#the crypt opens once again

[x1702x]

They made bloodborne WOKE!!!:

- Lady pronoun

- Theycolash host of the pride parade

- Gayman the first queer

- Martyr Lesbianius

- Saint Aceline

- Laurence the first Bicar

- Faggot Gascoigne

[martyrbat]

i genuinely dont think people realize the impact of being poor and how it effects your entire life - even if you do become financially stable in the future

[artiststarme]

Dead or Alive

After Spring Break, no one could find Eddie Munson dead or alive. His Uncle Wayne, the angry mob, even the police couldn’t locate him so everyone assumed he was dead. Some grieved his loss but most celebrated his apparent demise believing it to be what he deserved after killing Chrissy, Fred, Patrick, and Jason and hurting poor Max Mayfield.

Once the town recovered enough, Wayne bought a headstone for an empty grave and dutifully washed off the new graffiti that appeared each day. The kids of the Party mourned the loss of their idealistic Dungeon Master and disbanded Hellfire Club out of respect to him. And Robin and Steve disappeared to Steve’s empty house to grieve the loss of a friend (or so it seemed).

Because while everyone thought they were grieving and finding support in each other, they were actually caring for Eddie’s wounds and watching gay movies on Steve’s couch. They are junk food, cuddled in front of the TV, and appreciated being alive.

Steve couldn’t be around the party because he was supposed to be broken-hearted but it was the opposite. While he left the Upside Down the most recent time with more scars, both mental and physical, it also gave him everything he’d ever wanted. It took him away from the job he hated, gave him more time to spend with Robin, and it gave him a prospective boyfriend.

He felt bad keeping Eddie a secret away from the kids and his uncle but he had no other choice. Until he and Robin could brainstorm a logical explanation for his innocence and return from the dead, it’d be the three of them in hiding. Which to him, wasn’t a bad thing. Between the love of Robin and Eddie, his house felt less like a crypt and more like a home.

After a few weeks, they’d all gotten used to their solitary. Imagine their surprise when someone walks in on the three of them watching the Rocky Horror Picture Show right on the scene of Rocky showing off his fishnet clad calves. Imagine Officer Phil Callahan’s horror when his eyes landed on an injured homicidal maniac sitting half on his brother’s lap while drooling over Tim Curry. And imagine Steve’s mortification when his brother stood unmoving in the doorway of the living room with one hand on his hip and the other held over his open mouth in shock.

“WHAT IN THE FUCK IS EDWARD MUNSON DOING IN OUR PARENT’S LIVING ROOM?!” Phil shrieked, his face going red in barely concealed rage.

Steve, Eddie, and Robin all spoke at once.

“Is he? Oh my goodness, I didn’t notice. Steve, Eddie is in your house!”

“It’s just Eddie, you piece of shit.”

“Ok technically, I can explain.”

Phil just looked at them like all three of them were insane. “HE’S A KILLER!”

“No he’s not. He’s just a metalhead, Phil.”

“What is that supposed to do with anything, Steve?! I don’t care that he’s a metalhead, I care that he murdered at least three people in a week!”

Steve shot up from his seat so he was nearly eye-level with Phil. “Woah, he did not! I was with him the entire week and neither of us killed anyone.”

Phil just shook his head in confused exhaustion. “Is he dangerous?”

Steve looked him directly in the eye, “no! He didn’t do anything and he’s one of my best friends now.”

“Fine. I’m not dealing with this shit tonight. You,” he pointed at Eddie, “don’t kill anyone. And Steve, do not wake me up before ten AM unless someone is getting killed. Jesus Christ.”

He stomped up the stairs, grumbling under his breath the entire way. Meanwhile, Steve sat back down next to Eddie and gave him a small smile. “Well, that went better than expected.”

Eddie looked at him in disbelief, “did it Steve? Did it?”

(It, in fact, did not. The next morning, Steve had to tackle Phil away from the phone when he tried to call the chief and then had to hold him down while Robin rambled the entire story in an impressive four minutes. He only gave up once Steve threatened to disappear himself and Eddie (and Robin) forever without ever contacting Phil again.)

Should I make this into a longer fic? Let me know in the comments please!

[slashmagpie]

Scar has had a day.

A fun day, certainly! He would never say that he didn’t have fun. That would be a lie, and Scar is not a liar. (A schemer, a swindler, yes, but a liar? Why, he’d never!) But several hours of running Decked Out, one near-death-experience after another, has him shaking all over. He’s sweating in places he didn’t even know he could sweat, and his heart is pounding even faster against his ribcage than the dungeon’s at max clank. 

But he had fun, and he’s achieved his goal of two new cards and a victory tome, so he’s about ready to head home to Scarland for some nice relaxing time—

There is something in the hallway with him.

The hair on the back of Scar’s neck prickles, and he can feel the ravager’s breath against his skin, a sudden rush of hot air in the otherwise frozen crypts. He feels his body freeze, lungs ceasing to function without permission, and he needs to run, needs to flee, he’s going to lose—

“You got lucky at the end there. When you were leaving? There was a ravager coming at you across the thing—”

“Oh gosh!” Scar stumbles backwards, heart in his throat, looking up at Tango as he approaches Scar and his shulker deck across the hall. His words spill out of him so fast he stumbles over the sounds, and Tango stops, staring, as Scar nearly keels over backwards from fright. “Jeez, Tango, oh my gosh, I thought you were a ravager, I’m a little still paranoid, it’s been a—a captivating day—”

Scar’s back hits the blackstone rim of the door behind him, and the sudden terror he’d felt at Tango’s presence suddenly vanishes, leaving him sagging against the wall. Tango blinks owlishly, looking around the dungeon like he’s missed something. 

“H-Hi? Do I…?” Tango looks down at himself, like he’s expecting to see something different, like he might suddenly be a beast with shaggy grey fur and deadly horns, and not a Tango in his frosty blue robes. A laugh wheezes its way out of Scar as the relief turns into an odd sort of dizziness. He feels a little sick. “Wow. Scar? You okay…?”

Scar pulls himself out of the corner, towards his friend, because Tango is his friend, and he’s just—he’s just Tango. Not a ravager, or any other kind of danger, just Tango, who’s spent the last thirteen months making this amazing game for all of the hermits, and who Scar is not scared of.

“Y-Y-You get heightened tension, right, when you play? It’s crazy, like—”

“You are on edge,” Tango tells him with a laugh, and Scar laughs along.

“I was on edge!” he agrees, opening his shulker once again so that he can avoid Tango’s gaze. There’s something about his eyes that are just—Scar doesn’t know. He’s not afraid of Tango. Why would he be afraid of Tango?

“Rarr,” Tango jokes, the worst ravager impression in the world, bearing his teeth and raising his hands like claws, and Scar does not jump. “And stuff.”

…Everything is fine, and normal, and Scar just needs—needs to go back to Scarland. And relax. Because his heart is beating too fast, and he’s played a lot of Decked Out, and he’s had a lot of fun, but he’s jumping at shadows, and at Tangos, and that—that simply won’t do.

(And he does not entertain the notion, not even a slightest bit, that maybe it’s not just him—that maybe there is something going on with Tango—because, really, it’s just Tango. Come on.) 

[vmpiires]

﹆₊吸血鬼‧₊˚ TOLD HER BABY I EAT HUMANS, KAMO CHOSO

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ﹆₊ 概要 ‧₊˚ you encountered the famous vampire hunter. wc, 2.27K. dark mode recommended.

␥ note. got this idea from a fanart i saw on twitter. MY LORD HE WAS FINE..erm anyway,, JOIN THE DISCORD AND THANKS AGAIN FOR 400 FOLLOWERS. hope ya enjoyyyy. reblog to support meee

␥ tags. vampire AU, half-vampire vampire hunter!choso, female anatomy, blood, light smut (?), etc. lmk if i missed anything

␥ misc. masterlist AO3

the cathedral stood tall and imposing, its intricate stone façade glimmering in the moonlight. each stained-glass window depicted a different biblical scene, casting colorful patterns on the ground below. inside, the soft murmur of hushed prayers from the townspeople reverberated through the halls, creating a serene ambiance. but choso's purpose for being there was not to pray.

his heavy footsteps echoed through the cavernous halls as he made his way through the dimly lit crypt, guided only by flickering candlelight. the musty smell of ancient bones and earth filled his nostrils, sending shivers down his spine.

choso cut an imposing figure, his tall frame draped in a black cassock that nearly fell to his ankles with black pants underneath. a matching mozzetta hung from his shoulders, fluttering in the air as he walked, adding a sense of solemnity in his presence.

his black boots were sturdy and well-worn, a testament to the countless hunts he'd been on over the years since the church recruited him. his black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, letting his bangs hang just above his eyes, revealing his pale skin. and his violet eyes were piercing, they seemed to glow with an inner fire.

across the bridge of his nose, a blood mark stood out, a stark reminder of his vampiric nature. a battle he waged within himself. around his neck hung his rosary, a symbol of his faith, which he wielded as fearlessly as any weapon.

the hunter's struggle with his vampiric nature was a constant battle. despite his determination to suppress his undying thirst for human blood, he could still feel the deep-seated urges simmering beneath the surface. he likened it to a constant humming in the back of his mind, a temptation that was always there, no matter how hard he tried to stop it.

it took every ounce of willpower to resist the pull of his instincts. choso had finally developed several coping mechanisms over the years, from meditation and prayer to sheer force of will. but still, the thirst lingered, his mouth suddenly going dry at the sight of a human and the distinct smell of their blood, imagining the flavor.

as choso continued to make his way through the crypt, his senses remained on high alert. he could feel the weight of silence, the chill of the stone walls, and the oppressive air of the tomb. but what captivated his attention was the scent of human blood.

his steps faltered as a sudden wave of hunger washed over him. his fangs ached to sink into soft flesh, his body craved the sweet taste of blood. he closed his eyes, willing the thirst to subside. he couldn't afford to lose control, not here.

the hunter's body was tense, his breaths shallow and controlled as he focused on calming himself. he reached for his rosary, the smooth beads cool against his skin, a symbol of strength and protection. in his mind, he conjured the faces of those he had sworn to defend - innocent men, women, and children who relied on him for their safety. with each bead he passed through his fingers, the hunger that threatened to overtake him slowly began to subside, leaving behind a hollow ache in its wake.

choso's eyes snapped open as he sensed movement in the shadows once again. he whirled around, his hand instinctively reaching for the blessed dagger made from his own blood at his hip. that's when he saw you, the human he had been sensing, huddled in the corner of the crypt.

for a moment, he was struck by your vulnerability, your fragile humanity. but then his gaze was drawn to the pulse beating in your neck, the blood flowing beneath your skin. he felt the thirst rising again, stronger this time, harder to resist.

choso took a step towards you, his eyes locked on yours. he could see the fear in them, the knowledge of what he was. he felt a sudden shame, a revulsion at his own nature. but still, the hunger gnawed at him, a constant reminder of the character he tried to suppress.

he stopped a few feet away from you, his body trembling with the effort of resisting the urge to feed. "what are you doing here?" he growled, his voice low and threatening. "it's not safe down here...not for someone like you."

