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cherry-holmes · 16 hours

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REGRET

(Javier Peña x F!Reader)

Credits of the gif on the image.

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Finding out you’re pregnant create a split between you and Javier. He soon will discover that one can regret they own words.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Word count: +3k

Warnings: Writer prefer to not give details to prevent spoilers. Read under your own responsibility.

A/N: Hello👋🏻 This is a little something that came to my mind when a saw this gifs last week🧍🏻‍♀️ Let me know in comments if you like it👀

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Javier and you have been dating for a year and a half now. It started as something casual. You were just neighbors, then you used to talk about the weather when you crossed paths in the building. Then, he invited you for a drink, and you ended up in his bed.

He told you he was a DEA agent, and you talked about your community service as an English teacher in Bogotá.

Javier was funny and charming. He always treated you like a princess and fucked you like a slut. He was attentive, but he worked a lot. You never seriously talked about what exactly you were, but you spent much more time at his place than yours. He hadn't given you a key, precisely, but he told you he had a copy on top of his door so you could enter when you arrive and he was still at work. He picked you up from the school, and you cut his hair when needed.

Life had been busy, and you never really stopped to ask him if your relationship had a label. The truth is, neither of you had actually stopped and asked each other what would come next when he caught Escobar and/or you finished your community service.

You never thought about it, until that damn morning.

"Fuck."

It can't be happening. Two lines on a pregnancy test were the last thing you needed. You looked at it for a long, long time, trying to process what was going on. You wanted a blood test to confirm, but there's a reason why you already took a pee test. Morning sickness and a delay in your period activated the alarms. You hadn't told Javier anything yet, but it was only a matter of time now.

That afternoon you went to the laboratory, and by noon you received a phone call confirming the results. You were, indeed, very pregnant. After you hung up the phone, you cried a lot. How were you going to tell Javi? What would you do with your job? What were you going to tell your parents? Did you really want to have it... him/her?

You felt the urgency to make a decision in that very moment. Javier was going to ask you when you told him, and you knew he hated the "I don't know."

It took you one, two, three hours, and you had an answer. You knew it was the right one because you thought it would take you a lot longer to decide. But when your heart landed in the same place over and over so quickly, you simply knew it.

Javier came home late at night, but earlier than usual. He looked tired and pissed, and he let his weight fall on the kitchen chair to devour what you had made for dinner. You looked at him the entire time, and the nervousness in your chest made it impossible to eat anything. You wanted to tell him. You couldn't contain the news any longer.

"Javi," you began. He didn't look at you for more than a second before his sleepy eyes fell on his plate again. "I have something to tell you. It's very important."

"What is it, babe?" he asked, his voice slurred.

"I..." You fought the lump in your throat, encouraging yourself to tell him. "I'm pregnant."

Until that moment, you didn't know what you expected. You didn't imagine him crying with emotion and jumping around the apartment, screaming to the four winds that he was going to be a dad. But you didn't imagine what his real reaction would be, either.

Javier didn't even look at you. He dropped his fork, leaned back in his chair, and passed his hands over his face. It wasn't a surprised, emotional reaction. He was pissed. He was cursing the situation.

You didn't say anything as you felt your heart and soul sink into your stomach. Disappointment washed over you as you saw his reaction. You tried to think of something else to say, but you went blank.

"We can't," he finally said, really looking at you for the first time that night.

"What do you mean we can't?" your voice was only a whisper.

He looked at you like you were crazy. "You're not seriously thinking about having it."

Your mouth went dry, but tears welled up in your eyes. "Well... I do."

Javier's face hardened. "It's not safe, not with what I do, not with Escobar still out there."

"We can figure this out together," you said, your voice quivering. "I-I know this country is dangerous and this is probably not the right time, but is already happening and I..."

"Are you sure you're...?" he began. It hurt you the fact that he couldn't even say it.

You stood up and reached for your purse. He saw you as you placed both the pee and the blood test in front of him.

"Puta madre." Javier stood up, pacing the kitchen. "Did you take the pills?" he demanded.

You nodded. "I do. But they're not a hundred percent effective."

He ran his fingers through his hair in an almost desperate gesture. "I can't do this. Parenting is not on my plans, and you know it."

"I didn't want this to happen either, Javier, and I'm sorry," you said, trying not to cry. "But you need to people to make a baby. So, we have to figure this out together."

"Don't complicate things more," he added. He made his way to the living room, pacing like a caged animal. "Think about the consequences. I can't risk my focus on this job for this."

Tears streamed down your face. "So, what? You want me to get rid of it?"

"I think it's the best option for both of us."

After a long, cold moment of silence, you shook your head, stepping back. "I can't believe you."

He sighed heavily, looking away. "You don't understand... it's too dangerous."

"I don't care," you cried. "I'm gonna have this baby. With or without you."

He sighed. He saw the determination on you. Now he needed to make a decision, since you're not going to change yours.

"Ok," he said finally. "It will happen, but you need to go back to the States."

"No," you sentenced. Javier couldn't believe your stubbornness. "I'm not going to leave, either. I can't leave the school. Those kids need my help."

He was doing his best to not completely lost his patience and say something (more) that he could – and will – regret.

"I can't concentrate on my job and take care of a pregnant woman," he sentenced, adding your name at the end in a way you had never heard before.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. "Well, then don't worry about me. I can handle this on my own."

Javier stared at you, his eyes dark with frustration. He thought of his parents. They didn't raise a man who shirks responsibility, one who doesn't own the consequences of his actions.

For a long moment, the only sound was the ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall. Finally, Javier sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"No," he said. "If that's what you want, fine. You'll have my financial support, but that's all. As soon as you finish your community service, you'll go back home. I'll send you money, that's it."

"I don't want anything from you, Javier. Not if you're not going to do it with real love," you whispered, heartbroken.

Javier's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. He turned away, staring at the wall, his hands clenched into fists.

He looked down, unable to meet your gaze. "I never saw myself as a dad. I don't think I ever will," he admitted. "That's all I can offer. I'm sorry it's not what you expected. I'm sorry I can't be the man you need."

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Days turned into weeks, and your relationship with Javier seemed to be stuck in a constant struggle of awkward interactions and avoiding each other. He started working even later, and sometimes he didn't even spend the night at the apartment. He came back the next morning smelling like whiskey and cigarettes. When he did sleep at home, he took the couch while you slept on his bed. When you woke up in the morning, he wasn't there.

Both of you finally reached an agreement. You recognized that you needed his help, and he was aware that he had to be responsible for the situation. You moved in with Javier so you wouldn't have to waste money paying rent. Moreover, you would return to the US when you were seven months pregnant. He would conclude his duty in Colombia however long it took. Neither of you wanted to talk about what would happen then.

Your belly was now thirteen weeks along. Soon, Javier found his place filled with baby stuff. Every day he discovered something new you had bought: tiny clothes, maternity clothing, maternity books. His bathroom smelled like the body cream you used to apply on your belly, and there was a list of pregnancy-friendly foods hung on the refrigerator. He could tell you were putting your heart into preparing for the baby, and at times he felt guilty for not being able to find his own paternal instinct.

On the contrary, you were caught in a fragile rhythm. He continued his dangerous work, and you dedicated yourself to your work at school.

Nights were still lonely, but at least you had your baby. You talked and sang to them. You applied anti-stretch mark creams to your belly, and read everything about babies and labor. You were excited to meet your baby boy or girl, but sadly, at the same time, you felt heartbroken because you loved Javier, and you wished he was more present during the process. However, you had to accept that it wasn't mutual. He didn't love you; he never truly did and probably never would. He just liked to fuck. You should have known it before. Maybe you did, but you were so in love with him that you thought you could change him. Either way, it was too late now.

Javier gave you more money than you needed to cover everything you needed. He never said no when you told him you needed medicine, to pay for a doctor's appointment, or special food that didn't provoke nausea.

But he never went to those appointments with you. He never asked how they went, either. He never showed any interest in the progress of your pregnancy. It was as if he had completely detached himself from the situation, leaving you to navigate the journey alone.

Or at least, that was how you saw it. The truth was, Javier was having a difficult time processing the fact that he would be a father. He had never seen himself getting married, let alone having children.

Furthermore, there was something terrifying about having a baby in Colombia during the war he was fighting. He had witnessed men fall, leaving widows and orphans behind.

He realized that he was more scared of leaving you and his child alone in this chaotic and unfair world if something happened to him. Or worse, he feared that you have to pay for his sins and mistakes. He couldn't bear the thought of that, and he often had nightmares about losing you both.

He didn't know how to express his feelings for you. He couldn't let himself relax and just settle into the nest with you.

One of those nights, when he decided to come home earlier after work, he found you sleeping in bed. You had an open book beside you on a page about what to expect during the second trimester. You had fallen asleep in an awkward position, so he had to gently wake you up to help you move into a more comfortable one. You mumbled in your sleep, calling his name softly and sweetly. Javier felt warmth in his chest, a need to cuddle with you, touch your belly for the first time, and hold you and the baby close.

But he just couldn't do it. He didn't know why, but he couldn't. He limited himself to tucking you in with a warm blanket and opening the window for fresh air, as you liked it. He went to the kitchen, filled a glass with water, and put it on your nightstand because he knew you got thirsty in the middle of the night.

Javier observed you for a moment, peacefully sleeping, carrying his baby. He missed your soft lips and your fingers in his hair. He missed making you laugh and talking to you about each other's days. And now, he longed to make things right and try to win your heart back.

Tomorrow, he said. Turning down the lights, he went to his place on the couch.

But tomorrow was too late.

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He left early in the morning to attend an emergency meeting at the Embassy. Steve spend all morning complaining about Messina and the tie-and-suit motherfuckers, but Javier's thoughts were on you.

He was lost on his own thoughts, trying to find the right words to tell you. He was still scared, but he was determined to try. To make it work.

He was on his desk, a report on his hands but he wasn't reading it, when his landline rang.

"Peña," he picked up.

"Is this Javier?" a woman's voice asked urgently.

"Who's this?"

"This is María from the school," she said. He immediately knew something was wrong. He barely remembered María, you had presented each other last year on your birthday.

"There's been an emergency," she continued explaining, anguish filling her voice. "She's been taken to the hospital."

Javier's heart dropped. "Is she okay?"

"She collapsed in class. They think it might be related to her pregnancy. You need to get to the hospital as soon as you can."

Javier didn't waste a second. He grabbed his jacket and bolted out of the Embassy, ignoring Steve's confused shouts. The drive to the hospital was a blur, his mind racing with fear.

What happened? You were fine last night... Didn't you? He felt a pang of guilt. What if you didn't felt well but you didn't say anything because you thought he would be mad? Fuck... He should be more available for you. You should trust him.

When he finally arrived at the hospital, he rushed to the reception desk, asking for your name. The nurse nodded and directed him to the emergency room. His heart pounded as he approached the doors, dread settling in his stomach.

He found you lying on a hospital bed, pale and hooked up to monitors. The doctor was speaking to a nurse nearby. Javier's throat tightened as he stepped closer.

The doctor noticed him and approached. "Are you related?"

"Yes, how is she?" Javier asked, his voice shaky.

The doctor sighed. "I'm sorry to inform you, but she lost the baby. There was nothing we could do. It was a miscarriage."

Javier felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him. He looked at your unconscious form, tears welling up in his eyes. "Can I see her?"

"Of course, but she's sleeping right now," the doctor said gently. "She's stable now, but you had to sedate her. This has been very traumatic for her."

Javier nodded and moved to your bedside. He took your hand in his, feeling the weight of his own failures crashing down on him. He had failed to protect you, to be there when you needed him the most.

Hours passed as he sat by your side, holding your hand and watching you sleep. When you finally stirred and opened your eyes, he was there. His eyes were teary, reddened from his contained emotions.

"Hey," he whispered, placing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I'm here," he said, squeezing your hand. "I'm so sorry. I should have been there. I should have done more."

You closed your eyes, tears slipping down your cheeks. "I lost my baby." Your voice was barely a whisper, little sobs escaping your lips. You were still in a haze of sedatives and mourning.

