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pastshadows · 7 months ago

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Shadows of the Past

Chapter 19: I Will Find You

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 4.8K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

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

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

The constant drip, drip, drip of water raining from the stalactites is unnerving, and your fingers tremble as you set up the tent. Astarion wraps his hand around yours, giving it a small squeeze. He takes the metal stake from your quaking grip and hammers it into the stony earth.

“We should not have brought them.” You catch just a flit of Astarion’s crimson eyes as they flash to the side to leer at you accusingly. “Their hearts beating is like ringing a dinner bell.”

“They promised to stay in camp while you and I do the scouting,” you conclude in a clipped response.

The initial idea was for Astarion and you to go alone into the Underdark and search for the siblings whose scars did not match the parchment that was discovered in the derelict manor. You would have been able to convince Gale to stay behind with Hecat, but Shadowheart was as obstinate as ever, declaring that you would have need of a Cleric should things go south. It’s not common for you to lose arguments, but after hours of back and forth, you eventually conceded.

Gale, Hecat, and Shadowheart are all erecting their tents in a tense silence. A makeshift fire pit has already been situated in the middle of camp, crackling and popping with whatever wood you could scavenge.

“Lovely,” Astarion chirps with feigned cheeriness. “A stationary meal then, like a hobbled goat left out for wolves.”

“I tried,” you say under your breath, trying to keep the agitation out of your voice while unrolling bedrolls and placing furs. “They are not sheep I can shepherd. If you could have done a better job convincing them to stay behind, you were more than welcome to try your hand at it.”

He scoffs. “As if those imbeciles ever listened to me.”

“They just want to help.” You try to assuage his irritation.

“I know,” Astarion sighs, brushing his hands together to clean off the dirt. “I just wanted you all to myself again. I miss home — our home. Gale’s is lavish, but it’s becoming rather crowded as of late.”

You crawl into the tent, and Astarion joins you, holding his arm up for you to curl up next to him.

“I miss home, too,” you acknowledge. It may have started out a little rocky, but those days spent lounging in bed, talking, and making love from sunup to sundown fill your heart with longing to return. It had been nice to leave behind all of this and just be. It makes you rethink your decision not to pursue the deal offered by Aldous. “It was nice, just you and me.”

“Indeed,” he agrees with a heavy exhalation. He buries his nose in your hair. “I cannot wait for this to be over, and we can return. We could buy a new residence if the other is too… painful.”

“Maybe,” you muse on the notion. “Where would you want to live?”

He shrugs. “It matters very little to me. Anywhere is home with you.”

“Even this tent?” You twist, crawling further into his lap, and he cradles you in his arms with a grin.

“Yes,” he coos softly. “Even this godsdamned tent.”

You brush your fingers through his hair and narrow your eyes mischievously. “You’re a terrible liar, Astarion.”

The crimson of his eyes burns, and he scoffs with a rumbling, deep laugh. “I said it’s home as long as you’re here. I did not say it was an acceptable accommodation for someone of my import.” He glances around. “There is very little room in here to do all the terribly depraved things I wish to do to you.”

“That never stopped you before,” you taunt back with a giggle.

“And it will not stop me now,” he purrs, dipping his head to mould his lips to yours. "I am a master of improvisation, after all."

Your fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer, and he tightens his grip on you, slipping a hand into your hair to hold you to his insistent mouth. Astarion sucks on your lower lip gently and takes advantage when you gasp, slipping his tongue in to tangle with yours.

“If you two are quite done canoodling in there,” Gale’s says from somewhere outside the tent. “The meal has been served.”

Astarion breaks the kiss abruptly to stare at the tent door with a vexed, furrowed brow. He leans close, keeping his voice low. “Canoodling? Truly? How old is he?”

You giggle at his ire. “What’s the problem? Don’t you want to canoodle with me?”

Astarion groans, rolling his eyes. “Decidedly not. I want to make love to you; commit the carnal sins of depravity, fuck. I do not canoodle.”

Kissing the tip of his nose, you taunt. “I see so much canoodling in the centuries to come, my love.”

“You’re terrible,” he grunts, pushing you away playfully. “Come. We need to get you fed lest your stomach growl and keep me up all night.”

“How bad does it smell?” You whisper.

“Bad,” he smirks. “Atrocious, if I am being totally honest. It’s times like these that I am thankful I do not have to sup on food.”

He was definitely not lying. The food is rather bland, and you would prefer not to eat it, but it’s either this or listening to Astarion complain about your growling stomach all night, so you shove spoonfuls into your mouth and try to focus on the conversation and not the taste.

Gale, Shadowheart, and Hecat share stories, though it’s mostly Shadowheart and Gale reminiscing while Hecat is enraptured and dazzled by every tale of daring they spew. It unsettles you to let her know this much of your past, but you cannot quite see the harm in it. They know well what to keep to themselves and mostly just tell her perfunctory random things.

“Did you really do that, dragon girl?” Hecat inquires, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Do what?”

“Allow a servant of Loviatar to beat you bloody?” Hecat grins widely. “And taunt him the entire time.”

You narrow your eyes at the pair, who are snickering like fools. Astarion chimes in before you can confirm or deny this. “Oh-yes. That was a splendid day,” he says dreamily. “So much blood, although a dreadful waste for it to end up on the filthy floors.”

“I seem to remember you enjoying yourself a little too much, Astarion.” Shadowheart quips blithely.

“Nonsense. There is no such thing as too much when it comes to watching others be beaten and bloodied by an imbecile in a costume,” he taunts deviously.

Gale shakes his head in disbelief. “I must say, I am glad I missed that particular spectacle. It sounds positively hedonistic.”

“Gods. You are truly as vanilla as they come, Gale.” Astarion laments with a smug undertone.

Gale’s brows furrow. “What’s wrong with vanilla?”

Shadowheart bursts out laughing, Hecat snickers, and Astarion cannot hide the jubilant chuckling even though he tries.

“Do you remember that time you got drunk on blood, Astarion? You came out of the forest, stumbling and slurring your words, looking for our fearless leader,” Shadowheart says, bringing her hand to her mouth to hide her laughter. “I do not believe I ever saw you in such a spectacular mood again.”

“My friend!” You mock him, and giggle when he shoots you a pointed look.

“Do you people even realize how much blood there is in a bear?” Astarion grunts, crossing his arms to feign irritation and jutting his chin out pompously. “It would be comparable to you drinking a barrel of spirits to yourselves.”

“You can get drunk on blood?” Hecat asks, obviously astounded by this new information.

Her eyes sparkle with the firelight when she looks at him, and she swoons. It makes you bristle like an angry cat, but you manage to conceal it before you can scoff.

Astarion nods. “If there is enough of it, but it’s not exactly drunk, it’s more of a euphoria.”

“It’s drunk,” you retort quickly, shoving another spoonful into your mouth. “He couldn’t even stand without tripping over his own feet. I would never have believed he possessed the capability to be so positively ungraceful. Embarrassing, really.”

Astarion bumps you with his shoulder, making you almost spill your soup or stew. Honestly, you’re not quite sure what to call this connection.

“Ungraceful? Let’s not go throwing stones, sorceress. Glass houses, and all that.” His eyes narrow, and he tries to frown at you, but his eyes are glinting with amusement. He gets up and bows shallowly. “As delightful as his conversation has been, if you’ll excuse me, I will retire for the night before we can do any more of,” he waggles his fingers at the group. “This," he cringes.

“Me too,” you add in, taking his offered hand. “We have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow.”

Gale smirks, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Yes. I’m positive you’ll be going straight into your trances. Rest well, you two.”

“Would you mind keeping it down tonight?” Shadowheart gibs with a snooty upturn of her nose. “It was a long night of travelling, and I would like to get some sleep.”

Hecat eyes rake over Astarion, and you flush, but not with embarrassment. You take what you hope looks like a normal step in front of him to shield him from her sultry gaze. In all truth, it’s less for him and more for you, but both things can be true.

“Hmm…” Astarion muses, tapping his chin with his finger. “Unlikely. We will canoodle as nosily as we please,” he chirps boisterously.

Shadowheart groans out loud , letting her head hang, and mumbles, “I’m going to cast Silence over your tent.”

Astarion smirks. “You must concentrate to keep that up, don’t you, flower? I wish you the best of luck. I am positive I can draw it out far longer than you can manage to stay awake.”

Gale nearly chokes on his food, going as red as Karlach. Shadowheart pats him hard on the back with a sly grin. “Hells below. Goodnight,” she finally says, chuckling and making her way to her tent.

When you crawl into your tent, Astarion digs through the pack and tosses you one of his shirts, which you quickly hurry into and slip under the furs.

He joins you quickly, his nimble fingers doing up the laces at the front of the shirt you’re wearing. “We cannot have you catching a chill.”

“I do not get grumpy!” You snort.

He smiles widely, the tips of his fangs peeking out from his perfect lips. “You get downright petulant,” he jeers. “Would you like to read or rest?”

“Read,” you confirm.

Astarion grabs the book, lays back, wraps an arm around you, and pulls you close. “Lights, my dear.”

Tiny, pinpoint spheres float from your palm into the air, like tiny golden stars. You read the pages with your head resting on his chest, and he turns them when you tap him with your finger. Before long, your eyes begin to flutter shut despite your attempts to keep them open.

He presses a kiss on your forehead, pulls the furs up, and tucks you in tenderly. You murmur, moving to push your face into the crook of his neck and inhaling deeply. The orbs of light ebb, blinking out one by one, and Astarion hums low and lyrical until you slip into your trance.