the man's gaze flickered around the crypt, taking in the dusty tombs and the eerie silence. choso's mind was racing, trying to piece together how you had ended up in such a place. had you been lured here by another vampire? or did you sneak in?

he took a deep breath, trying to center himself. "you need to go," he said, his tone firm. "now, before you get into some trouble." even as he spoke, he could feel the thirst rising again, reminding him of the danger he posed.

silently, without another word passing between you and the hunter, you swiftly exited the cold and dusty crypt, choso’s mozzetta fluttering behind him as a draft flew by him. your footsteps echoed through the dark tunnels as you made your way back to the main floor of the church, leaving the solitary hunter behind in his thoughts.

the smell of damp stone and old incense filled your nostrils as you ascended the stairs, anxious to escape the unsettling atmosphere of the crypt. finally, you emerged into the warm light of the cathedral, relieved to be once again surrounded by familiar surroundings.

choso watched you go, his body tense and coiled like a spring. he didn't relax until he heard the soft click of the crypt door closing behind you. only then did he let out a ragged breath, his shoulders slumping in exhaustion.

he sank to his knees, his head in his hands. he felt drained, both physically and emotionally. he had come so close to losing control and biting you, to becoming the thing he had sworn to fight against.

the male stayed like that for a long time, until the muffled sounds of footsteps in the church above finally spurred him into action. he stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. he knew he had a job to do, and he couldn't let his own weaknesses get in the way.

choso looked like a fallen angel, his pale skin glowing in the light streaming through the stained glass windows the following morning. the nuns fussed around him, their adoration plain to see. but his mind was elsewhere, lost in thought.

he sat in the pews, his gaze fixed on the ornate ceiling above him. his white collared shirt open, revealing a hint of his toned chest. his hair was tied back as usual, but a few stray strands had escaped, framing his face.

his thoughts kept returning to the events of the night before, to you, the human he saved. he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something different about you, something that set you apart from the others.

he closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. he needed to focus on his mission, on his duty as a vampire hunter. but your face kept intruding on his thoughts, your fear and vulnerability etched into his memory.

choso's thoughts were interrupted by movement at the sound of the church doors opening. he turned his head, his gaze instantly drawn to you as you walked down the aisle in his direction.

his eyes widened in surprise, and he felt a jolt of something he couldn't quite identify. you looked different in the daylight, your features softened by the warm sunlight streaming through the windows.

as you drew closer to choso, your steps faltered, and your eyes showed a mixture of uncertainty and genuine gratitude. but he could also see the fear in your gaze, knowing the potential danger he posed to you with his presence. his sharp features were set in a stern expression, adding to the tension between you both. as you stood before him, the air seemed to crackle with an unspoken understanding of the risks involved in this encounter.

with a deep inhale, he attempted to steady his racing heart and regain control of his emotions. "i distinctly remember warning you to stay away from this place," he started in a rough, gravelly voice. his eyes narrowed as he scanned the intruder standing before him. "what are you doing here?" the air seemed to crackle with tension as his words hung heavy in the stillness of the abandoned building.

you instinctively took a step back, feeling the weight of choso's presence and the depth of their emotions. "i needed to see you," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "i wanted to say thank you for what you did last night."

the words hung between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. the air was thick with tension as you waited for his response, uncertain of how he would react to your thanks. despite the distance between you, the intensity of your feelings bridged the gap and connected you in that moment.

you leaned in, your voice still barely above a whisper. "but i wanted to ask you something," you prompted. "in private." your words hung in the air, creating a sense of mystery and intrigue. the soft glow of the sun peering through the window illuminated the faint outlines of your face as you waited for their response.

choso looked at you, his expression unreadable. "no, there's no time for that," he said firmly. "you need to go before something happens and you need to stay away."

with your chin held high, you stood your ground. "no," your voice was shaking but determined. "i need to talk to you. it's important."

the hunter hesitated for a moment, weighing his options. he knew he needed to protect you, but he also couldn't ignore the urgency of the situation. "fine," he said finally, his voice tight. "but make it quick."

with a firm grip, he snatched you by the hand and urgently led you into an empty room, away from the curious eyes of the parishioners flooding in. as soon as the door slammed shut, choso wasted no time in closing the distance between you. his breath was hot against your skin as he leaned in close, his dark eyes burning with intensity.

choso’s voice was filled with urgency as he spoke. it echoed off the stone walls and reverberated through the dark room. "what is it?" he questioned, his eyes searching yours for answers. "what could possibly be so important that you would risk your life to come here and tell me?" the tension in the air was palpable as you hesitated before revealing your question. every word was like a fragile thread that could unravel at any moment.

the question had been nagging at you since the moment you left the cathedral. "how come you didn't bite me when you saw me?" the words escaped your lips before you could even think about it. choso turned to look at you, his widening with surprise at your query. "why did you decide to let me go instead?"

your tone was curious, almost amused. you couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind, what made him spare your life when he could have easily ended it right then and there. the air around you felt heavy as you stood before the hunter, awaiting his response.

choso hadn't expected you to be so direct with him, so perceptive. but before he could answer, he felt his mouth go dry with thirst rising within him, more powerful than it had ever been. he took a step towards you, his violet eyes glowing with desire. he knew he shouldn't, aware that it was dangerous, but he couldn't resist.

"because..." he whispered, his voice strained. "i couldn't."

without thinking, he closed the distance between you and pressed his lips to yours. the kiss was hungry, desperate, fueled by his desire for blood and something else he couldn't quite identify.

your body stiffened in surprise, but then you found yourself melting against him, returning the kiss with equal fervor. for only a moment, choso had forgotten about everything except for the taste of your lips and the thirst welling up inside him.

choso lifted you with ease and gently placed you onto the cleared desk in the room. his lips traveled from yours to your neck, pressing soft kisses against your skin and occasionally nibbling on it, leaving a trail of marks behind. each touch sent shivers down your spine and your pulse quickened as you let out quiet moans, struggling to contain your growing desire.

the sensation of his warm breath on your neck only added to the intensity of the moment. the room was filled with the scent of passion and anticipation, as bodies pressed together in a dance of pleasure. choso's hands roamed over your body, igniting every nerve with his touch.

the sensation of his warm breath on your neck only added to the moment’s intensity. the room was filled with the scent of passion and anticipation, as bodies pressed together in a dance of pleasure. choso's hands roamed over your body, igniting every nerve with his touch.

while his lips pressed against your neck, you felt a sharp pinch on your skin, followed by a faint slurping sound. choso's mouth and shirt were now stained with your blood, causing your eyes to widen in shock. before you could even process what had happened, he pulled away and kissed you again with an urgent hunger, his actions more desperate and forceful than before.

you could feel the warmth of your own blood mingling with his saliva as the taste of iron filled your mouth. the intensity of the moment sent shivers down your spine, both from fear and a strange sense of pleasure that you couldn't quite explain.

⠀© vmpiires | like, reblog & follow.

[write-ur-wrongs]

Hurt So Good

Request: Reader is a healer and lives in Novigrad. When Geralt is hurt, he always visits her. I found these prompts: "Yes, I have feelings for you.”,"It could be worse. ", "I... sometimes, I guess I kinda wish you could see yourself through my eyes."

word count: 1656

___________________________

“He’s back,” Olivier said, holding the door to your room open with one hand, a drink-filled tray balancing effortlessly in the other, “and he looks rough.”

“What?” you asked, reluctantly pulling your attention away from your work. Your last patient of the day had just left your makeshift office and you were anxious to get the blood-soaked bedding cleared before stains could settle in. Sighing, you tossed the soiled sheets back into your wash bucket and turned to face Olivier, straining to hear your friend over the sounds of the bustling Kingfisher inn behind him.

“Your witcher’s here,” he repeated, “and he’s bleeding all over the fucking place.”

“Geralt,” you breathed, brushing your hands on your skirt and rushing to stand. You kicked the wash bucket under the table and threw the last of your clean linens on the bed, cursing the way your hands shook as you tried to prepare yourself before seeing him again. “Send him in, yeah?”

Olivier wordlessly waved the witcher in before pushing himself back into the clamour of the inn.

“And he’s not my witcher!” you hissed after him, his words registered a beat too late. You’d have to remember to correct him tomorrow, or later tonight. It would depend on how long Geralt stayed this time, and though you’d never admit it, you hoped it would be the former.

You didn’t have a lot more time to fret over it though, as Geralt came ambling into your room, fresh blood dripping readily onto the floorboards.

“Holy fuck?!” you swore, eyes wide.

“Y/N –” he tried, grimacing painfully as you practically lunged at him, your hands grabbing at his free arm while the other gripped his stomach.

“That looks fresh, when did this happen? Sit down, lay down –” you cut him off, guiding him rather forcefully to the bed so you could get a better look at the wounds.

“I’m fine, really. It’s just –”

“Who did this? Did this just happen? Outside?”

“Erm, yes, n-no, I –”

“Gods, Geralt.” You cut him off again, growing impatient with him and the small smile that had been pulling crookedly at his mouth since you laid a hand on him. The impossible man had the nerve to try to get up every time your eyes left his to examen his abdomen, where more blood pooled with every move. “Will you stop trying to get up?”

“Will you let me get a word in?” he asked, the gentle lilt of his voice pulling you back to him despite your growing worry.

You let out an exasperated whine, pushing him back down on the bed before pulling away with a slight wave of a hand, gesturing for him to elaborate.

Taking a moment to re-adjust himself on the bed, Geralt cleared his throat a little before starting. “It was a rotfiend.”

You gasped, another interruption on the tip of your tongue but you bit it back when he laid a steady albeit slightly clammy hand on your arm. How much blood had he lost?

“It could be worse…”

“Than this?” you tsked, shaking your head. “Geralt please, you’re strong but not invincible.”

“It’s just a scratch, the beast barely managed a swipe as I dealt the final blow.”

“Pretty big swipe,” you muttered.

“It was big,” he admitted. “Must have been feeding in those crypts outside Velen for months before anyone noticed it.”

“Velen…?” you questioned, the fresh gleam of his wounds contradicting the days journey he’d had to have undertaken to make it to you in Novigrad. “How –”

“I took a portal,” he cut in at once, anticipating you.

“A portal,” you deadpanned, not a question but an incredulous statement. “So, you had a sorcerer with you, one clearly willing to assist you or at least pay you a favour, and rather than have them deal with this, you put yourself in a worse situation by portalling here. To me?”

Geralt only looked at you in response, his strong features betraying a softness you told yourself must have been from his weakened state. It had nothing to do with you.  

Holding each other’s gaze for a few beats, you finally resigned and got to work on his wounds, starting with gently cleaning them out before tending to the sutures. As you worked, your eyes kept catching on the ragged lines of scar-tissue that covered Geralt’s abdomen. The worse among them was a thick ribbon running up his ribcage before disappearing under his shirt. You felt a familiar shame burn at the pit of your stomach as you let your fingers gently ghost over these reminders of previous wounds you’d tended to. They were easy to spot, glaring against his other, smoother scars left behind by sorcerers’ healing.

