#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... ;)

[sickly-honeylamb]

I'm sleepy and wanna sleep but I also might have scabies cause its at our school and a I now have a rash uncomfortably close to what beginning scabies looks like and my mom doesn't wanna take me to the doctor and I feel like crying

[gloomybadger4life]

Full Zutara meta and opinions.

Please no wars in the comments/reblogs. I'm only speaking from what I have read and my knowledge of the show. I'm largely ignoring the comics.

Any fic with Zutara as a mutually loving, long term relationship will obviously not be LoK canon compliant.

These are opinions subject to change as I further read and write stuff.

CW for mental health discussion. Heavy topics. Etc.

General considerations:

Please note I personally do not like cheating in my fics or IRL so I avoid reading and writing it. Some fics include it.

Iroh refusing to take the throne has always made me feel wary. While there are challenges to him taking it at least temporarily, the fact that he puts the whole task on Zuko is not something I take lightly. The show does not have him at the coronation. Arguments can be made about him not wanting to undermine Zuko's political sway, or him being a symbol of the war.

The treatment of Mai and Azula in some fics saddens me. Mai is wrongly depicted as frigid or mean spirited. Best case scenario their break is amicable. Or they never get back together post coronation.

I loathe when Mai is used as a jealous villain who hates Katara.

Aang's decision to spare Ozai is pivotal. I don't believe Aang should have killed him. If he wasn't the last air nomad maybe an argument could be made that he had a moral obligation to do so. Him killing Ozai would break him as a person, making him feel unworthy of his own heritage, more than he already does. As a sidenote: I want to see Aang deal with the fact that he probably indirectly killed many people in the war.

Ozai being alive is a catalyst for conflict and exploring themes of inadequacy and ideological deconstruction. Zuko could stumble by going to him for advice. He could be broken out and then rally followers to oppose Zuko.

Katara's trauma:

She has been parentified to hell and back, and in some ways Sokka has too. Her grief over her mother and the intentional sacrifice she made affects her deeply.

Her sense of justice and drive to help others may stem from wanting to make sure her mother's actions were not wasted.

She spent the whole war running on adrenaline and helping others, being equally strong and nurturing.

She overcame prejudice, sexism, and dealt with abandonment issues with her father leaving for war.

Katara's arc of sparing Yon Rah is more about her realizing she has the strength to overcome and heal. She needed to face her biggest fear and the biggest source of guilt. I believe on some level she always blames herself for her mother's death.

She deals with ptsd, and potentially burnout post war.

Zuko's trauma:

He has been abused and raised to blame himself for it.

Any successes were diminished, and compared to his sister.

If it wasn't for Iroh, who really should have tried harder to stop him from going to the war meeting, Zuko would be actively suicidal.

Overall he deals with massive anxiety, and possibly cptsd.

General Tropes and Themes:

- Aang as possessive or jealous: This is common and I interpret Aang differently. In any case he would be heartbroken about the relationship ending. Post war I see him realizing fully the weight of what rebuilding the air nation would be, that even fathering a ludicrous amount of children would not work per se.

- Katara post finale is largely free to pursue whatever she wants to do. She has no self imposed specific mission like either Aang or Zuko. In a lot of works she takes on the task of rebuilding the SWT, in other works she travels with Aang.

- Zuko is all alone dealing with being the firelord. He has to fend for himself in court, deal with Ozai loyalists, etc.

- Some works make a big deal out of Katara being a virgin and it becomes a major plot point. I don't like this being a whole thing, especially if it feels like it comes from purity culture.

- A central theme of some zutara fics is Zuko feeling a sort of devotion to Katara and striving to be better only for her. This can get unhealthy real quick.

- I dislike jealousy and controlling behavior for personal reasons. (History and Trauma) So I avoid fics with a significant amount of those.

Post Finale fics

- Ambassador Katara: I can see this happening a few years after the finale and even in non zutara fics it's a popular choice.

- Firelady Katara endgame: If it's Katara's choice and she is not being pressured I can see it.

- On the topic of steambabies: While I do see Katara as someone who would want kids, I believe she would not want them for heir and spare reasons. That's one of the biggest challenges for them as a couple if Zuko remains firelord.

On post Southern Raiders fics:

A number of fics have them getting together after this or after the last agni kai.

In my mind, this is not the right time. Their friendship is still being built, and ultimately what makes or breaks Zutara is their friendship. The stronger it is, the more I believe in the relationship.

AUs:

- Arranged marriage AUs are their own can of worms that I do not have the energy to unpack right now.

- No war AUs with no arranged marriage could work but I have nver seen one.

- Modern AUs are hard to generalize. Some are just for smut reasons and therefore concessions are made. Others tell good stories and have enjoyable romance. Using the modern world to explore Katara and Zuko's trauma can be great when done properly.

How the relationship would develop:

Best case scenario for me is six-ish years post finale.

Aang and Katara parted ways some years prior. His tendency to self isolate and the weight of his mission conflicted with Katara's motivation of wanting to help rebuild the southern water tribe.

I do not wish to portray the breakup as toxic, and would rather have them genuinely agree that they need to part ways.

Regarding Zuko and Mai: I believe they would reach an impasse where Mai cannot be the single source of emotional support for Zuko. And Zuko cannot place that task upon her. The two realize that they might have worked out if he was just a prince with no claim to the throne.

Zuko needs to learn to lean on his friends, the problem being they have been away and busy. He has probably exchanged correspondence and is in the process of opening up.

I see both Katara and Sokka being ambassadors, with the latter being more on the road and taking over trade. While Katara focuses on policy and diplomatic relations.

Their friendship grows stronger as they both realize their common flaws: Overworking, neglecting self care, etc.

They find comfort and support in each other and have the kind of 3 am deep conversations you have with lifelong friends.

Katara's perspective and work informs Zuko's beliefs and he goes further into deconstructing what he was taught.

A potential plot point would be Zuko becoming increasingly jaded with the nobility and apparent caste system within the fire nation. Having seen the consequences of imperialism outside and inside the nation.

I also see him wrestling with the idea of how much direct use of authority and or force can be justified in the name of removing nobles who block his more progressive ideas.

Katara would in turn become more aware of the material conditions around the fire nation. Poverty. Unemployment due to demobilization. She would feel the drive to help even if her position stipulated no obligation to do so.

Navigating politics and diplomacy might similarly have her jaded with the current system. She would continue to see the flaws and parallels between monarchies of different countries.

Together they would feel safe to have these discussions and be not-alone in these thoughts.

Somewhere along the line they start hugging more, holding hands, etc.

One of them confesses first, fearing that they might ruin things but not wanting or being able to hide it.

A tentative relationship starts and because they are already having the difficult conversations, talking about what it means to be together is a little easier.

They are not perfect and they will stumble, but thanks to their friendship and trust they will listen to each other.

In an ideal scenario I believe Zuko would work towards any partner being free of the obligation of heirs and marriage.

In all forms they fight side by side and empower each other.

I believe in this scenario:

- Katara keeps and celebrates her culture.

- Zuko grows as a person realistically.

- Mai and Azula find happiness. (With or without partners)

- Aang overcomes the trauma of the war and keeps being an advocate for peace.

- The possibilities for side plots and other pairings are still there.

In (scattered) summary:

I can see why zutara works and why it doesn't. It can be cute and sweet. (And deliciously smutty).

I headcanon both as bisexual.

You can write a serious exploration of what it means to transition from war to peace without leaving the nation in shambles. Or how Katara carries her culture everywhere and wants to share it.

I feel guilty about how positive and optimistic some of this is, while simultaneously feeling equally guilty for the dark and heavy themes for a fic I have not finished yet.

Or you can write them being awful at feelings and almost tearing each other apart. (I don't like this but it is popular.)

Katara's bloodbending is a popular theme and it is its own can of worms.

Thank you for reading!

@wingchunwaterbender @krista-kritical @ikuzeminna

[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.

[alpaca-clouds]

Astarion, Trauma, Depression & Healing

I just cannot stop thinking about this topic, so I am going to talk about it. Mind you, technically I could extend this topic to some of the other characters as well - maybe I will - but for now let me talk about our favorite vampire spawn.