The Arcane Tower dominates the horizon with its spectral glow from the lit lamps. It’s simultaneously an unsettling and welcome sight. Though the devastation of the spawn on the environment can be seen on account of the skeletal remains of creatures large and small, none have crossed your path. It’s hard to know whether to be glad or alarmed by it. The last time you were overtaken without much warning.

“I would hear them long before they could descend on us,” Astarion assures, sensing the neurotic turbulence that’s making you grip your quarterstaff so hard that your knuckles are white and straining. “If I give the order, run and do not look back.”

Your brows pinch, and you exhale noisily through pursed lips. “You can give the order, but I will not run,” you retort, shaking your head. “If you think I will leave you, you’re out of your godsdamned mind.”

“They are less likely to attack me.” Astarion grunts with a pronounced sigh and a rigid scowl. “I will not smell like food to them, but you smell delectable.”

He doesn’t understand - can’t understand — how wild and raging they are because you’ve run from this conversation despite his repeated attempts to have it.

“Tell that to Sebastian,” you murmur dryly. You don’t pay any mind to what you said until you realize Astarion has stopped dead in his tracks and is staring at you wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

“Sebastian?” Astarion looks askance. “You saw him?”

The fondness in his voice is unmistakeable, and even though it is beyond silly, your jealousy spikes your blood with flames, and your heart rate soars on the wings of the envious monster you’ve become.

“He saved me last time I was here when I was attacked,” you reply tunelessly in an effort to keep the resentment out of your voice. This is not the time or place to have yet another conversation where Astarion reassures you, but it does nothing to assuage your fears. “He was the only one of the spawn that didn’t seem completely savage.”

Astarion’s head cants slightly, picking up on the revving engine that is your heart. He knows, you think, and you wait for him to react in one of two possible ways. He will either chastise or soothe, depending on his mood.

“That soft heart is what got the idiot killed in the first place,” Astarion remarks frivolously in that devil-may-care breeze he so easily encompasses.

It’s hard not to laugh at his flippant comment. Perhaps many would find it cavalier and uncaring, but to you, it’s wholeheartedly something Astarion would say.

“Humans are incredibly slow learners,” you quip back offhandedly with a rascally smirk while continuing down the path toward the village.

Astarion grins deviously. “That, coupled with their supremely short life spans, it’s a wonder they have not gone extinct.”

“There’s still time,” you concur.

“I think we should kill them,” Astarion blurts suddenly with furrowed brows, looking at his feet in contemplation.

“The humans?” You arch a brow at him, not quite following the switch.

“What? Hells. No. I have a casual relationship with murder, not genocide. Gods. What do you think of me?” He chuckles, smirking smugly, when you scoff at him. “The spawn. If we find them and they are beyond any hope of redemption, I think we should put them out of their misery. I likely should have done it when I had the chance. I had hoped they would be able to learn control, but if that’s not possible..." He pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts. “It’s what I would want should I ever find myself robbed of speech and reason again.”

You put your hand on his chest. His hands come to your waist, and his fingers firmly squeeze. “Whatever you want to do, Astarion, I support you. I will follow your lead.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, which are scarlet mirrors reflecting a canvas of sorrow and regret. “Thank you.”

Your footsteps on the rickety boards that make up the scaffolding in the abandoned village thump, echoing out into the cavernous crepuscule ceiling blanketing the lake. The boats that once carried you towards the old temple of Shar and the forge have scuttled themselves, lying on their sides with their masts reaching out like the arms of drowning men begging to be saved.

The village is as silent as the dead, except for the soft whooshing of waves brushing the banks of the shore. Astarion offers his hand and pulls you up the small cliff, and you both crane your necks to look at the tower dwarfing you.

“Do you hear anything?” You ask as your heart leaps into your chest with memories of watching his siblings deliberate your fate.

And subsequently begging them to let you die, which they obviously decided was not in their best interest.

“Nothing.” Astarion says with a frown. “They could be sleeping.”

The idea of walking through the floors of this place fills you with nothing but dread, and you swallow thickly, your muscles buzzing with something between adrenaline and terror. Astarion’s hand snakes into yours, and he holds your shaking fingers tightly.

“You do not have to go in there,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low in a timbre meant to soothe. “I am capable of searching the place by myself.”

Have you really become so timid that Astarion now offers to leave you behind and retrieve you when he’s finished? There was a time when he never doubted your ability to handle a situation, but it seems those times are long gone. Is it that he cannot trust you to react in time in the face of danger? Does he think you will fold like wet parchment?

The woman you were might be a memory, but you are sick of being afraid — of being the weak link. Most of all, you’re appalled by the pity you see reflected in his eyes as he looks at you like an abused pup.

Maybe you might not be who you were, but you have the chance to become whatever or whoever you want. For better or worse, a new you awaits, lurking just outside of the box you’ve built around yourself, addicted to this lonely kind of love that has done nothing but hurt.

She might be dead.

But you live.

You live.

You squeeze his hand, tugging him a little more harshly than you meant to toward you, grabbing his armour, and pulling his face down to your height. “Where you go, I go. Remember? Stop treating me like a child. You requested I stop being so gentle with you; I’d like the same curtsy.”

Astarion’s surprised expression morphs into a sly grin, and he closes the distance between you, catching your lips. You melt into him, pressing your body into his. He grips your hips, pressing them firmly into his, and grinds against you. It seems like an odd place for this sort of act, but you’re not complaining. It’s been some time since he’s taken you into the dirt.

Unfortunately, he breaks the kiss just as the throb between your legs makes you squeeze your thighs together for relief. “It’s been some time since you bossed me around like that with such delicious authority,” he grins. “I quite like it, you know,” he purrs.

Astarion turns quickly and gives you a gentle shove and a playful swat on the ass. “Come on, bossy thing. After you.”

You roll your eyes at him with a huff, but you cannot hide the yearning smile quirking your lips up and dazzling in your eyes.

You only make it a couple of steps before you hear his taunting voice. “And Kamena? If you want me to make love to you in the dirt, you have but to ask. I would be more than pleased to throw you down, let my hands explore every inch of you, map your goosebumps with my tongue, taste you.”

How would the old you have reacted to such lewd comments? No. How would the new me react? Who do I want to be?

You pivot quickly on your feet and walk backwards while he stalks toward you like a predator. His scarlet gaze is filled with a hungry desire that makes your flesh ache.

It’s time to start reacting without thinking. You were never innocent or soft-hearted, but you were sweet once upon a time. It no longer feels right. There is a new bitterness to you — a fiery bite.

You would rather be whisky neat than sweet tea.

“It makes me wet when you look at me like that, Astarion. If you’re not careful, I might request that you take me right here.” You purr low and seductively, and you relish the way his eyes light up.

Hedonism suits you.

Astarion chuckles, smirking mischievously. He taps his nose. “My love, I know you’re soaked. I hope the others have rested while we are doing all the hard work. I doubt they will be getting much sleep tonight.”

“I’ll hold you to that, darling,” you taunt, turning and hurrying toward the tower. “Gale and Shadowheart will be more than used to our… late-night trysts.”

“You’re a tease, Kamena.” He grumbles, adjusting his trousers. “This is not comfortable.”

“I’m happy to assist you out of that armour at your request,” you quip, and giggle when he groans.

“Good Gods. You’re cruel, sweetheart.” Astarion growls low and silvery, walking up to you and ghosting his lips over the shell of your ear. “Now, get going so we can get back to camp. I’m feeling rather peckish.”

Astarion drags his fangs down your neck — not enough to break skin, but it sends a pleasurable shiver cavorting down your spine with the promise of later. You don’t smother the breathy sigh that shakes out of your throat, and your core clenches involuntarily.

You groan and push forward, determined to scour this damned place as fast as you can so you can retreat to your tent. The massive front doors to the tower are already ajar when you approach, and the first floor holds nothing more than barrels, crates, shelves, and boxes. There are some signs of life with random articles of clothing strewn around, but they are covered in a thick layer of dust and sediment.

The third floor is likewise unoccupied, but there are random packs here. Astarion and you rifle through them but find very little to indicate who they belonged to. They could have been travellers, adventurers, or his siblings.

Or aventurers his siblings ate...

Astarion stands with his arms crossed by a bed when you glance toward him. Walking over, you follow his anchored gaze and see a doublet that he seems particularly interested in.

“Petras’s,” he mumbles.

“Was he always such an asshole?” You ask, remembering the way he wanted to eat you to get back at Astarion.

Astarion snorts out a small laugh. “He was always a snivelling idiot. We did not get along particularly well. Why?”

“I didn’t like the way he spoke to you,” you shrug. It’s not exactly a lie. The way he talked to Astarion when you found him in the flophouse had made your blood boil, and you actually rather enjoyed watching Astarion burn him, but you refrain from telling him the whole truth.

He regards you with a highly arched brow, reading you the way he does, so you quickly move off toward the elevator to get out of his scrutiny. There is little point in telling Astarion the specifics. It would only create more animosity, and his siblings are the only family he has. You will not be responsible for the further deterioration of whatever relationship he has left.

In the event you die, from old age or otherwise, they might be the only thing he has left.

“Come on. We should keep moving.”

“In a rush, are we?” He saunters over.

“I have a date with my very charming, handsome lover that I wish to get to.” You wink at him, your foot hitting the button to go up to the fourth floor. “Post haste.”

The elevator ascends to the topmost floor. From what you recall, it’s mostly destroyed, and you doubt there would be any reason for his siblings to be there unless they were trying to watch for attacks. If that were the case, though, you imagine they would have made themselves known by now.