“Why?” you finally asked, your voice small, “why me?”

“I wanted to see you,” he stated plainly, craning his neck a little to get you to meet his eyes. When you refused, he reached for your hand and gave it a small squeeze. “I always want to see you.”

At this, you scoffed and shook your head.

“Do you not want to see me?” he asked, pulling his hand away from your arm.

“Of course, I do,” you breathed, but your voice was strained as you tried to focus on the task at hand.

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

“Damn it, Geralt!” You throw the blotting cloth down on the bed and push up to stand. “What do you want me to say? That I wait night and day for you to come crawling through my door beat to a pulp? That, that I love seeing you here? That I curse you when you leave and pray for your swift return? Well, I don’t, Geralt.” You were pacing now, arms waving emphatically as feelings you’d worked so hard to repress came rushing out of you. “I – fine, yes, I have feelings for you, Geralt, okay?” you finally admitted, your arms landing by your side with a slap. “Difficult, complicated feelings. You’re covered in these painful reminders of -”

“-of when I got to see you,”

“Of you being hurt and me not being able to heal you properly.”

“You heal me perfectly, Y/N. Not as quickly as a sorcerer, sure, but more thoroughly than they ever could.”

“Your scars tell another story though, don’t they?”

“Y/N…” he breathed, reaching a steady hand out for you to hold.

You looked from his hand, calloused and bruised, to his striking cat-like eyes that always knocked the breath out of you and sighed, shaking your head. “I guess I just don’t see what you see in me.”

His hand didn’t move as he spoke. “I... sometimes, I just I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. See the strong, gentle, loving person I see."

“Wow,” you laugh humourlessly, cocking your head at him, “exactly how much blood have you lost?”

His hand dropped as something akin to hurt flashed across his features momentarily, regret hitting you like cold water. Geralt threw his head back against the pillow and pinched the bridge of his nose before muttering, “I’m going to fucking kill Jaskier…”  

“Now I know you’re not trying to put that line on the great bard,” you teased, trying to soften the blow to no avail. You studied his profile carefully, taking in the way the muscles of his jaw flexed tightly, how his fingers pressed punishingly into his closed eyes and sighed. You still had to apply healing serum to the stitches and then dress it and it had always been easier to talk to him if you kept busy, so you got to work before asking him the question that had been nagging you since came back to you the first time.

“If what you’re saying is true…” you faltered slightly, feeling his eyes on you the moment your hands touched him, “t-then why do you only come see me when you’re hurt?”

It took Geralt only seconds to answer you, but with your breath held and your pulse pounding in your ears, you could have sworn he’d made you wait hours.

“I thought I needed an excuse.”

“An excuse? So, you just waited until you were at deaths door before seeking me out? How – “but you stopped yourself from going down the myriad of questions – how did he know he’d have time to get to you? That’d you’d have the materials and ingredients to heal him? – when you saw the guilty look on his face and the realization hit you.

“Oh, my fucking god,” you squawked, smacking his arm lightly, “you took these hits intentionally? Knowing I could take care of them? That’s… that’s –” Sweet? Romantic? “Fucked up!” you finished, applying the dressing with far more pressure than necessary.

“I know, I know,” he wheezed, trying to tough out the pain, “Jaskier said the same thing.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” you couldn’t help it. You were laughing. This big, dumb, gruff oaf of a man, specially engineered to be cunning and strategic and with enough years on him to provide the wisdom to know better, had been letting himself get hurt to see you. He was laughing too now, the warm sound rolling over you and this time, you let it fill you with fondness.

“You’re all set to go, Geralt,” you said, dumping the linens into the bucket you’d abandoned when he came in and helped him get up off the cot, smoothing his shirt back down. “Get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You promise?” he asked, looking down at you with soft, open eyes, a dimple creasing into his cheek as his crooked smile pulled against his lips. You couldn’t help it, you reached up and cupped his face with a hand, gently sweeping your thumb over the spot.

“Keep yourself in one piece going forward and I promise you, my door is always open.”

[tobitofunction]

The Pact of Fire and Ice Part 2

part 1 part 3 part4

"My Lady it might be too hot-","I like it hot, thank you," you said cutting off the maid as you stepped into the bath, "You have beautiful hair my lady, it glistens like snow when hit by light," she said while grabbing a sponge,"Thank you" you smiled at her relaxing in the hot water as the maids cleaned your body.

Cregan was back in his studies when Sarah knocked on the door and walked in before Cregan could say come in,"How was it?" she said eagerly," She liked the Godswood but found the Crypt of Winterfell creepy" he said making Sarah scoff,"Wow, how romantic taking your fiancé to place where your ancestors are buried, your lucky your decent looking as if you weren't she would have taken her dragon back to Kingslanding" Cregan scoffed and rolled his eyes,"Might have preferred that making Sarah lift a brow,"Oh?!" she said,"Why so?","I had two wives already both dead within years of me marrying them, I'm cursed sister and that girl will suffer the consequences, I shouldn't have agreed to this marriage" he said pinching the bridge of his nose, making Sarah roll his eyes,"You aren't cursed dummy, you're a Stark, start acting like it" she said punching his shoulder,"You just assaulted the Lord of Winterfell, you know that can lead to your loosing your hand" Cregan playfully threatened,"Well the Lord of Winterfell is acting like a baby" Cregan shook his head with a laugh,"Do you think I made the right decision?" Sarah nodded,"Yes brother, I truly believe you do. I had a dream once it was off a large wolf, a dire wolf in the woods walking towards a smaller white wolf, they had pups, some in the colour of the father and some in the colour of the mother" she said making Cregan smile softly,"Well let's hope your dream comes true" he said stroking her cheek,"Is she kind to you?","From the small interactions we had, yes she was"," Good, as you be joining us for dinner" he said before leaving the room.

You were sitting in your room staring into the fire when the door opened,"Lord Stark sends another dress" Jace said,"I didn't know you became a maid" you teased as he rolled his eyes," I took it off her, I wanted to talk more in private. Now let put the dress on you" you took the dress and walked behind a wall and took of the robe you wore,"So what do you want to discuss?", "Mother won't be able to make it the wedding," he said, you stopped for a second before stepping into the dress, "As I expected, we are at war after all" you said,"Help me lace it up" you said stepping from behind the wall, "Still, I know you wanted her to be here" he said pulling at the laces,"You can show disappointment, it's not a foreign feeling for you" he smiled placing his hand on your waist after he finished lacing you up," Mother promised to have a great wedding fest for you once the war is one" Jace smiled,"Lord Stark has a great taste in dresses," Jace said as he looked you up and down, it was another red dress, with a deep neckline and long-flowy sleeves. There was delicate embroidery of frosty white on the bodice and edges of the sleeves, and the fabric was so fine that it almost shimmered in the light,"It was probably his late wives again" you muttered,"Those dresses must mean a lot to him but he gives them away so easily, why is that?","Maybe because you can bring new life into them" Jace shrugged,"Let's get dinner sister".

Cregan was sitting in the dining hall with Sarah at his side when you and Jace walked in. Cregan licked his lips seeing you in the dress,"You look stunning my Princess" he said as you sat down beside him,"Thank you, is it another one of your late wives' dresses?","I made it for her so she could wear it after she gave birth during summer, as it's her favourite season. I'm glad it found itself another wearer, my second wife didn't like feminine dresses but I'm glad you're wearing it, I can't imagine anyone else for it, it suits you well, like it was made for you" Cregan said, he wasn't lying when he said it. Arra was a beautiful woman who loved wearing the prettiest gowns Winterfell could offer so he gladly commissioned a dress for her which he thought she would look stunning in but seeing you in it now, he can't imagine Arra in it. The red suited your skin tone making you glow, embroidery of the dress matched the shine of your silver hair perfectly. Your cheeks darkened at the comment, "Thank you, my Lord, I love it, I never saw such a beautiful dress before not even in Westeros","I'm glad to hear that. Let's start dining" he said as servants began filling the table with different types of food,"Everything you see here Princess as freshly hunted between yesterday and today before your arrival" Cregan said with a hint of proudness,"I can taste that my Lord" you said sipping on the wine, unlike the food the wine wasn't as tasty as in Westeros but you didn't say anything but Cregan seemed to notice the change in your face,"The wine might not be great as in King's landing but I say we make up with the food", you smiled,"But I assume storing wine is easy here? We should bring wine from home to keep here" you said but Jace nudged you in her ribs, "What?", "Winterfell is now your home sister, but when you visit you are free to take as much wine as you desire" he said, you licked your lips, quickly remembering why you were and that once you married Jace be off leaving you alone, in a new so-called home completely different from the place where you grew up. Sarah smiled sadly at your realisation, she could feel the sadness inside of you,"Cregan don't you want to introduce Princess y/n to your dire wolf?" you lifted your head,"A dire wolf?" you said making Sarah nod happily,"She's a big dark brown wolf, Cregan bonded with her around the same time he became Lord of Winterfell" Sarah continued happily,"Is the Dire wolf to you what our dragon's are to us?" you asked Cregan directly,"Yes, my dire wolf and I have a special bond she will and has protected me during vital moments just like I know your dragon would" he said,"I would love to met her than" Cregan stayed quite for a moment before nodding.

Cregan led you back outside,"Her name is Winter, she came to in the winter of my father's death. She doesn't like the inside of the Castle so she stays in the Wolfwoods or even the Godswoods" he said stepping into the woods, he took one of his gloves off before placing to of his finger in his mouth and whistled, you waited for a couple of minutes before a dark mass came from in between the snow-covered leaves. She was a big, you only heard stories about Dire wolves and their massive sizes but seeing one now in person blew away your explantations, she was as big like 3 or 4 dogs combined, her fur was thick and spotted with snow, her eyes looked intelligent which reminded you of your dragon Tyraxes. Winter slowly moved towards Cregan who kneeled a little bit to be more on her level,"Hello my girl" he said softly rubbing her neck, his hand disappearing in her fur,"This is Princess Y/N, my future wife" he said before turning to,"Come" he said, you moved to she-wolf slowly, cautions as you didn't know how she could react your presence. Cregan gently took your hand and placed on her fur, it was soft which surprised you, even with the thickness of her fur could feel the beating of the wolves heart, you smiled,"She's beautiful"," Winter, seems to like you, she usually takes a while to warm up to people" he said looking up at you from his crouched position, which gave the opportunity to look directly into his eyes making you see his grey eyes, grey like a storm but a beautiful storm, It's only fair to introduce you to my dragon now". Cregan tensed,"Are you sure? A dragon and a wolf are different", you chuckled,"I thought so to but seeing the two of you together made me realise that we are one and the same, like you said Winter will protect you from danger but she was fine with me, so I can the same about Tyraxes" you grabbed his hand, it was so large compared to you, rough and warm, thoughts entered your head which made your cheeks darken so you quickly let go of his hand,"Let's go"

