secretlywritingstories

[secretlywritingstories]

creativity is nothing without friendship | phan one shot

Summary:

Dan has made Phil a promise and he is eager to prove his devotion. He will carve out Phil's heart and sacrifice him.

But he is also going to make sure that he comes back.

Tags: DanAndPhilCRAFTS - Slime "canon", horror, devil summoning, human sacrifice, resurrection, obsessive behaviour

Warning: Blood and gore, (temporary) death

Word count: 2.3k

A/N: Listen that crafts video was intense but also so fucking good, so I had to dive into the head of those little freaks and write something, even if it's not my usual style. Enjoy!

Read on AO3

#phanfiction #phanfic #DanAndPhilCRAFTS #my stories

[secretlywritingstories]

I love wear and tear on my things. When you can see that something has been used repeatedly enough that it bears the marks of that use. A scratch, a rounded corner, a tear, anything of that like. It's technically damage, true, but it feels rather like love to me.

For most of our things are made to be used. I look at the handle of my car where I once scratched with my key. I look at the letters on my keyboard disappearing. I look at how the back of my fave top is thinning. I'm using my things and with that comes the consequences.

Don't mistake it for carelessness. I try to take very good care of my things. I'm cautious with them, but I also don't shy away from using them. I have them because they serve a purpose to me and usually bring me joy.

After all, it's only the most repeatedly used things that starts to get those little marks of love. They are a fixture in your life one way or another and you repeatedly reach for them.

So, I use my things until they start falling apart. Until I cannot keep them working anymore, and when I finally have to say goodbye it's with a sad smile. I don't care about keeping anything in pristine condition, and "breaking in" new things are actually a bit difficult for me. I gravitate much more towards the familiar.

To a fault sometimes. Like I'll wear my boots a little too long, or hold onto an old jacket or computer longer than I should. I find it hard to let go when I can see how my history with the item is quite literally marked into it. But I try to catch myself when it's time to let a thing retire, so it doesn't go too long.

But as long as the item is functional and doing its job, I am keeping it, no matter how many little love nicks have been carved into it. They are not ugly to me, and I've never been a person to chase the newest shiny version of something because of it. Give me my old, weathered and trusted things any day.

Wear and tear is beautiful in its imperfection. Because nothing, not even us, make it through life without a few scrapes and bruises.

#spilled thoughts #wear and tear #my tumblr dabbles

[secretlywritingstories]

I sold my soul to a psychopathic freak | huskerdust canon one shot

Summary:

Alastor yanks on Husk's chain and leave him feeling bruised from the inside out. Husk doesn't anticipate Angel Dust showing up at his door and offering to help work the tension out of his body and wings. He should tell him to fuck off. He doesn't.

Tags: Post-ep01s05, canon compliant, message, touch-starved, wings, hurt/comfort, shared trauma, Alastor is in Hell for a reason (and Husk don't want anyone to forget that)

Word count: 9.5k

Warnings: Both Husk and Angel's canon pasts vaguely mentioned

Read on AO3

#hazbin hotel fanfiction #huskerdust #my stories

[secretlywritingstories]

I always feel a little strange in the company of babies and young children. Maybe it's because I am not close with any children in that age. I have them in my family but it's a bit far out and not any that I see very often, nor is it anything I seek out.

I find them to be a weird size to get used to. I know they'll grow into fully fledged humans but right now they are kind of like dough, flopping around, a bit of a mess and figuring out how to rise and expand into what they will become.

But there is something inherently human and real within them and how they interact with the world and I will always strive to treat them with gentle care and kindness. Humans need that, every human really, but children in particular. They are learning how to exist and they need all of the support to do so.

One of my close friends have two children. One that's just turned three and another one who's about half a year. I went to visit her today with another friend. Her husband left with the children for the in-laws for most of the day but just upon arrival and a while before leaving they were there.

The oldest eagerly showed off his toys, and I knelt down and kept being handed thing after thing, piling up in my lap, as I thanked him and offered the appropriate noises of approval. He has a little sketch thing where you can draw with your finger and then erase it and I made a couple simple smiling faces for him. Soon enough, he was whisked away for the visit and to give mum some time to hang out with her friends.

The youngest was left out with us, as the dad and the children returned many hours later. He was bubbling and rocking back and forth and wanting to stand lots but preferably without having to use his own legs to keep him standing. We were watching a musical in the background, so I was singing along and getting very focused stares and smiles when I sung lowly and waved my hands around.

The kids are cute enough but mostly, I like them because they are my friend's and I love her. I am not too much for the grubby hands or when they start to cry, but I am endlessly thankful that people like my friend and her husband exists that lovingly raise children, even though parenting is such a big commitment.

I am not sure I could ever be a parent and constantly be responsible for a little life. I feel as if I have quite enough in looking after just myself. I don't get "baby" fever upon seeing children out and about, if anything the opposite happens. I am glad I don't have one.

But I like those little quiet moments (in very tiny doses) where I can see just a glimpse of the person, they'll grow up to be. When they are no longer a baby and a young child, but they'll become big children, teenagers, young adults and adults. They are dough now but they'll bake soon enough. Time might even pass fast, they seem to grow so much whenever I see them.

#children #spilled thoughts #friendship #babies #my tumblr dabbles

[secretlywritingstories]

Dan Howell raised me (questionable, but let's go with it) to be a yapper and so I shall never fucking continue to stop yapping how delighted it makes me when DnP engage with us like this.

It might just be because I have never been in a fandom like the phandom before but the mutual teasing and respect and trust between creator and audience is something I hold so dear. It's never been flawless but I would argue at the core of it there's something so sincere, stemming from a place of love.

It's a parasocial relationship, it's not real love like you might think it, but I almost want to argue that it's a version of love, even if it should never be taken to far. There are so many people who adore, appreciate and love Dan and Phil, but I don't think it would be as fun if it wasn't just a smidge reciprocal.

As a whole, they love their audience. In what it has done for them in terms of gaining recognition and fame, but also just all of the shit that we've indirectly helped them with by sticking with them for so long. There is a bond that has been created between us and with the 2023 return of the gaming channel, I feel like they came close again.

They've created us. Sure, part of that is true. I joked about being raised by Dan but the truth isn't that far away from the joke. Him and Phil made me realise a lot of things about myself, through them I found friendships I treasure so deeply and they have inspired me to write so, so much. The person I am today is in part because of those two tall dorks.

But the creation didn't just go one way really. As a collective, their audience helped "create" them too. Creators generally want to share their creations and part of making and sharing something is wanting to see how people react to it. The Dan and Phil we see today? They wouldn't be those people without all of us.

And isn't that a beautiful thing, to leave an impression on each other? To know that in some small part, all of the cool and good work Dan and Phil have been doing, is because of the people who've stuck by them? The dedicated audience who watch and engage right back with at them.

Whether it be showing up to their shows, posting at or about them on social media or watching their videos and other content, all of that contributed to it. They know there's a whole space out there amongst their audience where we just engage with each other.

They also mostly respect that because it's not really a space for them, even if it's partly about them. It's a space for us. But I still love when we both agree to have a little overlap and share what's going on, even if it is "just" silly memes.

#dan and phil #my tumblr dabbles #phandom

[secretlywritingstories]

Going to a concert and getting lost in the wonderful vibes of it all can't be beat. I forget sometimes how truly magical it is to be in a crowd of people who are all in the moment with you.

Music (which is and should be consider a type of magic actually) is being created right in front of you. Songs you've only listened to on recordings is being played and sung right into existence in front of you.

I've had a bit of a tough time lately and I had almost forgotten that I had this concert coming up tonight. Which is honestly on par for how I booked the ticket. I was tipsy (a rarity for me to go drinking) and a friend messaged me that this band was on tour and coming to my country.

I was familiar with them and a bit of their music and I'd liked when I had seen clips or videos of them but not more than that. Still, I jumped in and booked the ticket, not wanting to lose the chance to see them while they were in my corner of the world.