When the elevator clicks into place, your heart stops in your chest when you see the pale, snake-like grin of Aldous staring back at you with several other spawn poised just behind him.

“Sorceress,” he pouts sarcastically. “I’m disappointed in you. I thought you would have been smart enough to recognize a good deal when it was offered.”

You scoff, turning your nose up, and your teeth grate together. Astarion growls, sliding in front of you with his daggers already held, poised and ready to kill. You cast Stoneskin on Astarion out of a reflexive habit.

“I’ve been waiting to meet you,” Aldous chimes, his voice braided with choler. “It seems the odds between us have evened out, and I cannot wait to make you watch me drain her dry just as you did to me.”

Astarion laughs cruelly, snarling. “I enjoyed your death the first time, but I will enjoy it all the more the second.”

This is not a good place for a battle. The floor has fallen prey to the ravages of time in too many places, with large blocks and rubble littering the pieces that remain, restricting space and movement in equal measure.

You try to find the button to descend, but Aldous notices your movement and barrels toward you. Astarion leaps into battle, and the clash of blades rings out in the air. The two are almost a moving blur of glinting steel as they grapple. Astarion’s footwork is superior, and he gains ground until the other spawn join in the fight.

Adrenaline anoints your muscles and nerves, and your heart throttles in your chest. You cannot lose him here. You will not allow it. Flames writhe over your body, your skin heating to unfathomable temperatures, driven by a hatred so intense it seems to consume all fear. You Misty Step between Astarion and Aldous to intercept the charging spawn.

Thunderwave throws them back. Your fingers dance in their perfected rhythm, and you lace the Weave into spells with quick and masterful precision. You catch a spawn by the neck to your left, and flames erupt from your palms until their screams subside. With your other hand, you summon Chain Lightning, killing some but causing the remaining ones to seize up with paralysis.

You skate through them with your quarterstaff in hand. With limited space and Astarion and Aldous moving around the battlefield with the speed of a shooting star, there are a limited number of spells you can use for range. You’re forced into close-quarters combat, which hinders your abilities.

Clawed fingers rend your skin, sending a sharp agony radiating through you, making you suck in a sharp breath. The spawn hisses at you through their teeth, fangs bared. Before you can retaliate, Astarion is at your side, his shoulder slamming into the spawn and throwing them to the side. There is no time to catch your breath before Aldous attacks while Astarion is preoccupied protecting you.

“Astarion, down!” You shout.

He remembers the command and leans down, flattening his back so you can roll over him. Scorching Ray blasts from your palms, buffeting Aldous and forcing him to counter and change his path on a whim. It gives Astarion enough time to get into a better position and continue pushing Aldous back while you deal with the other spawn.

You cannot use Sunbeam in such a small area, not with the way Aldous and Astarion are moving, but you’re not merely the embodiment of fire; you’re a wildfire that cannot be thwarted. You pellet the spawn with fire that burns as white-hot as your hatred and rage. A ball of fire to the chest of one sizzles straight through them. Shatter to throw the ones to your right off the edge of the building.

You sink into the battle and luxuriate in the ghostly-coloured death that writhes over your skin and explodes from your fingers.

“Solicallor, switch!” Astarion snarls.

He only ever asks to switch in battle when he’s been injured and needs a moment to recover. You look back in horror at the blade buried in his shoulder and Aldous’ maniacal laughter permeating the air.

You cast Telekinesis, throwing the spawn in your path to him off the building, and try to sprint to his side, but you’re not fast enough before Aldous instructs the spawn remaining to create a barrier.

Every spell in your arsenal jumps off your fingers and rolls off your tongue, but you cannot get to Astarion before Aldous has pushed him near the edge of the tower.

In a fraction of a second, the spawn all sprint toward Astarion, throwing themselves off the edge of the tower to their deaths. The last thing you see are his scared red eyes and him shifting as fast as he can to grab Aldous by his armour. Aldous thrashes, trying to pull free from Astarion’s grip, and another blade sinks into Astarion’s stomach.

“I love you, Kamena,” he smiles as his feet lose their footing. “I would have liked to marry you in this life, but I will find you in the next, thiramin.”

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I love reading your comments ❤️

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

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

Small Notes: - Chapters might be a little smaller for the foreseeable future. Sorry! - Astarion 🥺 - I smash my keyboard angrily whenever I have to write Aldous' name.

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

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green-enby · 2 years ago

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Heyo! Have you watched Koisenu Futari (恋せぬふたり, Two people who can't fall in love) yet? It's a great series, just 8 episodes long! I binged it in one day :) [smiley]

It focuses on two aromantic asexual people living together. This is a little appreciation post, containing some thoughts that it evoked in me as an aroace.

If you don't want spoilers, please don't read!

It's so relatable how Sakuko keeps blaming herself all throughout the show… Insecurity stemming from societal expectations that dictate romance is for everyone, and that people who don't date are somehow "failing" in life; I think this affects allos as well.

When I broke off my romantic relationship, I too felt like it had been my fault, for not having been a good enough partner, for not being able to love them in the same way they loved me.

To finally learn that you are not "defective", that there's other people like you…! I love how the two MCs don't grieve their lack of attraction; Sakuko is perfectly happy discovering she's aroace. She and Takahashi are living their "best life" together.

Sure, many aroaces do wish they were allo, and that needs to be represented too, but this series to me really shined a light over why they want that: it's because amatonormativity is rampant in the world, not because lacking attraction is inherently sad. The main conflicts in the series stem from the clash between allo society and the aroace experience, after all. I think that's neat! It gave me a good dose of aroace joy—while still showing the hurts that come with it, realistically—and I really needed it.

I didn't expect her to come out to her family so soon, but whoa, that was intense. Her mother's negative reaction is what all people who exclude a-spec people from the LGBTQIA+ community should see, to understand that we face the same issues they do.

I haven't come out to my parents as aroace yet, and watching this made me realize how awful it actually feels to be in the closet. I somehow hadn't realized I am. I've always felt safe coming out to them as other things, as bisexual back in the day, and as trans non-binary.

It might be because my confidence disappeared when they reacted badly both times, but this coming out feels almost impossible.

Comparing it to coming out as bi, it's really not that different: if you're bi, you're promiscuous and date too many people; if you're aroace, you're a prude and cold-hearted. If you break away from the status quo, you're wrong either way.

But at least, most people do eventually understand the bi experience, if they understand same-gender attraction, and fuse it with straightness, even though it's a flawed method.

With aros and aces, instead, it's such an alien concept for an allo, which makes it way harder to come out and have to explain to them how to deconstruct allo-amatonormativity. It's exhausting. Thankfully, there's people like Kazu who are actually willing to learn about us. That gives me hope.

I feel like it's super eye-opening to find out the concept of romance didn't even exist in the past. Pretty sure that in Europe, it originated during the Middle Ages from the ideal of chivalry. So it's really just a social construct, and opting out of it shouldn't be so controversial!

It's just a set of pointless, annoying rules like having to kiss eachother, having to say "I love you", and doing it all a set amount of times, otherwise it's not good enough. What if we don't want to? What if it doesn't come natural to us? If it's just a social construct, fuck it, I'm not adhering to that! We do whatever makes us happy!

Even in the series itself, Sakuko too goes through a heartbreak, even if it's not the romantic kind: she valued her friendship and future cohabitation with Chizuru above all else, but Chizuru abandoned her, because of romantic love. It's not true that aroaces have it easy.

Like our MC, we have to deal with fear that we'll come off flirty when we're just being friendly, confusion over concepts that we feel we should understand, shame over the fact that we're different, fear of loneliness, frustration and pain that we'll always come second to our friends' romantic partners, or even trauma from a relationship or sexual encounter that we didn't really want. I could go on and on.

These last scenes really got to me. Especially the second one… I admit that I cried, when she had to turn her down, and it seemed like her aromanticism had ruined their relationship. It hurts that the way I am could seriously harm someone I care about. It hurts that most people work differently and that they can't help it, and that we can't help it either. I don't like being put in that position, to cause someone a heartbreak. I have with my ex, and had to watch them spiral down… It was horrible.

Still, I wouldn't change my orientation for the world. I'm confident in my identity, I love being aroace.

In the end, we can all reach our full potential, reach a point where we feel fulfilled and that we're living our best life, find ourselves a family if it's what we want, have our dream job and house. Being aroace doesn't condemn us to a life of unhappiness. That's what this series left me with by the end; it gave me so much hope for my future.

(I'm aware I'm coming off as a bit toxically positive here haha, sorry if I'm striking a bad chord; I'm just in a really good period right now, and riding this wave for as long as I can! Hopefully I can rub it off someone else as well.)

That said, I really loved this j-drama, it was funny and relatable and emotional, I wished it had lasted longer! It seems like the author isn't even aroace herself, so I'm amazed at how good the representation was! So much thought and research has gone into it, and it shows; the result is amazing.

Thanks for reading my scattered thoughts about this! 🧡💛🤍🩵💙

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nonotnolan · 1 year ago

Text

The Great Gym Shift

Day 15 of life after the body swapping incident that affected downtown Washington DC, and life was still weird as shit. Some people were calling it the Great Shift-- a government cover-up for a science experiment gone wrong. I don’t think a two mile radius really deserves a “Great” moniker but I had to admit it was catchy. Others were calling it a terrorist bioweapon meant to cause havoc across the nation’s government. That did seem possible, but the terrorists had terrible aim if that was the case.

A few people even said it was a plan to put key politicians into younger, healthier bodies, but... I know for a fact that one isn’t true. I was there at ground zero when the swap occurred, working as a personal trainer at the gym. All those desirable bodies, mine included, went to some of the most pathetic white collar workers you could imagine. Whatever happened, it was definitely an accident.