Tyraxes shook the snow off her and she let out a growl,"She doesn't like cold, we need to find a place for her to live, where she be comfortable" you said patting her neck. You noticed the lack of replay and turned to see him far away from you, staring at the beast in front of him, who had noticed him as well, "This is Cregan, we are set to be married, we be staying here forever" you said leaning your forehead against her neck, feeling her warmth. You then turned around and held out your hand for Cregan, he slowly walked over to you not taking his eyes off Tyraxes, you placed his hand on her neck,"He's not going to hurt us, he's safe" you said. Cregan sighed and smiled softly, feeling the hot rough leathery skin underneath his palm, it was such a unique feeling that he couldn't describe, he looked into Tryaxe's eyes, like you noticed with Winter Cregan noticed the intelligence in her eyes,"She seems to like you" you smiled,"That's good, we both seemed to be liked by the others bonded animal" he said slowly removing his hand from Tyraxe's,"Maybe one day I can take you out on a flight"

Days went by, you were doing some stitching in your room when Sarah walked in,"Sorry for disturbing but I came with some news....my brother..Lord Stark wants to have the wedding soon, as he riding soon to Kings landing" you nodded and put aside your work and patted the place next to you,"Why did you call Cregan by Lord and not brother?","I'm a bastard Princess, I'm not a true-born Stark so I need to reframe myself and remember my place" you gently took her hand and gave it a squeeze,"bastard or not you share blood which makes siblings, you probably heard about the rumours about me and my brothers. I won't let that reframe me from getting what belongs to me or my brother. Call Cregab brother around me, he seems to care for you a lot" Sarah smiled at you,"Going back to the wedding, it be in the tradition of the old gods. I be talking you through it, as it is a bit different than the ones you are used too, but also Cregan has set up a meeting between you and one of the most talented seamstresses in Winterfell" Sarah smiled.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, the dress was truly beautiful a long white gown with lace dragon motives decorated all over it, long bell-sleeved with a fur lining. A black cape which had your house symbol embroidered all over it, you took a deep breath and dried your sweaty hands on your dress,"Don't be nervous, you know your Husband now, it's not a privilege a lot of women have" Jace said appearing at the door," Baela, has that privilege and she has the privilege of being close to her home and family, you be gone after this and I be alone, a dragon alone between wolves" Jace sighed and walked towards you, he placed his hands on your hips and pulled you closer to him,"You are always welcome in Dragonstone, dragons are resilient and if our ancestors can adapt from their life in Old Valyria to a life in Westeros, so can you sister" he kissed you cheek,"You already to show the markings of a great king already" you smiled leaning your forehead against his,"Let's go".

Cregan was waiting by the Godswood in front of heart tree, Cregan looked around and saw his sister and the heads of the biggest houses in the north, all holding torches lighting up the way for his bride and her brother. Cregan then looked beside him and saw his closest friend Lord Cerwyn, as Cregan's father was dead he asked his friend to officiate the wedding. Cerwyn patted Cregan on the shoulder and nodded towards you and Jace making Cregan take a breath, you looked stunning, like a nymph he would hear in stories when he was young.

Jace continued to led you the heart tree before stopping to gave your hand a squeeze and hand you over Crewyn. "Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" he asked,"Y/N, of the House Targaryen, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?" Jace said folding his hands behind his back, Cregan then stepped closer,"Cregan, of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Who gives her?" you took a breath, not really enjoying this, you felt like an object, but it had to be done,"Jacaery's, of the House Targaryen, her older brother and heir to the Iron Throne" Cerwyn looked between the two men before focusing back on you, he gave your hand a squeeze noticing your wandering mind,"Princess Y/N Targaryen, will you take this man?" he asked, you looked at Cregan before looking at Jace who gave you a nod,"I take this man" you said softly, Cerwyn than placed your hand into Cregan who led you towards the heart tree before kneeling before it, he closed his eyes and began to mumble, he was praying. You licked your lips before closing your eyes. After a while you felt your hand being squeezed Cregan was looking at you, a soft smile playing on his lip which just needed to be reciprocated. Both of you stood up and Sarah walked over with a cloak in her arms, it was light grey and had the Stark symbol embroidered on it, Sarah handed it to her brother who let go of your hand to take the cloak from her, her than unclasped your cloak, carefully removing it from your shoulder before handing it to Sarah, he than replaced it with Stark cloak, it felt heavier. As Cregan finished clipping on your cloak he pressed a kiss on your forehead,"My Wife, I will protect and honour as long as I shall life" he said making you shiver,"I shall do same...my husband" you said looking up at him

Taglist:

@happinessinthebeing

[willyoubemycherryy]

❁𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖...𝕓𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕋𝕚𝕘𝕖𝕣’𝕤 𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕪 𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕙 𝕊𝕌ℙ𝔼ℝ-ℙℝ𝕆𝕋𝔼ℂ𝕋𝕀𝕍𝔼 𝕘𝕗??

@ my bestie lil miss westie(^‿^✿) @eymie

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤🜚ミ★𖤐✬.• 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐨✊🏽, 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐱 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞, 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨, 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐇𝐈𝐌 ⚠︎︎MDNI⚠︎︎

“𝑺𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈...“

You honestly don’t know how he let people try him.

Tiger doesn’t even look like the pushover type. Tattoos, wild green hair, stoic face and stone jawline, 6 foot fucking 2, ripped jeans and muscle tees. He rarely even looked approachable. Punk rock and pissed off.

But… turns out he’s a sweetheart. Gentle eskimo kisses, slow kisses, helpful with the most menial tasks. Plus the adoring way he looks at you, to how tender and calmly he treats you; even when you’re upset…so it pisses you off when you see short, half court hairline, bald spot eyebrow ugglies talking down to him.

Like now when you look up from your seat in the car, waiting for him to come out of the gas station just to see some dirty old crypt keeper yelling in his face while your poor sweet darling Tiger just nods and looks uncomfortable. You do not hesitate to get out the car and march over there in your Chanel heels to stomp on fucking business bitch.

Tiger hears a door slam and looks up. Paling once he sees that it’s you…and that you do not look happy. He knows how this is going to end before it even starts as you stand in front of him, pushing the angry man back with one of your pretty manicured fingers.

“Who the fuck are you talking to?! Because I KNOOOOW it’s not him!” You’re yelling off the bat and the man is red in the face as he yells back,

“So what if I am! He needs to learn how to apologize after he bumps into people!”

Oh bitch.

“Are the people in the room with us??? Because all I see in front of me is the ghost of Father Time’s ashes.” Tiger bites his lip to stifle the laugh that bubbles up at your jab. Feisty as ever.

“Why you prissy little bit-“, you cut him off before he can even attempt to try it.

“Even if he completely knocked your ass over, he wouldn’t have to apologize for SHIT but I’ll tell you what,” voice low, blood hot, rushing so fast you look downright murderous as you stand chest to chest with the man.

“Talk to him like that again…and I’ll kick your nuts so far up your asshole that they’ll be acorns when they come out your mouth. I’ll turn you and every witness around into stains and mail them to your wife and kids.” He gulps at the dead look on your face and quickly shifts his eyes to Tiger.

“So, apologize right now and walk away from us before I decide to really rock your world.” You feel Tiger stiffen at the same time the asshole does before he mumbles a swift apology, he’s jumping into his car and peels off just as fast.

Grabbing Tiger’s hand you lead him to the car, to your door so he can open it and after he gets in himself, he looks at you. Amused.

“You’re a little bully? Y’know that?”, chuckling at you as you pout.

“You don’t always need to come to my rescue. Some people are just assholes and that’s okay”. He mumbles, pulling you from your seat to straddle his lap.

You roll your eyes before you lean down to kiss him languidly. Capturing his top lip between yours then his bottom lip, both your lips alternating with light sucks and you tilt your head and lick the seam of his mouth, making him moan as your tongues caress each other. Warm puffs of air wash over your faces as you kiss him senseless.

Heat licks up your body, a wet moan bursting out when you feel him aggressively suck on your tongue, his hand on the back of your head holding you in place. Reaching up you pull lightly at his hair until he breaks away with a smack and you peck his lips a few more times to calm down.

“Some people are assholes, you’re right. But if they think they can be an asshole to you on my watch? They’re dead wrong.” panting against his mouth as you give him your verdict.

“Now, let’s go home,” you whisper against his lips.

“I’m wet”.

Grinding down on him for emphasis then swinging back down to your seat to watch his reaction.

Tiger looks down at where you were previously sat and notices the dark spot on his jeans, and looking back at you pupils completely blown.

“Oh fuck”, he groans. Hissing when you start palming him through his ripped jeans.

Squealing as Tiger speeds off so fast he almost leaves the tires.

[the-curator1]

Even in Hades | Copia x Witch!Fem!Reader - Chapter 1

Author's note: English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes, please don't hesitate to point them out to me.

Summary: Copia is gone. But he is not meant to remain in the realm of the dead. The Clergy asks you to bring him back to life as part of their grand plan for the future. You think your mission is over, but you find yourself dealing with a pope haunted by trauma, clinging to you like a lifeline. You can't leave him behind, can you? And after all, maybe you need someone to help you fight your own demons too. This whole situation leaves you with a haunting question: Who is the savior and who is the saved?

Tags and TW for the story: necromancy, heavy angst, mention of blood rituals, witchcraft, eventual romance, smut, fluff, the reader is a witch, betrayal, grief, manipulation, dealing with trauma, religious trauma

Chapter Summary: You bring back Papa Emeritus IV to the light.

Chapter 1: Moth to a Flame

You were kneeling on the cold floor, your face turned toward the ceiling of the chilling crypt like a wolf howling at the moon. Your hands pressed against the stone floor bore the stains of blood you had drawn from your own veins. The flickering flames of the black candles cast an eerie glow upon the floor, enveloping your face in their mysterious light.

“You need to bring him back.”

“If you wanted him to live, maybe you should not have killed him in the first place!”

The pain clawed its way through your body, a relentless torment that threatened to consume you from within. It twisted and writhed like a serpent, coiling around your insides with a merciless grip, gnawing at your insides like a greedy monster. It started slow, but you knew it was a matter of minutes until you felt like the pain was tearing your body and your soul apart.

“Watch your tongue, girl. You don’t know anything. He needs to come back. That’s part of the plan.”

You turned your head toward the cold floor again. Laying there among the candles and the ritualistic tools was the body of Papa Emeritus IV. You looked at him for a moment as the pain in your chest grew and grew. His body was naked apart from a white sheet you carefully placed upon his lower body when you prepared him. Your eyes fell upon the large stitched wound in his chest once again.

Did he ever know they were going to…

No time for thinking about that again.

“I’ll do it, but I’ll need to be alone.”

“Fair enough. Just don’t disappoint us.”

Ignoring the gnawing ache in your gut, you placed your bloodied shaky hands on his bare torso. His skin was cold as ice. Your fingers brushed at the 666 tattoo on his chest.

He needs to come back. You can't fail.

Your mouth fell open, and your lips started moving on their own accord. You began to chant an ancient melody. Your voice echoed through the chamber in a language long forgotten by mortal tongues. You made all the efforts in the world to keep your voice steady, fighting to drown out the rising tide of nausea that threatened to overwhelm you. The flames of the candles around you danced wildly, casting shifting shadows upon the walls as if they, too, sensed the gravity of the moment.

