#vampire caustic

[fayevalcntine]

Sleep, pray, eat, pray, swim, pray, et cetera. On days he's a plump 139, I believe he swims twice. Metronomic, my Rashid.

[clickerflight]

Fleeting: Part 3 - Our Employer

This is where the plot starts >:3

Masterlist

Part 2

Content: Multiply whumpees, vampire whumpees, Caustic powders in the face, fighting and biting, kidnapping, silver burns, cage, cuffs

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

Esial pursued the fruit section of the quiet supermarket where he and Joseph were collecting breakfast for the day before Joseph went on his shift at the rehab center and Esial went to work at the zoo. He was also very carefully ignoring the allure of the lunchables. He could practically feel them staring at him in the fridge behind him as he looked over the apples and peaches. He did not need a lunchable. He needed something real to eat, not crackers and fake meat and cheese and whatever they put in there to make them so enticing. 

He dragged his mind from that and to Joseph. He’d been pretty quiet on the drive over today and Esial was pretty sure he knew why. Joseph still probably felt bad about overstepping that boundary about Kyle and decided it was better to be quiet for the time being, but it was almost off putting for Joseph to be keeping to himself so much. Esial liked listening to Joseph’s commentary as they did mundane things. It allowed him to learn new words and keep up with the language as it changed. It seemed to change much faster than it did before he was in stasis. 

Esial sighed, putting down the apple he had been looking at and coming around the fruit displays where Joseph was quietly deciding between salad mixes. Esial put a hand on Joseph’s shoulder, which was just tall enough to be bordering on awkward. People had gotten so tall as well. 

Joseph jumped slightly, looking at Esial and smiled. “Hey. I’m almost decided and then we can head out.”

“No, you are fine. You have time. I wanted to speak with you. I am not angry or upset, you know,” Esial said quietly. 

“What?”

“About last night. When you talked about Kyle. I am not angry. It is fine. I understand that you want us to be friends, and maybe we will get to be one day, but not now.”

Joseph groaned softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Esial. I didn’t… yeah. Okay. I’m sorry.”

“No need,” Esial replied, patting Joseph’s shoulder. “It is fine, as I said. I would like to be friends with Kyle and have the chance to thank him, but it can wait until we are both more comfortable. Now, I need you to keep me from getting lunchables today. They are absolute wonders of this modern world, but they are not actually enough to sustain me.”

Joseph snorted. “Yeah, well, normal food doesn’t technically sustain you either, Esial.”

“It sustained me well enough for century,” Esial said defensively. 

“Didn’t you tell me that you were sick all the time.”

Esial scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It did not stop me from killing hippo.”

Joseph chuckled, leading the way back to the fruits to help choose everything out. Once they were done and checked out, they made their way to Joseph’s car so he could drop Esial off at the zoo. 

The drive was more normal now, with Joseph making a commentary as they went. Esial was fairly certain he knew more fun facts about the city and everything within it than actual useful skills. 

“Oh, when does your shift end today?” Joseph asked as he stepped out of the car in the zoo parking lot, the horizon the soft blue color that comes from morning steadily approaching. 

“Around 1,” Esial replied. “You will have to come pick me up in warehouse.”

“We can do that,” Joseph said, pocketing his keys as he walked Esial to the employees entrance like he did every day. “I’ll text Muir so he knows in case I get busy. I think he usually takes his break around then so he can pick you back if my meeting runs long.”

“I can call rehab drivers if you are unable to pick me up,” Esial said with a shrug. “It is fine.”

Joseph shrugged. “I’ll let Muir know anyway.”

They were almost out of the parking lot when three men in dark suits stepped out of a black van. Esial nudged Joseph who hadn’t noticed as he was texting his bond mate. 

“Look at them. They look like they are from spy movie,” Esial said, amused. He wondered if they were government agents of some kind here to inspect the zoo. They were dressed a bit formally though.

Joseph frowned, looking up to see the men approaching, a fourth getting out of the car, but hanging back. “Let’s hurry up to the entrance,” he said quietly. 

Esial nodded, moving a bit quicker, but the men were on them faster than expected. A hand on each of their shoulders slowed them down as the head of the group said, “Hello. If you wouldn’t mind, we just have a couple of questions for you.”

Joseph turned quickly, throwing the hand off of his shoulder. “Oh, right. And who are you?” He asked, trying to edge Esial back towards the zoo. 

The two men behind the leader shared a look as the leader smiled, white polished teeth seeming to glow in the dim early morning light. “We are just representing our employer. He is a connoisseur of ancient artifacts and knowledge. He had heard of your friend here and sent us to just ask a couple of questions and see if a meeting could not be arranged between the two of them.”

“Right,” Joseph said, straightening himself out and pulling out a business card. “You can have your employer know that he can contact me at this number or call the rehab center itself. My friend still has some rehab to go before he can answer any questions, but we can certainly guide you through the process of arranging that meeting when the time comes that he is available for such things. There are rules now, after all,” Joseph said, a little sharply. He honestly got this question fairly often when people learned how old Esial was, and he was tired of people treating all ancient vampires as though they were dusty old books instead of people who have been through a traumatic experience. 

The leader tilted his head. “Oh, my employer pays very well, and it won’t be a long or strenuous meeting. Your friend and our employer may have more in common than they know.”

“Again, you can contact me or the rehab center through the proper channels,” Joseph said, his tone brooking no argument. “Good morning to you.”

He turned, keeping a hand on Esial’s back.

That lasted about 2 seconds before someone had a hold on his collar. Joseph reached back, trying to grab at the man who had him. Esial turned with a snarl, sharp fangs on display as he launched himself at the men who had been trying to come for him. He growled and fought, hearing Joseph fighting with the other man behind him coughing and rasping. 

Esial dodged every attempt to grab him, snatching one man’s arm and biting down, twisting his head to rip at the flesh before having to dodge out of the way again. The injured man fell back just as he heard a thud behind him and smelled something that made his throat itch. 

The man who had been fighting with Joseph came into view and threw something into the air. Esial tried to dodge it, but ended up in a cloud of dust that burned at his eyes and throat, sending him to the ground pawing at his face, gagging and coughing. 

Someone landed on him, full force, pouring more of whatever that powder was directly onto his face. He spasmed, the powder burning his skin\ and getting into every crevice as they forced his hands behind his back, clasping something that felt like leather around his wrists. No. It was leather covering something. Something he couldn’t break. 

He was dragged over the pavement, gagging and spitting as they hauled him up into something. He was thrown and screeched as his face made contact with something hot and sharp, like toaster wires. 

He flinched back, getting seated, still unable to see as something was slammed next to him, clicking into place. There was another thud and then the sound of a car door closing. 

Esial bent his knees, wiping his mucus and tear stained face off on his pants, trying to get his eyesight back. His throat felt like it was filled with cotton as the men got into the car, one of them swearing as it started up and they backed quickly out of the lot. 

Esial gasped for air, prying one burning eye open. He could make out the shine of silver. He figured that was what had burned him. He seemed to be in a cage made of it, bolted down in the back of the van. There was a partition between the back and where the men were likely sitting. Esial looked around at the walls of the car, seeing strange tools and implements he didn’t really understand before his red and watery eye landed on Joseph. 

Joseph laid on the ground, his arms also shackled behind his back, and while his face was red and irritated, he didn’t seem responsive. 

“Joseph,” Esial hissed, struggling with the bindings even though he knew they were made of leather wrapped silver. “Joseph! Wake up!”

Joseph didn’t even twitch as Esial snarled, turning in his cage to see if there was any way out. The padlock seemed to also be made of silver, and Esial knew he wouldn’t really be able to even get to it with his hands cuffed behind his back.

He growled, throwing his clothed shoulder into the cage, but all he got for his troubles was a sensation of heat through the fabric and a new pain to go along with the irritation in his nose and throat, though he had cried enough to clear his eyes. 

He finally calmed down enough to listen to the men at the front of the van, the partition not being thick enough to keep the sound out. 

“It bit me!”

“Your worker’s comp will cover it.”

“Yes, but it hurt! Vampire bites aren’t supposed to hurt this much!”

“Ancient ones do. Trust me, you should be grateful that the boss doesn’t trust you enough to feed on you.”

Esail bared his teeth again. Another ancient vampire was doing this? Why? What was the point?

Wait… the men had mentioned their boss collecting ancient artifacts. Did that mean their boss wanted Esial himself or to know more about the amulet his father had made for him? But he lost that amulet 5000 years ago. It wasn’t like he knew where it was anymore. 

The men quieted down for the rest of the trip and Esial satisfied himself with craning his neck to see if Joseph’s phone was still in his pocket. If it was, Muir would likely be able to follow them, even if he and Joseph didn’t have their connection. It was alright. Muir would come find them and it would be alright. They would be rescued and safe and whoever did this would hopefully go to prison…. Hopefully. Esial had been learning about how ineffective that system was in the face of money, and whoever the boss was here seemed rich. 

He would just have to wait either way. He wasn’t getting out of this van on his own. 

Part 4

From Dust to Ashes: @whumpsday @honeycollectswhump @writereleaserepeat @tragedyinblood @hyrules-sleepiest-knight @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thecyrulik @gt-daboss @currentlyinthesprial @pigeonwhumps @not-a-space-alien

[utterdrip]

starry comp

(astarion romance woods scene) >i could always go again >sure, let’s go

(act iii) idle dialogue about victoria’s body

(act iii, post cazador, spawn) speak to jaheira after the cazador fight with astarion in party

(act iii, spawn, durge accepted bhaal) >when i conquer the world, perhaps i shall spare you

(act i, barbarian*) >smash the magic mirror

(act i, don’t know astarion is a vampire, meet [and kill] gandrel) >cast speak with the dead on gandrel’s corpse to find out his quarry >confront astarion

(act i, underdark, sorcerer) >it’s the flower, my magic is gone

(anytime) >spam click astarion’s profile

(act ii, do not speak with raphael at last light with astarion, have astarion in party approaching mausoleum) >what do you think, astarion?

(act ii, post killing orthon) >repeat after me: thank you for helping me. it was very kind.

(act i, underdark, sorcerer) >it’s the flower, my magic is gone >just my good looks, then

(act i) enter auntie ethel’s home to trigger unique dialogue with astarion

(act i, emerald grove) lae’zel specific idle chatter

(act ii, after breaking up with a different LI) >maybe i like complications. they keep things interesting.

(act iii, post cazador, spawn, pre bhaal confrontation durge) special breakup dialogue

(act iii, sewers) idle chatter in caustic brine room

(act i, underdark, sorcerer) prompted conversation from reaction to sussur trees

*not sure if barbarian specific or just a skill check

[see-arcane]

Cards with the Count

Thinking about how Jonathan is trying to pass the time during Vampire Hell Staycation with all the books in the library (a guaranteed Dracula Zone), no stationery (bastard), and a finite amount of secret pen ink and secret diary pages left at his disposal (shit). Reading and writing and art are all out. What’s left?

I like to think, in this order:

1)    He remembers that he has a pack of playing cards in the general luggage Dracula didn’t snatch. A gift Lucy had bestowed on him and Mina, a pack apiece, as she insisted that it was the best way to pass an hour in dreary company that wasn’t to do with gossip or politics.

2)    He doesn’t normally play, if only because he doesn’t have the coin to meet any real gambling stranger at a table. Just a ‘for fun’ thing.

3)    Fuck it. Solitaire. Card towers. It’s something to keep his mind off the…everything.

4)    He gets exactly one (1) day/evening of peace with this. Then:

5)    “Whatever are you up to, my friend?” 

(He didn’t even use the door to give Jonathan time to hide the pack. Misted in. No shadow to give him away. Fantastic.) Jonathan staples his smile back in place and rattles off something apologetic, so sorry, was he keeping the Count waiting? Let him just put this away, he wouldn’t be interested—

6)    Smash cut to the library. The cards are now unofficially confiscated/a staple of the Dracula Zone, alongside the fancy crystal chessboard the Count loves to crush him with on a semi-regular basis. Jonathan is walking him through the rules of sundry card games. Unsurprisingly, he latches onto the concept of American poker readily. The game is a soup of similar European predecessors that light up his eyes with recognition—primero, poque, brelan—sewn together with England’s game of brag into a medley of the initial rules, both written and unwritten.

7)    “A game of skill, then?”

“Skill, acting, and luck.”

Dracula grins as he produces a ransom of gold coins to use as chips. Jonathan deals. 

(What are the extra rules here? Does he throw every hand? Does he play in earnest and inevitably lose anyway? Does it even matter? It isn’t chess, after all. Not a proper strategy game. Cards happen. Guesswork happens. A winner and loser every turn. What does it matter?)

8)    Jonathan realizes two dozen hands later that what matters is, apparently, his face. One that, likewise apparently, cannot be read by the Count in this game. Out of those two dozen hands, Jonathan has won eighteen. Of those eighteen, his hand was the clear dud for nine. Through it all, Dracula’s eyes keep jumping from his own hand to Jonathan’s tired gaze. When Jonathan wins the twenty-fifth hand and the mountain of gold on his side of the table risks toppling off the edge, Dracula bites out a word Jonathan is sure is too caustic to have a spot in the lost polyglot dictionary.

9)    “You have a gift for schooling your face, my friend.” Every word is an icicle; each as sharp as the canines jutting out of the rictus grin.

“I don’t,” Jonathan says. 

And it’s true. Now he’s schooling his face—first lesson of anyone destined for the realm of serving others—but in the game, he’s barely thinking of anything else beyond the ticking of the clock. To punctuate this, he slides the heap of gold back to Dracula’s side of the table. 

“This is only a game for the fun of it. In a game with stakes, there would be something worth playing and worrying for. When you get to England,” his face is very, very schooled as he says this, “you’ll find a much more varied competition at gambling tables. The players who really train their expressions can do so with fortunes at stake, while novices reveal every victory or loss plainly on their face.”

10) Dracula considers this. And smiles.

11) “Ah, then there must be stakes before we can play the game properly. Still, you have won the bulk of these rounds, my friend—” his hand seems like it wants to be strangling something when it drums atop the gold heap, “—and done me the charity of not taking your rightful winnings.” He throws down his cards. Ace and deuce of spades. “I shall have to speak with the kitchen about producing a stand-in prize.” 

He leaves. Jonathan doesn’t blink when he hears the door lock behind him. A card pyramid is erected.

12) Paprika hendl for supper. As excellent as he remembers. Huzzah.

13) The next time he’s herded into the library, he sees what looks suspiciously like his travel paraphernalia flimsily hidden behind a bit of drapery. Dracula is shuffling the deck.

14) “A true prize on the table this time, my friend. I know you are one to appreciate the splendor of our beautiful country, just as I know it is, for your own safety, quite impossible to go exploring alone in the wild. Too many wolves about. But if you win the majority tonight, I shall see to it that my driver takes a leave from his own many errands to escort you beyond the castle for a time, if you so wish.”

“…And if I lose the majority?” He can’t help it: “I’m sure there’s little from me you’d be interested in.”

Dracula grins.

“We shall think of something, I’m certain. Here. Deal.”