It’s been a month, and I still haven’t gotten used to my reflection. I hope I never do, to be honest. The government is working on getting this whole mess resolved, and I can only hope it will be sooner rather than later. I’ve never had hair this long, and I am in desperate need a of a haircut. Since it’s not my body, I’d have to fill out a requisition form, and I keep hoping it won’t come to that.

One of the first things the Government did was send in the National Guard to put everyone affected into a quarantined hotel area, and then they started drowning us in regulations and paperwork. I’m still working as a personal trainer... only now most of my clients are lazy office drones. Those desirable bodies I mentioned? I’m in charge of making sure their new owners keep them in shape. I’m slowly losing my sanity.

“Mitch! What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” I said, walking out into our shared kitchen. Uncle Sam was putting us up in some very nice accommodations, I had to admit, but my clients-turned-roommates left a lot to be desired.

“C’mon Grady, it’s Saturday,” he said, as if that was supposed to be an answer. I kept starting at him until he continued. “Saturday is my self-care day, and today that means Netflix and cookies. I don’t see what the big deal is...”

“Absolutely not,” I said, holding out my hand. “Give me those, that is way too many calories for one serving. We’re sharing those with the whole floor.” He rolled his eyes and sighed at me, but at least he obeyed me. I can’t help but feel self-conscious bossing all of these men around, especially when they’re large enough to beat me to a pulp if they knew how to leverage their strength. The real Mitch was a lanky college intern who had no idea how to build or maintain muscle mass. Russ would’ve had a heart attack if he was here to see even half the things Mitch wanted to do in that body.

As I walked the plate of cookies out to the common area, I couldn’t help but notice that Larry was still sitting at his room’s computer desk, shirtless and surrounded by a few wadded tissues. Gross, but... I’ve seen Larry’s old body. I can’t entirely blame the old pervert. “Please tell me you didn’t stay up all night watching porn again.”

He just smiled at me, his bloodshot eyes telling me everything that I needed to know. “So what if I did, Grady, it’s Saturday. The fitness schedule you made for me says I don’t have to work out today, and a sleep schedule isn’t a part of the body cohabitation contract we all signed. As long as I still eat three healthy meals today, you can’t make me do anything. So how about giving me some privacy?” He was right, of course. Larry was one of my most frustrating clients, because he knew exactly how to do the bare minimum and nothing more. Tana was one of the gym’s biggest over-achievers, so seeing his body do a complete 180 had been quite the adjustment.

I knew better than to engage with him right now-- better to save my strength for fights that I would be able to win. I set the cookies down in our shared kitchen, waved at a few of the other guys, and retreated back to the bedroom I shared with one other man.

Simon smiled at me, and I could feel my frustrations starting to lift away. “Good morning, Grady. Rough start?” he asked, looking up from his book. Simon was a licensed psychologist who happened to be at a nearby Industry Convention when the Great Shift happened, and I was so glad to have his assistance dealing with all of the heated emotions that boiled over during the aftermath. Furthermore, Simon had ended up in my body. It was a relief to know that my body was being controlled by someone responsible, even if seeing myself each day came with its own set of weird situations.

"You have no idea,” I said, shaking my head. “Or rather, you have an exact idea, because you’ve also had to deal with those guys. I don’t suppose you would be up for some... stress release?” I asked, peeling off my tank top and tossing it onto the floor.

He laughed, quickly setting aside his book and his glasses. “In this body? Always!” Was it weird that I was having sex with my own body? Maybe, but honestly, our daily hookups felt like one of the least weird things about this whole mess. I always knew I was an attractive man, and I’ve always been attracted to anyone who keeps themselves healthy, regardless of gender. Presumably that’s how Simon now felt-- I know that ever since I’ve been in this new Twink body, I have only felt attraction for hairy men. Sexual attraction seemed to follow the body, not the inhabitant.

“Do you ever worry that we’re complicating things?” Simon asked. “For whenever the government is able to switch everyone back into the right bodies, I mean. They’ve told our loved ones that we’re in quarantine, but... how can we go back to normal life when this is all over?” I understood where he was coming from-- his real body was at least twenty years older, and while he didn’t like sharing too much about his life, I’d gotten the impression he had a wife and maybe a few grandkids waiting for him back home.

Simon clearly had a tendency to overthink everything, and I was now used to offering friendly advice while his warm load was still inside of me. “Honestly, I think we’re dealing with a stressful situation, and we’re all just coping however we can. There’s nothing wrong with two consenting adults having sex. And I don’t know about you, but... if I didn’t try to get a wide range of experiences inside of this temporary body, I think I’d regret the missed opportunity forever.”

He smiled at me. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, as he sipped on cheap hotel coffee. “’In sickness or in health’ wasn’t really meant to cover something so impossible. And I’d rather seek forgiveness than forever ponder what might have been.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said, smiling back at him. I think we both knew it was a bit selfish, but how else could we be expected to process these strange new desires? Yeah, I guess I felt a bit guilty having sex with someone other than my girlfriend back home, but... when else would I ever get an opportunity to have sex with myself? I don’t think there is a person alive who could blame me.

#male body swap #gay body swap #after the swap #muscle jock #great shift

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notmorbid · 11 months ago

Text

still born.

dialogue prompts from still born by guadalupe nettel. this book deals directly with infant loss / illness.

nothing will happen to you while i'm here.

in friendships like ours, there's no room for hypocrisy.

they say that violence begets violence.

the more we love a person, the more fragile and insecure we feel because of them.

if you disappeared, a part of me would go with you.

i can't take any more of you.

can i bum one off you?

what was it like to live with ____?

i didn't come here to argue with you.

i've got you to love. i don't need anyone else.

can you talk? i need to tell you something.

it's a long story. you'll need to pay attention. do you have time now?

did you just get back from school?

i just went for a walk around the block.

why don't we go to the park this afternoon?

i talk to myself, too.

did anyone tell you what happened?

what did i do wrong?

there's nothing like looking at a lake to calm one's thoughts.

do you mind if i smoke?

i promise you i won't leave until it's better.

the city is full of dangerous people.

i can't imagine what it would feel like to be in your place.

there's no word for a parent who loses a child.

did you used to play in the street when you were little?

it's not healthy to wallow in pain.

what should i have done differently?

i can't keep explaining it over and over again.

talking about it made me feel better.

anger is nothing but a screen for avoiding pain.

you're totally unreadable.

you're smoking again?

being a mother means being worried about someone else all the time.

love and common sense are not always compatible.

some music fuses with our selves, we've listened to it so much.

cohabitation is one of the hardest experiences to survive.

i wouldn't mind a vodka tonic.

some people are more awake at night.

what did you used to like doing before you shut yourself in?

i don't want kids, even adopted ones.

you forgot how to be happy.

there's nothing for you here. go away.

it's easier to blame others for what we can't tolerate in ourselves.

you look like you've gone back in time.

you can spend the day with me.

it's not right, but sometimes it's worth doing.

what i want is for you to stop meddling in my life.

i need to know so i can help you.

it's as if ____ needs to suck my life force to grow.

all i feel is worn out.

normal mothers don't think those kinds of things, do they?

i'm not sure 'normal mothers' exist.

you'll judge me. you always do.

there are people who consider misfortune an infectious disease.

we tend to see our mother's mistakes as the source of all our problems.

you're always questioning the past.

if you don't leave home, you suffocate. if you go too far, you lose oxygen.

from hereon in, anything that happens is a bonus.

i'm here to help you, not to fight you.

i like to say things straight.

there's always a way to renegotiate debt.

i can't believe you hid this from me. it's like staying quiet when there's a fire in the house.

you're not on your own. we're a family now.

i ask myself why you stay sometimes, too.

are we going to stay like this for the rest of our lives?

blood ties don't guarantee anything.

the biological family is something that's been imposed on us. there's no reason we should settle for that if it doesn't work for us.

i can't stand being in my head.

is it your voice in your head, or someone else's?

what do you do when your thoughts bother you?

you've got space inside you where you can go and hide.

we have the children that we have, not the ones we imagined we'd have.

what could someone so young know about despair?

don't leave my side for a minute.

i feel like an absolute worm.

do you think you'll be able to fall in love again?

don't be nervous. whatever has to happen will happen. no one gets out of that.

#rp meme #ask memes #inbox memes #rp memes #ask meme #rp prompts #inbox meme #sentence starters #families

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decepti-thots · 1 year ago

Note

☕ MTOs & specifically what do you think they were going for with that?

MTOs are an interesting narrative thing to me in the sense that they really are so localised to only one part of the canon; they're very clearly Roberts' idea and only really matter, inasmuch as they do matter, in MTMTE. It's pretty clear to me that's the case for one specific reason: they'd actually fit SUPER well into the narrative arc of exRiD, especially early-to-mid RiD, but they basically never come up! You'd think 'neutrals and soldiers stuggling to cohabit socially and politically' would be prime fodder (lmao) for taking advantage of a narrative about mechs born of and into war coming back to a civilian life on a planet they really don't know. And yet.

What they're doing in that comic, in MTMTE, is a little headscratching to me at times. It feels, to be honest, somewhat like worldbuilding put in to make the texture of the backstory of the war feel grander than IDW had really managed up to that point in actual on-panel stuff, without a lot of thought when doing so in the moment as to the knock on implications going forward. MTMTE does this a few times, tries to use vague gestures at important sounding stuff to bring a greater sense of history and depth to the war in the face of the actual stuff we saw in phase one being. Mmmm. Basically just twenty dudes we already know shooting at each other across parking lots. LMAO.