Javier nodded, his heart breaking at the pain in your voice. "I know. I'm so, so sorry."

"No, you don't," you said, hurt and anger painting your weak voice. "You didn't want my baby."

"I was scared," he confessed, his voice cracking. "I didn't know how to handle any of this. But I never wanted this to happen. I never wanted to lose our baby."

You shook your head, tears streaming like rivers down your cheeks. The gaze you gave him was filled with anger and resentment, piercing through his chest.

"Fuck you," you cried.

Javier flinched as if you had struck him. He looked away, unable to bear the intensity of your anger and sorrow.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice barely audible.

"You never be there for us, so don't come and say you're sorry," your words melted into an unstoppable crying. You felt like if your heart would literally broke into a million pieces. Grief and exhaustion weighing heavily on you, you felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness.

"I know I can't make this right. I know I failed you. But please, let me be here for you now," he pleaded, but there was nothing he could say to soothe your unbearable pain.

"You're a piece of shit, Javier," you spat, your voice trembling with anger and grief. "I don't want to see you ever again."

You turned away from him, your tears flowing freely.

He lingered for a moment, hoping for some sign of forgiveness, but when none came, he slowly left the room, closing the door behind him.

He stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall, feeling the crushing weight of his failures. He had lost not only his child but also the trust and love of the woman who meant more to him than he had ever admitted.

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charmandabear · 2 days

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Office Hours - Chapter Twelve

Summary:

You finally work up the nerve to ask Astarion about his past.

Pairing: Astarion/f!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.6k

Tags/Warnings: discussions of traumatic pasts, not just Astarion's, but Tav's as well, specifically partner abuse; depiction of a panic attack; mentions of (canon-typical) violence; spoilers for Heathers the Musical; somewhat feral kissing that honestly at this point shouldn't surprise anyone with these two

This chapter should be fine to read if you're not familiar with the plot of Heathers (movie or musical) but in case you want to read a quick summary, you can get that here.

I have officially retconned chapter 9 that Karlach got the home brewed beer from Lakrissa, not Aradin.

I can't believe I got the chapter out on both AO3 and Tumblr on the same day! It's been a few chapters since this has happened lol. As per usual, the screenshots are from @zipzoomzaria, although with me recently downloading the free cam mod I cannot take ENOUGH screenshots. I'll be uploading those soon.

Read it on AO3 ~ Masterlist

Astarion’s chest feels cool beneath your cheek as you slowly blink yourself awake. You listen to the sound of his breathing for a few moments – not a necessary impulse for him, just one he never unlearned. You eventually turn your head upward to see him looking at his phone. He notices you stir and a smile spreads across his face as he puts his phone down.

“Good morning,” he lilts, rubbing your shoulder gently with his thumb. You strain your neck up towards him, wordlessly asking for a kiss. He leans down and obliges, his chilled lips working against your warm ones, still sticky from sleep. You adjust your arms so you can wrap your hands around his neck and run your fingers through his curls. He presses his palm against your lower back, pulling your chest flush with his. His movements are unrushed, languid and sensual, and you’re just enjoying the soft feeling of his skin against yours.

“Morning,” you hum sleepily, slow blinking like a contented cat. He props himself up on an elbow and as his visage comes into focus, you realize just how put-together he looks. He’s already wearing his glasses and his hair looks as carefully coiffed as usual. You frown. “How long have you been awake?”

“How do you want me to answer that?” He quirks an eyebrow. “It’s not exactly like I sleep.”

Right. Elves trance instead of sleep. You probably could have paid more attention in your humanoid biology class in high school.

“So what do you do all night while I sleep?”

“Read, mostly,” Astarion says with a shrug. “Sometimes I grade. Just killing time, really.”

“Don’t you ever get, like, bored?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“Sometimes. More often than not I simply enjoy being near you.” His candor makes you flush, so you deflect with a teasing laugh.

“Ew, you like being near me? Gross.” You grin as you pull him back down to you, your hands curling around his neck and you kiss him, soft and slow. He slides his hand under your knee and pulls your calf around his waist. Your usual insatiable lust for him is tempered, and you just want to bask in his coolness like you have all the time in the world. He pulls away, brushing your hair behind your ear, and looks at you over his glasses with those blood red eyes of his.

“What would you like, love?” he murmurs, and you yawn reflexively.

“Coffee, before anything else,” you reply, rubbing sleep out of your eyes. You roll out of bed and adjust your bra and shorts that got twisted overnight. You pad into the kitchen with Astarion close behind you, and he perches himself on a barstool while you pull out the instant coffee and set the kettle to boil.

“Darling, no, instant coffee?” he sneers as you scoop it into your mug.

“Don’t be elitist, it doesn’t make sense for me to make a full pot every morning when it’s just for me, and Keurigs create a hellish amount of plastic waste.” You turn up your nose at him, and he stands to take the mug out of your hands.

“This is not elitism, this is self-preservation.” He dumps the granules into the sink, earning a quick “Hey!” from you. “I’d rather like to be able to kiss you without the taste of rotten dirt in your mouth.” He picks up his phone from the counter and pulls up DoorDash.

“My breath doesn’t get that bad,” you mumble and cross your arms obstinately.

“Perhaps not to a mortal, but trust me when I say this will be better for both of us.” You glance over his shoulder and watch as he loads up the cart with expensive artisan coffee beans, a French press, and a stainless steel coffee grinder.

“Astarion, I can’t afford all that,” you press, trying to take his phone out of his hands.

“Then consider it a gift,” he lobs back at you, holding his phone above your head so you can’t reach it. You plant yourself on a barstool and sulk for a moment before actually processing what he said.

“Wait, so you can tell when I’ve eaten or drunk something made with low quality ingredients?” Your brain spins the rolodex of all of the times you kissed him after having some trashy food.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he says with a regretful frown.

“And the night at the bowling alley when I was drinking that terrible beer?”

“Not particularly pleasant. But worth putting up with, because, well,” he clears his throat and flashes a coy smile, “it had been a while.” Your ears flush and he saunters over to you, planting a kiss just below your earlobe. Your hands rest on the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“But… coffee,” you pout, and he takes your hands and pulls you over to the couch.

“If you’re patient, my dear, it’ll be worth the wait,” he coos, sitting you down and pulling your legs onto his lap. “And speaking of waiting.” He brings your hand to his lips, running his nose along the blue-green veins in your inner wrist. “Do you mind terribly if I have my breakfast while you’re waiting for yours?”

Your breath catches in your throat as he gently grazes the point of one fang across the sensitive skin. “You’ve never fed from my wrist before,” you breathe, almost as though speaking too loudly might spook him.

“Does that make you reconsider?” His eyes flick up towards yours but his lips remain on your wrist, ghosting over the flesh. You shake your head, transfixed by his subtle movements. His lips stretch into a smile before he sinks his fangs into you, the sharp pain sending a twin bolt to your heart and your core before melting away into that sublime numbness. You’ve never watched him feed before, and you’re almost taken aback by how beautiful he looks. His lips pressed to your wrist, his hair falling into his eyes, his back expanding and contracting as his breath quickens. He must sense your gaze because he looks up, his red eyes sparkling. Your heart rate spikes, and it only takes a few seconds for him to smile against your wrist, reacting to whatever your sudden arousal changed in your bloodstream.

It feels too soon when he pulls away, despite the oncoming lightheadedness suggesting otherwise. Unlike his usual animalistic expression he wears after drinking your blood, he has a sated, almost goofy look to him. You giggle and swipe the red droplet from his bottom lip and suck it off your thumb.

His sleepy gaze moves to you, but when he sees you licking your blood off your finger, his features sharpen into the more predatory look you’re used to. He shifts your legs so that he’s towering over you, and you have no choice but to sink down into the couch on your back. He presses a knee between your legs and you bite your lip to stifle a moan. He descends onto your lips and you taste the blood that still coats his. You arch your back into him and he slides his hand beneath you, pulling your center closer. He slides his knee upwards, pushing your thigh with it, and rolls his hips into your now spread cunt. You groan into his lips, hands scrambling for purchase on his bare shoulders. His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and you’re about to wriggle out of them when there’s a knock at the door.

You both freeze, then suddenly you remember. “My coffee!” you squeal excitedly, pushing Astarion off of you. “They probably just left it right outside the door, babe, can you grab it while I reheat the water?” You clamber over the back of the couch and over to the kitchen while Astarion shakes his head at your antics.

He pulls the front door to your apartment wide open and a startled half-gnome stands there holding a paper bag full of coffee supplies. Their eyes travel down Astarion’s half-naked form, lingering momentarily on the growing bulge in his boxer briefs. They flush a violent purple before muttering a quick, “Sorry,” and shoving the paper bag in his hands. They practically sprint down the hall as Astarion calls, “Have a lovely day!” with an impish wave.

“Astarion, you scared the poor thing half to death,” you scold as he closes the door, and he responds with a nonchalant shrug.

“Probably more exciting than anything else they’ll see today, I did them a favor.” He brings the coffee supplies over to the counter and hooks his thumbs into your shorts. “Now, where were we?” He presses into your back and kisses the crook of your neck.

“Can I at least have my coffee before an orgasm?” you groan breathlessly, and Astarion chuckles.

“Who said that’s my intention?” he hums into your ear, causing you to shiver.

“Historical evidence,” you throw over your shoulder at him as you shimmy out of his grip. You pull out the various implements and stare at them blankly. You shift your gaze to Astarion and frown. “You bought all this stuff, show me how to use it.”

“Fine. Sit.” Astarion pushes you onto the barstool and begins to open the boxes with the French press and the coffee grinder. You watch him while he stands over the counter, and your eyes trace over the elaborate scarring across his back. You suddenly realize you’ve never been able to get this good of a look at it, he’s usually so carefully guarded. You’ve been afraid to bring it up again since that first night he told you about it.

You chew on your lip while he assembles your coffee, anxiously weighing the pros and cons of asking him about it. You want to ask him more about his past, but you can’t even fathom what it’s like for him to have lived more than three times your entire lifespan and still have an eternity to go.

He hands you the mug and looks at you expectantly. You snap out of your mini reverie and look down at the coffee in your hand, a few shades darker than you’re used to.

“Thank you, although I usually put in a little more milk than that,” you admit sheepishly.

“With that offal you had been drinking, I don’t doubt it. Try it first, I’ll put in more if you want.” He puts his hands on his hips as you eye him suspiciously. You take a tentative sip, bracing yourself for the acrid bitter taste, but are met instead with something smooth and rich. Still bitter, but tempered by a creaminess that has nothing to do with the milk. You look up at him with a pleasantly surprised look on your face.

“Okay, I hate to say it, but you were right,” you groan reluctantly. He smirks and tilts your chin up to give you a tender kiss.

“Still as sweet as ever,” he purrs, and a light flush rises to your cheeks. Then your mind wanders back to your earlier train of thought, and your brow furrows.

“Um, Astarion, can I ask you something?” Your voice is a little dryer than you’d like it to be. His eyebrows shoot up over his glasses, and he nods. You take his hand and lead him over to the couch, curling your knees into your chest and holding your coffee mug in both hands. “Can you tell me more about… about your scars?”

Astarion exhales a breath of relief. Whatever he thought you were going to ask, it wasn’t that.

“Er, yes, well… How much do you know about vampires?” He looks at you carefully and you blink in surprise. Very little, and you’re surprised it didn’t occur to you to look up more.

“Besides the basics, I guess, no sunlight, mirrors, garlic,” you rattle them off in your head. He giggles when you say ‘garlic.’

“The garlic is a myth, but you’ve got the basics, yes. Haven’t you ever wondered why I’m able to bite you without consequences? Well, besides the dizziness, I suppose,” he adds with a sly grin.

“I guess not, no,” you frown, wishing that he would just tell you instead of this weird quiz.

“I am not technically a full vampire – I’m a vampire spawn. I was turned while on the brink of death by a vampire named Cazador Szarr,” he spits the name like it’ll poison him if it lingers too long in his mouth. “I was his slave for two hundred years, compelled to do anything and everything he commanded. Most of the time it meant luring victims back for him to feed.” Astarion’s eyes glaze over, and you slide out your foot to gently touch his knee. You’re at a loss on how you can possibly comfort him for something this traumatic, so you let him continue in his own time.

