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drabblesbyjubs · 7 months

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Just Need Time

Astarion x gn! Tav Reader, Astarion is pent up but also wants to please the reader, he makes himself want to have sex with reader but reader stops him and helps him figure out what he really wants. Fluff, smut, a little bit of angst. Minors DNI

Tws// mentions of sexual trauma, Astarion’s backstory stuff, mild disassociation for a few minutes, trauma, mild spoilers for non ascended Astarion’s ending, sexual content and smut

I want everyone to know that I got stuck working an 8 hour shift as a cashier on my last day of work so I wrote this between customers, enjoy and here’s to my new job

Time with Astarion is sacred.

After nearly losing him multiple times throughout your journey to rid yourselves of the mind flayer parasite, you’d come to appreciate every second you spent with him. Every moment during the day, snuggling and spending time with one another, and spending the nights running through Faerûn and enjoying the adrenaline of exploration, it was all beyond precious to you both.

But especially to Astarion. For the first time in two centuries, he belonged to himself; he could go where he wanted, do what he wanted, be what he wanted. He was free.

That didn’t mean he was alright, though.

Being with you had helped. You’d shown him freedom, devotion, and everything he’d ever wished he could have had in a partner. But part of his mind was still stuck in that dark, dank crypt, the smell of mildew festering in his lungs, the fear at the sound of every footstep lurking in his heart. The nights he was let out, but not to be free, only to use his body to gain some innocent soul’s trust and bring them back for him to take out his most wretched fantasies on.

Astarion was usually the victim of these fantasies, but if Cazador truly did what he wished with Astarion, well, there would be no more Astarion to take out those fantasies on.

Those memories plagued his mind nearly every night. He often woke from the nightmares feeling utterly emotionless, numb to the world. Fear aches low in his heart, and he would roll over and scoot up to you. You took him in to your arms with no question; you already knew.

Sometimes he would jolt out of bed, too enveloped by the memories to realize it was you next to him. He would become defensive, either scared of you or insisting you leave before he came back. When he snapped back to reality, he was utterly humiliated, but you never shamed him, always made him feel like everything would be okay, and he would forget about the terrors of the night before by the time you two set out for adventure after sunset.

He wanted more than anything to be like a normal person; completely comfortable in his relationship, never a fear that things would go awry, blindly trusting and accepting of everything you did. You understood why he couldn’t be like that, and did your best to make him feel as close to normal as he ever could. And gods, did he love you for that. You were utterly hypnotizing, he would tear out his heart with a stake if you asked him; hell, he would carve the stake himself. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for you.

And even if you assured him he owed you nothing at all, not even a passing glance, he wanted to give you something to make you happy.

He often gave you wildflowers, knowing you always liked the bright colors and soft petals, or smooth, shiny rocks he found down by the creek, or little rings and necklaces he bought with his dwindling gold supply when the two of you went in to town. But he still often felt like the only thing he could do right enough to truly make others happy was sex.

It was practiced, it was routine. Use his body to make someone feel good, make a few pretty faces, and it was done. There was something safe in the familiarity of it, though the sheer gut wrenching disgust that followed after never sit right with him.

You hadn’t hesitated to agree when Astarion had asked if you two could stop having sex for a while. Your sexual activity had dwindled anyways; you’d often told him you were just tired, or wanted to make sure you had plenty of energy for the coming day. Part of him knew you could tell he didn’t really want it, but he chose to believe you just wanted a break, and it was relieving to not have to perform. It was a weight off of his shoulders.

But more recently, he’d been pent up. He found himself craving release; of course he thought of coming to you for help, but the thought of having to perform, to make you feel good and owe you that pleasure after he takes his own, it sent a writhing sensation under his skin. As much as he liked the thought of seeing your eyes filled with arousal, he didn’t want that feeling of perform. Continue. No choice. Earn your life, bring him someone.

But he wanted to make you happy. He had done this so many times before; why not once more, just to see you satisfied? You must be pent up as well after so long of dealing with his unwillingness to give you something so simple. It was the least he could do. He would achieve the release he’d began to crave, you would be happy, and he would know you would stay with him and know he cared for you.

Astarion rolled above you, that mischievous smirk on his face as he looked down at you. You laughed softly, rolling your eyes. “Someone’s in a playful mood tonight,” you teased, to which Astarion hummed.

“Whoever could that be?” He muttered, leaning down and capturing you in a kiss. You felt his tongue swipe across your lower lip, but before you could grant him entrance, he pulled away, before moving to mouth softly at your neck. You hummed, your chest fluttering as you inhaled. You could feel his lips move against you, his tongue swiping over the scars of old bites, his canines brush dangerously over the delicate skin of your neck.

You put your hands on his chest and muttered, “Mmh, Astarion, what’s going on?”

“Hmm?” He hummed in a questioning tone.

“You don’t normally act like this,” you breathed. “Is everything okay?”

“So sweet for asking,” he murmured. “Just pent up. I want you, if you’ll have me.”

You scanned over his face; nothing seemed off. He seemed genuine. You weren’t sure why he was offering though; this wasn’t like him. Maybe he was actually just pent up?

“You promise you’ll tell me to stop if it’s too much?”

“Of course, love,” he breathed against your neck, softly nipping at the skin there, threatening to break skin.

You nod, hands running up his sides. “Okay. As long as you promise.”

Astarion gave a pleased sound, his hands snaking under your shirt. Calloused fingertips brushed against your skin, before pulling your shirt up above your head and leaning down to kiss at your shoulders, mouth at your collarbones, and nip at your chest.

You gave a shaky sigh, your hand running over his back, savoring the way he arched against the touch. He was good at this, no doubt, but it always hurt you to think of *why.*

Astarion leaned back, staring down at you almost hungrily. He pulled his own shirt over his head, and you leaned up to run your hands over his chest and his stomach, before leaning in to kiss at the little dimple between his collarbones. He was always finicky about kissing his neck, especially on the side Cazador bit him on, and you didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable, so you stuck to his shoulders and chest for now.

His hands found your waist, and as you pulled away from him, you saw the slightest flicker of hesitation in his eyes before he pushed you down to the bedroll and pulled your hips up against his, softly grinding against the curve of your ass.

You weren’t worried about that, though; you saw the way his eyes had slowly grown foggy and distant, the loss of expression, and the way his touches became almost rhythmic, nearly robotic; practiced and routine.

“Stop,” you said.

Astarion snapped out of it in an instant, present here and now once more. “Are you alright? Did I do something wrong?”

“Hun,” you leaned up, scooting your hips apart from his and gently cupping his cheek. “You don’t want this. I can see it in your eyes.”

“I do!” Astarion insisted, “Gods, I want this, please, I’m sorry, just let me-“ he hurriedly began grabbing at your hips, trying to pull you closer,

“Darling, stop.” You said, more assertively this time. His shoulders slumped and the look in his eyes broke your heart; he looked desperate, but not for sex. He looked so disappointed in himself.

“Come here,” you whispered, pulling him in for a hug. “Do you remember when I told you you don’t owe me anything?” He didn’t hug you back, but his forehead rested against your shoulder, and he gave a brisk little nod.

“But I do want it,” he said. “I just… I don’t want to have to give back, or be touched, or just… I don’t know, but I want something, and I-“

You hushed him, sensing his growing stress, running your fingers through his hair. You turned to kiss his temple, and he gave a happy little sound.

“I think I get it. You want to keep your control of your body, but don’t want to have to feel like you owe me pleasure either?” You questioned. He gave a brisk little nod.

“That’s alright. Astarion, we don’t have to do anything like this, I never want your to feel pressured, and-“

“But I do want… something like this.” He rebutted. “I just… want a little. I don’t know. I really am pent up. I’ve tried handling it myself, time and time again… I’ll sneak off into the woods and… and try and rid myself of these desires. But it… just… never works. I cant… I just cant. Not alone.”

You furrowed your brow, feeling just how embarrassed he was with the way he shuffled and squirmed against you, clutching at your sides.

“You mean… you can’t touch yourself, or..?”

“I can’t finish,” he corrected, his words rushed and jumbled.

“Oh,” you said. You kept running your fingers through his hair, taking a moment to think. You could tell how much this embarrassed him, just by how he was acting. “That’s alright, Astarion. What do you want me to do to help?”

“I… don’t know,” he breathed. “I just… I’m frustrated, i need something..”

“Would it be too much for me to touch you like that right now?” You asked him.

He nodded his head, and you pulled back, looking at him as you gently cupped his cheek in your hand. “Use your words, baby boy.”

Red eyes looked up to meet your own, and you couldn’t help but smile at him, if only to comfort him. “Yes, i think that would be too much right now. Maybe… maybe I could… i could touch myself and you can just… be here?”

You flushed a little with his words, but you nodded and kissed the tip of his nose, savoring the way he smiled.

“That sounds wonderful,” you said. “Here,” you began shifting him and yourself.

You moved so he was laying on his side, you laying behind him. Your chest was pressed to his, and you felt the full body shudder that went through him. “This okay?” You asked, and he nodded. You cuddled up to his back, and hummed to him, “Then go ahead, my love. Do what you want.”

Astarion shuddered and you could feel him moving to slip a hand under the hem of his pants. You gently rested a hand on his hip, not sensing anything saying he disliked the touch. His breathing slowly started to pick up, and you could feel him palming himself softly before slipping his cock from his trousers. You hummed your approval, whispering to him, “That’s a good boy.” He whined low in his throat, and you felt his arm start to move as he began stroking himself. You couldn’t see at this angle, but you felt the way his body would slowly start tensing, his chest rising, could see the way he tried to bury his face in the pillow, knowing you were right behind him as he touched himself.

You muttered soft coos of approval to him as he chased his pleasure, each of your words making his breath hitch just a little more.

You hummed, “So good for me, my love, making yourself feel good. Love watching you like this.”

You could so easily ignore your own arousal if it meant you got to witness his. He was beautiful.

Astarion gasped, “D-darling, gods… the way you talk to me, hah, makes me… fuck, I need it…” he trembled and began stroking himself faster, throwing his head back against your shoulder. You smiled against his neck and kissed the pale skin softly, feeling the way it made his entire body shudder. His breathing slowly turned in to whines, desperate and strained.

Your hand ran up to his chest, brushing over the soft skin, savoring the little twitch he gave when your hand ran over his nipples, moving to feel over his rib cage as you whispered how beautiful he was, making himself feel good like this.

You kissed his temple, the saltiness of his sweat clinging to your lips. You caught a glimpse of that beautiful face when he tilted it back to arch himself; brow furrowed, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. “Gods,” you breathed, his red eyes fluttering open. You leaned up to kiss him, not even attempting to look down and see him desperately chasing his release, knowing that catching a glimpse may be too much for him.

You buried your face back in his neck, and he gave a high pitched whine, gasping, “C-can’t… fuck, love, ah, please, I can’t do it, please, help me,” the last words came out as a mere whisper, and you could feel how frantically he was moving in attempting to chase his release. Worried he would hurt himself, you whispered to him, your hand slowly trailing down his hips to rest on his upper thigh.

“May I touch you?” You asked.

“Please,” he nearly sobbed, letting himself go and grabbing your wrist to guide you to his cock. You wrapped your hand around him, heavy and hot in your palm. He was so hard, gods it must have hurt.

You stroked him softly, your thumb swiping over his tip and smearing his precum over himself. He whimpered, still holding your wrist, and you could feel the way his entire body trembled. “Please,” he whispered.

You kissed the back of his neck, mouthing at the flesh there softly as you set your pace, stroking him and smearing his pre over the head, making your hand much slicker to give him a feeling that, if his whimpers and trembles said anything, must be quite lovely.

He jolted and whined, his cock twitching in your hand. You could tell he was close, losing himself to the pleasure, one hand having a death grip on your wrist and the other tangled in the furs of the bedroll. You’d never seen him so lost to himself.

He gasped, “I’m gonna-!” Not even able to get out his warning before your felt his release coating your hand. You stroked him through his orgasm, savoring his gasps, catching the slightest glimpse of a furrowed brow and open mouth, eyes squeezed shut, tears threatening to spill from the corners.

“That’s it, hun,” you breathed to him. “That’s a good boy. Let go for me.”

You kept stroking him until he gave a particularly harsh jolt, with which you withdrew your hand and wiped it on some miscellaneous clothing tossed near your bedroll. You kissed the back of his neck, savoring the silence for a moment.

Astarion was the first to speak. “Thank you,” he said.

“I hope it was to your liking. It wasn’t too much?”

“No, it was wonderful. I… needed that. Do… you want me to take care of you?” He rolled over to face you, glancing down to your trousers. You could see the unease stirring in his eyes at the thought alone

You shook your head. “Tonight was about you. I’m just happy I got to see that pretty face when you came,” you teased, fighting a laugh at Astarion’s shocked and embarrassed expression.

“Gods, you’re truly insufferable sometimes.”

“Same to you, my love,” you teased, kissing the tip of his nose and pulling him in close. You pulled a blanket up over his waist to give him some cover, to which he hummed his appreciation and nuzzled in to your chest, sleep catching the both of you and luring you into its embrace.

#astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion headcanons #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #bg3 headcanons #astarion smut #astarion fluff #x reader

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thelunarsystemwrites · 1 month

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Agere terminology!

Originally posted on QuoteV!

(Please keep in mind, at the roots, Regression is a coping/defense mechanism that many rely on. If it makes you uncomfortable, that is fine, you are entitled to your safe space. But please do not shame us who do it, and understand that it is in no way a kink, or anything sexual. It's always SFW!)

(Also, mentions of panic attacks, trauma, and the term sexual are used here. But NEVER in detail! It is only for educational purposes.)

Age-regression: Is when someone mentally reverts back to the mindset of a younger age. This can range from a few years younger, to that of an infant. Those who are in the mindset of a child, can not consent to things they normally could. (Example: Alcohol.)

Pet-Regression: Is when someone mentally retreats to the mindset of similar to an animal. This allows our wilder sides to be free. Those who are in the mindset of an animal can not consent to things they normally could. (Example: Alcohol.)

(Note the difference between Retreats and Reverts. Retreat implies it is a mindset that was not experienced before, but still used. Revert implies that you are going back to an age you once were! :D both are very valid coping mechanisms!!)

Age-Dreaming: Is when someone acts, and often wants to be treated, as though they are a specific age of their choice. This can be a coping mechanism, or just for fun. But never is it sexual in any way. Those who are Age-Dreaming are still fully or partly in the mindset of their actual Age, and is still 100% valid.

Pet-Dreaming: Is when someone acts, and often wants to be treated, as though they are a specific animal of their choice. This can be a coping mechanism, or just for fun. But never is it sexual in any way. Those who are Pet-Dreaming are still partly or fully in the mindset if their actual species, but is still 100% valid.

Caregiver: Sometimes known as a Caretaker, is someone who is responsible for caring for a regressor and or dreamer. The Regressor/Dreamer that they are caring for may give them a nickname like Papa, Daddy, Mama, Sissy, Bubba, or whatever else makes them happy. (Note: Some chose not to use nicknames, others might use specific names that are a version of their caregivers name, and or a specific nickname that doesn't relate to being parental. There's no right or wrong way to do it! ^^)

Babysitter: A person who isn't the primary Caregiver(s) of a Dreamer/Regressor, but May watch over them for certain periods of time, especially if the Caregiver isn't available.

Flip: Is someone who fluctuates between being a Regressor/Dreamer, or both, and Caregiver/Babysitter.

Agere: An aberration of Age-Regression.

Petre: An aberration of Pet-Regression.

Agedre: An aberration of Age-Dreaming.

Petdre: An aberration of Pet-Dreaming.

CG: An aberration of Caregiver.

Voluntary regression: Is when someone will purposefully regress into the mindset of an animal/younger age. This can be done for coping, stress relief, fun, etc. And can done by colouring, playing with toys, listening to baby music, or other things that make you feel safe, bring positive emotions out, remind you of your childhood, or the childhood you always wanted. (And hey, some like playing games like destiny, ark, etc! Or like listening to rock, watching shows for older people, it's about what makes YOU feel regressed!)

Involuntary regression: Is when someone will go into the mindset of an animal/younger age. This can be triggered by stress, fear, over or understimulation, or a variety of negative feelings.

Partial-Regression: Sometimes also uses the term Age-Dreaming. Is when someone is only partially in their headspace. Those who are partially regressed can still not consent to what they normally could, as they may not be fully coherent.

Full-Regression: Also known as just Regression. Is when someone is fully regressed, and will think and act as the age, or animal, they have regressed to.

Slipping: Somethings also known as regressing, or dropping, is when someone regresses. (Example: "Mary started to slip into the age of a toddler.")

Littles: Are someone who primarily regresses to the age, or around, 8 and under. This may fluctuate.

Middles: Are someone who primarily regresses to the age, or around, 9 and older. This may fluctuate.