The game does make an effort to give every character at least a somewhat happy or at least bittersweet ending. (With the exception of Karlach, really. Yeah, I am still bitter about it.) But of course the general way it goes about the character plotlines is that they basically remove one issue and then end.

And for me there is the question: What would realistically happen after the ending?

So, let me talk a bit about psychology.

This is for the vampire spawn ending.

Spoilers for all acts.

CW: Abuse, trauma, depression

Astarion is traumatized.

"No shit!" I hear you say.

But yes, he is traumatized. To be exact he has CPTSD. Complex trauma. The difference between this and normal trauma is, that it develops over a long time. Specifically when it is not one or even just a few traumatizing experiences, but it is a lasting traumatizing situation. And in the case of our dear vampire spawn it is a traumatizing situation that lasted for almost two centuries!

Being unable to escape a traumatizing situation means that people in those situations build coping mechanisms as a method of survival. And I would argue that Astarion's entire asshole snarky personality mostly is a coping mechanism.

There are a several aspects of the situation with Cazador, that were traumatizing.

Several people have already talked about how basically Cazador has subjected his spawn to basically every single kind of abuse. We know there was physical abuse (for fuck's sake, they were tortured on a regular basis), there was sexual abuse (they were forced into prostitution and there is some dialogue that say that Cazador also raped them), there was emotional and psychological abuse (just look how Cazador talks to Astarion - and how he played the spawn against each other), and there was also a general sense of neglect.

But there is also the fact that Cazador forced them to do bad things. Be it to catch those victims (who the spawn thought would die) and there is also a bit of evidence that he probably forced them to otherwise kill - maybe people who were in the way of his politics. After all he also was quite active within the politics of the city. We also know from some dialogue that Cazador used his absolute control over the spawn at times to force them to torture themselves or each other.

One big aspect of people in abusive relationships (be it romantic relationships - or familiar relationships) is that the abuser will try to take away any possible support. I do assume that him playing the spawn against each other and making them torture each other is partly meant to destroy trust between them.

And of course, they just could not get help from the outside. Partly because of his rules and command. And partly, too, because I assume any attempt to get help would end the potential helper's life.

We also know from Astarion's dialogue, as well as the narrator text in the Astarion origin that Astarion gave in fairly quickly and tried to just do what Cazador wanted him to do. But we also know that it basically made no difference because Cazador would find some faults he could punish Astarion for.

So, all in all Astarion spend about 200 years in constant survival mode.

Here is the thing: For someone who has spend two centuries in those condition he appears surprisingly... functioning. Sure, he is a snarky bastard. And yeah, he also cannot fathom you helping him without him paying you in sex. But he... well, he is not a pile of misery sitting in a corner.

There might well be a reason for this, though: He is still in survival mode (because of the entire tadpole and world ending thing), and he also has a concrete goal (kill Cazador). The big question is how he is gonna relate and work through the trauma after the end of the game, when both the life-or-death situation ended and Cazador is dead.

Because, look. Our boy is going to need to work through all of that trauma. There is no way around it. He needs to work through it and it is gonna be painful.

A lot of people with CPTSD do develop a depression - and I doubt that this precious vampire spawn is going to be any different. Heck, I am going to go so far and say that we do see him being depressed quite a bit even in the game, even as he tries to hide it.

We know from the game he has nightmares of Cazador. Nightmares that kinda mix memories with fears. And those are probably just going to be a fact of his life for a few years. So, sleep is going to be hard at times - and so is going to be other stuff.

There will be stuff that triggers him. In my stuff I write him as easily being triggered by sexual stuff - because there is so much trauma related to it - as well as getting triggered when he is reminded of his scars. But he is also quite good at triggering himself by falling down memory holes.

Given that when you play the Astarion origin we have at least two scenes (probably more, but so far I encountered it two times) where he halucinates Cazador being there and watching him, I would assume that this is also going to stay within his life. Him seeing or hearing Cazador, because it is just so engrained in his memory through trauma.

One big thing I see him struggling with most is, that everything he is right now is what Cazador made him. For better or worse, all his learned behaviors are because of Cazador. And Cazador of course wanted to shape him. If Astarion ends up with Tav (or one of the origin characters), I can also very much see that this is gonna be a big issue for him. Because Astarion needs to change to heal. He cannot let himself be defined by Cazador. But if Tav tries to help this along, Astarion might just think that Tav is just another person who tries to mold him into someone else. (And yes, this is a point of conflict that I bring into Voice of the Voiceless.)

Another issue I could see arise is avoidance behavior. Basically... Here is the thing, trauma will never quite go away - but it can get better, if you work through it. But working through trauma is very, very painful, which is why a lot of traumatized folks instead try to avoid this. Becaue while it leads to betterment on the long run it is more painful for the moment than just trying to forget about it and distract yourself.

And given just the amount of trauma, I can see that easily happening here.

There is another big thing, too, though. Some people have already pointed it out before, but... If romanced it is fairly clear that Astarion is very, very emotionally dependent on Tav. Which absolutely makes a lot of sense, given that from his perspective Tav is (probably) the first ever person in a long, long time, who is actually nice to him and helps him. But you have to see that this, in the end, also is a type of avoidance behavior. Tav is safe, so he just sticks to Tav like a shadow, basically.

It seems to me from the game that Astarion is one of the characters in camp, who very much stick to themselves. Like, you can gleam from dialgoues (even though I still gotta say, I wanted more scenes of the characters doing stuff together at camp) that Wyll and Karlach do hang out at camp. And that Halsin and Gale over time do also kinda take care of everyone. But Astarion mostly tries to stick to himself, not really making connections to anyone.

And I think that also is in a way part of avoidance behavior. Friends means opening himself up, which means having a weakness, which then brings fear of it being exploited. So... yeah, sticking to Tav and Tav alone is so much safer.

But, here, too I think it is something that he, if he wants to heal, needs to learn to overcome. To put it differently: This man needs some friends. He needs people in his life besides Tav. But to get him there might be hard.

I mean, let's be frank. This man needs therapy. He needs therapy so badly. But... I somehow doubt that there are therapists in Faerûn.

So, yeah... He needs to figure it somewhat out on his own, which is only gonna make this harder.

tl;dr

This man is a mess. And even if everything goes well, he is gonna be a mess for at least a few years. Because you just do not get over 200 years of trauma upon trauma, without being a mess somewhere in between.

[chaoticbardlady99]

I Took All This Love I Found and I Hope That it's Enough (Astarion x GN! reader)

Part 2 to “Yesterday I Was Dancing”

Author note- thank you for all the love on my last mental health fiction! I am so glad I could make so many people feel heard and loved during a difficult time :) WE WILL GET THROUGH THIS PEOPLE!!!!!!! Also I wrote this with my experience with CPTSD in mind and how my boyfriend is with me.

Title from the song “Only Love” by PVRIS

I leave you with this quote by Jamie Tworkowski:

“We’re all in this together. It’s okay to be honest. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to say you’re stuck, or that you’re haunted or that you can’t begin to let go. We can all relate to those things. Screw the stigma that says otherwise. Break the silence and break the cycle, for you are more than just your pain. You are not alone. And people need other people.”

I promise I tried to keep it as reader friendly as possible by keeping description to a minimum- please scroll with your mental health in mind. I don’t care that I’m telling you ‘not to’ and now you ‘want to’- save it for later and before therapy. Please call 988 if it becomes too much- the world still needs you.

CW: C/PTSD symptoms, physical abuse, emotional abuse, sexual abuse, torture

Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated :) thank you to all of you who have helped me find my love of writing again!

*picture is not mine and does not belong to me. Please reach out if it’s yours so I can give you credit.

Astarion knows what he’s feeling is not necessarily normal- he should not be this outrageously terrified that you are talking to your other companions around the fire.

Laughing. Joking. Touching.

You could have anyone you like and Astarion had managed to sweep you up first. In spite of telling Astarion you only want him (after he observed an interesting discussion between you and Gale), he knows eventually you’ll discover that Astarion is only good for one thing- sex. Astarion’s chest tightens at the thought and then he feels that wave of fear that sits and rots in the pit of his stomach.