15) As expected, Jonathan’s face isn’t effortlessly unreadable in its misery anymore. He has something to play for, even if his trust in Dracula’s dangling carrot on the stick is nigh nonexistent. He loses more. He struggles more. He worries more…

16) …But the wins and losses remain surprisingly even. On into the dawn they play, matching victory for victory. Even the Count seems puzzled. Jonathan is just tired. He was never going to win. The ‘driver’ will fall to some mysterious ailment, his possessions will disappear the moment he’s sent out of the room ahead of the Count. To Hell with it.

17) “I forfeit. We remain tied, so neither has to lose.” A sour smile curls. “Besides, I have kept you up too late again.”

“One more.”

“We can say you won—,”

Dracula gives him a Look.

Jonathan sits again. Plays again.

Wins again.

Dracula hisses several words the polyglot dictionary would be scandalized to translate. Jonathan feels the first genuine smile he’s wanted to make in a month and a half try to creep up on his lips, and stifles it.

18) Dracula turns over his cards and thumbs though the deck as if looking for a conspirator. He even scowls at Jonathan’s forearms, both bare through the whole game as he’d rolled up his sleeves. Still grumbling, his thumbnail finally hooks a card that makes a cloud pass over his face.

19) “What. Is this?”

Jonathan looks.

“Oh, that’s just a Joker.”

“Joker?”

“Yes, I thought I’d taken him out. He’s not a usable card in this game, but he’s sometimes used as a trump or wild card in others. That is, he’s there to turn the tide for whoever gets to play him.”

Jonathan reaches for the card to tuck it back in the box. Dracula pulls it out of reach, walks to the fireplace, and flicks it into the flames.

“Say what you will, but I recognize a symbol of sabotage when I see it. It should not be in the deck at all!” Still watching the little harlequin turn to cinders, he flaps his other hand at Jonathan. “Go rest, my friend. Take that infernal game with you. It is not a respectable pastime for men of our like.”

20) Jonathan gathers up the deck, gives his travel kit a last mournful look, and leaves for his bedroom, knowing not to ask after the walk in the forest as he goes. In his bed, he empties the deck into his hand again and thinks on four things.

Skill.

Acting.

Luck.

And…

21) He turns the deck’s neglected second Joker over in his fingers, the impish face seeming to hold a secret in its grin.

22) When he wakes next, he isn’t surprised to find the deck has been stolen. It doesn’t trouble him. Somehow, it even produces a tired grin on his face. It nearly matches the painted thing hidden, wild and powerful, in the pages of his journal.

[itsclydebitches]

The narrative H/C potential of switching Cazador and Orin’s kidnappings is just delicious to me. Instead of Astarion’s siblings waking him up and giving the party the chance to defend him, the player arrives back at camp (or finishes a long rest if Astarion is currently in your party) to discover that he’s just gone. No note, no sign of a struggle, nothing. Insert any hand wave-y means of abducting Astarion quietly here. The point is that this would wreck him.

Not just because he’s now back in the clutches of Cazador (though that’s obvious), but because you’re not coming for him. See, having Orin as your kidnapper is actually one of the more reassuring options, despite her murder-happy disposition. Even if she nabs a struggling character like Gale who might believe they’re unworthy of rescue for any number of reasons, Orin is one of the few baddies you simply have to engage with. Significantly, knowledge of that necessity is baked into the actual story-world. We see fighting her as a gameplay mechanic—defeat three mini bosses to reach the final boss—but that structure still exists as a Save The World quest for your party. No stone, no victory. No Orin, no stone. Ergo, they’re fighting Orin. So whoever is kidnapped knows that the party will show up eventually, even if it’s not for them. That’s it’s own wonderful, angsty assumption—“You came because it was the right thing to do, not because you care about me. My rescue was always a byproduct of saving the people who truly deserve it”—but at least there’s still reassurance in knowing you’ll see them again. All the kidnapped member has to do is not piss off Orin in the meantime and hope the party doesn’t die along the way. Not stellar odds, admittedly, but are they really any worse than what they’ve been dealing with all along?

Getting kidnapped by Cazador on the other hand... oh boy. He’s a missable boss, both mechanically and narratively. Who’s worried about him when there’s a fucking Netherbrain threatening all of Faerûn? Sure, sure, your Tav might have spent their journey helping every idiot with suitably convincing puppy-dog eyes, but Astarion is very much not a refugee tiefling/snake-threatened child/shadow-cursed hero/etc. He’s a chaotic, caustic bitch whose trauma is expressed more through biting fury than soft bouts of crying. Not only is he (in his own mind) not the sort of person people go out of their way to save, but would you even know where to begin? Depending on your approval rating you might still be iffy about Astarion’s past, as well as this upcoming ritual. Has Tav met any of the siblings yet? Do they know that Cazador’s Ascension would pose a threat to all of Baldur’s Gate? Do they have any means of finding the entrance to his palace without a former resident in the party (or convenient map marker)? Now, toss in the fact that, depending on how many long rests you’ve done, the party has only been traveling together for a matter of days/weeks. They know one another deeply (yay trauma bonding) but once separated that timeframe feels pretty insignificant, particularly to someone who has existed for over 200 years. Even if you’re romancing Astarion and he has more reason to believe that this short period of time was emotionally meaningful, he’s still admitted to manipulating you, to molding your emotions to best ensure his protection... but protection never extended to this.

Besides, Astarion has literally been here before. No heroes rescued him across two centuries of enslavement. Why would they rescue him now?

Except, it’s far worse this time around, isn’t it? Cazador isn’t merely his abuser, he’s now set to become an all-powerful vampire whose hold will truly be unbreakable. Astarion isn’t merely a slave to one individual, he’s now got a ticking time bomb in the form of a parasite set to enslave him to another. (And isn’t that something to chew on: him cursing the fact that the artifact’s protection still extends to him. At least as a Mind Flayer he wouldn’t feel anymore, would have a chance to fight back.) This time around Astarion isn’t just another beloved “child” of Cazador’s, he’s uniquely gifted in his ability to walk in the sun and resist commands. The hells only know what Cazador will make him do with that newfound power if he survives the ritual— or how Cazador will ensure Astarion’s continued “loyalty” while he does it. Worst of all though... now Astarion has had a chance to see what life could be like. Freedom. Agency. People who love him despite all the reasons they shouldn’t. Whoever said, “Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all” was a fucking fool. It’s so much worse to go backwards, to have lost not merely the life you dreamed of, but also the ability to pretend you never needed it in the first place.

Imagine that Astarion. Picture how broken he would be.

Now imagine the party kicking down Cazador’s door. The look on Astarion’s face when he realizes that despite the danger, the practical hurtles, the bigger stakes at play, the fact that it’s him... they came anyway.

[pursuitseternal]

“Maybe we should fight more often…” update to “Bites in the Night:” Astarion x F!Reader, nsfw fight/reunion fic

Astarion x F!Reader |E| 4.7K of fight/reunion sex

Summary: He’s so insufferable when he’s hurt, intense when he’s angry, if only you could find the words to soothe that rage and tell him how you truly feel… And once you do, the reconciliation is just as intense and twice as worth it

CW: Repressed emotions, angst, hunger striking vampire rogue, anti-Gale jealousy, True Feelings Confession Again ™️, sweet snuggles and cuddles, semi-public make up sex, appalled campmates when it’s not so semi-public anymore

Read here if you prefer AO3

“Maybe we should fight more often, my sweet…”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“Well,” he sniffs, scanning his sharp, narrowed eyes down you, “look who dragged themselves back to camp at last. Thank you for finally gracing us with your presence again… darling.” He snips, acerbic in tone, his lips pressed firmly, arms crossed in that way that shows his annoyance with you. Astarion shifts slowly on his feet, all ice and disdain as you fumble to remove your armor.

“We’re in one piece if that’s what you’re upset about…” you reply, unable to fight the rising preassure of your own blood, matching his irritation.

“Barely, by the looks of it.” His gaze shifts to Shadowheart, busy healing Gale, his mortal skin spotted with bruises and riddled with slashes and wounds. “But perhaps I should thank you, after all, I’d rather Gale take the beating than ruin these magnificent looks, wouldn’t you agree, darling?” He sounds… caustic. Mean.

You meet his eyes, even as he stares at the wizard across the center of camp. His crimson gaze narrows, his lips draw in a sneer. It’s enough, your bile rises as you return his harsh tone. “Oh, so the rest of us tend to our wounds as you lick your wounded pride, is that it, Astarion?” you hiss. “You’re hurt I didn’t bring you with this time?”

“Wouldn’t dream of being hurt, dear. You’re the fearless leader, after all. I wouldn’t deign to force my many skills on you.” He flashes that wicked, twisted smile at you. “No matter how many of them you have seemed to enjoy to your… benefit before.”

You stiffen. Irate. Irritated so much you could… slap him. Your blood is running high at any rate after batte.

“Tch,” his eyes glance at your balled up fist at your side. “Don’t you fret any, darling, don’t expend yourself any more than you have done… without me. I can take care of… beating myself tonight… besides, your hands look filthy after all that,” he grimaces in feigned disgust, “work. And I, I have my pride, by beauty all in tact.” His hand rests on his chest, his whole body crowding you as he curls inward. So dramatic, so obnoxious.

Your whole frame shakes with your pounding pulse. “I hope so,” you huff. “Since you seem so full of yourself, I doubt you will need to so much as feed a drop from me tonight either.” You can’t help it, taking a single finger and prodding it into the middle of his hardened stomach. “No room in there for anyone else, it seems.”

“Perhaps.” He gives a dramatic wave of his hand, long fingers unfurling so gracefully. “Enjoy waking without feeling lightheaded and aroused, then,” he sneers.

You match his stiff posture, craning your neck to meet his furious stare. “See you in the morning, dear,” you snipe back. Watching as he turns on his heel and stalks into the woods. That rage swells inside you. Hands shake as you struggle to peel the remaining clasps and buckles open. You finally lift the plates from your body, throwing them loudly at your feet with a crash and a guttural scream that tears your throat.

As if the whole camp hadn’t heard your spat.

You bury your face in your hands, anger swirled with sadness tugging at your heart and souring your gut. He would not understand. Not when everything was just so… petty about him. Vain, arrogant bastard. Only thoughts of himself in that beautiful head of his. It makes you sick. Heart sick.

He wouldn’t understand.

Not when you were weak. Your thoughts only about… him. About how you couldn’t face losing him, watching his undead body actually look… dead. Watching his broken frame revived by magic at the last possible moment. Gods, you managed to survive it once. You weren’t sure your heart and soul could make it a second time. So you had to choose, injure his petty vanity, or risk losing him forever.

Now, you had to suffer the ire and loneliness that came with it. But at least he was alive. Your one consolation as you felt some distant stare from the forest line as you crumpled to the dirt by the fire. As if bright, crimson eyes watched as you fell apart.

You could almost feel it in the air between you. A wavering of uncertainty, maybe a single footfall back in your direction at the sight of you defeated.

But then, a hand rests on your shoulder, warm. Mortal. And your heart sinks as you look up to find it is not a smirking, pale elf offering you comfort. No.

It’s Gale. That tepid smile and those kindly eyes. He doesn’t need to say anything. Not that you would hear it. Not with how your ears are trained on the growl from the trees and rustle of something big in the underbrush.

You brush the hand from your shoulder, spending the rest of your night cleaning the blood from your skin. Alone. Sleeping. Alone. And you do wake in complete health, that fuzzy, tingling feeling absent. That slick you wake with down your thighs too, gone.

You sit in your bedroll turning your head to his tent.

But his tent is already packed, neat tidy rolls he might have spent hours making. You wonder how you didn’t hear it, you wonder more if he slept at all with how long he usually takes making sure his effects are perfect for your journeys.

That’s when you see him, carting a chest of his things to the side. His eyes lock into yours for a moment. Intense. Cold. Assessing. Concerned.

Then he breaks away. Whispering something under his breath as he strides away.

You’re still too tired, too… ashamed of how you feel for him. Too frightened to tell him the sharp thorn of truth that threatens to rip from your heart. So you begin the same process. Packing up.

Beginning your journey. Searching down your next potential cure. Day turns to night again with little event. Camp remade. And still he hasn’t said a word.

Only those penetrating looks you barely catch him making at you when your back is turned.

You’ve kept your distance all day from everyone. But you can’t help but feel the heated bristle that comes when your wizard does… anything. Hands you a bowl of fresh-made stew. Asks you directions about which trail to take. But the one that breaks your vampire rogue is when Gale tries to roll out your bedding by the fire for you.

You can almost hear his undead pulse spike, his nostrils flaring with enraged breathing. You turn just in time to see him rip the soft roll from Gale’s hands. Nothing more than a cold snarl on his face as he takes it, sweeping it on the ground with a flourish. Making sure he lines you up within view of his tent, you notice.

He crouches by your bedroll, patting it down, his lithe hands fluffing your pillow for you. That’s when you finally swallow your… pride… your fear of facing him. You tug your shift lower, already stripped down for your long sleep. Wishing the fabric was thicker as you approached him, to where he coiled at your bedside like the hunter he is. Your sweet, ruthless hunter, setting your bed arights. You kneel across from him and catch his cold hands in yours. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Those two words seem to startle him from that red cloud of rage he’s shrouded himself in all day. “For being a decent person, worthy of helping?” he hisses. “So good you can see it when it comes to the little, insignificant things between us. Shame you don’t let that extend beyond.”

“What are you going on about?” you shake your head, feeling his hands clench under yours before he yanks them away.

“Ugh,” he scoffs, letting that wounded tone sharpen his words again. “Like you don’t know, don’t realize how you’ve… undermined me. Leaving me here to wallow and drink while you go headlong into danger…”

He swallows. Loudly. His Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Words he’s keeping at bay by clenching his fangs hard on his own lip.

“You… you’re hurt I didn’t take you yester…”

He gets up. Eyes narrowed to pinpricks as he frowns at you. “I thought we knew each other better than this,” he… he groans. “I thought you, of all people, knew me better.”

Astarion begins to leave you, you shudder. The reality of so much being said unspoken beginning to dawn on you. You watch as he grabs a book and flops himself down before his tent. That’s when you notice your cleric daring to approach him. Her voice is soft, his is biting and sharp. You watch her stop at a great distance, a question on her voice. You hear his exacting answer of, “No, fuck off. Not even Shar’s favorite princess can help me with this.”

More quiet mumbling. A wary look thrown over her shoulder at you with those concerned, tragic eyes. You watch as she hands him a bottle from her side. But he takes it, sniffs it, and tosses it to the ground at his side. It shatters, glass breaking muffled by its contents.

Even from where you crouch, you smell it. The stale metallic tang of old blood.

“Leave me alone, princess,” he snarls, “with all due respect.”

You watch her leave, Astarion buried back in the pages of his book. But Shadowheart’s look makes your heart leap right into your throat. She doesn’t need to whisper to your ear or your mind. He’s hungry. Refusing to feed. He’s angry, hurt. Irritable. Irascible. Intolerable.

And it’s… your fault. Your fear clutching that truth of how you feel too tightly in your chest. You look down at your hands, how they shake on the ground. Whether from guilt at causing his suffering or the fear of what you have to confess in order to ease it all, you don’t know.

