#tw discussion of past emotional abuse

[freezingmcxn]

Can you give us some headcanons and whatnot of TicciJack??

TICCIJACK HEADCANONS

Tw: Kinda Toxic Relationship, Cannibalism, Childhood Abuse (Very Brief Mention)

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Toby gets a sick thrill from knowing that, in the heat of Jack’s “feeding frenzy”, he could be next.

Jack could easily feed on him, Toby knows that, but the fact that Jack doesn’t and never will makes Toby feel unique, chosen. Everything he was not.

The more time Toby spends around Jack, the more desensitised he becomes to it.

At first, he was horrified, but over time, he’s started to crave the danger, the adrenaline that comes from being so close to a monster.

Toby will sometimes push Jack, teasing him or getting too close when Jack’s hunger is at its peak, just to feel that thrill.

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Toby helps Jack out by finding him food.

It’s never explicitly discussed, but Toby is often the one who points out the weak, the vulnerable, or those who won’t be missed or drags a body right up to Jack.

It’s a weird thing

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Both Toby and Jack carry a lot of guilt, but for different reasons.

Toby feels guilty about relying on Jack as a crutch, he’s afraid he’s a burden, making Jack’s life harder.

Jack, on the other hand, feels guilty for the emotional detachment he often shows.

He knows Toby craves emotional connection, but Jack simply doesn’t know how to give it in a conventional way.

This mutual guilt made a quiet tension between them that neither of them ever acknowledges.

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Toby gets obsessed with things very easily.

He likes collecting strange trinkets, finding weird bugs, or learning insanely weird and stupid skills because it gives him something to focus on.

Jack carries around the trinkets Toby gives him in his bag.

Toby doesn’t know he keeps them.

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Toby goes to Jack when he needs him, and surprisingly, Jack does the same.

Toby is more emotionally dependent, Jack’s calm, rational brain helps him get things off his chest, the kind of stuff that used to make him feel like he was suffocating.

Jack, on the other hand, turns to Toby when he needs a distraction, when his thoughts are too loud.

Sure, Toby can be an annoying bastard, but he’s great at keeping Jack’s mind busy. Jack lets Toby rant, tic, and ramble on about anything and everyone for hours.

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They share clothes very often.

“Take whatever you need, man, just give it back when you’re done.”

When they swap clothes, it’s more than just because they need to, it’s an unspoken sign that they are accepting of eachother nd feel comfortable.

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Both Toby and Jack suffer from nightmares, though they manifest in different ways.

Toby’s nightmares are loud and chaotic, filled with memories of Lyra and abuse.

He often wakes up panicked, drenched in sweat, and sometimes kicking around violently.

Jack’s nightmares are more silent and subtle, slow burns guilt that he can’t shake.

They never talk about it, but on nights where they’re camping out together, Toby will silently roll over and press his back against Jack’s.

Jack, in turn, will shift slightly closer.

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When they argue, it gets pretty personal.

Jack is precise with his words, using them to cut deep into Toby’s insecurities and past trauma.

Toby says that Jack doesn’t care, that he’s emotionally distant, and that no one could ever love him like how he loves him.

Jack will give Toby the silent treatment then, and it destroys Toby.

Jack knows how much Toby craves interaction and attention so he uses it against him.

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Instead of saying “I care about you,” Toby will drag Jack into reckless situations or piss him off, knowing it will get a reaction.

Jack knows this is Toby’s way of expressing love, but it wears him down.

Sometimes, Jack wishes Toby could just express affection in a calmer, more direct way, but he knows Toby is incapable of that kind of thing.

Hope you like it. I’ve had four other requests for the exact same thing, but you were first, so I responded to you 🫶

[thewhumpcaretaker]

I need Santino x John for my soul to heal

More hurt/comfort with them because YES, something I had in mind... what do you think? 👀

Santino got hurt but it like brought him a flashback of his childhood of how his father hurt him in a very similar way. So, not only he has a panic attack, but he cries. Like actually he is experiencing this on such an emotional level that he can't even process anything that's happening around him. And John tries to talk to him, wanting to hold him but he can clearly see Santino is just... not here with him. And he feels so bad, and all he can do is make soothing noises and kiss his forehead trying to get him to snap back out of it and to calm down. Plus Santino is hurt, he has to try and help him with that too :(

WOAH okay, more childhood trauma for Santino, I feel so bad for putting him through stuff like this but, John is here for him 😭

Aaaaaaaaa I liked this ask so much I wrote it immediately. Can you tell I like it when Santino is totally broken hahaaaa...and put back together again by John 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

This is about to be really dark and sad!!

TW: panic attack, crying, concussion, vomiting, discussion of past physical and emotional abuse by a parent

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The sky was a slate gray expanse over the empty dirt lot where John Wick and his husband were locked in battle with a group of Tarasovs. They were mid-fight when John looked over to see Santino pinned face down. The man on top of him, much bigger and stronger than Santino, had his hand on the back of his head and was deliberately smashing his face into the ground. He brought it up and then down again, hard, and rubbed his nose right into the dirt and rocks so he almost couldn't breathe. It wasn't the most painful position - certainly not more so than being shot or stabbed, which Santino had dealt with before. But it looked fucking humiliating, and he made a sound that told John he had to do something immediately. Not the normal grunts of battle, but something desperate and high pitched. John saw red.

Enough messing around. He snapped the neck of the woman he was wrestling and charged him, knocking him off Santino's back and giving him two swift shots to the chest, point blank, then one straight into the skull. John slowly straightened up, panting, and glanced around at the bodies fallen on all sides. That was the last of them, and he was dead for sure. Good riddance.

Santino was still on the ground. He'd curled his legs up under him and was doubled over, his eyes hidden behind his curls. He was rocking back and forth and just…sobbing. Panicking, yes, but far worse than usual. Taking huge, heaving gasps of air with his hands clutching at his chest like he was having a heart attack.

"Hey, hey, hey!" John dropped to his knees next to him and rested an arm around his shoulders. "He's dead. You're safe." But he barely responded. He was really rattled this time, almost hysterical. "You've gotta calm down, love. Breathe."

His answer was barely directed at John. He just seemed far away, gasping out words to no one in particular. "No…lo so…io…no no no no per favore… [No…I know…I…no no no no please…]" If he said anything else, it was incoherent with sobbing.

John couldn't tell if it was from the dirt in his mouth or another wave of fear but he suddenly turned away and started vomiting.

"Shit! Santino! What's happening? How bad did he hurt you?" He rubbed his back. Why was this happening? Did he have organ damage?

As soon as he could talk, he snapped at John in response. "He didn't, okay!? I'm not hurt. I'm - " Santino shuddered violently and hid his head in his hands. Whatever was wrong, he really didn't want to say it.

John took no offense. He just pulled Santino's head into his lap, petting his hair and wiping dirt off his forehead before leaning down to plant kisses on it in the hope of consoling him. He was hurt, to some extend - there were cuts on his cheeks from being smashed against bits of gravel. But there was clearly more going on. "Take your time. I'm here. Whatever's wrong, I'll help you, okay?" But he just kept crying. "Was there…was there something about getting pushed into the ground like that…?"

Santino went very still and finally nodded, very slowly. The crying stopped, but John was pretty sure it was because he was holding his breath. After a minute, he exhaled and managed to talk, still gasping. "That was something - that my father used to do. When I was - very little. He'd shove my face - in the ground. And slam my head - " Tears cut him off again and he couldn't continue.

John squeezed his hand involuntarily, overcome with rage for a moment. "Fucking bastard," he muttered, almost too low to hear.

Santino gave a choked little laugh. That was the first thing that seemed to make him feel any better. "Yeah. Yeah, he is. It was just, you know. To make me feel like - dirt." His face twisted up again and he hid it in his hands. "I'm so sorry. I'm really losing it. I don't know why that hit me so hard…"

"No." John's voice was hard, protective. "Not your fault. I just want to help you feel better." John pulled him up into his arms, embracing him completely. "You're here with me, okay? You're safe. I won't ever let him hurt you again."

Santino's hands grabbed fistfuls of John's coat, overcome with indignance and shame. "I AM dirt. I'm worthless. All these years later and I still get pinned like that and can't fight back! And I made a mess…"

"You're NOT worthless. You're my wonderful husband. The best man I've ever known. You're so brave. It's not your fault other people have hurt you." John was crying too now, into his hair, just petting him and holding him. The compassion he felt was too deep to contain. "I'm so sorry. You should never have had to go through that."

It seemed to get through to him. His grip relaxed and he buried his head into John neck, sighing and sniffling. "I made you cry too…I'm sorry…"

Just, "No. No apologies. I love you."

"I love you too." After a long moment, he spoke again. "...John?"

"Yeah?"

"My head really hurts. I'm pretty sure...I have a concussion. I - I can tell what this feels like..."

John fought down more fury. He didn't miss the fact that Santino recognized the feeling. Had probably felt it before... He had to take a few deep breaths to calm the blind rage that was making him grip Santino almost too tightly. "We'll get you to a doctor, okay?"

"Thank you. I don't deserve you, John." He sounded miserable but at least the tears were starting to subside.

"You do." One day he would make him believe it.

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 13: The Fallacy of Power

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.5k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

TW: Astarion's past abuse under Cazador is mentioned/visited in this chapter.

She has been cold and withdrawn since their discussion when he refused to say what she wanted to hear. She avoids him if possible and ignores him unless he directly speaks to her. When she walks around the manor, she is like a phantom gliding, lifeless and vacant, the ghost of a ship long ago wrecked at sea that still wanders the waters wayward with no purpose. So far, he’s left her alone in her misery. Should he be trying to cheer her up? His heart tells him he should, but his head tells him it’s unbecoming of the Vampire Ascendant to postulate himself in such a way. He should not have to seek her attention. She should give it to him willingly. If she wishes to wallow in her desolation, so be it.

He’s missed her in their bed, against his skin, and on his lips. Her silence is as deep as demise and simultaneously deafening. He misses her laughter, happy giggles, and his name on her tongue in her sweet, musical voice. Hells, he would even take a scolding from her right now as long as she’s speaking and more expressive than this wall of dysphoria. He will take anything but this pale apparition of surrender and hopelessness. He’s tried to goad her into arguments if only to get a rise from her, but she does as he requests without question, challenge, or emotion.

She wants a real relationship, but what does that mean to him? What kind of relationship is he capable of giving her? That presence in his head bids him to control, claim, and make her belong to him with or without her consent. It encourages him to give the command to make it so. The Vampire Ascendant does not request love - he simply fucking takes it because he is entitled to it. He is entitled to have anything and everything he wants, including her.

No.

There his thoughts go again, getting away from him, towing him down like quicksand. He must be careful not to let himself be cast down that ungodly rabbit hole. He may not get the chance to surface. Astarion’s hands rack over his face and through his hair. He needs the physical sensation that often interrupts the slow descent into madness.

Astarion. He reminds himself. I am Astarion.

She does not acknowledge his presence when he enters the library. Her sullen eyes are moored to the book lying in her lap, and she flips the pages idly. She did not even bother to light any of the candles, scones or oil lamps. She sits in the shadows like a lone lily, white and fair, against a pond reflecting dusk.

He clears his throat to get her attention, “I need you to attend my business meeting with me today. It may put you in a position where you are… uncomfortable, but I will be there to protect and stop you if needed.”

She closes the book, staring straight vacantly, not bothering to look at him. Her voice is as whisper quiet as a catatonic echo, “You’re taking me to a business meeting?”

“Yes,” he replies softly, making his voice as warm as a summer day as if he could warm her with it. “I need my consort by my side.”

“I am not your consort, Astarion,” she shakes her head with a despondent expression. She is so cold it makes him shiver. He’s used to flames veritably leaping off her tongue when she speaks. This... He has never witnessed this in her, but he recognizes it. This is how he was when he all but gave up after a few lashings, “I will go with you if you need me, but I am not your consort.”

Please, don’t give up on me... just yet.

“If you do not like the word consort, that is fine,” he crouches and takes her hand. It remains limp, and she still does not look at him. Astarion gently cradles her cheek and walks her eyes to him. They seem to look through him instead of at him, and his heart seizes in his chest. “Tell me what you would prefer. Partner? Girlfriend? Soulmate? Bride? Hells, wife? Just tell me what you want me to say. Please.”

The words scour his tongue like steel wool. Can his spawn truly be his partner, girlfriend or… Good Gods, he said wife, didn’t he? Where in the Hells did that come from, and why does the notion fill him with genuine joy? Will he be able to see her as an equal? He is the Vampire Ascendant… No one is his equal, and no one could ever be. But he is also Astarion. Which him does he want to be? Does he even have a choice?

He stares at her, trying to discern how he views her. When he looks at her, does he see an equal? Or does he see his spawn, his puppet, his favourite little toy to play with? He views both versions in parallel spaces of his mind. He cannot ascertain which one is him and which is the Vampire Ascendant.

“Consort. Partner. Girlfriend. Soulmate. Bride. Wife,” she repeats hollowly as if she’s saying the words without thinking about them, just a recording being played back, “None of them because we are none of those.”

“Perhaps not yet,” he retorts with a plea clinging to his voice. “You said you want something real, and I agreed to try and give you just that. Let me try.”

“Are you capable of love,” she whispers, eyes drifting down to the floor.

“I… don’t know,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re view of what love is may differ from mine, but perhaps we can meet in the middle?”

“When do we leave?” She asks dryly and slips her hand out of his, “And what do I wear?”

“I had something made for you,” he smirks. “It’s in your room. Wear it or don’t. The choice is yours.”

“You’re giving me a choice?”

"Darling," he drawls in an unemotional infection, “I admittedly do not know much about relationships, but I don’t think forcing you to wear something would be very… nice. You are free to dress yourself in whatever you wish.”

“What if I decide I wish to wear a burlap sack?”

“Well…” he cringes. Gods. He would not put it past her doing just that to prove a point. Would he let her do that? Could he? His skin crawls just thinking about it. “You would look very foolish, but if anyone can pull it off, it’s you.”

Hells below, he hopes she does not wear a sack.

Truthfully, he does want to control what she wears, where she goes, and even how she does her hair and makeup, but he does not understand why he is so drawn to it. He does not recall feeling the need to be so controlling when he was a spawn. He must quell those desires and untoward thoughts if he has any hope of showing her that he can be what she wants and needs.

Because he needs her…

He’s almost afraid to look when she walks down the hall, scared she’s going to see if he truly means what he said, but he’s elated to see she decided to wear the ensemble he had fashioned. An extravagant, high-necked navy-blue robe with delicate golden lace sleeves and a bodice embellished with dragon wings with gleaming rose-gold scales to match hers.

His coat is very close, except it is raven black, inlaid with deep purple and golden embroidered dragons revolving around his arms. His chest is embellished with dragon wings expanding across the breast.

“Dragons?” Her hand glides down the breast of his coat, “I thought you were fonder of bats.”