“And once, it meant lying still while he carved this into my back over the course of a night. He claimed it was a poem. He made a lot of revisions as he went.” He scowls at the memory. “I only found out that it was something written in Infernal after his death.”

“How did you escape?” Your voice is small, hardly able to comprehend what he’s telling you.

“Oh, that’s actually quite a fun story.” He lights up suddenly. “His six other spawn and I rose up to overtake him. It took years of planning, and we were under the constant threat of being caught. But we were successful, and we tore him to pieces.” His eyes sparkle with a bloodlust that you haven’t seen before and your heart pounds in your ears. You had said that you want to see the more predatory side of him, and you’re getting your wish. His face softens and his gaze refocuses on you. “That was about 100 years ago,” he concludes with a wry smile. He puts his hand on your foot next to his leg and pulls it into his lap, and you curl your toes against his hand.

“Well,” you exhale, still processing his entire story. “That certainly puts the trauma from my shitty ex into perspective,” you say with a pained smile, trying to make light of it.

“Suffering is relative, the enormity of mine doesn’t reduce yours.” He tilts his head as he looks at you, a silent question. He’s leaving it open for you to tell your story, but refrains from pressing.

“Well, it almost seems mundane in comparison,” you start with a heavy sigh, and he squeezes your foot lightly to encourage you to continue. “I’ve only had one even remotely serious relationship, and he was a piece of shit. Well,” you reconsider as you think of what those early days with him were like. “At first he just seemed like one of those ‘lovable asshole’ kind of guys, plus he had a Yorkshire accent, so clearly I have a type,” you say with a feeble laugh.

“No, a northerner? Darling, want better for yourself,” Astarion grimaces, and you glare at him.

“Like I said, I have a type,” you sneer. “But after a while, it became clear that he didn’t particularly respect me, I think partially because I was studying theatre and he was in STEM. He constantly talked down to me, he hated it any time I disagreed with him, and he would go out of his way to piss me off because he thought it was funny.”

You see Astarion wince, slowly putting the pieces together. You don’t particularly feel like rehashing the night you saw Taming again, so you continue.

“His friends weren’t terrible, though, and he was never as awful to them as he was to me, so I thought it was my fault. Like, if I were just somehow less annoying, or smarter, or more interesting, then he would suddenly stop being an asshole. There were some nights,” you swallow thickly, surprised by how difficult recounting this is. You thought you had worked through all this with Jaheira. “Some nights he was so persistent that I would just let him have sex with me so he would shut up and go to sleep.”

You feel Astarion tense beneath your leg, and he’s clenching his jaw so hard you’re worried his teeth might shatter. You quickly continue to try to put him at ease. “I sometimes wish I could go back to my 20-year-old self and just give her a huge hug and tell her that she’s worth more than that dick. But I’ve grown a lot since that relationship, and probably because of that relationship if I’m being perfectly honest. Wish I could have learned those lessons without an abusive asshole, but we play the hand we’re dealt.” You shrug and stare blankly at the dregs at the bottom of your mug.

When Astarion speaks, his voice is icy and measured. “And what’s this man’s name?”

“Aradin. Aradin Beno,” you answer, keeping your eyes cast down. Your gaze shoots up to Astarion with a sudden realization. “You’re not allowed to kill him, Astarion,” you warn. You would have been joking had you said that thirty minutes ago. But after learning exactly what he’s capable of, a genuine spike of fear runs through your heart.

“But why?” he says in a whiny voice. “I can make it look like an accident, I promise!”

“No, no murder!” You kick your other foot out at him, and he grabs your ankle in a single swift motion. His sudden movement makes your mouth twitch as you suppress the smile spreading across your lips.

“Does the prospect of me being a killer make you feel something, little love?” he drops his voice and your breath catches in your throat. You don’t want to admit just how much it does, so you choose to remain silent instead. You watch him with unblinking eyes as he prowls over you, taking your empty mug out of your hand and setting it on the coffee table. The way his eyes sparkle and the flash of his fangs tells you that he knows exactly what it makes you feel.

“Are you? I mean– have you? Besides the one, I guess,” you stammer as your heart threatens to pound out of your chest. He looms over you, pressing his thigh down between your legs.

“Would it be better or worse if I said yes?” His lips hover over yours, and the noise that slips out of your throat is a little embarrassing. He closes the distance and kisses you roughly, slipping his hand beneath your lower back and digging his nails into your skin.

You’re certain you would feel differently if you saw it in person… but the mental image of Astarion covered in blood after just having torn Aradin limb from limb sets you off. Something surges through you and you suddenly flip Astarion onto his back. You straddle his hips and crush your lips together, struggling to control your hungry kisses. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling hard. He claws into your thighs, pulling you down onto his rapidly growing erection, and you groan into his lips. You move your mouth down to his neck, biting down, and your whole body seizes when you hear his breathy moan in response.

He pushes up off the couch, keeping your legs wrapped around his waist while you cling to his shoulders, your assault on his neck never relenting. He carries you back to your room and throws you down on the bed hard enough to bounce slightly. He looks borderline monstrous as he crawls back onto you, pinning all four of your limbs down so escape is impossible.

Your breathing grows heavy as he ravages you, your hands messily grabbing at any part they can reach. He tears at your bra with his teeth and you moan loudly, panting uncontrollably. He bites your skin, not to feed but to mark you, to cover you in punctures and bruises that brand you as his. You arch your back into him, asking for more. You want him to tear you apart, to leave you broken and consumed. You whine, your breath wracking through your lungs.

But before long, your vision starts to darken around the edges. You feel your heart pounding in the well of your throat – not the way Astarion makes your heart pound, but the way your anxiety does. You get lightheaded and your muscles grow weak as Astarion, unaware of your change in faculties, bites down on the soft tissue of your breast.

“Wait,” you call weakly, and grabs your hair and pulls your head back, pressing his lips against your ear.

“What was that, love?” he growls as his pointer finger tugs on your shorts.

“Star, stop,” you croak, and his entire demeanor shifts. He pulls back to look at you, his red eyes round and shining with concern. You’re a little surprised when the tears fall from your eyes unbidden, streaking down your temples and into your hair. You start hyperventilating, shaking as you lose control over your breath. You shove your fist into your mouth, hoping fruitlessly that the pain might ground you.

After a moment of staring at you helplessly, Astarion pulls you into his arms and you curl up face down into his lap, choking out sobs as you grip his thighs. Your throat tightens and you feel like you’re being strangled by your own larynx. You gag as your stomach heaves, trying to expel itself from out of your mouth.

Astarion rubs your back, rocking you gently. A soft stream of “shhhh” and “it’s okay, love, you’re okay,” pours out of his mouth. He breathes in and out slowly, and you eventually find your breath enough to steady it, lengthening your inhales and exhales to match his. You lay there trembling for what feels like hours until you manage to push yourself back up into a sitting position.

“Gods, I’m sorry, I don’t know what that was about,” you chuckle feebly, wiping tears and snot from your face. Astarion starts to reach out to touch your cheek, but he pulls his hand back hesitantly.

“Darling, you don’t need to apologize. Are you… are you alright?” he asks, voice unsteady. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes until your vision goes starry, then take his hands in yours.

“I am, yes. I’m sorry. I know you said I don’t need to apologize,” you add quickly as he opens his mouth to protest. “Like, I’m sorry that it happened as much as I’m sorry that I probably freaked you out.”

“Did I do something wrong?” His voice is smaller than you’ve ever heard it, and you furiously shake your head.

“No, gods no. The opposite, actually.” You attempt to flash him a smile, but it just comes off as tired. “I think it just became too much too quickly. And I guess I’m not as… worked through… the Aradin stuff as I thought I was.” You frown at your clunky phrasing and he more confidently reaches out to stroke your cheek. You press your face into his palm, holding his hand to your lips as you take a few more long, grounding breaths. You finally drop his hand and look down at your torn bra, raising your eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh, er… sorry about that,” Astarion smiles sheepishly.

“Honestly I’m more impressed than anything else,” you laugh as you start to try to scooch off the bed to get another shirt. Astarion puts his hand on your knee to stop you and walks toward your dresser. It takes him a few tries to figure out the right drawer, but eventually he pulls out a tank top and hands it to you. You inexplicably turn away from him as you put it on, suddenly self-conscious in front of this man who has seen you naked maybe a dozen times.

You pull yourself to the edge of the bed, your dangling feet not quite touching the floor, and reach out to him with grabby hands. He steps closer to you and lets you embrace his waist wordlessly. You press your nose into his ribs and take a steady inhale. His scent is so much more concentrated from this angle, all sweat and pheromones. He runs his hand through your hair and you can feel tears welling up in your eyes again. He feels the wetness on his skin and pulls away suddenly.

“What? What did I do?” He sounds genuinely panicked and it gets an honest laugh out of you.

“No, it’s nothing. I’m just…” in love with you. Fucking hells, you haven’t even let yourself think those words before. You push the thought down, so very far down – you’re not even remotely in a position to confront it right now. “Do you think you can hang out for a bit? You don’t have plans today, do you?” You take a shaky breath. “I just don’t think I want to be alone right now.”

“Yes, my sweet, of course.” He takes your chin and tilts your head up so you’re looking up at him. “But will you please eat something? You’ve had nothing but coffee and I’m sure the blood loss isn’t helping.”

You smile and nod, standing to give him a proper kiss. The sudden movement does, in fact, make you wobble a bit. He grips your arms and glowers at you as your eyes scan down his bare chest and legs.

“Do you want, like, clothes? Maybe I can ask Shadowheart to run to your apartment and get you a fresh set?” You don’t mind staring at him half naked, but you figure you might as well give him the option.

“Well, as a matter of fact, do you think she would mind terribly feeding His Majesty? He gets awfully cranky if he doesn’t have his regular meals.”

“Huh, I wonder where he picked that up?” you ask with a coy smile and he rolls his eyes.

“You’re one to talk. Go eat.” He pushes you through your bedroom door. “And yes, please ask Shadowheart.” You laugh as you stumble through your living room to the kitchen. You pick up your phone from the kitchen island and pull up her number.

-Shade, are you busy? Can you do me a huuuuuuuuuuuuuge favor?

-what

It’s a bit on the early side for her, so frankly you appreciate the answer at all.

-Can you run to Astarion’s apartment to grab some clothes? And also feed his cat?

The typing bubble pops up and disappears a handful of times. Then, she finally replies:

-...what?

-Please Shade, it’s important. pleeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaassssseeeeeeeeeeee

-Moon Maiden, yes, calm down. I’ll come over to grab his keys.

“Okay, she said yes,” you tell Astarion as you put your phone back down on the counter and grab a sleeve of cinnamon raisin bagels from the drawer. He watches you carefully as you assemble your breakfast, almost like he doesn’t trust that you’ll actually do it if he looks away.

It doesn’t take long for Shadowheart to walk into your apartment without knocking. She’s wearing an oversized Next to Normal t-shirt and shorts. Her eyes first settle on Astarion sitting at the island in just his underwear and she stares blankly. When her gaze shifts to you, and she sees your puffy red eyes, she turns back to Astarion in a fury.

“What the fuck did you do?” she hisses, and you throw out your hands to stop her from committing murder. She stops just short of getting slathered in cream cheese from the knife still in your hand.

“Nothing, no, he’s good, I swear. Perfect, even.” You glance back at him abashedly. “No, it was just… Aradin stuff.” You mumble the last few words, and watch as Shadowheart’s anger deflates and then flares twice as high.

“Oh? Do I need to hunt this piss kid down?” she seethes, pumping herself up for a fight.

“No, she has forbidden murder, I already tried,” Astarion drawls, and Shadowheart’s expression dulls to a scowl.

“Fine,” she grumbles, then turns back to you. “Where am I going and what am I getting?”

“I’ll text you his address, just a change of clothes. Oh, and where do you keep His Majesty’s food?” You start typing out the message and Astarion takes your phone from your hand.