Regressors: The general term for someone who regresses/chooses not to label themself!

Dreamers: The general term for someone who dreams.

Littlespace: Sometimes spelled little space or little-space, is the mindset of someone 8 or younger. (Example: Mary slipped into Littlespace.)

Middlespace: Sometimes spelled middle space or middle-space, is the mindset of someone 9 or older. (Example: Mary slipped into Middlespace.)

Petspace: Sometimes spelled pet space or pet-space, is the mindset of someone who is pet regressed! (Example: Mary slipped into Petspace.)

Headspace: Sometimes spelled head space or head-space, is the general term for Littlespaces, Middlespaces, and Petspaces.

Positive regression: Previously known as Pure regression. Is when regressed, you might feel happy, bubbly. It can involves playing, laughing, and or other things associated with the happier side of regression. (Note: some still chose to use the term Pure Regression, and that's absolutely okay!)

Negative regression: Previously known as Impure regression. Sometimes known as Vent Regression. Is when regressed, you may feel sad, moody, angry. It can involve tantrums, crying, kicking, and or other things associated with the less happy side of regression. (Note: some still chose to use the term Impure Regression, and that's absolutely okay!)

Little gear: Sometimes spelled littlegear or little-gear, is the supplies used while regressed/dreaming, this can include, but not limited to: Pacifiers. Blankies. Bottles. Fidgets. Diapers. And or other things used by Regressors/Dreamers, that fit their age and preferences! (Note: Little gear isn't required to regress! ^^)

Petre gear: Sometimes spelled petregear or petre-gear, is the supplies used while regressed/dreaming, this can include, but not limited to: Chew toys. Teethers. Treats. And or other things used by Regressors/Dreamers, that fit their animal and preferences. (Note: Petre gear isn't required to regress! ^^)

(Often both can be shortened to just Gear if wanted!)

Positive triggers: Are something used to trigger someone into Voluntary regression. (Example: Colouring, Music, Dancing, Etc.)

Negative triggers: Is something that triggers unwanted memories, Involuntary regression, panic attacks, or other things that are unwanted to the regressor.(Example: a Negative trigger caused Mary to have a flashback.)

In the closet: It is when someone who is part of the Agere/Petre community is still secret. Sometimes, they are also known as Discreet Littles! (Generally, "closeted" means you are secretly, or not directly promoting that you are in a certain community. The term is often associated with it's use in the LGBTQIAP+ community!)

Finally, if you know a term that I don't, do not be afraid to share! And remember, not all regressors/dreamers are the same! One may love Pacifiers, the other may strongly dislike them. That's okay! We're all different and unique in our own ways!

Remember that Agere is beautiful, all sides of it. Sometimes you have to have negative regression to feel better, it's okay! All sides of it are needed, and rather voluntarily or not, it's your brain trying to help you, and cope! It's a completely healthy coping mechanism, as long as you don't let it become your life 24/7. (That goes for all coping mechanisms, becoming obsessive over something is a big factor in it becoming unhealthy!)

Please try to hydrate! Stay safe! And have a wonderful day/night/evening my friends!

(To confirm: When regressed, you are still valid if you like swearing while regressed. You are still valid if you like playing/watching more mature games or shows or movies while regressed. You are still valid if nobody can tell you're regressed without you telling them. There are no rules to regression, expect that it's never sexual. Cater to how YOU need to regress, not everyone fits into the same box, and that's the beauty of diversity in how we each do it.)

Remember I'm not an expert! I've been in the community for years, and I'm trying to share my knowledge! :D

Bai!! ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🩷🩵🤎🖤🩶💛

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youremyheaven · 10 months

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Fated Love in Astrology

So, every person has a divine partner that they are meant to be with. Your union with your other half (I hesitate to use the world “twin flame” only because of how misconstrued it is in mainstream astrology/spirituality discourse) depends entirely on both of your individual spiritual awakening and commitment to the spiritual path.

In astrology, the 7th house represents marriage, or, as I like to call it “union”. The 7th house, is the 7th house from the 1st house. It is the descendant to your ascendant. It is the shadow to your ego. Whenever we cross paths with an individual whose luminaries fall to our 7th house, it creates a very magnetic & intense attraction. It’s almost inexplicable what you feel for each other.

With that said, this sort of connection is not logical or rational. It defies all norms. The key to recognizing your divine partner is the intense attraction you feel towards them right away. There is no hesitation or second guessing, you’re simply awestruck by them. Nowadays, we all have a very tedious approach to relationships (due to our collective trauma and bad experiences), everybody walks around with a checklist to find someone who will fit their criteria but that is not how Divine Love works. You just know instantly that there is something different about this connection. That is not to say, the nature of the relationship will be easy. Fated connections are never easy and not everyone is meant to find their Divine Partner.

When such a person comes into your life, it usually triggers your ego death; they become responsible for you losing the shell of identity you held close to you. All your fears, your shame, your vulnerability comes to the forefront and you have to confront everything you’ve ever repressed. It leads to a dissolution of self.

In Sufism, there is the concept of “fanaa” which can be translated to “annihilation”. In order to merge oneself with God, it is first necessary to annihilate everything that you consider to be you. It’s important to "to die before one dies". Love & Worship are very closely intertwined. This is exactly what “twin flame” connection feels like. You rid yourself of your ego, you dissolve your sense of “self”. Sounds intense? That’s because it is. It irks me when people talk about twin flames in a casual way because a) not everyone has a twin flame b) this is not a fun experience in any way, shape or form c)This is the least casual of experiences

(I am using the word twin flame here only because it is a term that more people are familiar with, I wanted to speak of the spiritual background of that experience whilst using a term that’s already familiar)

In Jungian psychology, there is the concept of anima/animus, which refer to the unconscious masculine aspect of a woman and the unconscious feminine aspect of a man respectively. One aspect of being a “whole” human being is to integrate these unconscious parts into yourself. This is similar to what a twin experiences, your other half seems to be in the shadow, hidden from your view, crossing paths with them, brings that realization to you and now in order to unite with them, you must first dissolve yourself and merge with that unconscious image of them.

There is a reason why twins “mirror” each other; they are a reflection of you and vice versa. This is why every interaction with them strikes a nerve in you and you feel their absence like a phantom limb.

If you’re on a twin flame journey or would like to know more about it, I suggest immersing yourself in Sufi philosophy. To a lay person, the Sufi concept of Love may seem dramatic and over the top but for those in the know, it will seem deeply familiar, because ultimately your longing and yearning for your “twin” is your innate longing to seek union with God/the Divine. We were all made in pairs and to know the other is to know God and to know God is to know Love.

These connections are presented to you in order for you to ascend. Why were you chosen for ascension over millions of others? That’s the divine plan, not up to us to question. It is entirely possible to meet such a person at a time in your life when you’re completely spiritually unevolved (this is very common) and they usually trigger your dark night of the soul. This leads to positive disintegration although nothing about this experience feels positive in any way, shape or form.

Actually uniting with your twin and sharing a life with them is a long shot. Its often an unrequited love. It requires A LOT of work by both people. There is a lifetime of purging, integration and inner work before union could ever be a possibility. Most people who use the term “twin flame” are using a fancy spiritual label to describe their excessive interest in someone. You don’t have a twin flame, you’re just manic.

In Arabic literature, there are 7 stages to love, it is as follows:

1. Dilkashi or attraction

2. Uns or attachment

3. Mohabbat or love

4. Akidat or reverence

5. Ibadat or worship

6. Junoon or madness

7. Maut or death

If you believe you’re experiencing a twin flame connection, you have probably gone through these stages, maybe not in this order but you’ve probably experienced all of these.

You experience an inexplicable attraction that draws you to them, regardless of how far you stray from them, your heart clings to them & forms a deep attachment, even though you don't seem to understand it, you're consumed by love for them, without even knowing why, this love morphs itself into reverence and soon enough it's eclipsed even that & embedded itself as worship. Your feelings for them are so strong, intense and powerful even in separation, even in their absence that you feel yourself going mad. This madness is key because it brings you to the death of "self". You lose all sense of who you were before you met them. You're ripped of your ego. You die and die and die again, hoping to taste the love that will give life to you.

There are astrological indicators obviously but just because these aspects/placements are present, does not mean they are your twin flame. The biggest indicator is the deep sense of knowing you have in your soul, you don’t even have to know the word “twin flame”, you’re experiencing a magnetic, excruciating and tortuous kind of attraction.

Some indicators:

1. Venus in 12h

2. Venus in Scorpio

3. Primary Scorpio or Taurus placements (the Taurus-Scorpio axis creates the most intense chemistry between two people)

4. Moon conjunct Mars

5. Opposite signs occupying many placements (Virgo-Pisces, Cancer-Capricorn, Gemini-Sagittarius)

5. 7h synastry

6. Bharani nakshatra

Uniting with your twin can trigger your kundalini awakening. It is not for the faint of heart. Union is a very intense experience. Much has been said about twin flames and tantric sex. Imo? What we call Tantric sex is essentially the heightened feeling and intensity of sexual experience that a Tantric practice brings about. (its possible to feel this way with a non-twin if you have a disciplined Tantric practice).

Sex is the source and root of everything. It is the cause of creation and nothing less than divine. Eros is the first god that could be conceived by man, he is the creator of all beings and ruler of the universe. He is son of Chaos, the original primeval emptiness of the universe.

Longing, desire and Eros, all go hand in hand. When your soul has longed for someone for so long, the sheer passion and enormity of desire will make it a very one of a kind experience. Short answer being that sex with your twin will be out of this world and life changing.

In Sufism, there is a concept called baqaa which is subsistence through God. Someone who has experienced fanaa, or annihilation of the ego and self, finds God, unites with him and sees him in everything. This is what love of a “twin flame” nature does. It is all consuming and potent, you cannot walk away from it, even brushing with it briefly, transforms you. It purifies you and strips you of your pride, shame, fears and everything that you thought was “you” but the reward for this is understanding through first hand knowledge, a love so all encompassing, expansive, deep and profound that it forever alters the way you look at the world. You begin to love everything and everyone because you’ve tasted true love and its generosity.

Karmic Partnerships

These are extremely common and almost everyone has one. They need not strictly be romantic. Many non-romantic associations can be karmic. These people to put it very plainly, come into your life, to teach you lessons. They need not explicitly be “bad relationships” but the energy is definitely not light hearted and its absolutely not meant to last a lifetime. You are meant to learn your lessons and move on from them and break the karmic cycle. However there are people who do not do this and stay stuck in the same patterns and perpetuate the same cycles.

Some indicators of Karmic Partnerships in astrology:

1. 12h synastry

2. 8h synastry

3. Saturn aspects

4. Capricorn/Libra placements

Soulmates

These are the most wholesome, fulfilling bonds between two people. Soulmates need not always be romantic. The bond is kind of instant and inexplicable. You just get each other. It feels fulfilling, empowering and light. It fills you up. There is no angst and there’s no chaos.

Some indicators:

1. Moon signs that are compatible with each other

2. Moon aspects that are positive

3. Venus-Ascendant aspects

4. 5h synastry

5. Strong Venus or Jupiter aspects

6. Element compatibility (fire & air vs water & earth)

🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧚🏼‍♂️🧚🏼‍♂️🧚🏼‍♂️🦋🦢🦢🦢🦋🧚🏼‍♂️🧚🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧚🏼‍♀️🧚🏼‍♀️🧚🏼‍♀️🦋🦋🦢🦢🦢🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️

I’m sorry if I sound a little too esoteric on this post 😭😭😭idk how else to talk about this stuff and I tried my best to make it sound as simple as I could 😭I hope this was interesting and if you guys have any questions feel free to ask me💛💛

Further reading:

1. Plato’s Symposium

2. Sufi philosophy and poetry

3. Carl Jung’s works

#soulmates #twin flames #twin flame astrology #twin flame #soul mate connection #astrology #sufism #carl jung #bharani #vedic astrology #astro observations #soulmate indicators

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dancermk · 5 months

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HELLO MY FELLOW TRAVELERS!

I, like many viewers, have been completely entranced by Hawk and Tim’s love story in Fellow Travelers. As a mature queer person, this show has been very emotional, and I am deeply invested. (I WILL riot if Tim doesn’t get to die in Hawk’s arms, and know that he is, and has always been, loved by Hawk.) But I digress.

Something that I have been fascinated by are the differing opinions that have surfaced about the characters, especially Hawk. I’m not looking for any arguments here, everyone is entitled to their opinion, and this is simply mine. To me, Hawk falls hard and fast for Tim. He breaks all his own rules for Tim - they topple over like a house of cards.

When we are introduced to Hawk, he’s cold and heartless with the men he hooks up with - they are nothing more than a body to fulfil his sexual needs and desires. He doesn’t do repeats and he doesn’t bring them home. But Tim, he instantly begins returning to, gets him a job, then allows him into his own apartment, etc. When Tim pushes back, Hawk relents further, letting him in emotionally, sharing parts of his past, crossing lines by introducing him to others in his circle, and so on.

Hawk is a traumatised man, carrying guilt and anger and shame, and a bucket load of fear! Yes, he has some internalised homophobia, but interestingly, he’s also extremely righteous about his homosexuality -and I don’t believe he thinks being gay is wrong in any way. (His response to his father is indicative of this).

I can personally say that I’ve never thought it was wrong to be queer, yet I spent much of my life hiding who I was and feeling shame. It’s an odd thing! Perhaps it is that the shame forms purely from what is outside of us, while what is inside of us can love another person of the same sex, knowing it is right and pure. Perhaps these contradictions between self and society are what causes so much pain and conflict?

But back to Hawk. Hawk is undoubtedly most affected by his teenage first love experience. A love that he fucked up through his own fears (fear for many men is unacceptable and a sign of weakness), and now carries the burden of believing he is responsible for their death. Hawk doesn’t allow himself to love again, until Tim. And we see many times throughout the show how much Hawk fears losing Tim. And in the end he’ll have to face that fear. I think that, in part, not attempting to have a life with Tim, is also fuelled by his fear of fucking it up and losing Tim - so it’s easier to just not attempt it! In episode 7, when he loses his son, part of that spiral is Hawk recognising that he can’t really prevent loss, and he wasted his life trying to be something he’s not - still losing his child and Tim along with it.

But Hawk is a survivor! And no one has the right to hate or judge him for it. I don’t think some young people truly understand what it feels like to live in a world where who you love can put you in jail, and destroy your life. I grew up in the 70s/80s and my experiences were bad enough, but I try so very hard to think about what it was like before that! When being queer was a crime and a mental illness! That’s pure terror! And for Hawk, he chose to survive the best way he knew how, and he wasn’t able to change because that’s fucking hard when all you’ve known is living in constant ‘fight or flight,’ and when have chronic trauma and experience collective trauma.

I think in episode 8 we’ll finally get to see Hawk grow - I certainly hope so - because he deserves to be free. Our beautiful Skippy has been free for some time, and while we mourn for the cruelty of a world that would take such a truly decent man, I am glad he got to live freely. Being closeted is the worst kind of suffering- a compartmentalised and fragmented existence where you are never truly whole, and therefore can never be the best version of yourself.

Before I go, I just wanted to also talk about being in a closeted relationship-which I experienced in my youth. I think that Hawk and Tim’s intense and toxic and exquisitely beautiful relationship, in part, arises from this. Because two closeted people in love live their relationship in secret, in a bubble, only in certain rooms, with none of the outside world reflected back at them. It becomes the two of you against the world. It’s so insular. Hawk and Tim literally live their 1950s relationship within two rooms - their apartments. All their memories are held within those walls. And it only belongs to them. They know each in ways that no other living soul does. It’s all-consuming and often unhealthy, but also stupidly romantic.

Anyway, sorry for this long winded post that no one will read and is likely full of grammatical errors because I’m tired! This atheist is praying we get everything we need from episode 8! Acceptance, forgiveness, understanding resolution, healing and a whole lot of love! ❤️

Cheers queers! 🏳️‍🌈

PS Matt and Johnny are exquisite on and off screen and I am so thankful to them for bringing these characters and this story into our lives!

#fellow travelers #hawk and tim #hawkins fuller #tim laughlin #hawk and skippy #matt bomer #jonathan bailey #lgbtqia #queer media

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crooked-wasteland · 5 months

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An SA Survivor's Reading of Stolitz

I don't believe that creators should be confined to telling one type of story. The beauty of fiction is to explore worlds, emotions and scenarios that are by definition unreal. It gives a safe space to interact with extremes that we would never necessarily wish to experience in our real lives with the ultimate safeword of no longer engaging with the material.

That being said, as creators, there is an ethical awareness that must be maintained in order to tell stories of things like trauma and abuse. Being alone in a cabin in the woods with a killer, that scenario is not a pervasive subculture in our society. Whereas cases of child abuse, sexual and domestic abuse are not only real, but common. And the complexities of psychological damage that perseveres long after the traumatic events are necessary aspects to telling these stories.