“It must be done tonight. Or he will be gone forever.”

The pain was more awful than ever. You felt your eyes rolling back in your head. You wanted to scream. To tear your hair out.

Hear me, Papa… Come to the light. you silently implored, your thoughts a fervent prayer echoing through the depths of your mind.

I’m not sure I can take it any longer…

In this liminal space between life and death, not quite in hell, not quite in the living realm, Copia lingered, suspended in the darkness that enveloped him like a heavy, dark cloak. Time seemed to lose all meaning in this strange realm, where the echoes of his past deeds reverberated in the silence, haunting him with their weight.

He had died only days ago, yet it felt like an eternity had passed since he last drew breath. Memories flickered through his mind like fragmented shards of glass, painful reminders of the life he had lived and the choices he had made.

Memories of his last moments too.

Their knives.

“Swiss, what are you…?”

The thundering pain in his body.

Terror.

Confusion.

"We're sorry Papa..."

Pain.

The feeling of hot blood running on his skin.

The scream of the audience.

PAIN.

And then nothing. Nothing but despair and loneliness.

As he reflected on the terror of his last moments, Copia saw it. It danced like a solitary star in the blackened void, casting its radiant glow upon the darkness.

A candle?

A gentle warmth blossomed within Copia’s chest. Without hesitation, he gravitated toward the light. As he drew near, a voice reached him, a soft murmur like a gentle stream in the woods.

“Come, Papa, come to the light…”

Hope bloomed in Copia’s chest. Someone was there. Someone was there for him.

With each passing moment, the light grew brighter and the voice grew more distinct. Eventually, Copia emerged from the shadows. There, bathed in the candle's warm glow, stood a woman. A soft smile spread upon her sweet face when she saw him. She looked calm and serene.

Slowly, as if not to scare him, she held her hand out to him.

He reached out almost immediately, his fingers trembling as they brushed against hers. It was as if a current passed between them, a surge of energy that pulsed with a life of its own. Suddenly, the darkness around them seemed to shift and warp, swirling like a tempest as reality itself began to unravel. Like the parting of the Red Sea, the shroud of darkness opened in a blinding flash of light. Copia felt himself being pulled back forcefully—back to the realm of the living.

The transition was jarring, his senses assaulted by a cacophony of sounds as he emerged from the depths. He gasped for air, his chest heaving with effort as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. Copia opened his eyes.

Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the bright darkness of the crypt he was in. The stone walls loomed large around him, their rough-hewn surfaces casting long shadows that danced in the flickering candlelight. Despite the initial assault of noise and confusion, he found the crypt surprisingly quiet. The only sounds that reached his ears were the rustle of his breathing and the faint crackling of the candles.

He found himself lying on a cold, stone floor, the chill seeping into his bones. But then, despite the frigid surroundings, he felt a sense of warmth emanating from the soft hands resting upon his chest.

Then he heard it: the voice that guided him toward the light. Soft, like a melody despite the weariness that emanated from it.

“Welcome back...Papa."

[bhaalbaaby]

Title: True Love Waits In Haunted Attics (1941 words) Pairing: astarion/gn!tav Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, gn!reader, cazador A/N: request for some hurt/comfort :") from @satanicspinosaurus; astarion gets left behind from the group and must deal with thoughts of abandonment and angst

Read on AO3!

Astarion should have known this day would happen as the door shuts, but this time...

How could have been so stupid?

He hears the others on the other side of the wall, their voices fainter and fainter, the change in their pockets jingling against each other as they continue walking away from the crypt. He thought Tav would be different. Memories or made-up conversations he dreamt about whisper in his ears.

False promises.

"I'll protect you, Astarion. You never have to worry." He would roll his eyes, his heart at ease for once as he waved away Tav's valid statements. At least valid at the time.

"I appreciate your concern, though I wish you didn't have to protect me, love."

He didn't mean that.

Not really.

He bangs on the wall, hoping someone would hear, someone to notice. Is he that forgettable? He tries to find a button, but can't find one anywhere in this hideaway room. The smell of old gold and dried blood is almost suffocating. How many people also were to this fate? Dying because they were abandoned by those they cared for most?

As a vampire, he could survive in here. He hears the squeaks of mice in the old walls and scuttling on the floor, but he has his freedom now. He couldn't survive being locked away again. The years of torment beckon except instead of hearing Godey or worse Cazador, he hears nothing now. 

Tav is gone. They really left him. How could they?

He bangs on the wall again, screaming until his throat is raw and dry. How long has it been? It couldn't be more than an hour now. An hour without coming back. An hour without coming for him. His breathing is hard as he paces, trying to keep his legs from giving, knees buckling at the realization of his new fate. He swallows hard, sitting against the wall. His hands tremble violently as he sees the blood of their enemies on his hands. Soon they will be replaced with his blood. He would have to scrawl, scratch, dig, whatever it takes to get out of here.

He takes a deep breath. He is free. He is not under anyone's control. He can get out of here. He defeated a Nether Brain. So why would he let one trap get to him?

He takes out his dagger and begins scraping at the wood, barely making a knick in it. He clenches his jaw. Though Tav is gone, they did teach him resourcefulness and finding ways out in situations like this. He shouldn't curse them all the way.

But they did leave him.

He grunts with each strike, every one with all his strength as he barely makes a dent in the door. "Open you son of a bitch!" He yells, his steady strikes turning into flails. He hits the door one last time before sinking onto the dirty floor. 

He should have known this would happen. He put too much faith in one person, one beautiful, stupid, cruel, kind, patient, unforgiving person. Maybe they were looking for an out since he is no longer the sexy seductive vampire he used to be. Now he has feelings and space to be whatever he wants.

He rubs his eyes, his vision blurring with tears. He is too much for them to handle of course. They need someone with less baggage than 200 years of slavery. He should die here. It's what he deserves. He rests his head on his knees as he lets his sob wrack through his body, his nails digging into his knees.

A cruel ending from the one he claimed to love. Locked away again for crimes he didn't know.

He sees Tav's warm face as they tell him everything will be okay, they will never part, and the world will be theirs as they go on more adventures. Anything Astarion wants to do. Why would they lie to him? If they didn't want him, why did they tell him pretty words? He was so blinded by the safety and trust he put in them.

He should have left before it felt real. He should have kept up his facade so they wouldn't get bored of him. His thoughts race and flood with more reasons why they won't come back, why they left him. It is his fault for thinking everything would be different. 

An old voice sneaks its way into his mind, the disappointed tsk as an apparition of his Old Master shakes his head. "Poor, little boy. You thought you were better than me. Now you are lower than you have ever been. You are nothing." The voice hisses, his red eyes burning into Astarion's undead soul.

Astarion scrambles to his feet, his chest heaving as he pushes his damp hair from his forehead. "No... I am not nothing." He yells back, holding his dagger out.

The hallucination laughs, disappearing into nothingness when he strikes. "You have no friends. You have no family. You have no lover. You will be forgotten. No one will mourn you." Cazador jeers in his ear as Astarion turns around, gripping his dagger hard, eyes rapidly searching.

"You're wrong!"

"Am I? Look at you grovel in this dungeon. No one is coming back. The world will finally be rid of the incessant prattle of Astarion Ancunin."

"Stop it! You're not real!" Astarion shouts, starting his search for a button or level. He needs to get out of here now. Cazador's laugh echoes and increases in volume as Astarion tugs on rock, and pushes more of the old books off the shelves and empty barrels, clattering about.

He feels like he's spinning, or the room is spinning, as he tries until he slips on a loose paper. He lands on his back with a hard crack, the immediate white fills his vision. He doesn't cry out, or if he does, he cannot hear it. This is how he will die.

Forgotten and alone. 

Tav runs to the door, Wyll and Gale behind them as they pull the lever. "Gods above... Please work." They whisper to themselves, their heart pounding as the lever doesn't budge. "Gale, Wyll. A spell. Something, please." They plead, before slamming on the wall.

"Astarion, Astarion. My love! We're back! The wall won't open." They press their ear on the wall, trying to hear him, but only silence greets them. "Astarion, my sweet..." Their hands turn to fists as they hit the wall harder.

Gale whispers a knock spell on the wall as Wyll tries for the lever again. The wall gives, opening up slowly revealing Astarion on the stone floor. Tav's heart instantly drops as they rush in. "Keep the door open!" They shout at their companions as they rush in.

Their mind is in overdrive as they cradle his face in their lap. "Astarion... Wake up. Please." They scan around looking for traps, the place in shambles as his chest barely rises and falls. "My little star... Please."

"Um, Tav, the wall won't stay open forever."

Tav glances back at Gale, grief-stricken, but they stand, dragging Astarion by his shoulders out of the room just in time as the walls close again. They crumple to the ground as they hold the unconscious vampire in their arms, trying to calm their heart. He is still alive. The tomb is so quiet around them as Tav brushes their thumb on his cheek.

"Astarion, please wake up. Please..." They whimper, resting their head against his, their face wet with sweat and tears. They still don't know how he got separated and didn't go far. The longest twenty minutes of their life and they know it felt even longer for him. What was he doing in there? They reach into their pouch, pulling out a healing potion, gently dribbling the nectar in his mouth, praying it would work. 

He coughs hard, sitting up fast, almost knocking into Tav's head as he springs up. "No! You can't take-" He stops yelling, looking around bewildered. Cazador's mocking voice is silenced, for now. Tav replaces him, their hands out as if ready to catch him if Astarion falls. There they are, his concerned friends and lover.

"I'm so sorry, Astarion. The door closed so quickly. I thought you were following behind. We didn't go so far," Tav says quickly, apprehension stilling their body from tackling him in a hug. Astarion takes deep breaths, his hands going to his ragged throat and disheveled clothes. He carefully touches the back of his head, wincing at the pain.

"Looks like he's bleeding. We should find a healer," Wyll interjects gently. Astarion glances at Tav, blinking slowly. Perhaps the Blade of Avernus is right. Tav and Wyll come to either side of him, hoisting him carefully.

He leans on Tav still in awe. "You came back."

Tav's brows furrow as they nod. "Of course I did. I would never abandon you, my love."

The words are so familiar, words he used against himself. Gale starts ahead of them. "Come on. We should get him back to camp so he can rest." 

Alone again.

Astarion slowly sits up in his tent, feeling slightly better, if not dizzy. The others are outside, talking amongst themselves. He sighs, looking around. He put them back a day with this rest, but Tav won't complain. Deep down, he knows this. If Gale or Wyll got stuck, they'd do the same.

He crawls out of the tent seeing Tav's back as they look at the fire, tense from today. If his head were cooperating, he would slink over and gently massage their back. Instead, he takes a deep breath, a wave of nausea threatening to overcome him. He stumbles, the dirt under his shoes giving away his position as Tav and Gale turn away from the flames.

Tav springs into action, quickly by his side and helping Astarion sit. He grimaces as he sits on the bedroll.

Gale grins as he stands, "I hope your head is feeling better, Astarion. I shall retire for the evening. See you both in the morning." He bows slightly as he goes to his tent.