“It’ll be simpler if I give you instructions,” he says as he types out what looks like a novel. “Make sure you go to the fish market on Bleeker, not the one on Mayweather. And if they don’t have the nice fatty tuna, you can get the yellowtail, but only if it’s been caught within the hour. If they don’t have either, then ask for Thodric, he’ll know what to get.”

Shadowheart stares at him with a mixture of confusion and revulsion. “The little rat’s getting Fancy Feast and he’ll like it,” she finally says when Astarion hits send. You shoot her another pleading look and she groans. “Fine. Anything else for Your Majesty?”

“Oh, His Majesty is fine, but could you also grab my maroon cardigan and–”

“Gods, really?” she snaps. You’re chewing on your bagel when you finally process what she’s wearing.

“Wait, isn't that shirt–” you begin and she whirls around, her loose silver hair swinging down her back.

“I’ll text you when I’m on my way back,” she barks as she slams the door shut behind her.

***

You and Astarion spend the day together mostly in comfortable silence. Shadowheart does, in fact, give His Majesty the fresh fish he so desperately requires, but she only brings Astarion a pair of jeans and a black v-neck t-shirt. He grumbles a resentful thank you, even if she didn’t bring him the maroon cardigan.

You’re lying on the couch leaned up against Astarion, who has borrowed your tablet to grade papers while you answer work emails on your phone. You get another reminder from the chair about season selection and you groan.

“I swear, we’re not going to have a season next year if we can’t fucking agree on something,” you bemoan, dropping your phone and rubbing your eyes wearily. “Plus, the rest of them feel like we need to settle on a musical first and then build the season around that,” you gripe, crossing your arms like a petulant child.

“Well that’s nonsense, the musical is always just a garish over-produced spectacle,” Astarion scoffs.

“But it’s the thing that makes the most money, so we are kind of dependent on it, as much as I hate to admit it,” you concede reluctantly. “Alfira really wants to do Heathers, and I read it, I just can’t get behind it as much as the rest of the faculty. I want to make sure the classical play is in conversation with it, and I can’t think of an interesting choice.” You slide your eyes to Astarion with a smirk. “Lucretius suggested Hamlet and I would literally rather fling myself out a window than direct Hamlet.”

“Well now, I don’t believe self-defenestration is necessary,” he laughs. “But you’ve only read it? Aren’t you the one always going on about how theatre is meant to be seen and not read?” He mocks you a little too well and you smack his knee.

“Fine, I guess I’ll see if there’s a recording available,” you mutter, picking your phone back up and googling it. “Oh, there actually is. A proshot is available… on the Roku app? I swear to the gods, there are too many apps these days.” You sit up and turn towards Astarion. “Will you watch it with me? Pleeeeaaaassee,” you add in a whine when he gives you a pained look. “If we don’t like it we can make fun of it together, I promise. That’s a better deal than you’ll get from 95% of theatre people.”

He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s bad enough you’re going to make me see it in the fall, you’re going to make me watch it again now?”

Your heart leaps at how casually he mentions still being together in the fall, but you quickly shake the feeling off. Instead, you divert his attention by offering, “What if Karlach and Shadowheart watched it with us? Karlach should probably watch it too, honestly, and then you and Shade can commiserate together as non-theatre people.”

He glares at you for another moment before putting his glasses back on and huffing a great sigh. “Fine,” he relents, adding with a glare, “you’re very lucky that you’re cute.” You giggle with delight and text Shadowheart.

-Do you wanna come over with Karlach tonight and watch Alfira’s pick for the fall musical? You can bond with Astarion over your love of expensive wine and the annoyances of dating someone in the theatre department.

-🍷👌🏻

You laugh at her response and go back to leaning against Astarion’s side, a small shiver running up your spine as he squeezes you a little closer to him.

***

Shadowheart and Karlach come by later in the evening, Shadowheart with two bottles of wine and Karlach loaded with snacks. They move around your kitchen, taking out bowls and glasses, while you take a sudden new interest in the ingredients for Doritos.

“And is it like, highly processed ingredients?” you frown as your eyes scan over the lines, some of the words familiar to you and some of them not. Astarion shrugs.

“I haven’t kept a detailed list of what’s fine and what isn’t, if that’s what you’re asking,” he drawls, looking over his glasses pompously, and you huff.

“Well then I’m going to eat them just to spite you,” you threaten, attempting to open the bag of Doritos menacingly. The gesture falls flat when you crunch down on a chip and it crumbles down your shirt. He takes the back of your neck in his hand and pulls your lips to his, his tongue swiping up cheese dust. You flush and he pulls away, contemplating the taste.

“Well it’s certainly not the most pleasant,” he finally decides, and you dejectedly put the chips down and pick up the wine Shadowheart has just poured. Astarion looks down his nose at the bottle.

“Decent choice,” he intimates with an approving look, and Shadowheart gives him a sideways glance.

“Ah yes, I heard you were a bit of a wine snob.” She tries to match his haughty energy, and doesn’t do a half bad job. “I saw what you brought,” she says, referring to the bottle still on the counter from last night. “It looks… fine.” The corners of his lips twitch upward and you can tell that he likes her, despite their constant bickering.

You and Astarion settle yourself on the couch while Karlach and Shadowheart sit on the floor. Karlach leans against the base of the couch, one knee propped up and an arm around Shadowheart’s shoulders. You smirk at your best friend, remembering your conversation of her insisting that she likes to sit on the floor, despite the fact that the two of you always sit on the couch together. Astarion, legs crossed and arm around you, pulls up the Roku app on your TV and finds the Heathers proshot.

September first, 1989. Dear diary:

A spotlight comes up on a young half-elf woman wearing a bulky denim jacket, big scarf, and a long hippie skirt. Veronica, it quickly becomes clear, is one of the more unpopular kids in school, along with her best friend Martha Dunstock.

“Wait, Veronica isn’t already one of the Heathers? And she’s already friends with Martha?” Shadowheart asks. The eponymous “Heathers” are the archetypical mean girls who rule over Westerberg High.

“No, is that how it is in the movie?” you reply. “I’m only vaguely aware of it, I just read the musical.”

“Interesting,” she muses, narrowing her eyes. “Yeah, she’s supposed to already be in the Heathers, and she doesn’t even speak to Martha until the last scene of the movie. I guess this way she gets a classic movie montage makeover.”

“That tells a very different story,” Astarion says, bouncing his foot slightly. “Following a protagonist who starts wealthy and popular rather than one who is an interloper into a position of power.”

“I wonder why they changed it,” Karlach says, and you nod in agreement.

“I can almost guarantee it was because of the success of Mean Girls and not simply a narrative choice they wanted to make,” you add, wrinkling your nose with distaste.

“Maybe,” Shadowheart takes a thoughtful sip of her wine. “Mean Girls was so heavily influenced by Heathers that it does seem like a nice homage.” She pauses for a moment, then giggles, “You know, I used to think that I had a crush on Christian Slater and I wanted to be Winona Rider, but it turns out it was the other way around.”

“Honestly, I think that tells me all I need to know about you,” Karlach teases.

Honey whatcha waiting for? Step inside my candy store. Time for you to prove you’re not a loser anymore.

The trio of Heathers pose centerstage, their synchronistic dance moves and bright color coordinated outfits creating a striking stage picture.

“Visually, it’s a nice stylistic choice,” Astarion notes, “but I wonder if the aesthetics will detract from the effectiveness of these three as antagonists.”

“Maybe,” Karlach says with a shrug. “But you know that Carm would have a field day with these costumes,” she adds, turning to look at you over her shoulder.

“Oh she absolutely would,” you agree, looking at their sharp blazers, plaid skirts, and thigh high socks. “But I think Astarion’s has a point, they’re almost too appealing to convey any real villainy. Plus, so many of these lines have become such an iconic part of pop culture that they’re almost meaningless. When the main Heather shouts, ‘Shut up, Heather!’ it feels more like she’s quoting a famous line than bullying her friend.”

“I’m sure Alfira will want to address that in the room,” Karlach nods.

Love this dead girl walking Love this dead girl walking Love this dead girl– Yeah– Yeah– Yeah– Yeah!!!!

After committing the social suicide of not bullying her unpopular best friend, Veronica decides she wants to go out with a bang – literally – and sneaks into the bedroom of resident bad boy JD. You still get an uneasy feeling about him as a character, but you’re trying to parse out your judgment of yourself versus your analysis of the text.

“Sorry,” Karlach shakes her head and holds out her wine glass, pointing at the screen. “Did we just witness that girl have a musical orgasm?”

“Surprisingly more common than you’d think in musical theatre,” you laugh, and Astarion pulls you into him until his lips are on your ear.

“Would you like to be my dead girl walking?” His voice is a husky whisper, sending a shiver reverberating through your body. You press your lips together and dig your nails into his knee to keep both of you in check.

-Oh my gods, I just killed my best friend! -Oh, and your worst enemy, so– -Same difference!

Veronica may have been the one to unknowingly hand a mug full of drain cleaner to the most popular and powerful of the mean girls, Heather Chandler, but JD was the one who knowingly handed it to Veronica.

“So they just immediately kill their primary villain?” Astarion scoffs in surprise. “Bold choice, I wouldn’t have expected it from a musical.”

“Oh don’t worry, she’ll be back,” you laugh. “Hey Karlach, who do you think should play Heather C?”

“Oooh, that’s a good question. I feel like it has to be Arabella, right? Who else has got the chops?” Karlach tilts her head to look at you.

“Arabella would also be really good as Veronica though,” you respond, shuffling through all of the theatre majors in your head. “Do you know if Mol is going to audition?”

“Maybe, but I think she wants to stage manage this fall.”

“Oh that makes sense, she’d be great at that,” you nod in agreement.

He’s hungry for a hunk Of the junk in your trunk

“Oh, weird. I don’t remember this song in the script I read,” you say with a frown. It was a while ago when you read it, but you’re pretty sure that this moment – when the high school jocks Kurt and Ram corner Veronica alone – felt a little more comedic and a little less sinister.

“Yeah, same,” Karlach says. “I feel like it was much sillier. Something about balls?”

“I think the hook was ‘you make my balls so blue.��” You try to force a laugh, but what’s playing out on screen is making you uncomfortable. The visual of the jock, Kurt or Ram, you can’t remember which, lewdly humping the air in front of a terrified Veronica doesn’t sit well with you. “This song being about date rape raises the stakes very differently from it being a blue balling joke.”

“Yeah, that’s so much more intense.” Karlach’s frown deepens as Veronica tries to pull her skirt down lower while the boys grab at her aggressively.

“I mean I get it, it’s a much stronger choice narratively, but we’ll have to be careful, give proper warnings and stuff.” You take a sip of your wine and Astarion gently rubs your shoulder.

“Okay, darling?” he hums in your ear. You nod but pull his arm around you a little tighter.

I worship you. I’d trade my life for yours. I’ll make them disappear.

There’s something so much more menacing about JD’s sung lines after having killed the jocks, Kurt and Ram, who tried to sexually assault Veronica. It makes your hackles raise, in part because you can see how toxic it is, but also because you can’t deny that it stirs something inside you. Just earlier today, you threw yourself at Astarion at the mere mental image of him murdering your abuser.

It’s okay if it’s just fantasy, Jaheira’s words ring in your head. Sure, someone saying that they worship you and committing homicide over it isn’t healthy in real life. But in a fantasy that isn’t hurting anyone?

But… how do you decide what’s harmful and what isn’t?

Can’t we be seventeen? Is that so hard to do?

After JD murders Heather Chandler and both Kurt and Ram out of a sense of misplaced righteousness, Veronica begs him to hold on to his youth a little longer and not let the trauma of his mother’s suicide make him grow up so fast.

You feel Astarion’s chest shaking slightly against your back. You glance up at him and his eyes are shining.

“Babe, are you crying?” you whisper and he glares at you.

“What? No. Shut up,” he spits as he wipes away a tear. You strain your neck and kiss his cheek.

VERONICA! Open the– open the door please, Veronica, open the door. Can we not fight anymore, please?

