#feed & folly

[ratcandy]

lost in the fluff dimension. never to be seen again. sorry it's a one way trip

Oh No whatever shall I ..do.......... he h (gestures over my shoulder) this guy (gender neutral)....doesn't know about my parasitic qualities and that i have now successfully established myself as an endoparasite within the system... it was all a trap...... now i have all the sustenance I could ever need

#(muffled from within the fluff) alas. the folly #ur screwed now bucko...................... now i will feed.......................... #ask #sona appearance #ohso comf

[icleanedthisplate]

Harvest Salad w/Grilled Chicken. Feed & Folly. Fayetteville, Arkansas. 9.11.2023.

NOTE TO SELF: Went with the maple vinaigrette. Not a spectacular salad by any stretch, but it did have fresh ingredients. Come back, try new things. Or this again. Whatevs. More research required.

Currently ranked 5th of nine September meals.

#salads #harvest salad #grilled chicken salad #beets #feed & folly #healthy eating

[tripleyeeet]

IN MY VEINS

SUMMARY: After disobeying Astarion's request, you find yourself in an interesting position.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,501

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, dom/sub dynamics, shameless knife kink, blood drinking, finger sucking, fingering, orgasm denial, begging, basically just the most depraved thing my mind could think of apparently. Also big ascended Astarion vibes??? But not actually because I cannot ascend him, sorry.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I guess I'll see y'all in hell for this one. Also in case you've missed it, this is definitely NOT apart of the Lover's Folly universe.

MASTERLIST

-

All at once you feel a cold blade and a hot hand, both of them targeting your throat with quickened calculation. Slightly lower than the blade, the hand shifts tightly against your skin, prompting a low groan of surprise to push through your lips, causing the voice behind you to speak.

“What do you think you're doing here?”

Lightly it flutters against your ear. Sounding like a mixture of whiskey and honey, it piques an interest within your mind that almost immediately forces you to do a double take, attempting to look at Astarion’s face, wondering if that usual scowl of his is on full display.

“Just came to say hi.”

He quietly snorts before moving his torso against your back, pulling you closer. “Hi.”

Swallowing hard, you force your teeth to hit your bottom lip, suppressing the urge to groan again when he pushes the blade closer. 

“What no hi back?” 

In response, you let out a plume of air and try to angle your neck away from the knife, only to be met with rough hands that pull you back in, pricking your skin ever so slightly. As it happens, you close your eyes, releasing your lips from your teeth to let out a soft hi Astarion. One that has him chuckling in your ear without warning. 

“Hello, darling.” Gently, he places a quick kiss to your temple then loosens his hold ever so slightly, allowing you to breathe and remember the small slice now present across your neck. 

“I’m sure the gang will love to see your handiwork in the morning,” you joke, but Astarion doesn’t laugh. Instead, he just continues to kiss your temple, gently dragging his teeth across your skin as he lowers his mouth, moving to the edge of your jaw. 

It leaves you breathless where you stand —frozen from the feeling of different temperatures exploring your outsides. On one end, his hands feel surprisingly warm; big and soft but rough in their ministrations as he clutches the front of your throat. However, on the other, there’s the threatening reminder of the knife. How one wrong move could result in the laceration of your poor esophagus. 

You have to force yourself not to protest at the position you find yourself in. Stuck beneath his hold; your back pressed firmly against his front with little room for movement, all you can do is stare forward and hope he’s quick. That his hunger for flesh can be sated before the lust kicks in. 

Having been on the road together for so long, you’ve experienced both sides of such a spectrum. Happily feeding his fill, you’ve offered over blood and sex in various ways and combinations. And if you’re honest you’re favourite is when he eats and then fucks you. 

“I thought I told you to stay put while I’m hunting.” 

His teeth move to nibble at your ear, an action that has you rearing slightly back, remembering his command. The way he cupped your chin as you sat inside his tent, frowning at the prospect of having to wait. Back then, you had every intention of listening. Of patiently waiting with bated breath as he hunted for dinner before returning to you to claim desert. But then you grew bored. Restless at the hands of time itself and decided quickly that defiance was the proper answer. 

“You were taking too long.”

It comes out like a whine, making you slightly cringe, hearing the desperation in your voice. Realizing just how sickly hopeless he makes you feel over the simplest things. 

“And now I’m going to take even longer, aren’t I?”

You can practically feel the grin that graces his lips. The way it pulls up on either end, revealing two pointed canines ready to strike. You can’t see them but you know they’re itching for flesh, his tongue moving along their points as he stares down at your pulsing neck, wondering if he should drink you now or later or perhaps at all.

Deep down, you know he doesn’t have much restraint for the latter. On more than one occasion he’s expressed that the taste of you is infectious. A delight so utterly consuming he often thinks about keeping you even after this is all over.

You’ve never admitted it but there’s a part of you that wants that too. To allow him the comfort of always feeling fed. As the days go on, you tend to dwell on the idea more often than not, imagining a life where you'd be bound by his hand, forever forced to serve his hunger and lust. 

It’s a tempting future. One that has you standing with anticipation, feeling Astarion lightly kick the base of your calves, motioning for you to move. 

Slowly, you step through the clearing, straining your eyes to look at the ground below for signs of obstruction. Considering one misstep could mean your end, you try your best not to move while simultaneously showing no signs of struggling —wanting to look brave. 

“You’re lucky I wasn’t in the middle of something.”

His voice is distracting. The way it hits your face in heavy, angered puffs makes you blink and step a little far, resulting in the buckling of your leg, prompting him to humorously hum and steady your frame. 

“Be careful, my dear. Wouldn’t want you slipping on my blade, now would we?” 

Immediately, you let out a nervous laugh and continue as if nothing happened, moving until you’re in the middle of a grouping of trees that seclude you from the rest of the world. 

Once there, Astarion’s grasp slips away, your throat feeling instantly soothed by the amount of air you’re suddenly able to pull in, even if with the knife still present. 

“Sorry for bothering you —just missed you is all,” you tell him, hearing him chuckle under his breath, telling you he knows. 

“You always miss me,” he teases then, circling around to finally face you at the same time his blade trails up your skin, nicking your chin with a quick flick of his wrist, resulting in the tiniest cut.

For a moment it stings but then it’s soothed by the pressing of his thumb, reaching forward to swipe away the bit of blood that collects before forcing it towards your closed mouth. “Open.”

Your stomach twists with reluctance but regardless you do as he says, feeling the pad move to the back of your throat and slowly slide down, pulling your bottom lip down in the process. 

“Ah, so you are still capable of obedience, my mistake.” Raising his brow, his thumb continues its descent, your lip bouncing back into place as his other fingers move to grip your chin, pulling you in —feeling his blade slip between your torsos without warning, the tip pressing against your ribcage. “Or perhaps your mistake?” 

A short gasp falls between you as you struggle not to move further. Against your skin, the blade sits snugly at your centre, threatening to sink if you so much as shiver. 

Across his face, Astarion adorns a wicked grin that has you secretly cursing his name for denying you his touch, especially when you know he wants it just as much. 

“Now, are you going to be good or are we going to continue to have this little—“ he stops to clench his jaw, poking through the leathers of your vest so that you can taste a bit of pain that may or may not come, “—problem.” 

Without hesitation you give him a nod, signalling your immediate obedience just as he pulls back the knife, and yanks you forward by your belt loops. 

“Good. Cause I rather like you, despite the attitude.” 

You’re tempted to laugh but refuse to so much as breathe as you move your hands cautiously to his chest, testing out the waters. 

Thankfully they’re not as choppy as before. Instead, they’re slow and steady, allowing you to grip the collar of his shirt and grin, carefully pulling him down to press your outstretched neck against his teeth.

“I’m sorry for leaving.” 

His tongue laps at your flesh almost instantly. Then, following behind, his lips suction themselves into the crook, making you inhale deeply, tightening the hold you have on his head. Feeling that bloom of contentment resurface once you hear the dropping of his knife and feel the softness of his touch start to roam. 

It lasts only for a couple of seconds before you’re led towards the ground, back shoved forcibly against the dirt. It knocks the wind right out of you, prompting a choked-out gasp to sound just before he drags his teeth along the outside of your artery, but you hardly care. Every sensation after that comes and goes in quick succession, sending you into that familiar space of servitude that has you clutching the roots of his hair, trying to coast. 

At first, the pain of his teeth descending into your veins takes over. Two pinpricks that remind you of the knives he often uses to keep you in line. Every inch of their movement makes you choke on your own spit, the sudden force of it pushing through each layer making you cry. Then you feel his tongue again. The way it ebbs and flows across the freshly made wound, sucking down every drop that’s presented. 

At that point, the pain begins to subside a little. Replacing it, a newfound euphoria floats around your head with an almost cold emptiness, resulting in a slackness that has you barely holding onto Astarion’s hair as you softly moan.

Which makes him laugh against your throat. The reverb of his verbal torment only making things worse when you feel that final lick, watching as he comes back up for air. Your eyes are barely open then as you sleepily reach up and brush away a bit of blood from his cheek, feeling it collect at the tips before he’s fully popping your finger into his mouth. Then all you can focus on is the movement of his tongue again, how it swirls along your skin, teasing your mind with thoughts of it moving elsewhere. 

After that, it’s all you can think about. Even after he’s relinquished your hand to rest against his cheek. Your thoughts fill with visions of him pressed between your thighs, sinking his tongue into your cunt. Drinking you up like the starving man you know him to be. Allowing his greed to take over in the form of a pleasure you know you don’t deserve. 

That doesn’t stop you from trying to earn it though.

“Astarion.” Your hand drags him gently down again, focusing on the blood that still coats his lips. Smelling the iron tang of your life’s liquid tainted across his skin. “Can you—“

He already knows what you’re asking before you can finish. In the time you’ve been together, he’s tended to your every need just as you’ve done to him, so he’s already well aware of your desires. Of the desperation that coats your features when he begins to slip down carefully, already making work of his hands.

Before you know it you’re naked from the hips down, the cool air wafting along your skin before he settles in, laying on the forest floor with your thighs atop his shoulders. Then the warmth of his breath coasts along your cunt, causing you to twitch.

“So pretty,” he coos, a small laugh following suit once he feels the tightness of your thighs, wrapping around the sides of his head. Gently, he then readjusts his hand to the press against your entrance, ever so gently swiping up and down with two of his fingers. “And wet.” 

You snort, quietly, feeling a bit embarrassed despite how many times you’ve done this. “Only for you, love.”

“Of course. No other man could render you so useless.” His fingers curl so that it’s his knuckles that are grazing you, pushing you slightly apart as he moves them up and down. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already—“

His fingers twist, his thumb pressing against your clit, sending your back upwards. 

Your reaction makes him chuckle and return to his previous ministrations, this time even slower than before, forcing you to groan, knowing it’s your own fault. If you had just listened you wouldn’t have to deal with the teasing. The endless game you know is just beginning, feeling the way he languidly moves, grinning all the while.

“Is something the matter, darling?”

His breath is ghosting the spot you want him to fuck. His fingers are moving but not at all at the pace you need them to be, and frankly, you’re desperate. A mess of regret and lust all mixed together, rising throughout your chest. 

“Astarion, please.” 

You’re not above begging. You’ve done it loads of times before but considering your current lack patience, it’s hard not to think about the barely there veil of composure he knows he’s able to exploit in the most delicious of ways.

“I’m sorry, I can’t quite hear you, love. It’s a bit noisy down here with all the… wetness.” 

You resist the urge to groan at his terrible joke, feeling a finger dip between your folds for just a moment before it’s gone again. “Please.”

“Please? Oh, my darling, whatever could you be pleasing me about?” He raises his head to grin, causing you to notice that your blood is still very much coated on his lips, drying as the seconds pass. 

“I swear to g—“

Before you can defy further, he tuts menacingly, staring you down, forcing your mouth to close. “Don’t make me grab the knife.” 

Immediately, you swallow your words and just nod your head, allowing yourself a moment to recuperate just as he chuckles and, without warning, presses his mouth to your clit, sending you closer to the edge.

It only lasts a second but it’s enough to have you fully committing, your voice loud and proud, verbally repeating your wants and needs without breath. Telling him how much you want him to touch you. To draw his tongue up and down your folds as he buries his face deep inside. 

By the end of your spiel, you’re almost breathless and staring, your chest heaving up and down at the prospect of him finally giving in. Quickly, your eyes wander, exploring his features as his tongue pokes out to lick his bottom lip, forcing you to bite your own, wondering if he’ll do it. If he’ll finally grant you the release you so desperately need.

Looking between you and the one place you want him to focus his attention on, you see him smirk and sink three fingers in, pushing with little regard for the force that works against him. 

“Do you truly think you’ve earned such a gift?” he asks, allowing his lips to split to reveal his bloodied teeth before they plunge themselves into the plush of your inner thigh, forcing you to cry as he denies you of your pleasure time and time again.

-

TAGLIST: @poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo@jjfchk@idiotsatan@bluestuesday@bloopthebat@art-by-greenie@heneralmoon@sukunababe@dreamingaboutyousworld@ranfithegood@haniscrying@liadamerondjarin@the-lake-is-calling@marina-and-the-memes@rookieoftheyear@zraloci-cpr@kaetmo@snickerdoodle-daydream@wowowwild@d1anna@raswiet@conniesbbymama@venus-wrts@demonicthorns@kihten@deadglamsheep@sanscas@spammypasta@leighsartworks216@rose-gold-blue@p1ssmagg0t@hellish-writes@ghostinvenus@otayz@sexysquatch@sleepyeclair@colorful-anxieties@alina-exe@ilana-the-lasagna@lillifer@girlwiththepapatattoo@y2cade@acelin-ginsberg@pinkuranium@catrad0rable@scarletrosesposts@qwnamidala@itsrosebabe@bunnyperi@queenofcarrotflowers-s@tatumadams20@spkyxszn@chlort@f3v3rs@awkwardwookie@joy-the-reader@warm-milk-with-honey-blog@vertigocrime@iyis@wildpiper@pebblethestone@tillywasneverhere@bex-03@kaetmo@revemiya@staticspouse@itzagothamcitysiren@djarinsmixtape@when-the-night-came@epicy0n@bababahannah@sleepyred1703@lotus-99@lofcompass@r4d10h34d5@vampninjaz@itsmekalou@offbrandhand@yikes-buddy@konenichi@rainonarden@oceanbluesixeyes@bodtyworship@maydayitsjay@greasyslimebucket@yeeteth-the-raven@fantasyfairysworld@allexthakatt@flowersaretheshit@mavix@morglyne@thespectacularspaceace@cephiss0@use-your-telescope@furblrwurblr@kloverfield@angelofthorr@writervaul-t@starved-kitten@minixluvr@crowley--aziraphale@sapphicwren@alionera-blog@jennithejester@dezedrol@thisisew@saladalpaca@applepiewithbacon@httpbiohazard

(If you'd like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form. Also, if your name isn't on here and it should be I couldn't tag you so message me and I'll try again next time!)