If you are not consciously aware and attentive to the lasting impact these events have, you run up against the horrific possibility of retraumatizing an individual unprepared for the callous invalidation of their experience.

No one should ever be shamed for engaging with media that depicts trauma they themselves may have experienced. For many, engaging in the fiction of it is a way of processing and validating their experience. Frankly saying, if you wish to write about trauma at all, you should be writing for that audience in specific. Otherwise you are simply exploiting the horrors that real people live through and struggle with every day for some cheap drama at the risk of triggering someone whose story you are inadvertently telling.

And much like most therapy speak, the term Triggered has become appropriated and misused to the point of losing all meaning in the lexicon. According to the University of North Carolina, "A trigger is a stimulus that elicits a reaction. In the context of mental illness, "trigger" is often used to mean something that brings on or worsens symptoms. This often happens to people with a history of trauma or who are recovering from mental illness, self-harm, addiction, and/or eating disorders."

The university breaks down the types of triggers as well and gives examples as to what those subcategories mean. I highly recommend that even if you are not the sort to follow up on references, I do recommend going over the article. It offers coping suggestions as well for those who are at risk of becoming triggered and helps refocus the sense of control back to the individual.

With that said, this is where I came across the inspiration for this essay. I completely removed all information for this user because the last thing someone needs when expressing how the misappropriation of abuse triggers them is how it is their fault for being triggered. These are the original tweets this response was in reference to.

As such, I feel the empathetic need to write this essay as a sympathetic reading to this person and others who have experienced SA who find that Stolitz resonates in an undesirable and even harmful way. I think this person deserves to feel seen.

To make the argument that the relationship between Stolas and Blitz isn't fundamentally abusive requires an author-intent reading of the series. It necessitates massive leaps to fill in gaping plot holes that never clarify the story Medrano is intending to tell. This is plainly just a reading of the series as is with all the context that has been physically, actually, shown in the series and that alone.

Throughout the series, Blitz is depicted as emotionally volatile and unpredictable with low self-esteem and crippling loneliness. He is constantly hounding his employees through sexual harassment from a sense of envy over their loving relationship, and infantalizes his twenty-two year old adopted daughter through an abusive dynamic where she ranges from rude to outrightly cruel while he consistently sacrifices any personal boundaries and self-respect.

The relationship between Loona and Blitz in specific feels like a masochistic self-hatred on Blitz's part where he allows himself to be used and abused by a parasitic family member to feel wanted, showing a pure desperation to be desired by someone in any way. Loona is verbally and physically abusive to her adopted father, using terms of endearment like "Dad" as a tactic to control Blitz's behavior, rewarding him when he does something for her benefit and taking it away when she deems him embarrassing or unwanted.

Blitz's tie to Stolas in the main story comes when he is called in a vulnerable time. Hiding from Martha who is hunting him down, he explicitly tells Stolas that now is not a good time to call. Stolas, who has a visual of Blitz's situation, ignores all of it. He is unconcerned about the danger Blitz is in, instead viewing Blitz solely as a sexual object as he offers the trade of the book for sex.

Stolas is more keenly aware of Blitz's situation than even Blitz is aware of. He not only is told that the current moment is not a good time, and Blitz's tense tone portrays a sense of anxiety, but he can physically see Blitz. It exists entirely within reason that he chose this specific moment to call while he knew Blitz was in a difficult position, using the tension to leverage a quick response that would get Stolas his way without needing to intimidate Blitz himself. Using the threat of a third party to pressure compliance from Blitz.

Come Loo Loo Land, the interactions between Blitz and Stolas are simply outright hostile. Blitz actively does not want to have a sexual encounter with Stolas and is even so untrusting of the Goetia that he is repeatedly asserting the boundary that he is not at all interested in sex, which Stolas explicitly mocks by being openly sexually suggestive to him. Everything Stolas has to say to Blitz is steeped in objectified sexuality as Blitz asserts his person, dehumanizing him to the point that Blitz is first and foremost an object of gratification. Even to the point of neglecting and humiliating his daughter, Stolas uses the excuse of spending time with her as a means of leering on Blitz.

In this episode we see Blitz has a history of being overlooked and unappreciated. His act in Loo Loo Land went nowhere and we see the first hints of his failed performance career. Over the course of the series, this hint towards a crippling lack of self esteem masked by an extroverted exterior is reinforced.

In Harvest Moon, Blitz is genuinely flustered when given recognition by Striker. He is quick to devalue his relationship with Stolas because there genuinely isn't a relationship at this point.

After having gone missing for two episodes, Stolas returns, being slightly less sexual and slightly more affectionate. It is a sudden recharacterization, but it is only for this scene. The rest of the episode once again shows how Stolas values Blitz physically in a sexualized manner and claims Blitz through the use of a pet name he repeatedly requests not to be called. In the opening scene, Blitz vocalizes that he "doesn't mind" their arrangement for the book, which could be taken at face value in regards to the first season. He does have the option to reject the agreement at any time and return the book in the context of this episode. It's why, despite still being an abuse of power dynamics overall, the relationship itself doesn't tip over into abuse. Blitz has the same amount of autonomy as Stolas at this time, before the context of season two, he has just as much power to end the agreement.

With the addition of The Circus, this retroactively is a situation of placating one's abuser. Blitz assuring Stolas that he doesn't mind the sex would be a way of asserting Stolas' complete control over the relationship and that Blitz isn't necessarily threatening the status quo by his question.

They don't actually know anything about each other, they aren't friends and don't spend time together outside of their forced meetings. Blitz doesn't know anything about Stolas and questioning the need Stolas has for his book could very well be read as a means of interrogating the agreement as a whole and figuring out why this was the arrangement.

(The argument that Blitz had any opportunity to negotiate things comes from an audience bias. It is probably the dumbest thing I have ever seen put into writing. Blitz doesn't know that he has any leverage in the relationship at all. He doesn't actually know Stolas has any feelings for him. That's kind of the whole point of the hot and cold romance slant that Medrano is trying to replicate.)

This is because the book is not the reason the relationship exists.

Blitz does not instigate sexual conduct, Stolas does by leading Blitz into a private room and locking them both inside with the impression Blitz would have sex with him. Blitz has no choice in the location or the isolation. He was caught trying to illegally break into the home for the explicit purpose of stealing the book. He was caught and is effectively at Stolas' mercy in every sense of the word. Not only is he still alive due to Stolas' whimsy, but if he tries to escape now after being shown this grace he could risk having the guards hunt him down and the second time will most likely not be so kind.

He literally does not know Stolas. They met for a day as a playdate and Blitz spent the whole time manipulating Stolas into facilitating his own robbery. There is no trust between them, there isn't even a relationship. While the doe-eyed pink vignette animated around Blitz shows that Stolas has an attraction to him, Blitz is entirely in the dark about this. Stolas' behavior is merely unpredictable and precarious from his position and limited knowledge.

(Just a side note, the argument that because someone decides to do something must mean they are not afraid is just asinine. Generally speaking, most people who commit crimes are in a state of fight or flight, it is more akin to gambling your actual life. Its a rewards and risks assessment, not a case of being sociopathically unafraid.)

It isn't until Stolas dramatically announces his desire for sex that Blitz realizes he has something that can be used to distract the Prince while he steals the book. And that's the issue with the argument that Blitz is the one willingly escalating the situation: it's not sincere. Throughout the entire sequence, Blitz isn't once sincerely interested in Stolas. He leans into the pretense to gain control of the situation, of which, might I remind you, he has had zero control over up to this point. Not only is he not interested in Stolas, but this is a bid for control from the position of helplessness. This way he is not relying on Stolas' unpredictable behavior, he is reclaiming power in the dynamic by playing into Stolas' desire.

("But Stolas says nevermind and Blitz keeps going!!"

Yeah, because he needs to maintain control of the situation. This is what power dynamics actually look like; there is a two-way push and pull. The only way he has any power is through the lens of sexuality. He needs to keep Stolas interested in him to keep his position. But throughout the scene, he is explicitly depicted as being put off by Stolas. In fact the entire reason he ties Stolas up is because he was becoming too into the act. He is shown to not be sensually performing bondage, he is trying to remove a problem.

And side-side note, I know I said I wouldn't lean into Medrano's intention or explicit dictation on how she demands her show be interpreted, but she was the one who said that The Circus and Loo Loo Land are connected in the timeline and Blitz's hostility in Loo Loo Land reads far more like a man who feels used and taken advantage of. So even the argument that Blitz was an enthusiastic participant is disproven by Medrano's own metacommentary and character interactions.)

And ultimately, it all boils down to that last moment scene. Between willingly having sex with Stolas when he is tied up or the book, Blitz makes for the door to leave. He doesn’t willingly engage in sex with Stolas. Either you can read the scene as a form of pity sex, which in the context of Medrano’s timeline and Loo Loo Land, shows Blitz was not enamored with the encounter or you have to read this as being manipulatively pressured into it. There is no way to argue Blitz has any leverage in the situation and no grounds to argue that it was mutually enjoyed.

That doesn’t even start to cover the fact that all the way to Ozzie’s, Blitz is repulsed by Stolas. When calling, he openly shows that this is something he would rather not be doing. He doesn’t have feelings for Stolas and despite just using the man who is using him, just having to deal with Stolas is distressing for him.

This is not an equal or fair relationship dynamic. It is not a mutual relationship. This is a relationship of self-preservation and coercion. And the fact is, it could have worked with very small changes to The Circus. Having the dynamic be actually mutual would have been a great start, but just properly addressing the actual dynamic and having Stolas take ownership of what he's done, and validating the fact that coercion is sexual abuse. Because out of all the sweeping changes, retcons and inconsistencies, the one aspect that has persevered throughout the show is just how trapped Blitz feels.

In Truth Seekers, Blitz’s hallucination is contradictory in its attempt to be visceral, and that is not inherently a problem. Trying to be abstract, it is normal for people to experience contradictory emotions over something. It makes sense in that way, but it needs reinforcement in the expanded narrative to tell it's story. As such I am just going to give my reading on the sequence based on my narrative and state it as fact.

The clown costume shows that Blitz sees himself as a joke, feeding into his low self-worth that no matter what he does, he is always the clown being laughed at. The murky wasteland is a reflection of his life. Devoid of anything bright or good, it is populated by dead trees and the ground is a quicksand like sludge, showing how he devours the good and extinguishes it in his own life. He kills his own happiness. Moxxie exists as a critical voice Blitz hears, telling him how stupid and awful he is to everyone around him. Blitz rejects his own self-criticism, reaffirming his self destructive victim mentality that appears when faced with the consequences of his own actions.

It's when the characters of Fizzarolli, Verosika and Striker appear that Blitz gives his regrets, insecurities and resentments voice, poorly impersonating the voices of those who saw the real him. Striker mocking Blitz’s need for companionship, how he lies to himself constantly and presents himself as independent and assured when really he sees himself as needy and pathetic.

Fizzarolli adds to it, pointing out Blitz’s failures to make it on his own, however this portion of the series should probably be considered non-canon as the newest episodes established that Fizzarolli and Blitz have not had any contact with each other since the accident. The more important line Fizzarolli says “You're going to die alone”, have been written out of the show. There would have been no time or place for Fizz to have ever spoken this to Blitz.

Then there is Verosika, who brings up Blitz’s self destructive tendencies, showing Blitz’s own abusive behaviors towards characters like Moxxie. It also suggests an explanation to why Blitz tolerates Loona, because her constant rejection of him contradicts his reactionary need to push others away, as well as feeds his self-flagillation.

It is when he endeavors to flee the reflections of the worst parts of himself that he runs into Stolas. Perched atop a pristine staircase of gold, being fanned by two silhouettes of Blitz. This shows the power imbalance in every way. Blitz doesn't even walk up the stairs, but crawls. Himself just a faceless accessory to Stolas’ desires, but everything he has intrinsically tied to the power Stolas' exerts over him. This is shown explicitly by the chains around his hands and neck, Stolas' reeling him in as he bears a grimace of reluctance. It is the most explicit representation of being trapped between two bad decisions. Either he is just the joke, the failure, the asshole, the stupid piece of shit, or he is the pet, the object, the toy. Stolas mentioning Blitz being "afraid to love" is less a suggestion that Blitz has any feelings for Stolas, but instead his psyche convincing himself that the relationship is not so exploitive. That he is not being dehumanized and abused, but on some messed up level he is being wanted and desired, which is better than the wastes below.

Maybe one could say that Blitz is being elevated out of his situation for how the feathers removed the costume and sludge, essentially wiping him clean of his worst self, providing a sense of safety. But he only has this opportunity because of Stolas, and it isn't free as shown by the feathers also becoming the chains binding him. Because at the end of the day, Stolas isn't the prize at the end of the climb to self actualization, the stairs belonged to him in the first place. To escape the horror-filled wasteland below, Blitz has to play by the rules of the owner of the stairs.

And ultimately, that isn't a story that is off-limits.

The Stolas apologist argument is why the depiction of this dynamic is triggering and harmful, not the fact that it exists in the media. Just owning the scenario and having Stolas acknowledge that he has sexually abused Blitz would have gone a long way. Instead, Medrano and the fandom have insistently represented this victim-blaming interpretation where Blitz is responsible for his own abuse. And that will never be okay. This goes all the way back to my "Not All Victims are Survivors" post. Blitz is the victim in this and his bad behaviour and own abusive actions directly correspond to the fact that he is a victim with a victim mindset. He actively lives in the middle of his abuse and has formed maladaptive strategies through manipulation, harassment, verbal abuse, and self harm. These do not remove his victim status. There is no such thing as a "Perfect Victim". And he should not have to be any sort of way in order to have that experience validated. And the issue that is at the heart of this show is that the narrative and the fanbase require a victim to be framed as delicate and hapless to circumstance with a soft and gentle personality to be a victim. To come out of abuse aggressive and harsh with sharp edges is framed as being less valid. But this outcome is normal and it's a difficult battle to work on oneself to feel safe again. It's absolutely a story worth telling.

But you first have to be interested in telling a story.

#helluva boss critique #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #vivziepop critical #spindlehorse critical #spindlehorse criticism #vivziepop criticism #tw self destructive behavior #tw sexulization #tw sa

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whimsicalpoet44 · 1 year

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Placements that I think are tough to have & why.

Here's more astrology observations.

**These aren't bad placements. Every placement has positives/negatives to them. I just find these placements to be quite challenging and can take more effort or intentionality than others to work through**

4th House Aries (Especially in the IC): The fourth house is the house of family/home. Aries in the fourth can indicate a really difficult childhood, particularly when it's related to the mother. They may have had a parent that was really impulsive or aggressive that made them responsible for their emotions. As a result, emotional regulation may be something they struggle with and expressing their emotions can make them feel vulnerable. Aries IC can indicate that there's a lot of generational trauma left over from their ancestors that they're having to undo. Positives? They can make quick decisions when necessary and can take charge of family matters with ease.

8th House Placements: The 8th house rules death, re-birth, long term investments, and transformation. That's a lot of heavy themes in one house. They may struggle with loss/grief in more than one area of your life. They say 8th house placements are like a Phoenix - constantly burning themselves down to emerge anew. That can be quite exhausting. I also find that 8th house placements cause an unbalance in personal power. They may spend a majority of their life figuring out how to balance energies. Positives? They make great psychologists, they're super analytical, and they aren't afraid to broach topics others may stray from.

Capricorn/Aquarius Rising: Two words: Saturn ruled. Self reliance can be a good thing, but these placements are often forced to take care of themselves from a young age. Saturn is the planet of restrictions, self-discipline, and self-sufficiency. Often times, our lessons in Saturn are things we must learn alone. Saturn ruled charts have this energy times ten. They face a lot of lessons throughout life. The positives? Natural leaders, persistent, and capable of achieving just about anything they set their mind too, because Saturn has shown them that they can do it alone.

Scorpio Rising: They're ruled by Pluto - the planet of death/re-birth/transformation (much like the 8th house). Saturn ruled charts and Pluto ruled charts have a lot in common. Scorpio Risings are often used to bring about change in different settings. The theme of their life is often growth and transformation - at any expense. They're very private and they trigger others very easily. They may find it difficult to open up to others and may feel a general distrust of others as a whole. They can feel chronically misunderstood. The positives? Literal human lie detector and extremely intuitive.

5th House Chiron: Chiron is the thing we have trouble healing in ourselves, but what we can do a great job healing in others. The fifth house is the house of the inner child/creativity/hobbies/joy. They can be insecure about their creative ability and have a huge lack of joy. This can be traced back to childhood. Someone could have told them they couldn't do something or that they were bad at a particular skill. They second guess themselves a lot as a result. They can also experience a ton of guilt and shame for being happy or having fun. The positive? They can inspire others to be creative when they heal.