“You know you have to tell him,” that soft, deep voice comments from over your shoulder. “Tell him how afraid you are,” Gale whispers.

You stand slowly, careful not to draw too much attention. Just. Careful. “How..?” you hiss under your breath, sure Astarion hears every beat of your heart let alone the words you try to muffle through your lips.

“I don’t need any spell to know how relieved you were that he was safe here. After all, it was just last week that we almost lost…”

You press a finger to your lips, you can’t even bear to hear that mentioned now.

“Sorry,” Gale mutters. “But you need to give him the truth. With all the lies he’s endured, all that has been kept from him for centuries, you owe him that.”

Breathing, sighing, you feel the weight of your confession growing. “Fine,” you groan, but it’s dramatic, affected. Really, your throat grows tight, your stomach twisting into knots as you turn towards the crimson and rose flaps of his domain.

You stop shy of the entryway, waiting. You know he sees you from his perfect periphery. You can hear his breathing steady, the slow tracing of his finger on the page as he prepares to turn it. But he… ignores you. You clear your throat, earning you a scathing glance from over the tome in his hands. Those eyes hold yours for a second before flashing back down to the page that hides half his face.

“Astarion,” you breathe, “please…”

“Please, what?” he spits through clenched teeth.

You pause, letting your body move instead of your words. You settle on the ground beside him, careful only to get close, not to touch. “I need to tell you something…”

He shuts his book, slamming it to the side as he turns his face fully towards you. You read it all in those etched lines and narrowed eyes. His hurt, his anger, his… worry. “If it’s anything to do with my newly appointed role as camp décor, then…”

“I… I couldn’t risk you…” you interrupt him. “I left you behind because I just can’t risk losing you. Not after what I already have had to do to keep you… to heal you from the other… fights when….” You swallow the rest of the story. Of when he almost died.

That fire of irritation chills, the hard wall of vain hurt crumbles. But the pain remains. “So you took... Gale?” he scoffs. “Gale will protect you? Gale will keep you safe?” He snorts unbecomingly through that handsome nose. “I doubt it. Not like… I would.”

You pause. His resentment, his pain… it was the same as the barbs that needle you with worry. You look into his eyes, that veil of anger melts as he sees how yours pool with tears. It’s so much, this ache you carry. “I’m so, so sorry,” your voice wavers with the unshed tears in your eyes, your throat. “I care too much about you to lose you…”

Those last words get swallowed in a sob. You bite your lip as it trembles.

“Really?” he breathes. Heavy and laden with much more than just a question should hold.

“I don’t know how I could face… anything, everything, without having you with me. That’s why I asked for you to stay behind. To keep you, for myself… That’s how… I feel…”

His eyes flicker over your face, centuries of looking into the faces of liars, a skilled student of deception, he can see it. Your brutal honesty. His eyes soften, his hands, reaching across the span between you to scoop up yours.

“I… feel it too, you know,” he whispers, all those silken tones stick in his throat, leaving his voice rasping and quiet. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do, fighting at your side, to keep you safe, to keep you with me always.” Pain flashes over those sharp features. They harden in that second. “And when you left me… behind… it was punishment. Agony. The massive uncertainty of not knowing if you would walk back in here covered gloriously in the blood of our enemies, or bound up in linens for burial.” His eyes fall to his lap, to where your hands are joined.

Your fingers squeeze his. “I was only… afraid of the same for you.” A sticky, tear streaked laugh comes from your throat. “Besides, we could have used you…”

He lets out a single low giggle, a smirk dancing at his lip as he turns to stare into your face. “Tell me, how badly did Gale fuck up? I want to know… every detail.”

“Horribly, more than words can say,” you giggle quietly.

He… just smiles. That hardened, long-suffering sharpness to his face instantly lifted.

And you… you feel it too. That pulsing comfort between you. His thumb softly stroking over the back of your hand, the inside of your wrist. Little tender brushes that aren’t meant to arouse, but to simply… appreciate.

Just as you feel for him. That little bud inside your heart, threatening to bloom into something more. More feeling, more possession. More… you stop yourself from being swept away by the depth of affection he pours on you, what with those wide eyes and tender smile.

You just wish you could be so much closer to him, to bind up all that pain and suck it from his soul like venom, to bring him into your very being. To meld your souls and share your fates. But, for now, bringing your bodies closer was all you could do, and you slowly shift yourself into his lap. The hem of your shift rucks up, but all you can do is chase that need to press his hard body and hardened soul against your thumping heart.

Instantly, you feel that wiry strength ease in every muscle, his arms wrapping around you softly. He guides your legs around his back, clutching you hard and flush against him. You can feel it, the cool hardness of his pelvis seeping into you, chilling you where you are on fire for him. His hands cradle your hips… you cherish him so close to you, the way his belly presses gingerly against yours with every breath. With a sigh, you rest your head on his shoulder, the top of your head tucked perfectly beneath that sharp cut of his jaw.

“Astarion,” you breathe inhaling his soft citrus scent, so many raw feelings splitting you open. He just shushes you gently, reaching for a soft blanket, wrapping its warmth around your middle. Its supple fabric is so warm, so plush, like everything Astarion keeps for himself, knicking the best, most luxurious things he could carry. The heat from your body seems to bleed into his usually cold and lean frame. For that moment, he just… holds you. As if there was no greater treasure to purloin in the realms than you.

His fingers wrap delicately beneath your chin, guiding you to look back him once more. Wide crimson eyes gaze on you, their soft intensity scanning your face, as if he is committing every detail to his long, ancient, undead memory.

He hasn’t murmured another word, and by the way his throat bobs with rapid swallows, you don’t know if he could if he tried.

The language of your bodies might just have to suffice.

You wrap your legs around him tighter, savoring the way his breath passes down your neck, fluttering over the dip in your neckline. “What is it you wish to feel?” he finally breaks the gentle silence between you.

Your brow furrows slightly, mind racing through so many thoughts… so many feelings and desires. None of them suffice. All of them frighten you.

Finally you force yourself to inhale, that scent of his skin going right to your head. “You,” you finally let a single word form your tightened chest. “All of you.”

You feel his hips shift, pressing his body, the planes of his stomach… and lower… firmly into your own belly.

“Not just your body, Astarion. I wish to feel all of what makes you…”

His eyes narrow slightly. A wince of pain gathering at the wrinkling corners of his eyes. “Some of what has made me who I am will feel… awful, unspeakable…” His voice is harsh as his body stiffens against you, arms gripping tighter in his embrace.

But you hold just as firmly into him, clung around his neck. “I don’t care. It is nothing compared to the pain that would be to lose you…”

Head cocking to the side, he breaks his stare from you. You hear his throat wet, hard swallows as his arms hug you tightly. Ever since your first embrace, he’s never shied from holding you, but this… this feels different. Desperate. Intimate. As if he clings to your soul by clutching the body that houses it.

“Then you won’t lose me, ever,” you barely hear the words. You aren’t even sure if they were meant to be heard. So quiet. Barely more than air from his lips.

Something loud clatters behind you, the smells of roasting meat and stewing vegetables wafting from the distant fire. You startle, trying to crane around to see, but his fingers return to hold your face fast and facing him. Something smolders behind those scarlet eyes now… that glimmer of hunger, a pang in your own stomach at the smell of food, you see its reflection in his gaunt face. But it isn’t food of which he is starved.

It’s you.

You witness that shift inside him, that awakening of the predator as he licks his lips. He pulls that blanket around you tighter. The thick material covers your back as his touch steals behind its curtain.

His hands are searching your body, caressing… exploring. Cold fingers slip into your lap, and you swallow the gasps as his touch brushes over your thighs. Skating higher, racing up your leg.

To find you bared already.

A sultry smirk teases one corner, a single brow arching as he looks into your face. Amused. “You come to fight with your lover so defenseless for… battle? I’m glad I did not underestimate you, darling…”

“I…” you swallow, feeling your cheeks flaming as you realize his fingers only delve deeper into your folds, even as the others in camp mingle around by the distant fire. “I’ve taken to sleeping like this… just in case,” you feel your own prideful, lustful grin turning your lips as he hums his approval.

“In case of what, darling?” He keeps that arrogant smile far enough away to watch your every little expression. “I want to hear you say it,” that honeyed tone sinks into his chest, barely more than a growl for your ears alone.

“In case, you… In case I… ahh,” you have to clamp a hand on your mouth to keep from moaning out loud as his finger hooks right on your clit.

“In case I… ahhhh-maze you with my seduction? In case I ahhh-rouse you with a midnight feeding?” He presses his lips on that column of your neck. Nothing more than a peck, but you can hear your pulse in your ears. “Mmm, speaking of feeding…”

“You could have swallowed that stock Shadowheart gave you,” you tilt your head where the shards of broken green bottle laid beyond the edges of his tent.

“But why should I, when all I want to feed on is right here…” his tongue laps at your neck, his finger shoves deep into your cunt. “To be clear, I mean both these parts of you, darling, in case you missed my meaning… any everything in between…”

You hiss, muffling your sounds of pleasure through bitten lips. “You know I didn’t come crawling over here just to ask you for sex…”

“I know,” he arches a brow in wry amusement at how you grit your teeth to keep from moaning, his fingers playing deeper inside you now. “You were too spitting angry to do that. Call it… a gift, a little something to sweeten our reconciliation.”

“I’d warn you… the others…. Ahh,” you pant mid-sentence as he hooks once more right across your clit.

“Tch, you know I don’t care. They can all watch if they wish. I’m sure it would be most instructive,” his brows furrow for a moment. “Except for Gale, I doubt any lesson would sink into his thick skull.” But his arm pulls that blanket around you tighter again. “But don’t fret your sweet sensibilities,” he gives you that rakish smirk and a gentlemanly nod, “I’ve quite literally got you covered, darling.”

His other hand shifts between your bodies, but you barely notice as you’re too busy feeling that heat and dampness building. His thighs raise your body slightly, and that’s when you feel it… when you realize what he had been busy doing.

As he shifts to have you sink onto his cock.

Your mouth hangs open. You aren’t sure if it’s in shock at his audacity or at just how good it feels to be so… connected after hours rife with separation. Hands grab beneath the blanket, pulling you flush, joining you so fully. You bite your lip, fighting the urge to push him down to the ground and ride him. But you give a shaky exhale.

Astarion smiles widely, his tongue rubbing over his fangs. “Come closer, my sweet,” he purrs, hands shifting your legs beneath you, raising you to your knees.

You groan, feeling the pressing, pulsing friction of his cock inside you dragging as you shift. You tilt your head, presenting your neck, a visible feast for his mouth, as you grind on his lap, almost imperceptibly, filling you to brimming. As you sink once more, his hips giving a slight thrust, his teeth slicing those razor edges into your flesh.

A grunt escapes your lips, loud. You slap a hand over your mouth to hide it as his mouth sucks and swallows, laps and drinks. Your ears train in the distance, but nothing sounds off… perhaps they’re used to you being fed on, by now, it was common enough.

Not as common as having his cock buried deep into your cunt, the rest of them unsuspecting, bustling around the camp. Barely giving you any notice.

He’s giving those little noises as he feeds, so hungry, you feel his lips sucking hard, taking what is his. The tickling of his tongue over your skin, the pursing of his lips hard enough to bruise.

He’s humming his approval, timing it to cover every little sway you make on his lap. Biting your lips, you grind oh, so slowly. Just enough to stir the friction of his cock deep inside you, the curve of his length pulsing and pressing against that tingling spot he sets on fire every time he fucks you.

And each imperceptible grind on his lap catches right on it. He’s shushing you now, bloodied lips grinning like the sated predator he is. So fucking proud of himself. Arrogant at how he’s slipped right in, conceited that no one else knows your dirty little secret.

“You’ll smooth over this little tiff by coming for me, won’t you, darling?” he rasps into your ear. Making you buck, hard and high, wanting nothing more than to feel him pummeling hard and fast into you.

“Yes,” you moan, so softly, “if you do too…”

“I’d never dream of it otherwise, my sweet…”

That’s when something cold steals over your thigh, shoving its way to catch on your clit. Your eyes flash wide, your mouth hangs slack in a silent scream as he circles his finger right over your clit.

“Hells,” you groan, “you want us to get caught?”

“Of course,” he purrs, “if they’ve watched our spat, the least they could do is appreciate our…” gods, he’s circled more of his digits into your honey-dripping cunt, “… reunion.”

“Hgnf,” you grunt loudly… and all your vampire does is laugh and feed at your neck once more. Letting you jounce on his cock at that subtle speed that he’s making increasingly harder to keep.

“Oi… are you both feeding or…” your tiefling’s merry voice is tickled with suspicion.

“Ugh,” Shadowheart’s jewel-toned voice chimes in, “they’re fucking again. Disgusting. Couldn’t even get her inside your tent this time, vampire?”

Your vampire only laughs and licks at your skin, hands now clutched at your hips. He raises you to slam on him now. “Might as well, darling. They sound so happy for us, so delighted we’ve reconciled,” he comments loudly enough for all to hear.

“Well,” it’s Gale’s voice that you catch next, not that you notice much else now but the all-consuming bloom of pleasure that’s taking hold. Now that you buck your hips against his lap with reckless abandon. “It’s better than fighting, at any rate.” He gives a weighed sigh as his voice grows more distant. “Leastways, they aren’t screaming and shouting at each other.”

“Oh,” Astarion gives a mirthful, taunting giggle. “Screaming and shouting can be arranged…”

He leans back against the pillows, grabbing your hands to splay them on your chest. You need nothing more. No quips or instructions or flirtation. You just let you body chase your climax, releasing all those swallowed moans and cries you buried in your chest until you didn’t know if your throat was sore from chastising your rogue, confessing your need for him, or from screaming as that hot bliss of orgasm wraps around you at last.

He’s clenching under you, tearing his nails into your hips, bucking and thrusting and pulsing inside you as he spews his seed deep. Until it drips down to smear on his thighs too.

“Maybe, just maybe…” he pants, rakish, contented smirk on his face as you gaze down at him with lidded eyes and slack smile, “maybe we need to fight more often, my sweet.”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

To explore more, here is my Master List✨🩸

[rosemaryblossomworld]

First Blood (ch.1)

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚅𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎!𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚜 𝚅𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛.

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚈/𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢....𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕?

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝟷𝟾 , 𝙰𝚞!𝚅𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚝𝙳, 𝚁𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚗𝚢𝚛𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚟𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎. 𝙸𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙰𝚞, 𝚟𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍!

𝙰/𝚗: 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙴𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎! 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍...

Red Castle was the most dangerous place in the Kingslands. Why? For centuries, the land had been ruled by the most ancient and noble race of vampires! Nothing can break them. Strong...fast...immortal. And they have dragons to serve them.

Men feared and revered them. The Targaryen bloodline gave rise to many rumours and gossip. People whispered about them, their purity of blood and sacrifice.

Every three months, balls were organised for the Targaryen children to find partners.

But every time these partners "disappeared", everyone knew exactly how it happened, but were afraid to say it out loud. Servants, people from the upper classes, ordinary travellers disappeared.