#in my veins #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion smut #summer writes

[jellyfishinc]

Interesting Deleted Scenes/Details from The Menu

Lillian wasn't completely exaggerating when she said she put Chef on the map: He had another high end restaurant before Hawthorne, called Tantalus. Got 2 Michelin stars 2 years in, then closed up shop. Isn't heard from again until 3 years later, running a taco truck in Portland. He agreed to the interview only if he could keep his privacy, his own land, and it had to be by the water so he could source his own fish.

It's established the movie star has a peanut allergy during the tour, and this turns out to be setup for the menu's eighth course, where Felicity is ordered to force feed him a dish completely comprised of peanuts so as to kill him through anaphylactic shock.

Anne (wife of man who paid Margot to look like his daughter while jacking him off) actually couldn't eat The Island as is due to a shellfish allergy. Hers was salmon.

The broken emulsion gag escalates to where the servers literally waterboard Lillian with it.

The restaurant has hidden cameras in the dining room, so even if Elsa missed something, it still got caught.

The taco truck Chef was running was, according to him, the happiest he'd ever been, but Margot call him out on it later, asking why he parked his truck at a Food Expo where he KNEW food critics were going to be, if he wanted to be left alone.

Man's Folly was supposed to have more details about a woman chef's actual experience in the kitchen, from harassment to stereotypes.

The women DO get bread with Man's Folly, and it IS as delicious as promised. You can even see Tyler chewing on bread when Chef comes up to confront him afterwards.

Not only did Tyler bring Margot knowing she would die, he sincerely thought Chef was going to spare him. And even when called out on it, he STILL didn't apologize or take it back, because all he cared about was experiencing the menu.

Them all coming to the kitchen to watch Tyler screw himself over wasn't originally in the script. They were just supposed to watch from the dining room.

Margot makes another bid for her life before being ordered to go get the barrel. Which Chef appreciates enough to tell her so.

Margot smiles upon seeing Tyler's hanging.

Lillian realizes she's never going to get to write about this last experience, and THAT ends up being her real just desserts.

Instead of dropping the ashes to set it all on fire, Chef originally drops a match.

We never found out Margot's true fate. The boat literally stopped a half mile away, so she was stuck there.

The last scene is of firefighters combing through the burnt wreckage, and the very last thing we see is the one photo of Chef as a young man, flipping a burger, but happy.

#the menu spoilers #the menu movie #the menu 2022 #the menu #anya taylor joy #ralph fiennes #nicholas hoult #the menu original script #the menu script

[sadoeuphemist]

Slymphs are aquatic parasites commonly found in brackish water, such as estuaries and coastal swampland, though certain species of freshwater slymph may be found inhabiting the shallow regions of lakes and slow-moving streams. They typically range in size from a few inches to roughly a foot long, with the largest specimen on record measuring just over three feet.

Slymphs feed via the suckers on either end of their body, marked by two or three concentric rings of teeth. Once a slymph latches on to a host, it injects a cocktail of neurotransmitters that serves to convince the host's nervous system that the slymph is a perfectly healthy part of their body. The host will subsequently react negatively to any attempt to remove the slymph, with similar intensity to the proposed amputation of an arm or a leg.

If the slymph is killed or otherwise removed, the conviction that it is part of their body will remain, and the host may seek medical attention for the detached slymph, or try to reattach it themselves. This delusion will fade over the next day or so as the slymph's saliva is flushed out of their system.

If, however, the slymph is allowed to remain attached, it will gradually integrate its circulatory system with the host's over the course of several months, its mouthpiece dissolving to meld with the host's flesh. This new appendage seems to have little deleterious effect on the host, other than potentially being cumbersome or unsightly, in addition to the periodic urge to go wading in brackish water in co-incidence with slymph mating season. Those possessing this organ treat it like any other part of their body and attribute to it a panoply of useful functions, such as helping to filter the toxins out of their blood, or making them more sensitive to moisture in the air. So far, any such effects have yet to be empirically proven.

A similar adaptation can be observed in the so-called "emperor slymph", which despite being closely related to the slymph is a different species altogether. The emperor is known by a number of regional names, some of the more colorful ones including: the brackwife, godsflesh, Tom's Lost Scrote, the crown-of-limbs, and twinning folly. The emperor slymph will ambush its prey using its multiple proboscises, which it can fling out like harpoons to inject its prey with a potent dose of neurotransmitters in order to pacify them. Unlike its smaller cousin, the emperor slymph will only feed until satiated, unlatching after it has had its fill of blood.

A person who has served as nourishment for an emperor is under no delusions about its physical characteristics. They will be perfectly capable of recognizing it as a multi-headed beast about the size of a walrus, with snaking necks and sucking toothless mouths designed to seal around a wound, sluggish and territorial, spending hours submerged beneath the water waiting for unsuspecting prey to come wading through its swamp. They will simply be convinced that this bloated creature is somehow a part of their own body, its hungers as natural as their own stomach grumbling at them, and must be provided for and taken care of as such.

Those afflicted by an emperor slymph will return to it for regular feedings. If the emperor has been hunting poorly, and they are its only source of blood, they will take their own anemia as a sign that the equivalent of a blood transfusion is necessary to stay alive. How they go about acquiring someone else for the emperor to feed on will vary greatly from person to person, depending on the severity of their situation and the morality of the person involved.

Multiple cults and communes have grown around the appetites of an emperor slymph, as a surplus of people to feed on means the quantity of blood drawn from each is reduced to a mere tongueful, almost ceremonial. Some adherents of this faith will claim that their mutual feeding has created a bond closer than love or kinship. As their philosophers and theologians propose, not entirely without merit: the slymphs' compatibility with our biology suggests a shared design that runs through our disparate natures, as if all the strange and wondrous creatures of the earth are more fundamentally the same than we realize, each of us an outstretched limb of divinity, flesh of flesh and blood of blood.

#fiction

[lovingache]

𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝'𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝. 🏹

𝐫. 𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 summary: "𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞" | tanaka is the biggest simp for his girlfriend. warnings: f!reader, aged up!haikyu (karasuno is a university) | no y/n, swearing, fluff fluff fluff, i love ryū and im so happy i finally got an idea that works so well for him, tanaka is an absolute SWEETHEART to reader, names used: doll, babe, word count: 1.1k a/n: i was listening to cupid's chokehold and immediately had to start writing this because THAT SONG IS LITERALLY GHOST WRITTEN BY TANAKA IDC ARGUE WITH THE WALL

Ryū didn't necessarily ask you to be his girlfriend. There was no grand gesture a few months into dating or a massive heart-to-heart to confirm that you two were taking that step together. He sort of just started calling you his girlfriend.

Something that surprised you about him is how deeply sentimental he is. During one of your dates, he insisted on taking photobooth pictures together, practically dragging you into the booth with him as he paid the fee and slung an arm around you. "C'mon, doll! It'll be fun, plus, this way, I can keep your picture with me everywhere!"

You two were there for almost an hour, striking pose after pose as you laughed with each other. You feel your cheeks heat up as he kisses you for a photo, his large hands cupping your face as he kisses you deeply. He hums with delight when he sees it printed onto the snapshots. "This one's just for me," he grins, wriggling his eyebrows at you as you smack his chest lightly.

He pouts when you say no after he asks you for one last set of pictures with just you, "Please, babe! That way, I can look at it whenever I miss you."

You roll your eyes playfully but oblige— you're not a monster. "You tell me you miss me all the time, Ryū," you tease, smiling at him as you stay seated.

"Exactly, I can look at your pictures all the time then! It'll totally help to see your face before a game if you can't be there in person— it'll help pump me up!" he grins, feeding the machine another bill as you pose for the pictures. He dropped you off that night with the broadest grin, knowing he didn't have to look far to see you smiling at him. It warms his heart knowing he's found a girl that not only puts up with his antics, but loves him for it.

He took the photos of you everywhere. His wallet, his phone case, his gym locker, taped up on his room's wall. You name it, your face is plastered there. You had to physically restrain him from ordering t-shirts with the photos on them, much to his dismay. "Fine," he grumbled. "I'll just show people the pictures of you then."

It's safe to say he loves being with you, showing you off as the brilliant woman who had, in your folly and his delight, chosen to be with him. The first time you'd visited him after practice, the team's eyes practically jumped out of their skulls after you ran up to him and kissed him on the cheek, asking him how it went.

"So she is real?!" Nishinoya yells as he runs up to Ryū to give him a high-five. "Holy shit, sorry, Tanaka. We all thought you made her up—"

He turns to you, introducing himself as Karasuno's libero and Tanaka's friend. "I've heard a lot about you, Nishinoya," you smile, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder. You swear he swoons a little as you do.

"Babe," he whines when you peel his arm off you as Daichi calls him into the gym. "I wanna keep my arm on you until we get in!" he complains, earning a snicker from Nishinoya and Kageyama, who are a few steps ahead of you.

You laugh, "Oh god, you big baby. Do you really want your opponents to see you pouting? Think of what message that'd send, Tanaka." You tease, knowing exactly how to rile him up for the match.

You laugh even harder as he crosses his arms and gives you a "Hmph!" as he lets you go. "Fine, but you better be cheering the loudest in there, doll."

He blushes as you kiss him quickly, "You know I always am, honey." You marvel at how quickly he runs into the gym, energized by your affection as his teammates run in to catch up with him.

You sit beside a friend from class as the team warms up, beaming at him whenever he looks at you after nailing a spike. "Let's go, Ryū!" you yell as the crowd thickens.

Soon enough, the match starts, and you're as energetic as he is as the team plays, whooping when they score and yelling encouragements when the other team scores. "C'mon, boys! You've got this!"

He turns to point to you after every kill, grinning up at you like you're his sun, and when he gets the game-winning point, he screams your name as he lands back on the gym floor.

The team is huddled and celebrating as you run down to congratulate them and celebrate with him. You raise an eyebrow at Daichi when you don't spot Ryū in the huddle. He shakes his head, jerking a thumb back over to where Ryū is standing, arguing with a player from the opposing team.

You hurriedly walk over to try to pull him away, knowing that he can get a little too hyped up after winning games—especially when he's the one who scored the match point.

You're about to call out to him when his voice cuts you off, yelling at the player as he grabs his gym bag from the team's manager, ruffling through the contents to grab something.

Oh no.

"Uh yeah! I so, too, have a girlfriend, dipshit!" He yells as he smiles wickedly at the brown leather wallet in his hand, unfurling it with a dramatic finish.

Oh, god, no.

"Look and weep, dickhead." He bellows, the proud undertone incredibly clear in his voice as he puts a hand on his hip. To your dismay, the player actually looks, stuttering as he tries to downplay the photo, "Y-Yeah, whatever. That's probably just a random picture you printed off the internet, weirdo."

Ryū scoffs, his hand still on his hip and wallet still extended at the gawking player. "Ha! You'd think so, right? I mean, she's so gorgeous that there's no way she's real. I thought so, too, when I first saw her. Why'd you think I worked so hard to impress her?" He says, his voice brimming with pride and affection, before folding the wallet.

"Yeah? She's not even here, so she can't be that good!" The player argues, and you roll your eyes.

You take a breath, about to call out to him, but Daichi's voice beats you, "Tanaka!" He waits for a beat as Ryū turns to him slowly before gesturing to where you are, "Your girlfriend's been here waiting for you, dummy."

You give Daichi a thankful look and giggle as Ryū turns quickly to where you are, scooping you up in his arms as he celebrates the win with you. "Congrats, babe!" You cheer as you kiss him deeply.

He pulls away from you, giving your nose a delicate kiss, before turning to look at the player who's already walking away, one arm hooked under you to keep you held up as he points at the player before pointing to you.

"Hey! Asshole! Take a look at my girlfriend!"

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated! ♡

#my writing #do not ask me how i had the stamina to write another fic today because i don't know #i blinked and it was done yall #anyways enjoy! #tanaka ryuunosuke #tanaka ryunosuke x reader #tanaka x reader #tanaka x fem!reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyu fanfiction #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu tanaka #haikyuu tanaka x reader #hq x reader #tanaka hq #hq fluff #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x female reader #tanaka fluff #tanaka ryuunosuke fluff #ryu tanaka #ryu tanaka fluff #ryu tanaka x reader #hq fanfic #hq fandom #haikyuu fluff #haikyu fluff

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 11: Fate's Folly

Summary: Astarion remained a spawn after ending the reign of Cazador with your help. After defeating the Netherbrain, you and Astarion stay together, moving forward with your lives. You reside in a small house in the city. One night, after an awkward and concerning interaction with him, he disappears without a trace.

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.4K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

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

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

Winter has gripped Faerûn in a deadlock. The trees have long since shed their leaves, and the bare limbs reach for the sky like bony fingers trying to scratch the heavens. The winter sun is dipping below the horizon, leaving the land stark and frigid. The wind whistles over the plains and whips your hair, churning it wildly around your face. You can’t even pick your feet up anymore, so your boots scuff across the hard earth.

How long have you been walking this road without stopping to eat or sleep? Your feet ache, your eyelids feel like lead weights, and your mind urges you to make camp for the night to allow yourself to slip into your trance, but you dare not. You don’t want to be assaulted by your nightmares any longer as they feed off sorrow and torment you. They pain you more than this exhaustion ever could.