(Sidenote: I know for a fact Roberts watched original flavour nuWho, and this is PEAK Russell T Davies doing worldbuilding when he was on Doctor Who, and I fully believe he was cribbing from that playbook. Every damn episode RTD would make them just sort of say stuff about the Time War that made it sound incredibly vast and textured and complex but which, crucially, never made any actual fucking sense. Good examples of stuff like this would be the Crucible, the Simanzi massacre, etc. This is, to be clear, a neutral observation, not praise or criticism per se.)

I say this because MTOs should probably be a bigger deal in terms of the impact on our cast, and their outlook on life and reasons for joining the quest, than they wind up being. An MTO is a character with no experience of living in peacetime at all, likely no experience of Cybertron, no sense of kinship or home necessarily to the planet they came "back" to. All of this provides a really clear motivation, given the implication most surviving non-neutral Cybertronians are now MTOs due to huge numbers of deaths, to join a quest like the Lost Light's! But it tends not to come up much, and I think it's because it wasn't really part of the plan. Later on, there's room to slot in some details here and there- Riptide talking about his experiences with being infodumped at by the 'training' comes to mind- but it takes a while for the comic to come back round to that.

The two big exceptions, of course, are Getaway and Brainstorm. The idea is definitely interacting with their characters more, though again, it... tends to come up later. Especially for Getaway, who I'm not convinced was originally conceived as an MTO, but had it slotted in a bit later as 'well that works' stuff tbh. (And it does, so that's fine!) Which leaves Brainstorm, who lies about being forged to throw off suspicion, who it's implied never got the time of day from Quark in a way I wouldn't be surprised we're supposed to assume is some kind of remaining bias, perhaps. Who didn't see a future for himself 'back on Cybertron' and so concocted a very weird plan to avoid having to. Who never got a choice about his 'side' in the war, and wound up with no real loyalty for anyone.

I think if there's any avenue I'd have liked to see more about MTOs via, it's Brainstorm. I wish there'd been more room to focus on that instead of (I'm so sorry shippers) his thing with Perceptor as the way to talk about his sense of inadequacy, tbh. What did it feel like, lying to Chromedome about remembering a pre-war life he never got a chance to experience? Being made to shoot people and be shot and escaping the fate of having that be the only thing he ever knew by the skin of his teeth? Not being able to imagine an end to the war, so all he wants to do is save one guy and run off with him as a pipe dream? That seems like the character where a lot of this stuff should naturally lie, to me. And I think it's a shame I've seen very little talk in fandom about it!

#ask meme

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picturesofthegoneworlds · 9 months ago

Note

For one word prompts, I'm finally seeing some green in my garden again, so: Sage?

Oh, of course you know how to appeal to me. I hope this brings the vibes <3 ~

There was a variety of sage (still is, most likely) - sanctified – a herb that they would dry hanged from the rafters and tie into bundles like broomstick bristles, its own fibrous stem knotted in noose around the neck and ankles of the bale, burnt at the stakes and raised pitchforks to sweep away the wicked.

The smoke was what woke her, herbaceous floral distress signal, thrown through the open (paneless) window, accompanied by salt and circle.

They hoped to lure her out the front ‘door’ - she concluded with groggy post-dream clarity - strategized to trap her between saline force field and stone and mortar.

She stumbled over herself, gathered her few possessions. In time shorter the flames carpeted the threshing covering the floor, climbed into her bed to alight the straw stuffing the mattress, exorcised from there to cross exposed rafters to the mossy thatching comprising the roof-

She left through the vacant fireplace.

From a distance fled she observed the thick grapevine coiling of smoke as it billowed out above the forest canopy from a chimney that had crumbled decades ago.

Fire-licked masonry, tattered and scorched fabrics. Perhaps their malice left the cabin more befitting, well-suited, paralleled - outfitted in ash grey skin and soot ichor stains. The hunting party retreated but she could not return. She wondered who would take up residence in the hollow shell - as such a body must be an invite, must be a vessel (at least that was a lesson she was soon to learn) - but who would cohabitate with the spiders, birds, and other small mammals?

The thick smoke filtered through the pines

All of her grievances aside (packed away once again with her bedroll and cauldron), it smelt rather wonderful-

There was another sage (surely must be, still) - common - cultivated in window boxes and allotments, the leaves torn to marinade meats, to infuse healing balms, unbiased towards the dead or the living, transmuting itself for both in order to permeate soft tissue.

Laudna would grab handfuls of the silver-furred leaves; amass them in pocket-lint-lined-bundles of potpourri. Crushed the sage between her fingers, rubbed it on her pulse points, tied it with red twine dried in parcels of cheesecloth that she decorated around her person. Loose in her coin pouch, trinkets, her spell component satchel too, sewn into Pâté’s stuffing, flattened behind her belts and tucked into the front of her bodice and trampled in the soles of her shoes-

Never sure if it was necessity or in her head, not like when she wore flushing and sweating flesh, saturated, awkward teenager dealing with the stubborn stench of puberty or drenched in the fragrance of a farm-girl-butcher’s-daughter composting straw manure and coagulated pigs’ blood –

-not the perfume of The Ladies, certainly, refined with their age, aged mahogany liquor barrel vintage sophisticated palate, finery of silks satin lace velvet layers stored in lacquered marquetry hardwood armoires and mausoleum-sized wardrobes, aired in gilded vase and bouquet’ed marble surroundings, chandeliers ornately framed paintings in alabaster hallways-

She would feel rather self-conscious of it; of her differences - but continued her play with the worms in the forest regardless.

Then, for a short time, she slept with them.

Or rather, she woke to fall onto a heap moving with them, dancing drunken room-spin carpet shag pile of maggots and flies and mosquitoes and pillows of other larvae unidentified, turning familiar faces into fertiliser.

She was not sure if it was the memory, or the actual (un)working order of things

Permanently rotting

Hard to smell past the end of a decomposing nose

Perhaps it wasn’t so hard to tell for others?

Every time she passed the plant she filled her pockets and hands - ironically unaware of how time had stilled, that she was embalming herself - hoping it would fight the trauma-ever-present smell, that she could throw off the(ir) scent.

There is a sage that blooms violet throughout the summer - wild - like early humid evenings with head thrown back in laughter and perspiration jeweling tanned neck, clouds underlit and voluminous as purple-sunset tousled hair.

Imogen points it out with inquisition; at the gatherings of spears of blossoms lanced into soil growing not far from the bank of a river in the sun-bleached and crunching-under-foot tall grasses of an open field.

Seeds from dried out flower heads are carried along the docile breeze, ashes falling in hazing-heat ground fog, smithing dandelion diamond rings to decorate the fingers of the willows that lazily wave, bid farewell to the jewellery that doesn’t fit, allowing it to marry elsewhere between clumps over the grass and charms accumulated at the banks of the gently moving river.

“D’ya know what this is? Smells good.”

She kneels down with her palm held open to the purple blooming sage, presentory, skin offering the tan lines above her knees exposed from the displacement of the tops of her tall leather boots, a dandelion seed catching in the mass of her mane like a feather, her hand not designated to indicating specimen shading above one of her eyes squinted shut and the corner of her mouth raised baring teeth as she looks to Laudna with the midday sun over her shoulder.

It’s a bit overwhelming, the life and the bliss it elicits.

Laudna walks the few paces over to her, gives a quick inspection with the cast of her shadow.

Smiles in familiarity, nods to the plant in greeting

“Would you like to try it?”

Imogen starts the fire, uses the abundance of dried grasses as kindling. It smells just like the burning cottage had, does so every time. Laudna prunes the wild sage, gathering toothed leaves and small violet petals into her wicker basket, rolls the fragranced stems between the pads of her fingers and inhales, implores the herbal scent to momentarily mask the memory of deterioration as it once had. Imogen sets up the frame for hanging the cauldron, drives the iron spikes into the dry ground, fills it from the river, has to submerge her hand into the gathered water, fingers tweezers removing errant dandelion parachutes that she wipes onto her gauzy dress skirt, skin glistening with the cascading droplets that intuitively follow the scarring of her lightning marks and drip onto the floor, where a lizard with skin like stones flees under the weave of the trodden grass once her footfall returns, retreats for safer ground. Laudna questions whether it will turn to watch the fire or let instinct tell it to keep running-

“You’re quiet…”

Imogen states, offers a softened and upturned corner of her mouth.

Another feather of an airborne seed lands in her hair. A warning arrow shot through the window and puncturing her pillow, innards flying-

“I seem to be having a reflective day, sorry.”

“Anythin’ you wanna share?”

Imogen wears her empathetic apology in her brow, strained, and Laudna isn’t sure of how legible abstract memories are to her, if the furrow is from an attempt at unknotting the tangles, mostly it feels a weight too unquantifiable to know what to share with intention.

“Not now. I think this is good, something new.”

Present is good, a gift, shared (willingly, in part).

“I don’t dislike it…”

Imogen declares, staring into her cup as she swirls its contents under inquisitive-eyed assessment.

“It sounds like you are warming up for a caveat there.”

She pauses, holds the pottery between her hands on her lap.

“I’m not, s’just new. Tea back home was mostly black and made with lemons and alotta honey or sugar; was cold if the occasion were special-” she tucks her hair behind her ear as her eyes read the pattern of the blanket they had laid over the floor. Laudna wonders if there were birthday parties on picnic blankets out in the paddocks, waited by her father, Imogen and her childhood friends drinking sweet tea and running around in daisy crowns “-I guess we had other teas, but they were more for if y’all were sick?”

She doesn’t like to think of that.

