. She didn’t know anymore whether she twitched on cue because he touched her or because he liked it.

“I don’t want you to be nice. I want it to hurt.”

He pulled her hair again, smirking as she let out a sound that was something between a moan and a yelp. The harder he pulled, the more she felt like his. She didn’t want to want that, and yet it possessed her, like a sob forcing itself out.

“More,” she pleaded.

“More?”

“Aren’t you a bad man? And I a fool alone in the woods?”

He let go of her hair and spoke onto her lips, “Oh, you’re not alone, darling. You’re very much not alone.”

His hand took hers and brought it to the front of his trousers. Grasping and gasping, she felt him. How hard he was; thick enough to break her. The anticipation made her shiver as he kissed her again.

“Use me,” she sighed, “However you’d like.” It was the only way for her to say, I’m yours.

She gave herself so willingly, it was intoxicating. Not like it was anything he wasn’t used to, but it was new, startlingly so. He melted into the feeling of being wanted by someone who knew what he was, of being wanted by her. The world grew smaller, more manageable. All he had to be was the salve to her desires. Hers wasn’t an itch; it was a death wish.

Astarion felt something pull on him, and for a moment froze, thinking of Cazador’s compulsions. Noting his twitch of fear, Vistri took her words for the cause. Fuck. Simultaneously, they asked the same question through their eyes; Have I been found out?

“Touch yourself,” he commanded, saving them both any need to explain.

“Will you watch?”

“As I hold you tight,” he offered.

It was overwhelming. Astarion didn’t want a performance, not the kind she was used to, but something candid, completely her. He wasn’t asking her to curate his pleasure, he demanded she create her own. She never showed anything like it to anyone before. Accustomed to one type of role, she stepped into something unfamiliar. And not even a role, but the actor in their bed alone at night.

Vistri’s hand travelled between her legs. She felt Astarion spread them further apart, holding her steady with a grip on each thigh. She was close to him again, held and admired; the only thing he wanted in the moment. Her fingers traced his lustful expression onto her soul, encircling herself in his web with every stroke. Determined to trade her life for a little death, she exposed her aching need to be coated in his poisons.

She closed her eyes.

“Open them, darling. I want you to watch me, as I watch you.”

Her breath skipped with her choking heart as she met his gaze. Astarion looked as raw and exposed as she felt. His eager fangs rested on pouting lips. She leaned forward to lick them.

“No, no, dear. You’ve got to earn that,” he cooed, “With your ecstasy.”

She moaned stupidly, “Okay.”

Vistri was everything his hand had been slapped away from these past 200 years. She ran through his thoughts entirely on her own. His body forced him to comply instead of the other way around. Sure, he was using her at the end of everything. She was by no means the first to surrender, but there was something sweeter about hers, and not just because she was his to savor. This time he was actually having fun.

“Does it feel good, dear?” he grinned.

She tossed her neck and sighed. Her eyes closed for just a moment before snapping open again to obey him, “Yes.”

Astarion kissed her neck, and she moaned, leaning into it. He whispered into her ear, “You think you’re in control, but I’ve got you tangled up.”

“You do,” she panted, “You do. All yours.”

“My, but you put on a show,” his warm tongue wrapped around her lobe. His breath gently broke over her skin.

It was like watching her layers peel back in a way he hadn’t seen before. Reading her eyes, Astarion watched them become saturated with the whole of her. The void in them brightened from her dim presence, and the light grew with her gratification. Shy at first, she stepped and then stomped into herself. Until there it was in those violet depths, the core of her on a silver platter, ready for him to devour.

 Vistri let his name slip lazily from her lips.

“Do you call out my name when you’re alone?” he chastised.

“S-Sometimes. Once. Accidently.”

Astarion licked her throat, desperate to eat her up, “I’ve yet to call out yours. But I’ve thought of you.”

Her free arm tightened around the back of his neck. Her breathing got faster.

“That’s it, my darling. You’re so close. Now give it to me. Be a good pet and cum for me.”

Astarion could feel his own blood throbbing as she fulfilled his wish. His eyes were open, greedily watching, but seeing nothing. There was just a great feeling, like when their tadpoles bent reality to the other’s experience. Her eyes were shut tight as if in begging prayer, and all he could do was stare blindly into her abandon.

Her cries, only loud for being close to his ear, pierced his heart. At the end of them, he finally allowed himself to kiss her. It was his turn to let her name slip slowly out of his lips.

“I earned it?” she asked happily.

He nodded, chuckling, “Yes, I think you’ve earned it.”

Vistri closed her eyes and kissed him again. She felt him undo his laces, then helped him pull down his trousers. Alone in the woods with the naughty rake indecently arrayed; she knew she was wiser than that. Giving herself to Astarion was a decidedly stupid thing to do, and that only made her want to disappear further inside him.

He nestled himself against her soaking, warm, soft, “Oh gods…”

“Astarion!” she cried out as he tore through her with a hard stroke. Her lips trembled from the sanctity of his name. It was a spell that brought everything out of her chest, even the dust tucked between her ribs.

He cracked her open.

The more they took, the less they were sated. He wasn’t near enough. He wasn’t in her skin.

Maybe they’d never go back to camp. The others would have to carry on themselves while the two of them stayed here, tangled up in each other until they inevitably sprouted tentacles, out of the artifact’s reach. And what would that matter? Astarion never wanted to be anything other than buried inside Vistri ever again. That was his new identity now, just his pulsing cock deep between her thighs.

“Drink me.”

“In a moment, love,” he said, then tousled a little with her tongue, and spoke again, “I quite like this as it is. Feeling you.”