Just this afternoon before the concert, I made sure to go and check that I knew all of the band members' names and faces. I also checked how many of their songs I had liked on Spotify. A measly 11 songs! Though I really liked the songs that I had added. I'd wanted to do a deep dive into their discography before the concert, or at the very least listen to the new album all the way through. I didn't get around to doing either.

But it didn't matter. I knew just shy of half of the songs, but all of them were a vibe and I found myself singing along as soon as the second chorus hit all the same. And I just added in volume when it was the songs that I knew.

My voice is sore now. It'll be noticeable tomorrow. People will probably ask and I will get to tell them about this concert. About the four musicians up on stage absolutely captivating me for 1 hour and 40 minutes like nothing else existed. About how I felt at home in the crowd even if I'm by far a more casual fan. About how the music reverberated through me and made me hum at a different frequency.

That's what live music can do! It's like your molecules are being rearranged, just for a night. Or possibly longer. Some concerts linger with us for a very long time, something fundamentally altered. Because it's different to hear the music with your own ears and see the artist with your own eyes. Not just notes playing in your headphones.

They are there. Alive. With you. They sing and the audience echos them and responds. Moving like one big mass. A moment of connection in song and music and art. All of that which makes me feel the most human. I need to remember to prioritise concerts because the high is something magical for real.

#music #concert #spilled thoughts #the rose #my tumblr dabbles #which was the ones i was seeing and they're phenomenal

[secretlywritingstories]

I get such fucking bad anxiety when I have to ask someone I know to inconvenience themselves to help me. Even if the inconvenience for them likely will be small and the help for me will be great.

It feels like such a stupid thing, because I know logically that if the roles were reversed, I would not hesitate a moment to help. And this usually happens with people I'm familiar and friendly enough with, even if not necessarily close. Colleagues, classmates, stable friends, extended family. I burn with embarrassment of having to ask for help with something.

A part of me feels like I should be able to do it myself and having to rely on other people makes me appear fragile or incapable. It's a slightly different with close family and close friends because those are bonds built up for years and there has been back and forth helping before. The relationship is established.

But every time I have to reach out for help with something, even if it's just a reasonable request, I burn with something unintelligible. Is it embarrassment, is it shame? Some third thing that refuses to be pinned down? I'm leaning towards that.

So I rewrite and rewrite messages asking for assistance as if I can somehow unlock a magical wording that doesn't feel like I want to tear my own skin off my flesh. There's no perfect wording. It doesn't exist. Only my clumsy, probably overexplained message, spilled straight from my soul but attempted to be presented with neat wrapping.

And then comes the waiting. The anxiety of anticipating an answer where I'll be paralysed to wait. Flicking between social media dashes for anything to briefly hold my attention and distract me. Flicking my phone on and off flight mode because somehow that reply coming in unexpected is scarier than having to actively let my phone go back online and see. And if nothing has come yet, back on flight mode it goes.

All the while I feel like yelling at myself because the fuck am I getting so worked up about this thing. Yes, I am showing some kind of vulnerability in asking for help or some kind of favour, but that's literally how we're all built. A foal can run very quickly after birth, to enable it to escape predators, while a baby can only cry and ask to be protected. That's our innate nature.

Community. Family. Friendship. Even further out, people who just know you on a more surface level. So many people in my life are kind and good and of course they want to help. Even if there is a slight (or probably even a bigger) inconvenience in doing so.

And low and behold, the favour came through. The first person I asked couldn't help me but directed me onward to someone who could. Casual and easy words with smiling emojis while I was practically writhing in pain awaiting each message. They don't see that. I know that. They just see my message pop up between the activities they are going about. Something I cannot see either.

People are good. They want to help. They want to be asked if they could help you with something. In fact, I'm willing to bet they'd be more upset if they could have helped you, but you never asked because of some anxiety or hesitation.

So, I say this to myself: Keep pushing yourself and make the ask. It's okay. It'll be okay. You are okay.

#anxiety #spilled prose #spilled thoughts #humans #friendship #community #my tumblr dabbles

[secretlywritingstories]

Hold On with Your Teeth | 3racha + lee know one shot

Summary: Chan had been so excited for Minho to finally be pack. The witch had been dragging his feet, but now he was trusting them fully, accepting the bite and melting into Chan's arms.

Word count: 4.9k

Tags: Magical AU, witch!Minho, werewolf!3racha, polyamorous pack, aspec identities, werewolf bites, sleepy cuddles

*interlude between chapter 30 & 31 in Rest in the Belly of the Wolf*

Read on AO3

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids fic #skz wolfpack au #my stories

[secretlywritingstories]

"You look at my face a lot" | Phan one shot

Summary: Phil has a pretty new eyebrow slit but Dan decides that he could use a little make-up to highlight it. They end up in bed with Dan hovering close to Phil's face trying to do a good job while he's also trying not to ravish him or get (too) sappy.

Tags: 2024!phan, established relationship, domestic fluff, homoerotic make-up application

Word count: 3.8k

A/N: This fic is inspired by two things 1) Dan and Phil's birthday charity livestream where Dan manhandles Phil's face to give him the eyebrow slit and 2) this photo of lesbians doing each other's make up

Read on AO3 or below

The charity livestream for Phil’s birthday had gone much better than any of them had ever anticipated, even with all the technical issues. It was a good thing that their audience knew to expect chaos for them and hopefully found it endearing.

Still, Dan felt like he’d underestimated just how impactful their audience could be. He almost felt bad to have forgotten about it, when he got all wrapped up in his own head. But they’d reminded him so graciously in the last few months and tonight had just further cemented that.

He was happy to be back online, making videos regularly and he was hopeful for more live content too. Phil had dragged him back to the internet, and while he hadn’t been kicking and screaming, he had been digging his feet in. Now he was letting his heels rise and just enjoy it.

Last night had been fun and they’d both been riding that high for several hours afterwards. It had made it hard to get up for a tour meeting the following day, when he’d rather just stay wrapped up in bed with Phil or have a lazy breakfast together while they watched anime. Before he had slipped out of bed, he’d reached over to touch Phil’s face, and swipe a thumb across the new eyebrow slit. It really did suit him well, and Dan was quite excited to be matching with him soon.

He made himself leave the house. The we’re all doomed tour was important to him and it was time for the grand finale. It would be good. Less scary now that he’d dragged Phil into helping him with the live premiere. Unlike the other way around, there had been no need for dragging of any kind. Just a question and a quick agreement. Dan would never stop loving that aspect of Phil.

The meeting dragged on but he’d gotten a lot of questions answered and stuff planned. It had been months since the last show and he was worrying that the two shows would feel like starting over again. He was about to grab a taxi and head straight back home when he spotted a Sephora and had an interesting thought. A pull, if you will.

Something that might help bring Phil’s eyebrow slit the attention that it deserved. Give the blond hairs at the end a little bit of a lift.

He stuffed his purchase into his coat pocket and headed home to Phil. When he got home, Phil was in meercat mode, trying to avoid the never-ending builders in their home. Dan was very ready to have their home all to themselves, but they’d agreed to stick it out until everything they’d wanted was done. And between delayed materials and conflicting schedules for the workers, it had just taken ages.

“I’ve got a surprise for you later when we need to film later,” Dan had told Phil when he’d found him pretending not to be hiding in the office.

Phil had perked up. “Delayed birthday present?”

Dan had chuckled but shook his head. “Yesterday wasn’t enough?” he asked.

“You can never have too much birthday fun,” he countered and tried to wiggle his eyebrows.

It was about as successful as he was trying to wink, but it only made it the more endearing. It also drew attention to that eyebrow slit. Dan knew his eyes lingered on it.

“You really like it, huh?” Phil said, turning his head to give Dan a better view.

“Still a little emo kid at heart,” Dan muttered.

He did feel like that sometimes. As if he’d never really grown up, despite all that he’d done and all of the adulting he did now. So many responsibilities. Enough to overwhelm him at times. It was good that he shared most of those with Phil. It helped when they could share the weight.

“Should we be worried you’re entering your crisis twink era? About to break out the bleach?”

“I thought I wasn’t a twink anymore?” Dan teased. Phil had told him that last time he’d been on Dystopia Daily.

“Wasn’t that me?” Phil asked and there was a bit of a glimmer in his eyes.