Today was the 6th moon of the winter festival (Christmas). The weather was hot, uncharacteristic of the Kingslands. And on the 15th day of the sixth moon, the lords of the various houses began to receive an invitation from the Queen for a feast. Many considered this letter a "black mark".

This time the black mark fell on the house of Y/l/n, the lord's wife wept bitterly and clutched to her bosom, the youngest Lady of the house, who was beating hysterically. Lord Y/l/n looked gloomily at the letter and reread it over and over again.

"Daddy! Don't give me away, they'll kill me! Please!" young Sanda couldn't imagine that her comfortable days were coming to an end.

"Be quiet Sanda! You've been chosen, but that doesn't mean you can fall to the eyes of Jacaerys," the man muttered.

"Our Sanda is the most beautiful girl in the Kingdom Lands! She could match the Maiden herself! Everyone knows it, and the Queen and her children have found out. Of course she'll want the most beautiful girl in Westeros standing next to her son!" said Lady t/f hysterically.

"Don't get in the way Darlene! I'm thinking!" the man glanced sullenly at the letter again.

He threw a glance at his youngest daughter, now he saw before him a pathetic woman who thought everything would be decided at the wave of a hand. If it didn't involve the Targaryen family, then yes, Lord Y/l/n needed to wave his hand and all of his daughter's problems disappeared.

At that moment the eldest daughter of the family, Y/n, entered the room quietly, she was carrying a small cart with tea and cakes, a quiet and calm girl. She was a bastard. So in the house she was on the level of a servant. The girl was a little taken aback when she heard the pitiful howls of her sister and stepmother. But continued to arrange the cups on the table, pouring flavoured tea from the south.

The girl squinted at the letter in her father's hand and then looked at him, he was already looking at her.

"Interesting?" the gears in the lord's head began to move gradually.

"I dare not," Y/n answered hastily.

"Sanda has been chosen as a candidate to be the 'princess' of Jacaerys," the man sighed and threw a letter on the table.

Y/n looked at her younger sister, who was almost choking on her tears. The girl no longer saw the upstart she had been a few minutes ago when she bullied her. A nasty and caustic thought crept into Y/n's mind that made her want to chuckle. The lord felt it.

"Don't gloat! Lousy girl! Instead of Sanda, you're going to the ball. If Prince Jacaerys doesn't look at you, you're lucky, if he does, I'll give it to him," the lord smirked and looked at the shocked Y/n carefully. The cries of the stepmother and sister fell silent.

"What?" whispered the girl quietly, in that instant she was overcome with anger and sadness.

"Honey, you're a genius! How did we not guess it right away!?" immediately cheered the stepmother.

"Daddy! You're the best!" squealed Sanda and ran into her father's arms.

"The queen might get angry... "Y/n hurried to say.

"She won't be too angry if I tell her that the youngest daughter is seriously ill," the man sniggered.

"She can ask Sanda to attend the next ball, and the next, and the next, and so on ad infinitum!" raised her voice to the older mistress. The lord frowned.

"How dare you cross me!? You ignorant wench! You should be grateful that I took you in. It's time to repay our kindness. The ball will be in two days, so you will be moved to another room. Go!" shrieked the man, he knew perfectly well that his eldest daughter was right. But he didn't want to think about it in front of his wife and youngest daughter, lest he make a fool of himself.

The lord followed the girl's eyes as she looked at him with anger, once again those eyes were reminiscent of the eyes of the witch he had spent the night with. That woman had been beautiful. He had promised to make her his wife and take her out of this poverty. But he had not kept his promise, leaving that one in poverty. As he was packing up and leaving her decrepit home, the dark-haired woman whispered just one phrase: "My daughter will be the ruin of your family." The man laughed. He still laughs now because he looks at Y/n, at this unassuming and defenceless girl, and thinks: "And what can she do?"

Two days passed in preparation. For the first time, Y/n was treated like a queen, washed, fed, and dressed in her finest clothes. The stepmother and younger sister had gone to another estate to maintain the legend of the ailing younger mistress.

On the day of the festival a beautiful dress was sent to Y/n's room, it was red like blood, a black veil and gold jewellery completed the look. The maids carefully put the dress on her, did her hair and then left, leaving Y/n alone. The girl looked at herself and wanted to cry. To cry with happiness that she was wearing such expensive and nice clothes, and with grief that it was an unnecessary spectacle.

The girl wasn't allowed to be sad for long, she was called downstairs to go to the festival.

Y/n and her father stood opposite the queen, who towered majestically over them. Beside her stood her husband, Daemon Targaryen, a vicious prince and the most scandalous person in the kingdom. His two daughters stood beside him, Rhaena had only recently 'lost' her lover, while Baela still had a partner, but the betting was already underway as to when she would start looking for a groom.

Of course, there were rumours that Baela and Jacaerys were to be betrothed, but to this day, they remained free. Jacaerys stood proudly beside his mother, he didn't look at them, his head held high. Lucerys and Joffrey were nowhere to be seen. Everyone knew that Joffrey had not yet reached the age when the power of the ancient family was awakened. And Lucerys just didn't like the event, and the queen thought he was young in his choice of mate.

" I asked you, Lord Y/l/n, where is your youngest daughter?" the queen asked sternly, but every time she shifted her gaze to the young Y/n, her look softened.

"My youngest daughter is seriously ill! She came down with a fever a couple of days ago, the symptoms are terrible, and she's only getting worse," the man lied.

"But who is there with you?" she asked more calmly.

"Oh, it's my eldest daughter. She didn't want you to be angry, so she decided to personally volunteer to soothe your anger," the girl's father nudged her slightly.

"Your majesty," Y/n bowed.

Jacaerys, who had been standing bored when he heard the soft voice that roused his "dead" body, turned his attention to the sound. At the bottom of the steps stood the most beautiful girl he had ever seen at a ball. Soft facial features, a beautiful stance and a slight smile, he felt a hum in his ears, and before his gaze was only her. Was this what his mum had been talking about? "The eternal bond?" That's her, isn't it?

Sensing her son's change, Rhaenyra looked at her boy and then shifted her gaze to the girl. The woman smiled and hummed.

"Good, I see your point, that's very noble of you, enjoy the festival," the queen waved her hand and Lord Y/l/n hurriedly disappeared from the woman's gaze, fetching his eldest daughter.

"You can do whatever you want now. Dance, eat, drink, if any of the heirs come up to you to talk then speak, don't embarrass me," the lord walked away, leaving Y/n completely alone in an unknown environment.

After thinking for a while, Y/n skirted down the corridor and then onto one of the castle's balconies. The view was magnificent: the harbour, the ships, the sun setting on the horizon. This view was not comparable to what the girl saw at her place, in fact she had no windows in her room. It was always dark and cold.

She covered her eyes but immediately opened them as soon as she felt a strange smell, it was sweet and juicy, as if there was a sweet fruit in front of her eyes that she wanted to bite. She turned round and her heart stopped beating. Jackairis Velarion stood before her.

"May I join your silence, my lady?" he asked, slowly approaching.

" yes, of course," the girl said quietly.

She looked straight into the guy's eyes, they were brown, but...she could also see red reflections in them that appeared and disappeared.

"Why did you leave?" he enquired to get rid of the awkward silence.

"I'm not used to being at events like this. I'm nervous, to be honest," the girl grinned and leaned her hands relaxedly on the stone railing of the balcony.

"I understand, my lady, I get tired of them too. That's why my little brother rarely attends them. But my sisters just love the fun and the noise. They're dancing in the hall right now," he smiled, and Y/n was embarrassed.

"You...I... " Y/n tried to think of a topic of conversation, but nothing came to mind.

The prince chuckled. He couldn't look at the girl in red, in his head they had lived for several thousand years, they had five...no! seven...no! ten children.

"I didn't ask your name," the guy mentioned.

"My name is Y/n Y/l/n, Lord Y/l/n's eldest daughter," the girl bowed.

"Your little sister...she's not sick, is she?" he asked immediately and he could hear the girl's heart beating fast.

"She...no...she's just," the lady tried to come to her senses and think of something.

"Look at me," the prince reached out to Y/n and lifted her chin.

Y/n looked at the prince and froze, her ears popped, her breathing became quiet and steady, her eyes were covered by a bright veil from behind which she saw the prince's red eyes.

"Tell me the truth. Where is your sister?" he ran his hand gently down the girl's cheek.

"She has gone with her stepmother to the second estate. She is not ill, but shocked by the letter the queen sent. I am her replacement. I didn't want to come here, I was forced," the girl said in a cold tone, Y/n wanted to scream but couldn't, she didn't want to say it! What's going on!!!?

"Don't be afraid Y/n, I won't hurt you. You are under my spell, it's what our kind can do. We can make a person tell the truth or, we can command them to do an order, for example: my love, take my hand and press it to your chest," the prince uttered the last phrase, he didn't really mean to say 'to your chest', if his blood flowed like a normal person, his lady could see his red face.

Y/n felt the heat come up to her cheeks. This was exciting! She took the prince's other hand and pressed it against her chest, where her heart beat.

"Like this. Your heart is beating fast. Are you scared?" Jace lifted his hand higher.

"I'm excited... "the girl whispered softly.

"Are you afraid I'll bite you? I won't do that unless you ask me to," the prince moved closer.

"I don't want you to kill me," for a moment all feeling came back to the girl and she tried to break free, but the Prince's grip tightened and he soaked her again.

"What if I told you I don't want to kill you. I want you to be my partner, my princess and future queen," he whispered the words into the girl's lips.

"I don't believe you," just as monotonously.

"Then, I'll do my best to make you believe. Let me kiss you, just one kiss as proof," the pair's lips almost touched, but Y/n didn't respond.

He grinned and nestled his lips against the girl's soft lips. Immediately the buzzing in her ears disappeared, her vision and breathing normalised again, but Y/n didn't pull away, only pressed herself closer to the prince. Again that smell that was driving the girl crazy.

He touched the girl's lips gently and weightlessly, sucking on her upper and lower lips. Then, opening his mouth slightly, he ran his tongue along the girl's lower lip. Y/n immediately opened her mouth, letting the young man's hurried tongue in. The kiss constantly changed its pace, then slow, then fast, then careless. The girl knew the feeling for the first time, something warm in her lower belly and flowing down into her underwear.

He growled into the kiss, feeling the girl's wonderful ambrosia, that sweet smell starting to swirl around them. The Prince is afraid that his kin can smell it too, and they will try to steal his Maiden, out of his own hands. Jace clasped the girl tighter. He continued to entwine his tongue with his lady's, growling and whimpering slightly, the scent growing brighter and brighter. Now Jace's heat was centred down his stomach as well.

Y/n began to feel her head spinning, these emotions and this scent...where did it come from? So pleasant, sweet and spicy, wanting to inhale and inhale. The girl moaned at the prince's touch. Is it his charms? Or is it her true feelings? So shameful, but...she wants more, she wants what the maids whisper about in the manor, she wants what they teach in the Silk Streets. She pressed herself against the prince and...darkness fell.

The girl opened her eyes sharply and realised that she was in the room where she had been living for the last two days in her family estate. She jumped up from the bed and looked around. The sun was shining brightly and illuminating the room.

"Mistress, you woke up just in time," a maid named Martina, walked over to the elder mistress' bed and placed a few things on the chair next to it.

"What happened? Where is father?" her voice was slightly hoarse and the girl hurriedly drank a glass of water that was on a table nearby.

"Ser Jakor brought you in yesterday. You fainted at the ball. And your father is in his study now and wants to see you after breakfast," the maid said calmly.

Y/n was dressed in a light white dress with open shoulders. Breakfast was light, the way a girl likes it.

After breakfast, Ser Jakor escorted the girl to the lord's study. He knocked and announced the arrival of his daughter. There was a muffled sound, "let her in." And the knight opened the door.

"Why did you want to see me?" went straight to the subject Y/n.

"Did you communicate with the eldest prince yesterday?" asked the Lord, still staring at the papers in front of him.

Y/n felt her face begin to burn. Has he seen us? Does he know about this? What to do!!!

"Yes," the girl said quickly.

"Jakor, hand it over," the man pushed a black envelope towards the knight.

Once the envelope was handed over, Y/n looked at it closely. It was an unusual black envelope with drawings of flowers, the letter had been opened, most likely the lord had decided to see who it was from, because the envelope bore the name of the eldest lady of House Y/l/n, though it was barely visible. But the girl looked at the Targaryen family crest on the gold seal, the girl's heart sank, she pulled out the envelope and read a few lines. Queen Rhaenyra wrote and demanded a meeting with Y/n Y/l/n, at the end there was only one phrase: You are the perfect candidate.

"I don't know how long the queen will keep you, but I have ordered the maids to gather some of your wardrobe. You will be sent to Red Castle, we can't keep the Queen waiting!" the man finally looked at his daughter.

"Father..." the girl began.

"I don't care what happens to you. Your fate is essentially sealed. That's the way it should be, Y/n, you were a mistake and fate presented me with a chance to get rid of her," the man spoke coldly.

"What if they let me go?" the girl asked, looking angrily at her father again.

"This will be a great disappointment. But I'll take you back, you'll live here as before. Now get on your way. The queen wanted to share a meal with you," waved the lord and burrowed into the papers again.

Y/n sighed and left the room. She was filled with a thousand emotions. It was scary and exciting at the same time, she would meet the prince again, but...she already knew what she would be to him.

With heavy thoughts, the girl walked down to the ground floor. She watched her things being loaded. Y/n took one last look at Y/n's estate, smiled sadly, and got into the carriage. Her fate was now in someone else's hands.

Ps: I'm not good at writing intimate scenes...well...I think the second chapter will take a long time to come out because I want to write it right. In a way that's breathtaking.

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 15: Reclamation

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.6k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

A maelstrom of emotions dithers over the union you share. He seems unsure of what exactly he should be feeling as it fluctuates between fear, doubt, and bewilderment in a tumultuous outburst. His thoughts are akin to walking on the dark side of the moon - frigid, wilful in their grip on him with an undecipherable sapidity.

“What do you mean?” He shakes his head, eyes bouncing around as his brows pinch, creasing his forehead. His voice is detached and reticent, a masterpiece of regret and dolour. “I wouldn’t do such a thing, surely. Would I? Hells below. Did I?”

“You must have,” you conclude, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “I don’t remember you doing it, but I can’t hear or remember it.”

Astarion jumps to his feet, nearly pitching you off his lap in haste, but he grabs you at the last minute, dragging you up with him. He pulls his trousers up but leaves them loose as he paces fitfully, muttering and mumbling to himself and wracking his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t understand,” he utters, half to himself and half to you. “I just do not understand. Why would I do such a thing? How long ago did I do this? What the fuck is wrong with me?”

It’s not your fault.

“I think it was before I…” you trail off, squeezing your eyes closed at the memory of Astarion stalking you through the Crimson Palace hallways like a predator, caustic venom spitting from his lips, every word eating away at your soul.

“Left me,” Astarion finishes with a note of despair, like a cold hand laid upon your bare soul. “You can say it.”

You nod sullenly, dropping your head, deject and wayward.