The repercussions of JD's streak of murderous revenge finally catching up with Veronica, she hides from him in her bedroom while he attempts to cry, scream, and sing his way back into her heart.

“This is the one,” you call out. “This is the song that’s all over TikTok with teenage girls saying that she should’ve opened the door.” The context is no different from when you read it – his violent outbursts mixed with unhinged sobbing still make for an energy that you don’t quite know how to respond to.

“I’m pretty sure they know it’s satire, it’s really over the top,” Karlach shrugs.

“Most of them probably do,” you say with a frown, remembering a concerning post that you saw somewhere that said ‘musical JD really loved Veronica while movie JD was just a manipulator.’

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Astarion says, pointing with his nearly empty wine glass. “You’re telling me that young girls like this behavior? Why?”

Shadowheart snorts. “Apparently there’s something appealing about a pathetic wet cat of a man,” she laughs, and Astarion pouts.

I wish your dad were good, I wish grownups understood. I wish we’d met before They convinced you life is war.

Veronica is pleading with a gun-wielding JD to not blow up the school during the pep rally when something suddenly clicks for you.

“Oh my gods, that’s the thesis statement, that’s what this whole show is about.” You sit up with the realization. “It’s not about mental health, or bullying. I mean it is,” you falter a bit, the wine sloshing around your brain. “But at the root it’s the parents’ fault. All of the adults in this show have been neglectful at best and selfish and bigoted at worst.”

“You know, if you want a good classical play with that theme,” Astarion shrugs, “then you should propose Romeo & Juliet.” Your jaw drops and you whirl around to face him.

“Holy shit, you’re so brilliant, I love you.”

Hey yo, Westerberg, tell me what’s that sound? Here comes Westerberg, comin’ to put you in the ground!

Your whole body freezes as the blood drains from your face. Somewhat delayed, you slap a hand over your mouth to keep you from accidentally revealing anything else. Astarion stares at you, his mask completely expressionless. Karlach and Shadowheart seem to remain oblivious to the monumental tension between you and Astarion.

Westerberg will knock you out And send you straight to–

Fuck.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion #astarion ancunin #professor astarion #aatarion fanfiction #astarion x reader #astarion/reader #astarion x you #astarion/you #bg3 modern au #astarion smut #bg3 smut #baldurs gate 3 #office hours

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ghostflowerhotpotch · 2 days

Text

Spider-Woman, NOT Ghost-Spider

This is a tip for people who want to go as canon as possible WITH THE MOVIES, since I feel a lot of people do this mistake because they look into the comics and mix things up.

If you want to call Gwen, Ghost-Spider in your fanfic/fanart/etc because you think is cool, go ahead! Go nuts! I'm not the canon police.

BUT-

In the movies, Gwen still calls herself Spider-Woman.

An explanation as to why this is important in the read more.

(Spoilers about the Spider-Gwen comics, I guess because I am not spoiling anything that came after 2019.)

When I say "important," I mean it in the stick-it-to-the-details type of deal; if you care about technicalities you care about this, but I know that's not the majority.

However, I do want to bring it up because the reason why Gwen switched in the comics, or rather, why chose Ghost-Spider of all things- is really neat and interesting story line that I feel a lot of people skip over when they 'chose' to call her that without knowing why she chose that name.

If you think Gwen has it rough in the movies, don't read the comics because they put this girl through the wringer.

Let's go a little bit before she chose that name.

As you can see, Gwen feels that she has always been marked by death, some way or another.

First her mother, then Peter, and is now hitting pretty hard after losing Spider-UK (is not Hobie, or Malala, I don't think he has appeared in the movies,) Noir and Karn, though arguably Billy was the one who hit her the hardest.

She went to other dimensions to tell their love ones that Billy and Noir passed away; it is implied how this is her way to try to make amends to what happened, make peace with herself.

But is not really enough, the topic doesn't leave her mind,

Death and pain certainly follow her often; she almost lost her dad for good, and she was definitely shaken after Harry got gravely injured precisely because he was always there for her.

That last panel never stops hitting hard for me.

There is just some quietness to it, about how no matter what she does, how hard she tried, Death continues to follow, one way or another. Even when she tries to be a hero, to do the right thing, death follows her.

In the comics, Gwen switches her name because she is studying in Earth-616 rather than her own dimension, so she switches names in order to avoid stepping in any toes.

So, in the movies, is kind of hard to think the switch would happen. Sure, Gwen is interacting with Jessica and other spiders, but believe me, the multiple spider-man haven't changed their names, so having Jessica in the spider society doesn't change much.

However, I do bring all of this because I think implementing this story line in the movies not only is feasible, it would be *amazing.*

The phrase "Death loves Gwen Stacy," not only hits hard for the Spider-Gwen in the comics, but for the movie counterpart too.

Think about it for a second; in the movies, Gwen feels she can't have friends because otherwise, they may lose them like Peter, she has convinced herself it can't work. And then. she goes to the Spider-Society.

And now she feels Gwen Stacy and Death always go hand in hand.

She learns how in so many universes, Peter is the one bitten, he is the one who lives, while Gwen Stacy dies, over, and over again. It almost seems like she is the outlier out of spite, how because she gets to live, everyone else pays the price.

Because Death loves Gwen Stacy, powers or not, that's not changing.

But at the end of the day-

And that's why, no matter what, she will continue fighting to protect her people.

#atsv #across the spiderverse #gwen stacy #spider-gwen #ghost-spider #spider-gwen comics #itsv #into the spider-verse #random spiderverse fact #I really hope people explore more this idea in the comics #is so good

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utilitycaster · 8 hours

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no d20 spoilers here since i know you know the gist of the drama but the fact that both kipperlilly (and the ratgrinders as a whole) and laudna are sending the their respective fandoms into meltdowns is FASCINATING to me!!! Especially happening at roughly the same time

I am now officially caught up and. not to brag but, called it re: the Rat Grinders, huh, except it's even more stupid. Like. The "but they're literally minors?" argument sort of falls apart given that they're the same age as the Bad Kids, and are actively trying to kill them, the "but redemption" argument doesn't mean shit since at no point did they make any forays towards redemption and indeed sicced a bunch of dragons on the Bad Kids, and so we're left with nothing but an impotent desire to not have a sick-ass battle in the finale of a D20 Campaign. And, perhaps, an uncomfortable realization that they are not unlike the Rat Grinders and the narrative said "lmao yeah you suck".

Laudna's shit? not that different actually. Like there's a lot of reasons why the arguments defending her are bullshit but the biggest one is that the "Laudna has never done anything wrong ever in her life and Imogen is her tether" crowd have painted themselves into a delightfully tiny little corner and they can't hide it anymore. Like, okay, so, is Laudna in control of her actions? Because if so she just attacked Orym in the middle of the night. Is she not? Because if so why hasn't she made the efforts that Chetney and FCG and Imogen (at least sometimes) did to address that? If the issue is trauma why is hers more valid than that of others? If it's abuse tell me how you feel about Caleb, Fjord, Beau, and Percy? Why is Orym shutting down the conversation when he says the Vanguard killed his family but Laudna's not doing the same when she tells Ashton not to speak to her of loneliness and Chetney not to speak to her of loss when she doesn't have a monopoly on either?

Why is it Bells Hells' job to endlessly accomodate Laudna and why are so many people suddenly talking about Bells Hells as an abstract 7-headed entity that didn't deal with Laudna's problems when those same people (if they were around at the time of the gnarlrock airing, and many of them weren't) were like "NO THEY SHOULD MAKE UP AS FAST AS POSSIBLE AND IMOGEN IS A BITCH BECAUSE LAUDNA DIDN'T MEAN IT." Why wasn't it an issue for them when Laudna's ranting about her time in Issylra and how hard it was got shut down by Imogen kissing her because that's why it didn't stay in the spotlight. Why wasn't it an issue for them when Imogen said "if you need her, that's my answer"? Why is it Orym or "Bells Hells" in the abstract who never spent time on Laudna's trauma after months if not years of throwing a fit any time someone (often me) (not always though) pointed out how much Imogen and Laudna were shoving under the rug and not dealing with? What does it say that you can't even expect Laudna's partner to be the one supporting her through this- it has to be Orym? Why doesn't Laudna have any responsibility here? At minimum she could have spoken up about the sword at at least two if not three junctures and she didn't.

There's a lot of things I hold in contempt, and after the obvious things like bigotry, two I really detest are hypocrisy and dereliction of responsibility. It's been extremely telling with both the D20 and CR discourse that people do not like seeing the story and the fandom say "hey actually you need to take responsibility for your actions, you only get redemption if you work for it, and if you leave a room hoping someone will follow you without saying that's what you want? Don't be surprised if no one does." The reason everyone was preparing to stop Laudna was because she was, in every action and decision, showing herself to be a person in need of being stopped. Can you describe this perfect balance of gentleness in which she's never pushed too hard but she does talk about her trauma and work through it and in doing so leaves Delilah? Have you demanded any other member of Bells Hells be granted that same gentleness and patience and kindness or do you think Orym should get over his grief because it's inconvenient to your arguments.

Just as the Rat Grinders show the narrative saying "being an entitled, resentful, jealous person who hurts others from jealousy makes you an easy tool to be manipulated into cruelty and you need to deal with that," I think Laudna shows the narrative (and certainly the fandom) saying "you do have an obligation to deal with your trauma, especially if it causes you to hurt others, and you can ask for help but you can't just sit on your ass waiting for someone else to initiate the process for you" as well as "if you do hurt people because of your trauma they may be angry with you, this may shape how they see you, and they are justified in that because you hurt them" and I think people in both fandoms hate being told that because I think a lot of the people sparking the discourse really do think that you can shield yourself from criticism over your hurtful actions by claiming trauma or neurodivergence or mental illness or whatever and it's like, no, you do still suck, you just also had sucky things happen to you as well.

#answered #Anonymous #cr spoilers #fhjy spoilers

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cosmophonia · 1 day

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I have just finished watching the third season of Bridgerton and there are some confessions I need to make. Spoilers ahead!

It’s not that I dislike all of the canon romantic plots and subplots this season. It’s just that I can’t bring myself to care much about them. BUT it’s because in order for me to care about a ship I need to be obsessed with them. And it’s simply not happening, at least for now.

I felt that Polin was too rushed when I wanted to enjoy (and suffer) the slowburn. I wished they made us wait more time. They kissed, they shared the hand moment, yes, there was some jealousy here and there and now they’re engaged! Okay… (while I’m aware that they’re childhood friends, the watcher has no way to experience that tension unless it’s explicitly shown to them).

Benedict is just attracted to that woman, there’s no love whatsoever.

Francesca and lord Kilmartin are cute. But we don’t really know anything about either of them yet so… Meh.

Now Violet Bridgerton falling in love again?? That’s interesting! It definitely has potential. As of now, I personally can’t be obsessed yet though. It may change in the future!

AND THEN! AND THEN!! There’s ELOISE AND CRESSIDA. It’s not canon. It’s not in the books. BUT THEY HAVE MY FULL ATTENTION. Oh my God. THE POTENTIAL RIGHT THERE??? PLEASE. Repressed mean lesbian gets a redemption arc and falls for the feminist bisexual girl??? Sign me up! Yes, Cressida Cowper, go and marry the man who loves to travel! Get a forever empty house just for you and your lover! PLEASE. Give me all the fanarts and fanfics. I want a sapphic season so badly, not just two random girls making out for Colin’s pleasure (ugh).