“It seems I have become rather smitten with dragons as of late,” he winks. He feigns puzzlement, bringing his finger to his lips, “I wonder why.”

She gives him some semblance of a smile. It’s the first time he’s seen any emotion in days. It fades quickly, and her face is once again a smooth plane of vacancy.

“What do you mean I will be uncomfortable?” She mutters, eyes fixed straight ahead as if looking at him pains her like staring directly at the sun. “You promised you would not put me in a situation I cannot handle.”

“And I won’t. You have my word.” He bows slightly, “There will be people around. If you need to leave, you say the word, and we will go. You know I could compel you not to feel that hunger…”

She scowls at him and hisses, “Do it, and I will walk out that door. I will not return.”

Well, even anger is better than emptiness.

“It is just an offer,” he nods curtly with his hands up. “I would not do it without your expressed permission. Shall we go?”

You follow Astarion, twisting down alleys and paths in the Lower City. You refuse to hold his hand and are attempting to use pure willpower to ignore all the tasty citizens scurrying about. They smell good, and it’s making your mouth water. No matter how much you eat, bloodlust is insatiable, unquenchable and never fully slumbers. There’s always this stitch in your side and a dryness to your throat that will not ebb. When you smell blood, you are immediately starved, and your stomach pinches in your belly. It could easily send you into hysterics. Astarion always keeps a close eye, sticking by your side and matching your pace instead of his usual elongated strides.

You recognize the alley with the guards and the secret door, “The guild?”

“The very one,” he nods with a cunning smirk.

“Lord Ancunin,” the guard bows low and stiff. “I see you have brought a guest.”

“Lady Ancunin,” Astarion drawls, confident and poised. If your heart was beating, it would surely have skipped beats and possibly stopped. “She is to be treated with the same respect as I. You are to follow her orders as you would follow mine. Is that clear?”

“So you command, so shall it be,” the guard bows low before you. “Lady Ancunin.”

You stare detached past the guard, barely noticing the reverent display before you. A welcome numbness has incorporated itself into your psyche. You felt so much, and now you feel nothing. You’re not sure which is worse.

“Come,” Astarion gestures to the stairs.

The Guildhall has been rebuilt with more extravagance. The walkways are now properly constructed and far less shabby looking with richly coloured wood. It is organized, not the haphazard mess you remember. There are so many hearts beating the chant of life. Their blood smells like Elysian fields teeming with ichor blossoms. Pressing your eyes shut, you try to tune out the thump, thump, thump assaulting your ears. You clutch Astarion’s hand and squeeze as hard as you can.

Yes, this will be a challenge.

Astarion senses your apprehension and squeezes your hand reassuringly, “We can leave whenever you want. I do not have to be here long.”

“You operate the Guild now?”

“Yes and no,” he grins, devilish and handsome enough to make you melt despite your discomfort. “Nine Fingers still handles the mundane day-to-day. You know I have never been a details person.”

“How did this come about?”

“Simple,” he smiles wolfish and sly. His eyes glint mischievously. “If you know the right people to coerce, anything can be taken. Grease a few palms here, blackmail some merchants there. You know how it is.”

“Coerce or kill?”

“Well, negotiations don’t always go as planned,” he chuckles with a cavalier shrug. “But I do not go around killing everyone, just those who need killing anyway. Gods. What do you think of me? I’ve been manipulating people for 200 years. This was hardly a challenge.”

“Ah, Lord Ancunin,” Nine Fingers strides up with a tight look as if she’s working hard not to frown. “How nice of you to bless us with your presence. I do not believe we have a meeting scheduled for today.”

“I’m here to make sure you’re running my,” Astarion accentuates the word with a low, threatening growl, “Guild befittingly. I received reports of your idiot pickpockets getting caught by the authorities and inconsistent yields. Do I need to appoint someone more suitable for such a role?”

“Lord Ancunin,” Nine Fingers snickers, and you wonder how he hasn’t killed this one yet. She was always snarky. “The pickpockets have been dealt with. They did not even make it to prison. As for the yields, I’m looking into it. You will not find anyone more proficient at running your guild than I.”

Astarion and Nine Fingers continue to talk business. Boring. You walk away, down the stairs and watch the people flitting about, ledgers in hand, counting shipments of what looks like silk from Cormyr and imported liquor. Others with clearly stolen pieces of art and other antiquities. The bottom of that cesspool pit has been cleaned up, and it appears new tunnels have been put in place, with more still being constructed.

You catch bits and pieces of a conversation between a short, rotund man in a burgundy coat speaking about a shipment being lost or damaged. Leaning on a railing, you watch the conversation play out with a shrewd eye for a while before you make your way over there. The closer you get to people, the harder it is to control yourself, but you’re getting better.

You sit close to the conversation so you can listen and watch. Nine Fingers sits beside you, “I remember you. Jaheria’s friend, right?” she gives you a scrutinizing once over and then her eyes finally settle on yours. “I remember you being much more… alive the last time you were here. The lords doing, I presume.”

“I wanted it,” you growl through your clenched jaw. “There is nothing further to discuss on it.”

“I’ve seen his little compulsion trick,” she says sourly. “It’s not a stretch to believe-“

You cut her off by grabbing her by the neck and pushing her up against a support beam. The rhythmical pulsing of her vein is felt on the pads of your fingers. Good Gods, you are tempted to take a nibble. Just a little sip...

No. You throw her away from you before you lose your precarious control.

“Watch your tongue,” you snarl, baring your teeth. “I am just as deadly as the lord.”

“Deadlier even.” Astarion chuckles, leaning close to your ear, “Are you okay?”

“I’m managing…” you whisper. Raising your voice, you point to the man, “Who is that?”

“A local merchant. He caters to the aristocracy.” Astarion arches a brow, “Why?”

“You were talking about inconsistent yields,” you watch the man circumspective, who now stares at you wide-eyed. “I think you will find he is the reason for some or all of your inconsistencies.” You sneer at the little fleshy liar, “Won’t we?"

“No,” Nine Fingers interjects. “That can’t be. He’s been working with the Guild for many years and is well-known and respected by the patriars. He’s an invaluable asset.”

“Silence!” Astarion orders brusquely, making her flinch. “Your superiors are having a discussion.” Astarion’s fingers come to his chin. “Go on, darling. How do you know?”

“His speech pattern is all over the place. He does not make direct eye contact. He’s fidgeting nervously. I can hear his heartbeat kick up from here every time he has to alter his story, and he’s sweating like a pig,” you smirk. You are good at this, and it feels natural. You give the man a grin as you virtually hear his heart sink, “You are a terrible liar. I think you’ve picked the wrong business.”

“Well,” Astarion cocks his head while watching the man as sweat rains down his face, “Let’s find out, shall we?” He points at the rotund traitor, “You. Come here.”

“Y-yes, Lord Ancunin.”

Astarion hauls the man into the air by his coat with an eerily cordial smile, “You’ve been stealing from me. Come clean now, and I will consider allowing you to keep your pathetic life.”

You expected to hear the anger in Astarion’s voice, but it’s matter-of-fact and impassive.

“My lord,” the man’s eyes widen, and his feet kick uselessly in the air. “I would never dream of it. Honest!”

Astarion’s eyes glow that wicked crimson of compulsion, and he brings the man close to his face, “You will tell me the truth. How long have you been stealing?”

The man’s eyes become glossy as the red tendrils of compulsion twist around him and into his mind. His body becomes limp. “I will tell the truth.” He repeats hollowly. “I have been skimming off the top for years. I misconstrue reported earnings and inventory, record shipments as lost or damaged and keep them for myself.”

The man continues spewing his transgressions, and you can see the rage start building in Astarion.

“That wasn’t so hard. Was it?” Astarion smiles manically. His eyes start to flash as he draws his dagger.

You put your hand on his shoulder, “Astarion…” You soothe and request the connection with his mind. You do not want to undermine him, but you need him to stay in control. He opens it, and you wince at the pain that splits through your head. It feels as if your skull has been cracked open. You push through it and roll your thoughts over the bridge, “His death will not gain you anything, Astarion. Hold onto yourself.”

His muscles strain under your fingers, and sweat starts to sheen his skin, but he answers in your thoughts, “His death would serve as a reminder to these insolent fucks that no one betrays the Vampire Ascendant and lives.”

“Astarion, please.”

“I am the Vampire Ascendant!” He bellows in your head so hard you wonder if your ears are bleeding, leaking your brain matter.

“Is that all you are? Is that your entire identity?”

He growls viciously aloud, snarling and turning his head to look at you with violence humming in his flickering eyes. With a pained grunt, Astarion throws the man on the ground and hisses, “Leave. If I ever see you in my city again, I will kill you and your family.”

Astarion whirls, taking your chin roughly in his fingers, bringing his mouth to yours, savage and hungry, with enough force to split and bruise your lips. You can hear that tittering in his head, straining against his control, trying to claim him. It bites like a serrated blade at your mind, and Astarion tries to close the connection to save you from that pain, but you rue against it.

“Don’t,” you think. “I can be your light. I can help you, but you have to let me.”

His fingers curl into your hair, and his tongue laps at the blood smeared across your lips, sucking on the cut gently. Your fingers caress the back of his neck. You’re not exactly sure how you do it, but as if on instinct, you flood Astarion with every iota of your love, light and fire into his psyche, upending the darkness and silencing his demons.

His body relaxes. His fingers no longer grip aggressively but embrace, and he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead on yours as he pants. As your senses return to you, so does the angelic chorus of beating hearts and the enticing smell of blood, and you clench your jaw as your stomach does cartwheels in your abdomen. Your fingernails incise your palm.

“I’ve got you, my treasure.” Astarion interlocks his fingers with yours to stop you. “Hold onto me.”

Astarion turns to Nine Fingers. She’s staring at you with a speculatively arched brow, “We will be taking our leave now. I expect to see improved totals on your subsequent report, or we will have a very unpleasant discussion, and if any more pickpockets get caught, you will not be calling yourself Nine Fingers any longer. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Lord Ancunin,” she nods curtly with a twisted mouth and narrowed eyes. “Do bring your spawn along more often. She is incredibly useful, it seems.”

Astarion roars, slamming Nine Fingers against a wooden column, splitting it. He bellows when he speaks, making sure everyone can hear him, “No one is to call her “spawn.” If I hear anyone utter that word in reference to her, I will hang them from the rafters by their intestines while they still draw breath.” Astarion looks around with a frightening scowl, verifying everyone is paying attention, “She is my right hand, and you will treat her with due respect. Any orders from her should be treated as if they are coming from me directly.”

“Astarion,” you whimper, scratching lacerations into the top of your hand to keep yourself grounded. “I need to go.”

He releases Nine Fingers, spins and grabs your hand. He keeps a tight hold on you until you’re back in the alley. He orders the guards to stand further away. You sprint to the dead end and grip a fence as hard as you can, taking in large gasps of air to try and quiet the bloodlust ravaging your mind, bullying you into mania. Astarion’s hands come to the rail on either side of you, caging you in with his chest pressed against your back.

“You did well in there,” he purrs. “Controlling the bloodlust.”

“You could have warned me that I would want to eat everyone with a beating heart,” you groan, leaning into him.

“I suppose I could have been a tad more forthcoming,” he chuckles, kissing the top of your head. “To be fair, I was a young spawn centuries ago. It’s not exactly fresh in my mind.”

“How did you learn to control it?” you sigh. You’re falling into him again, slipping into that blissful completeness that melts that icy numbness keeping you sane.

There’s a quiver of torment that dithers across the harmony. “Cazador…” he starts, spoken with a desolate undertone. He folds his arms around you, holding you close, and he trembles, “Cazador would starve me and then have people stand in the kennels while I was chained or caged. He would cut them, small at first, but gradually worse. They would get progressively closer. If I made a move or lost control in any way, I would be punished. Severely.” He pauses with a sigh, and his brows turn down at the sides. “I lost control a lot.”

By the Gods. You would not have been able to understand how torturous that would be without being a vampire yourself. Bloodlust hurts, a physical pain that progressively gets steadily worse until you are nothing but a writhing, rabid animal with no semblance of sentience.

“Astarion…” you turn to him, wrapping your arms around him. “That’s… Gods, there are no words. I’m so sorry.”

“Come,” he clears his throat, uncomfortable with the emotion as if he does not believe he deserves your empathy. “Let’s go home.”

“Thank you for telling me.” You murmur, hoping you’re not overstepping, “About… him. I know you don’t like to talk about it.”

“Partners talk about this type of stuff openly, yes?”

“I…” you balk at the question. It seems so out of character for him. You expected him to ignore you or scold you for bringing it up further. “I suppose they do, but-“

“Yes,” he cuts you off. “I know what we aren’t. You keep reminding me every chance you get. You requested real and real you shall have. I never wanted you to see that side of me.” Astarion sighs and looks at the setting sun reverently, his face softening, a glimpse of his former self, “Cazador is no longer an off-limits topic for you.”

What?

Can you trust him not to fly into a blind rage when you speak of his former self, the pathetic spawn he is so genuinely disgusted with? Perhaps this is not the time to test the limits of this newfound freedom.

“Lady Ancunin?” You quirk a brow at him. “That’s not my name.”

“Not as of yet, it’s not,” his arm wraps around your waist, and a smile flashes over his face like wintry sunshine. He whispers, “You bear my name beautifully, my love.”

Your eyelashes flutter open, and you’re shocked to be in the familiar halls of the Crimson Palace, but it does not appear as you remember it. Everything is washed in a drab sepia tone, and you blink, trying to clear your vision. The walls and floors appear to wave as if they are an illusion. Servants blink in and out of existence as they flit around. You try to walk in the way of them, waving your arms to get their attention, but they pay you no heed, blinking out and reappearing behind you.

A scream you would recognize anywhere reverberates through the ghostly halls, shrill and bone-chilling.

Astarion…

You sprint toward the sound, descending the dark staircase two or three steps at a time that appears to end in a black well of nothingness. You’re trying to grip the weave and call on your magic, but when you reach for it, you find nothing but a yawning void where it should be. Staring at your palm, you shake it, confused, as you burst into the hall leading to the spawn quarters. Another cry echoes. You forget about your lack of magic as horror grips your heart, and you sprint around the corner and halt dead in your tracks.

Astarion stands in the hallway. He’s hunched over with hands pressed against the doorframe as he stares distantly into the room before him - the kennels. He is the only thing in undulled, vivid colour. It’s a stark contrast to the atmosphere of mousy undertones.

“Astarion?”

He jolts, whirling and staring at you with a disoriented tangle of sorrow and perplexity. His jaw tightens, and his eyes shift quickly from side to side, “No,” he mutters, shaking his head, “No, this isn’t right. You would not have been here.”

“What’s going on?” You sputter, voice breaking. “I don’t understand.”

Another strident shriek. You are stirred into action, dashing down the hall at full speed. Astarion’s eyes widen as he gauges your target, and he takes long steps to cut you off. His arm wraps around your waist, hauling you backward from the open doorway.