It was more the desperate growl in his voice than the words themselves that made her tremble. It sounded like she meant something to him, even though she didn’t. Pretending it was real made her eyes roll back. Or no… it had to be the devilish thrusting of his hips. It had to be—

“Astarion!” she shouted so suddenly; birds took off in terror from their branches. Her staccato cries and their warning calls formed a cacophonic duet, like ritual music for the purchase of her soul.

He sunk his fangs into her neck, just below her ear, as the squeezing and pulsing around him coaxed his throbbing self to bursting. He rolled deeply into her as he let himself go, overtaken by a blinding wave of ecstasy. It felt like it would never stop, stunning them both, wave after wave. Even after it stilled, Astarion tenderly moved himself in and out of her. The mess he made dripped between them. Regardless of any overstimulated shiver, he savored the feel of his spill in her.  

“You’re my little slut, aren’t you?”

She nodded emphatically, panting as her breath fought to settle her pulse. He rested his forehead against hers, and they lingered there, head pressing into head. They were both so dizzy, they had to get hold of their bearings, remember who they were.

How long could they stay there like that until the other had something to say about it?

It didn’t matter that his arms grew tired. They could fall off before he let her go. Astarion shut his eyes against welling tears. His disobedient forehead softly nuzzled hers; subtle enough to sneak passed his own notice. Catching himself, he cleared his throat.

“Time to go back?” she asked, tone heavy with a sense of sorrow.

Astarion reached for one more kiss. Saying goodbye until their next, inevitable tryst, they clung so vehemently to each other it couldn’t be paid attention to; couldn’t even be muttered about.

Arms wobbling, he finally set her down.

She immediately started to collapse under her weight. He stopped her fall.

“Easy now!”

“I’m all right.”

“You can’t even stand.”

She smiled dazedly, “Bloodless times two.”

“Gods, you’ve gone all silly. Look at you! You’re barely alive!”

“No, you’re barely alive.”

“Ha-Ha. Very funny,” he huffed, scooping her into a bridal carry.

“Weeee!”

He couldn’t stop himself laughing. It wasn’t even funny.

“You’re ridiculous—Stop squirming! I’ll drop you, and if I drop you, I’m leaving you.”

“Arsehole!” she pouted, “You’d leave me behind?”

“I’m sure Karlach or someone would come get you, but I’m tired. We can only do our best, darling.”

“You’ve had two separate helpings of my blood, you’re not tired.”

Vistri closed her eyes for a moment, just to savor this rare occasion of him holding her after. His arms felt as solid as she was wibbly. His chest felt like the stars as a pillow.

“You put me to work just now. I’m exhausted, and on top of that, now I’m carrying you all the way back to camp.”

“Whose fault is that Mr. Fangs?”

“Yours!”

“Mine?!”

“You turned back ‘round when you should have marched on.”

“You asked me to!”

“Darling, I’m a villain!” he chuckled, “You’re supposed to say no. Right my wily ways.”

“I quite like your wily ways.”

He couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at him the way she did now, with lackadaisical joy in their eyes.

“Astarion?”

“What?”

“You’ve stopped.”

“What?—Oh, right. There was a stick.”

“A stick?”

“Had to maneuver around it.”

“Took a while.”

He blushed, “Sounds like somebody wants to get dropped.”

“No! Please! Don’t drop me,” she giggled.

“Drop you?”

“No! Don’t drop me.”

“But you said please so nicely.”

“No!” she laughed, “Don’t drop me!”

“Shush! I have to pay attention to our surroundings, my dear. I want to give a good description for the others to find you.”

Vistri squealed, hysteric. Astarion crushed her tight against him.

“Silence, girl!” he teased in a booming voice, “Otherwise I’ll observe no great detail, and the only landmark the others will know to look for is ‘somewhere by a tree that has leaves on it.’ And then they’ll never find you, and then I’ll never get to shag you again. Would you like that tragedy to come to pass?”

She blushed in his arms, “…No.”

“Good. Then leave me to my concentration.”

She nodded her agreement and didn’t utter a sound.

“Oh, never mind that! Please say something. I grow bored so easily.”

Vistri chattered away as Astarion brought them out of the woods. Totally wrapped up in conversation, they forgot what a sight they made when they eventually showed up midday.

“Where the hells were you?!” Karlach growled. She’d be happier to see him if Vistri was walking vibrantly by his side rather than carried like a ragdoll with two big bite marks on her neck.

“Don’t light your pants on fire,” Astarion said, “Where’s Shadowheart?”

The cleric tore out of her tent, “What have you done to her?!”

A huge smile broke over Vistri’s face, “Shadowheart! Come give Mummy a kiss.”

In a fury, she grabbed hold of Astarion’s tunic, even with Vistri limp in his arms, “I will repeat myself only once, Spawn. What have you done to my best friend?” Her voice was lethal.

Vistri’s was not, “Bloodless times two!”

Shadowheart let go of his shirtfront to bury her face in her hands and sigh deeply, “Just put her on the ground.”

“That’s a good cleric,” Astarion smirked.

She glared up at him, kneeling to treat Vistri’s condition, “Good clerics stake vampires.”

“Then let’s call you… a good, nuanced cleric!”

“Whatever.”

Vistri sat up like a galvanized corpse once Shadowheart muttered her spell.

“Wow! Thanks, Shadow. Owe you one.”

“Owe me plenty.”

Vistri chose to ignore her and smirked at Astarion, “My, my… You look more powerful than ever before. My blood suits you so well.”

He gave a little turn, “Doesn’t it?”

“Very,” she confirmed, surveying his form. She lost her train of thought until Shadowheart elbowed her side.

“Right!” Vistri said, addressing everyone, “Let’s go slay a hag or something!”

[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]