#bridgerton season 3 #bridgerton #bridgerton spoilers #bridgerton season 3 spoilers #bridgerton season three #eloise x cressida #cressida x eloise #creloise

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 16 hours

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heyy I have a question but I'm kinda embarrassed about it so idk?

how much of a high libido is normal for a teenager? around 15 years? because like I've been taught that puberty makes you horny, but all everyone was always talking and making jokes about was cus males going through that, and I'm not a cis dude

I was just wondering because like it feels wrong sometimes to think about it that much even though it feels good to but like -I also don't really know how to say this- it also feels like I'm using sexual thoughts and fantasies and stuff to distract myself and to repress the stuff going on in my life? like I can feel my brain switch from "I'm gonna have a breakdown" to "how about horny?" in a couple of seconds and idk if that's normal? or healthy for that matter lol

idk what to say have a nice day and any advice is appreciated<3

(do you do named anons? if so, can I be fox anon?)

hi fox anon,

I'm actually going to direct you to an ask from a shrimp anon, where we had a little chat about hypersexuality and how to know if your sex drive is too high. (spoiler alert: if you're not actively ruining your own life in the pursuit of sex, it's probably not!)

there are definitely the most stereotypes about cis teenage boys being horny, but it's very normal for people with any gender identity, genitalia, and hormones to be extremely interested in sex during their teen years. (and of course, it's also normal not to be interested at all!) this is the part of your life where everybody's bodies are reaching sexual maturity, and it's extremely EXTREMELY normal to have a burning curiosity to go along with that.

it's also very normal to have a lot of Large emotions and feel like they can switch on a dime; that's the power of Hormones, babey! you're experiencing a lot of internal hormonal situations and external social stresses for the first time, and your brain is learning how to process all that.

I have a friend who's only a few months old, so when he gets overwhelmed he doesn't know how to handle that and usually just cries about it because he's brand new and doesn't have any other coping mechanisms. of course, you have a lot more experience than a guy who's brand new and you know way more coping mechanisms than he does, but you're in a somewhat similar position of having to handle a LOT of new shit and not knowing how to cope with it yet. sometimes what's going to happen is just pivoting hard from one big feeling to another - in some cases, from the pits of despair straight to horny jail.

is it possible to become overly reliant on sexual stimulation as a form of self-soothing? sure, of course. it's possible to become overly reliant on anything; absolutely any positive behavior can become detrimental if it's performed to extremity. again, read that ask I linked!

but pivoting from a breakdown to jacking off isn't a bad idea. it can help you calm down, can be a great transition into a nap or sleep, and pops off a little burst of dopamine and oxytocin that's probably very badly needed if you're on the verge of a breakdown. of course it's ideal to have other healthy outlets for when you're feeling bad - making art or doing something else with your hands, doing some enjoyable physical activity, talking with friends or family, keeping a journal - but as one part of a larger diet of support and coping mechanism, horny behavior is great, normal, and very healthy.

#sex edventures 2024

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queenpiranhadon · 23 hours

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A/N: Yayyy we finally get to meet our blondie in this chapter :) Obligatory mention to the awesome @cashmoneyyysstuff GO FOLLOW HER RN ISTG SHE DESERVES IT!! Here's the masterlist!

Warning(s): Cursing, reader is the daughter of Aizawa, Shinso and Eri are biological siblings, reader is 20 years old, reader befriends Kaminari and Sero, Reader uses "Cattus" as her alias, reader's nicknames are Cactus and Cattus, a man insults you a ton and Aizawa by extent, mentions of drinking, two characters aren't from MHA but are there for the plot, bonding time with one of Aizawa's old friends, spoilers (?), Bakugou challenges you to a fight, a tualia is a type of duel for reference, Sero has an unnamed younger sister, lmk if I forgot anything

Pairing(s): Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ: To the Victors Go the Spoils

You weren’t really sure what you expected, but it sure wasn’t this.

The men tasked with recruiting the lot of you forced you all into a straight line, as another one loaded the men of your village into vehicles similar to a hay wagon, one by one, asking you for both your name and address to make sure every family was accounted for. You counted 4 wagons total, along with four others that were filled with wooden barrels.

You swallow nervously, feeling a stab of guilt run through you as you remember your sleeping family at home.

You knew it was wrong, it felt so foreign, an out of body experience to be standing where you were at that moment, knowing that it was happening, but refusing to believe it was happening to you.

But it was, and you couldn’t jeopardize everything due to emotions that wouldn’t benefit you in the future.

Yet, you remembered the picture of your family, and your mind couldn’t help but wonder what they’d say, if things were in better circumstances.

What if you lived in a world where women could go to war too?

What would your family say when you left to go protect them and your country?

Your father would place a hand on top of your head in affection, telling you to come home soon and safe, and that he was proud.

Toshi would’ve teased you, saying you had a “hero complex” and that you worked too hard for your own good.

Which wasn’t true- but Hitoshi sure loved to poke fun when he could.

All part of being your brother you surmised.

Eri would’ve maybe cried a little bit, whining that you were leaving her with “stinky Toshi” and that you better not get hurt, but if you did, she would be there to heal you up when you came home.

You would leave, and they would have large smiles on their faces, with Eri yelling “BYE CATTUS!” at the top of her lungs.

Like your friends, your younger sister had an affinity for nicknames as well, once hearing Izuku refer to you as “Cactus” for the first time when she was around six, the same age you were when you started sword fighting.

Eri had recently lost her two front teeth, attempting to say “Cactus” with difficultly, and saying Cactus instead. Needless to say, everyone found it both endearing and amusing, so it stuck.

You smiled weakly to yourself, and a harsh voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Oi, you enjoying your daydream? Shit like that’ll get you killed.” he says, eyes narrowed and cold.

You frown, but say nothing, prompting the man to snap at you again.

“Whaddya call yourself daydreamer?” he says, almost condescendingly.

“Cattus.” you blurt, the first name that popped up in your mind. “Cattus Aizawa.”

He raises an eyebrow at the mention of your surname, a bemused smirk tugging at his lips.

“An Aizawa huh? Didn’t know Shota would tolerate such a dim-witted man living in his house. How old are you kid?”

“T-Twenty...” you stammer, the words each a sting to your heart, knowing they technically didn’t apply to you but for now, they had to.

The man snorts, laying a hand on your shoulder, seemingly an act of affection but there was no warmth in his tone as he says, “Well Cattus Aizawa keep daydreaming and let’s just say that your old pops’ll lose more than just his one leg.”

Rage bubbles inside of you, but before you could properly retort, you’re shoved into the “hay-wagon” almost completely filled with other men, some you recognized to be from your village, but others were entirely new faces, but you heard that they’d been rounding up men all night, meaning these men were here all night, from different villages.

Some looked terrible, a few sobbing their hearts out, some haggard and silent.

Others, not so much, going as far as to bring tankards of beer in celebration as they cheer alongside their comrades, triumphant as they honorably leave to fight for their home.

You let your eyes wander, not letting their antics affect you in any way. Men like that, they had nothing to lose. Willing to risk your life for your country was no doubt noble in your mind, but these men never experienced loss, or death. Which made sense, given that the kingdom of Bellorant was prosperous when it came to war, casualties were few and victories were countless.

And yet, war was war, and a life was a life. You wanted to cry just like the other men you saw, but you also knew that this was your choice, and that the alternative was worse.

Your eyes lock onto a familiar red head in the distance when you feel your heart drop. Ejiro.

He was the oldest male of his family too, given that his mother had left his biological father and remarried another woman, living with her wife, Ejiro, and his younger sisters, who were twins.

Fuck.

You wish you could push him out of the way, send him back to his family, alive and well. But you couldn’t, knowing that you had your own family to protect, and that you had to trust that he’d protect himself.

Still, you felt sick to your stomach, watching the red head you grew up with chuckle nervously and mount the wagon that reeked of death and destruction.

Taking in another shaky breath, you rub your index finger against your thumb in an attempt to ground yourself. Retreat. You would make it back home, as would Ejiro. You had to.

You spot Izuku’s brother Tenko on the same wagon Ejiro was on, feeling another pang of sadness for the man, though you didn’t know him all that well. He was a little of a loner, you knew, and didn’t really interact with him much.

But a life was a life regardless.

You feel someone tap you on your shoulder, whipping your face around to see a boy around your age, most likely from another village.

His hair was his most defining feature, though, bright yellow with a black streak that resembled a lightning bolt to you. Golden eyes analyzed you briefly before he grins, sliding in to join you on the floor where you sat, offering you half the loaf of bread he carried.

“Hi there!” he beams, acting as if the two of you were lifelong friends. “You looked pretty lonely, so I figured I’d give you some bread.”

You blink, tentatively taking it and nibbling the crust. It was fresh, and lightly floured- something only those with a higher society standing could afford.

“Thank...you?” You say, unsure of what to say, those golden eyes staring at you for a moment of silence before letting out a loud laugh that makes a few of the other men in the wagon look in your direction.

“Y’know... no one’s ever gotten ol’ Fern Bat over there to crack anything other than a scowl- you must be special.” he says, nudging your shoulder.

“Fern Bat...?” you ask warily, not sure if you wanted an answer to the question.

He grins wolfishly, looking at the man that insulted your father earlier. “Old man’s so uptight that he reminded me of a Fern Bat, what with his pinched face and so many wrinkles that he’s eternally pruning.”

You snort at that, and the man next to you whoops in celebration.

“He smiles!” the blonde cheers, and the pronoun change catches you off guard.

Just another thing you’ll have to get used to.

Extending your hand, you offer your pseudonym.

“Cattus Aizawa.”

“Denki Kaminari.”

***

You dozed off at some point during the ride over to wherever they were taking you- the capital you think, you weren’t sure.

Denki was snoring away, using your shoulder as a pillow, and you made no movement to shove him off, knowing he was probably as exhausted as you were. The majority of the other men were asleep as well, for the exception of yourself and those who were still silently crying. Everyone else was out cold, and most likely drunk.

Trying to crane your head around without waking up Denki, you see that the sun was setting,

The ride to the capital of Bellorant, Vitoris, was a week-long journey, you knew, so you made yourself comfortable, mentally preparing yourself for the trip ahead.

The week went by in a blur, you learned a lot about Denki during that time.

His mother and grandfather ran a bakery where they sold pastries and baked goods in his village, which was located in the wealthier areas of Bellorant, as you predicted. His father and mother split when he was very young, similar to Ejiro, you noted, and he, like you, had never fought in a battle before.

As far as he knew, Cattus Aizawa was pretty much just like you- you found no need to lie about your life, other than the fact that you weren’t a male.

He said that Hitoshi reminded him of his grandfather, and you laughed, picturing your brother as a wrinkled old man.

Throughout the week, you ended up stopping at other villages as well, another man by the name of Hanta Sero joined your little group that you formed, whom you soon found out had a little sister around Eri’s age.

The three of you kept each other company in that way, entertaining each other with stories of your respective pasts.

And just like that, you reached Vitoris as the sky showed signs of early dawn.

Or, not really Vitoris, but the by the outskirts of it, an area nicknamed Polemori’s Grounds.

Polemori was the goddess of war in Bellorant, which is why you thought it was befitting given that the area would be used for military training.

Yet, you couldn’t help but feel concerned, given that Ejiro and Tenko’s wagon was nowhere in sight. In fact, it was only your wagon that stopped here, along with one filled with supplies. - you watched the other three wagons disappear down the path, eyes lingering on the one you knew housed the shark-toothed man, before turning away.

Maybe it was a good thing you two weren’t together- he would recognize you immediately.

The two soldiers at the head of the wagon, Fern Bat and the other that the three of you dubbed Moss Bear due to his resemblance to the ursine species that was a probably the size of a common dog. Harmless, but it looked intimidating.

They instructed you to set up the tents kept in the other hay wagon, and once that was done, you were to store all the food and weapons into their larger tent.

There were about fifty men in your wagon, all asleep to some degree, stumbling out and scrambling around to get to work.

While you set up your tent, you took in your surroundings a bit, noting a lake a decent distance away from camp, as well as the gates of Vitoris miles and miles away, barely visible.

It was once the sun finally went down that you all finished, gathering around the campfire you all made, Denki and Hanta and you lay on the grass, exhausted.

“We need to get tons of rest tonight.” Hanta groans, turning to face you. “I heard that tomorrow the captain is coming to train us personally.”

Denki shudders “They call him “The War Dragon”. Load of bull if you ask me.”

You huff, staring at the sky. You could see the stars this time.

“What’s up with the people of Bellorant and nicknames?” you ask, quirking up an eyebrow.

“A country of such great prosperity finds great significance in bestowing titles to those they deem worthy of it.” Hanta says, sounding so much like Toshinori that you laugh.