“No, darling,” he coos, trying to swath his voice in velvet. “You don’t want to go in there. Please, trust me on this.”

“What?” You’re panicked, clawing at him, trying to push his arms away. “I can’t just stand here! Let me go!”

“You can’t help him… Me. You can’t help me.” Astarion rasps. His eyes are sad, but he tries to smile. “This is long over and done. It’s a memory - my memory.”

Anguished wailing reverberates, making the walls appear to shudder. You can’t take it, you can’t fucking take it, and you push out of Astarion’s arms and charge into the kennels.

The scene that greets you makes tears instantly flow down your cheeks, and you can’t help but dry heave as your stomach shoots into your throat.

“That’s right, my boy.” Cazador snickers, compulsion glowing in his eyes, tendrils stirring the air. “Sing those sweet, sweet cries for me.”

You try to grab Cazador, screaming in anguish, but your hand swishes straight through the apparition. Arms come around your waist, hauling you up and out of the room while you reach and clamber, trying to do something. Anything.

Astarion sets you down, folding his arms around you, “Shhh, little love,” he purrs. “It will be alright.”

“Astarion,” you sob, knees quaking. Astarion braces you against himself, “What in the Hells is happening?”

“I’m not entirely sure. We are tranced, in the manor, I think. This... it already happened long ago. So long, I cannot even recall the colours anymore.”

His thumb clears the rivulets of tears storming down your cheeks so sweetly, like the whisper of a fairy dream. His eyes, so intensely crimson, are doting, inviting you to get lost in them.

Another soul-crushing outcry discharges from the room, and you can’t help but scream with him. Astarion firmly but gently places his hands over your ears, trying to provide you amnesty from the howling cries.

You lean into him and beg, tugging on his clothes, “Make it stop, Astarion. Good Gods. Make it stop. Please. I can’t… I can’t… Wake us up.”

“I’m trying,” he breathes faintly, pressing harder on your ears as another jarring yowl rolls over you, and you start slipping to the floor in a puddle of sorrow.

Everything dissolves around you, turning black and silent, and you’re pitched into a bottomless void that makes your stomach lurch.

You thrash in your bed, convulsing so violently that you throw yourself to your hands and knees on the floor with a discordant shriek. Your bedsheets and clothes are soddened with sweat, the delicate fabric clinging to your body, and you tremble so turbulently that you can barely push yourself to your feet.

You blink rapidly, trying to see through the distortion caused by unshed tears. Your chest heaves in quick, rapid breaths as you sprint into the hallway. Astarion is already running toward you, and you slam into his arms as your legs give way.

“It’s okay,” he comforts you with a soft, deep baritone, a salve to your pain. “Everything is alright.”

Your mind sees that gruesome vision, a ghostly layer veiling the man before you. Your stomach twists and knots. Saliva floods your mouth. Pushing out of his hold, you scramble away as far as you can, and your liquid dinner is a sanguine spill spreading across the floor. Astarion holds your hair back and rubs your back as you continue to dry heave between your rapid breaths.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out between sobs.

“It is I who should be sorry,” he sits on the chaise, beckoning you into his arms. You curl up in his lap once the wave of nausea eases, desperate to be close to him. Astarion strokes your arm, “I left the connection open. I did not know you could get transported into my dreams. I will not make that mistake again.”

You look up, cupping his cheek in your palm and searching his eyes. That beautiful face is calm and carpeted with earnest affection but otherwise unfazed while he sweeps strands of your hair behind your ear, “Are you okay?”

“My sweet, sweet girl,” he kisses your palm. “I have relived many of my memories hundreds of times over. There are only a few that truly disturb me anymore. Thank you for asking, but I am fine.”

“Okay...” you breathe deeply, unsure if your mind can accept how undaunted he is. The last remnants of your weeping shudder through your body, “I’ll clean that up.”

Pushing yourself away from him is a monumental task. He is warm like sunshine and comforting like darkness. You hate him a little for being so… him.

“Will you come to bed?” Astarion looks at you longingly. “ Our bed, I mean.”

“No.”

“When are you going to stop punishing me?” He laments, following you while you grab a rag and bucket of soapy water from the rarely used kitchen.

“I’m not punishing you for anything, Astarion.”

“Bullshit.” He exclaims sourly. “Do not think me blind. You’ve been ignoring and avoiding me purposefully. I- I miss you.” Astarion’s arms fall limp at this side, “Tell me how to make it right.”

You hand Astarion a cup, “Break this.”

His brows pinch as he turns the cup over and over. He looks at you, confused, but throws it to the floor, shattering it. “What was the point of that?”

“Now, fix it.”

“I have many mind-blowing abilities,” he stares at the shattered pieces strewn across the floor, brows pinched. “Fixing broken goblets is not one of them.”

“Because not everything can be fixed."

You start wiping up your sick in the tense muteness between you and Astarion. He sits on the chaise, just watching with a grief-stricken expression that makes you want to weep.

“I can run up walls, walk upside down on ceilings, turn into a bat and mist, among other things. All this power…” A low laugh rumbles in his chest, crestfallen and mournful. “All this fucking power,” he clenches his fists, craning his head to look up at the ceiling, “and I still cannot have the one thing in the world I want most.” He sighs, shaking his head. Astarion cocks his head to look at you and smiles bleakly, “Sleep tight, my love.”

Astarion disappears into his room, and you bite your tongue to stifle your crying. After you’ve finished cleaning up and are back in your bed, you toss restlessly. How long will this harrowing purgatory go on? You take deep breaths, but it does not even begin to fill the void in your chest. You are fragmented without him in your head or against your skin. As if you’re soul has deformed, warped and splintered into a mangled husk.

This is why you’ve been avoiding Astarion. His words tear your heart open, dissect it, and then you must stitch yourself up anew. How many times can your chest be torn open and your heart ripped to pieces before the scarps are too small to glue back together?

I don’t care.

I don’t care.

I don’t care.

Who the fuck am I kidding?

In the hall, you jump at the sight of Astarion halfway up the long corridor. He halts, and you stare at each other in reticence. His hair is a disarrayed jumble of soft silver curls. The moonlight streaming in from the windows brilliantly sets the ivory skin of his bared chest aglow. His shoulders are slumped in a disconsolate stature you’re not used to seeing on him. The iron countenance and steely confidence he oozes are absent.

“Love,” he whispers wearily. “Lay with me tonight.” Astarion gestures toward himself, splaying his hand on his bare chest. Desperation clings to his voice, “Be with me. We can workshop the details as we go.”

“Tell me you love me,” you say, moon-eyed, lips quivering.

“I-I,” he pauses. Anticipation clenches your heart in your chest. Please, you think, please just fucking say it so we can stop playing this game. You think he just might until he grimaces. “I can’t.”

“No. Of course, you can’t,” you mewl. You wrap yourself in your comfortable cloak of numbness to preserve your sanity, “Because how could you love a lowly spawn like my good self?”

He does not answer, and that is answer enough.

You’re crouched low in a dark alley, skulking around in the shadows in the Lower City. Astarion went out to deal with some business you were not invited to, so you’ve taken the chance to survey the tavern you last saw that purple-haired bitch at - Elowyn. Your intuition tells you she has something to do with the Gur attacks, regardless of Astarion’s assurances that she’s harmless. The earth-shatteringly handsome man can be blinded by his overconfidence at times.

You’re not sure what Astarion will do if he gets home and you’re nowhere to be found, but you left him a note saying you went for a walk. He probably won’t tear the city apart looking for you. You’re not a caged bird. You can come and go as you please.

... Right?

You’re about to give up for the night when you see her. She glances out the tavern doors, askant, surveying her surroundings before pulling up her hood and slinking down the street. Elowyn takes an oddly winding route, up and down dark alleys and paths, often doubling back. She strolls confidently but takes acute notice of her surroundings. She is practiced and methodical in the way she observes. You should have eaten her when she cornered you with her singsong voice and dainty little face, spewing filth and lies. Maybe you should eat her now…

No, no. You can eat her after you figure out what she’s up to. You smile sadistically at the promise to yourself, licking your lips. You will eat her when you’ve ascertained how she means to harm your master.

Gods. Where did that thought come from?

Elowyn turns abruptly down a side street. Casting Misty Step, you appear on a roof, crouch at the edge and watch her intently. She walks up and down the pathway, looking in all directions except up, much to your delight.

Hardly anyone looks up.

She leans down and opens the entrance to the sewers, climbing down and replacing the cover. The sewers… You fucking hate the sewers. It’s the last place you want to follow her, but nothing can deter you.

This place is a maze of tunnels and run-offs. It’s an arduous task to track her with any degree of certainty. The rayless, glum passageways look similar, but you glimpse her here and there. Her course is consistent with the streets above as she makes arbitrary turns left and right, retracing her steps before continuing. It makes you question if she spotted you and is just taking you on a wild goose chase for shits and giggles, but it’s doubtful. There is purpose in Elowyn’s steps, even if you’re not quite able to understand it yet.

Elowyn steps onto the wooden platform, pulls the lever, and floats up the nauseating river of excrement and contamination. You recognize the area she is going to by smell alone. She’s heading into the lowest floors of the ruined temple under the Crimson Palace. You frown. You’ve been all through those lower, ravaged corridors.

You used to try and hide from Astarion down there, but he always found you. You shudder at the memories of playing some sick, twisted version of hide and seek, where the consequences were more dire than being tagged “it.”

What could be down there that’s of any interest to her? Does Astarion know? Is that where he set the Drow up to do her assessments? Unlikely. He would not want Araj that close to home.

There’s a barely perceptible shift in the atmosphere. The chilled air starts to warm unnaturally, embers floating around. Your skin prickles as the hair on the back of your neck and arms rises. You smell the smoky stench and pollution of sulphur crawling through the air. It stings your nostrils, twisting in the back of your nose and down your throat, choking you. A liquid black maw opens in the stone before your feet, and the inky, viscid silhouette emerges from the gaping orifice, taking shape and wings stretching with a boastful flare.

You jump backward, filling yourself with the Weave, heating your palms and skin with spells dancing on your fingertips and primed on your tongue.

“Darling,” a toothy grin greets you. “Now, now, Sorceress. Put those spells of yours to rest. Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“Mizora.”  

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, I hope you enjoy this, darlings!

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

It's never a good sign when Mizora shows up. We are getting into the thick of it now :)

[gremlinmodetweeker]

A Boy, A Twisted Memory and A Desire for Love

So this is the first official Ghost story on my blog. I know, I know, it's been a long time writing and I've not written something for the guy, but it's really just because I get so worried about writing him poorly.

I know he's a big military guy who hates having emotions and kills any and all kindness in his heart, but I also really like the idea of him exploring the concept of healing from his trauma? I dunno, I just thought about it.

Also, like König, I can't imagine Ghost keeping normal pets. Originally I had him get a spider, but then I read over his backstory again and it made more sense for him to get a venomous snake. I think it's a major step to overcoming his trauma. By the way! Big trigger warning, this is about a snake! This entire fic centres around a snake!

Anyways, I had some fun writing this but it made me super sad.

TW: Snake, discussion of past abuse, emotional trauma, child abuse (referenced), emotional disregulation

Wordcount: 1.7k

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

A Boy, A Twisted Memory and A Desire for Love

Simon locked eyes with the little black and yellow creature housed deep within its cave. It was a small thing, barely hatched from its egg it looked like. The length of a ruler at most. It was a light thing, covered in fine scales along its supple body. This thing was venomous, yes, but it couldn’t do any real damage. It was a threat maybe to a mouse, but a man such as himself wouldn't fall to such weak poison. Swelling, pain, nausea, yes. But death? Not quite.

And yet, his heart quickened within his chest. He could feel the sweat forming on his brow. It had been so long since he’d seen one of these beasts, and yet the same fear from back then wormed its way inside him now.

“Hungry?” Simon’s voice was particularly gravelly, roughened by sleep deprivation and lack of use.

The creature made no move. He’d be surprised if the thing even heard him. Did it even have ears? He’d have to ask the breeder later.

“Been a long time since I’ve seen one of yer kind before,” he admitted. He didn’t quite know why, but it felt somewhat soothing to speak to the thing.

“I killed the last one of ye that I saw. Crushed the fucker right under my boot, I did.”

It didn’t seem to scare the beast off. He wondered if it really was more afraid of him than he was of it. He hoped that was true. He didn’t want to admit that the fear still wriggled under his skin.

“He wasn’t anything like what my dad ‘ad,” Simon closed his eyes as the oppressive memories washed over him, “that one was a right bastard. Bigger than anything I’ve seen ever since. Shoved it right in my face, he did. Wouldn’t let me go till I kissed it right on the lips. If it bit me, I wouldn’t be standin’ ‘ere. But you,” Simon opened his eyes, dark eyes matching two glassy eyes of inky black, “you’re nothing. You're pathetic. You’re… You're so small.”

Simon turned back to the breeder.

Finally, the creature came to its senses and slithered back further into its burrow. So sleek and streamlined, and yet so slow to move. It was afraid of him, that Simon decided the moment he noticed that despite backing away, it didn’t dare look elsewhere.

“How much for this one?” he asked as he pointed at the plastic cube.

“That one?” the woman blinked and looked at what he was pointing at, “the female or the male?”

“The female,” Simon clarified.

“Oh she’s pretty, isn’t she?” the woman adjusted her glasses as she slid behind the plastic cube, “poor girl’s probably pretty scared being out here.” She didn’t mention how terrifying Simon was in his dark clothing, rough fabric stretched tight across his broad frame. He was used to scaring people by this point. Sometimes, like now, he wished he wasn’t.

“How do you pronounce that?” Simon pointed at the name that had been scrawled in blue ballpoint pen on a blank sticker.

“Boida dendrophila,” the woman replied, “she’s pretty young, but she’ll get big soon enough.”

“She’s one of them big ones, yeah?” Simon asked aloofly.

“You bet your arse,” the woman grinned, “she’ll be big soon enough. Don’t know much about ‘em?”

“Oh no,” Simon leaned down to take a better look at the little beast, “I’ve been doing my reading.”

“You got a big enough enclosure for her?” the woman quizzed him.

“Sure do,” Simon hummed, “I built her an enclosure myself. It’s nearly as tall as me, long too. Got some nice branches for her to climb and all that..”

“Wow that’s a lot of space. You sure that’s not too much?” the woman frowned.

“She won’t be in there for a bit, I’ve got something for while she’s small,” Simon reasoned.

What a stupid question.

“Oh well that’s fine,” the woman broke out into another smile, “but yeah she’s eating mostly baby mice, an adult once in a while. You know she’ll be eating bigger things when she’s full grown, right? You can handle that?”

“I think I’ll be quite alright,” Simon mused, “have to admit, she’s a right beauty.”