Astarion sighs, staring up at the night sky, grateful he could see another day. Tav's hand rests behind him, their head just about to rest on his shoulder, but they hesitate.

"Thank you... For saving me." Astarion says, breaking the silence. They sit up, letting Astarion take his time. "I had a very hard time in there. Brought back rather unpleasant memories." He slowly glances at Tav, not wanting to trigger any bouts of nausea. "When I thought it was over, you came back. You always come back."

"Of course, I come back. I love you, Astarion." They take his hand into theirs, pressing their lips against the back of it, his skin so cold.

He looks down, his dark lashes seemingly touching his cheekbones as he considers this. He's still getting used to hugs, never sure where his arms should go exactly, but in this moment, it's what he needs, what he wants.

His arms wrap around Tav's shoulders as he pulls them in, burying his face in their neck. Tav responds in turn, their hands resting on his back, gently rubbing in a circle as they let him hug them for as long as he needs. They close their eyes as they bring him closer, their shirt getting damp with his tears.

But they will not let go, never. They press a quick kiss on his forehead as an eternal promise that they will never leave, staying his for as long as they can.

taglist: @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird @razrogue @thedancingbun @celestialomlette @rentheannihilator

[supercap2319]

"Are you sure about this? If you leave Fell's Church, it's forever. No more Aunt Judith. No more Margaret. No more Matt, Bonnie, or Meredith." Stefan said gently. It probably wasn't what Y/N wanted to hear, but he needed to understand the gravity of this situation. If he chose to leave with Stefan and Damon, it was a permanent choice. The town is already settling back to normal, and if they catch a glance of Y/N, who's supposed to be dead like Elena, it would cause a bunch of problems for himself and those he cares about. This is the only path.

Y/N nods. Looking for Stefan's hand and interlocking it with his own, he looks up at his very defined green eyes. "I'm sure, Stefan. Fell's Church isn't my home anymore. The old Y/N that everyone knew died when he went off that bridge. They'd never understand the new Y/N." Stefan nods his head. He remembers when he woke up in the family crypt. He had this foolish notion that he could return home and he'd be welcomed with open arms. The servants had screamed in terror at the sight of Stefan and went to fetch a priest.

"I'm so sorry." Stefan apologized. If he had never come to Fell's Church in the first place, Damon wouldn't have followed and their darkness wouldn't have gotten Y/N and Elena killed. Turned into vampires and almost killed once again because of their jealous ex.

"It's not your fault, Stefan. It was Katherine. She set all this in motion, and if it weren't for your blood, I might not be standing here talking to you. And yes, it sucks that I will never grow old or have a family, but I can't spend the rest of eternity wondering what if? All I can do now is live this new life the best that I can. For as long as I can."

Stefan nods. "I'll show you the world. Wherever you want to go, we'll go." He promised.

"I'd like to see Florence? If you're okay with that?"

The older vampire leaned down and kissed him softly. "Of course it's okay."

[x1702x]

THE HADES TWO DESIGNS

IM NOT NRO

IM BRINGING MORPHEUS BACK I SWEAR

[prose-for-hire]

Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble

(Part 2 to Toil and Trouble)

Pairing: Spike x Harris!reader

Request: I wanted to write a second part to this and I got few comments asking for a pt2 as well! This is the aftermath/relationship between reader and Spike after their date and the conversation that needed to be had with Xander.

As you had sensed, that date had been the first of many with Spike. It had been months since that evening where you had untied him and walked into the moonlight. If only life was like a movie, it could have stopped there. With the promise and hope of everything being okay.

Your twin, of course, couldn’t just let it rest. The tension had reached boiling point. In fact, you had been avoiding him for the past three months. That conversation you had promised him? You were never in the room long enough for him to even take a breath to start to speak.

Spike had found himself a crypt, had almost managed to help kill the slayer through Adam at the Initiative and had given you one of his rings to wear. He had turned to you, halfway through an episode of Passions and had actually managed to drag his eyes away and earnestly offered you the knotted silver band. It was a promise. You had never taken it off since.

You, although knowing Spike had been up to something, didn’t want to hear the finer details. So long as your brother wasn’t going to be hurt, you didn’t want to hear it. You just wanted to be close to Spike. Of course it would be nice to save the world and all that but, really, that ship had sailed and it was more your brother’s hobby than yours.

You were sat in his crypt, curled up on his sofa by his side. Your bodies bathed in candlelight, glowing in a silent contentment. All that could be heard was the distant buzzing of the tv. But that didn’t matter to you. Only he mattered. Your head rested on his shoulders as he wrapped an around you, pulling you in closer. The popcorn you had been sharing had long since been abandoned.

You pressed a few soft kisses against his neck, the near-silent sigh of pleasure you heard from Spike made you smile into the kisses. He used his hand to guide your head to face him, pressing your forehead against his. He savoured the moment closing his eyes at the contact, he could stay in this moment forever and be the happiest man alive.

You leaned in again, pressing your lips to his. He tasted like cigarette smoke and popcorn. He cupped your cheek in his hand, thumb caressing your cheekbone as he started to deepen the kiss, the way he always did. Knocking the breath from your body. He tilted your head back, thumb sliding to caress your neck with his strong hand, his lips hungrily-

The door to the crypt swung open with such force that it came off its hinges. You tensed and Spike pulled you in close to his side, willing to defend you against anything that came your way. He was fiercely protective and you knew he would lay down his life for you in a heartbeat (one of your heartbeats, of course).

“Can’t a vampire have one sodding moment to rest in peace with his love?”

It was your brother. Again. And his friends, Willow and Buffy. Buffy had a stake and a scary look on her face. The only real threat you had ever felt inside the crypt coming from those supposedly on the side of ‘good’.

Once, you may have sprang apart but you were too comfortable and really, you were an adult. Your brother would have to physically prize you apart if he wanted you to move away from Spike.

“Xander! What is your problem?! You’re dating a demon, I’m dating a vampire it’s not exactly much of a difference”

“Actually, love-”

“Not now, Spike!” You both said at the same time.

“I really bloody hate it when you do that” he muttered but surrendered at the look on your face. You just didn’t want him to say anything that could get a redwood in his chest. You really, really liked him.

“Anya’s different” He insisted, awarding him a glare from you.

“Oh my God, you’re such a bonehead! It’s exactly the same”

“Why don’t we all make with the calmness and take a deep-”

“No time or place for none of your spiritual-wicca bollocks now, Red” Spike warned, knowing you well by now. You didn’t like it when people told you what to do. Especially not the ‘morally superior’ group of your brothers friends.

You reached for Spike’s arm subconsciously and rubbed his arm slowly, showing him that you were right there with him. Thanking him for speaking up. You didn’t actually like arguing, you just didn’t like to back down either. Your brother didn’t exactly appreciate the display of affection, however.

“That’s it! You and me, pal, outside!” Xander said, putting his hands in a fist in a way that could only be described as a mockery of a fight.

“You and what army, Xander” You rolled your eyes. Nevertheless, Spike shrugged and walked outside, lighting up a cigarette as he went. Xander looked a little nervous but took a deep breath and followed him out.

You started to follow too, not wanting either of them to come to any harm but Buffy blocked your way. When you tried to move past, it felt like walking into a brick wall. She was incredibly strong despite her size.

“You’re, uh, strong” You offered lamely, stepping back from her.

“We should probably leave them to it”

“Did you ever think that I might be hurt when you all decided to keep this from me?” It was only because of your healthy curiosity that you had come across Buffy slaying and then researched it yourself. If you hadn’t, when you had first been faced with a vampire you may have not even had a stake on your person.

“We told Xander you should know, but we kinda didn’t wanna get in the middle of a twin-fight” Buffy explained, shuddering at the thought of the infamous twin fights she had witnessed between you and Xander. To you both, they weren’t all that serious usually but it appeared to be in front of others. This time had been different though.

“I’ve known you since I was a kid, Willow, where’s the loyalty?”

Willow opened her mouth and then closed it again, unsure how to speak. She had always been fond of you but she was best friends with Xander and she had never really forgiven you for spreading the news that she had cheated on Oz with your brother around school. You had only told one of your friends, you just happened to have been overheard.

Meanwhile, outside…

Xander had, in a surprise to everyone involved, punched Spike and held him against the wall of the crypt. Spike took it, choking out smoke in surprise but stood there and didn’t even defend himself. Only for you. He was love’s bitch, after all. He knew how upset you would be, even though he was an idiot, you loved your brother a lot.

“Leave them alone, this is mucho evil even for you! Stop acting like you like them”

“Be easier, wouldn’t it. If it were an act” Spike shrugged, dropping his smoke and grinding it under his boot, “I love them”

“Oh yeah, love without the actual, you know, lovin’ part”

Spike gave him a look, one that was one part unamused to two parts looking like he wanted to kill the man stood before him. Xander still had Spike’s shirt balled in his fist. He raised his other fist again, as if to land another punch when you ran out from the crypt and grabbed your brother’s hand.

“That’s enough!” You pulled your brother off him. Your annoyance threatening to boil over.

“You don’t need to do this, Y/n”

“Do what exactly, Xander?!”

“You proved your point, I should’ve told you about Buffy. But rise of the evil dead here is bad news”

“You’re such a hypocrite, xander! Anya is older and has statistically killed more people than Spike and yet you stand there all high and mighty acting like I need to be saved from myself. Well, I don’t. Spike is really good to me, perhaps if you gave him a chance…”

Xander scoffed but he knew you well. Sometimes more than you knew yourself. That look in your eyes, you were deeply upset. You just wanted to be close to your brother again, but you couldn’t even consider losing Spike. You were in love. Deeply.

Spike lit up a cigarette, stepping to your side and handing it to you before lighting up for himself. His mind was always on you, he was in tune with you. You never hid anything from him, you didn’t have to. You took a drag, trying to hide the visible shaking from your hand. This could go two ways. You and Xander could make up like you usually would or the rift could widen and Xander might turn his back on you. A wash of anxiety

“All I want is to look out for you” Xander admitted, looking at the floor. He took the fact he was a minute older than you seriously, assuming the ‘older brother’ role despite there being no real grounds (but that was an argument for another time).

“And you did that by letting me discover vampires by almost getting eaten by one in high school?” You asked pointedly.

“You never said…”

“Better be bloody dust” Spike muttered, jaw tensing at the idea of any vampire wrapping their jaws around you. You were his, if there was any biting to be done, he would of course do the honours.

“How many times have you almost been killed by a vampire, Xand? I’m guessing double figures. Can’t we just call it quits? Uh, I don’t wanna… lose you” You admitted quietly, rolling your own eyes this time. You and Xander didn’t usually do the whole feelings thing. You mostly used humour to cope with your dysfunctional family and just shared knowing looks when you both felt the same way about something.

“Hey! No way, you’re stuck with me. Like glue, the glue-iest” Xander launched at you, giving you a hug, wafting the smoke away and fake coughing as he did, though when he released you from his bone crushing hug, he couldn’t help but say, “But it-it’s Spike. He’s gross, Y/n”

“Yeah, I’ve definitely seen him lick his own nose blood” Buffy grimaced as she recounted it, joining them with Willow from within the crypt.