Denki continues his train of thought, adding “And our country is filled with multitudes of people and places who are befitting of titles due to the enormity of our sheer awesomeness.”

“You two are full of shit, you know that?” You chuckle, launching a fistful of grass blades at the two of them. “I bet you don't even know what “multitude” means.”

Hanta barks out a laugh at that, leaving Denki spluttering, aghast.

The rest of the night was spent in laughter, until Moss Bear told you it was past curfew- and that you should go to bed.

But before you can leave you hear him say, “Aizawa, a moment, please.”

You turn around, heart pounding. Did he find you out already?!

“Yes...?” you ask warily.

He sighs and gives you a fond smile.

“I heard from Officer Tradeyn that you were Aizawa’s kid. Just wanted to apologize in advance, I know he can be a lot.” he says, patting your shoulder slightly, but awkwardly.

You chuckle wryly, nodding in assent, also storing the information that Fern Bat’s name was Officer Tradeyn (you were still gonna call him Fern Bat though). “It’s okay- it's my fault for not being focused at the time.”

Moss Bear squeezes your shoulder. “Your old man is proud of you.”

Would he be? Your family would most definitely be awake by now and would’ve read the letter you left them. Would your father be worried, upset, disappointed even, for being so rash?

Noticing the faraway look in your eyes, Moss Bear removes his hand, waving slightly. “I’ll let you sleep; you’ve got a big day ahead tomorrow. Goodnight, Cattus Aizawa.”

You smile slightly. “Goodnight.”

You enter your tent to see both Hanta and Denki fast asleep, pratically on top of each other at that. Tucking yourself into your bedroll, you try to get comfortable, even though you could feel small rocks poking you where your body contacted the ground.

Uncomfortable as you were through, you finally fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, you awoke to the sign of clanging bells, groaning as you hear Fern Bat’s sharp and irritating voice screech “WAKE UP YOU USELESS WATER LILLIES!”

Denki grumbles beside you “I’ll show you water lily...”

You punch his arm warningly. “The captain arrived today, right? We have to make a good first impression.”

Groaning, both Hanta and Denki get up begrudgingly, thankfully taking turns changing into the armored uniforms they provided you with. Each grabbing a sword from the rack, you join the other men in their formation, each spaced out in a large square, standing still.

Each of you had a sword by your side, and you gripped it tightly, refusing to look anywhere but ahead.

Suddenly, you hear a deep voice bark out “ATTENTION!”

Everyone around you stands tall, in a salute, and you copy them, watching the owner of the voice walk into your vision.

“M’name’s Katsuki Bakugou, and I’m yer captain.” he says, low and menacing, his voice had a raspy quality that shook you to your core. “Ya lot have probably never even held a sword before, and it’s my job to make sure ya don’t end up slitting your own throat on the battlefield from inexperience.”

He scans the people in front of him before making eye contact with you.

Staring directly into his vermillion eyes, you don’t waver as he says,

“Let’s get started, shall we?”

To say the least, training was boring. You sat through a demonstration of “The War Dragon’s” “superior fighting skills”, watching as he takes down Moss Bear in a mock fight, a feat you could probably do in half the time.

Huffing under your breath, you mutter to Denki, “bastard’s a complete fake- this shit’s easy-”

“HAH?!” you hear Captain Bakugou’s voice boom throughout the entire training field. All eyes turn to you. “THE FUCK DIDYA JUST SAY?!”

“Well- I meant-” you stammer, face turning bright red, not realizing just how perceptive the captain was.

“Fine then. You think yer so smart, eh?” he growls, marching up to you until you stood face to face, the red eyed blonde towering over you. “What’s yer name?”

“C-Cattus.” you mutter. “Cattus Aizawa.”

“Well then ‘Cattus Aizawa’,” he mocks, grabbing your shirt, gripping the fabric tight enough to rip it. “Let’s see how good ya are then hah? I challenge you to a tualia.”

You steel yourself, forcing yourself to look him in his stupidly gorgeous eyes. Now wasn’t the time to fawn over a man like a flustered schoolgirl, nor was it the time to shy away from an opponent.

You were a warrior.

“To the victors go the spoils.”

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thebluemallet · 2 days

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Predictions for Bridgerton Season 3, Part 2!

I did a few predictions mostly focused in part 1. While some were spot on, a few others could still happen in part 2. I'll be discussing points I got right, points I could still get right, and other things I think could happen now that I've seen the first four episodes. Possible spoilers below the cut!

1- Francesca Will Feel Some Pressure From the Queen (Right ✅ )

I did say this wasn't that much of a guess and it's been what Queen Charlotte has done every season so far. Francesca didn't want to be singled out as the Queen's Favorite but hers and Eloise's efforts weren't enough in comparison to Lady Danbury's. She is feeling some pressure to marry the man that the Queen has chosen for her because it's the "easiest path" despite Violet telling her she can marry whoever she chooses. But Francesca is feeling that pressure less now that she has met the Earl of Kilmartin and he has made his intentions known (in as few words as possible).

2- Violet: Captain of the Polin Ship (Right ✅ )

Colin, you were not subtle in episode 3. Violet picked up on what you were really asking so fast! And she's the real MVP of episode 4. When Colin didn't want to go to the ball, Violet saved that ship when she told Colin about Debling's planned proposal. It's too bad she didn't anticipate the chaos Colin would cause to prevent the proposal.

3- Colin Still Doesn't Know (Right ✅ )

I knew the show could go one of two ways: Colin would find out that Penelope was Lady Whistledown in the part 1 finale OR they would hold off until part 2 for added drama.

As of the end of part 1...Colin still doesn't know that Penelope is Lady Whistledown!

4- Colin Will Find Out In Episode 5 or 6

I don't think they're going to put off revealing Penelope's secret identity for too many episodes. Episode 5 is titled "Tick Tock," and if you've seen the teaser for part 2, you know that Eloise is putting a deadline for Penelope to come clean to Colin about Lady Whistledown or she'll do it. I think that will also be the episode that the Queen offers a reward for Lady Whistledown's reveal. And as we heard from Lady Cowper in part 1, Lord Cowper has been tightening the purse strings since Cressida still isn't married. We also saw (I think in the teaser, maybe somewhere else?) Penelope writing and the small glimpse we got of the writing was calling Cressida out for being a liar and a fraud.

Here's what I think could happen:

I think it's very likely that Lord Cowper might tighten the purse strings even more in episode 5. He's already been threatening to marry Cressida off to a random older gentleman. Cressida, feeling desperate, takes the credit for being Lady Whistledown so she can collect the reward. Financial independence might help her secure a husband of her choosing. But like in the books, Penelope can't stand the idea of Cressida taking credit for her hard work, so she writes a rebuttal in her latest Whistledown column and sets off to get it printed. Colin will either a) follow Penelope and discover she's Whistledown or b) track down Whistledown only to discover it's Penelope.

Also like the book, Colin will double down on marrying Penelope because he believes he can offer her some form of protection in case people do discover she's Whistledown.

There's another shot of Colin looking like he's fuming in the teaser. I think this will also be like the book where Penelope publishes the column refuting Cressida's claim, anyway. But the column accidentally comes out earlier than intended and it blindsides Colin before Penelope can say anything about it to him.

5- Peneloise Won't Reconcile Until the Final Episode

I think this is still the most likely outcome. Eloise, thankfully, did not enter her bitchy mean girl era by hanging out with Cressida so much. She tries to apologize when Cressida rips her dress, chases after her when she realizes that she's at fault for the gossip spreading throughout the ball about Penelope and Colin, and then actually shows up at Featherington House to apologize to Penelope for it later. The ice seems to beginning to thaw.

But it will quickly freeze over again when Colin announces his engagement to Penelope. Any progress they might have made toward reconciliation will be out the window. Ultimately, I think it will be actions taken by Cressida in the second half of the season that will let Eloise make up with Penelope once and for all.

6- Cressida Finds Out Who Whistledown Is...Because of Penelope

Previously, I said that Cressida would find out about Whistledown through Eloise. That Eloise would make enough snide comments that Cressida would figure it out. It could still play out that way. Cressida is very observant and more clever than she's given credit for. When Eloise confronts her for spreading the gossip about Penelope and Colin, Cressida says that she spotted another girl whispering about it nearby and that Eloise was "not very discreet" when she shared the gossip with Cressida.

However, if the events of part 2 play out a little closer to the book, then it will be Penelope's Whistledown article condemning Cressida that allows her to put two and two together and blackmail Penelope.

7- Lady Whistledown Stays Secret(?)

I think as much as the Queen gets vexed by Lady Whistledown, she sort of realized at the end of last season when Whistledown had a hiatus how much enjoyment she got from the column. And what fun is an anonymous gossip column if the writer is no longer anonymous? Maybe we'll get an "I'm Spartacus!" moment (or, for a more recent example, an "It's my vagina!" moment) where people start claiming left and right to be Whistledown when Cressida tries to expose Penelope in the final episode. It would take away Cressida's power over Penelope once and for all, and it could allow Penelope to keep on writing.

Honestly, I think this is not a likely scenario, but it's a possibility and I'm putting it out there.

#bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #bridgerton spoilers #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #colin x penelope #penelope x colin #polin #francesca bridgerton #john stirling #violet bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #cressida cowper #lady whistledown #queen charlotte

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celestialorcas · 2 days

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Doctor Who S1/14 E3: Boom Spoilers Thoughts:

WOOOOOHOOOO Fuck me that was GOOOOOOOD Loving the anticapitalism stuff as always hell yea doctor you fucking tell them. Caught on with the stuff about the truth of the war around half way through and enjoyed it, Susan Twist was the ambulance! Girl is everywhere fr God they really crafted this episode perfectly so you could feel the stress, i was trying to calm down as the doctor was everytime a free moment was got something else happened- Can see him thinking "REALLY?? JUST LET ME BREATHE AND RELAX" "it is killing you just the right amount to keep you buying more" goes SO HARD Next weeks is looking good fr fr wont say much about it here in case some people dont watch the next time (dont blame you theyve been spoilery in the past but so far they dont show too much i dont think) but yea im real excited for next week Reminded me of oxygen a bit, obv god im a sucker for capitalism, ai and algorithm hate, was such a clever episode though, combat activated the ai, so the ai kept them buying weapons and killing them the right amount to meet its quota, anything for the shareholders am i right Really seeing the range of emotion with the doctor here too which i love, hes crying at companions "dying" and him being in a VERY bad situation Didnt see the dadbot taking over as the ending, what I thought was gonna happen was the doctor would explain to the ai that if he blows up, it'd cost the Villengard (loving the call back btw, RTD and Moffat are good at that) AI and algorithm a lot of money, and itd actually be more cost effective to keep them alive, but to be fair that would have been very derivative of Oxygen so, fair. Overall....wow, think it was better the The Devil's Chord which I wasnt expecting, loved it

#doctor who #dw spoilers #doctor who spoilers #Doctor Who Boom

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myezblog · 2 days

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Ming's Character

It is apparent how difficult it is to bring out a character on TV vs in a book.

Just sharing a few things about Ming's character that may help people interpret his character better. No spoilers.

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Independent Ming -> He is not some pampered good for nothing with a huge ego. When he was abroad, he used to live alone, cook for himself and basically knew how to take care of himself and his home...This is relevant as to why he allows Joe to do things for him... cooking, cleaning, a feeling of a home... its not that he can't do it or doesn't get it at his home... but because the emotions Joe ignites in him are special

2. Not a non sensitive git -> this is a big deviation in drama from the book. From ep 1, in drama, Ming appears to be someone who is still eyeing Tong despite him being his sister's boyfriend. In the book, he didn't do that. He actually went abroad to avoid both his being gay confrontations and being near Tong and his sister (because he knew it is wrong and didn't want to create any trouble for his sister)

Him being gay is definitely a problem with his family. But other than that we don't really see anything else.

3. Toxic love in 2.0 .. not really .. Even the guy who hates Ming (Sol) the most acknowledges and knows that Ming's love for ML (Joe) transcends even his own ... everyone in the book world knows that and don't have even an iota of a doubt..