“She really is, isn’t she?” the woman gushed, “I’ve been raising her since she was just hatched. But now? Well, normally I sell them off a bit sooner, but she grew on me. Unfortunately, the husband isn’t too fond of her and wants her to be moved on.”

“Why’s that?” Simon looked at the woman from behind his sunglasses.

“Oh he got bit when she was the length of a pencil,” the woman laughed, “he’s held it against her ever since!”

“Heard her kind can get pretty feisty,” Simon commented as he looked back at the spider.

“They can get a bit aggressive, I won't lie to you. A bit territorial, too,” the woman explained carefully so as not to scare off the only interested customer she had all weekend.

“Real fast,” Simon continued on, “with nasty bites.”

“Sounds like you’ve done your reading,” the woman laughed uncomfortably.

“Course,” Simon refrained from rolling his eyes, “so how much is she? The sticker’s ripped.”

“She’s on sale, actually,” the woman grinned, “only a couple hundred quid.”

“That much, eh?” Simon straightened up to tower over the slender woman.

“Normally she could be anywhere up to four hundred,” the woman fought back against the subtle threat of intimidation.

“Well then,” Simon looked down at the cube, “looks like I got a good deal then.”

“You won’t go stompin’ on her, will you?” the woman furrowed her brows.

“No ma’am, that was just what I had to do when I went out to the Middle East,” Simon chuckled humorlessly, “I wouldn’t dream of hurtin’ this here little lady.”

The woman grinned as she counted her bills, Simon smiled just slightly as he picked up the container and brought it back to his car.

When he got home, he carefully moved the little creature into the glass enclosure of dirt, leaf litter and cork bark. He put it back in its place on his shelf and smiled.

“Dendrophila, eh?” he chuckled, “how ‘bout Ophelia? That’s a cute lil name for ya.”

The creature only burrowed away under the cork bark, eager to get out of sight of the frightening giant before her. He didn’t blame the little thing, he’d be terrified of himself if he was a younger man.

Once, he’d hardened himself into an unstoppable thing, a monster of a man. He had formed his shell through cruel lashings the world had lavished upon him. He took ablutions in raining blood. He was festering sickness or silver sin. He was what he despised in the world, the monster he tried to protect his own family from. When his brothers in arms welcomed each other warmly, they regarded him as a feral dog to be kept at a distance, chained in the backyard, out in the rain.

In Simon’s heart there was no room for love. He was not a man forged in kindness and love. He was the unfortunate son of Mr. Riley, cursed from birth to be raised in the muck and mire of human atrocities. He had been calloused by the time he was nine, and by the time he joined the military even the recruiting officers were afraid of him. He was too cruel, too strict, too much for anyone to handle. He could brute-force his way through life, but only for so long.

Even monsters had hearts. This was the unfortunate fact that Simon had learned far too late in life. He hated himself for how he wallowed in his loneliness. He thought his team would be enough, but there was a despicable part that still resided deep within him. He could offer his rotten sort of love to his teammates, but he could never care for them like he needed to. There was a part of him that had been stunted since childhood, and far too late it breached his skin to scream into his ears, begging him to please just notice me, notice me and don't let me die here inside of you.

He didn’t want to, but he spoke to a therapist. It was Price's advice after he'd broken down with a bottle of whisky in one hand and a revolver in the other. Price promised to never say a word as he unwound his lieutenant's fingers from the trigger.

A week later he'd arrived at a small office. They’d been cowed by him at first. Everyone was, but something about frightening the one person he wanted to be helped by hurt a part of Simon he wished to rip from his chest. Once he would have laughed, but in that office, he could only hurt. No tears fell, but his walls did and he was able to speak openly for the first time in his entire life without the help of a bottle of jack and a pair of dice. It felt wrong. He hated it, but he learned.

His therapist told him that to help rid himself of this festering parasite of an emotion, he should try to nurture the damned thing. Simon had laughed in the man’s face. He then told him to go to Hell. The man had learned not to flinch in the face of a predator, and so pushed forth. He said that to grow, Simon could try getting a cat or a dog. Something he could raise with the love he never had been given as a boy.

He said that he needed something to love or else he'd never be able to heal. Simon scoffed and left the room, but not before booking another appointment. The smug look on his therapist’s face disgusted him. He turned quickly and left.

So maybe it was out of spite that he bought Ophelia, but there was a part of him that felt like he needed the little creature. He needed something to love, and so he did. He loved the Ophelia with all his heart. He nurtured her and cared for her as best he could.

Months passed, and he started to handle Ophelia. She hissed, she scurried away, she did everything to get away from Simon’s touch. He figured that if he had to face himself, he’d do much the same. He wasn’t a creature born of love and compassion. He was death, in face and in heart, but each time he brought Ohpelia’s container out and changed her water, when she ate from his tongs, he could feel his rotten heart beating within his chest. It made him smile despite himself.

He was not a creature of love, and yet it was love he felt when Ophelia tentatively reached out and slithered up his hand. When he raised her up, ever so gently, he couldn’t help but cry.

How cruel was the world that a boy, born from street gutters and raised by heavy hands, would only ever feel love for the first time in a dingy London flat on his thirty-first birthday, alone save for the venomous snake in his hands?

Stories

Ghost Dump

[hamliet]

thoughts on how oshi no ko has portrayed what happened to hikaru (thus far) and any ideas for what his motives/role in the story is?

Honestly? I think it's doing a pretty good job of portraying it. TW for discussions of childhood sexual abuse below.

When it's first introduced to us that Hikaru was raped by the adult actress, Aqua doesn't have much reaction. On an intellectual level, he gets it, but on an emotional level in terms of what this means for Hikaru, for his development and for his pain, he doesn't get it at all. It's only when we get to Akane's expressed horror ("that's sick!") that we get an actual reaction.

The previous chapter was honestly acting and a flashback as it actually happened, and I appreciated that they showed it as violent.

That's something so often missing from stories of older women who rape younger boys (see Mary Kay Letourneau). It's not a love story. He's not lucky. It's violence.

Like, I spoke about this with a friend after the chapter, but the wiki literally says he was "implied to have been raped." Implied? He was ELEVEN.

I don't think the wiki writers are intentionally being obtuse or dismissive, but there is a subconscious way in which a lot of the world, across cultures, reacts to female predators of young boys in a way that is incongruent with how we react to men who prey on young girls. And to be fair, the latter is a far more prevalent issue but still.

So anyways, I was grateful the final panel of the flashback showed Hikaru being dragged, violently, away from a girl his own age whom he likes by an older woman who won't even introduce his son as his son. Anything Hikaru has, he cannot have.

I've written about Hikaru before, but yeah, he's a scary serial killer at this point who is likely going to target Ruby and/or Kana. He's a final antagonist, obviously, and his past abuses don't excuse him. He's somewhat modeled after Lucifer, and not the Hazbin Hotel version.

But I don't think Aqua's final challenge is stopping Hikaru.

Aqua playing Hikaru in these scenes is challenging him to do what playing Ai has provoked Ruby to do: to empathize and further understand their parents. But, the problem is that Aqua can relate to Hikaru's anger and hatred already.

Again, as I wrote previously, Aqua already is very much like Hikaru (albeit at a far earlier stage): trying to reenact and kill the perceived causes of his trauma and not able to see that he's not going to be happy with such an ending because you can't kill your way to peace.

What Aqua actually needs to do is to come to understand Ai. Ruby, imo, is the one who will come to understand Hikaru, and probably forgive him (not excuse, but this is very likely where it's going).

Ai seemed to, after all. She reached out to Hikaru's proxy (the stalker) and definitely recognized the white roses and knew who had sent him.

Yet she still reached out to her stalker as a human being and empathized with him after he had stabbed her.

If it had been Hikaru standing there himself, she would have done the same.

And lest we think this is solely an example of her toxic wanting-to-please-people trait taking control, this was also the moment--the only moment in Ai's life--where she was finally able to express herself without a lie. It can be both an indictment of the entertainment industry prioritizing pleasing others over your own life and pain and Ai's moment of triumph even amidst tragedy.

Hence again why Aqua's challenge is to understand his mother, not to kill his father as justice for her. He needs to recognize her love for him as her son. She wanted him to live. She wanted him to love. She didn't want him to obsess over her in death.

Ruby, on the other hand, needs to understand Hikaru... and Aqua. Thus far, while she's had the best growth of everyone in this entire series, she is still idolizing Sensei and Aqua thereby.

She needs to see him as a person just as Aqua needs to see Ai as a person. Seeing Hikaru's anger and pain and seeing Aqua's go hand in hand for Ruby (again, not a coincidence Aqua is playing young Hikaru in the movie).

As for where Hikaru goes from there, I don't know. He might end his own life like the stalker proxy did, but I think the fact that that's already happened makes it less likely. He might find new life even if like, in prison, or he might die sacrificing himself for his kids. It's too early to make those exact predictions... but I think Ruby understanding him and empathizing is key.

[gaypastabake]

Edge Rebella (W.Wolf AU)

[WARNING: gore, implied non-sexual nudity, discussions of PTSD and child abuse, past the first image]

[This is important because Tumblr wouldnt display this post in tags because I initially put TW's in the tags of this post]

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-Edge Rebella, 26

-Last name taken from the sick ass name the German translation for sparks of hope gave her

-A werewolf

-Was born in Milan but taken into captivity by Cursa for most of her life, like many werewolf children before her. Was freed when Cursa was taken to prison. Left for Beacon Beach when she was old enough

-Goes to therapy for the physical and psychological abuse she suffered at the hands of Cursa. Her therapist is also currently the only person who knows that she is a werewolf, and also helps her with her feelings of being a danger to others because of her curse

-Transforming into a werewolf is extremely stressful, painful and disorientating. Your eyes struggle to focus on any one thing, the stress of the process aswell as a sudden rush of violent animal instincts often manifests itself into violent thrashing from those affected from lycanthrope. Werewolves are easily startled by foreign objects and bright lights coming into view, loud noises and moving figures, and not knowing where they are, causing them to become violent in terror. Often times the werewolf wont remember much of the night prior. Edge struggles with those sensory issues in human form aswell- she doesn't cope well with flashing lights and shrill, sudden loud noises- and is absolutely terrified of large, dark empty spaces from when Cursa would lock her away as punishment.

-Her muscular physique, sharp teeth and hair covering most of her body are from her being a werewolf. Also because she works out and prefers not to shave

-Suffers from extreme muscle pain and emotional fatigue after returning to human form, please give her a heat-pad and a massage and look after her, she needs the comfort :(

-The choker she wears is both fashionable and for comfort, she enjoys the feeling of compression around her neck because it makes her feel like shes in a more controlled environment

-She enjoys chewing things as a sensory stim, and would often take those free offcuts they have at hardware stores just to chew on them, as it alleviates the pain she gets in her jaws which comes with being a werewolf, that and mmmm cronchy

-Edge probably also has autism, even though she swears that her sensory issues and stims come from her being a werewolf

-Not used to being so close to other people because of her own insecurities with her being a werewolf and not being socialised as a child

-Works a day-job as a guard/bouncer inside of a bar because of her intimidating presence and overall tough physique. The reason she doesnt work the night shift is because its difficult to explain to your boss why you cant turn up every night theres a full moon

-Lives in a campervan because its easier to drive herself to a secluded area to transform then potentially wreak havoc upon an apartment complex

-Likes Beacon Beach because of the long-held superstition around werewolves in the woods, she figures that people would be wary around going into the woods during the full moon so to minimise the risk of hurting someone

-A bit nervous around receiving fuss and attention, but when warmed up to someone she adores receiving affection, and would definitely love to cuddle with you

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Currently midway through chapter 2 of the fic, planning on dropping them soon once im done info dumping. also im currently sick rn

[lavendermage]

It’s not hard to be nice to you.

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Hello! I would like to request smth if your taking requests :)

That one thing you did, ‘A safe space’ or smth with the Diluc and Kaeya? Could you do smth similar except Reader is more… emtionally abused? 

thanks :)

have a nice day :DDD

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Characters: Child Diluc and Kaeya, Crepus

Genre: Hurt comfort, gender neutral child reader, not canon compliant.

TW: Child abuse, emotional abuse, breaking glass, food shaming (just learned that’s a phrase)

A/n: I finally filled my first request! (I actually copy pasted the request here to save it. I heard of stuff disappearing, and I wanted to make sure I had it.) And yes, requests are open and details are in my bio. I’m sorry for how long it took, my organizational system sucks. Tws are pretty specific, but I think they’re common triggers? Idk. Mildly concerned that my most popular fic is about abuse. I hope you’re all taking care of yourselves.

1.5k words

You, Diluc and Kaeya were perched on the bridge to Mondstadt proper, throwing bread to the birds. They crowded around under the bridge, swimming around to catch the food. The wind was cooling as the sun set. It would be time to go home soon. 

"I need to go back." You sighed. “You know how they get.”

"Your guardian isn't very nice to you." Kaeya said abruptly. 

You froze. "It's not a big deal." 

"It is." Kaeya insisted.

"They're just tired." You tried to explain.

“So are you, and you’re not like that.” Kaeya pointed out.

"We could have a sleepover! Then you don't have to be with them and they get a break." Diluc suggested.

"It's too much trouble. I don't want to bother you." You sighed.

"You won't. Our father is very nice." Diluc said.

"He is." Kaeya agreed, nodding.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Diluc said.

You brightened. "OK! I'll ask my guardian." You discussed the details quickly before running back home. It was getting dark and you didn't want to get in trouble.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Your guardian's vice-like grip crushed your shoulder. It was possessive and made your skin crawl. They spoke in that fake-friendly voice they used in public. "Are you sure you want to deal with them?"

"It's no issue. From what I've seen they are a wonderful kid." Crepus said, a friendly smile on his face. "They're only staying the night, and the staff is used to kids."

"Not my kid. Can't do anything without messing up." They laughed. 

You felt your face flush. Not in front of him!, you wanted to scream. Mr. Ragnvindr was cool, you wanted to be like him when you grew up. You didn't want him to think you were useless. You kept your mouth shut though, even as tears stung your eyes.

Mr. Ragnvindr noticed your discomfort. "My own sons can be a handful too sometimes. They're still learning."

"Alright, but if they burn the house down don't say I didn't warn you." They laughed again, a cruelness undercutting it. It was harsh on your ears and it took everything to not flinch.

“We have a pyro vision in the house. It wouldn’t be the first time something caught fire.” He joked and he looked at you as he said it, trying to reassure you.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

"Dinner’s spaghetti!" Diluc eagerly pulled you into the house. "The cooks make the best tomato sauce!"

The delicious smell greeted you as you walked in the door. Your mouth watered just thinking about how good it must taste. 

Kaeya had sat already, waving excitedly for you to sit next to him.

Crepus appeared holding three wine glasses in one hand and a bottle of grape juice in the other. "Welcome! Take a seat." He gestured to the seat next to Kaeya.

You did and Diluc sat on your other side. 

“Can I pour the juice?” He asked. 