Moon Conjunct Saturn: Saturn wants to discipline. The moon wants to nurture. They can feel intense feelings of shame/guilt from reflecting on ways they behaved in the past. It's also an indictor of a harsh childhood and they can internalize their parents wishes/dreams as their own (Saturn = Father | Moon = Mother). There's a constant fear of never reaching their full potential and they can often avoid rest because they don't feel like they're being productive. They also take life really seriously and they're super sensitive. (Remember that sensitivity isn't always bad thing.) The positives? They have a lot of discipline surrounding their emotions and they have a great sense of humor (probably from the trauma).

Aquarius Sun: They don't like being told what to do or think (which can be good), but they can often stay rooted in their old beliefs if they feel someone is pushing their opinions onto them (even though they insist that they're open minded). They can also sometimes end up stuck in a harmful belief system if they feel it's not the norm so they can retain their "unique" persona, rather than actually ask themselves what they believe. (Literally every Aquarius man I've encountered, but this can manifest in anyone with an Aquarius sun). They love people as a whole, but struggle with people on an individual level. They think more in a big picture way, but struggle with the small picture. They can also see everything that needs to be fixed in society, but struggle with the fact that they cannot fix it (leaving them feeling powerless.) The positives? They're unique. They're comfortable with the unusual. They stay true to themselves and who they are.

Gemini Anything: GEMINIS: you are only on this list because of the stigma that follows Gemini's. If you google the most hated sign, you'll get Gemini. Being a Sagittarius, I freaking love Geminis. But they have such a stigma. They can sometimes be impulsive, inconsistent, or indecisive. They also hate routine. I think this is how they get the stigma, because most people have a narrow minded view of how these can present. The positives? They have great charisma and they're usually artistic. They're witty, curious, funny, and passionate. (This is a Gemini love post, let's be honest.) Do some Gemini's present in the stereotypical way? Sure. But I find that many write off all Gemini's and develop a fulfilling prophecy about their intentions.

#astrology observations #astro observations #astrology #scorpio rising #aries astrology #gemini #aquarius #5th house #chiron #capricorn rising #aquarius rising

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takami-takami · 1 year

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Nightmares.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. angst. hurt/comfort.

warnings— ptsd. trauma. self harm. nightmares. touch starved!keigo. be careful and know your limits!

Keigo feels the drop in his stomach first before anything else.

His bloodshot eyes snap open, lungs gulping in air as he sits up and grasps at the sheets below.

It doesn't matter that the room is pitch black. All he sees, clouding his field of vision, is red.

Red, when he attempts to blink it away. Red, when they're opened wide. Red, even through the bubbles of tears that he claws away with his nails. Red, when he stares at his filthy palms.

Unclean.

He asks himself if he could scrape it away if he tried hard enough, could expose the fresh cells underneath– the newly formed skin that has never been touched by the sins their owner has committed. New, like the skin of a child untainted by the corruption of those who were supposed to protect them.

He flinches when he feels the drape of his feathers surrounding him. Distantly, somewhere far outside his body, he wonders if they were always this scarlet color. Was he born with white wings? Did something make them this way? Did something make them the perfect shade for concealing bloodshed?

Did someone?

The waves of panic, the ones that shake his system to its core, bubble to the surface of his throat. They taste like disgust, like shame.

Don't let the guilt control you, Hawks, they say. Don't even let the thought pass through your mind. There's no reason to be upset... This is for the greater good. This is for your own good.

That's what they always told him.

His breathing comes quicker, deeper; but no matter how wide his chest expands, he still drowns. He needs to get out of here, needs to escape, there has to be an escape route, there has to be if he can just—

"Baby?"

The room illuminates with the click of a switch. His eyes, golden color swallowing shrunken pupils, glance behind him. Your face is illuminated by the dull, amber glow of the lamp by your bedside.

You look worried. Are you okay? He should ask you if you're okay.

He blinks, eyes focused directly on you. His body feels inhuman, hunched over and trembling with his hands still cupped below him. Stiff.

When he feels the bed creak beneath him, the velvet expanse of the comforter creasing with your movement towards him, he remains still. You offer the soft touch of your palm against his, interlacing his fingers with yours, silently asking permission. He squeezes back.

Your skin is pristine. Don't you know if you do that, you'll get them dirty?

You bring his hands to your lips anyway, kiss each pad of his fingertips tenderly before you begin to speak.

"Dreams again?"

He lets out a shaky breath in response, dropping his shoulders. He hasn't stopped staring at you for a second.

"Yeah, I-I," Keigo stutters, the adreneline beginning to dissipate from his veins, but still there. "Yeah, I guess so."

You hum. "Do you need some water? C'mon, sit up, I've got you. You're okay. I'll get you some water—"

You barely get the chance to move an inch before his hand shoots out and grips your arm, tightly at first before it frightens him that he'd be so quick to reach out. That his touch would be so rough.

"No! Please, don't stop," he all but begs, voice entirely too loud for his own ears. He wishes you were talking instead. Your voice is soothing, your voice is whole. "Stay. You... Can you just hold me? I didn't want to, I had to, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry—"

You know you're not the only one he's apologizing to. You accept it anyway, with a soft kiss that melts him to the core. "It's okay. I trust you." You tuck his hair behind his ears, to which he responds by leaning into the grounding touch. "You're doing your best. You're a good person."

It's difficult for Keigo to allow himself this, but you make giving in to the comfort too tempting. He buries himself into your chest, melts into the scratch of your fingers on his scalp.

Just stay like this. Just a little while longer, he thinks. Until I can feel like a person again.

#sorry this is rushed i just HAD to write this to be normal #🖋 writing #🍧 sugar #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #mha imagines #hawks angst #hurt/comfort

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iblameashley · 5 months

Text

Ghosts Shadows

Civilian | Male | Gay

1,300 words Content: Nightmares, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley | Male/GN Reader

!!!SFW!!!

Simon was used to facing his nightmares alone, but when he finally began spending the night at your place, the ghosts of his past pulled him into a nightmare. Waking in a panic, Simon was embarrassed to have his trauma witnessed.

You were laying in bed in a half-asleep state, your back was turned to Simon and the cool breeze of the spring night was washing over you. This was the third night Simon had slept over at your place after weeks of prodding and pleading with him. You were a couple after all; you wanted to sleep with your boyfriend!

For the most part it was going well. What you hadn't anticipated the first night was how hot he was, and you were already a walking furnace too, so you had found yourself throwing the bed sheets off and letting him hog them.

You felt Simon stir, bringing you closer to consciousness. Your eyes strained to open as sleep still gripped at you, but finally they opened as you heard Simon's breathing increase.

He was panicking.

That was enough for you to wake, roll over, and look at him.

Simon's once steady – and soothing – breathing was quickening, and you could make out his silhouette rising and falling quickly in the darkness of your room.

You felt the sheets move as he gripped at them and began to mutter.

It was too low to make out at first, but as you leaned in close to him you could hear it.

“No...get down!”

As your eyes adjusted to the lighting in the room, you could see the sheen of cold sweat that covered his face. His eyes darted back and forth behind his closed lids.

Whatever demons were haunting him right now held a tight grip on him, and kept him deep in the torment of sleep.

You reached out timidly at first, placing your hand on his shoulder, “Si, wake up. You're having a nightmare.” You muttered with a raspy voice.

But he didn't stir, too lost in a memory of some violent encounter.

A sharp gasp escaped his lips, followed by a gravelly cry. “Look out!”

Seeing Simon like this felt like being stabbed in the heart. You wrapped your arm around Simon and pulled him into an embrace.

You took a deep breath.

“You're safe, Si. Its not real...I promise.” You whispered to him in a shaky voice.

He squirmed against you, trying to free himself from your grasp and the nightmare.

You fought back and pulled him back into you. You bare chest pressing against his bare back. “You're okay, Si. Its me.”

Finally, after several minutes you managed to roll him over until he was facing you. You leaned in to give him a gentle kiss on the lips as he mumbled away.

“I love you, Si.”

And something must have triggered in him; his breathing began to gradually slow as your words and touch anchored him.

The darkness of his dreams were slowly replaced by the darkness of the bedroom as his eyes fluttered open. As his vision focused on your blue eyes, recognition of what happened had dawned on him; something he warned you about. His stomach felt like it dropped and he felt the well of shame consume him.

You weren't supposed to see him like this; weak. Pathetic.

He withdrew his gaze from you and instead stared at the crumpled sheets between you two.

“Are you okay?” You asked him sweetly, your hand tracing the contour of his jawline.

Simon was already closing himself off from you, and he lay there in silence until his racing heart calmed.

When he finally spoke, the words felt hallow, impersonal.

“Sorry, you... should never have seen me like this.”

You smiled and ran your thumb over his cheek. “Why are you apologizing?” You asked, scooting a little closer to him. “You told me you had nightmares. I'm here for you, Si.” You explained.

You weren't sure if it was instinct or a deeply rooted need within Simon, but you felt him lean into your touch, even as the look on his face was still painted with shame and fear.

“Want to talk about it?” You asked in a hushed tone. You moved your face in close to his until you were nearly touching.

After several breaths, Simon found the words he was looking for, “Bodies...and blood. I was too late to save them. I'm always too late.” He said in a raw whisper.

His hand found your waist and gave it a squeeze.

“I didn't want you to know how weak and pitiful I am.” His cheek twitched with annoyance. “That I'm not the strong and capable man you love.”

It took everything in you to not laugh in his face. Not once had you ever thought Simon was weak, not even in this moment.

You shook your head against the pillow. “You aren't weak, Si. You're suffering from PTSD... and ever day that you face that trauma, and try to work your way past it, tells me how strong you are.” You insisted before leaning in to give him another kiss.

Simon shifted on the bed, still unconvinced. He began to sit up and pull the sheets off his body. “Maybe I should go. I don't want to scare you if - when - the nightmares come back.” His self-loathing tone evident.

You sit up in bed beside him and press yourself against his back, wrapping your arms around his chest and massaging his abdomen. Your fingers ran over his scars and burns; other things he wanted to hide from you.

“You aren't scaring me.” You whisper into his ear.

You tighten you grip on him. “I told you when we started dating that I was here for you – nightmares included.” You said with sincerity. You ran your nose over his shoulder, taking in his intoxicating scent. “You don't need to face this alone anymore, Si. Don't shut me out. Don't leave.”

Simon swallowed the lump in his throat. There was still a knot in his stomach as he considered your plea. He fought against his own instincts to run away as he turned slightly to face you.

Your face was resolute, and he could see it. You meant it.

“But I could hurt you...” He cautioned.

“I don't believe that.” You shook your head at him. “I trust you, Si.”

Those three words meant more to him than the other three words you had said to him.

His gaze softened, despite the knot in his stomach telling him he didn't deserve your love, kindness or care.

Simon couldn't help but slowly begin to relax into your embrace as the cool air pricked at his skin. He wouldn't admit it to you, but he was still feeling the weight of exhaustion, and going back to his flat probably would be a struggle in itself.

You pulled him back down into the bed and stretched yourself out behind him.

It wasn't until you had thrown the sheets back over your bodies that Simon spoke again.

“Why?” he asked, low and unsure. “Why would you even risk it for me? Especially after seeing my demons.”

You caressed his arm in a steady and fluid motion as you listened to him. “Because I know there is more to you than demons, Si.” You nuzzled your face into the back of his neck, letting the soft, short hairs tickle at your nose. “Because I hope to make you feel as safe as you make me feel.”

You let out a warm breath over his neck that makes his hairs stand on end.

“Face reality, Simon Riley, you're stuck with me.” You chuckled as your hand fond its way to his chest.

“I don't deserve you.” Simon lamented, despite pressing himself more firmly against your body.

With a heavy sigh, he accepted that this was not a conversation he was going to win. He let your warm body provide him the comfort he didn't believe he deserved, but comfort he now welcomed. Though still feeling the echoes of guilt and shame, Simon let himself close his eyes and fall back asleep.

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nrdmssgs · 10 months

Text

Soap comforting reader

Masterlist Comforting series: König comforting reader Price comforting reader

AN: I've got requested for something a bit similar for König and decided to make a series. There will be different traumas, CoD boys help us all overcome. (Königs version coming soon)

Here Johnny helps the reader deal with her neglectful family. I kept everything mild, so no TWs here really.

You are nervous about that family gathering. Of course, it's Johnny, you'll follow him anywhere, but a mere thought of a full family gathering in one house…

Someone will not like your clothes, someone will criticize your career, someone will quarrel with you because of politics... And at some point there will be ‘THE talk’ about children and grandchildren, and you will choke in guilt and shame.

No, you never met Johnnys relatives before. But you knew well, how is it usually going: “Hi guys, look, whom I found, please like her as I do”. And then the show starts.

It didn't help as well, that your own family gatherings often ended with you gagging on your tears in the bathroom, pretending, you were just washing hands.

“Hen? You nervous? We can always pull off the road, so you can take a breather.” Johnny puts his hand on your knee and gives you a beaming smile.

"No, no, I don't want to be late. Your sister wrote that she was already there."

He stops on the next parking lot nevertheless. “If she is already there - it means, my parents are already entertained enough by her kids. Come on, lets walk.” And before you could react, Johnny drags you out of the car, takes your hand and leads you in a field beside a parking lot.

It helps, but by the time you two step inside his parents house, you feel your pulse drop once again.

“I'm so happy to finally meet you!”, “Johnny, what took you so long to bring her here? Oh, you've been dating for not that long? What took you so long to find her then?!”, “He is so lucky to have you!”

Yes, they don't just quietly accept you - they absolutely shower you in love. You usually don't hear that many nice words, even on your birthday.

And they are all fantastic people: they are kind, open-hearted, love a good joke. You feel like you could talk to them forever.

You see, what it takes to raise such a treasure like Johnny: he has mothers eyes and fathers voice, he shares his bubbly personality with his sister.

His family still has their little heartwarming rituals, when they call their son to lick the spoon after mixing cookie dough. Only now Johnny picks up his nephew and gives him the spoon. Or when they all gather together on the terrace after dinner, lay out blankets and pillows on the plank floor and make themselves comfortable with mugs of tea.

Johnny sits with a notebook in his hands and sketches something, his sister stealthily peeps over his shoulder, then glances at you and smiles. You are stolen by his nephew to build a pillow fort.

Before you go to bed, you help his parents clean up. His mom walks over to you while you're wiping down the big dish and hugs you. "Thank you for letting him into your life. Johnny has always been a sweet, cheerful child, but It`s the first I see my boy literally glowing with happiness."

Although normally, you wouldn't like being touched by someone you've just met - this time you don't mind. In fact you even find yourself enjoying this little warm moment.

Later that night, sitting on the edge of bed in Johnnys childhood room, you ask yourself if this is what a family feels like. Or maybe MacTavishes were just an ideal family and in fact it was ok to cry at every family gathering, to avoid texting and calling your parents more than once a week. Maybe everyone didn`t share their feelings with parents and siblings, just like you? And there were rare exceptions to the rule here and there, and you just met one?

You didn't even hear Johnny entering the room and coming closer.

“Heeeey, what's with the wet eyes? Anyone let you down?” He slowly lowers himself to the floor and puts his head in your lap. "Wait, or did I say something stupid? That joke about my next deployment is just a joke, I swear!”

You smile and wipe away tears hastily. “No-no! Nobody let me down. Its just your family… You are all so good to me and to each other.”

Johnny lets you go on with the thought, asking questions and encouraging. He has long noticed that your relationship with your family is not like his, but he has never commented on this before.

"I know it's stupid, but... I didn't want to go to bed, just to spend more time with them. I wanted to remember how a family can feel. And now I'm afraid that in a week I'll forget this feeling... Sorry, I must sound like an edgy teenager right now."

He pulls your torso in a firm hug, not raising from the floor. “They… We all are your family, if you want us to. They love you, bonnie. You know, how many times they asked me to finally bring the woman who makes me smile constantly to our family house? How long have they all wanted to meet you? You know, how many times they pulled me in some corner today just to ask when am I going to wife you up?”

You frown. “Oh no…” “Oh yes, sweets. They are rooting for us.” “Wait, that's bad, that's really bad…” “How is that bad?” “I like them so much, I want them to be happy, and if you have second thoughts, if you decide, I'm not worth it, they'll all hate me for not being that girl, for wasting your time, for not being good enough…”

The speed with which you find yourself knocked over on the bed and his hands holding you tight against his chest is beyond any belief. You are cut out mid-sentence.

“Breathe in…” His hand moves to your spine and traces a long line up to you neck. “... and out.” His fingers now travel down your back.

Johnny repeats it a few times and when he feels your pulse steadying, he finally speaks. “There are and will be no second thoughts. Happy or not - you're stuck with me, sweets. I may joke around other matters, but I am dead serious with this. You are the one. For me, which also means - for them. I know it, they know it. You are welcome here, you are loved, you are so much awaited. They are part of me, so they always come with me, if you choose to have me.”