You laugh brightly again.

I’m going to lose them.

Astarion���s recent onset of agitation and anxiety has become all consuming. It hasn’t been this bad since the beginning of your sordid adventure (sordid to him anyway). His paranoia- specifically towards you- had caused him to, in his opinion, act bizarrely.

While you had been in a brutal fight with the Githyanki earlier that week- Astarion had been cornered by the Inquistor and he froze- checked out, if you will. Unfortunately, Astarion has been checked out ever since and when he does check back in- Astarion feels terribly uncomfortable and like the world is caving in on him.

What’s making it all even worse is that Astarion just wants to talk to you about it and wants to ask to be held or have you gently play with his hair like you do. Anything to make this horrible disgusting feeling towards himself- his own skin- go away. If he could just feel loved for five minutes…

No, that is not the plan. The plan is NOT to depend on them for anything other than physical protection.

But honestly? He really could give a shit less about his ‘masterfully crafted’ plan.

Astarion feels desperately alone in the world right now and he needs you. Only he won’t bother you- Astarion wants you to want to be with him and that means he needs to show off his assets. You couldn’t possibly want him like this- a sniveling, fearful mess.

Astarion knows he’s been giving you emotional whiplash ever since the Creche. He’s been fighting every decision you make, breaking things when the urge arises (nothing valuable, just some plates he’s stolen), been so angry at you that you have cried 5 different times, begs you to forgive him, runs away from you, and then freezes all over again. Today is one of the first days he’s seen a genuine smile on your face all week.

Astarion had also kicked you out of his tent- his skin crawling from the nightmares plaguing his trances all week. He regretted it pretty much instantly, but didn’t know how to ask you to come back.

His lack of rationale is ruining his plan entirely.

The dreams- they are always about Cazador. How he’s tortured him; physically, emotionally, and sexually. Last night, Astarion relived one of the more recent times Cazador had brutually raped him and then proceeded to let a couple of his politician friends go at him too. Cazador wanted him to remember what he was- is- only good for because Astarion had neglected to bring home someone for the Vampire Lord to consume.

The other nights, he went back to being flayed, being buried alive for a year, and receiving the carvings in his back. Astarion always wakes up feeling small, alone, and terrified- completely paralyzed and stuck in his body.

Through it all, you have been nothing but kind to him. You have attempted to understand why Astarion has been acting this way and, because he’s his own worst enemy, the more you give to him- the more he pushes you away.

Now Astarion is facing the very reality he was trying to prevent by pushing you away- you leaving him for someone else. Halsin gives you light brushes with his fingers, Karlach bumps your knees together, Gale gives you adoring smiles, Lae’zel has given you her undivided attention, and Shadowheart whispers into your ear just a little too close.

You are a bright light in camp- everyone has immediately been taken by you and that’s actually probably the only thing this group agreed on for a while. Even Astarion has come to genuinely care about you and doesn’t want to share you with anyone else.

As everyone begins to go to their respective tents- you hesitate by the fire and look at him. Astarion feels shame course through his bones when he notices how nervous you are as you slightly shake and the weariness written all over your face. He had just been taking care of you- you had let him in, why can’t he let you?

Astarion smiles brightly and feels successful when you beam- practically skipping over to talk to him.

“Well hello, Darling,” he purrs, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

You shift uncomfortably, “I just…. Astarion- are you okay? You’ve really not been yourself this week.”

Astarion feels every alarm bell in his body go off. He needs to save this quickly. Astarion can’t make you think he’s too much effort to be with or too much work. He doesn’t want you to realize that with as much pleasure as he can give you- he will never be someone you love long-term. He is far too messy. Astarion is a temporary camp for your heart right now and he needs to make sure it’s a long rest- despite how much he doesn’t really want to have sex right now. Astarion would actually prefer to be entangled with you and just talk- no sex, just intimacy.

How silly of him.

“My dear,” he says pulling you in close, his lips hovering over yours, “wouldn’t you rather we be doing something more… exciting with our mouths than talking? You are far too enticing for me to just talk to you right now.”

Astarion can tell from your eyes that you are frowning- he can fix this.

Astarion presses his lips to yours in a crushing, possessive kiss. He walks backwards into his tent, pulling you in by your hips, and pulls you down with him to the bed roll.

When you go to speak, Astarion flips you over on your back and begins kissing along your neck, grinding into you, and pressing your body down with his.

“Astarion,” you whisper.

He ignores you and keeps going.

“Astarion,” you say a little louder this time.

Astarion isn’t even in the building anymore- he’s fighting the walk down memory lane his brain wants to take. Whatever he needs to do to keep you near him. Astarion nips at the skin on your neck.

“Astarion!” You exclaim, gently pushing him off you causing him to jump back.

Astarion feels himself snap out of whatever dissociative prison that he was in and begins to have a surge of panic even worse than before. Now he misses that stupid, angry fog that’s been shielding him from whatever the hells this is!

“I’m sorry- I ruined it didn’t I? Fuck,” Astarion practically shouts, then begins rambling“ I’m so sorry Tav. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. I know I’ve been terrible and I don’t deserve your forgiveness or you but-“

A choked sob interrupts Astarion’s sentence. He’s crying now, the emotions are whirling around, bouncing from one side of his brain to another. Images of terrible experiences flashing by and he’s already imagining every worst case scenario. Maybe you’ll flay him? Or lay him back down and ride him until he’s begging for you to stop or until he can’t cry anymore? Bury him alive?

“Please be gentle,” Astarion sobs into his hands, trying to cover his shame while pleading with you, “just don’t leave me- I’m so sorry. I’ll never do it again- I’ll be better.”

Astarion curls in on himself, his head hiding between his knees. Astarion is mentally preparing for the first act of violence towards him tonight- he imagines there is more to come after.

“Oh my Star,” you sigh sadly, “I could never ever hurt you- emotionally, physically, and I certainly won’t allow you to hurt yourself by forcing yourself have sex with me.”

Astarion feels his mood switch in an instant- now he’s hostile, digging his hands into his calves.

He chuckles bitterly before looking at you with angry eyes, “so this is where you tell me you’re done right? I can’t do the one fucking thing I’m good for so now what? Gale more to your taste? Or what about Shadowheart- you were quite keen on letting her whisper in your ear all night. Better yet, I bet Halsin will fuck you until you are fucking screaming like the whore you are under the Gods damn stars!”

Astarion’s words feel like venom coating his throat. He hates himself right now- he doesn’t know why he is saying what he’s saying- why he’s so hostile. You are you- wonderful, amazing you! Why can’t he just tell you he’s struggling?

Your expression is unreadable and you are studying him- Astarion can see the gears going behind your head. He puts his head back into the crook of his legs- not wanting to witness you leave him once and for all.

“I love your voice,” you say quietly, “and the way you talk- despite how much the words being used are hurting me right now. I love how brilliant you are and you are single-handedly the funniest person I’ve ever met.”

Astarion is looking at you, tears threatening to spill again. The way you are smiling at him is insane- you should be institutionalized. You are looking at him as if he’s the sun, the moon, and all the stars. Maybe even the whole galaxy- if he’s actually this lucky.

“I have missed being around you so much this week,” you continue talking in a hushed, gentle tone, “but I know that this is not you and that you are really really scared. You must know though- my affection for you, my adoration- to hells with it- my feelings for you is not fragile- it is not conditional. I will not be withholding it from you or leaving you because you need time to heal. I will continue to be here- in whatever way you need me-for as long as you will have me.

“I like you a lot Astarion. I really do- it has never been about what you can do for me. You’re my favorite everything. You don’t ever have to return my feelings- we can just be friends if that’s all you ever want. I am not your Master, Astarion- and neither is Cazador. You are your own person.”

He feels overcome with emotion- relief, joy, shock. Astarion never thought he could care about someone this much- let alone have them reciprocate those affections. Astarion practically tackles you into a bone crushing hug- knocking you flat on the ground. He feels warm when a pleased giggle shakes your body. Astarion inhales deeply- your scent squashing every negative emotion he is feeling temporarily.