“Of course.” Crepus handed him the bottle. 

You watched as Diluc uncorked it and poured it carefully into each cup, twisting the bottle after each pour. His brows furrowed in concentration as he did it. As soon as he finished he set down the bottle and looked for his father’s assessment.

“That’s my boy!” He smiled proudly. “You’ve learned so much. You’ll be a bartender in no time.”

You should be happy, but jealousy tugged at your heart. Why wasn’t your guardian like that?”

“Let’s eat!”

You dug in. The food was so warm and the pasta had the perfect bite to it. “Al dente’ or whatever Diluc had called it. You didn’t know how to describe food the way he did, but it was delicious. You scarfed down the whole plate in seconds. You froze, fork in hand. He was going to yell at you. You had eaten too fast, too greedily, and he was going to yell at you. Pig. 

But he didn’t. All he did was ask if you wanted seconds.

“Am I… allowed to?” You asked nervously, waiting for the rant about how greedy you were.

“Of course. Eat as much as you want. You need to eat so your body can grow. The boys eat enough for five men, it’s incredible.” He laughed. 

Adeline brought another bowl and whisked the empty one away. 

You ate slower this time and your eyes kept darting up to monitor Crepus’s face. He caught you once and just looked back sadly. 

“Are you enjoying your meal?” Diluc asked, a serious expression on his face. He was practicing his host etiquette.

You panicked slightly, your mouth was too full to talk. You swallowed quickly and nodded. “It’s really good.”

“Tell Adeline, it makes her really happy when Diluc and I like her food.” Kaeya added.

You nodded again. “I will.”

Dinner ended soon after. You made sure to thank Adeline when she came by again.

“It’s no problem. I’m glad you enjoyed your dinner.” She smiled sweetly. “Diluc, Kaeya, please collect the plates.”

“Can I help too?”

“Of course. Just stack the cups and put them at the head of the table.”

“Ok!” You did as you were told and collected all the cups. As you walked to the head of the table to put them down, you tripped. You caught yourself but the cups fell out of your hands and shattered on the wood floor. It was silent. Not for long, you thought, readying yourself. You fell to your knees and reached to pick up the shards of glass, trying to reduce the punishment.

“Y/n, stop!” Crepus’s loud voice broke the silence.

You did, fear freezing the blood in your veins. Tears pooled in your eyes and then slipped down your cheek. Apologies spilled from your lips. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I promise I didn’t mean too, please don’t be angry, I won’t do it again.” Your words were interrupted by your own sobs and sorries. 

Crepus carefully walked up to you and crouched at your level. “I’m not angry. I don’t want you to touch the glass because you’ll cut yourself.” “It was an accident, I swear, I’ll pay you back-”

“I know it is. You don’t have to pay anything.”

Kaeya’s cold hand rested on your shoulder and Diluc stood a little to the side.

“You know what, I’ll show you how little of a problem this is. We’ll clean it up together. Kaeya, Diluc, get the broom and dustpan from the pantry.”

“I can-”

“You don’t know where it is.” Diluc pointed out.

“My sons can handle this task, no need to worry. I’m just glad you caught yourself.”

You stared at him blankly, confused.

“It would have been worse if you got hurt instead of the glasses.”

“It… would?” 

A pained expression crossed his face. “Of course.”

“I’m sorry I made you sad.”

“I’m an adult, it’s not your job to worry about me.” He rested his hand on your head and started petting your hair when you didn’t flinch.

“We’re back!” Diluc held a broom in his hand while Kaeya held the dust pan.

“Thank you.” Crepus turned his attention back to you. “I’ll hold the dustpan and you’ll sweep the glass into it, ok?”

You nodded and Diluc passed you the broom. Your hands shook as you swept but you finished up quickly. “That’s all?”

“Yes, see? It’s not a big deal. Now who wants ice cream?”

Both boys raised their hands.

“And you?”

“Aren’t I being punished?”

“Of course not. What flavor do you want?”

“Cho-chocolate?”

“You got it!” Adeline appeared out of seemingly nowhere and took everyone’s orders.

Three little bowls of ice cream came out, each with beautiful little spoons. Chocolate, raspberry, strawberry. You ate yours, still sniffling from your tears earlier. 

“Do you want to taste some of mine?” Kaeya lifted a spoon of raspberry.

“If it’s alright…”

He plopped a spoonful into your bowl.

“Mine’s a little soupy, but you can still try.” Diluc poured a little of his ice cream soup next to Kaeya’s raspberry. His pyro had melted it.

You sniffed and rubbed at your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sad.” Diluc panicked. “Is it because the ice creams mixed?”

“You’re so nice.” You sobbed.

Crepus put a hand on your shoulder. “It’s not hard to be nice to you, and even if it was, it would be worth it.”

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Hello! I was wondering if you could please write up a BG3 headcanon request involving Halsin, Wyll, Astarion and Gale? How would they react to/take care of their Tav who has an alcohol or drug addiction?

A/N: Aw, man, do I feel this ask. Sometimes I like to joke that I come from a long line of alcoholics, because, well, I do. But it’s usually me trying to put some levity into serious family discussions. I don’t think a lot of people understand that addiction is a physiological illness: it’s a full-body response, not a case of “mind over matter” as some people like to say. There’s such a stigma and it sucks because research shows that when we respond kindly, and not with punishment or ostracization, that’s when addicts have a higher chance of recovery. So know that while I am no expert on addiction, I did try my best to be respectful and accurate. I hope you enjoy! 

TW: Addiction, Alcoholism 

BG3 Male Companions Taking Care of Tav Who Battles Alcoholism/Addiction 

Astarion: 

In a way, Astarion is kind of an addict himself. He’s a vampire, spawn, or ascendant, he needs blood for energy. He can go for extended times without it, but those times have been tortuous and caused lasting mental and emotional damage. That eternal need hanging over his head coupled with the impact of Cazador’s abuse has permanently re-wired his brain. Astarion doesn’t react like the average elf, he can’t, not anymore. 

So when it comes to altered brain chemistry, Astarion’s certainly no stranger. Although his addiction lies more within the supernatural, he can use his own experience to relate to Tav’s more pedestrian affliction. 

Astarion won’t ever outright deny Tav something. If Tav asks for a drink or a drug, Asation won’t take it upon himself to literally hold Tav down as a means of keeping them from consuming it. Astarion knows that method won’t work in the long run, and would most likely only result in Tav resenting him, and he can’t have that. 

Astarion will make a face or two, however, his expression switches from concerned to slightly judgemental depending on the context. He wants Tav to be aware of his opinion, but he doesn't want to smother them. Tav’s not a child, Astarion isn’t responsible for them. 

Still, thanks to his concern, I do think Astarion would confront them about it. He’d need to speak to Tav to hear for himself precisely what's going on. If Tav is still in their denial phase, Astarion tries hard to get them out of it. There’s no use trying to help someone who refuses to acknowledge they have an issue. Astarion knows, so he understands the shame that comes with it. But he reminds Tav he did eventually come clean about being a vampire, and about his past with Cazador, so now it’s Tav’s turn to do the same. 

Once Tav is open about their struggles, Astarion makes a point to check in with them throughout the day. He’ll nonchalantly provide Tav with alternatives to drink: water or tea, things that aren’t ale, and wine. He’ll be subtle about it though. Astarion will never act as if he’s going out of his way to do Tav a favor. No, it’s not like that, he swears! It just so happens Gale was asking for tea and Astarion thought he’d go make him some seeing as how sad and pathetic the wizards had been acting over losing his goddess, and Astarion thought, well, perhaps Tav would like some as well. 

The most difficult part for Astarion is witnessing Tav endure withdrawal. It’s a horrible, painful process. If Astarion didn’t know any better, he’d say the whole thing looked a lot like being killed and then brought back from the dead. He still remembers the way his body ached and burned and hungered upon Cazador turning him into a vampire. It may have been two hundred years but nothing could ever make him forget that pain. It’s why Astarion wishes, more than anything, that he could alleviate such agony for Tav. 

If Astarion remains a spawn, there’s nothing he can do but hold Tav close, dab their forehead with a cool cloth, and whisper soft words of comfort into their ear. ‘You will be alright, darling. Even this will pass.’ 

If Astarion has become a vampire ascendant, however, he can make Tav a vampire, if that is something Tav chooses. This isn’t a magic fix, however. While there’s a possibility Tav may no longer have the addictions they did as a vampire that they did as a human, there’s no guarantee that hunger will not carry over. Should it carry over, Tav would then be forced to be content with those previous addictions in addition to their newfound bloodlust. It’s a risk. But even if there’s a small chance it could work, Astarion proposes the idea to Tav. Ascendant Astarion would still find it preferable for Tav to be an addict as a spawn, as it makes it incredibly easy for him to control Tav’s actions. Sure, they may still be addicted, but without Astarion’s permission, they can’t take what they want when they want. It would create tension and a fair degree of hostility between the two. But Astarion the Vampire Ascendent believes an angry, vampire-spawn Tav to be superior to a happy dead one. 

And of course, no matter whether he’s a spawn or ascended Astarion makes a point that despite Tav’s addiction, he’s not going anywhere. If Tav falls off the wagon again, or if they’re not ready to try and face their addiction right now, Astarion will remain at their side, waiting for the day they’re ready to try again. ‘I’m not going anywhere my love. I can promise you that.’ 

Gale: 

Gale’s first response, of course, is to try and determine a way to solve this problem via magical means. Now as a wizard, he doesn’t have access to the kinds of healing spells druids and clerics have. But, he does a fair amount of arcane knowledge about enchantments, and curses. And well, what is addiction if not a natural, biological enchantment? Gale considers himself fairly rounded on the subject of human biology as well, so Tav is in for a bit of an earful if and when they first admit their affliction to him. 

Gale may not have experience with the kinds of addiction Tav is, but thanks to his experiments with Weave, and now having been cursed with the orb, Gale knows the urgency of living under a constant ticking clock. If he cannot consume the magic from magical artifacts, if the orb is not sated with bits of the Weave on occasion, he risks blowing up everyone for miles. 

In some ways, this makes Gale’s “addiction” all the more dangerous. It doesn’t merely affect his own body and the relationships with his loved ones, but it jeopardizes almost every other living person within Baldur’s Gate. Of course, Gale would never say this. And while he may think such a self-pitying thought, he dare not share it with Tav. The last thing Gale wants to do is make Tav’s very real problem seem inconsequential because it most certainly is not!

Instead, Gale offers to commiserate with Tav on occasion, making sure to never bellyache the loudest. He wants it to be Tav’s time to vent, complain, scream- to just let it all out. He knows Tav is under an incredible amount of pressure as their leader, addiction or not. Gale wants Tav to trust him enough for the two of them to be vulnerable around each other. I mean Mystra above! The whole camp knows that Gale’s easily susceptible most of the time, so there’s absolutely no shame in Tav admitting they experience similarly at times. 

Gale will take it upon himself to concoct a special drink menu for Tav, all nonalcoholic of course. It’s elaborate and painstakingly organized. If Tav thought their sober options were few and far between before, they certainly won’t now! Gale is the camp’s resident cook, so he takes pride in being able to satisfy not only everyone’s needs but to please their tastes as well. Well, except for Astarion. Blood is not ever to be a feature on Gale's menu, thank you very much!

The part Gale has some trouble with is wrapping his head around someone as wonderful as Tav would ever want such a life for themselves. Gale thinks highly of Tav, sometimes too highly. In some instances, Gale cannot see the forest for the trees thanks to the pedestal he’s placed Tav on. In such scenarios, Tav may have to remind Gale that they’re only mortal. And that this affliction of theirs is no more a choice than Gale’s own need for magic. 

Once Gale is on the same page, he ceases the majority of his condemnation, instead opting to try and distract Tav from the overwhelming desires raging on inside them. He offers to show Tav the Weave once more, or perhaps, some other simple, rather pretty tricks. Rolan’s display of fireworks in Emerald Grove wasn’t a difficult spell, and certainly no challenge for Gale. But if many simple spells are what it takes to keep Tav’s mind occupied as they ride out their newfound prohibition, then so be it. 

If by some miracle, Gale does find a spell or enchantment to help alleviate some of Tav’s worse withdrawal symptoms or cravings, he will perform it enthusiastically should Tav want. And if Tav prefers to handle this the old-fashioned way, Gale will do his best to bite his tongue and respect Tav’s choices. ‘I just want things to be easier for you. Life is hard enough as it is with all this tadpole business running around. Whatever you ask of me, you shall get.’ 

Gale is a faithful partner. He doesn’t run at the first sign of trouble, not when’s committed himself to another person. Be it in friendship, or romance, relationships mean a great deal to him. He refuses to let Tav endure this hardship alone. ‘I do not say this lightly: you mean a great deal to me. No matter the toils, I will stay by your side.’ 

Wyll: 

Wyll, above all else, aims to be an honorable man. Despite his suffering, despite his shortcomings and misfortunes, he refuses to falter or fall. His deal with Mizora may have sullied his Father’s view of him and dampened Wyll’s view of himself, but it did not change how he desires to see himself. Wyll knows the kind of man he wants to be and he does everything within his power to act accordingly. 

For Wyll, addiction is a difficult subject. He’s very strong-willed, and because he spends so much time working hard to do what he believes is the right thing, he can look down on other people at times. He has sympathy for people dealing with such afflictions, but behind his care, a small part of him is disappointed. He believes in choosing to be good, to try harder. He thinks all mortals are capable of acting wiser. So while Wyll understands Tav endures such difficulties now, Wyll also firmly believes Tav will have conquered them in the future. 

This can put a fair amount of pressure on Tav’s shoulders. But it can also serve to inspire them. In either case, Tav would need to talk to Wyll about how they feel when it comes to Wyll’s encouragement. Wyll, being the supportive man he is, would never want to intentionally make Tav feel demoralized. So if there’s something in his behavior or in his words of motivation that he can change to make Tav feel less burdened, he will do so. 

Wyll, like Astarion, knows he cannot make himself responsible for Tav’s choices. So Wyll does not take the part of Tav’s keeper, but he does make an effort to be near Tav as they make their decision, offering his opinion should Tav ask. The more Wyll’s presence remains a constant in Tav’s life, the more Wyll hopes Tav will come to appreciate his perspective. If Tav knows Wyll isn’t going to leave or abandon them anytime soon, they may feel emboldened to make the necessary tougher decisions of turning down a drink or two. 

Wyll is more than happy to stay up chatting the nights the cravings just won’t go away. During days Tav’s irrepressible urge causes them to feel restless and manic, Wyll asks Tav to join him for a lesson in combat. After all, he’s not called the Blade of Frontiers for nothing. Sweating out the chemicals and forcing the body to flush all the drugs out of Tav’s system is a great way to sober up. And if the symptoms of withdrawal aren’t all-consuming, it also makes for a great distraction. 