As he speaks, you feel his breath tingling back of your head and his fingers drowning in your hair. This all feels surreal, but you want to believe him. They are slowly becoming your family. Your home.

#cod #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod x reader #soap mctavish #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap mw2 #soap modern warfare #call of duty #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap x y/n #soap x you #sergeant mactavish #johnny mactavish #soap mactavish x reader

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fettuccinealfred0 · 3 months

Text

Til Death Do Us Part | Part 7

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 9k

(CW: brief descriptions of past trauma/sexual assault)

Summary:

And there, tucked deep in the back of the drawer, sits the object you had secretly been hoping to find- the unassuming little leatherbound book that you had spotted that day you had broken into Astarion’s office. You slide the book out from the drawer, the expensive leather binding soft and cool against your skin.

You shouldn’t open this, you think, as you carefully snap open the clasp on the book.

You aren’t entirely sure what you were expecting to find- perhaps some sort of ledger which describes Astarion’s shady dealings in excruciating detail or perhaps a simply written ‘this is what I am looking for and why.’

Instead, you are met with pages upon pages of Astarion’s beautiful, looping handwriting, overcome by a sense of guilt and dread and shame. You should not be reading this.

But your eyes are darting over the words on the first page before you can stop yourself.

Read on ao3 here.

Astarion was right- you did tend to get yourself into trouble when you were bored. And with him gone, you were completely consumed by that nagging feeling that he has still been lying to you.

You’ve been sitting at the chair in his study for the past half hour, just staring at that little locked drawer in the upper corner of his desk. You desperately want to open it but that little voice in the back of your head has been whispering that you shouldn’t- that it would be an invasion of Astarion’s privacy and would betray his trust.

The longer you sit, the quieter that little voice gets, until all that is left is the burning desire for answers.

You make a final deal with yourself- if you can pick the lock, you get to look at what’s inside. If you can’t, you leave this room and never snoop around in Astarion’s study again.

It’s a loaded deal. There are very few locks you’ve met in your life that you haven’t been able to pick with enough time and dedication. And sure enough, after you weasel your hairpin into the lock and wiggle it around a bit, you hear the telltale little click that allows you to carefully slide the drawer open.

The first thing you see is the drawing of Astarion’s scar that you had once found on his desk. After pulling out the paper, you trace along the lines and squiggles that you have long since memorized. It’s a poor substitute for the feel of Astarion’s cool skin underneath your fingertips- you don’t get to watch his whole body relax as you run your hands along the scarred tissue, taking care to chase away any knots and tension that might be present in his back.

Staring down at the sheet of paper, your chest aches with how badly you miss Astarion.

Gods, you were going insane. It had only been a few days, you needed to pull yourself together and stop fantasizing.

There’s a few other miscellaneous papers that you pull out next but they don’t tell you anything helpful. They mostly consist of brief notes and intel that only refer to whatever Astarion is searching for as ‘it.’

After moving all the papers to sit on the desk, your gaze catches a beautifully embroidered handkerchief that appears to be wrapped around something inside. Gently peeling away the edges of the silk, you reveal a little collection of rose petals. They’re dried and a bit shriveled and the vibrant red has faded to a rich burgundy but you would recognize those petals anywhere.

Had Astarion been saving these from the bouquets you had made for him?

After walking together in the gardens at night, you had been overcome by grief that Astarion wasn’t able to see them during the day. Without sunlight, he would never be able to fully appreciate the bright colors and the blooming flowers. In your mind, it had only seemed natural that if he could not go to the gardens during the day, you would bring the gardens to him.

At that time, months ago, it felt like a foolish way to feel close to Astarion while you were pining after him. It was a selfish way to bring that lovely smile to his face and know that you were the cause of it. So as you made Astarion bouquets, you had poured your heart and your love into every stem and flower you picked.

Admittedly, it had gotten a bit harder to bring him new flowers every week as fall continued to creep into winter and flowers became more and more scarce, but you made due with what you had. You were still determined to give him something pretty.

And Astarion always appreciated the bouquets. He always displayed them proudly in his study and always got a goofy little grin on his face when you brought him a new one.

You had never dreamed that your gesture meant this much to him. Your heart dances inside your chest.

The dried petals are just another reminder of how deeply the well of love that exists inside of Astarion runs, showing his innate need to keep you near to him at all times. He could be so secretly sentimental, as if he was afraid of scaring you away with the full force of his love.

And more than that, the petals are a reminder that this drawer was not for your eyes.

You feel a guilty pit in your stomach and chew on your lip- one of those bad habits that always managed to rear its head when you felt nervous or ashamed. You should just leave, should just close the door to Astarion’s study behind you and confess what you have done the moment he comes home…

But one more little peak wouldn’t hurt, right?

You just want a better look at the embroidery on the handkerchief. Astarion must have been the one who embroidered it and you simply wish to appreciate his talents. Surely, if you praise him enough about his masterful handiwork, his ego will be so inflated that he will completely forget to be mad at you for prying into his secrets.

Satisfied with your logic, you turn back to the drawer. You’re sure to be extra careful when you touch the thin cotton handkerchief so you don’t accidentally damage the delicate petals held inside.

Along one of the edges of the handkerchief, the beautiful white embroidery stands out against the sheer white cotton. There’s a collection of flowers whose stems are joined together by a lovely, sprawling ribbon in the corner. The flowers extend outward along the edges of the handkerchief and into the middle- it looks like there’s roses, some chrysanthemums, some little flower that looks like a daisy or an aster, and little clumps of tiny flowers. Oh…. Are those heliotropes?

Astarion had recreated the first bouquet you made him. The surge of emotion inside you nearly has you weeping.

When had Astarion even made this?

Perhaps it had been done in a moment of madness months ago, when he too had been overwhelmed by the depth of his longing for you. Perhaps he had sat down and let his emotions spill out through his fingers, interweaving them in the handkerchief alongside the thread.

Or maybe he had somehow managed to sneak away and work on this recently? But since you had confessed your love, the two of you had been so engrossed in one another that you hardly spent any time apart. And even before then, you had spent the majority of your days with Astarion- reading together in the library and offering him your blood and sleeping in his bed.

The only real time the two of you had been separated, apart from the past few days, was during the time after your fight, when Astarion had attempted to push you away. You picture Astarion, despondent, with messy hair and deep circles under his eyes, pricking his fingers as he continues to sew, as if in a daze. You don’t like that image.

So instead, you picture Astarion working on the handkerchief while you were sleeping beside him. He was probably leaning back against the headboard while he sewed, the blankets sliding low around his waist and his pale skin shimmering in the moonlight, sneaking glances over at you while you slept. You like that idea much better.

Now that you have seen and fully appreciated the craftsmanship of the handkerchief, you should be closing the desk drawer and locking it tight.

You don’t.

Spurred on by curiosity, you continue rifling through the drawer.

And there, tucked deep in the back, sits the object you had secretly been hoping to find- the unassuming little leatherbound book that you had spotted that day you had broken into Astarion’s office. You slide the book out from the drawer, the expensive leather binding soft and cool against your skin.

You shouldn’t open this, you think, as you carefully snap open the clasp on the book.

Instead, you are met with pages upon pages of Astarion’s beautiful, looping handwriting, overcome by a sense of guilt and dread and shame. You should not be reading this.

But your eyes are darting over the words on the first page before you can stop yourself.

I am unable to close my eyes in fear that Cazador might appear to me again. I hate that he still holds this power over me, even now.

He had control over my mind and my body and now he even owns my memories. I never know when one might return to me and leave me shaking and paralyzed by its stunning realness. There’s just so many to choose from- centuries of nothing but agony and pain and torture.

It happened again today.

I don’t know what caused it but suddenly, I was back in that place.

Gale found me huddled in the corner of the library. He said that I nearly ripped his head off when he tried to soothe me.

I don’t remember that happening...

All I know is that the idea of someone putting their hands on me makes me sick to my stomach.

Gale told me I need to start writing about the memories, that I need to get them out of my head and onto paper. He’s seen this same thing, he said, in soldiers and generals whose minds never return from the battlefield.

I can’t possibly imagine how war is worse than what I went through.

So these are Astarion’s innermost thoughts. You should respect that, should leave these words to belong solely to him. But there’s a dangerous thought wriggling in the back of your mind.

Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted- a glimpse inside his mind? To finally know the truth without doubting every word that comes out of his pretty mouth?

And it’s that nagging, curious part of you which seizes control and forces you to continue reading the first entry.

At this point, I’m desperate enough to listen to Gale, of all people. So, here goes:

I can’t even see my scar, but I constantly feel its weight upon my back. Yesterday, when I finally returned back to my body, I felt my fingers tracing along the marks that I can reach over my shoulder in a trance, as if that foolish action would help me free myself from the prison of my mind.

Cazador carved the scar into me over the course of a night and I constantly find myself stuck in that memory.

That night was agony. Every cut he made was careful. Deliberate. If I screamed too much or if I moved too much, he would start over immediately. He would wait, watching my skin stitch itself back together before he set to work again. He butchered me, over and over and over again.

For practice, he had said. He had wanted his ‘poem’ to be perfect.

And after an endless night of the worst pain I had ever felt, Cazador finally brought out the precious silver blade that he called his ‘needle’ and he etched this scar into my skin forever.

You would think that at a certain threshold, your brain would tell your body to stop feeling pain or that the pain couldn’t possibly get worse. I never seemed able to find that limit. The pain always got worse.

There’s a final note written at the end of the page. The handwriting is small and almost shy.

Warm baths help.

Oh, Astarion.

From the little pieces of information he had revealed to you, you knew that his past was filled with pain and torment, but you had no idea it was this horrific.

The idea of being cut even once has an unpleasant shiver running down your spine. Astarion’s scar spans nearly the entirety of his back. How many cuts was that across his skin? How many hundred and thousands of times did this man, this Cazador, mutilate him?

And that was just over the course of one night.

You can’t even begin to fathom the cruelty Astarion had suffered, the pain he had withstood. You feel your mouth hanging open a bit in shock and horror.

How terrifying it must be to live in a state of perpetual fear, to never know when your mind might betray you and transport you back to your most miserable experiences.

And beneath all that, Astarion was still trying- he was still fighting to learn how to live again after his trauma. He was still writing himself little hopeful notes like ‘warm baths help,’ that would help his future self know how to find his way back from those memories a little easier the next time.

It’s so easy to imagine Astarion, knees pulled up to his chest as he stares at nothing in the distance. It makes tears prick at your eyes. It makes you want to hold his head against your chest so he can time his breathing with the beat of your heart as you run your fingers through his lovely white hair and reassure him that he is safe now.

And you are faced with another, far more worrying, question. How often do episodes like these happen? The entry is dated a couple years ago but you are certain they have happened during the time you have been married. It is the only explanation for Astarion’s horrible thrashing and screaming when he was injured and in a state of blood madness.

The animalistic wails that tore themselves from his throat will be imprinted in your own memory forever.

And some nights, Astarion would jolt himself awake in such a state that it woke you up next to him, as well. He would practically scramble out of the bed, eyes wide and glinting a blood-curdling red in the darkness of the bedroom. And for just a moment, when he looked at you in a panic, you could swear he didn’t recognize you.

You are struck immediately by the thought that you need to do something. There’s an intrinsic desire to take this pain away from Astarion.

Isn’t that what marriage is supposed to be? A way to lessen your burdens by sharing them with the person you trust most.

But Astarion didn’t trust you. And a part of you is deeply hurt by the fact that he does not believe that you are capable of helping to carry the weight of his past. Did he view you as too weak, too naive?

Astarion should know that you had your own past- you know better than most the damage that an angry, manipulative man could do. It had not been an easy life being raised by your father.

And worse than the fact that you now have proof that Astarion doesn’t trust you, he had lied to you. You had asked him explicitly whether silver hurt him and he had deliberately deflected your question with some silly answer about how he preferred gold. A lie by omission is a lie, nonetheless. Silver does hurt him. Silver is what created his scars.

You aren’t sure if you keep reading out of spite or a desperate need to learn how to help Astarion.

The next entry is dated about a week later.

This house is a graveyard and I am doomed to be its crypt keeper.

Well… That’s bleak. And rather melodramatic. It’s so completely Astarion that it almost pulls you out of reading for a moment.

There are ghosts around every corner. At times, I could swear that I smell my mother’s perfume or hear my father’s booming laughter echoing in the halls.

Still, this house feels as barren and loveless as Cazador’s palace.

I was just a boy the last time I was here. An eager young thing, ready to set off and explore Baldur's Gate.

I always knew I would return here, but I never imagined it would be under these circumstances. I had dreams of becoming a magistrate, of making a name for myself, of finding love. And then, some day in the distant future, I would return home and my parents would welcome me with open arms. I would take over as patriarch of the family and allow my father to spend the rest of his days in peace.

But now, this place is too big. Too dark. Too cold.

Gone are the days of sunlight streaming through the windows. The gardens that my mother cherished so dearly have decayed into nothingness. A thick, suffocating layer of dust has settled over the entire manor.

Now this house is yet another miserable reminder of how much I have lost. It feels as if I am seeing someone who has died whenever I find traces of my old self. Even then, the memories I do have of my childhood are so mangled and fragmented that my past can only whisper to me and remind me that I am a stranger in my own home.

What has happened to me?

What have I become?

Cazador is always there in the back of my mind. Waiting and watching. There is no escape, no freedom- not really. Not when Cazador’s presence still follows me like a shadow.

I fear coming back here was the biggest mistake I could have made. I should have just stayed in Baldur’s Gate.

The aching and the sorrow in Astarion’s words has your stomach churning uncomfortably. It seems silly, but you can’t help but imagine the Astarion before- the young man who was so excited to go to the city and begin his life. He wanted love, even then. It fills you with a deep melancholy.

No part of you should be grateful that Astarion became a vampire- you should not celebrate that he suffered and was brutalized by that monster, Cazador.

And yet… if he had not been turned, you can’t help but wonder if your paths would have ever crossed at all.

It rattles you to your very core. Astarion had become a certainty in your life- there is no future that you could ever imagine that does not invovle him.

The more you read, the more you learn about the tortures that Cazador had inflicted on Astarion. You discover the punishments he suffered if he didn’t obey, like the time he attempted to escape and was buried in a casket underground for a full year. The way he writes about that time has you feeling claustrophobic, you’re practically clawing at your own throat, desperate for fresh air.

And you find out he had very little opportunity not to obey. For centuries, Astarion had no choice, no freedom, nowhere to run but his mind.

It’s horrific.

The life of a spawn has no real happiness. It doesn’t sound like much of a life, at all.

And through everything you read, you can tell Astarion is clearly struggling to deal with the aftermath of his trauma far more than he lets on. You follow his journey as he tries to find what events cause him to slip back into his memories and what rituals help pull him out of them.

An entry a couple months later makes you pause.

My body is my own. I choose what I do with it. I choose who touches me.

So why do some days feel as if I’m still in the haze of Cazador’s control? When I am trapped in a memory, why does my body still react involuntarily? Why do I feel as if I still have no power over myself?

I feel like a stranger in my own skin. I hardly even remember what I look like and the skin I’ve been left with is scarred and ruined. I can’t even look at my own hands without remembering what I have done with them.

I wish I could shed this body and start anew.

I’d still have to be beautiful, of course, because how else does anyone ever get anything done without batting their eyelashes and having others fall at their feet? Seems tedious.

Of course, even in his mind, even with just himself, Astarion has to deflect with petty vanity and a touch of humor.

You had not fully appreciated the horror of being unable to see your own reflection. No wonder Astarion didn’t like his portrait- he probably didn’t even recognize himself when he first saw it. It must still feel like a disembodied image, rather than a true likeness.

The next entry that catches your attention is a few pages later.

My bed is too soft.

Vampires don’t even need to sleep, so it’s ridiculous why that would even matter to me.

It was a nightmare today. I woke to phantom hands surrounding me, suffocating me.

Cazador demanded blood and us spawn were meant to bring him victims. By any means necessary. Cazador had said it should be easy for me, I already had such a pretty face. All I had to was make it seem real, make them believe it.

So I did.

I hunted for new victims in the dark of night. Taverns and brothels and gambling dens. I was never allowed to say no. Anything they wanted, they got.

I fear I have been treated as an object for so long, I have forgotten how it feels to be a person.

It feels as if your veins have been filled with ice. There had been hints or suggestions in other entries, but it was so much worse than you could possibly assume. There is only one thing which Astarion’s words could imply- he had been forced to use himself, to use his body and his sexuality as a means of luring people back for Cazador.

You hate how easily it explains so many of Astarion’s behaviors. No wonder he always fell back into that practiced, seductive tone when he felt he was losing control over a situation. It was what was comfortable, it was what he knew how to do, even if he was truly in agony.

How many times had he put on this performance for you? How many times had he placated you when he did not want to, simply because you were too insistent and he feared what would happen if he said no?