“He’s my boyfriend. No amount of nose blood or evil rants can change that.”

Willow and Buffy seemed to soften at this, as well as the adoring look that Spike gave you. Both knew what it was like to love people that others might not understand too. He truly did love you, he made a mental note to tell you properly as soon as you were alone. He just wished he hadn’t said it out loud for the first time to your brother rather than you.

“But-” Xander started again but Willow stood on his foot.

“Didn’t you say we would meet Riley at the Bronze at 11?” Willow changed the subject quickly. Buffy checked her watch and groaned, she had stood him up all week and I was already 11:30. Spike bit his tongue from saying ‘trouble in paradise’. Something you noticed and tried to hide your smile. You had both discussed Buffy’s love life at length.

“Why don’t you guys come? Merry merriment for all, right Xand?” Willow asked kindly, echoing Xander’s earlier phrasing.

“Oh, right, yeah, family bonding and all that” You offered, knowing more than anything that danger followed Buffy around and that Spike enjoyed picking a fight with any demons that you came across.

“Watch it” Spike murmured from your side. No matter how much he loved you, he didn’t love the idea of Xander being family. But he did nod his head to agree he would go.

As you and your strange group walked together through the streets, with Spike muttering something about charging the slayer for the damage done to his crypt’s door. Spike didn’t like your brother and he certainly didn’t like the slayer, but he liked you very much and he had decided he would have to live with seeing them a lot more often.

“Huh, maybe it runs in the family”

“What?”

“The demon-y magnetism” Willow laughed and Xander kicked a rock at her words but didn’t say anything. He was just getting you back, maybe he could live with you and Spike being together. Well, maybe he would give it three strikes and then he would try and bring up the idea of you leaving him again.

Spike rolled his eyes at Willow’s words but you smiled softly, leaning in to press a kiss against his pale cheek. You slid your hand into his and he squeezed tightly.

“I love you too, by the way” You whispered softly in his ear. You had heard him. He glowed, a smile spread across his face, you always loved it when he smiled. It lit up his entire face, brightening all of his features.

The moonlight caressed his face, his eyes glistening at your words. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss against your forehead as you trailed behind your brother and his friends. He would sit through this, for you. Because he loved you, more than he had ever loved another before.

[artiststarme]

Sometimes Sorry Isn't Enough

Sometimes Steve wondered how he was still alive. What made him more deserving of life than Barb? He kept putting his life on the line and yet he scraped by with only scars as evidence. He’d fought the demodogs and the mindflayer. He’d thrown Molotov cocktails at Vecna/Henry/One’s face. He’d been prepared to die every single time. So why was he still here?

He wished he’d chosen to jump off the quarry’s cliff when he found out that his parents had left him behind for good. Wished that he hadn’t been too quick for the demodogs to catch in the junkyard. He wished that he’d taken Max’s place in the face of Vecna’s curse. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be around anymore.

He loved his friends, loved Robin and Eddie in particular, but it wasn’t enough. Robin had better things to do than deal with his trauma that he’d roped her into without her consent. If it weren’t for him being so desperate and needy for attention, she would never have been involved with the Upside Down. She wouldn’t have been psychologically tortured by the Russians or exposed to the Hell that existed beneath them. She’d be better off without him.

And Eddie. Poor Eddie didn’t deserve any of this either. He was simply the town’s scapegoat that was at the wrong place at the wrong time and now his life was forever changed because of it. His body was marred in scars where the bats mauled him, eerily similar to the ones that existed in Steve’s flesh. Steve should’ve done more to protect him instead of forcing him to play decoy and then his friend afterwards.

Instead of forcing his problems on the Party once again, Steve stewed by himself in his empty crypt of a home. The house was dark, the air was cold, and his heart was heavy. He poured pain pills, originally prescribed to deal with his horrific migraines, into his hands and took a deep breath. Unlike all those other times, he wouldn’t escape death again. As he swallowed pill after pill, his heart sank deeper. It was better this way.

He was unconscious by the time Robin arrived, a feeling of proud terror driving her away from her family dinner and to Steve’s side. He was unconscious when Eddie gave him CPR and mouth to mouth, imagining their first kiss would be much different than it actually was. He was on the verge of life and death by the time Hopper speedily pulled into his driveway and threw him in the ranger before the ambulance could even arrive to take him to the hospital, begging him the entire way to open his eyes.

When he woke up to hospital smells and bright lights, he initially felt disappointed. He’d failed once again to leave the wretched world that never seemed to want him. But when he looked around, he felt a spark of hope in his chest. Hopper, Eleven, Robin, Eddie, and Dustin were in various chairs and cots scattered throughout the room. Eddie was curled into a ball by his feet on the bed while Robin was pressed against his side, her head on his chest as if she was waiting subconsciously to hear each beat of his heart. Hopper was sat in a chair by his bedside, his fingers loosely gripping the bed frame. Eleven was on the window’s ledge, her brow furrowed like the world was on her shoulders still. And Dustin. He was on a cot right beside Steve’s bed, his body facing him and his hand wrapped around his wrist.

Steve felt guilt flood him. He always felt like he was surviving on luck alone, deserving to die and never quite doing so. He didn’t realize that he was surviving off the love of his friends, his family, and that they were doing the same. It would take awhile to change his way of thinking and for him to start appreciating the life he had but he would get there eventually. Especially with his best friend, his boyfriend, his little brother and sister, and Hopper by his side.

[ineadhyn]

Astarion's time in the tomb

And whilst I am at it, here is a more serious short drabble about Astarion's time in the tomb and the day he finally got out. It was probably not as euphoric as one would expect

Inspired by a post about Astarion and the effects of solitary confinement that I can't find anymore.

It's safe for work and not too graphic, but shows the mental damage quite drastically so continue if you feel safe with that. (Ha, I finally figured out how to make cuts)

Light fell onto the fragments of his consciousness. His mind was a disjointed swirl of thoughts and images that no longer made sense and hadn't found connection for a long time. A scraping of stone on stone accompanied the light and with it came voices. Astarion had heard them too many times. They were never real. Nothing was real. Not the faces in the darkness, not the voices, not the blood dripping from the walls - the blood he dreamt would moisten his tongue, but only drowned him in the end. None of it was real. Yet, the visions were better than hunger and silence. Deafness and blindness. Of course, he wasn't really blind. His eyes could pierce through the darkness. But when everything you saw was gray, you might as well be blind. Astarion had seen them all. Everyone who could possibly open this tomb. From his parents to unknown heroes to Cazador. And every time his fingers reached out with longing they only met rough stone. He knew that the images his brain conjured were not real. He didn't react to them anymore. What could he possibly do even if they were real? He had no voice anymore. Had lost it long ago, somewhere in the dusty darkness to his feet. It had rolled down, and since he couldn't turn around, he couldn't find it again. Of course he had screamed. The memory of himself crying his lungs out was still strangely fresh, like an open wound. He had given up quickly. Just a few months later. There was a pale spot of sunlight that wandered along the edge of his prison at regular intervals. Astarion guessed it happened once a day. Not bright enough to burn himself. (He had tried.) He scratched into the stone that locked him, marking how many times the spot appeared since he had been sealed in here. He made 249 strokes. Then he gave up counting. Gave it up like he had given up everything. The screaming, the scratching, the praying. It was endless. Astarion was dust and ash. Astarion was

Skeleton. A skeleton. Armor rattling, jaw gnawing. Godey... "Come on, get out of there!" Out? He didn't understand the meaning of these words. Didn't understand the feeling of bony fingers pulling at his body. Not … Cazador. Not real. Not - "Are you sucking on your own arm? Pathetic. Come now, boy. I don't have all day." A crypt in twilight. Dusty curtains, body parts too weak to bear his weight. Breaking. Collapsing. Dead rat! Blood - Blood - Blood Forgotten. Forgotten how it tastes. Old. Rancid. Wonderful. The first breath. Unnecessary. Freeing.

Seeing, thinking. Astarion looked down on himself. He was naked. The bite wounds on his arms began to close after he’d drunk the rat’s blood. Flesh and skin closed over the bare bones of his fingertips. "Dress up." It was his old shirt and pants. The clothes he always wore. The clothes that Astarion, the spawn, wore. Maybe he was still in there somewhere. Between the threadbare layers of fabric, embroidered into a line of poetry, as if Astarion had known he would need to store himself somewhere.

Godey pushed him forward, and he followed obediently. Back into the palace. Lamps, floors, paintings. His head began to spin, unable to process all the impressions after such a long time with nothing. "Come on, boy." He stumbled on until they reached a familiar room. Bunk beds and peeling wallpaper. Aurelia was there. When they entered, she gave them a glance. His sister wanted to say something, but the sight of Godey kept her silent. Better that way. Even after all the years Aurelia had been here she still feared the kennels.

"Clean him up." Godey pushed Astarion into the room, where he fell to his knees, unable to balance the shove. He sat there as the skeleton left and closed the door. Aurelia approached cautiously. "So, it's true. He let you come back." Silence. "Astarion?" He wanted to answer. He had to try at least. But his voice seemed to still be left in the tomb. Aurelia sighed, then grabbed him under the arms and pulled him up. "I really don't feel like it, but you heard Godey. I have to wash you." Astarion tried to speak again as he sat in the wooden tub that the spawn used for this purpose, and Aurelia poured water over his hair. He flinched away from her touch, trying to do as much as possible himself. "How long?" "Hm?" They probably were both surprised that he could speak. "How long was I gone?" Aurelia set the bucket aside. "A year." Astarion said nothing, only nodded. "I saw faces. And blood, dripping from the walls. It drowned me." Aurelia exhaled. "You were hallucinating. Pull yourself together, Astarion." He stared at her with wide eyes. "I don't mean it cruelly. But you have to pull yourself together. Cazador expects you to bring him a mark today." Astarion continued to stare at her, but the tiefling woman only handed him the soap. "Here, I think you can do this yourself." Then she rushed out of the room.

The gods truly showed no mercy to him.

[zooophagous]

Strauss often found himself in contemplation of his kind. Of vampire kind, as a whole. To be certain, there must have been many short lived and tragic wayward souls. There may also have been some benign or even actively benevolent- but the wicked and selfish were by far the most talked about. He was certain however, that regardless of alleged crimes, no vampire deserved this.

A shallow scrape of dirt was the only salvation between himself and the sun. He had covered himself well, but the heat of the day bore down hard on the earth and he felt its threat and nearness though he did not feel its burn. The sifting silt had clung to the wetness of his open blisters, creating grit against his new skin and covering him in unbearable itching. Any movement in discomfort threatened to expose him to the light once more, however, so he lay deathly still in forced stoicism. 

He had been comfortable underground, once. The cool and well carved crypt beneath his vault was quite a bit more spacious than this, and less fragile. In fact, he had weathered more than one war in the safety of his lair. It was made of dirt, yes, and often subject to flooding or other whims of weather, but it was familiar and safe. Strauss did not feel safe here. Some vampires had castles, he had a grave, and right now he didn’t even have that much any more.