However, during the periods everything is all just too much: the headaches, the nausea, the itchiness, and the sweating won’t stop, Wyll finds a shady spot in camp for the two of them to rest. And as Tav rides out such agonizing lows, Wyll tells stories of his time as a child living in Baldur’s Gate in soothing, hushed tones. His warm voice brings comfort, a much-needed contrast to the ailment Tav’s fighting. 

Wyll cares deeply for Tav. And he believes in Tav, even when Tav doesn’t believe in themselves. ‘You can resist this, you will resist this.’ 

Wyll has no intentions of going anywhere. Addiction or sobriety, he and Tav are a team. Wyll sees Tav as a great hero: he knows they can fight to save themselves. ‘You are the strongest person I know. Nevertheless, you do not have to shoulder this burden alone.’ 

Halsin: 

Halsin is the least likely to have any shared experience when it comes to dealing with addiction. He has fought off depression and hopelessness time and time again but he knows not of the pitfalls addiction brings. Having lived as long as he has, there’s no doubt he’s met those suffering from such afflictions. And being a druid, he may even have been consulted on how best to treat them. But that’s the end of Halsin’s experience. 

If Tav has an issue, any issue, Halsin is more than willing to help Tav navigate it. After all, Tav helped him save the shadowlands from their darkness. There is no ask too great, Halsin could never say no to aiding Tav with a favor. To Halsin, Tav is a savior: they saved Emerald Grove, they saved Thaniel’s realm, hell, Tav saved all of Baldur’s Gate. Halsin feels he owes them unimaginable thanks. So it pains him greatly to know Tav is suffering. 

Halsin offers to use his abilities to help Tav ease their obsessive mind, and the nagging hunger addiction brings. Of course, druid magic alone is not enough to stop the urge from manifesting and whispering in Tav’s ear. Halsin offers to accompany Tav around town, to sort of supervise them, in his way. He won’t force Tav to change any of their decisions but he keeps a watchful eye almost like a doting father as he places a supportive hand on Tav’s shoulder each time they walk past a bar or tavern. 

Halsin knows he cannot control Tav’s actions, but he can influence the choices they make together as a duo. So long as he is at Tav’s side, Halsin will let his wise opinion be known. 

In their time outside of the city, Halsin takes time to educate Tav on the different flora and fauna found in Faerun. When they come across a plant used to ferment alcohol, Halsin explains the history of the process. Yes, wine and ale are examples of making use of what nature provides, but as with all other things, even nature must be consumed in moderation. Mother Nature blesses everyone with the ability to enjoy such pleasures, but that gift can double as a curse. It is a test of our restraint and humility to know when and where to indulge. 

Speaking of indulgence, Haslin would not recommend swapping one appetite for another, but should Tav want to bide their time engaging in an alternative pleasure, Halsin would be more than happy to oblige. Physical activity and sweating would help relieve Tav’s body of some of the toxins built up within their system. In addition, such activity provides a temporary release of euphoria in the body and brain, which would help combat the pain and despondence that come with withdrawal. ‘If I can provide you with the least bit of comfort. It’s no hardship from me. Far from it.’ 

In the case Halsin leaves Tav for a time to settle the newly displaced within Thaniel's healed realm, he does what he can to ensure his new village is a place of continued healing and sobriety for Ta. Halsin privately enlightens all of the other adults within his new settlement about Tav’s condition. He asks them, respectfully, to refrain from providing Tav with any alcohol or other substances whenever Tav comes to visit. 

Halsin does all within his power to let Tav know they are not alone in their journey, and that no matter the setbacks along the way, he intends to bolster Tav through it all. ‘You are by far nature’s greatest gift to me. No matter the foe, be it the shadows or the dependency within your mind, could ever keep me from you.’ 

If You Enjoyed, Please Consider Tipping Me Via Kofi!

[insoukokuhell-434]

Chuuya Takes Care of Dazai Fics

Includes:

Emotional Hurt/Comfort (long term & immediate)

Physical Hurt/Comfort

The format I’m using is:

Title - writer (ao3 link) Fic length Time period (teen/mafia skk, 22! Skk, all ages) Additional tags (Tags in bold added by me for extra info) TW

Some fics have parts of the summary/ comments added for additional info

Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Long Term (multiple instances)

hey look, the sky's falling apart - saffroncassis    

24.8k TEEN SKK (16/17) AU - Canon Divergence Protective Nakahara Chuuya, Angst, Fluff, Humor, Developing Relationship Found Family (the Akutagawa siblings, Oda's kids, Kyouka, Oda, Ango) TW- Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse and discussions of both these, also cw food for the whole fic

Summary - "At age 16, Chuuya defects from the Port Mafia and drags his partner with him not so much kicking and screaming as silently begrudging, and the rest follow suit in time."

Mostly Chuuya helping Dazai, but Dazai supports him too <33

[Really realistic depiction of the relationship between a depressed person and their supportive partner!]

For the Record - zombiemarker

19.1k TEEN SKK  AU- Spies & Secret Agents + Physical Hurt/Comfort Nightmares, Childhood Trauma, they get all dressed up and go to a gala, Implied Sexual Content, Fluff & Angst, Literal sleeping together, Getting together, First kiss, Developing Relationship TW - Blood and Violence, Childhood Trauma

From tags: "Chuuya's a government experiment, Dazai's been with Mori for years, they've both got trauma now"

Mostly Chuuya helping Dazai, but Dazai supports him too <33

A mouth to empty into - series by osamuchuu

Not listing all 4 fics cause this post is already so long, but they’re all amazing pls go read them!

The series depicts depression + CSA trauma so well!

This is my favourite -

Love is not a victory march - osamuchuu

8.7k 22 SKK Soukoku taking care of each other, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mental Illness, Depression, Drug Addiction, Blood and Injury, Healing, Recovery, Soukoku Tenderness, Light Angst TW -  Dazai-Typical Suicide References and Attempts, Addiction, Drug Use

believe me darling, the stars were made for falling -communist_sasuke

14.6k ALL AGES Worried Chuuya, Love Confessions, Dazai is a Mess, Angst, Self-Harm , Fluff & Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon timeline, First Kiss, TW - Dazai-Typical Suicide Mentions , Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt

Trust Fall - insi 

3.5k ALL AGES (Dark Era, Post-Dark Era, 22 SKK) Emotional Constipation, Mental Health Issues, Dazai has issues TW - Implied/Referenced Suicide & Self-Harm, Suicidal ideation

From tags: Chuuya has met Dazai on the rooftop many times throughout knowing each other.

Immediate

Emotional H/C

Even the Darkness We're Watching Is So Beautiful - NastyaEx

4k 22 SKK (post-109) bsd 109, Fluff, Dazai Needs a Hug, Dazai is a Mess, exhausted dazai, dazai cries but only a little bit, Cuddling & Snuggling, Sharing a Bed, Soft skk, Dazai centered, yosano is a bit here and she's great

I'll Make A Home In Your Gut Because its Somewhere Warm to Sleep - arahabakii

8.9k 22 SKK Fluff, Angst, Mutual Pining, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Making Out, Getting Together, Domestic Fluff, Touch-Starved Dazai, Dazai needs a hug, Chuuya needs a hug TW - Dazai-Typical Suicide References

stay- neon_toad

4.6k 22 SKK (pm!skk flashbacks) Suffering Dazai, Dazai Needs a Hug , Dazai is Bad at Feelings, Oblivious Dazai Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hugs, birthday, Birthday Presents, soft skk TW - Dazai-Typical Suicide References

where are you? - doeinstinct

2.8k 22 SKK Depression, Disordered Eating, physical symptoms of depression, Mentions of past self harm, m because they shower together, canon adjacent, meal replacements, Love Confessions, They're In Love Your Honor

Run Away With Me - Anonymous

5.3k Dark Era Grief/Mourning, Dissociation, Suicidal Thoughts, Soft Soukoku, Dazai Needs a Hug , Dazai Has Feelings, Pining, Cuddling & Snuggling, Sharing a Bed, Chuuya Needs a Hug, Kissing, Dazai asks Chuuya to run away with him

stay the night - Shinkirou

3.6k 22 SKK Gen or Pre-Slash, Developing Relationship, Character Study, Sharing a Bed, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dazai's depression

Physical Hurt/Comfort

Fool for loyalty, or some other word - osamuchuu

1.7k Dark Era Aftermath of Torture, Blood and Injury Light Angst, chuuya deals with so much tbh, what a champ, Fluff and Angst, Pre-Relationship, Established Relationship, chuuya being Dazai's nurse because he absolutely was Dazai's angry nurse

under wraps - Coffeebiscuits

5k Post-Dark era + Emotional hurt comfort Love confessions, deep talks, Light angst, Fluff and angst, kissing, crushes, sharing a bed, Suicide, Self-Harm, Tending to Wounds TW - Dazai-Typical Suicide Mentions, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm 

From tags: “basically chuuya has to patch dazai upand they talk about some things they need to discuss”

Chuuya also gets some emotional comfort

EXHAUSTION

So if you go too far I'll be there - Kimisu

2.5k 22 SKK - Pre-Fyodor | Cannibalism Arc  No Plot/Plotless, Literal Sleeping Together, Some Fluff, Canon Timeline

From Summary: Based on a HC that Dazai spends days before every major arc planning and arranging the pieces in order for everything to 'work'. He also pushes his body limits a bit too far when doing that sometimes.

SICK FIC

Nothing More Important Than You - StormDew2

3k MAFIA SKK (15) Sickfic, Soft soukoku, Vulnerability

Please like/reblog if this helped u find a fic, I'd be delighted to know asjsj <3

“Dazai takes care of Chuuya” recs here

Fic rec masterlist here

[nico-esoterica]

Why these trendy gross men are predators (astro analysis)

tw: mentions of grooming!

Metroboomin, now exposed as an open and shameless child predator uncoincidentally has a whole Libra stellium that the SN is running through. And it's being activated via Drake's 3H that can be associated with inner-circle connections or (from an artist's perspective) having brief projects with. The SN in Libra during our current cycle is bringing issues of past harm done to victims to light. Another person this immediately affected months back is Jonathan Majors who has his Mercury and Venus in Libra.

Drake's placidus Sun crosses back into 3rd house. It also conjoins Pluto (in Scorpio) and is copresent with Venus. This combination on its own doesn't mean anything. But when you add context, with Scorpio as the lens, it has a sinister effect where those you're hanging out with casually for work are also people who have issues. Since he has a Mars that hovers between the 6th and 7th houses in the 'Venusian' decan of Aquarius, imo, it spells out work place misogyny that forms not only camaraderie, but due to Scorpio hiding things in the general 3H of 'early childhood development' is..1+1=2. Meaning.. sharing a hobby (3H) of underage girls being tossed between temporary coworkers or it just being something they all have in common separately.

Mars in the 7H can play out as antagonism towards women in the charts of terrible men. Usually has something to do with the mother. Drake has a 12H Cancer Moon (11H in placidus) which forms watery trines to his whole sign 8th and 4th houses. Water houses hold memory (water--it's absorbent nature) and can link to trauma because they play a role in the emotional parts of us we keep private and are processing or unaware of. In the charts of abusive people, water, imo, plays out as following the rhythmic cycles of trauma because they're motivated by deeply felt (water gets into things) emotional spite. And trines and sextiles allow for it to flow unimpeded. Since those are supportive aspects, it means that the behavior is aided and encouraged. Its occurrence in water houses gives me a visual of it happening, like rivers and motes below things, beneath larger systems or served as connective wave lengths between people like bodily tissue.

The Moon and Jupiter are also in domicile (in their respective homes) in Cancer and Pisces, so this behavior was downright encouraged and he was very at home doing it (could be literal). And they're forming the belly of their grand water trine to his Scorpio Venus. The middle decan of Scorpio is associated with the 6 of Cups and the 6oC relates to childhood or nostalgia in many tarot card pulls. It's what we're holding onto which we're afraid to let go of. You're following me here. In the middle decan between two cards that are associated with not having enough of something or too overwhelmed by choices (5 and 7 of cups), the 6 is where we're happy with what we have and can happily indulge. When you combine this with all of the 'positive' neutral astrological elements discussed, Drake, flat out, has 0 remorse, never thought it was a problem, and knew he could get away with his behavior safely and uninterrupted... until now.

However, as per my last 2 audios about the Drake/Kendrick beef on my Patreon, all of that Scorpio, IMO can lead to paranoia. And in the 4H, unless you are absolutely convinced nothing is out to get you, you will tend to be living like a wild person muttering to themselves off their meds in their house unless you transmute that control issue into something (that isn't a person).

I feel as if he chose to quell that, partially, in ruthlessly controlling and grooming the most unprotected and exploited group of people. Young girls.

[liquorishblack]

Inside the twisted mind of Hisoka Morow (part 1)

Part 1 , Part 2

Synopsis: Psychoanalysis about Hisoka, concerning his past and who he is today.

TW: Mentions of abuse, physical abuse, child abuse, emotional abuse, mental disorders

Wordcount: 561

➽───────────────❥

So, I have a bachelor degree in psychology and today I work in the forensic field. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that nearly every perpetrator was once a victim.

I´ve seen many on this platform wondering what a relationship with Hisoka would look like… and honestly, since he´s quite a complex and interesting character, I wrapped my head around this question as well. But I quickly came to the conclusion that if you want to make assumptions about how Hisoka would behave in certain situations regarding relationships, it is necessary to understand his psyche and therefore we should have at least a little glimpse at his past (Part 1) before we come to the relationship headcanon (Part2). 

So, shall we?

For the following I´ll go with the theory that Hisoka isn´t a psychopath at all (for a bunch of reasons but the whole discussion whether he is in fact a psychopath or not would fill a whole page for itself, so I won´t dwell on this subject today). But this much shall be said: While psychopathy is a neurological dysfunction (which means psychopaths are born that way), what society calls "sociopathy" usually arises from trauma, which I find much more likely in his case. So, Hisoka might not be a psychopath but do we find him on the spectrum of antisocial personality disorder? Hell yes! He is arrogant, self serving, only fights for himself, shows lack of empathy, views other human being as „toys“ and has no sense of remorse or whatsoever. But if he´s not a psychopath, why is that? At a certain point in his past he must have learned that people aren´t trustworthy and that he can´t rely on them. Very likely this is because he was let down, or worse, even endangered, by the people who were supposed to protect him; his primary caregivers. For this reason Hisoka stands for himself, trusts no one and is a lone wolf at heart as an adult. This theory is also supported by the fact that he seems very touch starved and even tries to get along with people occasionally, almost as if he longs for closeness and affiliation, until his own psychology torpedos his newly built and therefore still fragile relationships, because the desire of self-preservation is superior to that of belonging. So he pushes others purposely away, to not take the risk of any emotional damage. Also, the fact that at a certain point Hisoka apparently linked affection with physical violence, pain, and even fear of death suggests that the only form of attention he received in his childhood and adolescence were in fact beatings. These early childhood experiences are likely to have been accompanied by a strong and constant sense of lack of control. The only way to gain back control in such situations from which you can´t escape as a defenseless child is to master your own psychology, ergo: burry your emotions, swallow your pain, so it won´t break you. As for today, Hisokas strive to control break others is pretty obviously an overcompensation for his lack of control at the time. Speaking of emotion: I’m pretty sure that Hisoka has emotions, even complex ones, but can only sense them in a pretty aloof way, because the terrible experiences from his past forced him to suppress them and shut himself off from them over many many years, so he has simply forgotten how to feel. This is accompanied by a consuming feeling of emptiness, which is why people who fall under the spectrum of ASPD need strong stimuli to fill the void caused by lack of strong emotion. They often tend to recklessness and take great risks, not infrequently even risking their own death, just as Hisoka does when he challenges strong opponents to battle. His sense of grandeur and superiority I view as another coping strategy. I´m sure that under his nacissistic mask lies just another insecure and deeply intimidated child, so deeply buried that Hisoka might have forgotten about it himself.