Astarion feels instant comfort when your arms wrap around his torso and you adjust so that his head is laying on your chest. You stroke and play with his hair absentmindedly in the way he’s been craving for the past several days.

Astarion lays there and just listens to your heartbeat. Every thump that echoes inside your body relieves some of the pressure in his chest. Astarion’s back and shoulders still feel tight with nerves and rage, his legs are taught and ready to run, but at least now he doesn’t feel like he’s dying. Again.

“I’m sorry Darling,” Astarion sniffs, “I promise I’m not always this high maintenance.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for Star,” he can hear your sweet smile in your voice, “I’m right here when you’re ready. The maintenance isn’t hard for me- I’m here and I care.

“And like you told me- I am here to help you when you lose to yourself and need someone to just stand with you in the storm. We’ll get through this together from now on- no more hiding.”

“No more hiding- for either of us,” Astarion quietly agrees.

For the first time in a long time- Astarion has hope. Maybe he is more than just a body to enjoy in bed.

Tag-list: @spacebarbarianweird @domainoflostsouls

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Astarion's plans go awry when confronted with his own past.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Chapter 12: Hunt*

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 5.6k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Smut, Vaginal Sex, CPTSD episode during sex, Cazador, Blood & Violence, Act 1 Spoilers

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Vampires are some of the deadliest monsters we may contend with. I do not relish my current mission to seek out the spawn, Astarion. But, he may be the only way we can ever see our children again. I am plagued by visions of them being carried away by these blood hungry creatures. Plagued even more by their screams that fill my mind in the most quiet of hours. Full blooded vampires become consumed with whatever they set their eyes upon. But spawns—I have to wonder—if they were to escape their masters, would they be able to redeem themselves if they took the road less traveled?

— Gandrel of the Gur Tribe, journal entry 567

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“I suppose I should, yet again, count myself lucky: the bastard is alone,” Astarion smirked, picking a few stray leaves from his clothes. He had just returned from a lengthy scouting trip assessing the hunter they may parley with.

It had been several days of traversing rocky footpaths until they arrived in the Sunlit Wetlands. Several days of anxious nights wondering if Cazador sent more pawns to retrieve him. Several days of nothing more than forlorn glances exchanged with the elven songstress.

Wyll crossed his arms, concentrating on Astarion’s face. “That at least bodes well. Did he look familiar to you?”

“Not at all. Though I have met a lot of the city’s miscreants over the years, it’s possible he’s a scorned lover of a lover that Cazador convinced to seek vengeance. He had a lot of connections in the city—so it’s hard to say.”

“Let’s fucking goooo,” Karlach roared as her axe split apart a piece of log. She swiped away wood dustings from her brow, turning to the vampire. “What makes you think this is Cazador’s doing, fancy boy?”

“Oh, how could I forget that it must be one of my many adoring fans, come to shake my hand out in the middle of blasted nowhere,” Astarion replied with a sneer. “Tell me: who else could it be?!”

Of course it had to be his former master! Cazador Szarr would do anything to ensure his spawns stayed forever reliant upon him. For them to know that survival without him wasn’t possible. Astarion knew deep down that no matter how he repeatedly longed for freedom, if he showed up, without question the vampire spawn would still feel betrothed as a slave to enact his heinous mandates. Compelled or not, the attachment to him remained.

The fiery tiefling teetered her axe over her shoulder, ready to swing downward again. “Alright. Alright. As much as I’m always raring to go, I just want to be sure we aren’t getting caught in a trap, yea?”

She had a point. Cazador, reclusive as he was, commandeered powers that most were unaware. Their group was mighty, but could they defeat a vampire lord? It would be nearly impossible, but the fraction of a percentage that they could end his life for good, ignited an invaluable resolve inside of the spawn.

Astarion debonairly examined his nails. “Well, darlings, I’m sure I can go about this on my own if you’re not up for a bit of potential excitement.”

“I have every bit of faith you can handle this by yourself, but I think it goes without saying that hunters are all too well-versed in regions such as these. There may be something we don’t know from what you’ve investigated,” Wyll interjected.

“Why Wyll, the famed monster hunter is going to help protect a monster?! I could kiss you! Or bite you—if that is your preference,” the vampire giddily responded, clasping his hands together as he flashed the tip of his fang.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves Astarion,” Wyll chuckled, uncrossing his arms to gesture a stop signal with his hand. “Shall we say around morrow’s noon we head down to speak with the stranger?”

“I’d prefer to stab first, but if you insist, who am I to deny such a handsome face?” Astarion flirtatiously bowed his head.

Karlach visibly shrugged her shoulders, breathing out a long sigh. “Ugh, finnnne. Let’s get this good and over with before something awful happens to your pretty face and you break someone’s fucking heart.”

“My dearest Karlach, are you saying you wouldn’t miss me?”

“I’m saying that our leader wouldn’t be all too happy with any of us if we just let you sod off on your own,” she clarified firmly. “By the way, you may want to speak with Tav about our plans.”

The vampire fisted his hand near his mouth, pretending to cough. “Ahem, well, I’m sure she’s been far too busy entertaining our newest druidic hunk we’ve adopted to camp. They’ve been practically braiding each other's hair since the party.”

“Gods, you don’t sound jealous at all,” she teased. “And look who it is! Mornin’ to you soldier!”

And there she was. Trailing into camp on melodies she sang under her breath. Lavender and vanilla invisibly suffocating him with its whorls of scent around his neck.

Wyll waved in her direction. “Tav! Could we trouble you for a moment?”

Tav quietly nodded, giving him a subtle smile out of the corner of her mouth.

“Astarion just returned back from surveying the bog and it would seem that this hunter is currently alone. Few weapons, but I reckon he has the good sense to protect himself with other means.”

“The three of us are heading down to speak with him come highsun tomorrow. But, if shit goes bad, we’ll be armed,” Karlach added, flexing her arm high in the air. “Hey, are you okay? You look awful.”

“There is nothing to worry about, Karlach. Personal matters.” The bard tried to peer behind the tiefling, staring at the elven man that was clearly avoiding her. “Astarion, did you approve of this?”

He raised his head, the state of her startling him. The skin around her eyes was swollen, a glaze of wetness having long filmed over her sclera. It was evident she had been crying on and off since their last encounter. She was lacking her usual demure aura, visibly rundown.

Astarion cocked a bleary eyebrow at her. “I did.”

“Then, I trust you to handle this to the best of your abilities.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

In the middle of the night’s air, Astarion stood outside of Tav’s tent entrance, overwrought with a queasiness burning the walls in his stomach.

After their argument several days ago, he left in a panicked state to hide under the forest canopy bordering their camp. The illusion of hyperventilation attacked his lungs—a memory of it really—as he held onto the bulwarked trunk of a tree. And then, blood spewed from his mouth. He leaned over, coughing and vomiting up a mouthful of the bear’s crimson he consumed earlier that evening.

He had charmed and manipulated Tav enough times to create the image that would steal her away like a rogue in the night. And she craved it. She wanted him to fill the role of her abductor, appearing from behind the curtains in her bedroom, to entice her with cool lips on her knuckles and sworn covenants of intimacy with his bite. Urging her to just let go.

Yet, his plan kept hitting snags.

Without a doubt, he knew his instinctual techniques were all in order. When there had been a few mishaps, he quickly adapted and switched his tactics. But, what he didn’t account for—what he had little to no proficiency in—was dealing with these people’s bygone histories for this length of time. Try as he might to reluctantly focus on the lamentable surface details of the bard and the kettle of vultures—their companions—that circled the hearth of their campfire, piles of their shit kept unearthing themselves like the carcasses of burying beetles.

And he didn’t fucking care.

Why should he? He didn’t know them. Oh, they were a formidable bunch, each having inherited an adeptness for physical or magical strength. He extended his belief in them about as far as relying on them in battle would allow him. But what had they truly done for him otherwise? It wasn’t them that offered mercy upon his vampiric existence and allowed him to stay within their group. It wasn’t them that made sure he was properly fed, baptizing him in their blood.

