[CLOSED] AND YOU'LL KNOW THE NEXT TIME I WAKE UP SCREAMING

[illithidnapped]

WHO: Astarion, Fenris, Bastien, Emet-Selch, Mobius, Ellie, Dante, Loki
WHAT: fear spirits are no joke when you're a bag of broken glass
WHEN: backdated to Crossroads plot hours
WHERE: the Crossroads
NOTES: so many content warnings: mind control, slavery, torture, blood, mutilation and abuse of every conceivable/literal shade, possibly more warnings to be added later, not joking this is a very horrible space. There's a reason why I'm divorcing this from the main log; Astarion's canon is, in short, unkind.

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[illithidnapped]

[Warm lighting does wonders, you know. Conceals a great many things— like the stupid flush that crawls its way up along the edges of his ears at the sound of those words (he hadn’t been looking, hadn’t quite been listening under the heavy haze of sleeplessness), and while yes, he catches on a moment later, it’s still a moment too late to stop his own thoughts from leaping to the first easy, immediate conclusion that's very much within his own tirelessly predictable reach.

And then he exhales.

Audible. Light. Fond. Expression bleeding into a softer thing that’s like the tamed docility of a wild animal being called home.

He gets it now, what Fenris is asking for.

Granted, he doesn’t show any of it, of course, not when he rolls up to stretch his arms out for the first time in a good few minutes— feeling how exhaustion creeps throughout both his shoulders— turning around in the seconds that follow, fitting an upturned smirk just over the slope of his own shoulder.]

Thought you’d never ask, darling.

[A tip of his head. A yank at the edges of his blankets on one side, and he’s made that accommodating space once more. Just the same as before, and chased by a sturdy pat to the mattress itself.]

C’mon. You first.

[Gentle, his voice. Not gilded. Not high.

Only him.]

I’ll keep watch a little longer, just until you’ve drifted off.

[doggish]

[Ah, and he bites back his pleased smile, his heart warming as Astarion says that so gently. I'll keep watch, and he knows without a doubt he will fall asleep all the faster for it. What can touch him when Astarion is there, after all? What can he possibly fear, when the bolt is drawn and they're locked away in this little sanctuary? Nothing. Nothing at all, for so long as Astarion is near, Fenris knows, nothing will truly hurt him.

There will still be nightmares, of course. Fearsome ones, and he will wake not an hour from now, clawing at the sheets and whimpering out Danarius' name. But that's for later. Right now, all that Fenris feels is a cozy sort of contentment, a security that he cannot remember the last time he felt.]

All right.

[He strips off his shirt and leans over the edge of the bed, nabbing his favorite of the blankets Astarion has deemed his. Returns to settle on his side of the bed (left, always, to the point where it would feel strange if he took the right) and settles on his side. His eyes are already half-closed, but still, he takes a few moments to simply drink in the sight of the other elf. His slender silhouette framed against the firelight, the scent of spiced wine overridden by the scent of Astarion embedded in the very sheets and pillows, the low murmur of his voice as he speaks into his crystal . . .

Safe. When was the last time he ever felt truly safe with anyone?

Not in years. Not since Hawke, but maybe not even then, not really. Not like he does now.]

Good night, Astarion.

[He says it softly, and rolls over in the next moment, finally allowing his eyes to close.]