You had been the one to move his hand under your chemise that night. You had made assumptions based on his flirtatious nature and the hungry reverence with which he drank your blood. And now, you’re mortified that you might have put him in a situation where he felt he couldn’t refuse you in fear you might take away his easy access to your blood.

It feels horrible to know you might be the last in a long line of people who had taken advantage of Astarion. Your skin feels like it’s crawling.

You hadn’t known, you hadn’t known, you hadn’t known, you repeat to yourself but it does little to quell the bubble that’s building inside your chest.

You can’t breathe. Your mind races.

You think back to Astarion’s promise. It all makes sense- he was always so worried about you being able to say no. You had done the same, of course, always checking in with him and listening to him during sex. But you should have been more proactive. You should have given him more opportunity to decline your advances.

Astarion never writes too explicitly about those kinds of memories and you think it’s mostly as a means to protect himself from falling fully back into them. But past that point in the diary, there are enough entries on the subject to give you a rather… grisly picture of exactly what Astarion suffered through.

You read them all and weep with sympathy. You wish you could kill Cazador yourself.

And for a moment, you almost consider stopping and putting the diary away, but you catch an entry about how Astarion was turned and your interest is piqued.

Cazador always liked pretty things. I think that’s why he always liked torturing me the best.

I always wondered if that’s why he decided to turn me. Sometimes, I ask myself if that day was all orchestrated or if fate was simply laughing at me.

That night. The Gur. A useless, spiteful people.

Did those Gur that attacked me really take issue with my ruling that day or did Cazador simply pay them to ambush me in that alley? Did he tell them to beat me and taunt me or did they choose to do that on their own?

And when I was spitting up blood and could hardly move, they just… left me. And my stupid heart just kept beating and I wouldn’t die.

It felt like a miracle when Cazador found me, claiming that he could smell my blood. At the time, it felt as if he was my last hope.

It’s even worse that he made me beg for it. A torture to look back upon and know that I begged for the miserable life he granted me.

It was painful at first. My body warped and writhed with pain as death overtook me. For just a moment, it black and blissful and then I had to scrape and claw my way out of the earth. I was choking- drowning in an endless ocean of dirt.

And when I resurfaced, vomiting bile and dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was laughing. I could already feel the invisible string tying me to him. The eternal contract that he had neglected to mention.

Astarion had written the next part so hard that there were tears in the paper on some of his downstrokes.

Fuck him. Fuck him for turning me into this. Fuck everyone in the world for never caring enough to help me.

Fuck the gods, for I prayed to every one that existed and they all abandoned me.

How heartbreaking, you think- to believe yourself completely alone in the world. You can only hope that Astarion knows how adored he is now. There is you, of course, but you also see his friendships- with Gale, with Shadowheart, with Lae’zel, and Karlach, and Wyll. Any one of you would do anything in your power to keep Astarion safe and happy.

You had not expected that the story Astarion’s turning would be quite so excruciating. All the times you had talked about vampirism, Astarion had never mentioned how gruesome of a process it truly was.

It’s as if everything about his past is infinitely more unspeakable than you could have ever imagined.

There’s a pause of about two weeks before the next entry.

We found the second gem today. Luckily, that idiot Envar Gortash had been so terribly loud about showing off his new collectible. His house was far too easy to break into and he was annoying, so I don’t think anyone really minded when he turned up dead. The elite of Baldur’s Gate viewed him as a lowly wannabe who unsuccessfully attempted to infiltrate their ranks and the rabble viewed him as a class traitor. In the end, no one wanted to claim him.

But I hate that I must spend my precious time looking for these gems. Am I truly free if I’m just working as Raphael’s errand boy?

So that’s what Astarion is looking for? Gems for somebody else? It seems so completely out of character.

And now, with this entry, you have found the answers you were searching for. You should be shutting this diary. But why this Raphael character was forcing Astarion to look for these gems had unraveled a new mystery you need to solve. And that can only be done by continuing to read.

Raphael was lucky to find me at a time where I would have agreed to do just about anything to rid myself of Cazador. When he approached me, who was I to say no? It’s not as if my life could have gotten any worse.

And that one night, someone had approached me in dark brothel and lead me back to a room. It was easy, it was routine- I knew what they wanted.

Only, in the room, Raphael was there, asking me if I’d like to kill Cazador. He reassured me that the walls weren’t listening and told me that I could answer honestly. I didn’t believe him at first. Obviously. It felt just like the kind of convoluted trap that Cazador would set so he could have a reason to punish me. Or, even more likely, I’d still be tortured for not falling for it.

But Raphael gave me something that night- a little pouch of strange herbs that he slipped into my hand as I was leaving the room. ‘A sign of good faith’ he had whispered to me before I was passed along to the next customer, still searching for a victim to bring back to Cazador.

And later, when Cazador had asked what had taken me so long that night, for the first time in 200 years, I didn’t feel compelled to give him an answer. For the first time, I was able to lie to him.

And oh, how terribly I had missed lying.

I bided my time, then, waiting patiently for Raphael to bump into me again. Within a fortnight, he was sliding up beside me in a tavern, leading me away into some dark corner to talk.

He explained to me that he was a devil- the son of the demon Mephistopheles and born to a human woman. It was easy to believe that explanation. Vampires are real, after all, so why not devils?

Raphael had it on good authority that Cazador was preparing some sort of ritual using an artefact that Raphael wanted All he needed was someone with inside knowledge of the Szarr palace and detailed information about Cazador’s whereabouts.

In return, Cazador would be dead.

I expected he’d want something more from me, of course. Help is not offered freely- that is not how this world works. You are only good to people so long as you serve some purpose to them.

The question was why Raphael needed me. Why was he willing to go through the effort of killing a vampire lord just for my help? And why now? Why after 200 years of torture and misery was someone finally answering my desperate pleas.

He had purred my name so beautifully- Astarion Ancunín- with a wonderful emphasis on my last name.

My title, my birthright allows me to move in ways which are not available to him.

I gave him my conditions then:

I get to one the one to kill Cazador (and oh, how I intended to draw that out)

I get to drink Cazador’s blood before he dies and become a true vampire. No longer would I be cursed to live as a lowly, disgusting spawn. I would finally rise to the power that was owed to me after all my suffering.

Raphael had set his own conditions, too. And it really doesn’t seem like that bad of an idea to promise your soul to a devil when you’re an immortal vampire who is practically impossible to kill. His second condition was more of an inconvenience than anything- I wasn’t allowed to make any spawn.

In hindsight, I probably should have anticipated a bit more trickery from a devil, but I was so overcome by the idea of killing Cazador. And it really had been a long time since I studied law…

Honestly, I always just assumed the details would figure themselves out. Turns out, they don’t. Devastating.

And in the end, it had all been a misunderstanding. The ritual Cazador was preparing to perform had nothing to do with the Crown of Karsus that Raphael so desperately desired. When I had arrived with Raphael, Cazador had nearly laughed us out of the palace. The ‘crown’ that Raphael believed that Cazador possessed was nothing more than a single, useless green gem.

Raphael was enraged, but I was still the one who killed Cazador. Devils are bound to their contracts just as much as the person signing. And so I feasted on the way the dagger plunged into Cazador’s chest. I channeled all of my pain, all of my suffering into every thrust of my blade. There would be no doubt that he was dead- I would make sure of that.

And afterward, newly infused with the blood of my former vampiric master, I expected that I would be able to walk free as a true vampire. But my contract was iron-clad. I had signed that I would help Raphael find the Crown of Karsus, not the single gem that Cazador owned.

I would not be freed until I had helped Raphael retrieve all three gems.

And it wasn’t until after Cazador was already dead, when I was left to search for information on the remaining gems by myself, that I came across all the spawn caged in the bowels of the palace.

There were hundreds of them. Thousands.

When I told Raphael, he didn’t even have the decency to act shocked. He had known Cazador was amassing power, preparing to perform some sort of ritual. Raphael had originally assumed it was related to the Crown of Karsus- which would allow the owner of the Crown to unify and rule over the hells. But after we found that Cazador only had the one gem, Raphael knew instantly what ritual Cazador had actually wanted to perform.

Cazador has aspired to become the Vampire Ascendant.

All those victims that the other spawn and I had lured back to Cazador were turned into spawn, themselves. They, too, had been marked with scars like the one upon my back.

Cazador was preparing to sacrifice 7,007 vampire spawn to Mephistopheles in exchange for unprecedented power. And he had been growing dangerously close to the required number of souls.

And I was denied the opportunity to seize this ritual for myself because Raphael was a step ahead of me the whole time. Even after Cazador was dead, I couldn’t go about completing it on my own because that damned contract prevented me from creating the remaining spawn needed.

If only I had known before…

I could have walked in the sun. I could have tasted food and enjoyed wine again. I could have finally been safe. No one could have ever hurt me again.

And now, I am still stuck in an eternal contract. I am still not truly free. Even after I find this final gem for Raphael, he will still own my soul in death.

I resent ever giving Raphael power over me. He doesn’t deserve it.

It feels surreal. All the answers you have been desperately searching for were laid out before you in Astarion’s lovely cursive.

You’re stunned. Astarion believed he had a way to free himself and he got stuck in another bad contract almost immediately. It seemed to be a horrible, vicious cycle. You could completely understand the depth of Astarion’s lust for power. There is a false sense of safety when people are more scared of you than you are of them.

You continue reading through the next several months’ worth of entries. They are all short, scattered fragments of even more horrible memories that make your heart ache.

You slow down again when you recognize a date. The day of your wedding. Astarion had written about you.

I am to be married tonight.

My fiancée is less than pleased, to say the least.

There’s so much I wish to tell her that I will not ever admit aloud. She doesn’t need to know that her father was selling her off like cattle. She doesn’t need to know the disgusting, horrific things that decrepit old man was saying about her or planning to do to her when they were married.

It triggered something in me to hear them talking- it was so similar to the way people used to talk about me.

I don’t know why my brain proposed marriage as a solution. Perhaps I abhor beautiful things going unappreciated. Or perhaps I saw a part of myself in her. Perhaps I saved her the way I always hoped someone would save me. And at the time, marriage seemed the easiest way to do that- it would placate her father, who seemed desperate to sell her off, it would allow her to escape a fate married to a goblin of a man who would treat her horribly, and it would give me something wonderful of my own to look forward to.

I had a whole plan for wooing her that night and she ruined it and for that, I should have killed her. I have certainly killed people for far less. The logical answer is that I am growing weak and sentimental and that is unacceptable.

I do not cry for the plights of the sorrowful. Nobody cried for me.

There’s more in there about you. Pages and pages immortalizing all the little interactions the two of you had shared, things you had said or done that made Astarion smile, his feelings about you along the way. It all feels tainted now. You have betrayed him, continually. You have read his diary. You had essentially forced yourself on him. You had not done more to show him how loved he truly is if he still believes himself so alone in the world.

You can hardly bring yourself to read through the entries during the time after the fight where he had pushed you away. There are jagged tears where pages had been ripped out in a rage. It pains you to think of the vile, self-loathing thoughts that Astarion had written. You can only hope those words burned away in a fire, never to plague his mind again.

And even more recently, his entries are full of love and silly, flowery language about how pretty your hair looks in the moonlight or how it’s as if the gods made you just to ruin him. It almost seems like he’s writing out lines that he wishes to practice before he says to you.

And more than that, he writes about the burgeoning intimacy between the two of you.

The crushing guilt you had been feeling lessens a bit when, through Astarion’s own words, you are reminded that he was the one reaching out to you for physical comfort more often than not. He was the one who always wanted to hold your hand or wrap you in his arm or gently graze his fingers along your cheek. In his own words, it was a grounding force- a way to remind himself that you were here, and you were real.

I was wrong. Sex is wonderful. Apparently, it just depends on the person.

I’m not sure what makes it so different with her.

Love, you think to yourself. Trust. That’s the difference. Trust which you have broken.

All I know is that I’ve never craved another’s touch the way I crave hers. My mind has never felt clearer.

I can never let her see me for who I used to be- a pathetic, weak spawn.

But not with her, never that with her. She sees me as I am now. And it’s so wonderful to pretend for a while that my past doesn’t exist. I spent so long trying to escape my life that it feels entirely novel to exist solely in the present and to long for a future again.

And I had forgotten how I missed being touched. So many years without a hug or a gentle caress and now, I feel as though I need to make up for lost time.

If I can drown in her touch, perhaps I’ll be able to emerge a new man, unbound by my past.

“What in the world are you doing in here?” Astarion’s voice calls out, pulling your attention from the book.

Fuck.

This was going to be even worse than you anticipated because now, it is not you who is approaching Astarion with the truth of your wrongdoing. Instead, he has caught you in the act.

He saunters into the room, a bright smile on his face. “You sent me on a wild goose chase around the manor looking for you. And here I was, hoping to find you naked in our bed upon my return, little flower.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, because you can’t perceive anything else other than your overwhelming shame at having read his diary. You look up at Astarion from your place in his chair, your neck protesting the motion, sore from your hours of staring down at the leatherbound book. You can already feel the guilty tears sticking to your lashes and blurring your vision.

Astarion sees your distress almost immediately and his eyes are darting around the room to find the cause, his hand snaking down to one of the daggers on his belt. His voice is sharp and urgent when he asks, “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Oh. He had been so eager to see you, he hadn’t even bothered to change out his armor. And there’s not a speck of blood on him. You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

He was home, he was safe.

“No, Astarion, I-” the words escape you. How could you even begin to explain what you had done to him? How you had violated him? It’s all too much and not enough.

You watch Astarion’s gaze fall to your lap. The pieces click into place in his brain as he sees the open drawer and the book in your hands and his eyes harden, all blood red and dangerous. He looks like a predator, ready to pounce and kill.

He crosses the room to you in quick strides, ripping the journal from your hands.

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have,” you rush to explain, desperate for him to hear you through his fog of anger. You need to spin this, you think, make it seem like this is a good thing. “But don’t you see? I finally understand, now.”

“NO!” Astarion yells. His voice is booming and he’s practically vibrating with rage. He’s never been this angry before. Not at you.

“You had no right. That was-” Astarion’s voice cracks, his breath coming out in angry pants. “That was mine. That was the one thing I had. The one thing I could keep just for myself, and you took that one bit of comfort away from me. What, because you’re nosy? Because I didn’t tell you every painful detail of my miserable existence? Newsflash, darling, but we’ve only known each other a couple months. You hardly know me!”

The way he hisses the word darling at you makes it sound like an insult.

“I do, Astarion, I know you,” you’re crying and trying to reach out to him, but he keeps moving further and further away from you, like a wounded animal.

“Obviously not or you would have known how important it was not to read this!” He shouts back, throwing the journal into the drawer and slamming it shut. You hate to think about those lovely rose petals inside, which were surely damaged and cracked in the commotion.

“If you would have just told me what-” you start, trying to justify your actions to him in the hopes that if he sees reason, he will forgive you.

“How did that excuse violating my trust?” Astarion cuts you off.

He’s right, but you can’t help growing frustrated that he’s not listening to you, not trying to hear your side.

“You never tell me anything, Astarion!” You shout back at him, finally standing up so he isn’t towering over you quite so menacingly. You square your shoulders and challenge him, “You promised me honesty and yet you still brush me away with vague, insincere answers. You are still lying to me by omission.”

“I was trying,” He implores. “I would have told you everything, in time.”

But based on his last entry in the journal you read, you know this is absolutely not true. He would have kept you in the dark forever because some misguided part of him believes that he is protecting you in some way.

“No, you would not have!” you argue back.

“We’ll never know! You took that choice away from me.”

Damn him. For all your talk of being angry at Astarion for making your choices for you, you had just done the same to him. You are angry at yourself and the only way you know how to deal with that is by continuing to lash out at Astarion.

“I have known you at your worst, Astarion, and I love you, still. And now, you have seen me at my worst, too.”

Astarion chuckles darkly. “Darling, you couldn’t even dream of me at my worst.”

The two of you stare at one another, chests heaving, neither one of you willing to back down. Astarion is radiating anger, and you are swimming in a deep pool of regret and despair.

“I have loved you and you have repaid that love with betrayal.” Astarion finally snarls, fangs glinting in a purposeful reminder that he is a beast of prey, first and foremost. You know he’s deflecting and trying to hide behind a shield of power because he feels vulnerable.

But your heart catches on that one word.

“Loved?” You ask.

Past tense.

It threatens to shatter your already aching heart, to scatter the pieces so far and wide that you have no hope of ever piecing it back together.

“How could I love you now?” Astarion shakes his head, his lovely white curls dancing in the candlelight. The disgust and betrayal twist his pretty face into something hideous. “How could you love me now that you know what I am?”

What scares you most is that you do not know if he hates you or himself more.