If there weren’t builders in the house, perhaps Dan would have done something about it. Moved close and showed Phil that he was just as attractive as when they’d been young, if not more.

It was a gift seeing how they were changing. Phil letting his grey coming in should not have been as attractive as it was but Dan loved that he wasn’t hiding it anymore. In December when they’d looked back at themselves for the first decade of their relationship through the pinof videos, he’d not recognised himself at first. They were so different now, but they’d grown together. Hand in hand.

It wasn’t until their house was blessedly vacant of strangers, they’d devoured the Indian takeaway for dinner and they were about to set up to film a gaming video that Dan went to retrieve the item from his coat pocket.

“What’s that?” Phil asked, tapping away on the keyboard to bring up their recording software. “A pencil?”

“Yes,” Dan said twirling it between his fingers. And nearly dropping it. “Eyebrow pencil.”

That caught Phil’s attention and he moved up from his seat at the desk. “You bought an eyebrow pencil?”

He nodded and handed it over to Phil who was already making grabby hands.

Dan had felt wildly out of his depths as he’d stood staring at the rows and rows of make-up products. He didn’t know enough to make an informed decision but asking someone had also felt too daunting. He’d eventually caved and asked for help, only to be asked about the colours was of the person he’d be buying for.

He wasn’t confident enough to whip out a picture of Phil, so instead he’d tried to fumble his way through explaining the natural colours of Phil’s brows. It was a good thing that he had a lot of practice looking at Phil’s face. His eyebrows especially last night. Beautiful high arches, hair lightening from the middle out to the tails.

“Are you dissing my eyebrows?” Phil asked, removing the cap from the pencil and looking at it with suspicion.

Dan rolled his eyes, as if he’d ever diss anything about Phil’s face. Anything about Phil at all. It was his favourite face. He knew he was happy to wake up to it every day. He would however jest and play around nonetheless.  

“Not my fault your hairs are so pale,” he said with a smirk and then a hyena laugh escaped him at the mock offended expression on Phil’s face.

But he could see how Phil was studying the pencil with genuine interest and he was glad that he’d given into the impulse purchase. He loved when Phil was feeling himself. There was nothing hotter than when Phil realised that he was a fucking catch and looked good. Dan had known forever but it was different hearing it from someone who loved you and thinking it yourself.

“I’ll be right back,” Phil said, pencil clutched in his hand as he walked out of the room.

Dan took over at the desk, checking their camera was set up correctly and opened Steam on Poppy Playtime. They knew it would be a long video since they were going to do the whole chapter in one go. It was time to settle in for a long haul. Proper gaming YouTubers.

Phil was missing for longer than Dan had anticipated, so he went searching for him and he was surprised that he was in the bedroom in front of the big mirror rather than going to the bathroom and getting proper lightening.

“What are you doing?” Dan asked, leaning against the doorway to just observe. “That’s terrible lightening.”

“I think I’m going to mess it up,” Phil said, still staring at his reflection. “And I don’t like putting a pencil near my eye.”

A ploy. Phil wanted help. He wanted Dan to offer help. If his heart wasn’t so fond, then he’d perhaps laughed at him. He could just have asked but this was more of Phil’s style.

“You put contacts in at least a couple of times a week,” Dan reminded him as he walked into the bedroom. “Shouldn’t your fingers going into your eye be more scare than a pencil on your eyebrow?”

“Yes,” Phil conceded but he was already wearing his pleading expression. “But I have practice with that now, and the finger is not going into the eye. I hated it at first too. Might never have gotten used to it, if I hadn’t thought glasses looked too dorky.”

“I love your glasses,” Dan said, and walked up behind Phil to grab around his midriff. Pull him back against his chest and stare at their reflection together.

Phil snorted. “You didn’t see the first pair I got.”

No, he hadn’t. Whenever Phil mentioned something about himself that Dan didn’t know, or didn’t have been a part of, there was a little tug. Curiosity to learn more about him. Even after all this time, there was always more and he always wanted to know.

“I haven’t seen them in pictures?” he asked, hooking his chin over Phil’s shoulder and slumping against him. Just because he could.

“No, I think I made mum burn all of them,” Phil said and met Dan’s eyes in the mirror. “Help me with this?”

He wiggled the eyebrow pencil. And there it was. Dan had just been waiting for him to say it.

Dan hummed in agreement and grabbed Phil’s arm to drag him to the bathroom to get good lightening. He had almost pulled them out of the room before another possible location hit him. The bathroom was undoubtedly the most practical, but the other option would be more fun. Dan changed directions and dragged Phil towards the bed.

“I thought we were filming?” he asked, a laugh barely off his lips.

Dan resisted the urge to kiss it right off him.

“We are,” Dan insisted, even as he pushed Phil onto the bed. “Scoot up, head close to the headboard.”

Phil looked at him with narrowed eyes but complied all the same, moving the pillow up with him and lying down. Dan didn’t waste any time straddling his torso and he delighted in the way that Phil’s breath hitched. Just a little. Almost enough to distract him.

Almost.

He reached for the lamp above their bed and twisted it until it was all up in Phil’s face. He winced, shutting his eyes and throwing a hand over them.

“Warning next time? You just made me blind.”

“You were already blind.”

“Well, I’m double-blind now. I’m going to start to see black spots and rainbows,” he said moving his hand and turning his face away from the light as he started to blink rapidly.

“Black and rainbows, huh? You and me?”

“Shut up,” Phil said and slapped a hand against the outside of Dan’s thigh.

It was so easy to laugh and lean closer. He’d sat too far up on Phil’s torso to do this without breaking his back. He scooted down until he was sitting across Phil’s hips. Phil looked one second away from bucking him off judging by the playful expression in his eyes.

“Come here, you’re the one who wanted help,” Dan said and leaned down with the eye brow pencil poised.

“And this was the only way?” Phil asked, amusement in his face until the pencil came close to his eyes and he let them fall shut.

“It’s the only way,” Dan said insistently, as he reached for Phil’s chin to keep him from moving. Phil’s face moved under his touch, lips curving into a smile. “Stay still,” he ordered.

Dan didn’t really have that much experience with make-up either but he had dabbled here and there with his costumes. He always leaned into a more smudged on purpose look, but it was in part because he didn’t have the steady hand or patience to do anything too clean. And he knew himself, he’d be smudging it instantly anyway. It was fun but it was also an effort that he wasn’t sure he’d go through on a regular basis.

He was still happy when he thought about all of the hours that he no longer spent frantically straightening his hair. What a waste of time trying to conform and hide himself, even if he’d needed it back then. He hadn’t been ready but he got there.

He was gentle with the pencil at first, going to the eyebrow that hadn’t been slit. The employee from Sephora had said that the pencil shouldn’t be too dark, if the eyebrows were light, or it would look weird.

The colour was coming off, darkening the brows little by little. Dan focused on the end of the eyebrow where the hair turned the lightest.

“Aren’t you doing the wrong one?” Phil asked, eyes still closed.

Dan moved from grabbing his chin to kind of cradling his face as he gently moved Phil’s head to the side and back to see if he was happy with his work.

“It would look stupid with just one done,” Dan insisted, “you’ll have to do both.”

Phil’s eyes fluttered open and Dan hadn’t realised how close he was leaning in to be able to see properly. It really wasn’t fair that Phil was still able to knock the air out of his lungs after all these years, just as effectively as when they’d first fallen in love.

Dan hadn’t noticed that Phil had let his hand linger on Dan’s thigh, so used to having him close and touching but he noticed now when Phil’s other hand drifted up now in a mirrored position. Holding onto Dan on either side. A familiar look flickered in his eyes and this one wasn’t entirely playful.

“We need to film,” Phil said, even as his eyes darted down to Dan’s lips. It sounded more like it was a reminder to himself than to Dan. Just for that Dan wanted to lean closer and close the distance. But there was something about this too. The tension in the air between them. So close and touching but not there.

“I’m going to do the other one,” Dan announced, and he would have thought that Phil would close his eyes again but he was surprised when they stayed open. Attentive in a way that saw straight through him.