No, the only person he owed a speckle of his acknowledgement to was the songbird with the voice of singing jewels. Though she challenged him at every nook and cranny of their time together, she was the only one to judge him in such a way that seemed fairly balanced.

Until now.

Tav with her saintly observations, was becoming aware of his methodical ministries. Perhaps not in the sense that she could pinpoint exactly what his strategy was, but gods, her cursed awareness and the cloistered tale of her former life, filled him with enough discomfort he almost considered forgoing his plan entirely.

She knew something was amiss with him. She knew he had to be embellishing everytime he damn near spoke to her about anything other than his wretched past. So, why didn’t she make more of an effort to single him out and put him on trial? Had she been waiting for him to tell her otherwise? To correct her misgivings she was having about him.

It made him uneasy to not know. He could poke around in her mind with their worms, but that certainly wouldn’t bode well if she was unreceptive to the notion.

What an absolute shitshow, Astarion chastised when a strained laugh cut silently through his teeth.

Not to mention the realization that it was not only the façade of her companionship and intimacy he would have to contend with. This foe was clever—more so than he. It had been in her life years before him. Knew her in ways he had yet to scour. And when she tried to disobey it, it had a way of enticing her back into the comfort of its everlasting punishment.

And the name of such a formidable nemesis? Her past.

He couldn’t afford to lose her—not yet. It was too soon and far too late to humor his whims on another camp occupant. Nay, he would see this through to the end. Tav’s or anyone else’s lives be damned!

“I can smell the bergamot in your oils,” a meek voice breathed out. “You can come in whenever you’re ready.”

Astarion deeply inhaled, preparing himself to face her, knowing he may have to use his body for another nightfall to convince her not to forsake him. His performance hinged on being immaculate tonight—to be everything she wanted.

Another transaction: imitated comfort for the reinstated troth of her loyalty.

He lowered himself to his knees and opened the flap of her tent to enter. Tav sat with the used lute on her lap, twisting and tuning the pegs on her bare thighs. She struck a chord, listening intently as the sounds vibrated off the walls of blue linen, then adjusted further or moved onto the next string.

She lifted her head to acknowledge him. With the candlelight casting a golden glow across her face, Astarion thought this may have been one of the few times she possessed such a delicate lethargy.

“Is something the matter?”

“I—no,” he paused. What would be the right thing to say in this situation? “I thought it would be in my good nature to check in on you. But if now isn’t a good time, I can come back later.”

Tav blinked at him several times, then gestured for him to come further in with a nod. He scooted closer to her on his knees, allowing the flap of the tent to cascade off his back like a discarded blanket.

“I'm not a fan of this lute, especially the strings on it, but some things can’t be helped right now. I should be grateful Alfira could even find one available for me,” she spoke softly as if he wasn’t there. “Hopefully, when we make it to a different area or even the city, I can buy a new one.”

The vampire cleared his throat, resting his sweating palms on his thighs. “There’s differences between them? I mean, of course the details are not the same, but what of the sound?”

A shallow smile formed at the corner of her mouth as she continued fiddling with the tune. “Lutes, flutes, drums, violins—any musical instrument really—sounds different depending on several factors. The material used. Strings. Weight. Length. It all determines the sound produced.”

“What type of wood do you prefer for your lutes?”

The messy bun pinned on top of her head bobbed as she popped her head up to stare at him. “Spruce. Always spruce. It has the brightest sound—perfect for ballads.” She pushed her bangs to the side as an afterthought, placing the instrument by her side. “I appreciate you coming here tonight, but you don’t need to pretend you’re actually interested in a music lesson.”

“My dear, I have quite the appreciation for the arts of all kinds,” he grinned. “However, since your perception precedes you, I’m here because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And then I realized that the whole thinking part was actually a worry.” He covered his lies by slowly lifting his eyes under a refuge furled lashes to peer at her.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Tav stated, pursing her lips.

“I’ll have you know, that I could be sinking my fangs into a deer al fresco right about now, but instead I choose to be here. Now, let’s forego this game of hopscotch and chat.”

She ran the pads of her fingers along the edging of her nightshirt. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to revisit parts of our disagreement from a few days ago—if you’re willing to talk about it with me.”

He wasn’t willing, but what choice did he have if he wanted to keep up this charade with her?

Astarion cocked his head to the side to nod, flaring his nostrils with a practiced breath. “If it's truly that bothersome to you, then I suppose I could pencil you in right this very second to listen.”

He could hear the strums of her pulse trembling. She was nervous.

Blood rushed to her lips, coloring them in roses. He saw tears welling up, threatening to spill over her lower lids. She could no longer hold it in. “First of all: I’m so so sorry, Astarion. What you said about ‘power’ reminded me so much of…I…I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like I did. You are your own person, not some reanimated villain of my tragedies.”

Ah, so she wished to focus on her reactions instead of the subject he hastily broached during his blood drunken stupor. How very like her to satisfy her own accountability. This could work in his favor.

Astarion would not press. Should she circle back to his unfavorable comments, well, he could always blame it on the mind flayer tadpole having deceptively influenced his mind after their encounter with other ‘true souls.’ In case he needed to change routes in the moment to suit her thoughts and actions, he made a mental note to be considerably more deliberate in reading her facial expressions.

Finding out just how much power these worms wielded, delighted the vamp. Of course they would be valuable in advancing his fight against Cazador, but directing those around him to do as he pleased? Gods.

The positions he could seat! The material wealth he could own! The liberty to indulge in all manners of debauchery and authority!

A future living side by side with an illithid creation suddenly didn’t sound so horrible.

“May I ask who he is?” he questioned, trying to inflict his tone to a more polite wisp.

She shied away from looking at him directly, guilt-ridden and hiccuping. Tav’s lips trembled, shaking her head to refuse him while she continued to weep.

It intrigued Astarion to see the normally strong-hearted woman bearing this unknown man’s crown of thorns with the pith of his blackened blood dripping from her eyes like melted candles. Days ago, during their night’s quarrel, the soul mark behind his ear hammered rapidly to the point of searing pain when she mentioned him. This man—this incubus—still choked her with his malignant hands, even though he was probably leagues away.

The hells cracked open, And he was reborn. With evil tongues spoken, Her scrawled promises would not be mourned.

While bewitching the bard had been as ordinary to Astarion as any everyday routine, she was hiding the flotsam of her personal dogmas sundered by this same mortal, making his task all the more difficult. A heretic to her own emotions.

They were both slaves to their pasts and towed the weighted cold night visions where escape seemed nothing more than mere fantasy. And he felt something by this acknowledgment. A blink of connection to her in the form of empathy.

Empathy?

Hells, it had been so long since he knew any emotion except anger, terror, and numbness. But, empathy held dire consequences. One of the last times he felt any ounce of said emotion, cost him a year of starvation inside of that derelict burial place. The memory still seemed so fresh in comparison to the ages he’d lived. If he let himself know empathy once more, it would mean allowing himself to be in a position of the same weakness he had been in for centuries.

“You don’t understand how awful I feel for how I reacted,” Tav managed to squeeze out of her throat.

He moved further within the tent to sit cross-legged in front of her, angling his head downwards to grab her attention. “Silly creature, of course I understand how awful you feel. Your heart is literally an open wound gushing onto everyone it passes. If someone ran into you, YOU would be the one to apologize.

“We’re still alive, aren’t we? Well, you are at least, but I do have the advantage of being ravishing forever,” he added with a quip.

The bard laughed as her body shook with sobs. Hands flew to her face, catching the falling tears with dabs of her fingertips.

“Darling.” He reached out to her with his palm up. “Come here. I can’t leave you blubbering like some muppet begging for scraps.”

Taking a hesitant breath, Tav placed her hand gingerly into the inviting salve he offered, holding onto it tightly. “A moment longer. I have more to say.”

Astarion’s mind filled with dread. If she terminated their agreement, that would be it—his protection would cease. The possibility of Cazador dragging him off screaming into the shadows, felt more real than it ever had been. Swiftly, his brain sprang into action. He would use whatever methods possible to adapt.

Touch. Comfort. Sex. Promises. Encouragement. Which would she need?