His emotions are flickering through your mind and body like a kaleidoscope of lightning strikes, each blinding flash incomprehensible in its intensity. You focus, but Astarion stops dead as you try to catch and hold them, and the connection is severed.

You are once again empty, a barren midnight sky that’s misplaced the stars and moon. Your eyes snap to Astarion, but the scarlet of his eyes looks hollow with madness as he regards you with the wariness of a wounded animal. He looks at you like he doesn’t know who you are, and it sends a wave of alarm coursing through you, causing your palms to heat.

He retrieves his shirt from the floor, always keeping a close eye on you as if you might pounce. He’s unreadable and cold, the iron countenance of the Vampire Ascendant shrouding him like an icebound veil. Without a word, Astarion darts out of your room, descending the stairs at a whirlwind pace that would be perilous for anyone who wasn’t so agile.

“Astarion?” In confusion, you chase after him without much thought, nearly tumbling down the stairs, and grab his arm. “Where are you going?”

He rips his arm out of your clutches with a bestial snarl. “Don’t touch me!”

“Just wait,” you plead with him, casting Misty Step and blocking his trajectory to the door. You can’t make heads or tails of this shift. “Please. Tell me what’s going on. Let me help.”

“You can’t help me.”

Astarion tries to get around you, but you won’t secede any ground and hold your position with foolish defiance. He grabs your arm, pivots, and thrusts you backward, throwing you to the floor. When you look up at him, those crimson eyes are starting to flick and fade like a star in the throes of death.

“Do not try and stop me again,” he growls, taking stalking steps toward you with a choler tinge in his voice. “Bad, pet.”

Astarion laughs, leans down, and grabs your ankle. He squeezes until the bones are wailing and threatening to break under duress. You whimper, beseeching cries for amnesty, trying to crawl away.

“Master, stop! Please.” You barely recognize the word as it jumps off your tongue in your agony. The haunting palette of bruising is immediately stained on the ghostly white canvas of your skin.

His grip is suddenly snapped away, and he springs back, grabbing his head with a pained groan, shaking it from side to side furiously as he roots himself in place. His breath falters as his eyes meet yours with a hysterical acidity as their claret shifts from deep and warm to shoal and dull as if covered by a thick layer of dust.

“Sorry,” he totters unsteadily on his feet, his lips parting with erratic breaths that make his chest jump aperiodically. His heart beats so hard in his chest that the sound is almost ear-splitting. “Hells. I’m so sorry. I— I— must go.”

Astarion does not even close the door in his urgency, and you’re left naked, clutching your ankle on the floor, staring into the street with your mouth agape. You cast Telekinesis to throw the door closed and limp around the manor, closing the heavy drapes to block the sun.

“Fuck!” You scream at the emptiness surrounding you as you pull yourself up the stairs on your lame ankle.

As you bathe, you allow your body to submerge into the spacious tub. You force yourself to forgo the useless impulse to breathe the air you no longer require and sink. The water’s surface contorts above you like an uneven mirror, twisting and warping reality. Everything is falling apart, and you feel like the sand of a beach being dragged away piece by piece with every crash of another wave upon the shore of your life.

Your heart would be beating recklessly in your chest if you hadn’t been alleviated of life. Colourful promises of love and breaths of forever in a realm of temporary fill your eyes with tears that seep into the water. Time stands still, and your doubt settles and masks your bravery. You’re one step closer to losing him entirely, but you must be fearless. Neither you nor Astarion can afford for you to fall.

Closing your eyes, you run headfirst into memories, searching your soul for all the places that feel like home.

The thudding of boots, the drip of rain that sneaks through the fissures in the bricks, the skittering and squeaking of vermin — everything echos off the stone in Moonrise. The fire throws foreboding, eerie shadows in slinking shapes across your tent that make you uneasy. No one wanted to camp here for the night, with the Absolute Cultists only floors below, but it had been a long journey through the Shadowlands, and the hungry shade had sapped everyone’s strength.

You flop restlessly on the furs in your tent, unable to trance. You had been counting the cultists inhabiting this wretched place as you made your rounds, trying to familiarize yourself with the layout. The omen of the arduous battle hangs over you, and you’re trying to devise some semblance of a plan to wipe them out in stages. You were never a very strategic planner. Typically, showing up and raining fire, violence, and death have worked for most of your life. Even with the help of the Harpers, one mistake could spell disaster.

Your ears twitch as you hear the rumbling murmurs bounce off the walls, and you’re out of your tent in a blink with fire ablaze in your palm, fearing the cultists have figured out that you don’t fit within their ranks. Taking a lap around, you take a quick headcount, checking your friends off one by one until you hear a soft, breathy whimpering.

Astarion…

Crouching by his tent, you whisper his name, but he does not answer. You recognize a nightmare when you hear one, and your hurt lurches in your chest, fingers hovering just over the door of his tent, but you don’t open it. Your proximity is usually enough to calm him without waking him, and this time seems no different. The trashing has stopped, and his muttering has ceased.

You sigh, relieved, and lay down at the door, curling up on the hard stone. You will rest here tonight if it means you can bring him even a scrap of peaceful rest.

“Darling,” Astarion purrs in a rugged timbre, heavy under the weight of drowsiness. “Whatever are you doing?”

You smile and flop over to peer into the hypnotic, heavily-lidded eyes. Astarion yawns, fangs peeking from his lips, and grins back at you.

“You were having a nightmare,” you whisper, making sure to keep your voice down so it doesn’t wake the others. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep. I’ll stay here tonight.”

“You were going to sleep out here on the stone?” He cocks his head, quirking a brow at you. “Why?”

“It seemed to comfort you,” you shrug.

"I meant, why would you sleep out here when there's a perfectly good bedroll in my tent with me?”

“Oh,” you say, sitting upright with a jolt. “That’s okay, Astarion. Really. I’m perfectly fine out here.”

“Get in here, weirdo," Astarion giggles, grabbing your arm and giving it a gentle tug.

You hesitate, but he tows you harder, and eventually, you relent and crawl into his tent. You sit in the corner, trying to make yourself small, wrapping your arms around your knees.

Astarion huffs exasperatedly, “You do realize that we’ve had sex, yes? You were hardly shy during our little late-night expeditions.”

“I’m not shy, not with you,” you giggle but avidly watch how Astarion’s jaw clenches, fingers tangling into the furs. “You’re hungry. I can see it. I can’t imagine it’s comfortable to be so close to a food source in a confined space.”

“I’ll admit, it’s not easy when you’re so very delicious with that lovely neck, begging to be tasted,” he grins, an artificial smile meant to put you at ease. Astarion notices that he cannot fool you, and his fingers rifle through his hair. “I’m fine. Truly. You’re not in any danger around me. I can control my hunger.”

“Danger? Oh, Gods! No, Astarion.” You shake your head at him, offering your hand, and he takes it. His thumb sways softly over the back, “I’m not afraid you’ll hurt me. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable. When’s the last time you fed?”

“Oh, I don’t know, darling. There was that cultist I made a snack of a couple of days ago. You needn’t concern yourself with it. I’ve gone much, much longer without a meal.”

There’s a bleakness shading the sculpted angles of his face that makes your heart palpate with empathy. You don’t have to ask for confirmation. Cazador obviously starved him as some form of punishment. It makes your palms heat in reflex as you seethe. You don’t care what it takes. You are going to kill the motherfucker who dared torture this man that’s stolen your heart.

“Astarion, whenever you’re hungry, I’m happy to offer my neck. All you have to do is ask.”

“That’s very… sweet, but the very shadows of this place are hungry.” Astarion sighs, wrapping his arms around his waist to smother his hunger pains. He smiles, “As much as I would absolutely love to take you here and now, you need your strength. We have many battles ahead.”

“Don’t be dumb," you tut, moving your hair away from your neck. “I need you strong. I am capable of deciding this for myself. I don’t need you to do it for me.”

“Dumb? Darling! You wound me.” He theatrically scoffs, hand to his forehead, falling back as if you slapped him, with a shallow chuckle, “I have received many slights in my life - Insufferable, insolent, insignificant, but this might be the first time I have been accused of being dumb.”

“Well, they say there’s a first time for everything,” you smirk, levity uplifting the lilt of your baritone. “Consider this your first.”

“You are racking up quite the catalogue of firsts,” he chuckles, shaking his head, propping himself up on his elbows. “Are you sure? I am truly of sound mind. No one is in any danger.”

You crawl toward him, heart rate accelerating with every forward movement of your hands and knees, “Will you please shut up and bite me already? Before I berate you for believing I think you’re a danger.”

Astarion’s hand wraps around your arm, persuading you closer with pressure, but he does not so much as glance at your exposed neck. He’s fixed on your eyes as if he’s found heaven hidden within them.

“Then allow us to dine together,” he nods slowly, eyes still moored to yours as he sits upright, prompts you to turn, and holds your back steady against his chest. He kisses under your earlobe and hints his lips down the column of your neck until he settles on that rhythmically pumping vein. He kisses it, long and lingering, and groans, “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” you sigh, barely able to contain your body’s excitement as it trembles in his arms.

His fangs puncture your skin like icicles, impaling the soft flesh, but it ebbs and dulls to a paradisical strumming before your mind has time to react and withdraw. For a vampire that has not fed on thinking creatures much, he’s remarkably gentle and has only become more tender since you started these little meals. He draws from you in unhurried pulls, tallied and modulated as he listens, and his palm splays across your chest over your heart to determine its pace in case he does not hear it accurately.

You feel your ethos skimming through his veins, warming his skin, flushing the tips of his ears, an antidote to his pain. You sigh mellowly, and your fingers untwist from his trousers, going lax. His arousal hardens against your back as he removes his fangs from your neck, tongue lavishing at the residual weeping wounds with broad, flat strokes and moaning a chilled breath over the shell of your ear.

Astarion turns your head toward him, catching your lips in a blistering kiss tinged with the coppery piquancy of your blood. His hips buck into you with a growl, and his hand veers toward your aching clit. You stop him short, grabbing his hand with a shudder.

“What are you doing?” You breathe against the needy, silken embrace of his mouth.

“You’ve been ever so generous,” he purrs. “Allow me to repay your charity in a language I speak proficiently.”

“No,” you break away from the kiss and his arms. Your head swims, bloodless and faint. Your heart hammers, trying to pump the blood no longer within your veins. You sway on your knees, and Astarion supports you with a hand on your shoulder lest you faceplant, “This isn’t a tit-for-tat offer, Astarion. There is no repayment. I am just one friend assisting another. That’s all.”

“I— You don’t want me?”

His genuine confusion encases your heart in a boiling bubble of sorrow, “You know I do, but not like this. I don’t want you if it’s compensation for my blood.”

“I’m sorry. It’s the only thing I know,” he looks bashful. If you didn’t know better, you would say he’s blushing, but that must be the rush of your blood through his veins. “Would you at least rest with me tonight while you're woozy? I will hear if anything untoward happens in camp, and I can protect both of us if need be.” He puts his hands up innocently, “I will keep my hands to myself. You have my word.”

“Do you think--" you trail off, bringing your hand to your forehead that seems to beat in time with your angry heart and groan. “That is to say— Could we —“

“Good Gods, sweetheart,” he chuckles. “Spit it out already before you lose consciousness. I did not take that much.”

Your arms drop by your sides, and you giggle with him, suddenly lethargic, “Never mind. I’ll sleep over here.”

“Now, who is being positively dumb,” he scoffs, clicking his tongue at you. “If you want to cuddle, you have but to ask. You know I do rather like cuddling with you.”

“If you know what I want,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “Why are you making a spectacle out of me?!”

“Entertainment,” he shrugs, laughing carefree and alight with humour.

“You’re terrible,” you mutter.

“I know,” he smirks, lying back and extending his arms, twitching his fingers in the come-hither motion. “Come on, love. Let’s have a cuddle, shall we?” 

The bath water has turned cold by the time your eyes slide back open. You’re still lying at the bottom of the tub, in a watery grave like a sunken ship. How long have you been in here? Once your brain recognizes that you haven’t taken a breath in what could be hours, instinct takes over, and you propel yourself upright, coughing, sputtering, and gulping down the air furiously.

You scoff at yourself with antipathy. How long will it take for these responses to abate? When will your body just accept that you’re fucking dead?

Wrapping a plush towel around yourself, you listen for the comforting thud of Astarion’s heart but are only met with tomblike silence. It frightens you, making your stomach feel aflutter in your abdomen, reminding you of the Gur attack when you thought you lost him.

You slip into a long-sleeved, purple dress and tentatively peek outside. The velveteen embrace of twilight has cloaked the sky, but the cloud cover is thick, eclipsing the moonlight. You can smell the rain before the heavens have decided to cry. Reaching out to the bond, Astarion does not answer your call.

Fuck this.

You trot through the street, smelling the air. You wince with every step as the injury to your ankle smarts, but the bruising is already receding. It will not be long until it’s healed.

Unfortunately for you, the streets are still relatively busy, and your bloodlust is ever-present and a daunting task to control as you swerve and juke around people. Your mouth waters, and you shake your head like a wet dog to rid yourself of the smog that dampens and threatens to dwarf your self-restraint. The rain starts to drizzle, just as you predicted. The drops plane down your face, and you curse the skies because the scent of the rainfall on the dry stone of the street hampers your ability to detect much else.

You arrive at Wyrm's Crossing and follow the strong scent of blood outside a structure you are familiar with - the flophouse where Astarion's siblings were. The building is ominously dark and far too quiet. You sniff the air. It tastes almost bitter on your tongue, and it’s hard to focus on anything but the metallic richness, but you vaguely make out notes of rosemary and bergamot. You try to open the door, but it’s locked. Locks are hardly a challenge. You cast Knock and crack the door open. The fragrance of blood wafts so thickly in the air that you swear you almost see technicolour as you swoon.

It’s pitch-black inside, and your feet immediately come into contact with a stiff, cold mass on the floor, tripping you. Fire bursts to life in your palm, and mutilated bodies greet the illumination with milky eyes. Some have their intestines spilling out of their abdomens like gooey red ribbons. Others are missing the bottom of their jaw with their meaty tongues lolling out. These people were not just merely killed. They were brutalized, mutilated, and mauled.

A thick slick of congealing blood sloshes around your boots. It drips off the ceiling and down the walls like scarlet raindrops shed from dark skies, softly signifying sorrow's sharp sting. If your heart had not already hardened to macabre scenes like this, you imagine you would be sick. Instead, true to the monster you’ve become, it takes considerable effort not to drop to your knees and start lapping up the sanguine nectar like some thirsty mutt.

You are veritably shaking under the duress of temptation as you crawl over bodies to the one heartbeat that remains. Astarion sits at a table in an alcove in the back with a bottle of spirits clutched in his hand, several more littered around his feet on the floor. He stares abstractly at nothing, a million miles away, bleak and cold.

“Astarion…” you whisper, trying to get a decent look into his eyes.

“Darling?” His brows round when he looks at you, frowning and narrowing his glossy eyes. “You are afraid. Oh, no-no. Don’t be afraid. I didn’t mean to…” He’s confused, and it breaks your heart. “I killed them all, but I don’t remember. I am me now. I’m me - Astarion.”

“I know,” you purr, noticing that he seems to have to remind himself of who he is. “It’s okay.”