He was more careful now, mindful of avoiding the slit he’d shaved into Phil’s eyebrow just last night. It had been a little nerve-wracking to do it on camera, even if it was by far not the most stupid thing, they’d done on camera together. He’d wanted to make it look good, more focused on being precise and doing a good job, not even caring as he turned his back to the camera.

But this was different. There was no camera right now. Only the two of them in their home. In their bedroom. Dan really had brought this upon himself. There was no desire to perform to keep him in check.

He carefully swiped across the eyebrow on either side of the slit, watching the colour take. He did it gently with all of his focus, even if was much harder now that Phil seemed unable to look away from him.

Dan wasn’t entirely sure what Phil saw as he watched his face. Concentration. Determination. Love.

Dan had never quite been able to stop himself from letting it leak out whenever he was with Phil. He couldn’t even start to try and put it into words. He’d hit some pretty good metaphors for their relationships through the years but it was always just a little part of it. A quick glimpse into what they really were to each other. All of the different ways that they loved each other.

Phil still hadn’t been able to convince Dan that they were soulmates, because for that to happen soulmates had to exist, like something predetermined. He didn’t like that. They had found each other and fought for each other. He didn’t want to give fate credit for having them stick together.

No, that was all on them. He was sure of it.

Phil’s hands were warm on his thighs and he could feel him breathing calmly under him, moving both of their bodies a tiny bit with each inhale and exhale. Dan’s lower back hurt a little in this position, and he had a feeling the elbow he was leaning on was going numb but it didn’t matter.

They were suspended in that moment. Just the two of them, only the sound of their breathing and the gentle scratch of the eyebrow pencil.

He wanted to stay in the moment, but he wanted to do a good job more. He wasn’t going to overdo it. He pulled back, breathing deep for the first time in minutes as he tilted Phil’s head towards the light to survey his work.

It made a difference. The slit really got to have a moment to shine now that the hairs on either side was more defined.

“Good?” Phil asked, still lax in Dan’s hold.

“Yeah,” Dan said and his voice came out with a little grumble. He cleared his throat. “You look good.”

Phil was looking at Dan like he knew exactly what he was thinking. He let his hands trail up Dan’s thighs, going towards his ass. Dan was prepared for a grope. He was not prepared for Phil to grab his hips and toss him onto the mattress instead.

Dan let out an undignified squawk, bouncing on the bed while Phil got up, almost stumbling as he was laughing too much at Dan’s reaction.

“Traitor,” Dan grumbled, crossing his arms. “This is what I get for helping you!”

“You have to be nice to the birthday boy,” Phil said and walked over to the mirror.

“Your birthday ended yesterday,” Dan reminded him.

“We still have that party on Sunday, so it’s not over until then,” Phil reminded him, which really was only Phil logic. “Wow, it looks nice!”

And with that one comment, all of the fake annoyance at being tossed away rather than having his ass grabbed evaporated. Dan sat up and got up from the bed.

“Yeah?”

He hadn’t meant to latch onto Phil again, like he’d done before they’d gotten onto the bed, but it was instinct. If Phil asked, he’d just claim it was to see better, even if he didn’t need to wind his arms around Phil for that. Phil would see through it, but also allow it.

“Really good, I’m hot,” Phil said, with a grin and Dan snorted, trying to hide in Phil’s shoulder as he was shaking with laughter. “Don’t laugh!”

It didn’t stop Dan’s laughter but it did make Dan lift his head. “You’re always hot,” he said, breath hot against Phil’s neck just to be mean.

They really had to film but this was fun. Maybe Dan finally understood the inherent intimacy of doing someone’s make up. The couple of times that they’d been putting stuff on each other’s faces, they had usually been blindfolded and drawing cat faces or just slapping make-up on.

Though he guessed that when they were drawing whiskers on each other’s faces came close. Not exactly because they had been on camera and they were in the very chaotic mindset that those videos required. They’d drawn whiskers on each other for each TATINOF performance and removing them too, but that had been rushed, almost frantic while they were high on adrenalin.

Nothing quite like this. Quiet. Intimate. Between just them.

“You’re going to look good with one too,” Phil said, holding onto Dan’s arms around him, giving him a little squeeze. “I almost regret stopping you on the stream.”

“This alternate is better,” Dan said. “You get to have all the attention now, and I’ll get it on the 25th.”

“You were always going to get all the attention then,” Phil said with a soft laugh and he was swaying them a little from side to side. Like he was listening to a song only he could hear. Through their movements, Dan could almost hear it too. “It’s your big baby. Your show.”

Dan hummed. It had been his big baby and he had been happy about it. The tour itself had encountered issues here and there, things he’d rather not think about but he was happy with what he’d made and how the audience had reacted to it.

It had been exciting and he’d been looking to prove something for himself. He could do it on his own. He didn’t need Phil.

But he wanted him.

He wanted him so much.

The tour had only proved that further. He’d missed him at his side. It was maybe one of the reasons it had been easier to lean back into the gaming channel together. They were good. They’d always known that but to see that they hadn’t lost their touch was incredible. If anything, Dan felt like they might be better than ever.

They were out now. All of the gay jokes they’d previously passed up or edited out was included. There was a deep understanding with the audience. It was so much fun.

“Thank you for helping me,” Phil said, speaking so softly in the quiet room. Like he’d sensed that Dan’s thoughts had drifting off for a moment and he was gently bringing him back to shore before he drifted out too far.

Phil never needed to thank him for that. Dan would do anything for him.

“Let’s go film,” Dan said, reluctantly pulling away from the warmth of Phil’s body. “And then afterwards, I’m going to show you just how hot you look and get all up in that slit.”

He wiggled his own eyebrows and dodged out of the way as Phil pulled a disgusted face and tried to hit him. To pacify him, Dan grabbed Phil’s face in both hands and as expected, he went still at the touch. Let Dan hold him, even with the mirth still shining in his eyes.

Dan was never going to tire of looking at this face, even with every change it might go through. Aging, modifications, anything. Phil’s face and gazing into his eyes would always be home.

“Come on,” Phil said grabbing Dan’s wrist and then intertwining their fingers. “If you’re looking at me like that, we’ll not be able to film.”

Dan chuckled, shaking his head in disagreement, even if he knew Phil was right. The urge to toss him back on the bed ran deep and he should rein it in.

He let Phil drag him down the hall, as always trusting Phil whenever he dragged him anywhere.

#phanfiction #phanfic #phandom #my stories

[secretlywritingstories]

Chapter 30: Becoming pack

Chapter summary: He had been heading towards this for a long time, ever since Chan had decided to pack court him or maybe even since he met Jeongin. Minho was going to bite the pack and let the pack bite him in return. He was going to let Chan draw blood and then he'd finally be pack.

Word count: 12.3k

Rest in the Belly of the Wolf | poly!skz magical AU

Summary: Lee Minho was a solitary witch working out of his successful magic shop in Seoul with only his cats as company. He got many unusual customers, human and supernatural alike, but none of them had ever surprised him as much as Yang Jeongin, an oracle bursting into Minho’s life and bringing the other six boys from his pack too.

A wolf pack with many species other than wolves, Minho has never quite met anyone like them. And despite his protests, he finds himself getting involved to help keep them safe. Along the way, they teach him about friendship, love and finding a place to belong.

Tags: Magical AU, witch!Minho, oracle!Jeongin, werewolf!Jisung, werewolf!Changbin, werewolf!Chan, vampire!Hyunjin, fairy!Felix, hybrid!Seungmin, polyamorous pack, queerplatonic relationships, aspec identities, slow burn, found family

Any warnings will be in the top notes of each chapter

Updates every two weeks

Read on AO3

#chapter update

[secretlywritingstories]

I don't like taking pain killers. Mostly because I still haven't gotten great at swallowing those pesky pills, but also because I more so like to power through before resorting to ingesting anything.

It's a stupid thing really, because you should seek pain relief, if you're in pain but for me with a regular headache or period pains and I'll more likely just curl up in bed and rest while it sorts itself out. I know that's a very lucky position because for most parts that can handle it. The normal pain level I experience is none, and then on occasion I can have a mild pain, maybe a little annoying but rest and time can take it way.