“Don’t keep me in suspense now, my sweet. You know how I hate to wait,” he smirked in his typical silvery tone.

“I’m trying to word this as not to sound like a psychotic lover here,” she laughed anxiously. “But, I have run ’us’ through my mind more times than I can count and I keep wondering if it would be best if we end whatever this is between us. Casual distractions would be much easier if we didn’t see each other everyday, but we don’t have that luxury and—

“Do you even like me?” Tav questioned wearily. It was apparent such ideas had been consuming her.

No.

“Do I like you? I mean, you definitely have a certain set of allures about you,” he answered slowly. He wasn’t lying about her qualities—if that’s what people choose to call them—but, no, he did not care for her.

A grimace settled on her expression as she removed her hand from his.

“Were you expecting a more defined answer?”

The bard chewed at her lip lightly with her front tooth. “I’m expecting something that doesn’t feel like you’re acting on stage,” she replied stiffly. “You seem so versed in saying all the right things, but there is a pit in my stomach warning me it’s not all true. I don’t want you to force yourself with me.”

Oh, but he would force himself. His survival depended on it.

The spawn ran his hand through his curls, flashing a glib smile she didn’t detect. “Ha! Could that be your own insecurities speaking? Or shall I get down on my knees and recite a sonnet of my undying affections for you? Would you believe me then?”

Turning away, she looked past him towards the ground. “Is it so wrong for me to desire something real, Astarion?”

Hope.

She wanted hope.

He could perform hope.

The vampire enclosed her ruddy cheek with his hand, thumbing a gentle swipe across the roundest point. She shut her eyelids lazily, microscopic tears still adhering on her lashes like diamond dust.

“Don’t turn away from me, Tavelle,” he commanded her gently. “A woman that has as much to offer as you, deserves to hold her head up high and be worshiped.”

As if to confirm her yearning for him, her eyes roamed half-opened to search his face. She fisted the ruffling of his shift tightly, pulling herself taut against his chest to crash her lips fervently against his with a tight gasp.

The kiss was urgent. Delivered as if they’d both turn into smoke in an instant. Like she’ll lose me someday, Astarion thought.

He could hear her heartbeat stepping out of its darkness, begging, begging, begging him to cradle her adorations for him.

Kneading his pale lips on hers instinctually, she tangled a free hand into waves of silvery-white earning her a low hum from the deepest reaches of his voice box. “Star…" she incanted into his mouth.

Fluidly, he reached up to unpin her hair, allowing her tresses to fall over her shoulders. He decorated his lithe digits with her silken strands, tugging her head gently backwards to drop fervid pecks down her throat. She cried out, sputtering lilting syllables of his name everytime he idly rearranged his hold on her hair.

Tav held onto his arms as he worked his tongue in circles. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me,” she pleaded, clawing at his clothes.

Releasing her hair, he pulled Tav back in to seam their mouths together. She sucked tenderly on his upper lip, grazing her tongue horizontally across it, before she finally nipped at it playfully.

He pushed his nose into her cheek, abruptly stopping them. She was short of breath, heaving in anticipation for him to kiss her again.

Grabbing her chin firmly, Astarion’s eyes flitted down to her lips as he spoke mere centimeters from them. ”You’ve slowly been driving me insane,” he roughly asserted, avoiding her want for affirmations.

She snuck her fingers up the length of him, lacing them behind his neck. Her lips parted, a husky reply threatening to swallow them whole. “What do you mean to do with me then?”

A lukewarm thumb found safety pressed against her lips. The tip of her tongue tunneled through the gap of her mouth and licked a teasing small patch of skin on the inside of it. Debauched images of him drawing blood from her tongue filled his mind. Biting and biting every inch of her supple flesh until he had his fill of her essence settling like a fine wine in his veins. He panted maddeningly at the thought, his shaft hardening immediately.

Then, the minx slinkingly shifted onto his lap, encircling her legs on either side of his hips. She undulated on the length of his bulge compressed in the middle of her soaked smalls and his trousers. Insolently, she yanked a handful of his hair. He hissed at the delicious pain now aching through his cock and the back of his head.

Pallid dexterous hands ripped the front of her shirt open, cutting buttons loose to fly into the air. The strength of his paw found her breast hiding behind the torn fabric and he squeezed it considerably, pinching an erect nipple. She moaned his name, trying to keep her body upright.

Sharp teeth nibbled a sliver of flesh near the corner of her lips. “Is this what you need? For me to take you as I please?”

Tav nodded innocently, her whole body turning flush with desire.

And then something feral snapped inside of Astarion. That spine-tingling rapacious trait that was half vampire and half carnal man. He could have her if he wanted her; whenever he wanted. Fill him with her blood just to sate him. Her life belonged to him, if he so chose to take it.

“You can follow instructions properly, can’t you sweetheart?” Astarion grumbled as he tucked strands of her hair behind her ear. A strangled noise squeaked from her mouth as she shook her head. “Good. Now listen closely: I want you to unlace my pants, push your smalls to the side, and slide my cock inside that very wet slit of yours.”

The songstress whimpered, whilst she untied the bindings of his fly. “I want to be good for you, Astarion.”

Fuck, his name sounded like the filthiest sin coming from her mouth.

He peeled back the material of her shirt from her heaving bosom, exposing her soft milkiness. Humming around one of her pink buds that popped into his mouth, he felt her remove him from his pants with a few precursory strokes. Instinctively, his gaze feasted on the light bluish veins spreading across her breasts. Just a single bite couldn’t hurt?

“Hells,” he groaned as she sunk the crown of his cock into her clenching heat. “You like being this drenched for me, don’t you?”

“Only you…gods…make me like this,” Tav sang out, holding the back of his head while she adjusted to him inside her.

Her wetness dripped down his length as she stuffed him further into her, trickling down to settle on his testicles. A howling wail started from the middle of Tav’s diaphragm up through her windpipe when she glided up his erect prick once and came back down to his hilt. Astarion chased her mouth with his, muffling her frenzy with open-mouthed kisses.

“Shhh. Shh, songbird,” he hushed in a chuckle. “We are about to wake the lot of this camp soon.”

“I’m sorry. Just love…having you…inside of me,” she giggled lowly, kissing him with blistering ardor between her words.

Surprising the bard by grabbing under her ass, Astarion cajoled her to ride the stiff hardness in his lap. Tav hooked herself onto his shoulders, using them for support while she bounced upon him. Her tits brushed against his shirt with her movements, causing her swollen buds to stay hardened.

My prodigal son, what do we have here?

Master.

Ah, of course. Tonight would belong to the echoes of Cazador. There would be no need for the paralysis that enthralled the spawn’s body to take over, not when his master’s commands needed to be minded.

The vampire busied his fingertips by pressing them further into her flesh, focusing on her slickness encompassing all those nerves at the tip of his cock. He pushed her all the way down to his base, relishing the swaddling of her warmth around him.

A bard, hmm? Bring her to me.

Yes, master.

He reached a hand down in between them to swipe his thumb through her folds, caressing her clit in gentle circles. Tav’s mouth formed into a small “o.”

Look at her—enjoying your flesh like a whore. She’s exactly like all the others. You are only meant to satisfy her needs as a means to fulfill my hunger.

I won’t disobey you master.

“My sweet, turn around and let me fuck you from behind,” he urged mildly, trying to maintain his composure.

Astarion couldn’t let her see. He was steadily losing his grip on their surroundings, disappearing into the quilted stars of the night sky he summoned as he disconnected. If she saw he wasn’t present again, she would send him away.

Tav didn’t respond, continuing to pump his shaft with her tight cunt at a steady pace. She opened and closed her mouth in silent moans, replaced by heady breaths. Did she not hear him? He placed his hands on her waist attempting to settle her motions.

Would you like to hear her sing, Astarion? How do you think she’ll sound with her blood gurgling in her throat as I feed from her?

“Turn around,” he demanded firmly.

Body slowing to a near halt, she cupped his cheeks with a litany of fingers rasping the sharpness of his bones. She pressed a peck to his lips. “Lover, I want to look into your eyes while I’m on top.”