Your fingers are frozen and numb. Lifting your hand, you try to summon fire, but you’re so tired even the Weave has abandoned you until you rest. With a defeated sigh, you pull your hood up and wrap your arms around yourself, shivering so hard your muscles cramp painfully, and your jaw chatters, clicking your teeth together.

If I can keep walking, at least I am advancing toward him.

… Hopefully.

As you continue your sluggish walk, your eyes begin to drift closed of their own volition. You’ve pushed your body too far, and it’s succumbing to exhaustion. You trip, sending yourself sprawling, and pebbles, twigs and gravel bite into your palms and knees. With no energy left in your reserves to push yourself up, you can do nothing but slump over on the cold earth and curl up.

If you do not trance, it will force itself upon you, and you quickly fade into a half-conscious state. You can feel the ground sap your body heat and infuse you with a raw, frigid sting that balls up your muscles and lances your skin as it permeates your robe. Your head hits and cracks the thin layer of ice atop a muddy puddle, splashing and submerging your hair in the slush. The murky liquid is piercing on your forehead and scalp, but you don’t have the energy to move. Unable to keep your eyes open, you drift and see Astarion in your mind’s eye.

Astarion relaxed at home, reading to you, cuddled up in bed while you giggle at his theatrical character voices. He only does these for you. He would never do such a thing in front of anyone else.

Astarion and you drinking his favourite wine by the fire all day, laughing, and dancing.

Astarion and you jump into a cold lake in the dead of night because he challenged you to see who would get out first. He won, of course.

Astarion walks through the rabble of taverns, playing your little game with a mischievous glimmer in his beautiful eyes, and he winks at you when he catches your glance.

Astarion and you making love. Your ears twitch, and you can almost hear his voice panting, “I love you, Kamena, my only one.”

Astarion humming a soothing tune because you were having trouble sleeping while you lay on his chest.

A wolf howls somewhere in the distance. When your eyes finally allow you to open them, your eyelashes are burdened with frozen teardrops, an icy stage for your woe. Your hair is an icicle of mud rooted to the ground. The first snowflakes drift from the sky, kissing your cheeks. You don’t have any strength left to rise, so you lay there as the snow starts to form a blanket akin to a death shroud on your body. You can’t even weep. You lay and wonder if this is it. Is this the end of your story? A powerful, fierce sorceress, torn asunder, doomed and destroyed by true love?

Why did you leave me, Astarion? What did I do?

You wake with a start, lunging upright and taking deep breaths. Your bones still ache from the cold, the remnant of your dream still evoking shivers. You flex your fingers, forcing them to release the bed linen balled in your fists. Nightmares still plague your meditation, but at least this one didn’t wake you up screaming. You glance at Astarion’s side of the bed, letting your hand slip over the silk sheets. He must still be out hunting. Every time he leaves, you worry that this time is the time he does not return.

Will I ever be able to trust him again?

Winter is starting to settle over the land, and the nights have become far too cold for your liking. There is no way you’ll be able to fall back into your trance. Flicking your wrist, a fire roars to life out of thin air, and you push it to burn unnaturally hot. Slipping Astarion’s shirt on, you sit on the floor before the fire and hold your fingers close to the flame, hoping the heat might blow away the remains of the dream gripping you. It doesn’t work. Your fingers still tremble with that panging soreness that will not relent.

Intense shivers run up and down your spine, making your body tremble with the same verve it did on that rigid, icebound earth. A cutting, frigid cold settles over your body as if you’ve been plunged into a crevice and fallen to the very depths of Cania. The flames of the fire start to turn a frightening blueish-white. Yet, no matter how hot you push it to burn, you cannot get the gnawing ache to abate.

You don’t hear Astarion enter, and you jump when he sits in the plush chair behind you, with you between his legs. He drapes a blanket over your shoulders, rubbing your arms, “You are up late or early, depending on how you view it. Nightmares again?”

“Yes,” you sigh as you pull the blanket around you. Your teeth continue to chatter despite the sweat sheening your skin.

Astarion kisses the top of your head, “I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

What does he expect you to say? The year you spent without him by your side still haunts your dreams and thoughts. Lately, it has been all-consuming, and it’s absorbing your happiness. You can feel yourself slipping, and no matter how hard you try, the slipping never seems to stop. Anything you say will hurt him, and he’s had enough pain in his life. He does not need to bear your misery.

“We used to talk about everything and anything. I told you all about my…,” Astarion’s jaw clenches. He’s uncomfortable talking about that night he cried in your arms for hours, but he pushes himself to continue, “My feelings and fears. It’s not easy for me either, you know. I am unaccustomed to sharing my weaknesses. Hells, I’m not even used to feeling it. I spent so many years feeling only hatred, disgust and loathing, and then you came along and ruined it all,” he smirks, trying to lighten the gloomy mood.

“We used to before you left me,” you whisper. There’s a hint of irritation in your voice. Being pushed to share your pathetic moments and weakness grates at you, but then again, maybe you need someone to drag it out of you. You’ve been keeping this woe bottled inside you for so fucking long, “I’m not sure what you want me to say, Astarion. Whatever I tell you will be painful to hear, and I don’t want to do that to you because it’s not your fault.”

Astarion bursts out of his chair. He shouts with an inflection rough as gravel, “It is my fault! Stop making excuses for me because there is no excuse for what I did. I am not a fool, and I am not fragile. What did you ask of me? The truth even when it hurts? Do I not deserve the same courtesy?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you whimper, hand covering your mouth and blinking away tears.

“I deserve the hurt, and I can handle it. Let me bear it with you.”

“No,” you shake your head, eyes fixed on him, “You don’t deserve it.”

Astarion wracks his fingers through his hair and over the frustration that darkens the planes of his face, making him look severe, “Stop being so bloody pig-headed!”

You’re swayed in a sudden grip of outrage. It festers in your veins, heating your skin and palms. The fire leaps wildly as if pure alcohol were poured onto it as you jump to your feet. You can’t help yourself, and you pace as you scream at him, “What do you want me to say, Astarion?! You want me to tell you that I walked for days at a time. All day and all night! I never stopped to eat or rest because if I did, I didn’t know if I would have the strength to get back up!”

Good Gods. You’re so fucking livid that flames are starting to writhe over your skin like snakes in a pit. That draconic fire is hard to control when your emotions are high. All the feelings you’ve been tampering start to spew out of your mouth spitefully, and you can’t stop the avalanche.

“You want the fucking truth?” You roar, unable to stop the emotion seeping from your pores, “I walked until my feet and legs were numb from pain. I walked until I was so exhausted that my eyes closed without consent, the Weave, even fire abandoned me, and my pathetic body forced me to stop. Do you know what happened when I stopped? Exactly what I feared would. I had to relive memories of when I was happy, memories of us, as the cold earth sapped the rest of my strength. When I came to, I did not have the strength to continue, so I lay there while snow blanketed me and considered letting death have me because I was so godsdamned miserable without you!”

Tears stream down your face, dripping from your chin. When you look at Astarion, his cheeks are as wet as yours, scarlet eyes ashine behind sorrow. This is what you did not want to do. You don’t want to hurt him. Astarion told you he left you because he was afraid, and at the time, it felt like the best option available. That need to run, ignore, and flee your problems is an old friend now, and you can’t blame him. It’s what you did for a year and are continuing to do.

Instead of facing the fact that he was gone and he did not want to be found, you kept pushing your body to its limits and putting yourself into stupid situations because you could not accept the fact that maybe he did not want you any longer. Your heart is hammering as you choke and suffocate on all the memories you’ve been repressing. Days and nights of walking or running as far as your feet could take you until you were senseless. Battles with brigands, ne’er-do-wells, and all manner of beasts. The boiling heat of summer and the glacial cold of winter. Staring at the moon while you wept because your soul could practically feel the distance between you enlarging.

The fact he’s made you upset him stokes those embers of anger further. You rasp low, wiping your eyes, “There. Now you know how pathetic I am. I am not a fearless leader or a fucking hero. I am just a broken, foolishly weak woman who could not even take care of herself and could not accept that you left me. Is that what you want to hear? Are you happy now that my fragility and broken pieces are displayed for you to gawk at and judge? Go ahead, Astarion. Tell me how objectively stupid I am.”

Astarion’s brows furrow as tears tiptoe from the corners of his eyes, gliding down his cheeks. Astarion’s voice is gruff, a woven lace between anger and anguish. “By the Gods. Why would you do that to yourself? For me, of all people?!”

Good Gods, is he truly so blind? 

“Because I love you! The way I fell for you was as effortless as breathing. When you left, the moon split, and the stars fell from the sky into the sea I was endlessly suffocating in. I watched my whole world crumble.” Splaying your hand on your chest, you try to halt the ever-increasing tightness constricting your lungs. You laugh sarcastically at yourself, “And it’s all my damn fault. You are not accountable for my happiness or lack thereof, or how I handled you leaving, or what I did after the fact. It’s all on me.”

It’s an epiphany of sorts. All that anger, fear, and hurt you’re holding onto, repressing, and running from is not his doing - it’s yours. You cannot blame Astarion for how you reacted to his leaving, regardless of how he handled it. You’ve been smothering yourself, and your anger is entirely misplaced. You are angry at yourself, and you have been for some time.

The silhouette standing in the road, blocking you from happiness, is yours.

You need air and space to think, and you dress quickly while Astarion begs you to stop and talk to him. Gods, you’re going to asphyxiate if you stay in this house. Your chest heaves in short, quick breaths that only make you dizzier. Your heart is thudding in your ears. Your muscles tremble with the urge to run, and you lunge toward the door.

Run.

Astarion steps in front of it quickly, “No,” His voice shakes, tears streaking down his cheeks as he blocks your path.

“Get out of my way, Astarion,” you snap at him sharply. “Get out of my way, or I will move you out of my way.”

Please don’t make me move you.

“Then move me,” he challenges with a scowl.

With a grimace, you cast Telekinesis and glide Astarion across the floor to the other end of the room gently. His eyes round, shocked. You’ve never cast against him in anger before. Guilt devours you, consuming whatever was left of your rationality.

Once again, panic takes the wheel, and you run.

I’m sorry, Astarion. I’m so sorry.

He watches the slow rise and fall of her chest and listens to the somnolent beating of her heart as she trances by the fire to keep warm. He only needs a taste, a nibble, to test how far this newfound freedom truly spans. He can walk in the sun, and so far, Cazador has not been able to control him, but is he still bound by the rules Cazador planted in his mind?

If he’s quiet enough, he should be able to… Her eyes snap open, and she jumps to her feet with a scowl.

“…Shit.” He puts his hands up and backs away slowly, watching her intently to see if she reaches for a weapon or if magic starts to dance on her fingers, “No, no - it’s not what it looks like, I swear!”

Shit. Shit. Shit. He’s got to recover from this. Quickly, or she might try and stake him, “I wasn’t going to hurt you. I just needed - well, blood.”

“How long since you killed someone? Days? Hours?”

“I’ve never killed anyone! Well… not for food,” He glances at the ground. How much should he reveal? It’s a fine line to tread. He needs to tell enough of the truth to earn trust but not enough to unveil his “little plan.”

She is not wholly soft-hearted and pure, but he’s spent two hundred years manipulating people. He can surely get her to spread her legs for him, to fall for him, and ensure his safety. The living are as much of a slave to their more animalistic desires as he is to bloodlust. It makes them simple prey.

“I feed on animals. Boars, deer… Kobolds. Whatever I can get. But it’s not enough. Not if I have to fight! I feel so... weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” He slips on his expert manipulative demeanour and intonation, ”Please.”

He feels an odd pinch in his mind as it half unfolds for her. Gods. She has access to his memories and thoughts. Will she intrude into his mind unapologetically and violate him as so many have in the past? More than likely. He sighs, resigns himself and awaits the transgression.

Her brow quirks up, and her defensive stance relaxes slightly as she shakes her head to rid herself of the unfamiliar sensation of the tadpole writhing behind her eye. Her voice is gentle, almost hurt, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She… she didn’t force herself upon him? She didn’t take the bait and play his mind like an instrument, plucking the strings of his memories?

“At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs. No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”

She scrutinizes him in a way that makes him feel like he’s been stripped of his clothes and naked. “I do. I believe you.”

“Thank you.” he sighs, relieved. She trusts him? Objectively stupid, but he will take it. “Do you think you could trust me just a little further? I only need a taste, I swear.”

She nods, “Fine. But not a drop more than you need.”

His brows shoot up his forehead. Is she really just going to allow him to bite her? Stupid woman. “Really? I - of course. Not one drop more. Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

“Wait!” She halts him, pushing him back by the shoulders.

He recoils, a little aggravated at her blockage. He was so, so deliciously close. “What is it, Sorceress? Don’t tell me you’ve chickened out already. I’ll be gentle, I swear. It will only hurt for a moment.”

“No, Rogue,” she frowns at him. She is cute when she’s angry. Her fingers hover by his lips, “Pain does not frighten me. Open your mouth.”

“Open my mouth?” He arches a brow at her, “Why?”

“I’ve noticed your fangs, but I’ve never paid them much thought,” she muses with a wily grin. “I would like to see what you’re about to plunge into my neck.”

He scoffs, “I am not an exhibition for your eyes to feast upon.”

“Do you want to eat or not?” She smirks, “I believe it’s a simple request.”

“You’re very strange,” he clicks his tongue but opens his mouth for her with a roll of his eyes. It is a small price to pay if this works.

She pricks her finger against his fang, “Ouch! Sharp!”

“No, shit.” He chuckles with a scoff, “Have you finished examining me now? Shall we continue?”

She scoffs back at him, “You’re very impatient. Very well. You may continue with your supper.”

She lolls her head to the side. His fangs break her supple flesh, and her blood flows freely into his mouth. Cazador’s rules do not bind him any longer. Gods, she tastes like clouds parted, heaven is stroking his tongue, and angel wings flutter through his veins. She leans into him with a sigh. Her body shakes, excited. Excited? An odd reaction, but alas, who is he to complain? He can feel her inside of him. Her essence fills him, and his nerves hum a sonnet he’s never heard or felt. He loses himself in her.