Thank you so much for reading.🤍🖤

Part 2

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Well here I am ehehehe >:]

Santino having a breakdown and he breaks stuff around him, whatever he grabs and well accidentally hurt himself. John tries to calm him down and help him AGHH JOHN GET YOUR MAN HE IS HAVING A BREAKDOWN

Just get everything sharp or that can break away from him when he's like that, see what happens 😭

Hello hello! I’ve been thinking about this scenario all the time, ever since your asks for “Salt in the Wound” and “A Slap from a Saint”!! I made it really sad, like those fics.

🖤💙 The Boy in the Picture Frame 💙🖤

TW: panic attack, crying, accidental self-harm, blood, past physical and emotional abuse by a parent, discussion of disownment

John had spent all afternoon texting, in between pacing around his living room. He was trying to keep his lover talking - giving in to his flirting and doing anything possible to make him laugh. Santino was upset by a mistake he'd made the day before during negotiations with a Ruska Roma representative. The man had tricked him into boasting about the ferocity of his forces, revealing critical information about how security operated for the Camorra in New York. It was a rookie mistake, made because he was running on high emotions and little sleep, and Santino was taking it hard. It could mean punishment from the Camorra.

So, when John looked down at the screen and saw, "I'm sorry I just can't keep talking right now. Something came up, but don't worry," he froze.

Was it too much to call? Santino probably just wanted to be alone, and if that was the case, he'd be annoyed. But...well, better annoyed than hurt if things were really bad.

The shaky voice on the other end did nothing to encourage him. "John, please. I have someone on the other line. I just...he's really angry with me."

"Who? ...Your father?"

"I can't - I...." He switched to the other call again and was gone.

Suddenly, John found himself in his car and found that the speed limit was a mere suggestion.

They didn't live so far apart - Santino had chosen an apartment close to his boyfriend on purpose, and even gave him a second key. But by the time he burst through the door, it was already too late to stop Santino from getting hurt. John made his way through a trashed living room, stepping around overturned chairs and over glass from a broken picture frame, and calling Santino's name without any response.

He noticed, with a bittersweet twinge in his heart, that their photo together from Santino's birthday at the beach was the one thing that seemed untouched. Santino had chosen instead to destroy a family portrait, including both his parents, a young Gianna, and his own chubby face at four years old. Looking more closely, John noticed a smear of blood across the edge of the frame. He had torn out the picture, heedless of the jagged glass, and ripped the image in half...straight through little Santino.

A muffled, wounded sound in the bathroom distracted John from the horrible sympathy that was threatening to crush his ribcage. "Santino?" He ran to the bathroom door. It was unlocked and there, finally, was his lover - although the sight of him couldn't be called a relief. He was sitting on the ground against the wall with alarming red droplets glistening all around him and a messy bandage trailing from his hand. The only reason he wasn't actively sobbing seemed to be the shock of John's sudden entrance.

"What - John?"

John dropped to his side, not knowing what to say. He felt huge in that room, as if he might crush Santino further. His hands hovered over Santino's shoulders, wondering whether it was okay to touch him, before Santino just collapsed against his chest and started crying even harder.

"Thank you," he managed after a few minutes. "Thank you for coming. And look at the thanks you get in return... I got blood all over your shirt." He laughed hollowly.

"It's okay." John took his half-bandaged hand and felt him wince. "Sorry." He started unraveling the gauze. It was a pretty deep cut in Santino's palm, probably from grabbing carelessly at the broken picture frame. At least it didn't look bad enough to need stitches, but Santino was incredibly tense at every touch.

"You don't have to do that. I can do it myself."

"I know. But I don't want you to have to do that anymore." They'd talked about this - how it brought back bad memories for Santino to treat his wounds alone, as he'd had to do in childhood.

"I'm sorry, John. I was so stupid."

"No." That was all, a simple rejection of the very idea that any of this was Santino's fault. John didn't trust himself to say more without getting angry - not even remotely at Santino, but at all the people who had failed him throughout his life. He kissed the finished bandage and then looked up at Santino's anguished, watery eyes. "Do you have another copy of that picture?"

Santino hesitated. "It's on a flash drive. I think Gianna has it. But I don't want it anymore. I think..." He took a deep breath, on the verge of saying something crucial. "I think I'm not a part of my family anymore."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Well...my father asked me to come back to Italy. He said I'm failing out here in New York, and he wants me to come back immediately. And I'm not doing that. Fuck him." He laughed, and it wasn't so hollow this time.

John couldn't help grinning. "Good."

"Good? That's all?" Another laugh. John could feel him getting stronger in his arms. More at ease. "You really never say anything, even at a time like this. I'm still getting used to it."

John thought for a moment. "No, it's not all. I want to know why you ripped through the picture of your own face instead of theirs."

He tensed up again. A long time passed before he spoke, but John had promised never to judge him. Always to listen. So, finally, he extended some trust. "I fucked everything up. I was broken from the start. I was weak. That's why he..."

Again, "No."

A mocking reply, dripping with stubborn, defensive sarcasm, "Yes." John could hear the wavering undertone. Really? Do you promise? Say it again.

"No. You were hurt. It's not on you. They lost you and not the other way around."

The reassurance was too much for Santino and he crumpled against John's chest again. For a while, John held him, listening to his sobs and to the dripping sink. In his rush to try to patch himself up, he must not have shut it off properly. He must have been struggling. John wove his fingers deeper into his hair, trying to massage self-love straight into his brain.

"Do you think Gianna will still talk to you?"

He huffed and pulled back again, tired but finally calm. "...Maybe. In secret. Who cares?"

"Well, I still want you to get a copy of that picture if you can."

"Why?"

"I want to cut out the little Santino and frame him by himself, for my mantlepiece. He was the good part. You are the good part. Not the rest of them."

[3-2-whump]

Julio’s Reverie

<prev next>

TW/CW: blunt discussions about OCs' sex lives, one teeny tiny death threat, emotional angst. But don't let the TW scare you, this is mostly fluff!

Julio had been with many men and women throughout his twenty-six years of life, especially in the five years he has been boss of Juicio Divino, but everyone assumed he would be just as much a boss in the sheets as he was on the streets. And sure, mediocre sex was better than no sex –probably, he guessed –but of all the bedmates he’d had, none of them could scratch his itch –no, his desire– for total submission, to just let go of the mask and be himself for a few vulnerable, blissful minutes. No one had been able to scratch that itch since Izzy Bautista (may that bastard rest in peace.) And over the past five years, Julio had begun to accept that maybe nobody ever could. 

Then, Khaled came, and Julio finally found someone who could fulfill that long-neglected desire.

The young man was basically a virgin, despite how frequently and brutally he’d been abused over the years; he hardly knew what his own desires were, much less how to satisfy them or his partner’s. In the beginning, Julio had to guide him a bit –as much as Khaled would comfortably allow him to, that is –until they could establish a rhythm and truly make some music together. But once they hit their stride, well… Julio wasn’t much for clichés, but fuck it, what he and Khaled had was magical.

“You’re not going easy on me now just so I’ll go easy on you later, are you?” Khaled asked with a cocky grin as he dodged a hit from his left.

He completely missed the sharp jab to his right side and doubled over in pain. Julio smirked. “What part of this looks like I’m going easy on you, bro? Nah, you’re actually getting good!” The block and dodge Khaled executed to counter his next attack only served to emphasize his point.

It became a little routine, eventually. Fight, then fuck, fight, then fuck. Fuck, then learn one more tragic little thing about his lover that fractured Julio’s breaking heart. Fuck, then spoon, Julio behind him because he learned Khaled didn’t like to look at him when he told him his secrets. Fight, then fuck, then cuddle, then send him on his way, as if nothing had ever happened, as if the gnawing guilt didn’t chew at his guts every time he sent him back to the one responsible for all those scars and bruises.

So, while Khaled was with him, he became a bit protective of the boy. Well, a little more than a bit, considering he nearly gutted Crackhead Juan for grabbing Khaled’s arm the other day.

“Hands off my bitch,” he growled, knife gleaming, lips curled downward into a snarl. “I will not ask you again!”

“Excuse me?” Khaled piped up.

With Crackhead Juan quickly scared away, all Julio had to deal with was an insulted boyfriend. He explained he had a reputation to uphold, that he didn’t mean it, and that Khaled could have the most epic apology blow job he could give if he was still unconvinced. Khaled took him up on that apology blowjob and came twice down Julio’s throat as they defiled the backseat of a client’s Rover. Since then, Julio openly flaunted his claim over the Costa Mafia’s fuck hole to whomever would be looking, but only the two of them knew what happened behind closed doors. And one of them still wanted more.

“I still can’t believe we’re carrying on like this, man,” Julio drawled. The half-unlocked handcuffs dangled from his wrist as he raised his hand to light a cigarette between his teeth.

“There’s nothing wrong with carrying on ‘like this’,” Khaled shrugged, propping himself onto one elbow as he reclined on his side on the bed. The rest of Juicio Divino had asked –no, begged –their boss to have sex anywhere but in the garage or within earshot of the rest of the gang, which meant the two had to get a bit creative with locations the last couple of trysts. A seedy hotel? Classic.

“Fight, then fuck, fight, then fuck –I’m having a great time, aren’t you?”

“But don’t you want more than this?” Julio asked genuinely. “Sometimes, do you ever…want more…for us?” 

Khaled’s blush matched Julio’s, yet the younger man could not meet his eyes. “No,” he lied.

“Say it like you believe it, and maybe I’ll believe it too,” Julio scoffed, a puff of smoke escaping from his mouth. He sighed and set the cigarette down on the ashtray. “I don’t know what I’ve got to do to get Costa to release his hold on you-,”

“Short of prying me from his cold dead hands,” Khaled muttered.

“-but there must be something I can do, right?” he asked, gazing sincerely into those soft brown eyes.

Khaled’s eyes met his for only a moment before they shifted down to the crisp hotel sheets.

“Please, Khal, cariño, tell me how I can make you mine for real! If I gotta die for you, I’ll die for you, If I gotta kill for you, just tell me who I gotta kill, and if I gotta buy you from him myself, just tell me how much-”

Khaled ceased his rambling by gripping his stubbled face in both hands and melding their lips in a kiss. Julio froze, but started reciprocating his partner’s advances. Khaled wrestled him back onto the mattress and kissed down his neck and chest, pausing to look down at him. “The best thing you can do for me right now is to make the most out of the half hour of rental time we have left. Now, lay back and look pretty, beanpole,” he whispered.Julio opened his mouth as if he were about to say more, but the metallic click of the other cuff locking around his free wrist and binding his hands to the headboard signaled the end of the conversation. He ultimately shut up and gave Khaled exactly what he wanted. He would always give him exactly what he wanted.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood

[whenyoucallmelover]

everything i read this month! ✷

august flew by as it seemingly always does, but i still managed to read a decent amount! no smut recs this month…sorry to all of you naughty lil readers hehe, i just didn’t really read much smut this month for once.

(just a lil heads up~ i read a few fics this month that contained some scenes/discussions that may be upsetting to some. i find a lot of catharsis in writing + reading stories that i can see myself in, but i know it’s more triggering than therapeutic for some people! so please, as always, read the author’s tags & warnings!)

✷ under 10k words.

🍎 Ice, Ice, Baby, @beelou (1.1k) tags; tooth-rotting fluff, figure skater harry, pining, no smut

🍎 Hold On Tighter, @hellolovers13 (1.4k) tags; no romantic relationship, coming out, trans harry, angst and feels

🍎 A Beacon of Hope, @justanotherghostblr (2k) tags; girl direction, non-traditional a/b/o dynamics, insecurity, nesting, alpha/alpha

🍎 The Elf Who Saved Christmas, @ladyaj-13 (2k) tags; meet cute, christmas, mall elf harry, sweet big brother louis, fluff

🍎 listen to me, butterfly, wherewestood (2k) tags; a/b/o, alpha louis, omega harry, nesting, emotional hurt/comfort, established relationship

🍎 Take the Moment and Taste It, @hellolovers13 (4k) tags; strangers to lovers, first date, footballer louis, singer harry, fluff and smut, cheeky harry

🍎 Running Over Thoughts That Make My Feet Hurt, @enchantedlandcoffee (5k) tags; a/b/o, baker harry, little league coach louis, dad harry, omega drop, confessions, kid fic

🍎 The Scent Of Grapefruit, @red-pandaaa (5k) tags; fluff, no smut, demisexuality, coming out, established relationship, lots of cuddles

🍎 Sex Drunk Suckerpunch, @thinlinez/@gaygodlou (7k) tags; reverse sugar baby, sugar daddy harry, sugar baby louis, but! harry is louis’ baby, escort louis, fluff and smut, stubbornness, banter and humor, tw: brief mentions of death, age gap (25 & 39)

🍎 Your Secret's Safe With Me, @lightwoodsmagic (7k) tags; online friendship, secret identity, prince harry, friends to lovers, first kiss, fluff

🍎 In Shining Armour of Trackie and Trainers, @ladyaj-13 (9k) tags; bad dates, strangers to lovers, famous louis/non famous harry, fan harry, protective louis, tw: non-con elements (read end notes for more info!)

✷ over 10k words.

🍎 Been Here All Along, @bravetemptation (10k) tags; college/university, american football, mascot harry, first kisses, mutual pining, quiet harry, jock louis, secret identity (...? kinda?), tw: panic attacks *absolutely adored this one! i found this to be a great representation of what social anxiety feels like to me and i really appreciated it! x

🍎 It's A Start, Anonymous (10k) tags; neighbors, angst and fluff, first meetings, hate to love (ok, hate is a strong word…annoyed neighbor-to-lovers?), protective louis, hurt/comfort, tw: past abuse

🍎 tread lightly on my ground, @lookslikefairytale (20k) tags; a/b/o, mpreg, miscommunication and misunderstandings, touch deprivation, omega drop, angst with a happy ending, mutual pining

🍎 (Gimme a Solution and) Watch Me Run With It, @lululawrence (21k) tags; famous harry/non famous louis, friends to lovers, sharing a bed, assistant louis, emotional hurt/comfort, lovely sweet caring louis, harry styles needs a hug, touring, tw: panic attacks

✷ multi-part.