Yesterday, I had a very minor "surgery" to remove two of my wisdom teeth. They did call it a surgery because it was the lower wisdom teeth in the jaw and those are always operated out, but it still feels a bit silly. I was advised to take a combination of paracetamol and ibuprofen about an hour later, as the anesthesia wore off.

My mouth was sore and cheeks swollen but the bleeding dried up quick and the pain killers kept me pain free, as long as I don't directly touch my cheeks or the area inside my mouth. It also made me google how pain killers worked for the first time.

I had a vague idea of how but it was still strange seeing it on the search page: when we are in pain or injured, a protein called COX2 releases chemicals called prostaglandins. These chemicals send a signal to your brain, telling you you're in pain. For some reason, it itched something in my (temporarily pain free) brain.

Because it's only really the brain that is pain free. It puts a damper on the experience of feeling the pain but the hurt obviously doesn't go away just by blocking those chemicals. You're not reacting like your body is programmed because of them. And it makes sense, you want to be comfortable, able to function, while healing takes place but it still feels strange.

Even now, nearing 36 hours after the surgery, I have been on pain killers. I'm due to take another round soon, if I feel the need, and I might because sleeping yesterday while the dose wore off wasn't exactly fun. Though I'm not sure mollifying the feel of pain will really help if I'm tossing and turning and bumping the area that's in pain.

Pain killers numb the feeling of pain. A clever trick we designed ourselves. Pretty freaking cool. I have no doubt that it's an actual life saver for those dealing with chronic illnesses/pain or having to heal from major injuries or illnesses. I love that they exist, so this is definitely not me trashing them or their use.

I am happy to use them right now, ease this already annoying period of healing and mandatory rest a little. But easing my reception of the healing wounds in my mouth have not magically sealed them back up. My body will though, another quite cool thing. Until it's further along, I'm happy to have the pain killers, even if the pills might cause me trouble.

#pain #pain killers #spilled thoughts #dentist #wisdom tooth surgery #personal

[secretlywritingstories]

Dan and Phil share so many hours with each other and yet getting a glimpse of how they communicate when they are apart or just too tired to speak out loud feels like something so special. The fact that it's a series with multiple episodes now, and they openly acknowledge it as tradition is so lovely!

You can hear them in their texts - even as incomprehensible as some of them are - and the vibe of how they exist with each other in that space. On top of that, when they're filming these videos, they share the behind the scenes stories.

What do you mean Dan only talks to Phil on the phone when he's in a taxi and Phil makes up stories rather than having a normal conversation? What do you mean Phil took a photo of sleepy Dan wearing his glasses and then sent it to him randomly? What do you mean Love Game by Lady Gaga is one of their most listened to songs because they play it on a game? What do you mean Phil called his mum for Dan when he got burns in the shower while in Germany? What do you mean Dan sends selfies while across the world? What do you mean Dan's phone number is the one connected to Phil's Deliveroo? What do you mean they use emojis and try to make up the best sounding fake words? What do you mean Dan threatens to kill Phil for forgetting to shut a drawer?

And even with everything listed here, there's still stuff I'm forgetting. There's so much packed into almost every quip, a little window into how they are when they are at ease. At home and with their home person. The easy banter and playful teasing just compliment the vibes while they sit and laugh so loudly at stuff they've already seen before. Because seeing it again together and reminiscing will never not be funny.

I've watched their faces a lot this year with the return of the gaming channel and yet I barely could keep my eyes off them in this video. Several times I would rewind the video to carefully watch an expression again, or simply because I had completely forgotten to look at the text while staring at them.

So much life and love in the way their eyes creases, their smiles flash without abandon and they lean closer and closer to each other. Always in orbit, always tethered. This video was truly a gift and I am so incredibly happy that we got another one, and I hope it does become a tradition that continues for a while longer. Thank you, Dan and Phil!

#my tumblr dabbles #dan and phil

[secretlywritingstories]

Chapter 29: Spell it out for me

Chapter summary: Minho and Felix return to the pack house with the flowers and the date for the pack bonding is set. Meanwhile Minho and Seungmin cram in as much research as possible, and Jisung have to dip out on a date with Minho, only for someone else to step up.

Word count: 10.1k

Rest in the Belly of the Wolf | poly!skz magical AU

Summary: Lee Minho was a solitary witch working out of his successful magic shop in Seoul with only his cats as company. He got many unusual customers, human and supernatural alike, but none of them had ever surprised him as much as Yang Jeongin, an oracle bursting into Minho’s life and bringing the other six boys from his pack too.

A wolf pack with many species other than wolves, Minho has never quite met anyone like them. And despite his protests, he finds himself getting involved to help keep them safe. Along the way, they teach him about friendship, love and finding a place to belong.

Tags: Magical AU, witch!Minho, oracle!Jeongin, werewolf!Jisung, werewolf!Changbin, werewolf!Chan, vampire!Hyunjin, fairy!Felix, hybrid!Seungmin, polyamorous pack, queerplatonic relationships, aspec identities, slow burn, found family

Any warnings will be in the top notes of each chapter

Updates every two weeks

Read on AO3

#chapter update

[secretlywritingstories]

Today I watched my father talk to a young girl standing right by the train tracks in her pyjamas. It ended well, she got down, but to be confronted with suicidal tendencies so viscerally feels like it cracked open something within me.

She was 17. More than ten years my junior. A child.

From what my dad could rather, she'd been in institutions since she was 13 and she'd walked away from one nearby where they house youth with psychological problems. He'd been taking the dogs out in the early morning before work, and heard someone crying. We have a strong torch to light up the garden to keep an eye on the dogs and he managed to spot her on the tracks up on the hill behind the house.

I was called down with clothes and took over the torch, standing in the doorway shivering as my hand trembled. Keeping the light on her. Letting her know that there was someone watching. She wasn't alone.

My dad made it around the house to the pathway by the tracks and just moments later a train drove by. Drove by her, where she lingered only a meter from the track. Another train in the opposite direction going by, also making it past her without causing her harm.

I heard how my dad tried to talk to her. Just catching snippets of conversation and her voice filled with tears and hopelessness. A few tears slipped out from me when she said that they'd told her it would get better at 13 but it hadn't, so why would it now?

I called 112 and shakily explained the situation first to the main operator and later to someone from the police. They were sending a car immediately. Our police is trained to handle this kind of thing. I was asked to stay on the line with the lady and keep her updated on the situation.

The girl on up on the hill crouched down, sitting down, still talking to my dad, now in a more hushed voice. A new train approached. She stayed seated and a breath of relief left me. The police pulled up only minutes later, just as my dad had started to convince her to start coming down to be checked out at the emergency room.

It wasn't too cold a night but it was still early January and she was not dressed for the weather. We don't know how long she'd been out there. The police took over, I hung up the phone and closed the backdoor. It was only then that the chill of the morning and my own lack of proper clothes hit me. I felt cold into my marrow, but I am not sure it was the brisk air.

I got dressed for work through only the familiar mechanics. Went to check quickly on my dad who was coming back to the house and then just got in my car to get to work. It was an odd day. Everything felt a little off.

When I got home, I spoke with both of my parents about it, but I am not sure it's really settled into me yet. I hope she is now getting the help that she needs. I hope that whatever drove her up walking along and on those tracks can be tamed.

I don't know her, I likely won't ever know her, but I want to tell the universe to watch out for her all the same. I want her to be okay. I want everyone who ever feels like that to have the strength to weather it.

#suicide tw #suicide attempt tw #personal #my tumblr dabbles #(probably my darkest one of these yet but well life happened)

[secretlywritingstories]

Chapter 28: Flowers from the blessed spring

Chapter summary: It felt surreal to be allowed so close to the druids' blessed spring, which most witches thought was a myth. Minho and Felix were standing right in front of it, and now they just needed to convince the flowers to go with them.

Word count: 7.2k

Rest in the Belly of the Wolf | poly!skz magical AU

Summary: Lee Minho was a solitary witch working out of his successful magic shop in Seoul with only his cats as company. He got many unusual customers, human and supernatural alike, but none of them had ever surprised him as much as Yang Jeongin, an oracle bursting into Minho’s life and bringing the other six boys from his pack too.