The birds and the crickets carry on their background accompaniment, Imogen's hand returning to the other cradling the cup. Laudna feels as though she can see the slow turn of the skin on her exposed thighs from bronzed tan to sun-kissed red, convinced she is observing the freckles multiplying.

“This one is supposed to be good for anxiety.”

Imogen scoffs, it causes a nearby bird in the brush to scatter

“Yeah? Well I’ll report back on that - maybe we should take more with us just in case.”

Laudna laughs agreeably, enthusiastic. She knows how to make plenty of room for sage.

To follow the tea she also makes them a salad with the plant’s greens; a field-foraged thing prepared with borage and dandelion leaves, fleshed out with wild strawberries, a little olive oil and a little cider vinegar, served in a wooden bowl.

finishes the assemblage with an intentionally random flecking of the wild sage's violet petals, as though the bowl is a miniature diorama of the meadow in which they sit, olive oil babbling brook and cast iron fork fallen-tree bridge ready to present on a plinth, garden plans proposed by the landscaper in the study to a snooty gent stroking his chin and um-ing and ah-ing -

the hidden door that was disguised behind ornate wooden panelling, adjoining the ransacked and emptied floor to ceiling shelves of the study via dark stone corridors to the equipped and practical, cell-like laboratory-

She thinks that was the layout, at least - worries who she will rouse if she thinks too hard on it. There is comfort in the answer being left immaterial.

“All’a those times I was sittin’ in fields of flowers, I never really thought I could be eatin’ them.”

It is so nice to have someone she adores break up her ruminations.

“You had a lot of quality produce, there wasn’t really the need.”

"I guess not. Honestly, I think I prefer the salad to the tea."

Imogen licks her teeth, reveals a violet petal plastered over incisor that she shortly removes with a blade-of dry-grass toothpick, re-places the petal on the flat of her tongue, rolling it around her mouth and swallowing it.

Laudna stares.

"You like the flowers?" she finds herself leaning towards Imogen. Wants to tell her that for years this one was her perfume - pomanders adorned and concealed in tattered layers.

“They’re purple, ‘course I do.” she giggles, resting sat cross-legged with her weight behind her on her palms. Her head rolls towards Laudna, leaves their foreheads almost resting against one another, Laudna able to count each individual eyelash.

Purple, like the deep undertones of her hair. That much Laudna was very aware of.

“I should have guessed that that would be what caught your attention.” She brings her hand up and wraps her bony index finger in a ringlet of Imogen's hair.

“More like your magic, I was thinkin’…” She drawls, tenor lowered and breathy.

“And the taste?”

Imogen visibly swallows, cheeks flushing a further tint than what the sun has already given - it makes Laudna feel overly aware of the networking of her own heart and veins.

Imogen clears her throat

"’s’good - kinda familiar."

Laudna feels overwhelmed by the compelling need to kiss her - so she does. Her hand with finger still tied in ringlets of hair sprawling over Imogen's chest as she responds with a squeaked moan that reverberates underneath it. Her lungs halt in their expansion as her mouth is sealed with her own, the increasing pulse at the base of her neck decipherable carved runes under the tip of her fingers, her heart thudding against her palm.

Familiar. Laudna can muse on that in the future, certainly.

She sits back from Imogen - already breathless and chest heaving, lips kiss-swollen - and appreciates the sight she helped curate; the picture of her looking a little dazed on their tartan blanket with the surrounding flora densely reaching above her shoulders, crowned in multi-coloured paint strokes.

“Familiar? And here I thought that was your first time eating a flower.”

Causes her to blush furiously

“Don’t you use ma’words against me.” She pushes Laudna playfully at her shoulder, pretends to look away in dissatisfaction, bottom lip pouting.

“I apologise, that is your advantage to keep. My words are but humble ammunition for your armoury.” Laudna exaggeratedly plays acting pious at Imogen’s half-turned back, Imogen turning back to her with one eyebrow raised and a laugh she is clearly trying to keep within her stomach murmuring at the corners of her lips.

"That so? Well alright, how would y’all describe it?"

She puffs out air towards her head, hairs previously put behind her ear falling back out of (or into, depending on which of them you ask) place, sits forward again, arms folded. Adorable. Laudna is aware of how susceptible Imogen is to her teasing, always so charming and charismatic, and so often a bumbling mess - and it is intoxicating - to exercise any sort of outcome on such a gifted sorceresses’ disposition, is doing her best to learn what the differences and distinctions are between that and her own longer ongoing situation…

Focus.

Despite the more imposing associations, she can still remember

Can still remember her father butchering the pig, her mother in the kitchen slicing its fatty flesh into patchwork diamonds, stuffing the incised indents with sage and garlic and other seasonings, the slab of flesh tied with butcher’s twine around a whole peeled onion and roasted, skin crackling, the three of them sat around the oak table, talking about the small things, Laudna's mother showing off the basket Laudna had weaved that day, presented like a cornucopia on the kitchen table top, holding that weeks offering of vegetables.

She would describe it as herbaceous, sweet, and floral. Peppery, perhaps like a minty aniseed. Earthy. Mulchy. Rich as the soil it grew from. Could also admit to it being 'like the first home I'd made burning down, like the incense I'd crush between my palms and rub behind my ears so as to not offend any people who would be so kind as to get close enough to notice the death’

what she does say is

"nostalgic."

not a lie - though she hopes in futures she won’t be drowned marinating in it, the complex layering of all of the ingredients and flavours, hopes one can remain dominant, bountiful and nourishing.

Imogen there, seen over the end of a nose that did not rot and fall off. She’s sure that it can change.

#Imodna #Imogen Temult #Laudna #Critical Role #Bells Hells #Emma writes #Prompt fill

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taterswithranch · 6 months ago

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smol but still deadly

#this deal of ours: cohabitation #my art #fnf #fnf tabi #entity #entity agoti #entity nikusa

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grits-galraisedinthesouth · 10 months ago

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Revisiting information from Tom Bower's book Revenge and current events in the House of Windsor.

Misan Harriman: All Roads lead back, to Soho House & the person Rachel described as her "gay husband," Markus Anderson.

Anglo-Nigerian photographer, Misan Harriman, was instrumental in Meghan’s 2014 post-Trevor re-brand from Deal or No Deal Briefcase Girl to faux philanthropist/humanitarian.

Allegedly he's also gay, along with the other "boys" in MEgain's Soho House Circle. All in "contract" marriages with female "beards" like Rachel Meghan Markle. All liars.

According to Tom Bower's research (Revenge p. 63), Meghan was determined to use One Young World as her launching pad to celebrity philanthropy.

She was unknown to the OYW founders and event staff so she contacted Misan Harriman to ask for an introduction to his friend, tennis star, Boris Becker.

Becker was already scheduled to speak at the Dublin conference and Misan pitched the idea of Meghan's participation.

Becker referred Meghan to HIS AGENT, Gina Nelthorpe-Cowne.

If I remember correctly, in Gina's pre-wedding articles and interviews, she mentioned that Meghan contacted her office in 2014 to express an interest in helping with the OYW conference(s). I had no idea that Meghan and Misan were friendly while Meghan cohabitated with Celebrity Chef Cory.

MEgain did not choose Misan for her engagement photographs. Misan has only been in the photography business for five (5) years.

Soho House members, the York Sisters, invited Misan to capture the moment Edo proposed to Beatrice. (sigh & smh) SAME Eugenie who told the press, "we really like her..." when someone (OMIT & Jessica) gave Camilla Tominey permission to publicize their affair. Camilla repeatedly writes that William MUST forgive Sparry. Tominey cares nothing for the Wales family or the country. Her interests are rooted in greed and irresponsible reporting to sell papers.

Notice The Meghans began paying Misan during MEGXIT. He captured the stills and video footage for Megflix. He is also paid by Invictus. There's a lot of cash flowing into Misan's bank account via The Meghan and their archeficicial business ventures. IRS, where you at???? 🤔

I'm not sure why I included the following in my original 2022 post: "Allegedly, during Harry's 2 nights in Tornto (babysat by Jason Knauf), just before he flew to the US-FL IG, Meghan (while cohabitating w/Cory & just back from spending Mother's Day weekend w/Cory's parents) Meghan told Harry about her interest in helping him with the Invictus Games."

One thing that stands out to me is how much both Meghans lied during the engagement interview:

Sparry & MEgain admitted (on international television) that they were secretly dating for 5-6 months BEFORE Tominey received the story.

Do the math. If they met in July of 2016 and had 5-6 months together in secret, Camilla's article would have been published in December or January, not October/November.

Camilla's article was published at the time of their Toronto (soho house) Halloween party with Eugenie and Jack Brooksbank: October 2016 = only 3 dating months.

If they began dating during Sparry's Spring promotional visit to Toronto for Ingriftus, then YES--- they were "together" (like spooning bananas) for five (5) months before MEgain leaked the details to Tominey

Sparry is just as much of a compulsive liar as his wife. He lies about the unnecessary details:

"we had to announce your megnantcy for the tour because you were showing..."

"It's true, you did blend in-----‐until our farewell week..."

I have future content coming about Victoria Hervey and Dan Wootton's despicable behavior during kategate. At the moment I wish she would stop extending open invitations for Sparry "to come home," when he's repeatedly been clear that America is his home & America is where he feels safe.

In my opinion, Sparry and MEgain deserve to be married to one another FOREVER!! Initially I viewed Sparry as her victim but just because Sparry is mentally & emotionally unstable and intellectually "sub-educational" (as Lady C would say), does not excuse his character issues: lying, cheating, stealing, grifting to achieve fame and fortune in America. People all over the world with low IQs know the difference between right and wrong. There is no excuse for Sparry's crimes.