“Okay?” He scoffs, bringing the bottle to his lips and tilting his head back. He sways in his chair, causing it to creak, “This is about as far from okay as it gets. Did you not hear me? I killed them. I killed all of them.”

“I heard you,” you cradle his cheek and walk his gaze away from the body he seems fixed on. “We need to go home, Astarion. Before somebody finds us here.”

“Why?” He snaps, gesturing around with a satirical chuckle, “I will probably just kill them too. Or perhaps I will simply compel them to forget their names or their entire lives. Why stop there? How far do you think my power goes? Do you think I could compel them to forget how to breathe?”

“Astarion, please,” you slip the bottle from his fingers and crouch with your hand on his thigh. “Come with me.”

“I hurt you again today,” he sighs, staring at his empty hand with furrowed brows. “How do you sleep with me in the same residence? The same bed? How can you even stand to look at me? Gods. You must fucking hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you cannot help the tears pricking your eyes. He looks lost as his eyes roam aimlessly, climbing toward the ceiling. “I love you.”

“You love me… Do you regret it?” He whispers, curling his empty hand into a fist repeatedly as if he’s unsure if the hand he’s looking at belongs to him, “Helping me complete the Rite, allowing me to turn you, falling in love with me.”

“No,” your answer is immediate, and the uncompromising intonation surprises even you. “The only thing I regret is that we did not know enough about the Rite.”

“You’re lying,” he concludes, hollow, distant, and abject.

“Open the bond and check my truthfulness if you wish,” you retort. Your whole body shakes as you try to make sense of this broken man before you, “I wanted to be with you for eternity. Everything has a cost. I paid it willingly.”

“Do you know why I turned you?” He asks, face contorting with an anguish you did not believe you would ever see adorn his features again. The corners of his mouth are downturned, eyebrows dropping at the ends, “Do you know why I was so adamant that this was the only way our relationship could continue?”

“I don’t know, Astarion,” you sigh soft and sullen. “I don’t care. What’s done is done.”

“Tell me!” He snarls, slamming his fist into the table and cracking it down the middle, “Tell me why you think I did it! Tell me why you think I fucking killed you!”

You finally relent and sob openly. “Why do you do anything now, Astarion? You wanted to possess me, control me, own me, and make me your obedient puppet.”

“No, my love,” he heaves a tremulous sigh, shaking his head. His eyes are vacant and unseeing, blinking slowly. “Nothing so sinister as that. I was afraid. I was still fucking afraid. I knew you would age and die while I remained the same forever. You would leave me alone again, and I feared a world, a life, without you. I took your life and bound you to me for eternity for no other reason than selfishness, but I always was remarkably selfish. Wasn’t I?” Astarion gazes around at the grisly affair of his making, “Why can’t I remember? I am sick. Aren’t I?”

“We will save you,” you slip your finger under his chin like he’s done to you so often and direct his gaze to yours. Your eyes blister with resolve, and your voice bleeds the same, trying to fill him with strength, “But I need you to keep fighting, Astarion. You must not give up.”

“For you,” he murmurs as his eyes finally appear cognizant. Astarion slides out of his chair, descending to his knees before you like you made you do a lifetime ago, and wraps his arms around you. He presses his cheek against your stomach and whimpers, fingers curling into your clothes. “I will fight to my last, my love.”

Sunlight filters into the window, golden rays bathing the room as your eyes flutter open. You nuzzle against the silk pillowcase before your mind bombards you with memories of your skin loosening, dripping, cracking, and the agony that arrested even screams from your throat. You nearly leap off the bed in terror, but solid arms wrap around your waist, pulling your back against the strong muscles of a warm chest.

“It’s okay,” Astarion purrs, grappling with your trashing. He places a soft kiss on your shoulder. “I am here. The sun cannot harm you. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

It takes your still hazy consciousness a moment to accept the promise of safety before you relax in his embrace with a sigh and roll over to face Astarion, looping your arms around him and burying your face in the crook of his neck. You can smell his blood pumping through his veins just below the surface of that pristine, silken skin, and your mouth waters. Your body urges you to bite, stomach knotting into cramps with the promise of that aromatic, richly decadent blood.

So close.

Before you know what you’re doing, your mouth is open, fangs hovering, and your body seizes. Astarion laughs genuinely, such a sparkling, airy rumble from his perfect lips as they pull into a smile against your cheek.

“Well, good morning to you, too.” He giggles, pushing you away, shaking his head with that playful glower, “Can’t get enough? I’m not surprised.” Astarion sinks his fangs into the fanning veins of his wrist and holds it out to you. “Remember, no biting and mind your teeth.”

You’re almost drooling at the oneiric vision of the weeping wounds. The scent of his blood is intoxicating - warm, full-bodied ferrous. The bright red drink of the Gods is a stark contrast to his pale skin, and it takes everything you have in you not to lunge for it. The offer of his blood is new and a little unsettling if you’re being honest.

“Go ahead,” his eyes dart to his dribbling wrist, brows furrowing at your hesitation. “This is no trick. Feed.”

He looks contrite, but there is a new tenderness in the way his eyes are fixed on you like you are shelter from the storm brewing behind his scarlet irises. You cannot handle it any longer. You take his wrist as gently as your fumbling fingers can possibly manage in your near frenzied bloodlust, bringing your lips to the wound. It tastes even better straight from his body, and your eyes roll back with a moan as you focus with a substantial amount of effort on drawing in slow, measured sips instead of trying to drain him dry in an instant.

“That’s enough,” Astarion instructs eventually, tugging his wrist just slightly. You could never get enough of this ambrosia on your tongue, descending into your stomach and making your nerves combust with delight. Your grip tightens on his wrist, and you growl at him, low and throaty.

“Hells,” Astarion groans pleasurably, eyes rolling back. His body trembles with excitement and pleasure. He enjoys this as much as you. He shakes his arm roughly and commands a little more harshly this time. “Love. I said that’s enough. Don’t be a greedy thing now.”

It’s enough to crack the haze that’s fallen over your mind, and you throw yourself from back, detaching from his wrist with panicked breaths. You’re sure when you look at him again, you will be staring at the embodiment of Mephistopheles psychosis, “I’m sorry, Astarion. I’m sorry.”

“Hey-hey,” Astarion coos deeply, like a warm auditory hug on a cold winter’s night. “It’s alright. I’m not angry.”

“You’re not?” You cannot help the stain of surprise that blooms in your voice.

“No, love,” he chuckles, his fingers pressing into your waist, encouraging you to cuddle, and you curl up against his side. He sweeps his thumb across your lower lip, gathering the blood smeared on it and pops it into his mouth with a sly grin. “I was a young vampire too, once upon a century, and I was certainly over-enthusiastic with my consumption of you the first time. It takes time. I can help you with it. We can practice like this.”

Your brows furrow, creasing as you try to think through the residual film of mist. This man is entirely too perplexing. It feels like you’re always trying to run from him, convincing yourself that everything is a trick, that you must be on guard at all times so you don’t get close, but is this just a way for you to hide from what you fear most of all - that you will be unable to save him, and you will lose him all over again.

There’s just no fucking time for this anymore. There is no more time to lose.

Astarion directs your gaze to him, “What’s going on in that beautiful mind?”

“Do you remember what you said last night?”

Astarion’s brows round, and the corners of his eyes crinkle, “Yes.”

“Was any of it real?” You murmur, pushing yourself upright so you can look at him. You request the bond, and Astarion and you unite, transcending time and space, melding together. It takes you a moment to gather yourself, “Or were you just drunk?”

“I meant every word.” Astarion turns suddenly serious, sitting and sagging against the headboard, “I wish to speak to you about something.”

“Are you okay?”

“I am fine.” He combs his fingers through his hair, “You called me Master. I do not wish you to call me that - think of me in those terms. Is that how you see me? As your… ugh,” he casts his eyes to the ceiling, “Master ?”

“No,” you snap, but it’s a lie, and you know it, which means he knows it through the union. You backpedal, “Yes. It is what you are, Astarion. Whether you or I like it, I am your spawn, and you are my master. This is just reality. It will do us no good to pretend that the dynamic of our relationship is different.”

Disappointment slashes across the bond like a blade cutting into your heart. It’s so strong that it physically aches in your chest, and you splay your hand across it and whimper.

Astarion shakes his head, eyes downcast, “I do not want to be your master, little love. I never did. I did not make you a regular spawn.”

“I’m not sure I follow, Astarion. What do you mean you didn’t make me a regular spawn? What other kind of spawn is there?”

Astarion squeezes his eyes shut momentarily, taking a deep breath, the muscles in his jaw twitching. He leans, opens a drawer and produces a book that looks ancient. Its cover is dulled by timeless centuries, and its spine is broken with loose pages precariously tucked in. His fingers tap the book, staring at it as if he dreads what he’s about to do.

He gives you a skeptical sideways look and passes you the book, “Page 152.”

Opening the book, you flip through the musty, yellowed pages until you reach page 152, titled “The Dark Kiss.” You scan the page, reading it once, twice, three times while Astarion stares at you with an unreadable expression. You can feel him in your head, looking through your eyes, thrusting into the folds of your mind, penetrating the softness of your soul, caressing your most intimate thoughts.

There’s trepidation in him. Your soul practically quivers under the weight of his unease. He is afraid of your reaction, and the entity within him is stoking those glowing embers of worry with its babbling breaths of affirmations, trying to ignite an inferno of fear that will melt through the shackles of his control.

“You need to explain this to me, Astarion,” you gawk at him, swallowing thickly as the information slowly sinks in. You’re unsure if the nervousness making your stomach warp is truly yours or his.

“I made you my bride – consort,” he does not look at you when he speaks. His eyes stare blankly at his twitching fingers. “How many times did I bite you that night?”

“Uh,” you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to recall the memory fogged over from blood loss, “Three. Once when we had sex, once on my wrist, and then my neck.”

Astarion nods, “I don’t remember much from that night, high as I was on the power of 7000 souls, but I do recall my intent. I bit you three times, as described in the book you’re holding, and then gave you my own blood. I told you this bond was unique to you and me because it’s only shared with a bride.”

“I’m sorry.” You rack your fingers through your hair, tousling it into an incomprehensible mess to match your whirling, tangled thoughts, “Are you trying to tell me that we are - what? Vampire married?”

Astarion smirks at the bewilderment adorning your face but looks bashful, “I suppose that’s an accurate description, yes.”

“And you declined to tell me this until now because?”

“Honestly?” Astarion’s eyes drift once again to the ceiling, “I meant to. I had every intention of telling you the truth, and then... I enjoyed the power, the superiority I had over you. I saw fear in your eyes when you looked at me, and I liked it. I liked you believing you were nothing. I wanted to revel in it. It fed the sickness within, and then I was... lost for a while.”

“What does this mean for me exactly?” It takes incredible effort to keep the rising panic from your voice.

Astarion’s eyes widen as your whirlwind of terror is added to the mixture of emotions between you, “It means you’re not quite a spawn, not quite a True Vampire, but as close as one could get while still being bound to me and under my control should I choose to exert it over you. I believe it can be reversed, should you wish it so. I’d have to do a little research--”

“No!” you blurt out in a yelping retort that makes Astarion flinch. He assumes your anxiety is due to being bound to him in such a way, you realize. The truth of it is your panic is a shadow looming over the increasingly dire odds of everything you stand to lose.

A friend. A lover. A partner. A... husband?

You smirk at the notion, pushing away that worry - you have time to worry later. Right now, you want to enjoy this. It’s the closest you have gotten to Astarion telling you he loves you. Perhaps, the closest you will ever get, and some sad speck of your soul laps at that wound and dabs it with this new information as if it might cure the incurable.

“Well,” you shift into his lap, leaning into the asylum he’s promising you through the bond, “I’m definitely going to start calling you husband now. I hope you’re prepared for that.”

“HA!” Astarion giggles, shaking his head with an endearingly lop-sided grin. His unkempt silver curls fall and bounce carelessly, “But of course. I can deny you nothing, wife. I wish to try and undo what he,” he corrects himself. “…I did - your name. I might be able to reverse it, but I’m not entirely sure how. You need to trust me, and I can feel you do not.”

You’re a little bemused that there is something Astarion doesn’t know how to do, and you grin at him, your fangs peeking out of your lips.

“Good Gods,” he rolls his eyes at you with a heartwarming smirk. “I am all-powerful, not all-knowing. Compelling is instinctive. Releasing it is another story entirely.”

You want to trust him. Gods above, you long to trust him like you used to, but how can you, given what you know? You wrench on the tide of the bond, causing it to spill and break over you as ocean waves crash upon boulders that dare protrude from its surface. You scour the chords of the harmony, picking them apart note by note, feeling for any sign of manipulation, deceit, or ill intent. Astarion flinches, squeezing his eyes shut with a wheeze, but he does not attempt to stop your search. You find nothing, but then again, he is the Vampire Ascendant. If he wants to hide something from you, he will.

If you want to get your name back, you have little choice.

“Do it,” you confirm.

“Look into my eyes,” Astarion purrs in a deep baritone. “Remember, I don’t know exactly what I’m doing.”

Bringing your eyes to his, the crimson in his eyes sparks alive, like little matches aglow in the red sea, and you have never seen sparks quite so beautiful.

The sensation starts mellow, like the flow of a calm spring, as it trickles through your mind. It feels like liquid fingers whispering against your psyche. The sensation makes your skin prickle, and goosebumps erupt all over. You want to shudder, but your body cannot move. Tributaries branch off and stream until your whole brain feels like it is being grasped by a hand.

And that’s where the pain begins in a sudden influx, a steely, jarring stab, and it feels like his fingers are in your brain, parting every crimp, crease, bend and wrinkle like you are a tome to be read. You’re unsure how long you can take this as he picks your mind apart, looking for whatever compulsion does. You manage to let out a whine, and his eyes flick.

“I know it hurts,” he soothes. “Just a little more, I think. Can you hold on?”

You can only whimper your response. You’re not sure if it sounds like a no or a yes. He continues his dismantling forage, ferreting around in your mind. Suddenly, something changes. All those tributaries and calm, flowing springs snap into one spot, and white-hot pain blooms in your eyesight, blinding you. You’re positive he’s cutting a piece of brain matter right out of your skull. You want to writhe, to scream, to beg him to stop, but you cannot.

You wonder if you might pass out, and then you hope you pass out as the pain becomes more than you can bear. Sharp, like a red-hot blade, has punctured your skull, pierced your brain, and is now broiling against your grey matter. Your vision starts to tunnel, black borders encroaching, blurring everything but the glow from Astarion’s eyes.

Just as you think you're going to lose consciousness, a knot untangles, an invisible barrier crumples, and the bondage on your body eases.

“Hey,” Astarion jostles you, fingers brushing sweaty strands of hair behind your ear. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you breathe shakily. “It’s fine. Did it work?”

“I think so?” Astarion rubs the back of his head. “There’s only one way to know for sure. Do you remember your name?”

You think hard, trying to pull it from the deepest recesses of your memories, but you can’t remember it. “No.” You sigh, “Can you say it to me?”

“Illyria?” 