🍎 Take me, Take Mine, @likelarryfics (54k, 5/5) tags; a/b/o, boudoir photoshoots, photographer louis, slow burn, healing and recovery, angst with a hopeful ending, tw: discussions of past abuse *favorite of the month <3 

🍎 Just a Flower Boy, Larryruinedme (70k, 15/15) tags; highschool au, popular louis, openly gay harry, jealous louis, secret admirer, first time, discovering sexuality, tw: mentions of homophobia *a classic fic that i just read for the first time…a lil late to the party; love a cheesy old fic tho!

don’t forget to leave a comment and kudos for the authors & reblog their fic posts! ･ﾟ*｡･

[mermaidsirennikita]

I read both contemporary and historical romances and I feel like ice queen heroines are extremely underrated. Do you have any recommendations? Thank you!

I loooove an ice queen! Like, I honestly prefer ice queen heroines to sweet heroines.

Historical:

When a Duke Loves a Woman by Lorraine Heath. This heroine isn't so icy to her family, but she is icy to men otherwise because she basically thinks they're trouble who just want to love 'em and leave 'em (often with consequences for the woman) and tbh? She ain't wrong. But then she rescued the hero after he's mugged and cares for him and he sees her tits and the rest is history

Any Duke in a Storm by Amalie Howard. This is a PIRATICAL ICE QUEEN (but she's also a spy). She has a hero who's like a dangerous rakish borderline himbo and he's like "yes? we do sex? we do sex and kiss and things?" and she's like "NO WE DO NOT" (they do)

Lord of Temptation by Lorraine Heath. This is of the "aloof because she's trying to be a lady and also her heart is hurt" variety. She meets the hero (another borderline pirate but also a lord) when she's on a trip to visit her fiancee and he's VERY rakish and VERY seductive and yes there is sex on a boat and later a lot of scenes where he climbs into her room to tear it up by via a tree.

Joss and The Countess by S.M. LaVioelette. One of my favorite ice queen heroines! Alicia is twice-widowed and is exploring London to try to find a lover who actually pleases her (because neither of her husbands did). She's basically been fucking the wrong dudes and so she thinks she's frigid, until the servant she's been using as a bodyguard, Joss (who is a former sex worker) basically sticks his hand up there one night and is like "YOU WANT A BIT O' ROUGH?" because Joss is very dominant and can sense that what Alicia really wants is to be tossed around a bit. (How true of her.) It's actually kinda tense at first because he thinks she just wants him to service her and he's catching feelings but gasp she's catching them too. Also an older heroine/younger hero book (she's 39 I believe and he's around 27). Melissa and The Vicar comes before this and also features a frosty heroine (who is older than her virgin hero) but Magnus is more sweet and Melissa isn't quite as icy as Alicia, just super jaded. Both books, I should add, have discussion of past sexual abuse.

For My Lady's Heart by Laura Kinsale. And WHAT an icy heroine. Melanthe is a widowed princess who's known for having a heart of stone (and being a manipulative backstabber). She ends up being escorted on a perilous journey by a knight who idolized her for 13 years and developed this romanticized idea of her from afar and is quite... disappointed in her true personality lol. At first. Until he gets to know THE REAL HER. TW for medieval-accurate discussions of sexual assault, etc. Kinsale makes her characters have very accurate attitudes, and that can be intense but it's SO worth it.

The Dueling Duchess by Minerva Spencer. This heroine, who is a sharpshooter in a circus of women, has a very traumatic French Revolution-related backstory that leads her to being super aloof and jaded, which is hard because the hero, with whom she used to have a casual situationship, is a lovable rogue who reeeeally wants her back and For Srs.

Private Arrangements by Sherry Thomas. This heroine is known as this sort of jaded icy vamp, and she and her husband have been separated for ten years (basically since the day after the wedding). She asks for a divorce so that she can marry her lover, and he's like "hmmm give me an heir first", so they agree to fuck it out until she's pregnant and the baby is born. Very emotional.

Once More, My Darling Rogue by Lorraine Heath. This book has an ice queen who's really also just a brat lol. She treats the hero like shit because he's a former street kid who was adopted by a duke and duchess. Then he fishes her out of a river and she has amnesia, and he has the bright idea to wreak revenge by telling her she's his housekeeper lmao and making her wash his back and shit. But it's only supposed to be for a week! Then he'll tell her the truth... (If you've seen Overboard, this is that but historical.) TW for past sexual abuse.

The Perfect Crimes of Marian Hayes by Cat Sebastian. This heroine is aloof and icy because she was married to an asshole. Little does she know that the guy sending her blackmail letters is that asshole's secret son. Also, she doesn't realize that the blackmailer is falling in love with her through their back and forth letters (because she's like nice try dumbass and it turns into a correspondence). Adventure ensues. She also has a baby, and I like that though she loves the baby, it doesn't diminish her ice queen-ness? Like, she is still rather aloof and caring but not cuddly.

Waking Up with the Duke by Lorraine Heath. Lorraine does love an ice queen and Jayne is one of her best. She's kind but has sort of been made frosty by trauma. Her husband had a carriage accident that rendered him impotent, and she miscarried shortly after and has been caring for him since. The issue is that he doesn't give her any romance or really affection. But then he asks his best friend, a NOTORIOUSLY GREAT IN BED MAN to sleep with Jayne and get her pregnant so that he can have an heir and Jayne can have the baby she's always wanted. She agrees reluctantly... BUT NO KISSING. Such an amazing melting ice queen book.

Between the Devil and Desire by Lorraine Heath. Another all time favorite, and another fabulous heroine. Really, one of my top heroines. Olivia is another one whose husband was nice but not emotionally or physically there for her, and now she's widowed with a young son. But then, notorious gambling hell owner Jack Dodger is named as her son's guardian in her husband's will, even though he barely knew this man! It's so great to see this haughty ice queen get turned into an emotional mess by like, the first man who's ever gotten her going. It's really a sexual awakening book in a lot of ways because Olivia goes from being "GET AWAY FROM ME POOR" to drunkenly telling him that HE MUST NOT KISS HER knowing that her always does the opposite of what she asks lmao

When a Rogue Meets His Match by Elizabeth Hoyt. This heroine, who I kid you not is named Messalina, hates the hero a lot because he's her evil uncle's fixer. The evil uncle knows he wants her, so he's like "do this last job and you can have her". But she's determined to have her revenge. I read this when I was first getting back into romance and I really need to reread because I remember it being bonkers lol

Duchess by Day, Mistress by Night by Stacy Reid. Icy renowned widowed duchess with a young son hires this lowborn fixer type to find her son's governess after she goes missing. And he's like "okay.... but I don't want money in return....." Cue BIG awakening.

Sweetest Scoundrel by Elizabeth Hoyt. TW big time because the heroine is known as an ice queen and this is part due to her trauma surrounding childhood abuse. It is another huge favorite of mine, however. The hero is trying to start a pleasure garden, and the heroine basically sweeps in like "oh no you fucking don't" because her brother is his patron (I think) and she's handling her brother's affairs. The hero, a major rake type, is like "you bitch" but gradually gets to know her and realizes what's going on and starts helping her get comfortable with sex and men. It's honestly both very hot and VERY sweet, and it's this very gradual escalation that begins with a lot of mutual masturbation lol. And also a scene in which they're in a moving carriage and he realizes she's looking at his dick and he's like "I mean I can jack off in front of you if you want" and she's like "I WANT". One of the hottest scenes I've ever read tbh.

Contemporary:

The Hot Shot by Kristen Callihan. The hero is a rookie phenom quarterback, and the heroine is the photographer in charge of shooting this nude calendar starring the team. She's very frosty to him, but they become friends and then ROOMMATES and then slowly they work towards acknowledging their own trauma and stuff. TW because this is one deals with things like infertility, and especially his own trauma about a later-term pregnancy loss he experienced with another woman. I was actually really impressed with it tbh, because you rarely see pregnancy loss discussed from a hero's POV.

Salt in the Wound/Salt Kiss by Sierra Simone. Salt in the Wound is the prequel novella (kind of a long novella lol) from the heroine's POV, whereas she's majorly present in the back third of Salt Kiss but it's from the hero's POV. Would recommend reading in order. Isolde is a total ice queen, but she has this secret dark side... and a kinky, masochistic side. This is MMF, I discuss it a lot lol, but I really like the contrasting sides of her with Mark, who's similarly icy and very dominant, and Tristan, who's submissive with Mark but kinda like... dominant in the bedroom with Isolde, and soft out of the bedroom with her. Tristan also calls her "honey" DURING. A lot. And boy did that unexpectedly work for me.

Jana Goes Wild by Farah Heron. Love this one, the heroine had a fling with the hero in the past before finding out he was married (!) and then she turns out to be pregnant. Flash forward five years and they're polite coparents who end up in the same destination wedding party. She's understandably QUITE cold to him, but.... feelings arise.........

Lush Money by Angelina M. Lopez. This is the one with the billionaire heroine who offers to bail out the prince hero's tiny country in exchange for him marrying and impregnating her. Roxanne is a fabulously difficult, icy heroine who slooowly begins to melt.

[kerubimcrepin]

Analysis: Lance Dur Webtoon Episode 5, The Third Death

(aka, Ronik's "let's try reading too much into some comics, and the Lance Dur series" challenge)

TW: Discussion of Child Abuse (physical, emotional, psychological), Filicide, Patricide, Child Neglect. Just the usual things that come up when talking about Lysmee, Agard, Lance Dur, Kerubim, God Ecaflip, and Joris, and their character parallels.

When looked at from the lens of symbolism and motifs, this comic is one of the more important pieces of Kerubim lore we have. And I really, really mean it. I need to talk about it.

But to talk about it... I will have to do something bad. Something I really wanted to put off for as long as I could:

THIS POST WILL SPOIL THE ENTIRETY OF THE LANCE DUR CARTOON, THE LANCE DUR WEBCOMIC, AS WELL AS THE CIRE MOMORE WEBCOMIC.

For this reason, I will be placing this analysis under a read more.

The thing that really gets me about this comic, is that it explicitly makes Kerubim a character foil/parallel for Agard and Lysmee.

Once or twice, I might have said things like, "Joris parallels Yugo, Atcham parallels Joris," and so on, — because of similar troubles, or character beats, — but let it be clear when I say "parallel" here, I don't mean conjecture, or correlations. What is happening here, is a bit... different.

Through his inclusion in this comic, and the role he takes in it as a victim of the Cire Momore curse, — the same way Agard was, — an explicit parallel is drawn between Kerubim and Agard.

And, by that logic, between Kerubim and Lysmee as well, — for Agard is already her foil and parallel.

In a way, their being a trinity really enriches the way one can understand these characters, — they form a sliding scale, I think, — because for every mirror image they have, there is a small deviation.

From Lance Dur's genuine love for his son and failure at showing it for all those years, and Ephedre's hatred of everything, to Ecaflip's godly "love" being both cruel and transactional.

In a way, despite Cire Momore not actually picking victims in-universe, symbolically speaking, she is the unhealable, unbeatable wound of parental trauma, personified.

It's no wonder, her long-term targets, within canon, are Agard and Kerubim.

Something can have many different symbolic meanings in the same story. From the march of death, to the weight of parental trauma.

The past, with all the horrible things that happened in it, is as real as the future, and the ending it holds. And it's always coming for you.

Sometimes, they are actually two in the same. At least for Lysmee and Kerubim.

This is the level of parallels that Lysmee, Kerubim, and Agard operate on. Even though Kerubim being their parallel is only a minor thing, because Agard and Lysmee's stories are mostly intertwined between one another, it is still a good way to analyse things.

(I hope someone makes a similar post to mine, but mainly about Agard and Lysmee. I'm too much of a Kerubim fan to be talking about them...)

All three of them grew up with parents who weren't supportive of who they were as people. The onee person who was supposed to nurture them, treated them like an object at best (Agard, Kerubim), — or derived pleasure from their suffering at worst (Lysmee, Kerubim).

Between the two, Kerubim seems like the middle ground. Agard has a toxic, distant parent, Lysmee has a horrible, physically abusive mother, and Kerubim has a toxic, emotionally and psychologically abusive parent.

Their stories diverge, yet remain reflections of one another.

Lysmee dreams of breaking free, but is killed by her own mother in the end. Kerubim cannot die, or get rid of, his father. And Agard kills his father, — obtaining a tragic sort of freedom, an actual ending to their relationship.

Lysmee and Agard reflect one another with violence, with poison. They both plan their parents' death, but for different reasons, — a want to be free of abuse vs. a twisted way to show love.

Kerubim and Lysmee reflect one another in inability to die or move on, — cursed to live forever by their parent, out of hatred, or out of love. But it differs, — for Kerubim, an eternal life, marred by death, by disease, is a pleasure, because he has his loved ones. But Lysmee... isn't living. She is suffering, forever.

Agard and Kerubim reflect one another by loving their fathers despite how bad things were, but having a way to move on, just a little, and try to be better fathers themselves, — separate from their toxic parent. But Kerubim will always have to look behind his back, to police his speech, to try and please Ecaflip, — because he is always watching, and he can always take all of Kerubim's freedoms back, at the snap of the fingers.

The way Kerubim experiences his haunting by Cire Momore is emblematic of his relationship with Ecaflip — everpresent, clouding over his thoughts, yet, if he focuses on moving forward, he can ignore it, if just for a bit.

The way it ends, is also a reflection of their relationship: only Ecaflip can choose, when, exactly, Kerubim stops suffering, — and he will keep him in danger, until Kerubim gives him what he wants.

Kerubim tries to free himself of the pain that his relationship with Ecaflip brings him by using fatherhood, but only ends up mirroring the dynamics that caused him pain. Joris wishes he could help him, but he is literally seven, and he has no idea how, — besides staying by his side, together, for eternity. Suffering from a very similar pain to Kerubim, but because of Kerubim himself.

Forcing himself to parent his own parent, to try and lead him from his pain.

Lysmee tries to free herself from the pain of her mother's abuse with romance, but the circumstances against them are far too strong, — Gustav can't even begin to help her. No matter how much he wishes he could. The only thing he could do for her is to die and be cursed together for eternity.

The same way Ecaflip is the only one who can save Kerubim, and the only one who could have saved Lysmee was Ephedre, the only one who can save Agard is Lance Dur, — because, as I had pointed out, all of them are the reason of their pain.

But the difference is that Lance Dur truly loves Agard. He might not have been the best father, he might have hurt him, but he loves Agard, enough to make sacrifices.

And if it took her mother's hate to doom her, it's quite poetic that it took a parent's love and determination that can finally set Lysmee free.