She pushes against him feebly as her body starts to grow cold, “Stop! It’s too much.”

Reluctantly, he removes his fangs, cleaning his lips, and licking his fingers. He will not waste a drop of that liquid bliss, “Ah! Of course. I was just swept up in the moment. But it worked. I feel good. Strong. Happy.”

He got carried away. He will have to watch himself more carefully if she ever allows him near her again.

She wavers on her feet, hand coming to her forehead and eyes glossy. She groans, and he expects her to chastise him. Instead, she steadies herself and chimes resolutely, “I’m looking forward to seeing you fight.”

That’s it? No beating? No flaying? No putrid rats? Not so much as a “bad vampire!” Just... looking forward to seeing him fight. What in the Hells?

He hides his surprise behind that practice veneer of confidence, “Shouldn’t take long. So many people need killing. Now if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling,” he lies. He’s full, happy, but inexplicably highly aroused.

Is this something that always happens with thinking creatures? Is it simply a natural response because she’s his first? He has nothing and no one to compare this experience to.

“This is a gift, you know.” She might be a gift from the Gods after they’ve ignored him for centuries. He is no longer bound by his puppet master or the rules rooted in his brain. He has broken his chains. He purrs, “I won’t forget it.”

She stops him, giggling lightheaded and ethereal, “The boar was you, wasn’t it?” 

She is clever, isn’t she? He chuckles, “Yes, my dear. I said a vampire killed it, did I not?”

She plops down on her bedroll, “You conveniently left out that you were that vampire. Very clever, Astarion,” she smirks. “I’ll watch you and the pretty words that leave your beautiful mouth more closely from now on. Happy hunting.”

She thinks his mouth is beautiful?  

The door slams hard enough to cause the tower to shake, and she’s gone. Kamena had always been the unshakable light of their group of misfits. She took everything in stride.

Gale’s orb might explode and kill them all? No problem, we will find magical items for him to consume.

Sharran Cleric? No sweat. Your beliefs are your own.

Warlock bound to his contract? Easy. We will find a way to break that.

Murderous Gith with a superiority complex that could rip out her spine? Tell me more about you and your people.

Tiefling spewing Hellfire from her body with an infernal engine for a heart? Welcome aboard. Now, let’s find a way to fix that heart of yours.

Vampire spawn who tries to bite her while she tranced one night? No matter. I trust you. While we are at it, let's make a pit stop and kill your master so you can be free. 

She never flinched when confronted that they might all burst into Mind Flayers any second. She always kept the group moving forward toward their goals while taking the time to sort out everyone’s problems. His stomach sinks. It’s nearly dawn, but he can catch her before the sun rises… probably. He sprints out of the room and down the stairs.

“Let her go, Astarion,” Gale grips his arm and shakes his head.

“Are you mad?” He pulls his arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

“You look lost,” Gale pats his shoulder. “Despite our differences, we do share one thing in common. Our love for her.” Astarion’s jaw tightens. “Purely platonic on my end, of course,” Gale assures with a genial smile. “If you need to speak to a trusted… friend. Well, I do hope you might consider me one such friend.”

“Are we,” he quirks his brow at the wizard and grimaces, “… friends?”

“Perhaps friends is a little superfluous,” Gale chuckles. “But I am here for you if you need a friendly ear or advice. I have navigated the waters she’s currently treading. It can be a dark path.”

“Ugh,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. The wizard always likes to beat around the bush. He prefers someone to speak their mind, “Just speak plainly.”

“Come, my friend,” Gale gestures toward the sitting room, “Let’s sit. I would offer you some tea, but… I know that doesn’t fit your particular dietary needs.”

Astarion groans, relinquishing his hold on the door handle. He looks longingly, willing it to open and for her to rush back into his arms. He sits on the sofa and lets his head fall into his hands. His fingers splayed into his hair.

“Do you want to be with her, Astarion?” Gale begins.

“What are you getting at, Gale?” He mutters annoyance weaved in the deep baritone of his voice that he can’t hide, “Get to the point.”

Gale’s voice loses the honeyed intonation, “Do you want to spend your life with her until hers ends, or will you run again when it gets hard? There is an imbalance in your relationship. You are immortal. She is not.”

“You know as well as I that there are ways to extend life - beyond my… condition,” Astarion drags his hand through his hair.

“There are, but nothing is assured,” Gale retorts, “If she cannot extend her life or find a cure for you, are you willing to stay with her when she gets old, and you remain forever young? It’s an eventually you must consider.”

Can he do it? Is he capable of spending the next 800 years with her only to have her age and die, leaving him alone again? Gods. A world void of her fire? Perish the thought.

Astarion cants a brow at him and scoffs, “If this is your attempt at a pep talk, you’re failing abysmally.”

“You have enough pep,” Gale chuckles, rubbing his hands together. “No, I am trying to have a real discussion with you, and you are making it exceedingly gruelling.”

“Yes,” he answers truthfully. Astarion swallows hard, trying to dissuade the ball in his throat to ease, “I want to be with her. More than anything.”

“Good,” Gale’s hand comes to his chin as he contemplates. “Then you must keep fighting for her. Every day, you must treasure her. When the days are cold, warm her. When the shadows disturb her rest, hold her tight. When she needs space, let her go. Show her you can handle the storm, and be prepared to weather it with her.”

“I am trying,” he sighs, leaning back in his chair. His brows furrow as he eyes Gale with palpable caution. Gale is still in love with her, and he knows. It makes him wary to have these conversations with him, “I have never done this - a real relationship. Love. It’s all new to me, and I have no idea how to navigate it.”

Gale’s bourbon brown eyes reflect the firelight as he examines Astarion with a probing case that makes him uncomfortable, though his expression remains nearly blank. Is there empathy in his eyes? Delight? Pain?

“You hurt her deeply, but I don’t need to tell you that,” Gale finally says and leans forward. “You, of all people, should know that pain leaves scars, whether visible on the skin or unseen on the heart. Remember, Astarion. When you’re speaking to her, you are touching her scars.”

Hells below. He had not thought of it like that before.

Gale smiles, “Now, that awkwardness is over. Tell me, Astarion. What do you know of the Wish spell?

Astarion balks at the quick change in subject, although he’s happy about it, “Wish? I know it’s a powerful spell, but not much else. Spells are not my expertise, Gale. You know this. I leave magic up to you and Kamena - much more so Kamena.”

“Kamena is a substantially powerful sorceress. We have not seen the like of her kind for some time,” Gale smirks with an amused chuckle. “She gave up sparing with me because I could not keep up. Can you believe that - an archmage unable to keep up with a sorceress? I often wonder if her ancestor is Tiamat herself.”

“I am well aware of how powerful she is,” Astarion snickers, “But you’re getting off-topic. What of this Wish spell?”

Gale’s eyes brighten, and he beams. “Kamena never stopped looking for it, you know. Even when you left, she continued and persuaded me to continue as well. I have a lead - an excellent lead.”

“Is Kamena capable of casting it?” Astarion mouth drops. “Could she actually use it?”

“She is more than powerful enough to cast it,” Gale nods, but his expression turns sullen. “Though spells of this power often have a cost and can be rather… finicky. It could be dangerous - for you and her. I have not found it yet, but I believe we are getting close. In theory, she could use it to cure you, but it might go awry. We cannot be sure of the consequences, though. We have not found any documentation on such.”

“Can it kill her?” Astarion asks bluntly. Spells of such power often have unforeseen consequences. You cannot evoke such power without cost. Sometimes, it is minimal. Other times, it is life itself. He’s read enough books to know this much.

“Possibly,” Gale concludes with a grim look. His jaw clenches, setting his lips in a thin line.

“Stop looking for it, Gale.” Astarion shakes his head. His heart sinks a little. This would be the closest thing he could get to a cure since he didn’t complete the Rite, but he cannot justify the payment, “Her possible death is not worth my possible life.”

“My friend, you will have to speak to her about that,” Gale chuckles with a sullen shrug. “She has already been appraised of my objections.”

“Ugh,” Astarion scoffs, tousling his hair, “Let me guess. She said, and I quote, “Your objections have been noted.”

Gale’s laugh booms through the halls, “Yes, precisely. She is stubborn, and that silver tongue of hers is dangerous. Sometimes, she persuades me to do things I was adamant I didn’t want to do! Are all Elves like that, or is she just special?”

“Gale,” Astarion smirks, “I think we have much to discuss. I do not indulge in tea, but do you have something harder?”

Gale’s fingers come to his chin, “Like wine?”

“No,” Astarion tuts, clicking his tongue with a scoff. “Much harder.”

Gale grins widely, “Oh, now you’re speaking my language, my sharp-toothed friend! Join me in my cellar, and pick what you like best!”

You close the bedroom door softly behind you and lean on it. Astarion is sitting before the fire in one of the chairs. He does not even twist to look at you, but he would have heard and smelt you coming even before you reached the manor. He sits with his head in his hand, propped up by his arm. You take a deep breath and force the fire to take the shape of a dragon, fly out of the fireplace, around him and to you before you make it land on the log and continue burning in its natural state. Astarion does not flinch at your display. He barely seems to blink as the dragon gambles around him, driving and twirling. It’s a sure sign that he’s angry, which is precisely what you wanted to know.

You have been caught in a stormy ocean of despair. You’re being tossed like a ship on rough waves. Some days, the waves calm, and you feel like yourself again. On other days, the waves are agitated, and you toss, just trying to stay afloat, but sometimes you get dragged under the surface and start drowning again. It does not matter how hard you kick or fight to break the barrier. An anchor on your legs and arms that drags you down into the depths.

Perhaps it’s time to stop fighting the storm and weather it instead. Emotions are messy, and you are not well acquainted with these. You’ve never been in love before this. You spent most of your adult life alone, hunting down the wizard who purchased you and tortured you for your childhood in the name of “teaching you to master your talents.”

“I’m sorry, Astarion,” you murmur from the door, not daring to get closer to him. “I should not have cast on you. It was uncalled for.”

“You shuffled me across the floor,” he chuckles, twisting in his chair with an amused smile. “That hardly requires an apology. I am impressed with your control. However, I would prefer it if you don’t use magic when we argue. Otherwise, think nothing of it. I should not have pushed you. I was too harsh... I’m sorry.”

“I need to be pushed, I think,” you sigh, combing your fingers through your hair. “I keep trying to calm myself, but I just need to weather it as it comes. Sometimes... I get swept away, and there’s nothing I can do. I think... I need to stop trying to stop it and try to survive it instead.”

“Come,” Astarion taps his lap with an affectionate smile and empathy shining in his eyes. “Sit with me, and we can talk.”

Walking over, you discard your robe and are left in your underclothes. Astarion’s arms wrap around you as you ease down onto his lap, and he pulls you close to him. He kisses your temple, his cheek on your forehead.

Astarion takes your hand, interlocking your fingers with his and squeezing slightly. He asks blatantly, “Do you want to be with me, or is my presence here just hurting you further?”

“What?” You cup his cheek with your palm, and he nuzzles your hand. Astarion’s silken lips ghost over it, and he kisses it before resting on it, “I want to be with you more than anymore, but I need time. I told you. I am broken. I mentioned I was drowning when you left, but I am coming up for air now. I’m fighting to keep my head above the waves, but sometimes I fall below them…. I don’t want you to leave. Please, stay with me. You are all I need.“

He nods. Astarion’s scarlet eyes swallow you, and empathy and understanding wash over you. “You are not broken, sweetheart.” Astarion places a soft kiss on your lips. “You are healing, and sometimes healing is messy. I know that better than most.” Astarion pauses and nuzzles your cheek, “Stop running from me and start running to me, Kamena. I can be strong when you feel weak, just as you are for me. We do not walk these roads alone any longer. We walk them together, my Solicallor, my only one.”

Solicallor… His Elven nickname for you means “Warm light of the sun.”

What did I ever do to deserve someone so understanding? 

That’s it, that breaks you, tearing you apart and rending you inside out. Your breaths come in rapid heaves, and your heart feels like it might fly out of your throat onto the ground before you. You clutch at your chest, and you start to tremble. Your eyes swarm with tears. You slip your hands down the back of Astarion’s shirt, needing to feel the cool chill of his skin, but are careful not to touch his scars. He doesn’t appear to notice when your fingertips accidentally brush the raised edges.

Astarion purrs, crushing you against him, “Breath with me, my love. Deep breaths. In” he counts to 30, “and out,” he counts to 30.  You try to synchronize your breaths to his as best you can.

“You have not called me Solicallor in some time,” you shake while forcing a fireball to circle you as if you’re the gravity keeping it in place. You push all your hurt, fear and anger into that fireball, making it double in size and burn white-hot. “I can be your sun, Astarion. For now, at least.”

“Yes,” he chuckles, but there’s an edge to his voice that you didn’t expect. “Gale and I had an interesting chat today, but we shall discuss that later.”

“He told you of the Wish spell.” It’s not a question. You knew Gale was going to out you eventually. You’re going to have to scold him later for it. You were not going to tell Astarion until you had the damn spell in hand and were sure you could cast it.

“He did,” Astarion nods, rubbing your back and weaving his fingers into your hair. “But that’s a conversation for another time. Let’s focus on us for tonight.”

“I am going to have to chastise Gale,” you frown. You cannot help the anticipation dripping from your voice, “Us?”

“Don’t chastise him too hard, darling. He is rather insecure, but who wouldn’t be with me around?” he chuckles with an arrogant smirk. “Yes. Us. Whatever that may be right now. We can stay in this limbo of indecision as long as you need. But to me, we are still us. You are only mine, yes? Or do I have people I need to murder?”

“We are us.” You agree with a broad smile. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull yourself close, “And I am yours.”

“Only mine?” He sounds agog as if he cannot imagine you would be wholly his.

Does he still not believe he deserves me?  