Royal Families cannot expect their people to look past bad behavior. Charles got what he wanted, "Camilla." Despite the good press she receives, the majority of the world sees Charles as spoiled and feckless. I do think he will be surprised to learn just how many Brits wish he & Camilla would just go on a permanent holiday.

In a world of meritocracy, we have watched Meghan Markle, Sparry, and Andrew get away with murder. Zero on the job consequences for bad behavior------>Out of touch with everyday people.

Andrew & Sparry have caused permanent damage to brand BRF. When Charles chooses tone deafness over humility and shame, they are begging the people for a Republic.

Normal people pay a price for their unwise decisions. Selfish Charles chose Jesus' resurrection day to rub Andrew into the faces of the British people and global royal watchers.

People won't take these moments of pure contempt for the will and opinions of the people and just let it all go due to cancer. Charles is still seen as a feckless king who will ultimately destroy this monarchy because it appears he cannot or will not manage his household.

Go to church Andrew & Fergie, but not in front of the cameras and not at the expense of the taxpayers. These are not difficult situations for Buckingham Palace. Does anyone have a working brain? It's as if Charles is deliberately destroying everything his mother & father worked so hard to preserve.

I agree @sassyfrassboss and don't get me started on Sarah's health related virtue signals. Why is it so difficult for Fergie to stop talking? And why won't Andrew go away and live out a solitary life? No one wants to shake hands with Epstein's pal. No charity wants to be represented by Epstein's pal. Consequences.

Andrew is reviled and despised because he refuses to accept responsibility for his unwise choices. He has no remorse for choosing "sleazy e & co" over his family and his country. It's not complicated.

I have drafts of future content about the York's. Surmise it to say, Andrew and Sarah are just not bright people. What's worse is they are selfish and refuse to step out of the limelight to give their daughters & grandkids a fresh start.

Unfortunately, like The Meghans, Eugenie was willing to exploit the identities of other people's children while concealing the face of her own child with stickers.

Ultimately Eugenie used the Jubilee to change course. She finally held up the child to show his face. Cute child. What's not cute is the elitist mindset that "blue blood makes us extra special."

After visiting Davos, Eugenie was quick to parrot her elitist, WEF talking points. There was no critical thinking about the issue(s) (like, "hmm, my husband wears glasses"), just a regurgitation of elitist talking points.

No one wants to see Andrew on Easter Sunday or for that matter at any other holiday. Seeing him jolly on parade is a slap in the face to all who had a deep affection for Queen Elizabeth's virtues and basic human decency. It's past time for him to retire from public life.

Rolling up to Easter service as though the York's are respectable members of society who serve Jesus Christ is absolutely shameful.

Not because of a liar named Virginia and her fake photo, but because of Andrew's REAL Central Park, NYC photos and the video footage of Andrew coming and going from Epstein's NYC home. Not to mention their big Epstein dinner with guests like Katie Couric, George Stephanopoulos and Woody Allen---- to name just a few.

Andrew used tax payer's money to travel in support of Jeffrey Epstein upon his release from prison.

A man who was convicted of sexually assaulting under age girls served about 12 months in prison and upon release he threw a NYC party for his royal pal Andrew! The Palace was "too honorable" to reply, "No thank you. Have a nice life." Andrew seems too self centered to concern himself with the commandments to "avoid even the appearance of evil" and to "honor" his mother & father's legacies.

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year ago

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AITA for being upset at my mom?

🎵🎵 (to find it)

I know it's not a real big deal, but it's starting to get upsetting. English is not my first language and im on mobile sl sorry about that.

Okay, so my(20f) mother (F mid40s) suffer from long covid. Her symptoms consist of chronic fatigue, short breath, join pain and brain fog. (I still live home because im a college student, and finding an appartment in this market is hell)

We've been really supportive of her :

I drive most of the time, and my sister(16f) has her apprentice driver license, so she drives for mom when im at school; when we go to the mall and she need to take a break to breath, i always offer to go get her a wheelchair, or going to get the car, she sleeps a lot in the day so we don't make noise, i bought her loops earplug for sleeping, etc.

We're are used to it and my dad (mid40s too) work 12 hours a day to compensate for the money we're losing with mom on sickleave (where we live we have job insurance and etc): he starts at 5:30am to 6pm, and i usually only see him in the evening, so the only time we really are together as a family is during the evening meal.

There is where i could be the a-hole:

Since mom got long covid, it takes more time for her to respons us, and her memory isnt as good as it was (shes well known in her workplace, she a well respected manager who takes great care of her employees). It's just, almost every night, when me or my sister or even my dad are telling a something that happened in our day, she always cut us to say something, like :don't forget to put this in that, or just to say something she did that day over our own story, or asking me to bring her water in the middle of my sister's sentences (which she could have waited for after she was done).

So we, someone different each time, always tell her "X was speaking, you just cut them, and you do this often, please let them finish" and, well, when it happens everytime i am (or my sister) is trying to say something, it get upsetting. And she always uses the same reasons: "we're a family and we're cohabiting, sometime we talk over you but still listen to you" (no she doesn’t, i have to tell her a million times the same fucking thing and she always forget) or "you know my mind is a little slow right now, i'll forget if i don't say it" or she gets upset because we're annoyed by it.

But god forbid if you cut her! She'll raise her tone, and still doesn't get why we're upset.

Like, i get it, she got long covid and it's a bitch to deal with the way your cognitive capabilities slow down with the fatigue, but we've been extremely helpful (and im still gonna be, because she's my mother) and her allowing herself to lack respect towards us doesn't excuse her because she's ill. At least this is how i see it?

At this point i dont really know if i can feel upset? Like, she's my mom, and she's ill (and it's really depressing seeing her this put down by the symptoms i don't wish it to anyone) but im just so tired to have to restart the same sentence four or five time because she keep interrupting me

So, aita?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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bengiyo · 8 months ago

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Only Boo! Ep 8 Stray Thoughts

Last week, Moo got too excited the night before his audition and was late. Potae was off his game due to nerves, and he and Moo got into a fight about their mistakes. Jang, an idol, took a shine to Payos. Only Payos passed the audition. Kang rejected Shone, and has confirmed boyfriends with Moo.

If this show must contrive intimacy delays, I like the hand kissing as an indication that Kang wants to.

Episode 8: My Boo

I love that the date montage takes place over just a few days. Moo has been waiting and needs to get it in.

Oh ho, negotiating forms of address.

Kabedon!

I love Moo wanting to cook for Kang, and also that he's so serious about the tone they're using with each other.

This pre-separation anxiety feels very high school in a way that is landing solidly for me. I do like Moo a lot.

Oof, getting some Theory of Love flashbacks on Khai making Third deal with the girlfriends.

Once again glad that a confession was a fantasy because it felt so off. Another reminder to the audience.

Now which screenwriter is working out something in this script with this lament about who gets the opportunity versus who works for it the hardest?

I get that we don't have time to introduce more parents, by how is a minor signing this contract?

Okay, I like Moo glaring at Potae to speak nicely to Payos.

We're a bit late in the show, but I'm okay with Jang showing up as a complication for the side romance.

Moo's confidence about his attraction to Kang is so special.

I like Moo's song, but the tuning on the voices is strong.

I doubt Payos will confess this episode.

Are we back to wondering if the realities of public life will force Moo into the closet? I feel like I don't trust this show about this anymore.

This episode is so optimistic about the romantic future for our leads that I'm instinctively expecting a major crash at the end of this episode.

Did they intend to give Moo a graduation haircut??

I remain a fan of the teachers in this show. Reminding students that they are the ones who did the work to get through these challenges is the last lesson.

Not this teacher making me cry because he wanted to get his student's autograph.

Well well well, Payos managed to express it this episode.

This kiss feels like they worked hard on calibrating it for where the characters are and the experience level of the actors.

Interesting! We're progressing to cohabitation in college next week. That doesn't happen often. The only example that rushes to mind is Utsukushii Kare.

This was a fun episode that didn't end on a downer like I feared. I am never sure where this show wants to go, but I'm glad we got to see our leads transition into their sweet boyfriends era. I still don't know why Shone was in this show, because his absence meant nothing this week. I grow to love Moo more every week, and I wanna talk to this writing team about how they conceived Dynamite and Moo someday.

#Ben watches #only boo!#only boo the series #thai bl #bl series

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acti-veg · 8 months ago

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Hello! I'd like some advice please. Me and my boyfriend are both vegan and living together. He recently got a job at Tesco's. They have something called 'colleague shop' where employees can get free food out of date. Most of it is potatoes, bread and bagged veggies which is great! But a lot of it is also pastries and general bakery items. Almost all of those aren't vegan, however my boyfriend takes it home anyway. He says it's free food that he hasn't paid for, so he's not contributing to animal suffering. Other times he just says he admits he can't resist the temptation of a free shortbread. Lastly he says that certain foods make him nostalgic and it makes him happy to have it again. He's conflicted and whenever I try to talk to him, he feels bad in some way or another. I get his struggles, I would also struggle if presented with free food while living paycheck by paycheck as we do. I can't stop him from taking those items home, I tried discussing it with him but he either finds reasons to justify it or feels guilty without taking any action. I'm not sure how to deal with this. I don't want to see these items in our cupboards. Any suggestions?

I think that this may become a bit easier to deal with if you disregard your boyfriend’s veganism and just think of it in terms of your own boundaries and comfort levels. How he interprets his veganism and his idea that free animal products are in keeping with his personal ethics is completely up to him. However, you share a living space, this is your home and you have to be comfortable on it too.