A wolf pack with many species other than wolves, Minho has never quite met anyone like them. And despite his protests, he finds himself getting involved to help keep them safe. Along the way, they teach him about friendship, love and finding a place to belong.

Tags: Magical AU, witch!Minho, oracle!Jeongin, werewolf!Jisung, werewolf!Changbin, werewolf!Chan, vampire!Hyunjin, fairy!Felix, hybrid!Seungmin, polyamorous pack, queerplatonic relationships, aspec identities, slow burn, found family

Any warnings will be in the top notes of each chapter

Updates every two weeks

Read on AO3

#chapter update

[secretlywritingstories]

Today feels particularly floaty and bizarre. It might just be that time of year. It's always a little strange when you face down the final couple of days of a year. It's not the first time it's made me feel strange and in my head.

A year is a made-up thing but it's something we use to organise our lives and put things into a neat little timeline. It's something that we use to tie up events in our lives. It means a whole swoop of the seasons have come and passed and we're back at the start of another cycle of them.

It's dark and dreary and kind of strange. After the high-pace of the Christmas days and all the obligations that come with them, it's like everything just grinds to a halt. For a little while at least. Until the very last day of the year rolls around and you're supposed to celebrate, shoot fireworks and get drunk. When you're supposed to squish together and end the year with a banger of a party.

It feels like a contradiction, or maybe these days are just a wasteland. No man's land. The death strip. A place between two big events that suck up everything and leave it barren.

It has been one of those days where I've just curled up in bed, staring at my phone for entirely too many hours without doing a single thing that feels productive. Instead it's just been consumption. Easy endorphins. Distractions to make the hours pass.

Even though I also kind of want to freeze time all around me. Give myself a month to breathe and think. Evaluate without being scared of being rushed. Let the final ring of the bell announcing a new year wait until I'm ready to face it.

The new year is made-up and I'm not big on making resolutions, but it's still a clean slate, even if I know the slate is made up. Most of what makes our world turn is. I want to be productive. I want to set myself up for a good new year, but it feels overwhelming right now.

When I'm frayed at the edges and I can't breathe deep enough. I've been mostly hibernating. Maybe that's good, maybe that's bad. I'm so wrapped up in blankets that I can't really tell for sure. Honestly, it's probably a bit of both.

However, hibernation also means isolation and that's not great when you are not feeling the best. So maybe I'm going to retire the bear tendencies for now, and try to make my body a little more solid, a little more bound to the ground. Less likely to just float away, and more likely to put one foot in front of the other.

#winter #my tumblr dabbles #mental health

[secretlywritingstories]

This thing won't have you, it won't win | BG3 Astarion one shot

Summary: You had tried to kill Astarion because he was the one you cared for the most. Now you'd vowed not to sleep to keep him safe. It doesn't take long for him to notice and confront you.

Tags: During canon Act 3, resisting the urge, late night conversation, show of trust

Warnings: Past suicidal idealisation and talk of dying/being killed

Word count: 4.8k

Read on AO3 or below

It should feel like victory to have made it this far. A mere walk away from getting into Baldur’s Gate. Part of you hadn’t sure if you were ever going to make it here, but now it was within your grasp. You might even have been there already, if you hadn’t insisted that you should approach the gate with fresh eyes and set up camp in Rivington for tonight.

Most of your companions had very good reasons to want to be in the city as soon as possible. Shadowheart wanted to search for her parents, Wyll wanted to rescue his father, Karlach wanted to confront Gortash, Lae’zel wanted to meet with Voss, Gale wanted to find answers in Sorcerous Sundries and Astarion wanted to confront Cazador. You’d promised to assist all of them with their missions, even if you weren’t sure why they trusted you.

Especially now that they’d seen the destructive dark urge brimming under your skin. Though, they did all seem to move past it too quickly. So very full of trust when you were just as dangerous as the monsters you all had been hunting. It had only been a couple of days since you tried to murder Astarion in his sleep, and they all sleep soundly or trance comfortably next to you again.

They were so trusting. It would be so easy to take advantage.  

Granted, a lot had happened since then. Taking down Ketheric Thorm was no easy feat, nor was the battle inside of the prism that revealed that your supposed dream guardian was none other than a mindflayer. It’s just monsters everywhere you turned these days. After today, you could add Orin to that list.

A shapeshifter with the ability to imitate any of you. She could be any of your companions right now, feigning sleep and plotting her move. That should be the reason you were staying awake restlessly, but wasn’t. You were fairly confident that you could sniff out an imposter if needs must.

It was something she said that added to your sleeplessness. When you found her impersonating that Flaming Fist. In the moment, you tried not to let the words burrow under your skin but now they did. She called you her sibling.

Even though she could shapeshift, you doubted she meant that she was a fellow tiefling. No, her words spoke of something much more sinister. A deeper bond. One likely made of servitude. And you knew which of the Dead Three that she served.

Bhaal. The lord of murder.

And a killing urge had been burning in your chest ever since you woke up on that nautiloid. It’s been the only thing that you’d felt yourself tethered to. The urges compelling you to take lives and delight in the gore. It’s the most real thing about you, and it felt like it was the only thing you would find whenever you tried to look into your past.

It was what that stupid self-acclaimed butler, Sceleritas Fel, kept telling you about yourself too. As if this used to be something you did with pleasure. You were good at it. What did that say about you?

“Darling?”

The way you twisted around, weapon raised and poised to strike could just be a testament to all of the trauma and fighting you’ve had to undergo these past weeks. It would surely be enough to make anyone skittish and paranoid.

But you felt how your body moves with practiced ease, and it took all of your focus to adjust your swing to avoid contact when you spotted Astarion’s red eyes. Granted, he could probably survive a slash of your dagger, but you didn’t trust yourself not to keep going if you started spilling his blood.

“You got a death wish?” you snarled.

Your grip on the dagger was so tight that it almost hurt. Just like it would hurt to plunge it into Astarion’s heart. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would make such a beautiful mess. Blood everywhere. Oddly, he’d probably appreciate the view too.

“I did,” Astarion said and despite how you just tried to attack him, he found a spot next to you. He ducked into you tent to share your bed roll. “Before.”

The word was loaded and it made your jaw flex. You had a feeling that you still didn’t know the true extent of Astarion’s torment at Cazador’s hands but you’d got more than enough to paint a vivid picture. It made sense that he wanted to die before.

200 years was a very long time. It’s the kind of time that you couldn’t even grasp. You didn’t think you’ve been alive for that long, but even if you had, you wouldn’t know. Sometimes, it really did feel like your brain was only a few weeks old. Everything before it was black.

No, not black.

Red.

Bathed in it.

You were just as bad as the damn ox with his inner visions of carnage.

A touch on the back of your hand pulled your attention back to Astarion. His touch was so gentle that you barely felt it. You weren’t sure how he could touch you like that when you almost took his life just days ago.

When you would have made quick work of him just like you did poor Alfira. Alfira who just wanted to join the party, see the world and play her lute. The same lute that still sat in the camp chest, bloodied edge untouched.

You’d blacked out for that. No recollection at all but the blood on your hands and the sick delight twirling around in your chest was more than enough to confirm you were the culprit. It should have been the first warning. The others should have kicked you out of the camp.

Even if you now knew it would have turned you into a mindflayer without the prism’s protection. Though, it had flown to you before, and the Emperor seemed rather attached to you. So maybe you’d have killed all of the others if you’d wandered off and it had decided to follow you.

“Maybe you should kill me,” you found yourself saying to Astarion and withdrawing the hand under his touch.

You didn’t deserve gentleness. Not when you might have laid waste to whole cites, bathed in the blood of children and done it all with a sick grin on your face. It felt like something you would have done.

Well, not you now, but you then. And you were not sure if there is all that much of a difference. Fighting was becoming more difficult with each passing day.

“Way too late for that,” Astarion said, drawing his hand back to himself. “If you wanted to die at my hand, then you should have let me drain you that first night.”