“Only yours, Aerasumé,” you kiss his cheek, calling him the nickname you gave him in private derived from your language. It means “Silvermoon of the Evening.” You’re reluctant to say it, but it’s been on your mind since you met him, “I think I was born to be yours, thiramin.”

Astarion stiffens at your mention of “thiramin.” It is your Elven word for what is basically a soulmate. His clutch on you strengthens, and his fingers start running through your hair, but he doesn’t say anything, and his jaw is tight. Your heart sinks into your stomach. Have you gone too far? Have you frightened him? Will he run?

“You don’t have to say it back, Astarion,” you encourage in a honeyed intonation, running your fingers comfortingly up and down his neck. “I do not expect you to feel that same. I just… I guess I just wanted you to know how I truly felt.”

Astarion’s mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. He swallows hard, making his Adam's apple bob. It’s one of his tells when he’s uncomfortable. He kisses you intimately, but his reluctance to answer causes your heart to spasm, clench and descend into your stomach. Are you more in love with him than he is with you? Is that why you were so incapable of letting him go, but he so easily ran from you?

“I think... I need some space,” Astarion murmurs. “I’m sorry, I-”

You cut him off, slipping off his lap and shaking your head. You remain stoic, forcing tears to stay behind your eyes, “It’s okay. I understand. Goodnight, Astarion."

I went too far. 

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

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

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

Small Notes:

I just wanna hug Kamena.

Also Astarion

And Gale too for good measure.

#astarion x tav #astarion x you #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion romance #astarion x mc #astarion ancunin #astarion smut #baldurs gate astarion #astarion/oc #astarion x oc #astarion x named tav #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #shadows of the past

[atinylittlepain]

Prologue

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!oc

series masterlist

series warnings: dark themes surrounding history of domestic violence, dark themes in general, heavy emotions (hope can also be heavy)

a/n: hello, folks. this is a very important piece of writing to me. i won't say much else, just a huge thank you to my twin, my friend @wannab-urs. thank you, man, for pretty much walking alongside me for the entirety of this story, and loving these two as much as i do. and thank you, reader, i look forward to hearing your thoughts.

.........................................

This is not a ghost story. But it is certainly a story about ghosts. 

There is a man. He lives in a town that stays forgotten by most, held in the merciful cradle of a crooked spine of mountains. The people in town know everyone’s names. They say hello to each other in the grocery, and they sigh about the weather that is always flirting with change, and maybe with something darker. 

The man is alone. An alone that was chosen, wanted. His daughter worries for him, after him, staticky phone calls upon which she laments alone. He assures her that he is fine every time, and that he is looking forward to having her for the holidays.

The man works nights. A highway patrolman, silver star in his back pocket making it real. He enjoys the silence, the way the night’s ink slips and spills down the road, the murmurings and giggles of coyotes reveling in their evening feeds and follies. The mountains, nothing more than a smudged bruise in the sky. 

There is a woman. A woman in a car that is not hers. She has nothing with her save a book in the passenger seat. Her knuckles turned white as infant phantoms over the steering wheel. She is a blistering comet, daunting and daring down the highway. Fast enough that it starts to feel like floating, like relief. 

The woman is alone. And it is a mercy that she is alone, at last. She had to fight for alone. She had to flee for alone. The car that isn’t hers rumbles and groans with alone, and she presses the gas pedal harder to make it shriek a little more. 

The woman is driving too fast. She knows it. She wants it. Headlights, force and flood, are a wicked wash down the highway. It is heard before it is seen.

The man hesitates. Shocked by the fierce blur of machine that whines by, winged and wretched, hands stuttering on the shift, on the wheel. His body curls tight in pursuit. 

There is a man and there is a woman. The man will think he is seeing specter when he pulls the woman over. He will blink once, twice, waiting for her to dissolve like smoke, like the steam that rises from the writhing dirt every morning. The woman will still be there when he opens his eyes. The woman will be afraid. 

There is a man and there is a woman. Alone was never going to last very long.

...................................

tagging folks i think might be interested (lmk if you want added or dropped): @hier--soir @darkroastjoel @northernbluess @tieronecrush @trulybetty

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel miller fics #joel miller au #joel miller story #joel miller series #deliver me from nowhere

[genovianxprince]

OK I think I understand some of why some people in the fandom choose to make Mystra some kind of a terrible, grooming abuser to Gale. It's because every one of the companions has like a specific person you can point to and say, that is the abuser. That right there is the person who has caused the companion grievous harm. Gale and Mystra are a little more complex than that.

Shadowheart and Lae'zel technically have a whole cult/culture backing up the abuse, but you can still pretty directly point to Viconia and Shar for Shadowheart, and ultimately Vlaakith for Lae'zel as well as just... every Githyanki she ever met, except for Kith'rak Voss.

Wyll has Mizora, Karlach had Zariel and Gortash, Astarion has Cazador, all very obvious and self explanatory in the game. They were innocent, kidnapped, coerced, sold, played like a damn fiddle. But Gale?

Gale has Mystra, a goddess he loves, who also loves him, and the things they did to each other were both fucked up, and a lot of the fault totally lies with Gale! The other companions all had external forces affecting them. Gale's was mostly internal. He refused to believe he was good enough. "As inconceivable as it seems to me now, I shared a bed with a goddess and I still wasn't satisfied." A literal goddess, the one he favored, the one he was in love with, who favored and loved him back, consistently told him he was perfect as he was and he straight up did not believe her. He placed himself on a higher and higher pedestal he could never reach the top of because if he wasn't constantly climbing to some nebulous goal of perfection, then could he be good enough for Mystra?

Y'know, instead of just believing the woman he was in love with. And I get it! Insecurities suck! Especially when you've been the gifted child your entire life, perfectly talented at something that all the adults in your life go nuts over. But also, it is extremely arrogant to assume you know better than your literal goddess and be like "yo, there's a missing piece of the Weave and I can go get it" like... Mystra is the Weave, she would have known and probably sent someone on a quest if it were actually Her Weave and not Karsus' Weave.

Gale is INCREDIBLY hubristic and he keeps falling for that trap. He's overconfident. Hell, even after his year in isolation where he comes out humbled, a small group of people believing in him for a short amount of time gets him to go "omg, crown of karsus = godhood, I can totally do that and tell the gods they SUCK and overthrow Ao's rules!"

Like, babyboy, no.

Of course, Mystra is not without some fault. After Gale's initial... Folly-up, she just ignores him for a year. Damn, girl, what the hell! Well. You see. The Netherese orb is a fragment of the magic that Karsus used to try to ascend and steal her throne with. The magic that she realized was going to kill everything if she didn't sacrifice herself. For a moment, all magic ceased to exist, including Mystryl herself, and Karsus died. Then Mystra came into being. Gale tells you a short version of this story himself! So it kind of makes sense that Mystra would see this shard of magic and just... kinda have a trauma reaction! And to gods, time flows differently. It wouldn't shock me to learn she didn't realize it had been a year by the time Gale left his Tower due to mind flayer shenanigans. Naturally, she does not want to discuss the thing she's so terrified of, and just tries to have it destroyed without her having to touch it—the plan to have Gale blow himself up on the Absolute itself, and she would save his soul. And even after he disobeys her instruction, she still allows the orb to feed on the true Weave! She still lets him live without fear of blowing up randomly, even though it greatly distresses her to let this magic that killed her once feed on her own life force.

Then he reaches the city, and reads The Annals of Karsus, and realizes she's going to have to explain, despite not wanting to. And she summons him. Tells him exactly what's in his chest. Asks him to turn over the Crown and she will destroy the orb and face her own trauma, because Gale... doesn't want to die. She understands that. And she still loves him and his big beautiful brain despite how stupid he's been, and she wants to have him as her Chosen again.

Things will never be the same, of course. They both fucked up. Gave each other a bad time. But in the end, they forgive each other and move past it. Not as a couple, because things broke too much for that. But they can have a healthy relationship as Goddess and Chosen once more.

And that is what sets Gale and his trauma apart from the companions. He doesn't have a direct abuser or live in a horrific abusive society. He almost killed the goddess of all magic a second time and she had an understandably harsh reaction to that, even if it was still too harsh. I just don't believe it's only Mystra who fucked up here. Not by a long shot. Much of it lies squarely with Gale.

And, as for the grooming allegations [as far as people trying to say it is canon], literally just no. She's a True Neutral goddess. Gale literally tells you that you are not his first mortal lover, he had a few before he ever fell into Mystra's bed, and you're just the first since the breakup about a year ago. The game doesn't shy away from sex and sexual abuse in the least. Why on Earth would this be something hidden behind several layers of nonexistent subtext? It's definitely fun for AU's, but by Ahghairon's lost nose, no, it's not canon!

#my posts #bg3 #gale dekarios #mystra

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

This is a kind of weird question, I know, especially because networks are fluid (I don't entirely know what they do besides advertising). Like, Adventures in New America and It Makes A Sound used to be part of Night Vale Presents, but now NVP seems to be nearly entirely made up of shows by the WtNV crew. Mischa Stanton helped found The Whisperforge, but now their podcasts aren't part of it. Meanwhile Hi Nay has recently joined Rusty Quill and its feed still works, but when Midst joined Critical Role they took down their feed and website and started new ones of both.

#I didn't include Critical Role since it seems to be just CR with Midst thrown in?????? I am still unclear why Midst partnering with CR meant #it needed a new feed and website. #Technically A Poll #Podcasts #I'm sorry if I have revealed myself to not know the difference between a network and a production company with this poll. #Like is Geekly Inc a network????? #Is SAYER even still associated with them? #Is this poll just an excuse to bring up PPN????? (Yes.) #Podcast Networks

[is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not]

🛸

🛸= Do I believe in any of these conspiracies? I would say that, while I have not seen direct evidence for any of them (save two, which I will get to), my experiences and the time I have spent in this life have led me to... keep an open mind. I have seen too much to simply dismiss these theories as the ramblings of the insane. Speaking of which... I said I have seen two such events tied to these theories. One was the Phantom 'Mech Ability. I saw it when I was with the Fusiliers, in 3025. We were contacted to perform a mission for Morgan Kell. He decided to assist us in the course of the mission. He joined us in his Archer. I swear upon the bones of the Great Father... once combat began... nothing would hit him. My own 'Mech would not even register that his was even there. To be honest, I don't know if was some form of LosTech advanced ECM that Kell had found a way to activate, or something more... esoteric. But, I swear I saw it. It was as if every warrior, neg, every machine that faced him that day had been rendered powless, as if all of them had just had their weapons installed for the first time and had not calibrated them yet. It was amazing. I will admit, I have been trying for decades to discover what it was or how it was done. If such an ability could be trained... but enough, that is folly. Let us move on, to the other unexplainable thing I have seen. The Black Marauder. The Dark One. The Thing That Stomps. The Devil in a 'Mech Suit. It has many names. None of the names it has matter when it is there... in front of you. It was not even that it attacked us. It was one night on Northwind, just before the Jihad began. We had gotten word that an unknown contact had tripped our compounds outer security perimeter, so we went and looked. There was a blizzard that night, so it was hard to see much beyond our spotlights. We got to the perimeter beacon that had tripped. And it was there. Suddenly just... in front of us... our whole lance. Everything about it looked right, but also very much not... all the lines of the Marauder were there, but too smooth, and too long, and too sharp, and too many, and not enough. Then it began speaking to us, even though we can see there is no human being in the cockpit, no robotic systems, just... blackness, of a depth and intensity that... forgive me, even think of it scares me. Even now. It was speaking, though. Through the radio. I know it spoke. It spoke of fire, and death, and that I would be in the midst of it, and that it would be there too... watching... seeking... feeding. And then Helmer began screaming. Screaming that something was coming. And firing into the night. He didn't seem to make contact with the Dark One... but then it stopped. All of Helmer's vitals went flat. The Dark One turned away, and as it did so, it was laughing. And then I saw it smile.

#battletech #mechwarrior

[blackcherryvelvet0909]

Water War (Sebek x GN!Reader)

“Oh c’mon, Sebek!” Ace groaned. “Quit acting like you’re better than us.”

“I will not partake in your childish games,” Sebek said, arms crossed over his bare chest. For once he wasn’t yelling, but his voice was still loud and stern. “Do you humans really have no other way to entertain yourself?” 

“It’s a water fight, Sebek!” Ace said as he gestured to the sea with his water gun. “Everyone does it, even adults. I’m sure Lilia’s been in one or two.” 

“Nonsense!” Sebek’s eyebrows furrowed at the very notion. “Master Vanrouge would never play such foolish games.” 

“He literally played in the Splatoon tournament last night.”

“Yes,” Sebek smirked, “to show you humans what superior skill the fae possess. How could you ever hope to pose a challenge in any battle if you are not led by example?” 

Ace quirked an eyebrow. “He lost, like, twice against Idia.”

“A gracious teacher,” Sebek replied, “letting such frail humans have hope.” 

Epel, who stood beside Deuce a short distance from Sebek and Ace, leaned over and whispered to the blue-headed boy. “How far up his own ass do ya think Sebek is?” 

For once, Deuce did not defend Sebek - he simply shrugged. Jack sighed and shook his head, his own water gun slung over his shoulder as he called out to Ace. “Ace, if he doesn’t want to play, he don’t have to. C’mon, let’s get started.” 

Ace glanced at the group over his shoulder: Deuce, Jack, Epel, Ortho, and you, water guns in hand, stared back. He sighed and rolled his eyes before he looked back at Sebek. “Fine, be that way. Your loss.” 

Sebek scoffed in amusement as Ace began to walk away. “Go and play your silly games; I will supervise from afar.” 

“Supervise what?” Epel asked. “If we get water in our eyes? Cry foul if we dunk a man underwater?” 

“To make sure you do not make trouble,” Sebek replied, smirk now gone from his face. It seemed he respected Epel more than Ace…kind of understandable. “To do so in Lord Malleus’s presence would sully his reputation.” 

Deuce piped up as he looked around. “He’s not even here?” 

“As long as Lord Malleus graces this beach, he leads all who tread on the same sand by example. It would be folly for such kindness to be unrepaid by you six running about like wild animals in a feeding frenzy.” 

