Astarion going a little batshit and embracing his yandere side is all I've ever wanted. Especially if youre his spawn because you are truely fucked. I think the first time he makes you do something, he does feel a little guilt, but it's gone quick enough.
The first time it happens, it isn't even intentional. It happens automatically— like some dormant power suddenly awakened in his blood. There is no magic, cursing, or even intention behind it. Only an effortless aura of command that your body bends to, yielding to him as second nature.
There's an argument. Over what, it doesn't quite matter-- something senseless and a long time coming. It ends with you storming off, trying to walk away before things escalate and things turn ugly between you. Abandoning the conversation before he's managed to say his piece.
Needless to say, he does not abide this.
He demands you to return, and you do not. You keep stalking off towards the entryway, utterly ignoring his protestation. Back turned, marching off, indignant and furious, clearly indifferent to his words—
And you do not ignore your Lord.
"Stop right there!"
Your limbs stiffen as if your flesh has suddenly hardened into stone, and fear spurs icy tendrils through your brain as you realize you are locked in place.
You cannot move. Even as you bid your bones, they do not heed your command. Your muscles are rusted iron, and your will cannot bend them. Your body is not your own any longer. It belongs to him, awaiting orders with bated breath.
He realizes what he's done as he senses your fury. You cannot move, even desperately try. You are wholly under his thrall, body and soul. He recalls the horror of his first time losing his autonomy to Cazador with staggering detail. The misery. The betrayal. The terror of it all, a prisoner trapped within your own mind, utterly helpless against the dark, primal magics stirring within you that highjack control of your form.
You have brought it on yourself. Had you just been as obedient as you are pretty—
"Now come back," snaps his fingers, blinking slowly with an unreadable expression and watching with interest as your legs move of their own volition towards the spot he now points at directly before him.
He can see you fighting it. See you strain and thrash against your very mind, wailing to be set free from this ancient trick of nature he's wielding against you. He remembers miserable nights of it-- centuries of it-- begging for freedom or a miracle from the forsaken Gods or even the sweet, saccharine release of death. He imagines your expression looks exactly as his did when he first discovered the intangible chains: a portrait of true, unbridled horror.
Something within him stirs and there's a small crook ticking his lips upward. Only slightly, but still visible.
You approach him once more, and he can feel your rage. Oh, how you long to strike him down.
As if you could.
"There's a good girl," The taunting lilt to his voice is unmistakable, cruel in his mockery. "See? Was that so hard?"
Your lip curls, so ready to spit venom right back at him.
"Ah, ah! Hush now, darling. Wouldn't want to say something we'd regret, now would we?"
Your words stopper in your throat, forcibly swallowed back into the flaming pit of rage that burns in your gut. You can taste the vitriol on your tongue, but you can do nothing other than choke on it.
"You don't want to fight, little love. Do you? Of course not. We can let bygones be bygones--"
A sharp glint in his scarlet eyes that sets your teeth on edge. You've seen it before, but he hasn't turned it on you before-- not until now.
"--If you beg my forgiveness."
If you were expecting him to return your autonomy, you are sorely mistaken. Anything that forms behind your teeth is immediately forced down. He has not relinquished control, and it's now that you realize he doesn't intend to. Not until he's satisfied. This is a punishment-- an object lesson to remind you of your place and the power he wields over you, even as he claims to love you.
The only words allowed to pass your lips are those he wants to hear, and you can feel them crawling up against your will, a spidery reflex he has total control of.
And yet, even as you go to speak, he stops you once more.
"I'll need to know you're truly sorry, of course. Go ahead and kneel, darling. A little show of supplication."
You drop to your knees so suddenly that marble bruises bone, drawn down as if weighed by a thousand stones. In his magnanimous glory, you are still allowed to look up at him, bleary vision clouded with freshly forming tears at this heinous betrayal.
"I'm so sorry, Master. I'll obey. It's not my place to question you. I'll never walk away from you again."
The words are not your own, and yet, you cannot bite them back. They slip the confines of your lips, spoken into truth by his will. That is what he wants to hear, so that is what your voice speaks even as you scratch and tear at the walls of your brain to rend them apart in your fruitless battle with primal servitude.
"I forgive you, dear one."
Your head lolls against his thigh, and he reaches a clawed hand down to card through your hair, petting your head softly like you are a dog begging attention from its master. Your neck strains to pull away, but you are drawn to him as a magnet.
"Silly, foolish girl. It's as if you forget your place is here," He tips your chin upward with a long, slender finger, looking down on you from above. "But that's alright. I have as long as I need to remind you."
Roiling hate flows from your body in waves, indignant and painful in its power. And yet, it is hapless against his tide of control. Eclipsed entirely under by his shadow.
"Now tell me you love me."
You fight with all your considerable strength, but again, the sentiment is choked out between ragged exhales and a soft sob.
"I love you. I'll never leave you."
He smiles down at you, all fang and ferocity, fingers weaving into your hair and tugging just hard enough to elicit a gasp from you.
"You're right. You won't."
He laughs derisively, grin growing wider as he pats your hair.
"I love you so, darling girl, even as you test me. Now, how about we put all of this nasty business behind us and move along to making it up to me, hmm?"
thank you for explaining that!!! i was worried because ive seen a lot of "bi lesbian" stuff and i REALLY liked the art but i cant support lesbophobia like that ( ; - ; ) im rlly happy to know it was just including all diffo reynas
no worries! i honestly didn’t even think ab it that way until i read your ask and i was like 😳 gotta clarify that lol. i rly don’t wanna get into it but i actually am a lesbian & the bi/pan lesbian labels make me uncomfortable
@mutalieju replied to your post : I’ve gone off fics where spark bonds are...
nghgn this sounds like twilight
Yeah, it had those sort of.... awkward conservative and maybe religious upbringing vibes.
Also one thing that was noticeable was that when the character that got sparkbonded got pregnant (with children they definitely DID NOT WANT at the beginning), the idea of abortion was never brought up as an option. It was never even mentioned as a possibility.
And also the implications that being a woman a carrier type mech meant your only role in life was to make babies and YOU SHOULD GIVE UP ON YOUR UNIVERSITY STUDIES AND ACCEPT THAT AS YOUR LIFE STARSCREAM!
I think murderous blood cults are theologically inevitable when you believe in something that's opinions matter more than human life, when you believe in a thing thats disfavor is worse than the ultimate worldly suffering. I don't want to be a religion hater but the idea of a stern God is nearly unsalvageable. If one existed we would have to reject it.
Only some idea of universal, unconditional redemption could make it work.