Right. Back then, he could have killed you. You had presented yourself to him and let him sink his teeth into your neck. Part of it felt wrong, like you shouldn’t be handing him such an obvious chance to hurt you.

But he’d stopped when you’d asked. And every time since that, he’d just taken enough to recover his strength, not even disturbing you in your sleep.

“Can’t turn back time,” you muttered.

If you could, you’d go further back. Figure out what had happened to you. You had more pieces now, and you knew you’d landed in a pod in the mindflayer colony and been experimented on. A sneaking suspicion told you that maybe Orin had been involved in landing you in there with the way she acted around you.

But if you had truly been her sibling and delighted in killing like your urges told you, wouldn’t you have been on the same side? Why would she have turned on you?

Astarion let out a soft huff. “I would not want to,” he said and reached for you again. This time, it wasn’t just fingers gracing the back of your hand. No, he grabbed your hand and pulled it into his lap. Held on tight enough that you couldn’t just slip it away easily.

You could get it free. His fingers probably broke rather delicately. Snap, snap, snap.

No. You liked his hands. You didn’t want them destroyed. You pinched your eyes together and willed the thoughts away. It was something you were getting better at, at the very least. You were starting to have practice.

But it had been something different when it came to the full slaughter. You hadn’t been able to anticipate what happened with Alfira. You had just barely managed to warn Astarion that he was about to be next.

And when you’d come to all tired up and angry, it had felt like you were in some sort of primate, feral state. But it had still felt like you. Just unleashed. Like it was always going to be brimming underneath the surface. It had been caught just in time, but you might not be as lucky next time.

“I’m going to hurt you,” you said to Astarion and felt how it cracked something open in your heart.

You’d told Sceleritas Fel that you hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to Astarion about how you cared for him yet. It was the truth, but it was probably better if he didn’t know the true extent of it.

You were so selfish for even getting involved with him when your past was blank but stained. When you had to worry about tadpoles in your brains and the elder brain being controlled by lunatics. Two now, instead of three but still. There should be no time for romance or attachment at all.

It didn’t seem to matter, because you couldn’t deny that you cared deeply for Astarion. In fact, you cared for every single one of your companions and all of them were in danger because you couldn’t control this part of you.

“I’ve got thick skin. You know, you’ve seen my scars,” Astarion said, voice almost dancing over the words, even as he pulled forth his own trauma for you. “Is this why you haven’t been sleeping?”

You snapped your head sideways to face him. “What?”

He was right of course, but you’d mostly been sneaky with you lack of sleep. You still let keeping watch rotate and you lied down in your tent, pretending to sleep. It was taking its toll, but it wasn’t anything that a few healing potions couldn’t fix. It was a good thing that you were far more precise with your arrows than your spells. Those hadn’t been recharged in a while.

“Halsin noticed,” Astarion said, just a touch too casual. “You’ve got to remember that I’m not the only elf in the camp anymore. Him and Jaheira aren’t as willing to look the other way.”

“Concerned?” you asked, propping a knee up in front of you, leaning on it and tilting your head to the side. You tried to pull your hand back over to yourself, but Astarion kept hold of it. Not hard, just enough that it couldn’t slip away from him without you putting more force behind it.

You didn’t.

“Always, that big hunk of an elf. He has quite the soft spot for you. Going on about how he had high expectations and you exceeded even those,” Astarion said, and he was too tense about it.

Jealous maybe?

He hadn’t seemed to care back in the groove when several of the other companions started to veer for your attention. He hadn’t brought it up until that dance with Wyll where he’d asked you to choose between them. You’d chosen Astarion without blinking.

It had been easy.

All of the other companions had their beauty, charms and even dark demons, but Astarion was the only one who seemed to get you. He accepted you, even when you weren’t always put together right. He’d proved that even more when he’d comforted you after you’d tried to kill him.

You wondered if this was a wound for him and Halsin was a tool that you could press into it. Drive a wedge between you and Astarion. If you broke up, then he might no longer be the one you cared for the most. He could be safe from your sharp claws wanting to dig in and draw blood.

Though, if you did that, maybe it would just be someone else next time. Your care for Astarion was extraordinary but you truly cared for everyone in camp. Even the kid you’d allowed to stay here on a whim. Yena. A damn bleeding heart you were, even if it was not the kind of blood that you desired to spill.

It was the second time you’d brought a child into camp. Arabella had made it away okay but it was not sure that Yena would. Perhaps that was why Astarion had wanted to turn her away.

He would never admit it, but you were discovering a soft side to him. Just like now, with how he was holding your hand, thumb gently stroking over the back of it. A little quiet moment for just the two of you. You’d been spiralling and he’d come to find you. Sit with you, so the night didn’t seem so daunting.

You should be driving Astarion away but your heart couldn’t take prying into his insecurities. It felt too cruel. You might be bloodthirsty and have urges but you didn’t want to be cruel.

At least not the you who didn’t remember what you’d been like before.  

“Do you think I’m a worshipper of Bhaal?” you asked him, gnawing on your lip.

“Because of what that maniac shapeshifter said?” Astarion asked.

“Orin,” you corrected, even though you knew he must know her name. He liked to play aloof and like he wasn’t paying attention but he always did.

“No,” Astarion said. 

“What? it’s the most sensible explanation,” you argued.

“Well, remember what you asked, love. You asked if you’re a worshipper. Present tense. You’re not.”

“Semantics.”

“No, I do not think so. You don’t know your past but you do know what you’ve been acting like in these weeks.”

He was trying to be sweet but maybe he had fallen for whatever charade you’d been putting on. Yes, you’d tried to be honest with your companions about what was going on with you, but you knew they couldn’t truly grasp the extent of it. Just how brutal it got inside of your head.

“Just because I don’t remember doesn’t mean that it’s not true. And I doubt you just leave Bhaal behind. Look how complicated it got with Shar for Shadowheart,” you pointed out.

“And look how she’s now. New hairdo and everything!” Astarion said with a high-pitch giggle.

He was clearly trying to lighten the mood, but you wouldn’t let him. This was too dangerous.

“She was a Selûnite first,” you reminded him. “Taken against her will when she was just a child. Brainwashed into worship.”

Astarion clicked his tongue and gave your hand a squeeze.

“And who’s to say that you weren’t?”

You didn’t mean to laugh but it jumped out of you. You almost admired his optimism and faith in you. You didn’t think that he’d be the kind to look on the brighter side of things, yet here he was. Maybe he really was changing.

“Because I like it,” you admitted in a tiny voice. “I revel in it. I crave it. The urge is all-consuming sometimes. And it’s…”

Your throat felt tight. Not like you were about to cry but like you were about to scream. Scream out all of the frustration and fear sitting so tightly in your chest.

“Tell me,” he requested so gently.

How could you deny him?

“It’s not this thing,” you said recalling his words from that night. They had burned into your brain so much and you’d clung to them like they were a lifeline, even if it felt like it was made of twine.

This thing won’t have you.

It won’t win.

But it would. Because as much as you wanted to trust it and believe him, it didn’t feel like a thing. Something external. It would have been so much easier if you could cheat yourself into believing that. This was something done to you. A thing making you do horrible thing. A forced worship. A butler guiding your murderous hand. Any of the options was better than what felt like the truth if you dared look close enough.

That it was just you. Not a thing in you, but part of you. Intricately woven into your very fabric in a way that it could never be separated. It would win because the only way to kill it would be to kill yourself.

“It’s me,” you whispered.

Astarion let go of you hand and you thought that maybe he was finally recoiling in fear and disgust when he understood that all the death and destruction lived in your bones. But then he came close again. Much closer than before. Kneeling. Right in front of you and reaching up to gently cradle your face.

A thumb swiped across your cheek.

It felt wet.

Tears.

You were crying. No, what? You weren’t even sure you could do that. You hadn’t so far since you’d woken up. You had been ready to chalk it up to the fact that you were mindless and traumatised, or maybe just incapable of it. Like you could either be a murderous lunatic or a cry-baby but not both.

Clearly, you had been wrong.