You don’t know how to reassure him that his diary has not changed anything- that all it has done is given you a more complete picture of the man you love. But you are hurt, and you are angry and that is a dangerous combination that leads you to speak without thinking.

“And you’re unwilling to find it in your heart to ever forgive me?” you ask. “I know I have hurt you and I am sorry. But how many times have I forgiven you, Astarion? You threatened to kill me, you kept me locked in my room for days, you forced me to marry you, you lied to me constantly, you called me horrible names and pushed me away right after I had been vulnerable with you. I forgave you for everything! I loved you in spite of everything you did to me! I’d love you matter what!”

“I never asked you to do that!” Astarion’s brow furrows in frustration. “You can’t demand that I forgive you simply because you’ve chosen to forgive me.”

You hate him because he’s right.

You’re speaking before you can stop yourself. “Gods, you’re such a hypocrite. You act like you’re better than everyone, like you know what’s best for everyone, but you hate yourself. I won’t let you do this again. I won’t let you push me away as some form of self-punishment.”

“That’s not what this is,” Astarion says, and his voice is deep and cold. “This is me being rightfully angry that you have violated my trust.”

“I know,” you say, bringing your hands up to brush away the tears that have started rolling down your cheeks. “I am truly sorry. But how much did you really trust me anyway, Astarion? You were hiding so much from me.”

“I was trying to keep you safe!” He shouts back defensively. He takes a deep breath, bringing his hand up to pinch his nose and attempting to calm himself down. “I think it’s best that you leave, at least for a little while. I think we need some time apart so we can both cool off and we don’t just keep arguing in a circle. I have a country home in the South. You’ll like it. I’ll have Shadowheart pack your things, the two of you will leave in the afternoon.”

Astarion nods, his decision made. He doesn’t even wait for you to say anything before he’s turning on his heel to leave.

“No, that’s not what I want,” you say, catching his arm so he must turn and look into your imploring eyes, “We need to work this out, Astarion. You don’t get to keep making my decisions for me!”

Because he was the one who decided you would be married. He was the one who pushed you away and decided your relationship was over the first time. And now, apparently, he was deciding again.

“There’s nothing to talk about. I am your husband, and you will do what I say!”

And in that moment, all your fears about marriage have been realized. You had grown so comfortable with Astarion that you had become complacent. You had forgotten the control he could wield over you as your husband. You had foolishly trusted that he understood your innate desire to make your choices yourself.

And even after all this, after you had just read about the years he yearned for freedom and the ability to choose as he suffered under Cazador, he still had the audacity to give you orders. He still chose to use his legal authority over you as a punishment.

“Very well, husband,” you spit the word out at him and his body flinches at the jab. “I see I am forced to obey you.”

You take off your wedding ring and slam it onto a table before you leave the room.

—----------

As you sit in the carriage, stewing in your anger, you realize that up until now, Astarion had conveniently neglected to mention the cottage he apparently owned.

On your wedding night, when you had gone to confront him because he had not yet come to consummate your marriage, he had assured you that you were free to carry on with your life however you would like. You had told him that you had nowhere else to go. The cottage was not even mentioned. He had trapped you in his manor.

And yes, you know that he wanted you to stay with him because he was lonely, and he was drawn to you. But by not mentioning the cottage, he had not given you the opportunity to choose to stay with him. It was yet another example of how he kept making your decisions for you.

You and Shadowheart were loaded into the carriage that afternoon, just as Astarion had ordered. The past few days had been sunny, and the lovely snow was starting to melt away. You stare out the window as the carriage bumbles and rolls along the road. It’s funny to think that the last time you had been in a carriage was with your father on the way to Astarion’s ball.

So much has changed since then. There’s so much you wish you could tell your past self.

“Will you stop sighing? It’s getting annoying,” Shadowheart interrupts your thoughts.

“Well, I’m sorry my melancholy has brought down your mood. You do seem to get such joy from being complacent in my imprisonment,” you hiss back at her, not even bothering to tear your gaze away from the window.

“Imprisonment?” Shadowheart snorts out a laugh. “Don’t be so dramatic. We’re going to spend a fortnight in a lovely house by the sea. You’ll get some fresh air and some warm weather and some time to clear your head.”

Damn her and her good points.

“He had no right to order me around,” you say instead.

Shadowheart hums in acknowledgement. “Agreed. And I told him such. But he does have a right to be angry with you. And you seem to be forgetting that and rushing right to the ‘he needs to forgive me’ part.”

“That may be true. But he shouldn’t have sent me away against my wishes!” You say, turning to look at her with narrowed eyes. Whose side was she on here?

“Look,” Shadowheart says, her eyes softening a bit. “Astarion is just giving himself space to sort through his thoughts. He does it all the time. He’s a loner at heart. He’s not used to being around someone all the time.”

“But I don’t want him to be alone!” you exclaim. “I want to make him feel better, even if I am the one who caused him pain.”

“That’s quite the dilemma,” Shadowheart agrees. She looks like she’s about to say something more when-

Bang.

There’s a bump in the road. A nasty one, that causes your head to smash painfully against the window you had just been looking out of.

“What was that?” you ask, rubbing at the sore spot on your forehead, but Shadowheart is drawing a knife, gesturing for you to keep silent.

There’s a horrible, uncomfortable silence that makes you scared to even breathe. You can hear muffled voices and the sound of weapons clanging against each other outside the carriage door. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. You almost have hope that you will make it out of this unscathed.

And then, the carriage door is wrenched open. A man roughly grabs your arm, pulling you out. You kick and claw and bite with everything you have, but it’s not enough.

----------------

Notes:

Oh no! Another cliffhanger! Sorry (not).

Ugh, this chapter was a SLOG to write. I tend to structure my outlines around dialogue and as you have all read, this chapter has very little dialogue. But since the beginning, this arc has always been where I've wanted to take this story. Hopefully none of this plot is coming too far out of left field, I really tried to drop breadcrumbs along the way. I know diaries can be a bit of an easy way out when it comes to solving a mystery in a story, but I genuinely don't see Astarion offering up any of this information willingly and I just love the idea that he has a healthy outlet for sorting through all his trauma. And I also wanted it to come across that tav/the reader isn't perfect, either. She's just as capable of making mistakes as Astarion and they're both challenging each other to do better.

Hugest thank you to my beta-writer AliensNSuch on ao3 for listening to my insanity and helping me to think through potential plot holes (hopefully we got most of them)!

And thank you to everyone for reading and sharing your comments and love! I cannot even begin to explain how much I appreciate you all- I genuinely get so excited to post every week and see your reactions.

Taglist: @ayselluna @idkbrodontaskme @maruichio @fanfic-share @the-littlest-bruja @asterordinary @divineknightmare

Feel free to let me know if you would liked to be added/removed from the taglist for future chapters!

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #x reader #til death do us part

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writing-for-life · 18 days

Text

Right, okay, I’ve thought long and hard whether to write this:

A squick (even a strong one) is not the same as a trigger.

Emotional discomfort, even emotional discomfort that leads to low-level physical symptoms like e.g. mild nausea, is not trauma. Unfortunately, TikTok pop psych has done nothing to help people understand the difference, because the trend to perceive (even strong) emotional discomfort as equivalent to a trauma response is worrying and neither helps people with nor without PTSD. I don’t wish it on anyone to actually find out the difference if they haven’t yet (disclaimer, since this is unfortunately necessary these days because everything gets misconstrued: I am not talking about individual experiences, because only you can know about those. I’m talking about wider trends in an often young audience with not enough background info to be able to tell apart sound medical/psychological info and viral BS created by “influencers” for some kind of personal gain).

What people in the current fandom spat want to have tagged as “triggers” are overwhelmingly squicks. And we’re probably all guilty of quickly saying “that triggered me”, myself included (and I’m a licensed psychotherapist, shame on me). It has become somewhat of a shorthand for “extremely annoyed or grossed out”. But when it gets used in the context of tagging, it’s good to remember that no one owes us a tag list the length of our arm just because we don’t like certain things. Even if we strongly dislike them.

And even on the occasion someone else’s yuck or yum is an actual trigger for us, it is impossible to cover for every possible trigger, because in theory, EVERYTHING has the possibility to trigger someone somewhere.

E.g., a certain smell in a supermarket holds the rare possibility of triggering someone, but do you see disclaimers at the supermarket door that say, “May smell of 484 different things, which are in detail [list of 484 things] and might be different tomorrow. Plus, we might have a customer today who smells of that perfume that brings up your triggering childhood memories. Or maybe we won’t, but just on the odd chance we do, we thought we’d rather cover it”.

There might be one person with a very specific trigger that does literally nothing to the vast majority of people. Do we expect everyone on Tumblr to tag for “eyebrows” or “white T-Shirt” because of that? How about that person just puts “eyebrows” or “white T-Shirt” in their content filter instead?

Do we really suggest to put that type of responsibility on creators? More importantly: Who are we protecting that way? All we do is put people into bubble wrap and shift responsibility for our mental wellbeing away from ourselves to others.

We are trying to tell other people what to do for our own comfort. That’s controlling.

If we’re squicked out by something, there is a simple solution: we can stop looking or reading. We can use content (not tag) filters. In the worst case, we can block. We don’t have to put that type of responsibility for our personal sensitivities on creators (or people who reblog, for that matter).

We can tag for certain things as a courtesy, I’m all for it. I love being able to filter out stuff I’m not into, and I sometimes wish people would tag better or not tag a certain way (getting ship tags for a ship you’re not into slapped on your character-metas is annoying 🤣). But I don’t die, neither does it cause me unbearable distress, if I see cows where I don’t expect them. Scroll past or block. And if I’m worried about mature topics like nudity or violence: Tumblr has a community label for mature themes you can (and in my view should) use if in doubt. Funnily enough, many people don’t do that though—maybe because they worry about reach?

Of course we should include content warnings where they are due, no one says we shouldn’t. It’s also fair if a creator doesn’t wish to do that beyond general warnings (no specifics) though because they might give away, say, major plot points that way. In that case, general disclaimers like “contains depictions of violence”, or whatever it might be individually, are a good idea. And if that’s not specific enough for us despite knowing that “violence” in general might also contain our personal trigger, we might need to make the decision not to read it to stay safe, but we shouldn’t have a go at the writer for not tagging very specific things that might be considered spoilers.

Long story short: If we assume people are “triggered” by werewolves with vulvas or non-human characters, it might be worth thinking about whether we’re just talking about squicks that very much fall into the category of “personal responsibility”. And there are plenty solutions to that at our end—we don’t need to put that on creators…

#fandom problems #fandom entitlement #fandom stuff #squicks #vs #triggers #tagging #being grossed out or strongly disliking is uncomfortable #but it’s not the same as being triggered

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darkbluekies · 1 year

Text

Bewitched

Assassin!yandere OC x female!Assassin!yandere OC x doctor!yandere OC x King!yandere OC x female!yandere OC x fem!reader

Summary: They find you unconscious, wet and bloody outside the castle’s gate and quickly find out that your village wanted you harm, thinking you're a witch. They decide to give back in the exact same manner.

Warnings: burning, death, drowning, blood, bruises, trauma, yandere, foul language, prostitute shaming, indicating that dressing like a man means ypure a prostitute(its wild), getting stoned (?), let me know if there are more!!

Word count: 4.5k

A/N: Today is my birthday!! So I wanted to do something special and throw all our yanderes together. I've been working on this one shot for a month. I hope you'll like it!!

A cloudy day brings nothing but trouble. The king glances up at the uncertain sky from his balcony in the castle, sighing. The rain will start to pour any minute and by then, all the animals in the castle need to be brought to their houses and the garden furniture needs to have been brought in.

He turns his eyes down to the front gates. They’re always closed to make sure thieves won’t get into the castle. They did once. There were two people — a man and a woman. The man was tall and intimidating and the woman had a masculine name. They were supposed to assassinate king Edmund, but the knights caught them just in time … and now they work for him.

“What are you looking at?” Jerry asks. “There’s no one outside a day like this.”

“Just making sure that everything is fine”, king Edmund answers. “I have to care for the kingdom.”

Silas rolls his eyes with his arms crossed over his chest. Edmund ignores him. His eyes stick onto something moving towards the gates in a dragging manner. Like a hurt animal.

“Wait, what’s that?” he asks and leans over the balcony railing.

“What?” Silas asks in confusion.

“There! That … that thing!”

The two assassinators look where he points, nodding.

“That’s a living thing, your majesty”, Silas says slowly. “I think it’s hurt.”

A thunder catches Edmund by surprise. He looks up at the dark sky and clenches his jaw.

“They can’t stay out”, he says determinedly. “There will be a storm at any minute. If they’re hurt, we can’t let it stay outside. Take it to the other animals.”

“Got it”, Jerry nods and grabs Silas’s arm. “Come now.”

The two of them run away.

The ‘animal’ down at the front gates isn’t an animal, they determine when they get close enough. It’s a woman dressed in gray, cheap clothes. She’s drenched in what they assume to be water.

“What the fuck?” Jerry breathes out. “Why is there a woman here?”

“Is she pregnant?” Silas asks.

“I don’t think so. But I think she’s hurt.” Jerry glances up at the sky. “Let’s get her inside.”

The unconscious woman — you — gets carried inside the castle by the man while Jerry walks beside, holding up your head. King Edmund gives you your own room. The two assassins start to push each other back and forth. A well dressed woman comes running.

“I heard that something happened!” she gasps. “I brought the doctor!”

“Hedwig, nice girls shouldn’t run”, Edmund mutters and rolls his eyes.

Jerry’s about to open her mouth and say something, but get interrupted by a manly voice.

“Yeah, yeah, but if she didn’t run to get me, who knows what could have happened?” the royal doctor sighs and enters the room. “If it’s an emergency then let the girl run for once.”

“Oh, Dr Kry, could you take a look at the woman?” King Edmund asks. “I want to know why she fainted on my door step, who she is … and why she’s wet. Do your best. And Hedwig, go tell the maids to prepare a warm bath for our guest. And Silas and Jerry …”

The two of them steps away from each other.

“I want you to find out who this is”, king Edmund says.

“Fine”, Jerry sighs and then freezes. “Wait. Together?”

“Yes, together. Is that wrong?”

“No”, Silas says quickly and grabs Jerry’s arm. “Come here-”

Jerry rips her arm back. “Don’t touch me, you pig.”

Despite their arguing, they walk out the room side by side. King Edmund sighs and turns back to Dr Kry who’s making his way over to your side. Hedwig has already left the room, leaving you alone with the king and the royal doctor.

“Could you leave the room?” the doctor asks. “I’ll need to remove her clothes if I want to search her body for injuries. Patient policy.”

“I’m the literal king? If there’s someone that can stay, it’s me.”

Dr Kry sighs and gives in, knowing that there’s no use arguing with the ruler of the kingdom. He walks over to your bed and gently removes the blankets you’ve gotten. He removes your simple dress and frowns. You have marks and bruises around your wrists and ankles and bloody marks all over your body.

“What’s that?” King Edmund asks.

“She’s gotten hurt”, Dr Kry says — mostly to himself — and lifts your wrist. “Most likely are these marks around her wrists and ankles from ropes.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure.” Dr Kry feels your body temperature. “She’s very cold too. I reckon that she might have hypothermia. My guess is that it must have something to do with the fact that she’s completely soaked.” He lifts a strand of your hair and sniffs it. “I’m pretty sure it’s water. It doesn’t smell like anything.”

“So, what you’re saying is that she must have tripped and fell into a body of water?”

“I think so … but it’s not making much sense … not all of it anyway. The marks and signs of struggle … you don’t think she’s one of the prisoners who managed to escape and then perhaps fell into a lake? It would make sense. Those people down there aren’t the … sanest.”

“I don’t recognize her. Do you?”

Dr Kry tilts his head and shakes his head. “No … no, I don’t. Then what could have happened?”

“We’ll just have to ask her when she wakes up. Or when Silas and Jerry are back. I hope they have some information.”

You don’t know how long you’ve been unconscious or what time it is, but you do know that your body hurts a lot. You can feel someone dabbing your forehead with a warm, wet cloth. Carefully, you open your eyes and are met by bright light. Everything is blurry. You can see two people in the room. A man dressed in white and a young woman who very well could be a teenager.

“Oh, doctor!” a female voice says softly. “Her eyes are moving. I think she’s awake.”

“Good, she’s waking up”, a male voice answers. “Hedwig, leave, please. I’ll take care of her from now.”

“I want to help, I can help. Who else knows the female body better than a female?”

The doctor sighs frustratedly and points at the armchair in the corner of the room. Hedwig smiles and runs over to sit down. The doctor moves closer to you.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Where am I?” you ask shockingly.

“You’re safe”, the woman named Hedwig answers quickly. “You’re in the king’s castle.”

“K-King’s castle?!” you shoot up from your lying position to look around, to see if it’s really true.

The doctor is quick to stop you and gently lay you back down again.

“What am I doing here?” you almost stutter.