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, please enjoy ☺️

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

Yay! Tav can hear her name, but does she actually remember it?

I'm leaning into the "Dark Kiss" bride/consort theory because why not?

[thoseyoulove]

Reacting to The Vampire Lestat - Part VI (with maybe big spoilers and quotes?)

Part 1

First chapter without Armand since his first introduction. I'm in my grieving era, leave me alone.

"And as we said our farewells, I believed that Nicolas and the little coven had every chance for survival and that Armand and I were friends." Why does this sound like a 'five minutes before disaster' situation? (If you say "that's because it is", I'm blocking you... shhhh)

It's like Anne didn't even bother to be subtle about it lmao.

"Nowhere did I meet a vampire who was in any way a magnetic creature, a being of great wisdom or special accomplishment, an unusual being in whom the Dark Gift had worked any perceivable alchemy that was of interest to me. Armand was a dark god compared to these beings. And so was Gabrielle and so was I." Armand mention! I'm gonna collect these like Pokemon while I wait for princess to come back (let's hope nothing bad happens when he returns :) <3 /hj).

"In the main it is Our Oldest Friend [Armand, obviously] who is relied upon to restrain him. And that he does with the most caustic threats." What I'm getting is that book!Armand and show!Lestat went to the school of Latin American mothers. Btw, the "Armand, obviously" made me laugh because it was so informal, it's like I was getting notes from Lestat himself and not reading an official book? Not to mention it was so unnecessary because it's clear that's Armand lol. But thank you, Lestat, for clarifying that I guess.

"I cannot say that we do not love him. For your sake we would care for him even if we did not. But we do love him. And Our Oldest Friend, in particular, bears him great affection." The show and even fandom gave me a totally different idea about Armand and Nicki? I didn't imagine Armand would ever care about Nicki in the slightest.

"As for Our Oldest Friend, I wonder if you would know him now. He has built a great manse at the foot of your tower, and there he lives among books and pictures very like a scholarly gentleman with little care for the real world. Each night, however, he arrives at the door of the theater in his black carriage. And he watches from his own curtained box." There you go my little neurodivergent princess with low social battery. We are the same.

I can't believe Eleni pulled a "Lestat, come back home, the children miss you!" lmao.

"And when I wasn't out roaming, I was traveling the realm of the books that had belonged to Gabrielle so exclusively all through those dreary mortal years at home." I'm so happy he can read and drown himself in books now. <3 Not being able to do it before left such a big impact in his life and it's great that he loves books as much as he thought he would. I think music, theater and literature are his biggest interests. I don't know if he has a favorite, but those are definitely his passions.

There's such a contrast between Lestat and Gabrielle because he was the one that got to go out there, hunt, kill wolves and have 'adventures', while she was at home reading. But he'd rather read those books and even as chaotic and adventurous as Lestat is, he's more disciplined and laid-back than her? And once Gabrielle is a vampire she's like "I'M DONE WITH BOOKS I'M GOING TO THE WILD I'M GONNA CLIMB MOUNTAINS AND SLEEP ON THE GROUND AND JUMP FROM HILLS AND LIVE AMONG ANIMALS AND EXPLORE THE WORLD" lmao. But I guess I'm with Lestat there, I'm way more inclined to arts than nature and adventure.

"Before we even got to Italy, I knew enough Latin to be studying the classics, and I made a library in the old Venetian palazzo I haunted, often reading the whole night long." Yeah you go baby learn how to read by accident and expand that knowledge to new languages now <3

"The truth was, I didn't want to forget them. I never stopped writing to Roger for news of my family. I wrote to him more often than I wrote to Eleni at the theater. I'd sent for portraits of my nieces and nephews. I sent presents back to France from every place in which I stopped." No matter what Lestat says, he is still a child that cares about his relatives even after everything, that deep down wanted a simple happy family life, that wants to keep his humanity, still has a conscience and cares about God. Many of his conflicts stem from that tbh. Just some Catholic village boy really.

"I do not know why I go on. I do not search for truth. I do not believe in it. I hope for no ancient secrets from you, whatever they may be. But I believe in something. Maybe simply in the beauty of the world through which I wander or in the will to live itself. This gift was given to me too early. It was given for no good reason. And already at the age of thirty mortal years, I have some understanding as to why so many of our kind have wasted it, given it up. Yet I continue. And I search for you." Not him mayhaps getting borderline suicidal that soon...

FFS, FORGET MARIUS! He cannot help you, stop putting your hopes on him, you don't know the guy! Babygirl, what you need is THERAPY!

I don't want to read the name Marius anymore btw. Maybe that will change when he shows up, but like this? No, thank you very much, but NOPE!

"For all my complaints about loneliness, I was used to it all. And there were new cities as there were new victims, new languages, and new music to hear. No matter what my pain, I fixed my mind on a new destination." Sometimes being right is not fun at all.

"It seemed no matter where I was that Armand and Nicki were both with me." I can partially relate.

I'm confused, did Nicki's hands grow back like Gabrielle's hair?

"'Oh, I'm monster enough to understand it,' I said. 'Do you remember what you told me years ago, before we ever left home? You said it the very day that he came up the mountain with the merchants to give me the red cloak. You said that his father was so angry with him for his violin playing that he was threatening to break his hands. Do you think we find our destiny somehow, no matter what happens? I mean, do you think that even as immortals we follow some path that was already marked for us when we were alive?'" One of my favorite pieces of the writing. Just deep and gorgeous. Also, Lestat still a Catholic boy after all this time with this reasoning.

However, I was expecting his death to be WAY MORE DRAMATIC and not this "told in a letter" thing? I was imagining the whole plot to be devastating, actually... And it wasn't? Maybe because Nicki was so mad since the beginning and didn't get enough book time, but I could never grow to care about him that much... I hope the show does a better job with it.

"Maybe people had to be dead six thousand years for her to love them." Ouch.

Second time that I think I'm having a completely different take compared to many people or even the whole fandom lmao. Noice.

Part 2

"'I can't and you know it,' I said. 'I can't do it any more than you can stay with me.' All the way back to Cairo, I thought on it, what had come to me in those painful moments. What I had known but not said as we stood before the Colossi of Memnon in the sand. She was already lost to me! She had been for years. I had known it when I came down the stairs from the room in which I grieved for Nicki and I had seen her waiting for me. It had all been said in one form or another in the crypt beneath the tower years ago. She could not give me what I wanted of her. There was nothing I could do to make her what she would not be. And the truly terrible part was this: she really didn't want anything of me! She was asking me to come because she felt the obligation to do so. Pity, sadness-maybe those were also reasons. But what she really wanted was to be free." This is sad, but I also think this is very human, relatable, realistic, well-written and a great conflict to explore on the show.

I do think Gabrielle genuinely wanted to stay with him, that wasn't pity or obligation, but they just want different things. She loves him, but they love different kinds of life and that's the problem.

The plot twist that is not that much of a plot twist because it's predictable (but still good) with Lestat's family...

If somebody was meant to be spared couldn't they just make one of his brothers decent and keep him and the children alive?

Btw, we don't even know much about his family. I know he had parents, three bothers that lived into adulthood and nieces and nephews. But the book only acknowledged Gabrielle, his father and Augustin. Maybe one of the brothers wasn't really that bad and was forced to do that stuff. Idk.

Anyways, it doesn't matter now...

His dream omg???

Kind of weird, kind of messed-up, kind of sad.

The fact that he's still going back to his father, omg...

I feel bad for him. I also feel bad for him because that probably won't solve anything and just hurt him more. I don't see his father changing.

Lestat and Gabrielle's goodbye was so well-written. One of the best moments of the book.

If I'm to give my full opinion on the incest, it would have to be on a separate post just about that. But in short, at first I thought it had some logic that worked in a book like this, but it wasn't necessary and the show could go fine without it... Now I believe it might be necessary to explore Lestat and even Gabrielle as individuals.

Like, the relationship isn't cute, sexy or fun like some people make it seem. At least not for me. But I do think it is a sign of their inner struggles and that it might be a necessary discomfort for us to fully understand them?

I don't know. I don't have a conclusion yet. Still thinking about it. But I trust Rolin to adapt the book properly and not just be controversial for the sake of it and trivializing this look some fans do.

I do hope that the times Lestat and Gabrielle hug it will be JUST HUGS. Those moments were so great and the kisses left me like... WHY RUIN IT LIKE THAT? I can and would rather live without it, tbh.

Okay, so Marius is here.

Marius is a blonde? Wasn't expecting that. I don't know who to fancast as him.

Not really found of blondes except for a feeeeeeew exceptions. Anyway, I'll wait for the revelation to come to me, I guess.

If anybody wants to share their fancast, I'm willing to listen. Maybe it will help me picture him too lol.

Last chapter, here we go.

[raeynbowboi]

How to Play the Ultimate Dark Mage in DnD 5e

With Halloween right around the corner, I thought I'd delve into an idea I don't see talked about very much: building the ultimate black mage in DnD. For this build, we're not trying to be the best necromancer, or the best damage dealer. What we want is to find the build that grants us the widest arsenal of as many dark magical powers as possible. In order to give the Sorcerer a fair chance, we're going to homebrew to grant the Sorcerer 25 spells known instead of 15, otherwise there's no chance the Sorcerer is going to win.

DARK MAGIC SPELL LIST

NECROMANCY False Life (Artificer, Sorcerer, Warlock*, Wizard, Death Cleric, Grave Cleric) Animate Dead (Cleric, Warlock*, Wizard, Oathbreaker Paladin) Speak with Dead (Bard, Cleric, Wizard, Undead Warlock, Undying Warlock) Spirit Shroud (Cleric, Paladin, Warlock, Wizard) Summon Undead (Warlock, Wizard) Summon Warrior Spirit (sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Death Ward (Cleric, Paladin, Undead Warlock, Undying Warlock, Alchemist Artificer) Spirit of Death (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Antilife Shield (Druid, Death Cleric, Grave Cleric, Undead Warlock) Danse Macabre (Warlock, Wizard) Create Undead (Cleric, Warlock, Wizard) Soul Cage (Warlock, Wizard) Clone (Wizard)

NECROTIC DAMAGE Chill Touch (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Toll the Dead (Cleric, Warlock, Wizard) Inflict Wounds (Cleric, Oathbreaker Paladin) Wither and Bloom (Druid, Sorcerer, Wizard) Vampiric Touch (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard, Death Cleric, Grave Cleric) Blight (Druid, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard, Death Cleric, Grave Cleric, Oathbreaker Paladin, Alchemist Artificer) Destructive Wave (Paladin, Tempest Cleric) Enervation (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Negative Energy Flood (Warlock, Wizard) Circle of Death (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Finger of Death (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Symbol (Bard, Cleric, Druid, Wizard) Abi-Dalzim's Horrid Wilting (Sorcerer, Wizard) Power Word: Kill (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard)

SHADOW MAGIC Darkness (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard, Land (Swamp) Druid, Oathbreaker Paladin) Shadow Blade (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Summon Shadowspawn (Warlock, Wizard) Shadow of Moil (Warlock) Maddening Darkness (Warlock, Wizard)

PESTILENCE Acid Splash (Artificer, Sorcerer, Wizard) Poison Spray (Artificer, Druid, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Ray of Sickness (Sorcerer, Wizard, Death Cleric, Alchemist Artificer) Tasha's Caustic Brew (Artificer, Sorcerer, Wizard) Blindness/Deafness (Bard, Cleric, Sorcerer, Wizard, Spores Druid, Fiend Warlock, Undead Warlock, Undying Warlock) Melf's Acid Arrow (Wizard, Land (Swamp) Druid, Alchemist Artificer) Ray of Enfeeblement (Warlock, Wizard, Death Cleric, Grave Cleric) Stinking Cloud (Bard, Sorcerer, Wizard, Land (Swamp, Underdark) Druid, Fiend Warlock) Sickening Radiance (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Vitriolic Sphere (Sorcerer, Wizard) Cloudkill (Sorcerer, Wizard, Alchemist Artificer, Death Cleric, Land (Underdark) Druid, Spores Druid, Conquest Paladin, Undead Warlock) Contagion (Cleric, Druid, Oathbreaker Paladin, Undying Warlock) Disintegrate (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Harm (Cleric, Druid)

FIENDISH MAGIC Hellish Rebuke (Warlock, Oathbreaker Paladin) Spirit Guardians (Cleric, Crown Paladin) Summon Lesser Demons (Warlock, Wizard) Summon Greater Demon (Warlock, Wizard) Infernal Calling (Warlock, Wizard) Planar Binding (Bard, Cleric, Druid, Wizard) Summon Fiend (Warlock, Wizard) Planar Ally (Cleric) Tasha's Otherworldly Guise (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard)

ELDRITCH MAGIC Eldritch Blast (Warlock) Arms of Hadar (Warlock) Hunger of Hadar (Warlock) Edvard's Black Tentacles (Wizard, Great Old One Warlock)

CURSES & EVIL Infestation (Druid, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Bane (Bard, Cleric, Warlock*, Vengeance Paladin) Hex (Warlock) Tasha's Hideous Laughter (Bard, Wizard, Great Old One Warlock) Bestow Curse (Bard, Cleric, Wizard, Conquest Paladin, Oathbreaker Paladin) Dispel Evil & Good (Cleric, Paladin) Hallow (Cleric, Fiend Warlock) Insect Plague (Cleric, Druid, Sorcerer) Eyebite (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Flesh to Stone (Warlock, Wizard) Power Word: Pain (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard)

MIND GAMES & NIGHTMARES Mind Sliver (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Cause Fear (Warlock, Wizard) Dissonant Whispers (Bard, Great Old One Warlock) Silvery Barbs (Bard, Sorcerer, Wizard) Crown of Madness (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard, Oathbreaker Paladin) Tasha's Mind Whip (Sorcerer, Wizard) Antagonize (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Enemies Abound (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Fear (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard, Conquest Paladin) Phantasmal Killer (Wizard, Hexblade Warlock, Genie Warlock) Dream (Bard, Warlock, Wizard, Land (Grassland) Druid) Dominate Person (Bard, Sorcerer, Wizard, Order Cleric, Trickery Cleric, Conquest Paladin, Oathbreaker Paladin, Archfey Warlock, Great Old One Warlock) Modify Memory (Bard, Wizard, Trickery Cleric) Synaptic Static (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Mental Prison (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Dominate Monster (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Feeblemind (Bard, Druid, Warlock, Wizard) Weird (Warlock, Wizard)

BEST CLASS FOR DARK MAGIC

BARD Necromancy: 1 Necrotic Damage: 1 Shadow Magic: 0 Pestilence: 2 Fiendish Magic: 1 Eldritch Magic: 0 Curses & Evil: 5 Mind Games & Nightmares: 10 Total: 20 + Magical Secrets (4-6)

CLERIC Necromancy: 5, 7 (Death & Grave) Necrotic Damage: 3, 5 (Death & Grave), 4 (Tempest) Shadow Magic: 0 Pestilence: 3, 6 (Death), 4 (Grave) Fiendish Magic: 3 Eldritch Magic: 0 Curses & Evil: 5 Mind Games & Nightmares: 0, 2 (Trickery), 1 (Order) Total: 19 Death: 26 Grave: 24 Trickery: 21