You hoped it wasn’t the only thing you were wrong about. But you shouldn’t cling to that hope. You should be protecting Astarion and create distance between the two of you. So, you wouldn’t have the urge to drive a stake through his heart again. You weren’t sure what you’d do if you went to sleep and woke up with his blood on your hands.

Maybe it would make you snap into your old self. Bloodthirst ruling above all when you’d taken the life of the person you cared for the most.

Astarion’s eyes were so expressive and he looked like he wanted to say words of comfort but he was holding back. You appreciate that. You didn’t want platitudes right now, because you felt just vicious enough to twist them and spit them back in his face.

But you let him hold your face and look at you, even if it hurt to be seen like this.

“You know what I thought when I first saw you?” you asked, closing your eyes so you wouldn’t have to look at him as you shared this confession.

“What a handsome elf,” he said, a wry twist to his words.

You huffed out the tiniest laugh.

“Not too far off,” you said and swallowed. Licked your lips, exhaled. “What a perfect pretty corpse he’d make.”

You were echoing a thought that had resurfaced that night you’d felt driven to kill him. A fantasy that you couldn’t shake from your brain. You didn’t feel like you wanted him dead. In fact, you wanted to protect him but your thoughts told you a different thing.

Astarion didn’t let go of your face, but he let out a soft hum. Considering. You didn’t dare open your eyes to see the expression on his face.

“Stay here,” he said, gently letting go of you, “and keep your eyes closed.”

You had been proclaimed the leader by every single companion, even if you had never fought for the position. You didn’t have to listen to anyone. They had to listen to you. But still, you sat with your eyes closed and waited just like Astarion had asked.

The night air was crisp and almost comforting. Tomorrow, you’d reach Baldur’s Gate and you could find an inn. You’d leave your camping days behind you. You had a feeling that you’d miss it. 

Astarion came back and it felt as if he was making more noise than he needed as to not startle you again. He could move deadly silent if he wanted, as he’d proved against your enemies many times. They never knew what hit them when he came out from the shadows.

“Hands,” Astarion asked and you weren’t sure what he was asking for but you lifted both your hands, palms up.

He took hold of them and he pressed a handle of a weapon into your waiting hands. Not one of your own, they all had handles smoothened from use. No, this texture was rough, like uncut wood.

Astarion hadn’t said that you could open your eyes but they snapped open all the same, and you opened them just in time to see him kneeling in front of you again. Only this time, there was a stake between you and your hands on the handle of it, while he guided the sharp tip to the centre of his chest.

When you realised, you tried to thrash away and toss it aside. It would kill him if you drove that through and you weren’t in control of your impulses. What in the hells was he thinking? He had said he didn’t want to die anymore but then he handed you the very thing that could kill him.

“Astarion,” you said, in warning, when he grabbed your elbow with one hand and curled your hands back around the stake firmly with his other.

“This is what you should have done when you found out that I was a vampire spawn,” he said, and you’d never quite heard his voice sound so quiet. His usual melodic tones stripped away, it seemed to bare and vulnerable. “It is what most people would have done if they’d woken up to a vampire trying to feed on them.”

You couldn’t exactly disagree with that, but honestly the thought hadn’t crossed your mind. A part of you had been almost thankful, because it meant someone else in camp was hiding a dark secret. That you weren’t the only one driven by your urges.

You’d uncovered more of your companions’ secrets now, but Astarion had been the first. A glimmer of hope that you weren’t quite so alone. Of course, you hadn’t killed him. You understood what it was like having bloodthirst driving you.

“I didn’t want to kill you,” you said, and the words sounded strange in your mouth. You meant them but it still felt unnatural.

Astarion’s expression softened into a smile and he looked like he knew something that you didn’t. But instead of flaunting that, he was trying to make a point. You weren’t sure that you liked where this was going but you were still bound and breathless to watch. Poised with a weapon to end him with just one good thrust.

“And a stake to the heart is what would have happened the morning after too, if you hadn’t stuck your neck out for me figuratively as well as literally. Our companions would have killed me.”

“They wouldn’t have,” you argued because you knew the good hearts of your companions.

Even back then, when everything had been new and confusing and you were just figuring each other out. They wouldn’t have killed him, would they? You didn’t want to think them capable of killing Astarion, but all of you had blood on your hands by now.

Sure, it was mostly blood of cultists hellbent on causing war and destruction or monsters trying to take your lives, but it was still lives lost. And with each fight, you fed into that urge to kill just a bit more. It wasn’t enough to fully satisfy it clearly, but it was a slight release all the same.

But you didn’t want to drive this stake through Astarion. You wanted to let go of it and pull him into your arms. Hold him instead. Close enough that some of your hellish warmth could seep into his cold skin.

“You are dangerous,” Astarion said, looking into your eyes with purpose. “But so am I. So is everyone in this camp. Trained killers the lot of us. Complicated pasts. You’re not special.”

His voice tilted up, gaining a humorous lilt and it made you laugh. It sounded kind of choked up and wet. His red eyes had never looked as soft as they did while gazing into yours.

“You are,” you whispered, almost inaudible but he’d hear it. “Special.”

“You can try to kill me anytime,” Astarion said. “I don’t think you’ll go through with it.”

What a novel and lovely idea. As if your love for him could keep him safe when it was exactly the thing condemning him to your murderous attentions.

Your love for him.

It was love, wasn’t it? You didn’t have anything to compare to, but it felt like that, even out here in the wilderness, tadpoled brains and an ever-present ticking clock. However unlikely, it felt real.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” you told him and hoped that he could see the sincerity in your eyes. Make him understand the threat he was standing opposite.

“You don’t either,” he said, lip twisting up to a smirk and you guessed that he had a point with that.

He moved the hand from your elbow and instead laid both of his hands on top of yours. He let himself press just a bit more into the stake, enough that it was catching on his sleepshirt. A flimsy fabric. It would do nothing to stop the stake from driving through it. Smooth like butter. It would sail right home, poison his heart and stop it a second time.

Stop it for good.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“And yet, I’ve never felt so alive,” he said and leaned just a tiny bit closer. “You are not your past, even if you don’t remember it. So, the urges are a part of you. Big deal. You still get a choice who you want to be right now. Just like I do. Let’s keep making choices together. This is what freedom is about, isn’t it?”

It felt like a stake was driven through your heart, knocking all of the air from your lungs with one fell swoop. He was paraphrasing something you’d said to him. That he’d be responsible for his own choices now that he was out from under Cazador’s thumb.

For good and for bad.

He was right. It wasn’t so different from you. You were still the one making the choices. You were allowed to cast the die on your present and your future, just not your past.

The nagging grating voice in the back of your head still told you that you could drive the stake in and kill Astarion but you shut it right up, like you had done dozens of times already. You just had to keep resisting that part of yourself. You could do that.

“Let go,” you told Astarion and he pulled his hands from yours.

He looked at you, chest open and inviting for malice, but you tossed the stake aside and instead grabbed hold of his face. You cradled it like he’d cradled yours, holding it like he was the most precious thing in all of Faerûn. He might just be.

“It’s not going to be easy,” you said, leaning your face closer to his.

You wanted to spill every warning you could think of but you knew that he already knew a lot of it. He’d seen you in action, tied up and snarling like a feral beast. You at your most dangerous and at your most vulnerable. And he’d taken care of you.

He’d chosen to take care of you when he had ever right to kill you.

You had to choose to take care of him, even if your urges screamed to kill him.

 “Kiss me.”

Astarion’s smile turned soft and he reached behind your back until he could pull you right up against him into his lap. His hands stayed behind your back, holding onto you gently, as your tail whipped back and forth in anticipation.

“You’ve got this, and I’ve got you,” he whispered as he leaned in to press your lips together.

Those were other words echoed from that night when you almost made the worst mistake of your life. You hadn’t really heard him then. Too hung up on how he didn’t understand that the urges controlled you so deeply, so intricately, but now you were finally ready to hear him.

“And I’ve got you,” you whispered back, as you broke the kiss just for a moment.

When you kissed him again, you felt how his lips tilted up into a smile.

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #astarion x dark urge #astarion x reader #my stories