He bucked his hips maneuvering his legs to lift her off of him enough to push her down onto her bedroll. Spreading her legs open, he swiftly settled in between her thighs, and brashly reentered her with a concrete plunge. The bard yelped in shock, clutching his biceps tightly.

Soulmates? Tsk. Did my beloved spawn forget that he is not allowed to be connected to anything except me? Get rid of her mark.

I wish to please you master. Allow me to show my fealty to you.

His vision rapidly moved from side to side until he arched Tav into him to rest his forehead onto her soulmate mark, hiding, endeavoring it to disappear on its own so he wouldn’t have to hurt her. He thrust up into her hurriedly, trying to chase her to the banks of her climax to end his delusions.

“Wait,” she uttered as he drove into her.

Astarion ignored her, opening his mouth to frame his teeth around her soul mark. He must dispose of it.

“Astarion, no. Don’t bite there,” Tav ordered, snaring his curls at the root. “Look at me. Please.”

He’s everywhere. He knows where I am. He’s already taken everything from me. I’ll never be free, Astarion screamed inwardly in anguish.

His fangs pricked the first layer of her epidermis, pellets of crimson gathering around the invasion. The bard severely yanked his head to detach him, dribbles of her blood coating his lips. “I said no! GET OFF OF ME,” she shrieked, thrashing her body under him.

They became motionless. Her face had morphed into thousands upon thousands of blurry conquests. Voices: high and low, moaning, whispering their pleasures. Luring each of them in the dead of night to their death eternal. And Astarion, bound to the scaffold with a noose around his neck, forever being led back into Cazador’s arms.

And then her eyes were suddenly there in focus. Afraid and sorrowful. Full of tears. For her. For him. Rainy storm clouds floating across the earth. Tav with her inquisitor view, leading him on a pilgrimage away from the haunts of his deadened soul.

She covered her nakedness, pulling her ripped shirt over her breasts. Two pin prick spots of blood seeped through the fabric, reminding him of his violation. He was disgusted with himself.

What had he done?

“Tav, I’m sor—” Astarion proclaimed hoarsely, loosening his brace on her waist.

Tav reached up to place a hand on his cheek. “Leave,” her voice whispered sternly.

He couldn’t wash this away and escape what he was made into.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Burning iron-vine powder levitated in a cloudy haze around them.

A Gur?! A godsdamned bloody Gur. Cazador’s cruel humor never seemed to fail; he must have sent him.

His mind started to race. Astarion’s safety may be coming to an end. It was a misjudgement to ever presume that he could disappear without facing the repercussions of his former master. Would he ever have somewhere to land from all this falling?

“You’re Astarion?!” The monster hunter loudly said in surprise. “Apologies to your companions, but you’ll need to come with me.”

“Gandrel, was it? I’m not going anywhere.” Astarion removed the blade from his back, pointing it towards the man.

“Fuck! This is bad,” Karlach muttered to Wyll.

“Then, I’m afraid I have no choice but to take you by force,” Gandrel declared, shooting an ‘Ensnaring Strike’ spell at both the vampire and fiery woman.

Thorny vines raised up around their legs, holding them in place. Astarion sliced at them, trying to wriggle free, but the bindings only reinforced their seizure. “Uh, a little help?!”

He was too distracted to fight. Flooded by the memory of how Tav’s tears flowed like blown stars living their final moments. But, he could still feel her hands upon his cheeks. Her hands where flowers bloomed in the dark; flowers that emerged wherever she appeared.

Karlach swung her axe in a criss-cross pattern. “I can’t move! Wyll, you’ll need to repel him!”

Wyll lunged forward casting an Eldritch Blast that narrowly missed the hunter’s cheek. “Damn!”

Gandrel placed another arrow in his crossbow, aiming it at the spawn as he approached. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, but you’re needed else—”

The hunter suddenly collapsed onto one knee, a spray of blood ejecting from his mouth. He looked down at the arrow protruding out of his right side, then looked past the spawn.

Astarion followed his gaze, mouth wide open in shock when he reached his destination. “Songbird? But why?! I don't—”

Tav threw down her bow, reaching to unsheathe her rapier. “You’re a beacon of trouble, ‘Star.”

[dreamtigress]

Oh hai, weird past trauma thing

When a mutuals post about a child vomiting makes you have an entire mental crisis for a moment while you reflect on your own relationship with that, and how you were treated for it as a child...

CW: processing/discussion of nausea+, childhood trauma, and CPTSD below.

I used to get carsick and motion sick. Horribly. Like, any drive longer than 45 minutes was going to equal me having vestibular issues, nausea, and more. I got sick on boats and planes, too. My plan sickness lasted DAYS afterwards, and is why I don't fly to this day.

Out of the three different family members who usually had to deal with my motion sickness...

My mom was the most understanding. I can look back now and say, yeah, she is also AuDHD (undiagnosed), and she got motion sickness, so she grokked it. It was an inconvenience for her, but I don't remember her guilting me for it. A little bit when my being sick for days after we flew to Florida wrecked out plans, but mostly, she fussed at me to try and feel better.

My father, on the rare occasions he took me anywhere, was NOT capable of empathy for a sick kid. I have a distinct memory of him taking me out on a fishing boat twice. (He fished every Sunday for the most part. Cue my life long dislike of eating fish by being forced to eat whatever he caught on Sundays for dinner.) I got boatsick, vomited off the side of the boat. Vomited into a bucket. Was ABSOLUTELY miserable. The captain told my father the second time not to bring me out again. I was an inconvenience for everyone. It was horrid.

My sister... Whoa, here the unpack... She would come with us to the horse and livestock auction we frequented for a while. It was an hour drive. Cue me, getting carsick when we were almost there. The way she would fuss at me for making us late. For us having to pull over. Gods forbid I didn't get my head out the car window in time. And even then, "Look, you made a mess of the car. Now we have to clean that." I was a nuisance, for being unable to prevent myself from getting carsick.

I would nurse a bottle of cola syrup (Anybody over 35 remember ACTUAL cola syrup for nausea? No HFCS.) like it was a lifeline, trying desperately to not get nauseous enough for us to need to pull over. I HATED throwing up. Not just because it is violently unpleasant for my body, but because of the reaction it would gain me. To this day, even when I have had food poisoning or a bad food allergy reaction, throwing up is last on my to do list. In the last 24 years, (since I got my dentures, which adds a WHOLE extra thing to vomiting, because you have to TAKE THEM OUT beforehand, lest you projectile several $1000s of dental acrylic into the porcelain throne), I can count on one hand the number of times I have vomited.

And reading that post, wherein said awesome mutual was kind and understanding to the kid doing the vomiting... I realized I barely had an adult do that for me. (Mom.) I had enough other adults treat it like such a terrible act that it imprinted on my damn psyche. Don't vomit. Don't be nauseous. Don't be an inconvenience. It can't possibly be that bad. And then all of that ties back into living as an undiagnosed autistic and being told everything you experience is not nearly as bad as you experience it. Sweet muppety christ the damn trauma of it all.

Sometimes, you don't put all the pieces together on something, even after years of therapy, until ONE little thing makes you look at a puzzle piece just the right way. So yeah. Tadah.

[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!

[cryptid-husband]

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, para-pos, pro radical bodily autonomy, BLM, pro-Palestine, pro-freak, pro-drugs, pro-piracy, pro-fiction. If you have questions about my opinions or stances on anything feel free to ask. :-)

Theology/religion/philosophy: Absurdist-existentialist, Eclectic Gnostic, Shinto, with Appalachian folk influence, possible neo-romanticist (not the art era kind), 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, 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

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

Therian/otherkin: the blog will mostly be me puppy moding, however my current list is goblin, Florida cracker cur, and Virginia opossum.

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.

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 twitter and bluesky are NSFW AND 18+ ONLY. More to come.

[sickandgrim]

INTRODUCTION

hi tumblr ✭ i decided to make a silly little ed blog to hopefully hold myself accountable for my stupid fucking actions ツ

please please please block instead of reporting my blog. this is my ed vent blog and i really don’t want my safe space taken away from me.