If you are not happy with animal products in your kitchen then he should respect that. Maybe a compromise can be reached where he is storing them somewhere that isn’t a shared space where you have to look at it, or just eating them before he gets home? Don’t treat this as solely a vegan issue, it’s a cohabiting issue. If you are fundamentally uncomfortable in your own home then that needs to be addressed and he will need to make compromises to do so.

#ask #vegan #relationship issues

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kissesforsatoru · 2 years ago

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To Izana, Mikey and Rindou: How would you react if your darling refused to marry you despite being in a long-term relationship? They later on elaborate that they believe that marriage ruins relationships due to their parents splitting up soon after their decided to marry after years of cohabitation due to the pressure from the family.

mikey : hm. no. my darling doesn't get a choice on if we get married or not. we will be married, and they will be happy about it. end of story.

izana : that is the dumbest thing i have ever heard. marriage doesn't ruin a relationship; it's the couples own damn fault for letting outside pressure and conflicts dictate their relationship. my darling will marry me regardless of if they want to or not and they better fucking not ever say something so ridiculous to me again.

rindou : they better get rid of those silly little belifs before our wedding. i don't want to have to deal with that nonsense when it's supposed to be a happy, stress free day for the both of us. besides, there's no way they really believe something like that anyway, right? it doesn't make any sense for fucks sake.

have a question for your yandere lover? ask them! ⟶ masterlist

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cookeybg · 11 months ago

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Unexpected Cohabitation a JonDami fic

So....my chapters seem to be getting longer. I apologize, but I can't stop myself. Here's chapter 3!

Title: Unexpected Cohabitation

Main Characters: Jonathan Kent and Damian Wayne (some of the others show up too, the list is too long)

Eventual relationship: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne (my fave)

Stuff to know: No capes, reverse robins, high school AU, no smut, no Brucie Wayne, I know nothing about sports but it will show up, (aaand I think that's it, will add more if it comes up)

[In case you missed it Chapter 1 , Chapter 2]

Part 1 - Chapter 3

Jon had been distracted. The morning had started out hectic. First, Conner had taken forever to get ready and they had to run to the subway in order to get to school on time. Then, it had turned out that he had been placed in the wrong math class so he had to go into the school office and have it changed to proper math class, lucky his schedule stayed the same. Even luckier he now got to see Jay twice everyday, not including club activities every Monday. What had really been the cherry on top was when Jay stopped him after class to give his phone number. Lunch had been full of memes and texts and exasperated glances from Kathy. So, Jon was distracted when he stumbled on what felt like a tree root, his phone flying into the air and him landing on his hands and knees on the dirt floor. Miraculously his glasses stayed on his face if not a bit askew.

“Ow.” Someone groaned behind him. “Sorry!” Jon scrambled up and turned around. His wide blue eyes met glaring green ones. “Tt.” Damian tsked removing Jon’s phone from atop his head. “Do you make it a habit to throw your things at others?” “What? No!” Jon reached out snatching his phone back. “It was an accident!” Damian stared at him unimpressed passing him by without further comment. Jon could feel the heat of embarrassment heating his neck and face. He gripped his phone and cursed his decision on taking the short cut to his art class. He took a deep breath and continued on his way, Damian Wayne was long gone.

Walking into his art class Jon sat across the table from Jay, who waved and smiled at Jon when he entered but was now talking to the girl sitting next him. Jon kept his hands busy by pulling out his art pencils and sketch book he had bought the day before on his way home from school. Jon took discreet glances towards Jay wore a light blue hoodie, it made his pink hair standout and it made him look warm and fluffy. Jon wanted to hug him. “Hello everyone!” Ms. Worle clapped her hands, getting the whole class’s attention. “I have great news today! After many attempts, I was finally able to convince my favorite prodigy to become my T.A.” She clapped her hands again, looking at the door, her white curly hair bouncing in excitement. A loud chatter filled the classroom when Damian Wayne stepped through the door. He glanced around the room, his green gaze locked onto Jon’s blue. The embarrassment from early crawled up Jon’s neck and he quickly looked away. Damian, clearly deciding to pay him no further attention looked back at Ms. Worle, his expression softening. “Ms. Worle, I wouldn’t call myself a prodigy.” Damian said. “Nonsense, please humor this old lady.” Ms. Worle waved away Damian’s words. “You are certainly not old.” Jon wanted to gag, all Damian had to do was kiss the back of the teacher’s hand and the whole charade would be complete. Jon noticed that Jay sat up in interest a small “No way,” escaping his mouth. Jon bit his lip not liking the attention Jay was giving the Wayne. Jay’s sparkling eyes locked unto Jon a wide excited smile graced his face. Jon could feel heat burning his ears, Jay had such a cute smile.

“Jon!” Jay whispered excitedly, leaning forward as far as he could and covering the side of his mouth in an attempt at secrecy. “This is huge! Damian is going to our T.A.!” “I don’t see the big deal…” Jon frowned. Jay looked at him in surprised, he opened his mouth to say something else but Ms. Worle cut him off. “Now, Now, let’s all settle.” Ms. Worle’s face was slightly flushed. “You will be sketching the person sitting across from you and Damian will be assisting all those who need help.” “Try not to make my forehead too big.” Jay teased. “Try not to make my ears too big and we have a deal.” Laughed Jon. It was hard drawing Jay. Every time he looked up at him his heart would race and sometimes their eyes would meet and the butterflies in Jon’s stomach would take flight. It was distracting and difficult to not let his day dreams wander. It didn’t help that Jon wasn’t a very good artist to begin with and kept erasing the same eye he had been trying to draw for the last eight minutes. “Tt.” Jon’s shoulders tensed. When he turned, his nose nearly collided with a brown jaw. He took in a breath of surprise and caught a whiff of something sweet and earthy. Damian’s eyes locked onto his and Jon pulled away slightly, heart pounding in his chest. “May I?” Damian glanced at Jon’s hand. Jon nodded stiffly and watched as Damian’s elegant fingers plucked the pencil out of Jon’s grip, his fingers lightly grazing his. “You need guide lines on the face if you want to make everything symmetrical.” Damian spoke lowly. Jon had to lean in a bit to hear him clearly due to his loud classmates. Jon watched as Damian lightly drew a couple of horizontal lines and a vertical line down the middle. He then started drawing the outline for the second eye. “Drawing is just a series of shapes. Look at Jay’s eyes,” Damian gestured towards Jay and Jon could see that Jay was keenly paying attention to the both of them, “draw a circle for the iris and then fill in the detail like the curve of his eyelid and notice the delicate sweep of his brow.” Damian’s eyes were intense as he pointed out aspects of Jay’s face. Jay fidgeted but did not look away a blush darkened his cheeks and his lips were parted in awe. Jon gripped the table trying not to show any jealousy. “Nothing is a straight line; his soft wavy hair, his lips and the curve of his chin.” Damian paused waiting for Jon’s understanding. “Thanks.” Jon said sulkily. Damian placed the pencil on the sketchbook and moved on. Jon’s back and side prickled uncomfortably in Damian’s absence. Damian helped a couple of girls, they turned red and chattered amongst themselves after he left them. But Jon was paying attention to them, he watched Jay stare after Damian his face slightly red and his gaze determined. Did Jay like that jerk? Was Jon going to lose Jay to Damian? Jon grimaced and looked down at his sketch. Damian’s pencil marks looked light and easily erased. The parts he had drawn as guides looked better than the dark lines Jon had drawn and markedly improved the sketch itself. He sighed and did his best to follow what he had been taught.

After class Jay sidled next to Jon looking behind them at Damian who was speaking with Ms. Worle. He nudged Jon’s shoulder with his own as they left the classroom and Jon got butterflies in his tummy from Jay’s proximity. “You are so lucky that Damian helped you!” Jay tried to whisper but failed. “Yeah, I guess.” Jon tried not to roll his eyes. “He must be pretty good at drawing.” “Pretty good at-“ Jay laughed. “Jon. Damian has won awards for his art.” “So, he’s like actually talented?” Jon asked. Jay stared at him and stopped to type something on his phone. Once he found what he was looking for he showed Jon an article from the Gotham Gazette complete with a picture of a painting. Jay clicked on the picture so that Jon could see it zoomed in. “He won this prestigious art award last year and donated the winnings to charity, since you know, he doesn’t need the money.” Jon took the phone and looked at the painting. It displayed a desert oasis, the palm trees swaying in the breeze seemed to come to life. The sand colored buildings contrasted beautifully with a bright blue sky and green vegetation. In the distance a storm brewed making the birds take flight. The ground closer to the buildings was slightly tinted in a rust colored red. It was beautiful but it somehow made Jon feel as if danger was just around the corner despite the tranquility of the scene. The plaque next to the painting said it was an oil on canvas, titled “Home.” “But, he’s the baseball captain.” Jon said dumfounded. “He’s also been winning art awards since he was a kid. He’s won so many he’s probably lost count.” “How can he be good at so many things? Isn’t he the top of his grade?” “It’s awful, isn’t it?” Jay said smirking. “I can’t wait to interview him!” Jon watched as Jay waved and left him behind. What if his fears were true? If Jay didn’t like Damian now he certainly would after he interviewed him. Kathy was right, Jon needed to confess, ASAP!

I hope you enjoyed! The next chapter is going to be my favorite so I hope you're as excited as I am. XD

#damian wayne #damian al ghul #jon kent #jonathan samuel kent #damian and jon #jondami #high school au #no capes au #supersons #fanfic #fanfiction #first time writing #be gentle #hope you enjoy

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