“Says the crocodile who’s too chicken to enter the water,” Ace mumbled as he filled his water gun. 

Sebeke’s eyes widened, voice now raised to a high volume. “What did you say?!” 

Ace paused at the man’s question. A wickedly devious grin spread across his face…oh no. He turned around to face Sebek and shrugged. “I mean, all you’re going to do if we act like ‘wild animals’ is yell and scream for us to stop. Sounds to me like you’re too scared to get in the water.” 

“That is a vicious lie!” Sebek protested, hands now balled into fists at his side. He looked like he might pitch a tantrum. “I am not afraid of the water. Why, I’ve swam in it since I was a babe!” 

“Not something as big as the sea though.” Ace seemed to grow more devious as Sebek grew more angry. His voice mocked baby talk as he continued, “What’s wrong, Sebby? Is the big boy afraid of the deep, dark water? Awww~”

“Utter nonsense!” Sebek’s face was tinged red from anger now, pupils beginning to form slits. 

“Really?” Ace pointed towards the sole water gun left on the sand, lonely beside the rest of your things. “Then prove it.”

Oh, he certainly would. Sebek ran over and grabbed the water gun before he made a beeline for the water. The moment he was calf-deep in the waves, he dunked the water gun. When he brought it back up, you noticed the cap keeping the fill hole closed was still on. Just as Sebek became frustrated by the water gun’s lack of liquid ammunition, you walked over to him and gently placed your hand on his wrist. “You gotta take this off first,” you said. With a small tug, the cap came off. 

Sebek stared at the now opened hole for a moment; you weren’t sure if he was frustrated with the water gun, or himself for not knowing. You might never know, for all you got in return was a quiet, yet level, “Thank you.” You watched as he plunged the water gun back into the sea. When you saw its chamber filled with water when he brought it back up, you smiled and walked back to your original position. 

“So, are we goin’ solo or dividin’ into teams?” Epel asked. 

“I would say teams,” Deuce spoke, “but we’re at an uneven number of people now.” 

“Deuce is correct,” Ortho reaffirmed with a nod of his head. “We have seven friends playing now - that is not a number divisible by two. Seven is not divisible by any feasible number.” 

“I guess we’re on our own then,” Jack said. 

“And don’t use magic!” you piped up. “That’s cheating - cheating, Ace!” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ace said - an obvious lie with that grin on his face. Ace pulled the trigger on his gun and the water squirted out of the front nozzle. Once he, you, and everyone else did the same, Ace laid out the rules…or lack thereof. “Every man for himself. Just don’t go too far out to sea; I paid good money for these.” 

“Good luck, everyone.” Even though you were about to start your water war, that sweetness of Deuce’s showed through. 

“Do me a favor, Deuce.” Epel nudged him as he grinned. “Don’t be that nice when yur ‘bout to beat ass.” 

With that, you each walked in opposite directions. All of you walked twenty paces away from each other, then turned back around. The moment you all turned, Ace let out a loud, “Go!” 

And thus your water war began…for most of you. As you trudged through the seawater as fast as you could on a search for your next target, you spotted Sebek fiddling with his water gun. He shook it this way and that, clearly irritated with the little toy. You looked around to see where the others were: It seemed Ace was, of course, firing on Deuce, while Epel and Ortho were trying to gang up on Jack. Good, you had time to help Sebek. You slowly approached Sebek; he flinched upon your arrival, clearly expecting an attack. You raised your hands, finger off the trigger, in a show of peace. 

“Is something wrong with yours?” you asked. 

Sebek’s sigh nearly came out as a hiss. “Yes. This faulty toy is broken - typical for flimsy human contraptions.” 

“Let me see it.” You held out your hand and he placed the toy in your open palm. You turned it this way and that, then finally found the culprit: the plastic trigger. It was slightly ascue from its usual track, which prevented it from pushing the water out of the nozzle. You fiddled with the piece for a few seconds, and with a small tug downwards it came loose. You pointed it down at the water and pressed it - water finally released from the gun. You smiled and offered the water gun back to him, “Here you go, it’s fixed now.” 

Sebek, like you had before, turned the water gun around in his hand. “What was wrong with it?” 

You pointed to the trigger, “The trigger was off its track - sometimes it’ll happen. If it ever feels stiff or it won’t move at all, and if water isn’t coming out of the nozzle, that’s probably why.” 

Sebek let out a small ‘hmph’, seemingly in both understanding and amusement. His smile was mocking as he looked at the water toy. “As I said, human toys are so flimsy.” 

“You’re not wrong,” you giggled. 

Before you could walk away from Sebek and give each other time to become enemies once more, you heard someone approaching you from behind. You and Sebek both turned to see Ace, hand on his hip as he smirked at you both. “I thought we said no teams? And we’re the ones being troublesome, Sebek?” 

“We aren’t a team,” you said. “I was just helping Sebek with-” 

Ace pointed his water gun at you, finger already pulling the trigger. “Save it for the loser’s dinner.” 

Before the stream of water could touch your skin, you were yanked out of the way. The air was knocked from your lungs as you slammed into Sebek’s side, your mind distantly registering his arm around your waist. You looked up at Sebek, who was already shooting water in Ace’s direction. Sebek…had saved you. 

“Well, aren’t you the knight in shining armor?” Ace mocked. With a speed you didn’t know he had, you watched Ace race through the water towards you both. Sebek glanced at you and then Ace in quick succession, then tossed you into the water. You yelped before you went under, but you didn’t stay submerged for long. Your hands hit the sand as you landed, and you used that leverage to lift yourself back up above the water. As you took in a lungful of air, you blinked the droplets of water away from your vision. When your vision cleared, you saw Sebek struggling with Ace, gun now knocked from his hand. 

Within seconds, Sebek fell back and landed on his butt. The shallow water rose just above his abdomen, knees just breaking the surface. Ace stood a few feet away from him, shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he aimed the pump water gun at Sebek’s face. You hadn’t noticed he’d switched water guns; before he confronted you and Sebek, he’d had a simple pistol like you. Could he have hidden it for himself? What an asshole! 

“What’s the matter, Sebek?” Ace laughed. “I thought such weak humans couldn’t defeat fae like you.”

“This is not real combat!” Sebek protested, trying to defend himself. “And did you not hear what [y/n]-”

“As I said,” Ace cocked the water gun, ready to fire, “save it for the loser’s dinner.” 

You were ready to watch Sebek as he got blasted with the cold, salty water, which would soak his face to the bone. Instead, a slow, steady stream of water dribbled onto Sebek’s forehead. It dribbled down along his face, right between his wide eyes, and dripped off his chin. Ace’s laugh was near hysterical as he watched the shock wash across the half-fae’s face.

“I got you so good!” Ace’s little assault on Sebek ceased as he hunched over, hands now rested on his knees as he continued to laugh. “You looked so scared, man! I’ll never let you live tha-”

As Ace lifted his head, you could see his body go rigid. His laugh halted in his throat; it went so quiet so quickly that you noticed the others had stopped their own aquatic assaults on each other. Your attention then turned to Sebek himself - and you saw why Ace went so quiet. Sebek’s expression was of a quiet rage, pupils now turned to lizard-like slits. You knew he must be embarrassed, humiliated, angry - yet all you saw in his eyes was the want for vengeance.

The moment Sebek began to bolt up out of the water, Ace took off running. Well, as fast as he could in the water, that is. Though he was still pretty fast, the weight of the sea slowed his escape. You watched as Sebek slowly gained on him, determination rising the closer he came to grabbing his prey. Then, just as he was about to grab the redhead, Ace stepped out of the way and put his leg out in front of Sebek. The man fell into the water with a loud, wet slap. A small echo of ‘oooo’s came from the many mouths of the people who watched the chase go down. You noticed that even Floyd had turned his attention to the whole debacle. 

As Ace swam out into deeper water, you began to grow worried for Sebek. It’d been almost a minute and he still hadn’t resurfaced. You supposed Jack and Deuce shared your mindset, as you saw them swiftly approach the spot where Sebek had fallen. You began to stand up, about to call out to Ace and demand he come help - and then he screamed. It was the loudest, most shrill scream you’d ever heard from him. It quickly cut off as he was yanked below the water, his panicked expression the last you saw of him. Once again, everyone stopped what they were doing to see what had happened. 

Ace crested the surface seconds later, a small distance away from where you’d last seen him. He frantically swam towards shore, his screams filled with apologies and pleas for mercy. You didn’t know who they were directed to until another face emerged from the waves. Though you could only see the upper half of the head, you recognized that spiky green hair and piercing slit eyes from anywhere. What took you off guard was just how fast Sebek swam through the water. It was so swift, so effortless - it was as though he were gliding. You never knew he could swim so fast! 

“Woooah!” Floyd cheered. “Look at Crocodile go!” 

You didn’t have time to admire Sebek’s skill and physique for long. You quickly scrambled from your spot on the water and ran with your friends to shore, where Ace was heading. This was a water war: no actual massacres allowed. 

#Twisted Wonderland: Beach Episode Mini Series #my work #twisted wonderland #sebek zigvolt #twst sebek #twst x reader #gender neutral reader #twst sebek x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #deuce spade #twst deuce #twst ace #ace trappola #jack howl #twst jack #twst epel #epel felmier #ortho shroud #twst ortho #water guns #swimming #floyd leech #twst floyd

[mngo-jii]

LagakKAHAKAHKAHALHEEHGREGRGGRHEHEHEHQLANAJohwosz

“ FROM THE START. ” d. page

synopsis: (inspired by “from the start” by laufey!)—alas, you drown yourself in the daydreams to avoid the pain and reality of them never coming true. it hurts, but puppy love is fun! the magnetic pull he has on you is undoubtedly stronger than your will to accept things won't turn out the way you want it to be.

tags/warnings: angst/fluff, pining, hopelessly in love reader, kind of ooc Daniel—it's to feed your delusions ☠️, you two aren't 1st years anymore here! i don't think i proofread this enough uh

wc: 1.6k

letter ✉️: ok I GOT YOU DAMN. such ravenous beasts. this person asked for daniel angst 😭 i'll work on that next so you can leave me alone /j

There are times when you truly, really want to disintegrate into the ground out of shame.

Such as the nights when you squeal into your pillow after daydreaming ridiculous little scenarios that will never occur.

Times like when you humiliate yourself in front of him and sink into the floor of your bedroom.

Or instances where you witness Robyn and Kevin have moments of which you could only dream of happening to you.

And especially times when you realise that it's getting harder each day to remain best friends with Daniel Page.

You're not at blame! It's his fault, if anything. Him and his unshakable and peculiar charm. Him and his pretty smile he so seldom flashes. Everything. Oh how you wonder why his pull on you is so strong.

It's ironic—how you managed to take down such an extremely potent creature in the Forbidden forest, yet you can't fight this meek little crush. It makes you feel a little silly.

When Daniel was gravely hurt on the grass two weeks ago, you had to combat a perilous beast by yourself to keep him protected.

After you had defeated it, he had shoved you to the ground, and you could tell by the frustration on Daniel's face that he wanted to be mad at you and call you a fool for having put up such a struggle, straining yourself to the limit, all to defend him when you ought to have fled for help.

But all he did was haplessly envelop you and bury his head in the crook of your neck. You two didn't appear to mind that you were covered in blood, sweat, and dirt. He breathes an apology against your skin, as if all of this was his fault.

In addition to being severely punished for invading the woods without authorization, you two were lauded for your bravery and commitment.

You not only managed to (barely) preserve yourselves, but you also saved Hogwarts from a potential threat if not for that particular night. Evidently, the enemy you faced wasn't even intended to be in the area you had visited; instead, it should have been hiding farther within the forest. It could have gotten near Hogwarts and mauled anyone it first saw.

The next day, you received a mix of praise and jabs, with comments on either your bravery or folly.

Stares followed as you roamed the halls. All you wanted to do was get this day over with and sink into your bed. To Daniel's dismay, both of you received nonstop attention.

A bunch of first-year students once enclosed you and started asking you questions all at once, which made it impossible for you to even begin to respond. But even so, one query in particular caught your attention—

"So are you two, like, dating? Is he your boyfriend?", one of them had asked.

You stared, heart virtually pounding out of your chest as you regarded the first-year. You opened your mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by your so-called boyfriend.

"No, we're not," Daniel pushed through the students and grabbed ahold on your arm, "Leave us alone."

The first-years cried out when Daniel drew you away from the group, explicitly telling you that Dumbledore wanted to speak to both of you.

And you can't even process what he had said because you're staring at his hand around your wrist— Consequently, you made a fool of yourself when you were surprised to see Dumbledore. Oops.

The exact moment you had realised your feelings were becoming more and more ingrained in you day by day, every cell in your body pleaded with you to get closer to Daniel—but you won't budge.

Everything seemed to draw you towards him, yet you had grown too timid and weren't as at ease with Daniel as you had been before your emotions for him began to snowball.

It was odd, of course. Suspicions arose as to why you suddenly felt anxious and bashful talking to your best friend of all people. How you suddenly get quiet when there's no one else around.

You, him, and awkward silence had started to form into some sort of trio that you weren't too fond of.

Are you two still best friends at this point? Though the way you would question yourself about it is in an entirely different tone.

You feel a bit bad about your sudden introversion, feeling as though your emotions are sabotaging your friendship held by the iron group of the world. And you can't help but ponder about how much things would worsen if you were to confess.

As a result, you continuously find yourself drifting through an endless reverie. You've criticised your delusions on occasion, but just in jest and with no sincere worry.

It had been something you've grown so used to now, that you almost found yourself out of the circle of shyness you previously were in. And Daniel was definitely relaxed to see his best friend back to normal.

Still, the beating of your heart couldn't be helped every time you spoke to him. Oftentimes you would stammer when you hold eye contact longer than a few seconds. Nothing helps at all.

You feel like a loon during the times you'd happily bounce your feet on your bed, but your happiness takes over—entirely wrapped around Daniel's modest act of giving you his corduroy jacket to keep warm that night. And your roommates would cast you worn-out glances, not bothering to scold you anymore.