He wondered quietly if Sylvain had a lair. She has to sleep somewhere. Maybe she too found herself hidden in a dumpster or a sewer, once, alone and afraid. Maybe she was there now, if she couldn’t get back to civilization in time. It was difficult to think about her. At least this meeting with her didn’t end with broken bones, but if he were honest, the burns hurt more.

He was unlikely to be found quickly, and any attempt to crawl out of his shallow grave now would only be met with more pain. He decided to escape the only way he could and retreat into his dream state. By the time he would rise, it would be safely dark again, and by then the pain on his back and arms would hopefully be over with. 

Dreaming was difficult under these circumstances, but he’d had harder sleeps before. Funny how he longed for his dorm in the institute now, when not long ago he spent many sleepless hours there waiting for some assassin to try to claim him. Maybe one would claim him here- though he doubted Sylvain would hurt herself just to further torment him.

The threatening heat of the midday sun became a calming warmth, the heaviness of the dirt a gentle blanket, and his forced stillness became rest. It was a deep rest, brought on by exhaustion and injury, his body clawing every inch of healing out of the sleep given to it. 

He was disturbed. Something had moved the protective earth from his ersatz tomb. The sudden directness of sunlight made him recoil even in his sleep, but it quickly passed. 

He was being led, being moved, and in no shape to argue. In moments he was somewhere dark again, and covered over with cloth instead of dirt. It could only be the institute, coming to his rescue once again. He didn’t recognize this driver but he didn’t much care. Instinctively he crawled into the back seat of the car, into the safety of the dark cabin, curled himself into a crumpled ball and was dead to the world once more.

He was dimly aware that he was being jostled and prodded. Not a novel sensation- the nurses and researchers had often manhandled him in the name of science while he was in recovery. This one was foolish. They were pestering him before administering any tranquilizers, or painkillers, and they were very stupidly sticking their hands in his face. He felt his jaw pulled open and his lip lifted.

He shot out his hand suddenly and seized the nurse by the arm, opening his eyes with a baleful gaze as he did so. His intense expression was clouded by confusion. This was not a nurse. Nor was this the medical wing. 

The frightened face of the priest was trembling before him. Surrounding him was no hospital or the official buildings of the institute. It appeared to be more of someone’s own personal house. He was on no cot, but a hideous floral couch, still naked but draped in borrowed crocheted  blankets.

“Where am I?”

“Oh! S- so sorry! I didn’t mean to wake you up- I mean, I wasn’t sure I could wake you up. I was afraid you had died!”

“I have died.” Strauss groaned and released his hold on his host. “You are very stupid to put your hand in a tiger’s mouth. Will you please answer me, and tell me where I am?”

“You’re at my house.” The priest backed away from the couch as Strauss slowly sat up. “Don’t worry, you’re safe, if that’s what you’re worried about. I think you can probably hold your own against me.”

“You…” Strauss stared hard at the stranger. “You were the one Sylvain wanted to kill. Gregor, was it? Why are you touching my face?”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I saw the fangs and got curious.” He smiled nervously. “Gregor, yes. ‘Greg’ is fine. I was going to call you an ambulance, when I found you I was sure you were dead. Something told me to wait and see, though.” 

He got up and began walking to the dingy wood-paneled kitchen of the little house. “Call it a hunch.”

“Greg.” Strauss repeated. “I wish I could say it was a pleasure, Greg. I am Doctor Strauss. ‘Strauss’ is fine. How did you find me?”

“Well, first I saw you and that woman fighting. Then I saw the strangest thing. She stripped naked and started… I don’t know. Flapping her arms?”

He demonstrated awkwardly. “She started changing and getting ugly. Then you started running. And I took off after you. I should have ran, sure. But I couldn’t look away. Then there were these two things with great big wings flying over the city.”

He poured himself some stale coffee, and another mug for Strauss, which he presented to the vampire with a tired smile. “I figured one of them must be you.”

“You saw that?”

“Yes. Got in my car and followed you the best I could. I couldn’t believe it. I lost track of you for a bit and thought maybe I was going crazy and had hallucinated the whole thing. But then I saw drag marks in the fields as the sun came up. Followed them till they turned into footprints, then found you buried in a ditch.”

Gregor sat down across from the weary vampire, who cupped the hot mug gently in his claws and daintily sipped at it.

“I thought I was too late. Maybe she’d killed you and tried to bury you. When I started clearing dirt off of you though, you moved. So I got you into the car and brought you here. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did not call the police?”

“I’m not sure what you are, sir. I feel like you probably do not want to talk to law enforcement, however.”

“Very astute, sir.” 

“I let you sleep on the couch for a bit, but when I checked on you again you weren’t breathing, and you had no pulse, and I thought maybe it was too late for you and decided that…”

“Decided to sate your curiosity while you still could, before my body was collected and disposed of?” Strauss pulled back his lips in an ugly sneer, showing off the full lengths of his yellow fangs. 

“I suppose I can forgive you for that indiscretion. I suppose I should thank you, for saving my life.”

“I think we’re even on that front. That woman really wanted to hurt me, didn’t she?”

“Perhaps we should not talk about that. She had some very serious accusations about you, that if they were true, I may not necessarily disagree with her.” 

“Yes. She had a lot of opinions about me.” Gregor set his lips in a thin line. “None of it is true, do you hear me? I know how it looks, and I know it’s a problem in the church. But not from me it isn’t.”

“Did you do something to make her think so?”

“I’ve made my share of mistakes, sure. But not with children. My mistake was a woman in my parish. One just a little younger than myself. When she moved away, I moved to follow her. It’s that simple. Nothing more.”

“The act of falling in love is a mistake?”

“It is when you’re a priest.” Gregor sipped his coffee and made a bitter expression from its unsweetened tang. “Vow of celibacy and all. Can’t make it official, so you can only live in sin, unless you don’t want your career anymore.”

“Why not simply leave the priesthood?”

“Easier said than done. I’ve spent decades learning and working like this, I’m not suited to anything else anymore. Easier to ask forgiveness than seek permission.”

“Catholics are such strange creatures.” Strauss finished his coffee.

“Speaking of strange creatures…”

“Yes?”

“What are you?”

“It is a secret. You will mention my existence to no-one. There are many who would do me harm if I am discovered.”

“Just say it.”

“Your culture would call me a vampire. I am dead, sir, and have been for a very long time.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.” Gregor swallowed hard. “Ironic that a priest is hosting a demon in his house.”

“Does it bother you?”

“No. Even Christ showed mercy to demons, when they begged not to be cast into the pit. I can play nice too, for a bit. Are you bothered by crucifixes?”

“Hehh, no. You mistake your god for being far more potent than he is.”

Strauss stood up and the afghan fell from his shoulders, leaving him naked in the living room.

“I must use the shower. And the phone. Do you have a razor blade I can borrow?”

“Yes, follow me.” Gregor led Strauss to the bathroom while politely averting his eyes. “You can use my razor, there’s fresh blades in here, towels are in the cabinet over the toilet.”

Strauss closed the door and was finally alone, safe in a small windowless room bathed in dingy yellow light. His face in the mirror looked worse than usual. His normal pallid tone was pink and peeling around his face, but the worst of it were his arms and his back. Dead skin draped over and across his body, stained from earth. It resembled cobwebs, or perhaps the dressings from a mummified corpse.

Where the ruined skin broke, a shock of pink was seen below it, fresh skin trying desperately to solidify into a useful hide once more. He opened the drawer and found a box of razor blades. He claimed one, and set to work carefully trimming the sloughed skin from his arms and shoulders. It fell to the floor like ashes. He took a towel from the cupboard and pulled it back and forth across his back, filing it off in hideous flakes. 

Finally content, he stepped into the shower. Hot water caused the raw skin to sting, he ran it cold, and busied himself with picking bits of grit and dirt from his burns where he could see and reach them. The water ran brown and dirt fell out of his hair in dark clumps which slowly dissolved down the drain.

He finally stepped out and dried himself. He left the towels on the floor with nary a care to the mess he’d created. As he stepped out, he realized he had been given another charity- a neatly folded set of clothes, although sans undergarments. He pulled the uncomfortable items on with a grunt. The athletic pants in particular fit poorly, and left exceedingly little to the imagination. Perhaps he’d wear such a thing for his mate, but not for a priest.

It would have to do. He emerged clean and dressed, though still looking more than half dead.

“If you lend me your phone, I will take my leave shortly.”

“Yes. Of course.” He handed over a cell phone.

Strauss pulled up the keypad and put in the number. He didn’t know many phone numbers, and hated using them, but this one, he knew by heart.

“Thank you for calling the Van Helsing Psychiatric Research Hospital, this is Sandy, how may I direct your call?”

“Guten tag, frau Sandy. I need to speak to Director Van Helsing. It is urgent.”

“Oh! Oh my God you’re alive! Yes, of course, one moment.”

There was a pause. Muffled and static filled strains of Vivaldi poured through the earpiece for long, painful moments, when finally there was a soft click and an answer.

“Artemis speaking. Strauss? Is that you?”

“Ja.”

“Strauss, where the Hell are you? Are you ok? What happened?”

“Sylvain is not the killer.”

“What?!”

“I would prefer to explain it in person. I am in the house across the street from the large red brick church downtown. How fast can you get here?”

“Ten minutes. Actually, make it seven. Don’t go anywhere. Do you need medical assistance? Is anyone hurt?”

“Nobody is hurt. Not badly, anyway. I am in need of a feed and a change of clothes. Please do not send Ursula. I have been battered enough for one day.”

He hung up and nearly handed the phone back to Gregor, but paused. “Did you happen to take any photographs of the woman who tried to kill you?”

“Oh, I tried. I got a few blurry ones of her when she took off flying.”

“Has anyone else seen them yet?”

“No. I don’t even have social media.”

“Good.” Strauss crushed the phone in his claw and dropped the crumpled metal and glass remains.

“...Oh.” Greg replied, crestfallen.

“Believe me when I say it is for everyone’s collective good.”

“Is she coming?”

“Yes. Very shortly.”

“Is she the one?”

“The one what?”

“The one you and that woman were arguing over?”

“Ah.” Strauss looked down. “You heard me confess to that, did you?”

“Hard not to, when you’re having a brawl over it five feet from me.”

“If you must know, yes. That one is Artemis. She is my mate. If you are a wise man, you will keep that fact to yourself.”

“It’s a secret, eh?”

“If certain people knew about us, it could very well be fatal for me. If you talk I will be forced to kill you and eat you out of pure self defense.” Strauss huffed.

“Hey, relax. I know all about it, right?” He smiled sadly. “Looks like both of us know a thing or two about falling in love when we shouldn't.”

“Your beloved is probably much safer to chase than my own.” Strauss sighed. “I think you should go to her, leave the church, leave any place Sylvain might find you. She is not gone, and her grudges run deep.”

“What do you suggest I do, Strauss? Can I do anything to… I don’t know. Ward her off? Fire? Garlic?”

“No. You will only enrage her. I recommend this, Gregor.”

“Yes?”

“Do not go out at night.”