Its just that they are still angry about what happened in 1.0 .. but then all of them have been a witness to Ming's sufferings and attitude in those 2 years and know better

4. Toxic obsession.. NOT REALLY.. with respect to ep 4, he is not in that home because of some powerplay. Without spoiling, his feelings are very pure, very sorted at this point .. not some crazy obsession.. more like latching onto this 1 single hope that exists.. which everyone else has given up on.. and in the book you can read how every day of holding onto that single thread of hope took a toll on him

5. He does not give up... In the book too, one thing with Mind is that ( i guess this is the part of rich priviledged background).. he keeps repeating that he always has what he wants...

Now he says that always in context fo Joe.. because we have seen him not even try for Tong though he wanted Tong, or try in his career or whatever... but just ML (Joe) everytime he tries to get away from Ming

6. Lastly, there is no trauma going on with Ming in the book.. BUT THAT he has truly ever been in love with just 1 person since he was 16... ONLY ONE PERSON... he has sought sxual releases when he was abroad etc.. but just loved that one person... and that one person is also responsible for his sxual awakening... and it is not Tong

He has loved the back.. whoever has the back is his true love.. is the one who fuels his sxual fantasies everytime... he does not imaging Tong when having sx.. but rather fantasies with respect to that back.. its just that in his mind the back is Tong's

#my stand in #my stand in the series #joe x ming #ming x joe #poom phuripan #up poompat

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msp9 · 2 days

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WHATS HAPPENING IN CASA DE CHAOS #part 1: YAZ/Yasmina (mostly her ptsd, analyzing screenshots)

⚠️SPOILERS⚠️

This is gonna be my series of me yapping about each character, for example what have they been up to, hopes, speculations, theories... etc. (from the info we have from the clips and ep 1)

So Yaz, or should i call her doctor Yaz? Get it? Bc she's a phycology student.... Career: Never mind so as i said apparently, Yaz is studying psychology in college, for what i assume like around 3 years depending when she started. This is such a big step for her character's growth. After everything she's been through, including her mental health struggles and internal conflicts, she's switched gears and is now pursuing a degree in psychology to help others who may have experienced similar traumas. Also in the clip, she seems excited to show Sammy her new project, which suggests that she's genuinely enjoying her studies and feels passionate about the field. She went from a she's-a-runner-she's-a-track-star to a mature phycology student. Overall, this shows that Yaz is now dedicated to making a positive impact on others through her education and future career. I'm so happy for her. It makes sm sense for her character to pursue this specific career. Overall, looks like shes been fine on the island. (not) .

Ptsd: So Yaz seems to have moved to a non-dinosaur island of some kind. Personally i assume that is for her trauma and struggles when the dinosaurs got to the main land. (and obviously safety) She is obviously the most effected one from jwcc.

Now in trailer 3 we can see 1 moment that could possibly be connected to her Ptsd:

Here we see Yaz on the ground, she obviously looks scared but i wanted to point out the lights hitting her. They dont really look that "connected" to the scene? Im not sure how to axplain this... Just the way it shines on her clothes and hair and the fact that we cant see the backround clearly, looks like it could be some kind of illusion, or one of her dreams. To stand with my point is the exact next scene:

We see, a what I'm 99% sure is a dinosaur, attacking her. The coloring and environment is similar so we can assume this is from the same scene. It ofc cuts off before we can see anything else, to me it looks as if the camera shows Yas's point of view. Which makes me believe this is in fact a nightmares of hers. Another point i want to make is just how much darker this whole dream is. Just look at it!!! Its super darker compared to the season 4 ones. Plus in another clip they showed blood. So i wouldn't question if the nightmare were a lot worse then they used to. And the way the Dino attacks its dark yk? you don't even have time to react.

Basically where i want to get to is that, she is not done with ptsd yall.

3) Yaz and Sammy :Okay even if the clips don't showcase much. They have definitely not lost contact as Yasmina states "this is the project I've been talking to you abt". So obviously she has been talking abt it a lot. When it comes to why Sammy was acting out of character when Yaz was showing her project . My personal theory is that Sammy is just trying to make Yaz come with them and leave the island. and from what i speculate here we will probably get a yasammy argument. Overall they are probably together and from what we've seen we might get some tension between them. I'm all in for that. (As long as they don't breakup)

Thank you for reading my big Yaz rant, am i going to make more of these with the other characters? We'll see. Probably yes.

#jwct #jurassic world chaos theory #yasmina fadoula #ben pincus #camp cretaceous #jwcc #sammy gutierrez #jurassic world camp cretaceous #campcretaceous #msp9 yapping #jwct spolier

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ladyduellist · 1 day

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Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

The group meets Lady Esther and Astarion notices something new about Tav.

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Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

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Chapter 17: Poison

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word count: 1.5k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Language, Violence, Act 1 Spoilers

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♫ Traveling under the sunless sea, We were both trying to breathe, Tied with an invisible thread.

When colors seem less monochrome, And the soul doesn’t want to roam, Emotions felt with everything unsaid.

Little by little it starts, Devotion of a once vacant heart, The dawn’s shard’s bringing light.

Moments of sweetness and inner strife, Holding on to each other like a knife, So that our tale will be worth the fight. ♫

— Tavelle Swiftchoir, a song entitled ‘Genesis’

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Astarion decided within moments of their encounter with Lady Esther, that she was a cretinous woman that should probably be thrown defenseless into the githyanki crèche she had been chased away from.

Undaunted. Bossy. A voice like the matted ass end of a bugbear, Esther was the epitome of a pestiferous adventurer. Her padded armor smelled faintly of dried saltwater and mineral from uncooked oysters, reminding Astarion too intimately of his nightly stalks on the streets of Baldur’s Gate—which she just so happened to hail from.

“I should dispose of you for even suggesting such an atrocity,” Lae’zel indignantly replied, wrapping her steady fingers around the grip of her sword.

“And I would suggest you back off of that blade,” Lady Esther snarled, instinctively reaching for her own weapon at her hip. “‘The Society of Brilliance’ is an upstanding order in Baldur’s Gate. What we mean to do with our research is answer the long age question of ‘nature versus nurture.’ And, an unhatched githyanki egg is the perfect specimen for this undertaking. Your people could be a part of history!”

As the women’s argument surged, Astarion and Tav retreated to stand behind their gith comrade as if they were knights awaiting a command. When Lae’zel bared her teeth to Esther, he grinned, hoping the githyanki would soon plunge her sword through the older woman’s chest cavity so their group could carry on with their contemptible mission into the monastery.

Judging by the steadily growing sighs exhaling from Tav’s lungs, she felt similarly. “We really don’t have time for this,” she muffled.

Astarion pulled out a jackknife from his pocket to twirl mindlessly in his hand, an attempt to quell his boredom. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about over these gith eggs. I doubt the taste is comparable to anything that is red and leaking out of a wound.”

The bard lifted her brow, turning her neck to glare at him. “You know there are children inside those eggs, right?”

“Children?! Does that mean they lay them like some sort of amphibian?” he spouted a tad too loud in which Lae’zel audibly called him k’chakhi under her breath. “Well darling, you know I only half listen when any of you speak.”

“That explains a lot,” Tav replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

He canted his head to offer the elven woman at his side a jape, the balm of fresh lavender on her pulse points filling his senses, only to be temporarily obstructed by a diversion on her face. Two freckles, almond in color, were bound to her skin below her left eye: sacred gifts permanently bestowed from the sunlight.

Perplexed, he narrowed his eyes at the offending dots. Were those there before? Surely, he wouldn’t have missed them during the visitation of his lips resentfully kissing her near the delicate area. Committing the minute details of Tav’s appearance to memory, came as just another habitual action to secure his deceptions. Details with no need for reflection, only adding to the prickling numbness that burned throughout his body.

During those very tiresome centuries under Cazador’s thumb, Astarion would view such semblances on former liaisons with malcontent while he feigned his enthusiasm. A brush of his dark lashes against scars. Pecks upon port-wine stain birthmarks. Murmurs along the ghosts of amputated limbs. Any action to elicit the final shudder leading them to their fore ordainment. Because when it came to gaining someone’s trust, who didn’t like to be seen?

But, why was he so damned rattled at neglecting to notice her meaningless freckles of all things? Was he finally losing his touch? He wanted to chase the sun, lambasting the glowing medallion as his blade tried to cut its rays in twayne for Tav’s sunspots afflicting his sight. For abruptly capturing his attention. For being objects that looked so humanly fragile on her. For belonging to another victim that spread her legs.

And yet, after all the venom he inwardly spat about the bard’s two threatening marks, he couldn’t bear to look away from them.

She is warm poison, Seeping into the day. A silent death in the veins, For he became her prey.

He bit his tongue, regaining his normal frivolity. “I do so ever love food with a bit of zest!” Astarion murmured into the sheath of Tav’s ear. “Which one do you think would taste better?”

“Shush. I’m trying to listen in case Lae’zel needs our help,” she responded, trying to stifle a chuckle as she wiggled her nose like a chipmunk. “Besides, I literally just fed you last night.”

“It’s not my fault I’m feeling a bit peckish,” the vamp pouted, showing Tav one of his fangs. “And it’s definitely not my fault your blood happens to be the most exquisite dessert I’ve ever had and I can’t indulge in it as much as I’d like.”

“Now you’re just flirting,” she pointed out.

“And shamelessly I might add.”

He watched the slightest purse spread her lips as she seemed to ponder their exchange. “After we take care of this, I’ll grab Shadowheart and you can top yourself off.”

“Pardon me, but could you possibly explain to your friend here that the society’s goal isn’t to harm their young?” Lady Esther interrupted, leaning to peer behind Lae’zel.

Fibril pieces of hair were wiped away from Tav’s face as she approached, wedging herself between Esther and Lae’zel. “There’s nothing to explain. You’re trying to steal another race’s child to use as a science experiment without the child’s consent. In most places, that would be considered trafficking.”

Lady Esther sneered, adjusting her body into a defensive stance, readying herself if one of them drew their weapon. “What a brazen accusation to make!”

“My steel wants blood! Let me strike her down and be done with this offense,” Lae’zel scolded, ripping her sword off of her back.

“As do I,” Astarion slid in, throwing his knife into an intricate spin in the air before catching it.

Tav spread out her arms to the sides, quieting the multiple voices. Then, the aria of her tadpole reached out to Astarion’s, whining aggressively to connect.

What is it?

We don’t have much time before Esther suspects something is up, but do you think you can sneak behind her to knock her out? the songstress hastily implored.

Knock out? Shouldn’t we just kill her? You know Lae’zel isn’t going to be pleased about this, he chastised.

The purring vibration of Tav’s worm hesitated. I know she won’t be, but this will at least allow us time to deal with the githyanki crèche. I don’t want more blood on our hands than necessary. Please.

Ah, so she wasn’t exactly denying ending the old woman’s life could be the right call to make, but Astarion knew that that rapturing heart of hers had once again gotten in the way. He sighed—it wasn’t his choice to make anyways.

Not even a sip?

Astarion! Tav warned.

Finnnee. Keep her distracted, he grumbled.

The link ruptured and he watched Tav casually lowering her arms, walking a half circle around Lady Esther’s position. She tracked Tav’s movements while keeping a squinted eye on Lae’zel, who also began to shift in the same direction as Tav. He realized his two companions must’ve had a separate tadpole conversation that alerted Lae’zel of the plan to deal with Esther.

Astarion willed his respiration to stop, falling back on his less human-like qualities. Stealthily he tiptoed, like a mouse in a church searching for sacramental wafers leftover by those who refused communion. Upright, heels up, the twigs he avoided didn’t stand a chance keeping him off course.

And then, he was behind Esther, the pommel end of his dagger raised above her head and angled at her temple, waiting for Tav to administer her last rites.

“Nobody should be a slave to someone else’s ambitions,” the bard firmly said, nodding at the vampire to execute the finality to their gambit.

WHACK!

Astarion stowed the dagger, looking up from the unconscious woman laying on the ground. “Aww, I was hoping she would have put up more of a fight. How about we go get that bite to eat now?

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Notes:

Githyanki Language:

k'chakhi = idiot

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