Not to mention when Daniel pulled out an Amortentia one certain trip to the Forbidden forest. And you spent that night staring at your dormitory ceiling, pondering on why in the world would he be carrying such a concoction.

Of course, he'd never use the sort. But you pshhed at him in your mind, stating matter-of-factly that you wouldn't need it. As if it would have been for you.

Daniel always has your back—that's something that you wouldn't need to be reminded of, unless you want to eat at it further.

Sometimes, he would whisper answers to you when you're called on to answer a question you don't know—while he'd reject anyone else who'd ask him for homework answers.

He'd quickly take notice of how you seem under the weather in class, and offer to assist you in getting to Hospital Wing. He asks questions to the teacher on your behalf when you're too scared. He'd shoot you a small smile from across the room if ever your eyes met...

And when he asked you to dance, you couldn't bring yourself to utter a single word. He so freely spoke to you as you two spun—you, on the other hand, averted your eyes. Oh you could go on and on.

And to you, it's ridiculous how you're acting so timid, when you would expect Daniel to be the one at that state!

He treats you like no one else, while he wouldn't even bat an eyelash at anyone else besides your friends.

Maybe, just maybe, the possibilities are better than you anticipated. Maybe one day all the things you so longingly imagine when floating on a cloud will come true. Truly, who could blame you?

He doesn't even deny caring about you like he used to during the first few months of your friendship. That's how special he's treating you! And it's unfair.

You might just want him to stop sometimes. Stop, because despite all your illusions, you still have some connection to reality. You certainly don't need any more reminders that he doesn't feel the same. Nevertheless, you wouldn't dare give up this particular treatment for anything.

Your other friends would even point at you accusatorily and refer to you as Daniel's favourite. And Daniel would cast a glance over them confirming it himself.

"Of course," He says, "You're just not [Y/N]." You could have sworn an angel was right by your side at that very time.

Oh the things that happen every day don't help you at all.

However, there are times where you want to collapse onto the ground.

Like times where he'd grimace at people who'd ask if you two "have something going on," and he'd icily tell them you're nothing more than loyal friends; you do your best to conceal how it stung.

Like the time where he stated matter-of-factly that he isn't looking for anyone to enter a romantic relationship with.

Or the times where he'd isolate himself from everyone, including you. No, especially you. Wondering if he's doing so because he knows how you feel and he can't reciprocate for hours on end.

But maybe it doesn't matter. As long as you always get to be the only one to see Daniel's true smiles, and the way you can internally fawn over the way he looks at you knowing deep down that it's nothing special.

You're the only one Daniel would dance with even if it's just a mere little favour, and someone Daniel wouldn't particularly reject if you asked him to dance yourself.

You're someone Daniel trusts with his entire life, you're someone Daniel would never doubt or need to worry about because you're you—his best friend. And you'd do everything to live out the rest of your days with that title. It's better to be something, than be nothing with him.

And that's all that matters. That and the nights you would happily drift into a state of daydreaming and overanalysing every thing he had done for you—things that's only reach to a certain extent of bare minimum.

At the end of the day, you two would still smile at each other like silly highschool sweethearts. And everyone would constantly tease you for it, much to Daniel's dismay.

a/n: in laufey's words, it's “the ultimate friends to lovers song for all your delusional daydreams”

#(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ— written by lnr #hpma x reader #hogwarts magic awakened x reader #daniel page x reader

[vigilskeep]

"The hand that feeds is the hand that's loved" - Gale Dekarios

Huh. Ain't he the camp cook? 🤔

YEAH I GOT THAT LINE...

there’s a lot going on. isn’t there. i think gale is a person who sees relationships as very transactional in a way and has to keep promising he has something to offer, from the moment you meet him and he assures you that saving him was a “foresighted kindness” he will repay on the journey, to the fact that most relationships in his life including the all-defining one with mystra stem from all the brilliance and magical talent he can offer, to his desire to repay what he sees as a debt of good owed to tara for taking care of him and keeping him alive at a time when he probably saw himself as having little to offer. he’s someone who likes to share—he does this by sharing thoughts and information too, and knowledge and magic like in the weave scene—and in some way he’s proving his value, at the same time as he’s demonstrating affection or thanks or goodwill or just wanting to share what he loves, which is also very real, he adores what he’s fascinated with and tries to share that wonder. of course his “folly” with what he attempted for mystra, to restore one jewel to an imperfect crown as he puts it, is the ultimate attempt at gift giving to prove value, and redress the insecurities you couldn’t help but feel if your great but finite mortal talent was what drew the attention of a goddess. and what she wants of him in the game is also transactional in a way he is accustomed to; it’s about restoring himself in her eyes by offering the most service no matter what it costs him

i think specifically what i find heart-breaking about making food being such a core language for him is that it’s so simple and human and you can’t imagine mystra partaking in it at all, when she seems to have blotted out everything else in his life for a long time

a couple things i also think are relevant in ways i can’t fully articulate are that when elminster arrives with the news, he insists on food rather than wait for it to be given freely, and that gale’s condition is referred to as arcane hunger and only resolved by not just consumption but tara and the player character having to provide that “food” for consumption. the latter methinks is partly a pretty clear translation for care needing to be expressed to him back in the same way, and he should not be as apologetic as he is about needing it

#gale

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Okay this might be a strange request but please bear with me, so I'm not sure if you've watched or listened to this song from One Piece but basically when sung it summons the king of demons (It's called Tot Musica by Ado) so my request is what would Astarion do if Tav had the same ability? Like their in the middle of a battle or something happens that makes Tav feel hopeless or just done with everything, so they sing the song summoning darkness and etc. But as they sing its clear and obvious that it's affecting/hurting them mentally, physically, and emotionally, but they can't seem to stop, like their hypnotized.

How would Astarion react, and how would he snap them out of it and stop the song?

I never watched nor listened to One Piece but I know something similar to want you're talking with Drakenguard 3. So I can write this.

Warning: act 2 spoilers, loss of autonomy (reader), vampirism, tears of blood cuz vampires can shed tears of water (see castlevania Dracula cry), mention of trauma (Astarion and reader)

The wails of a banshee echo and bounce against the stone walls of this epic battle. The Absolute— Myrkul, Lord of the Dead, is fought by a rag-tag team of adventurers bound by fate in the shape of the worms inside their skulls. At the start of the battle they had at first gained an advantage by freeing Dame Aylin. The skeletons proved easy to dispatch but the real challenge is the Lord of the Dead.

Wave after wave of his power, his mighty form striking none directly but the ground and underground lair shook. The battle quickly began to turn for the worst… Gale readied the Netherese Orb only to be sent into the soul cage by the Dead God.

"You will suffer for your folly."

You are not going to die. You swore to outlive your master! The wail of a banshee, an old bard spell, is not one to be used lightly as it can damage the singer's voice for a time. You caused most of the undead to become frightened or charmed by your song to turn against their master.

More.

The more you sing, the more you feel the bitter sting in your eyes, your throat aches as the pain is setting. The distraction is enough to allow the others to gather themselves until…

Higher.

Soon your song is no longer a song but a screening scream piercing the very souls and God who dares challenge one chosen by the dark father!

Tears of red run down your face, the walls trembling at the might of your God's power.

Those blessed by Kanchelsis would not fear his wrath, his unholy blessed night stalkers, his children of the night. Astarion had not been affected after your song changed, the panic already driving his body and spell to get to your position fast.

Long ago you met a woman on the road, a dead one. The creepy part was her similarity to you, a young bard from a small village. Her throat was ripped out, her eyes gored out, fingers broken or ripped off. Her flute was missing.

To the others, this is another sorry murder, but you know the message— Hearing it loud and clear: He knows where you are.

The desperation, the fear, the anger, the beast feeds on this as your scream summons a piece of the Abyss, only piece is enough to draw forth the large shadow of a creature with sharp glowing red eyes. The area becomes darkness, and those with darkvision can see the many shades of grey outlining the body of the large bat-like gargoyle beast coming out of the Abyssal portal under the bony monster.

"You are mine, Myrkul." It laughs with twisted glee as its winged arms pull and tear.

Your hands wrap around your throat squeezing, everything is painful as if knives are cutting into your throat. Words whispered into your mind in a language you do not understand nor truly want to understand.

You feel someone touching you, holding you yet you are blinded by bloody tears.

Astarion tries to shake you out of the snare of the enchantment, talking to you is pointless as your mind is on the edge of truly being overtaken.

Then you feel warmth, not heat but the warmth of something familiar.

It draws you in, a hum of approval as the spell is broken.

A kiss, silly as it may seem, it worked. Gods, thankfully it worked. He clings to you as your body gives out, his arms holding on as he goes onto his knees keeping you as safe as he can, his lips never leaving yours.

Kanchelsis has claimed the upstart God of the Dead, it is not about saving the world, it is about domination.

"Such… Evil." Dame Aylin speaks breaking the silence as others down below stare in horror as gods return into the portal, color and light returned to the area.

"By the Triad."

"We all saw that right?"

"It was so cold… Colder than the Shadowfell."

Each of your companions is at a loss for words.

"Where's (Name)?" Karlach sees Wyll helping Gale but no sign of you or Astarion.

"Shadowheart, come quickly!" The distressed tone is not ideal for him to let out but you aren't responding anymore once he stopped kissing you.

"Moon Maiden have mercy."

Returning to the surface to let Isobel and Shadowheart work together to heal your body. You have lost too much blood, your magic is tainted, and there are strange blood runes all over your skin.

It is hours, far too many hours, before you awaken. Your eyes empty for a moment before the light in them returns.

"Stop!" You cry out jolting upwards as you awaken from the nightmares that trapped you. "Huh… How?" The room is not empty, every one of your companions is sleeping around the inn room of Last Light, all look exhausted. Especially the one sleeping in a chair with his head on your bed. Astarion looks a mess, though you have seen it many times after rough battles, the way he looks right now is worrisome. They all look like a wreck.

Lae'zel head lifts up and her mouth, "You're a wake." The sigh of relief. You touch your head as others start to wake up.

What happened is the question in your mind yet you know the answer and fear the consequences of it.

#reader insert #anon ask #fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x mc #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 astarion #astarion bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #astarion x vampire spawn!tav #astarion

[terrence-silver]

Hello 🖤 I love seeing your blog pop up in my feed, simply exquisite 🖤

I have a request. What would older Terry Silver do with an adult student who is rather boisterous in class, she listens but only when she wants, she's a smarty pants. Terry so wishes to teach her a lesson after many months of class passing, learning her mannerisms, learning HER. Ever the voyeur, finding her home, seeing what lies within when she's not home, Terry plans a little 'private lesson,' specifically for her at his home dojo. Ending with his gi sloppy on him, his hair a mess like the slut he is with his student underneath him with no mercy being shown. His student definitely listens to HIS wants and desires, eager to please.

Breaking Stone.

(Terry Silver x Reader)

---

-"How safe is this, Sensei? I mean, it’s solid rock."- 

Your voice speaks up from the gathered crowd and Terry Silver, he knew you’d have something to say without having to turn his back towards the mass of students keenly eyeing his demonstration in silence, standing jam packed in a circle around the erected board with a concrete block fastened to the center of the scaffolding propped up on iron legs, following his every word like a mantra only for him predict that your mouth will eventually move to utter something and dare interrupt him. Class fifty eight. A lesson on Brick Breaking. Tools necessary; pretty straightforward. A slab of rock and a fist. Additional spices; your usual commentary in the midst of it all. Happened almost daily. Happened to the degree it was a constant he could count on. -"We’ll break our hands on that."- You add with a sense of urgency and worry once the entirety of the exercise’s participants turn their eyes towards you, scrutinizing, weighing and accessing what you just blurted out and you tended to blurt out stuff frequently. Terry joins them in their quiet staring, finding a twitch of satisfaction stir through him once he realized you were jittery and stuttering, made self aware through the fact you were the sudden center of attention. Needing to justify yourself for placing the spotlight unto yourself, you blurt out some more bullshit. Nerves, was it? You deserved that. Deserved much worse for stepping out of line. -"What do we do in case we tear our ligaments punching the board?"- You ask, scratching the back of your head. Ligaments? Were you frightened of getting a boo-boo? At that point, Terry allows himself to turn his entire body towards you, taking his time, slowly --- painfully slowly --- looking straight ahead, towards you. You shift, from one bare foot on the mat to the other, like the stillness of everything around you gave you a sense of discomfort.

Stew in it. He hoped you'd stew in it.

-"Seems a bit extreme. Sorry."-

You chuckle, apologizing, looking down. Then back up.

Terry has to chuckle with you, neatly folding his hands in front of him.

A bit extreme? It was meant to be extreme.

-"Our student here thinks our methods are strange, but these classes aren’t mandatory."-

He simply shrugs matter-of-factly, addressing the people around him, all eyes leave you and pinning themselves in his direction instead, encircling him like a tightly closed ring, listening attentively, leaving you even more isolated in your folly. The great mother hen and the ducklings. The one, solitary ugly black duck that talked too much. -"Nobody’s here by force."- He explains, and contrary to popular belief, everyone here gave their signature of consent on a written contract. Terms. Conditions. Price rates. Health insurances. They showed up to daily classes because they wanted to, giving their hard earned money out of their own volition. He didn't go kidnapping people off of the streets of LA and harassing them into black Gi, in spite of what the likes of Larusso tried to accuse him of, same way not even Larusso himself was harassed into this, decades ago. -"Or are you all here by force?"- Terry purses his lips, looking around, enjoying this far too much to stop. In unison, they all speak up, one voice, stemming from one collective lung. -"No, Sensei!"- The dojo resonates with their shout. He tries again, spreading his arms, envisioning himself like Pontius Pilate about to wash his hands clean of you and let the crowds make their decisions. -"Why are you here for then?"- He inquires, raising his voice, encouraging them. Spurring them on. -"To learn, Sensei!"- Obeying, they repeat the motion, letting out a united cry and content, Terry squeezes his fingers into a fist once they all fall silent, all but an echo remaining, his other free hand caressing the concrete block in front of him, never taking his eyes off of you. At this point, with a mouth standing agape, forgetting you should've joined everyone in their jubilant war cry, you were as pale as a ghost. Not quite so chatty or smart anymore.