“I’d hope you could answer that”, he sighs. “You were the one coming here in the first place.”

“N-No, I was …” you quiet down, thinking. “I was?”

“Yes, you were”, Hedwig says worriedly and moves closer to the bed. “You fainted by the front gates. You’ve been unconscious for three hours … or more.”

She can tell how scared you are by the look in your eyes. Hedwig smiles comfortingly and takes your hands in hers.

"Don't be scared", she smiles. "We'll take care of you now. You're in good hands. What's your name?"

"Y/N …"

"Y/N, could you tell me why you're wet?" The doctor asks.

You pick up a strand of your hair for inspection and frown. A sudden fear enters your eyes and you avoid any kind of contact with the others.

"Okay, you don't have to answer", Dr Kry says. "But I do think you need to wash yourself. You are full of dirt and blood."

"N-No!" you almost shout, shaking your head frantically.

"I'll be with you", Hedwig says softly.

You hesitate and she's quick to notice that.

"Everything will be okay, we just need to get you cleaned up so we can take care of your hurt areas."

She helps you out of bed and leads you out of the room.

The two assassins have followed a lead, ending up in a small village at the start of the mountain.

"What are we doing here?" Jerry asks with her arms crossed.

"The trail leads us here", Silas says. "Something here has to give us answers."

"We're more like detectives than killers."

"You could say we switched career paths."

"Very funny, Silas. Now do me a favor and shut the fuck up."

Silas snickers and follows the grumpy woman into the village. They quickly notice that the people walking around them seem somewhat irritated. Their eyes dart over to the two people entering their village. Jerry can feel their eyes wander over her judgingly. She scoffs.

"Excuse me ma'am", Silas says, gathering the attention of an older woman carrying a big wooden pole.

She stops and looks at them, disgust forming on her face when she sees Jerry.

"What?" the woman spits out.

"We were wondering if you've seen a woman today."

Silas starts to describe how you looked when he saw you, but the woman seems more interested in sending nasty looks towards Jerry. Jerry rolls her eyes and looks around, her eyes finding a small, black cat hiding in the bushes. She smiles.

"Yes, I saw her", the woman grits and glances at Jerry for the millionth time. "I'm not surprised someone like you wants to find her."

"What's wrong with me?" Jerry questions coldly.

"Do you sell yourself looking like that?"

Jerry scoffs and smiles, tilting her head. "At least I'm not some washed up rag cloth carrying a wooden pole big enough to make my husband insecure."

Silas sighs and moves behind Jerry to cover her mouth with his hand. He holds her tightly against his chest.

"Excuse her", he mutters, feeling Jerry either lick or try to bite his hand from the inside. "Why wouldn't you be surprised that someone like us tries to find the woman?"

"I don't want people like her in my village."

"You can't do anything to us, we're not from this village. King's rules."

"Then I don't have to tell you anything. Now leave."

Silas knows that they won't get further. He drags Jerry with him.

"Did she imply that I was a prostitute?" Jerry scoffs the very second Silas lets her go.

"Can you blame her?"

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"You dress like a man, your hair is short, you use foul language … if they didn't think you're a prostitute, they'd think you're a witch."

"You little-"

Silas grabs her arm. "Come now, let's go."

"Edmund!" Jerry shouts as the two assassins run into the castle.

"It's 'your majesty', you pig", Edmund mutters and meets up with them. "Well? What have you learned?"

"Our guest is from a village in the start of the mountains", Silas begins, "and they refuse to say anything."

"They indicate that they don't want 'people like her' and whatnot", Jerry adds on. "Stuck up people. I swear they all have those wooden poles shoved up their asses …"

"Is she awake?" Silas asks.

"Yes, miss Hedwig is currently cleaning her up in the bathroom", King Edmund replies.

"Lucky bastard", Jerry mumbles and pushes through the two men.

She heads for the bathroom, finding you curled up in the tub with Hedwig sitting on the floor. Your entire body is shaking. Jerry only has time to introduce herself before she notices the marks all over you, especially the ones on your wrists and ankles. Suddenly, it's all clear.

"Holy fuck, it can't be true …", she breathes out.

"What?" Hedwig asks worriedly.

"They thought she was a witch."

You flinch and hide your face down in your knees. Hedwig looks at you with fear in her eyes, not knowing what to say.

"Is it true, Y/N?" she almost whispers.

You don't answer. The two women watch you break out in tears and that's the only answer they need.

"Oh my …", Hedwig whispers, putting her hand on your bare shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

They dry you up and wrap you in a big, fluffy towel. You get to sit down on the floor with the two of them in front of you.

"What happened?" Jerry asks.

You squirm. "I hadn't done anything … only rescued a black cat", you whisper. "It was dying … so I took it in. When the others noticed him, they wanted to burn me at the stake."

"What happened to the cat?" Hedwig asks.

"I-I think they killed him", you mumble.

"No, they didn't", Jerry says firmly. "I think I saw him when me and Silas were there."

You breathe out in relief and finally smile. The two women find your smile to be enchanting — but not in a bad way.

"Why were you wet?" Hedwig asks with furrowed brows.

"Before they burn you at the stake, they have to make sure that you really are a witch", you mumble. "So they tied my hands and feet together and threw me into the lake. The ropes loosened up in the water and I managed to save myself."

"They didn't like that, did they?" Jerry mutters.

"No, they didn't. They were about to burn me, but I managed to run away. So … they threw stones after me. I don't know how long I ran or how far they followed me, but I remember seeing the castle and hoped that I would be saved."

"You are", Hedwig reassures you softly. "We don't think that you are a witch."

"Thank you …"

You've noticed how Jerry looks different by now. Her shoulder length black hair, her name and manly clothes. She wouldn’t survive a day in your village.

The two women help you get into a nightgown and take you back to bed. The sheets have been changed and you slip down into the new, warm, clean sheets. You think back at the bath and squirm at how quickly the people calling themselves your friends suddenly turned their back on you.

The door opens and three men enter, one being the doctor, one being a stranger … and the last one being the king.

“Your majesty …”, you almost stutter, sitting up straight.

“Lay down again”, he says.

You obey.

“I’m happy to see you alive”, he says. “Your bruises and cuts will fade and the evil people who did this to you will pay the price. I promise you.”

Tears fog up your vision. You’re both relieved and embarrassed to know that other people know about the Hell you’ve gone through these last few days.

“Tell us what these cocksuckers did and we’ll slaughter them”, the unfamiliar man says.

“Silas, language”, Dr Kry reminds him.

“I can tell”, Jerry said. “She told us.”

And so, you’re forced to relive it.

Your bruises heal up a few days later. You’re allowed out of bed and out in the garden for some fresh air. At least one of your five new protectors are with you at all times.

"What's wrong, dollface?" Jerry asks. "You look like a lost kitty."

"Nothing", you sigh. "I just miss my family. I can’t believe that they thought …"

"That you were a witch? Shit happens. My parents think I'm mental. What's the big deal?" She shows her pants and shirt. "I can assure you, women will dress like this in the future. I'm just starting the trend."

"I wish I had your confidence."

"It's really not that hard to achieve. You just have to do your own race and then you will find who sticks by your side." She looks around. "Silas doesn't care."

"Are you a couple?"

"Fuck no, he's disgusting. If anything, I see him as that parasite you get under your shoe that you can't get rid off."

You smile slightly, gaining a smile from Jerry. She pinches your cheek softly.

"You should smile more. You have a … bewitching smile."

"Stop that", you laugh. "I don't want to hear the word 'witch' ever again."

Jerry smiles slightly, but her smile drops as she sees Silas coming into the garden.

“Isn’t it my favorite girl?” Silas smiles. “And Jerry of course.”

“Thank you, Silas, much appreciated”, Jerry mutters.

Silas wraps his muscular arms around you and gives your forehead a gentle — but somehow possessive — kiss.

“You’re such a cute little thing”, Silas says and lifts you up in his arms. “Let’s get you inside, things aren’t fully safe outside.”

Jerry gives him a questionable look and he nods noticeably. Silas carries you inside and leaves you in the painting room.

“Why don’t you paint a sweet little painting together with Hedwig?” Silas says. “Me and Jerry have some business to attend to.”

Hedwig enters the room together with the king himself. The heavy, long curtains covers the windows, making you frown.

“Y/N!” Hedwig smiles and runs over to you, wrapping her arms around you.

King Edmund holds his hands together behind his back as he smiles.

“Hello, dearest”, he says. “I’m so happy to see you again. I’ve been quite busy … finding the people who hurt you.”

You shrink.

“Don’t be afraid, they have it all under control”, Hedwig smiles and caresses your cheek.

You nod carefully. Silas and Jerry leave the room and you reach for a paintbrush.

“Hedwig, please, don’t sit like that”, Edmund mutters.

“I’m just sitting”, Hedwig says.

“Not like I want you to sit.”

“And how do you want me to sit?”

“Like your father wants you to sit. Don’t make me write him a letter.”

You look at him, wondering what the connection between Hedwig and Edmund really is. He seems to be able to understand your confused eyes.

“You see, I’m in care for Hedwig at the moment”, King Edmund says. “She’s a relative of mine who should have gone off to finishing school, but instead was sent here for me to deal with.”

“It’s just because we were late in sending the application …”, Hedwig mumbles.

“And now I’m stuck raising you.”

Edmund’s barely older than Hedwig. You sit there, painting for what feels like hours. The door suddenly opens and the doctor enters.

“Your maj- …”, he notices you and stop. “Y/N, nice to see you again. Your majesty, may I speak with you? Now?”

The king nods stiffly and stands up.

“My ladies, I will have to depart from you now”, he says apologetically. “There are things I have to do. Dr Kry will stay here with you.”

You look back at Hedwig once Edmund’s left. Her entire face is pale and her eyes are slightly widened, but she’s trying to hide it. It’s obvious.

“What’s wrong?” you ask cautiously. “Everyone is acting weird today …”

“Nothing is going on!” Hedwig says quickly. “Nothing at all!”

Dr Kry sighs.

“Don’t let her scare you, Y/N”, he says. “Everything is okay, don’t you worry. Continue painting. I think you’re doing it very well.”

You try to shake off the feeling in your stomach and turn back to your painting. They tell you that nothing’s wrong, but you can’t shake off that feeling. It only gets stronger when you hear loud shouting from the outside. Hedwig gasps, but quickly hides her mouth behind her hand. You frown and stand up to go look out the window. Dr Kry mirrors your moves.

“Y/N, don’t”, he warns you, grabbing your arm.

“Why?” you question carefully. “You said that everything was okay.”

You glance at Hedwig who looks even paler than before and then at the strict look on Dr Kry’s face. You rip his arm off of you and hurry over to the window. Roughly, you rip the curtains to the side, exposing the inner yard. A big fire is raging in the middle … with a pole in the pit of the dangerous flame. You freeze when you recognise the people getting tied up, the poor humans crying out for help and forgiveness.

“W-What’s going on?” you stutter.

You flinch heavily when you feel Dr Kry’s large hands on your shoulders.

“Y/N, come with me-”, he starts.

“No!” you bursts out. “I don’t want to! I want to know what’s going on!”

“Y/N, dear, please, I’ll take you to bed-”, Hedwig says but you cut her off.

“I don’t want to go to bed, I want to know what you’re hiding from me!”

The doctor and the young girl looks at each other.

“We’re just helping you”, Dr Kry says calmly. “The king insisted on punishing the people who wanted you dead in the same way they wanted to kill you — at the stake.”

In horror, you look back out the window, desperately shaking your head.

“No, wait …”, you hurry to say. “I can’t let them do that! Sure, they’re mental, but they have families too! Please stop this madness!”

You can’t have this on your conscience. You’ll be indirectly responsible for their deaths. Quickly, you loose yourself from Dr Kry’s hold and sprint for the door. He’s right behind you, catching you before you have the chance to flee. His strong arms wrap around you, lifting you up.

“There’s clear orders from the king: you’re not allowed to leave this room until he’s back.”

He places you back down in front of your drawing. Hedwig sits beside you, not saying a word.

“You can’t let this go on, doctor!” you plead. “People are dying!”

“Yes, but … I can’t disobey the king or I’ll find myself strapped to a pole as well. Now continue your painting, it’s wonderful.”

“I agree”, Hedwig says weakly. “I really like it, please continue-”

“How can you pretend that nothing is happening?!” you almost scream.

“They’re traitors who get what they deserve …”, Hedwig mumbles, eyes stuck in her lap.

You stand up again, more forcefully this time. Dr Kry grabs your arms firmly.

"No, I have to-!" you start frantically.

Dr Kry hushes, but your voice grows higher. Realizing silencing you verbally won't work, he brings your face into his chest, locking it in place and hushing louder.

“It's okay, Y/N”, he comforts you. “Everything is for you, everything we do is for your safety and happiness.”

You try to push him away. Hedwig runs over to you and cups your cheeks between her soft hands. You shake your head in pure fear.

“Tell them to stop”, you plead desperately. “Please!”

“We can’t”, Dr Kry says. “King’s orders.”

You can’t shut the screams out. Hedwig hurries over to the music box and turns it on to drown out the horrible noise. Dr Kry brings you back to the painting.

“If you finish it before the king is back he will be pleased with you”, the doctor says.

You sit there, staring in front of you in pure disbelief. This can’t be true. Have the kingdom gone to Hell?

The door opens. King Edmund, Silas and Jerry enter one after another.

“How’s your drawing going?” the king asks.

You ignore him.

“Y/N?” Edmund asks.

“She heard”, Hedwig says quietly. “And saw.”

“I see.” He walks over to you, crouching down beside your chair. “Don’t be mad. You’ll never be hurt again.”

“You can’t do that”, you say. “You can’t kill people like that!”

“They were criminals. They tried to murder you.” He lifts your hand, kissing it gently. “And as your king, I can’t allow those scums to live.”

You rip your hand back and stand up.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” you spit.

“I wouldn’t talk to him like that if I were you”, Silas smiles amusedly with his arms crossed over his chest.

“What? You’ll throw me in the fire too?”

“No, but we have the dungeons for a reason”, Edmund says. “Do you want to end up there, sweetheart?”

You glare at him, refusing to answer. Your silence tells him everything he needs to know.

“You’re all barks but no bite, doll”, Jerry says, just as amused as Silas.

“I want to leave”, you say. “I’m well now. You don’t have to keep me here anymore.”

“I don’t think you’re going to leave”, Edmund says. “I order you to stay here. If you disobey, you’ll be punished severely, got it?”

“What’s the punishment?”

“Marrying me. Although, I’d see it as more of a privilege. Don’t you?”

“And even if you left, where would you go?” Dr Kry asks. “Your entire community is gone. There’s nothing left but a ghost village.”

“You’re not leaving, you hear me?” King Edmund says firmly. “You’re staying here now. Where you’re safe. The outside is clearly too harsh for you.”

“You’re insane …”, you whisper.

Hedwig sighs, grabbing your shoulders carefully. “Come, Y/N, I’ll take you to bed.”

You let her drag you with her. Mostly because you want to get away from the other four. Hedwig tucks you into your bed with a soft, apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry that we lied to you”, she says. “But we couldn’t tell you what we were doing. We knew you’d get scared.”

“I thought you were nice”, you mumble sadly.

“We are. We’re doing the right thing … we don’t want people like that around you. They had to pay. We really do cherish you. Bringing you in here was the best choice we’ve made. Honestly. We really want to protect you, Y/N. You’re such a precious soul.”

“Leave me alone, Hedwig.”

She nods carefully and fixes your sheets. Before she leaves, she gives your forehead a kiss. You turn on your side and hugs your knees close to your chest, feeling a sickeningly feeling in your stomach. You shouldn’t feel guilty … the others certainly aren’t. Those people wanted you dead, why are you feeling bad?

After a while, the door opens behind you, but you don’t turn around to see who entered.

“Y/N, turn around”, Jerry says.

“No”, you answer.

“You difficult shit.”

She walks over to your bed, putting something down on the covers. You can feel small movements and soon hear a little, familiar sound. WIth a gasp, you sit up straight and look at the black kitty making cookies on your blanket. You lift him up in your arms, hugging him tightly.

“My little baby, oh my god”, you breathe out into the kitty’s black fur. “You’re okay. I’m so happy to see you again.”

“You’ll forgive us now, right?” Jerry asks.

“You can’t buy my agreement, Jerry.”

“Of course we can. Every human has a prize. This is yours. I know it.”

Of course she’s right, but why should you tell her?

“My dearest Y/N”, she says lowly, stroking your hair. “You understand that even if you had a higher price for your freedom, we would find it. You’re never leaving, do you understand me?”

You gulp and nod noticeably. Jerry chuckles and kisses your cheek before leaving the room. You breathe out shakily, hugging the cat closer to your body. Is this how it’s going to be from now on? A tear runs down your cheek. You really did bewitch them all.

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