DNI IF:

you’re a minor.

you’re in recovery.

you wish to not view potentially triggering content.

please take care of yourself :) recovery can be hard, but it is possible and i wish only the best for you and your journey ♡

ABOUT ME

❕TW mental illness❕

eating disorders | depression | anxiety | social anxiety | bpd | bipolar | ocd | adhd | autism | cptsd

23

she/her

vegan for the animals (P.S. being vegan is not synonymous with having an eating disorder so before you start with that shit, understand that it’s not welcome here.)

binge eating disorder

5’2” | 157 cm

GOALS

sw and hw: 207 lbs | 93.9 kg

cw: 180 lbs | 81.6 kg

gw: 105 lbs | 47.6 kg

ugw: 90 lbs | 40.8 kg

[withdrawingramen]

murderer

inspired off a prompt by @whumpasaurus101! the link to the prompt is right here. CW: lady/female whump, reference to past interrogation torture (whumpee was a minor/17 y.o back then), referenced institutional whump, general mental/psychological whump such as overworked whumpee forced to watch a recording of their past torture, reference to CPTSD symptoms, creepy & controlling whumper with a thing for recording whump and abusing authority. - Sihyeon knew the man in the room. The way he sat oh so comfortably in Kurai's chair, the way he twirled the recorder in his hand. The way his lips curled up in seemingly harmful mischief. The way his eyes glinted with excitement at her sight.

Her stomach churned inside her. "Are you done with today's agenda, 79?" he asked her calmly, fidgeting with the device in his hand. "Yes, Sir." she replied as casually as she could. She'd grown to be an expert at masking her fear a long time ago. Sihyeon knew everything about Kurai Sorano's behaviors. If he clenched his fists, stop talking and prepare. If he glared, it was her queue to look down. But for Martin Hayes, the only thing she needed to look out for was his goddamned recorder. "Good, good. I believe you've done this before your supervisor before?" Martin gestured at the papers before him, still playing with his camera or whatever. "Yes, Sir." She gulped, but couldn't stop her voice from trembling. The man smiled. "I can see this is bothering you, so I'll stop." Martin said, feigning sympathy. He placed the gadget beside him. Sihyeon eyed him warily. She sighed, deciding she just wanted her work done with. Morning had begun for her at 4 am itself, when she'd woken up drenched in cold sweat, heart beating out of her chest. She didn't know why, but couldn't bring herself to go back to bed. Her pills were missing too. Sihyeon thought of the dorm-cleaners accidentally throwing them away... On the other hand, she barely had any food in her stomach. She'd thrown up the little porridge provided at breakfast today as well, still tipsy from the sleep deprivation she put herself through, and her chronic pain was just a cherry on the top. Those were the least of her problems, now. Yet, she forced herself to walk towards Kurai's desk. All she wanted was to get out as soon as possible. Sihyeon almost melted into the chair when Martin waved his hand in front of her. "Stand." She obeyed, although every muscle in her body felt tender and every movement made her wince. She shifted the chair back into position, facing her temporary supervisor. Her eyes drifted to the client requests for the day, but the first thing that caught her eye was the file of 0913. Who was 0913 anyway? She retraced her memory, recalling the young girl who she came across a week ago, at the pharmacy. Sihyeon massaged her shoulders, aching from the lack of rest. She'd been dealing with a headache for the past few hours, too. "I swear, the public will ask us the most stupid favors. The first one that sent in a request today asked for a Device with the qualifications of a tutor for her son majoring in supernatural activity...do they think of us as some tutoring service?" Martin chided, as if both of them were well-acquainted colleagues. He noticed her interest in 0913's file. Come to think of it, she was the same young girl, of around 19, Sihyeon had found crying outside the dorms. "Oh, this kid?" He grabbed the file and held it up. "She's being transferred back to her old department. I'm the one handling her case." "Why's she going back? Wasn't she mistreated there?" Sihyeon questioned. "Maladjustment." Martin replied, shrugging. "Or is it because she threatened to out you for revealing her address to the people who harassed her?" She blurted out. He stopped looking through the papers. Martin Hayes looked up, his gaze now fixated on her. "So you know." The realization hit her. Said something she wasn't supposed to. She looked right back at him, however. She couldn't tell what he was thinking. A bland yet stern look. He was the first to break eye contact, chuckling lightly. "Did you enjoy the breakfast served today?" "What?" "Clearly not, you seem to have...been a little too incapacitated to have anything." Martin took something out of his pocket and shook it. "You're on medication for fibromyalgia, aren't you?" Those were her pills, indeed. Sihyeon let out a shaky breath, staring at her pills. The ones he'd somehow snatched from her room. "Why do you have them?" The man played around with the tiny bottle. "Dunno, thought you didn't need them, since you're clearly fine." Sihyeon clearly wasn't "fine." "Give it back." Her voice quivered, anger and shame building up inside her.

 "Ohoho, so feisty yet so disobedient." He put the pills back in his pocket, and Sihyeon would have reached out to grab them back if he hadn't gotten up from the seat. Sihyeon instantly backed away, now looking down. Of course he'd do something like this. She gripped the edge of the table, the pain in her muscles becoming more intense, now that she was aware of it. "Do you remember when we first met during your little tantrum?" He walked across the room. "You were much younger. But I'm sure I'm ingrained into your memory. Because I remember everything about you." There was a twinge in her ribs and her shoulders instantly slumped. "The way you were all tied up, bloody and bruised, all for a crime you didn't commit...the way everyone was out for your throat after Reg's death.." He stopped talking beside her, his cursed recorder in his hand. "Look at it with all your attention, hm?" Martin hummed, practically shoving the screen in her face. He pressed the 'play' button. Sihyeon froze. "You're actually one of my most successful victims. The outcome was perfect." A singular recording played on the screen. Sihyeon's eyes widened. The chair, a man with a huge wooden stick, and her. The man in the video fooled around with the stick before hitting the girl tied to chair with it, right below the ribs. Sihyeon flinched when she saw the tiny figure in the screen contract in the chair. Another pang ran up her spine down to her ribs. Martin Hayes put a hand around her shoulder. She shuddered, now clutching her stomach at the phantom pain. "It was entertaining to look at your recordings over and over again. Every single hit that Kurai and Saruhi delivered because of sheer rage. Every bucket of water we had to pour on you every damn time you passed out. Every scream that I got out of you. Do you know how enticing it is to me, 79?" Every nerve of hers was screaming. All the neurons in her brain worked against her to bring up every minute memory from those 24 hours five years ago. Overwhelming and agonizing. That is what it was. She'd tried her best to burn the torture out of her mind. Months and years worth of half-assed counselling from uninterested "professionals" and medication to bury it deep inside her, and she still did. Yet somehow it always found itself back to her. "It was a shame you couldn't handle me. I kept taking you out with one punch to that pretty face of yours, so they didn't let me continue. Tell me, did I really hit that hard?" Sihyeon's knees were jelly at this point. She'd felt like this before so many times. Just raw, utter helplessness accompanied by unbearable pain. The video in front of her kept playing on loop. The girl in the chair, the man, and the stick, all connecting together. "There are others too, of course. I made sure my colleague from the other facility you were at did her part as well. Maybe you'd fancy seeing yourself electrocuted?" Sihyeon's throat was dry, insides threatening to twist and twist until she threw up. Everything closed in on her and pummeled her senses. She didn't realize how tensed and on guard she was until she dropped to the floor. It didn't dawn on her that she was actually fucking exhausted the entire day, until she was at his feet. Martin Hayes stopped the recordings. "You've had enough? Okay." He kneeled beside her, playing with the gadget. "Smile for the camera, 79. The highlight of today is you kneeling before me." Sihyeon tried to steady her breathing, but all that left her were gasps of disbelief, burning shame and anger, collaborating with her pain and exhaustion. She didn't look up at the man. "Be very, very careful of what you do next with me around, 79. Step out of line one day and maybe, I don't know, you'll wake up with your videos all over the net." He pat her nonchalantly on her shoulder.

"Everyone will know what you did to deserve that, you murderer." His fist collided with her jaw a few seconds before she lost consciousness. Sihyeon had grown to be an expert at masking her fear a long time ago, or so she thought.

[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. 🦊💞