Perfect.

-"The lesson is —"- He begins. -"A true artist of the craft spends years, even decades just hitting things. Sand. Wood. Stone. Metal. Flesh."-

Terry coos, confessing, that he did, on occasion, imagine hitting you.

The sweetest thing he'd ever strike. Purely to shut you up, get you the way you were right now; As quiet as the dead; all gulps and anxious little eyes darting left and right. Preferably having you bent over his knee like an unruly child and taking the bamboo stick to you bare buttocks until they were rendered crimson red with punishment. After it was all done, he'd have you thanking him for the honor too. He smiles, just at the notion; an expression he doesn't bother hiding.

-"Having been broken so many times, it makes their bones so dense that when it comes in contact with solid rock, the rock breaks first."-

Terry digs his teeth into his lower lip, taking his stance and lunging forward suddenly, knuckles breaking through the barrier of the rock and crumbling, his fingers pushing through the crack he made on the other side. It was as simple as that. -"Asaa!"- He bellows and if the dojo was collectively holding it's breath, once he's done, the remains of sharp jagged tiny pebbles spilling on the mat under around his feet like so many rolling marbles, he senses an equally collective exhale. He can swear you weren't blinking at that point. What were you shocked by? The fact that he just smashed through a brick that weighed ten pounds like it was nothing or the implication he's broken his hand by choice so many times that he could pull shit like this in the first place? Maybe it wasn't smart to backtalk or question the methods of a person who could crush your windpipes in with merely just his thumbs. -"So, you see — breaking our fists, it’s part of the curriculum."- He shakes his head, staring you down, taking a couple of steps forward, until it was undeniable he was addressing you in particular; his infuriatingly Doubting Thomas, ignoring the students that wordlessly volunteered to clean up, scooting down to pick up the unfortunate remains of the rock slab, chirping away at the remains like a handful of chicks. -"This is part of what you signed up for when you came to this dojo. When you came to Cobra Kai."- He assesses firmly. -"You came to break with the old so the new and the improved could take its place."- He adds. Eventually, you'd have to bruise and break in those pretty little hands much like everyone else would and if you didn't have the guts to do that, you'd advance nowhere and your here would become fairly obsolete. Someone might as well tell you that upfront.

Even though, he confessed. The idea of a piece of rock breaking your hands?

Something shoots through him, like a radioactive phantasm of jealousy.

He wanted to do the breaking instead.

Not leave it up to an inanimate piece of training gear.

-"And if you can't imagine yourself doing that, you can always take up a knitting class."-

He adds, finally, earning himself a couple of amused chuckles.

Blood rushes into your cheeks.

Were you angry? Ashamed? Humiliated? Good.

—

Looking through your files was child's game after that.

He pretty much had everything he needed to know about you, printed in black and white in his own two hands, on the very exact form you filled the day you signed up for adulted classes six months ago; your home address, bank statement, contact number, email, age, place of employment, blood type in case an accident took place mid-training and a transfusion was needed on short notice. And yes, he's broken into your home before. Terry did it the first time you ever ran your mouth to backtalk him, asking if doing fifty consecutive push ups as warm was a smart decision because it was bound to leave everyone too exhausted to hold proper form and too distracted with tiredness to properly follow the class. He checked every drawer, every shelf, every nook, every cranny, supposing he wanted to find something he could spit on in indignation and discovering nothing more fitting but what he could only deduce was your framed graduation photograph, pursuing his lips and letting the saliva build up right before he hurled the spittle out of his mouth and right unto the glass inside of the frame, watching it trickle down your face, smearing it with his finger in retaliation, deciding the gesture was fitting punishment. If only he had a chance to do it with your actual face next. Spit in your mouth too, for refusing to shut up as it did. Spit in your mouth for missing three of your classes this week, like that was a thing you were allowed to do when you weren't. Did he tear into you verbally too hard last time? Was that it? Undoubtedly, but that still didn't give you permission to leave. He wanted you to come back so he could harass you some more, like you deserved to be harassed.

He knocks on your door, freshly having concluded this week's teaching.

Still in his Gi, jacket slung over his shoulders.

He did that on purpose, to make it seem like him coming here wasn't premeditated or something he tactically prepared for in advance, but rather, like a last minute decision he made in the utmost rush to the degree he didn't even have time to change out of his training attire, forgetful, overworked old man that he is. -"Who’s there!?"- Your concerned, slightly confused voice calls from the other end and he hears the keyhole clicking, only for your uncertain face to show up in the precipice of the doorframe illuminated by the warm light of your apartment's foyer looming like a halo behind you, brows practically jumping once you recognized him, appearing relieved. -"Sensei Silver!?"- You state in surprise, opening the door entirely, letting him step over the threshold, moving out of the way to usher him inside from the corridor. He tries not to seem too familiar with the territory, pretending not to know exactly where to stand; next to the shoe rack or the coat hanger. -"God. I’m so sorry. Got scared halfway to death!"- You place your hand over your chest, exhaling and smiling. Way too fidgety for someone who took Tang Soo Do classes. What were you afraid of? Of someone barging in and subduing you? -"What do I owe the honor of the visit! I didn’t expect anyone."- You shake your head, all charm. Of course he prepared an excuse for him being here and it comes in a form of a sleek pamphlet he produces from inside of his jacket, handing it to you. He had it printed, in bulk and giving out to everyone at the dojo solely so he could have a reason to give you one to you as well. -"The curriculum. For our future classes. I thought you might wanna look through it. Freshly printed."- Terry explains. He hoped you would've continued showing up, smart mouth you always were, but there you went, disappearing. If Muhammad wouldn't come to the mountain, the mountain would have to come to Muhammad.

-"You missed the last session so I brought it over personally. Where'd you go?"-

Terry feigns concern. He knew where you went. You were pegged down a notch.

Proceeded retreating with your tail behind your legs.

That's what you get for questioning him.

But, he didn't expect you to retreat quite so definitely.

Who'd you ask if you can do that? Did you ask anyone? Him?

You eyelashes flutter, like you were about to come up with an excuse.

-"I think you're right, Sensei. I mean, the whole Cobra Kai dojo scene, ---"-

You begin, looking away from him, vehemently staring at the pattern on the corridor carpet, holding the flyer with a sense of unease, like you weren't certain what to do with it. If you crumpled it up, he'd make you eat it. -"It ain't for me. I'm not cut out for it."- You confess, finally meeting his gaze, appearing a bit shy at the notion. He knew a tangent was incoming. Decides to let you have it. And knowing you, you wouldn't shut up any time soon in the next five minutes. -"I can't do any of those things you demonstrated last week. Break my bones on purpose? Smash through rocks? Ignore pain? I know when I'm out of my depth and there's no shame in admitting something ain't for me and gracefully moving on. What you said the last time --- you helped me see that. You really did."- You utter, in one solitary breath, and it takes everything within Terry not to laugh at you. So, humiliating in front of the whole class for interrupting him for the umpteenth time with some inane observation, you thought it was for your own good and that it made you see things more clearly? What? Was that why you left his dojo like it was a bus station? Did you really take up knitting as a hobby in the meantime as well? -"I had a great time studying these past few months under you, but I just can't continue."- You visibly gulp once he says nothing and you feel incentivized to further explain. You never had a problem with that before. Go ahead. He was giving you center stage to speak. So speak. -"I talk back. I interrupt. I question. I worry. I'm so sorry. I can't just let go and do it. Do what I'm supposed to do on the mat."- You add, your eyes widening, perhaps in anxiety, pupils dilating, looking back and forth between the surrounding furniture and the wall --- anywhere but at him. Why should he let you go? When it was so fun pushing your buttons? In fact, he decides you could use some more of that.

-"Do you like me?'-

He asks, bluntly. You take a step back, stammering.

-"Excuse me, sir?"-

-"I said, do you like me?"- He repeats himself, firmer.

Your mouth wordlessly forms a shape, but no sound comes forth.

You weren't certain what to say.

Finally.

You were speechless for once. That was a welcoming novelty.

-"Because, if you like me, you won't leave me here stranded, with one student less and waltz out impulsively, on such a short notice. That's not how things work. There's a price for that."-

He winds you up, deciding to stoke a fire and then immediately extinguish it, intending to fluster you for thinking what he led you to think, watching the abject shame settle into your expression like a newly formed wrinkle just because for a mere second, you thought this was a confession of something more than it was instead of a cleverly phrased and deliberately misguiding segway intended to put you on the spot and make you feel like an idiot with no listening comprehension. -"I'll pay everything I still own and ---"- You practically stumble over your words, clutching the pamphlet to your chest vigorously, like a shield, referencing unpaid lesson, trying to regain what little balance you had, visibly sweating bullets. Stoke the fire. Extinguish the fire. Stoke the fire. Extinguish the fire. Terry steps forward, shutting you up. Commanding you to stay silent. -"Don't talk."- He orders, flatly, putting up his hand alongside his finger as a warning and then coming closer still, until the tip of it is practically pushing against your mouth. You appeared flaggerbasted. Like you weren't sure what was going on, too shocked to actually move. This was why confusing people into a state of paralytic awkwardness was paramount in verbal warfare. He pushed his index finger between your lips and you still didn't move, letting him get away with it, too stunned for words. -"For once, listen. Don't speak."- He murmurs, staring at your mouth, pushing his nail inside, feeling your wetness and finding your tongue, frozen stiff, clasping it with his thumb and index finger and holding it, pulling on it, until you groaned, trying to mutely gibber and failing. -"This is the thing that always talked back. Can't talk back anymore, can it?"- He taunts and you shake your head with an expression that would place deer in headlights to shame, shivering vigorously.

You've seen what his hands could do. What his fists could do.

He could rip your tongue out of your skull and it would pose little issue.

He felt you knew that right about now.

Practically dangled by the tip of your mouth's organ. Your head slumping back.

Unable to release yourself, you slowly lower yourself, to your knees.

-"That's good."- Terry coos, pleased, watching you drool all over his hand.

-"Open that pretty little mouth of yours and use it for something really valuable for a change."-

He purrs, even as his fingers go fidgeting, lower his Gi's trousers, loosening the obi around his waist, pulling his cock out of his briefs, showcasing it to you so the state of the situation would settle in. He'd hatefuck your mouth. He was already hard. Already dripping precum. Almost like the very act of coming here and pestering you served to do it for him as he, without much deliberation, pushed himself inside of your lips, taking in the sloppy, receptive moisture, enjoying the symbolism of the flyer he's given you falling next to you on the floorboard until you were practically kneeling atop of it. -"Perfect."- He hums, praising. -"You've been badgering and badgering and I can't tell you how many times I thought about interrupting class and just giving it to you, in front of everyone, right there, in the middle of the dojo. Let them all see what happens when someone questions Terry Silver and his methods."- Now it was his turn to make some confessions, fingers tangling into your hair, coiling into a fist, making you look at him with your watering, teary eyes. He amps up his pace, bobbing your head back and forth for you, using your tresses as reins. Look how you've infected him. Now he was the one rambling and loving it. -"But, I wanted the occasion to be something special. Someplace I could really savor it --- and what better place than right under your very own roof."- He closes his eyes, smiling, enjoying the sensation of tense pleasure building up in his gut, right before looking down at you with your brows furrowed. You were just now realizing this was premeditated. Poor you. -"Oh, don't look at me like that. Don't think I haven't been in here before. Been here a thousand times."- He chuckles into his own chin, moaning. Of course he's desecrated something miniscule every time you talked back as an elaborate form of revenge and violation, like wiping his cock on the curtain after masturbating on your bed. Nothing was for free. Disrespect certainly wasn't.

-"And you'll be seeing a lot more of me just yet. Don't think this is over. Don't think you can disassociating with Cobra Kai and me on a whim. You can't."-

He flat out threatens, his hips rutting vigorously against your head.

You thought this was a game?

You sign up to his dojo for like six months and call it quits when things get hard?

Cobra Kai was a brotherhood. A society. Not an extracurricular pastime or a hobby.

That's what people weren't getting. He didn't want them to just yet.

But you? He'd was breaking the news to you hard and fast in the flesh.

-"You belonged to me from the moment you met me and put on the Gi and you'll belong to me until your dying breath."-

He grits his teeth, shaking, seething, feeling his tresses slide out of his ponytail and unto his forehead in an unruly mess, satisfaction coiling in his groin imaging you returning to the dojo on Monday, dressed in your uniform, all neat and proper, your attitude curbed and kept only for special occasions, releasing suddenly, just at the thought that he owned you, hearing you gurgle from the floor, droplets of his cum trickling down your chin and leaking unto the Cobra Kai pamphlet on the parquet in front of you. No, no. That wouldn't do. Not a single ounce wasted. -"Swallow."- Terry orders, catching his breath, scrutinizing you as you did so, still holding your hair, yanking forward suddenly, his cock falling out of your mouth, giving you leeway to breathe again and you do, gasping with sharp inhales of breath, a bubble of saliva popping between your lips as you rolled back to sob and cough. Pathetic. Eager to serve. So you were capable of shutting the fuck up, letting go and getting lost in an action after all? You were teachable. He knew you would be. Much like the rock slab on the training dummy, though, you needed to be broken in first. Terry slides his hand across the top of his head, slicking loose hair strands back, lifting up his finger to threaten and warn once again. Remind, in case you've forgotten. Had your brains scrambled in all sorts of awkward and unlikely directions. -"So, you better not miss out on any of my classes ever again or I'll have a reason to hold a very, very big grudge. Especially if you don't show up and break that stone like I've taught everyone to do. Understood?"-

-"Yes, Sensei."- You manage desperately, drooling, nodding your head.

#terry silver #old man terry #kk3 #cobra kai #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved #tw; dubious consent #tw; teacher and student #tw; facefucking #tw; hatefucking #tw; stalking #tw; manipulating #tw; mind games #tw; all the warnings