DRUID Necromancy: 1, 2 (Spores) Necrotic Damage: 3 Shadow Magic: 0 Pestilence: 3, 5 (Spores), 5 Land (Swamp), 5 Land (Underdark) Fiendish Magic: 0 Eldritch Magic: 0 Curses & Evil: 1 Mind Games & Nightmares: 1, 2 Land (Grassland) Total: 9 Spores: 12 Land (Swamp): 11 Land (Underdark: 11

SORCERER Necromancy: 3 Necrotic Damage: 9 Shadow Magic: 2 Pestilence: 10 Fiendish Magic: 1 Eldritch Magic: 0 Curses & Evil: 4 Mind Games & Nightmares: 11 Total: 40

DIVINE SOUL SORCERER Necromancy: 8 Necrotic Damage: 12 Shadow Magic: 2 Pestilence: 12 Fiendish Magic: 4 Eldritch Magic: 0 Curses & Evil: 8 Mind Games & Nightmares: 11 Total: 57

WARLOCK Necromancy: 9, 12 (Undead) Necrotic Damage: 9 Shadow Magic: 5/5 Pestilence: 4, 6 (Fiend), 6 (Undead) Fiendish Magic: 6 Eldritch Magic: 3, 4/4 (Great Old One) Curses & Evil: 6, 7 (Fiend), 7 (Great Old One) Mind Games & Nightmares: 12, 14 (Great Old One) Total: 54 Fiend: 57 Great Old One: 58 Undead: 59

WIZARD Necromancy: 11 Necrotic Damage: 12 Shadow Magic: 4 Pestilence: 11 Fiendish Magic: 6 Eldritch Magic: 0 Curses & Evil: 6 Mind Games & Nightmares: 17 Total: 67

Not only does Wizard come out on top with an impressive 67 dark magic spells, it is the only class that can learn all 67 spells. The Warlock learns 15 spells and 4 Mystic Arcanum, plus a few more through Eldritch Invocations, Clerics prepare level + WIS so they'll never prepare more than 25, and we had to cheat to give the Divine Soul Sorcerer 25 spells, or else it only gets a measly 15 spells plus one spell based on the alignment of your divine bloodline. We're also cheating a little with the mind games and nightmares category as while mental manipulation is scary and evil, it isn't necessarily the stereotypical evil one invokes with a dark mage. Although Wizard is the clear winner, it's worth pointing out certain interesting data. The Undead Warlock is the master of Necromancy, with the Wizard close behind at 11, separated only by access to Death Ward. Warlock is also the master of Shadow Magic and Eldritch Magic, but that's kind of the Warlock's whole shtick. The Divine Soul Sorcerer is the master of Pestilence magic, making it a great fit for a Plague Doctor type character, as well as Curses & Evil magic, narrowly beating out the Fiend Warlock. The Wizard is the clear master of Mind Games & Nightmares, and the Wizard and Divine Soul Sorcerer are tied at using Necrotic Damage spells. Wizard and Warlock are evenly matched at wielding Fiendish Magic. While the Bard is pretty much restricted to curses and mind games, it is possible to build a bard that uses exclusively dark magic. They just won't be the greatest dark mage of all time. In terms of who wins the most categories, the Divine Soul Sorcerer wins Pestilence, Curses & Evil, and ties for Necrotic Damage. Without considering subclasses, however, Wizard wins Necromancy, Mind Games & Nightmares, and ties for both Fiendish Magic and Necrotic Damage.

THE BUILD

There are a few good choices for race when building the ultimate dark mage. The Fallen Aasimar's Necrotic Shroud feature adds proficiency bonus Necrotic damage to every attack while the necrotic shroud is active. They also get darkvision and resistance to both necrotic and radiant damage. The Dhampir not only gets dark vision, it lets you stop breathing and make vampiric bite attacks to regain hit points. Reborn are even harder to kill, with advantage against poison, and disease, resistance to poison damage, and advantage on death saves, on top of not needing to eat, drink, sleep, or breathe. But they don't get dark vision. And of course, the Custom Lineage can give your dark mage 60 ft of darkvision, and any feat, letting them take feats like Magic Initiate, Resilient (CON), Shadow-Touched, Eldritch Adept, and more. Ultimately, I feel that the Fallen Aasimar and Reborn are the strongest candidates as they are innately dark and creepy, whereas the Custom Lineage can be made dark and creepy. We'll treat this build as a Fallen Aasimar mostly because Reborns don't get darkvision and that is a pretty huge hindrance. Otherwise, we'd go with Reborn.

Haunted One is the darkest background possible and is also the default background of The Dark Urge in Baldur's Gate 3. We're going to ignore the background's options in order to take Intimidation to bully our way through the campaign and religion to study burials and undead. Since we know we're going Wizard, we'll also pick up arcana to study magic and medicine to study the body, blood, bones, organs, and everything else. However, if you want a sneakier dark mage, you could also go with Deception and Persuasion from our background to maintain a personable façade.

WIZARD SCHOOL OF NECROMANCY

Of course, necromancy is our subclass of choice. The power to raise a stronger horde of undead and it not being tied to specifically Animate Dead does make the Necromancy Wizard pretty useful. And the Command Undead feature really makes the mastery of dark magic vibe feel earned. There is a case to be made for Evocation. The Overchannel feature that sacrifices HP for damage is very dark mage. However, one feature stacked against an entire subclass of dark magic is no real contest. So, we'll go with the School of Necromancy.

The School of Necromancy also has a feature called Grim Harvest, which heals the Necromancer any time they kill an enemy with a spell, and more-so if it was a Necromancy spell. The spells Wither and Bloom, Vampiric Touch, and Enervation each damage the target with Necrotic damage, then heal the caster by half the damage dealt. These two healing factors can stack, making these very useful spells, and Wither and Bloom and Vampiric Touch can be chosen as Signature Spell and Spell Mastery, giving your necromancer an unlimited use of a way to regain hit points, even if it's rather low. It's more effective as a means to patch oneself up between fights, killing a few squirrels or birds to regain hit points for no cost. A 1 level dip into Life Domain can not only give the Wizard Heavy Armor proficiency and access to the Inflict Wounds spell, it can also further boost the self-healing gained from these three vampiric necromancy spells. Although False Life is on the Wizard spell list, the Eldritch Invocation Fiendish Vigor can give your Wizard a way to spam False Life between every encounter, making them just a little less squishy.

SPELL LIST

C Chill Touch, Infestation, Mind Sliver, Poison Spray, Toll the Dead 1 Cause Fear, False Life, Ray of Sickness, Shield, Silvery Barbs, Tasha's Caustic Brew, Tasha's Hideous Laughter, 2 Blindness/Deafness, Crown of Madness, Darkness, Melf's Acid Arrow, Shadow Blade, Tasha's Mind Whip, Web, Wither & Bloom 3 Animate Dead, Antagonize, Bestow Curse, Enemies Abound, Fear, Speak with Dead, Spirit Shroud, Summon Lesser Demons, Summon Shadowspawn, Summon Undead, Summon Warrior Spirit, Vampiric Touch 4 Blight, Edvard's Black Tentacles, Phantasmal Killer, Sickening Radiance, Spirit of Death, Summon Greater Demon, Vitriolic Sphere 5 Cloudkill, Danse Macabre, Dominate Person, Dream, Enervation, Infernal Calling, Modify Memory, Negative Energy Flood, Planar Binding, Synaptic Static 6 Circle of Death, Create Undead, Disintegrate, Eyebite, Flesh to Stone, Mental Prison, Soul Cage, Summon Fiend, Tasha's Otherworldly Guise 7 Finger of Death, Power Word: Pain, Symbol, Tether Essence* 8 Abi-Dalzim's Horrid Wilting, Clone, Dominate Monster, Feeblemind, Maddening Darkness 9 Imprisonment, Power Word: Kill, Weird

INFERNAL SOUL SORCERER

The Divine Soul Sorcerer did pretty well for itself, so I figured I'd give a 25 spell list known for the DSS as a little Halloween Treat.

C Acid Splash, Chill Touch, Infestation, Mind Sliver, Poison Spray, Toll the Dead 1 Bane, Inflict Wounds, False Life 2 Shadow Blade, Tasha's Mind Whip, Wither and Bloom 3 Animate Dead, Antagonize, Bestow Curse, Spirit Guardians, Vampiric Touch 4 Blight, Spirit of Death, Vitriolic Sphere 5 Cloudkill, Contagion, Enervation 6 Circle of Death, Create Undead, Disintegrate, Harm 7 Finger of Death, Symbol 8 Abi-Dalzim's Horrid Wilting 9 Power Word: Kill

[johnfair]

very rough 911xBtVS crossover outline

911 x BtVS

*Maddie, the current Slayer, doesn't really like this, the strength she could barely control, the hunt and bloodlust under her skin. she wanted to be a nurse, but the violence she dealt, the blood and horror made it so she didn't feel like she could. *favors bows and arrows, has sharper senses than previous Slayers. hunted down vampires and other demons that preyed on others at extremely long ranges.

*Buck, Watcher-in-training, doesn't really like that it was his sister against all the demonic evils in the world. Forced Bobby, his sister's Watcher, into training him with her, so he could help. *physically fit, has the strength and the resilience for field work, a moderate talent for the offensive and black magics, and the instincts could be trained into him. But would rather research and use magic to heal and protect places and people. Bobby clocked it, and encouraged Buck into the lore and history of the paranormal.

*Bobby, Watcher, Maddie's Watcher. Cynical, the job forcing him to confront the ways of the Council, the politics and counterworking when it was their job to save people, help the Slayer. *his daughter, Brooke was a potential, and was called at thirteen. she died, sacrificing herself against a fire demon, who Bobby had banished twenty years ago, summoned to recreate the London bridge fire. his whole family had been a target, and he lost them because the Council failed to send in backup (learned that later, thus starting his whole thing with distrust against the Council)

*Athena, human, a Potential. Didn't like that girls were called, lives ruined before they truly begun. Knows that May, her daughter is also a Potential, and works to make a world that didn't need the Slayer, knowing that it was futile. *works as a cop in the know, spearheading a task force that handled supernatural crimes and incidents, to make it so people didn't stumble into the dark unaware and ignorant, and protect and support those who fought the tides of evil anyway.

(have this thought of Maddie's heart stopping, protecting Buck against a warlock just throwing around lightning, failed anyway. they were both clinically dead. but there's Eddie performing this ritual, using his heart to force theirs to beat. and then Athena having a dream of Sineya, and accepting the burden of being the Slayer, knowing that it was May that was supposed to be Called.)

*Eddie, human, but with a long, storied bloodline of human hunters. there is a mystical weight to that, with witches and sorcerers and others adding into that bloodline. Dated back to when the Old Ones walked the earth, unremarkable at first, with their bloodline almost being wiped out at some points in history, but resurging stronger than the previous generations. *Eddie, one of the latest scions of the blood, is as strong as the Slayer, with reflexes, strength, resilience, and the healing factor to match. *parents fled the supernatural, Ramon decrying everything he's been taught and learned. didn't like that his son was as deeply enmeshed in it in the first place, literally born into all of it. *Eddie currently lives with his abuela, Isabel, a powerful witch in her own right. learning everything that he should have learned a long time ago.

*Chris, half-demon, Eddie's baby. Has CP. has the potential to be a very powerful sorcerer, with Eddie's bloodline, and his mother, Shannon's demonic heritage. very adorable, bitey, and makes these rainbow colored butterflies made of magic to appear when he's very happy, or excited, or with people he likes.

*Chim, vampire, turned twenty years ago. Has his human soul, bartered and fought for, from the Magician. the two halves of his new being sometimes clashed, often making him caustic and cruel.

*Doug, Maddie's boyfriend, turned into a vampire. made cruel by his vampirism, Maddie's first kill, protecting Buck who Doug bit, playing with his food, taunting Buck and Maddie, right before she was Called.

**i have this scene in my head where Eddie is taking a midnight stroll with Chris strapped to his chest, because Chris was grumpy, and wouldn't sleep, and sometimes the night air and walks under the dark were the only thing that could get him calm enough to sleep.

**encounters vampires, and just, this isn't ideal. Chris was a sleepy, warm weight against his chest and the noise would wake him up. so, he tried to be reasonable. talk them out of doing anything stupid.

**interrupted by Buck literally shouting a greeting. he was bait, which Maddie didn't like, but Buck insisted and there wasn't any time to argue. Buck's internal monologue was a long litany of curses, like shit, and fuck, and what kind of idiot goes out at night with a baby. Faintly, it's a good thing he's pretty, he's fucking stupid.

**and Eddie's always had this killer's instinct, so he went for the kill, grabbed number 2 pencils from where they were stashed in his belt and threw. dusted three vampires before anyone could react (other than Maddie) and then Maddie was also finishing the others off, arrows cutting silent and sure in the night and killed the rest.

**misunderstandings, and such. communication, Buddie! introductions, and Bobby and Isabel formally meeting. Bobby heard things about the witch Isabel, mostly about how being polite would save his life. Buck and Isabel getting along, Buck learning a lot of the protective magic from Isabel, as well as the family recipes, etc.

i made a thing. that's all so far. very rough, and probably needed more things to flesh it out. this turned out to be a bigger project than i thought it would be.

[fayevalcntine]

It's honestly wild any time I remember how some people argue that Daniel's role or statements should be considered invalid by default because of how brash and unforgiving he is in his judgement as if the sole reason why he's even in Dubai in the first place and going through Claudia's diaries isn't because of Louis

[alicelioncourt]

makeup

It's not that Shadowheart didn't like her current makeup, but at some point she wanted to make small changes and experiments: to make her cheeks a little brighter or her eyes even darker to emphasize their depth and see how she would look in a different look. After so many days of their journey, some things simply became boring. Except Gale's cooking. It was always on top.

Under the cover of darkness, while the fire quietly crackled the burning branches with such a pleasant crunch, Shadowheart decided to create a little magic and see what would happen.

The Cleric took with her into the tent everything that could be useful to her in order to paint herself a new face. She specifically chose the dark time of day so that no one would disturb her, and she would not disturb anyone with her suspicious rustling in the darkness of the night.

Thoughts occasionally crept into her head: what if it turns out ugly? She would not want to appear in a bad light in front of her companions. She was afraid that the reaction would be almost the same when they found out who Astarion really was. At the very least, she will definitely receive a caustic comment from Lae'zel.

Armed with a mirror and natural materials, Shadowheart began her experiments. The embers left over from the fire were used as eye makeup. She lined the lower eyelid with a thin line, then made several streaks and lines underneath. In the candlelight and darkness, her eyes began to look as if she had been crying and all her makeup had smeared.

An attempt to correct this mistake also did not lead to anything good: the red berries, in a desire to highlight her cheeks and make them brighter, looked as if she had gotten into paint. The juice of the berries flowed down the fingers, turning them red. It was as if she had torn someone apart with her bare hands.

Tonight was definitely not her night. And even though the wound on her hand did not hurt, she felt that the goddess Shar was punishing her a little differently.

To really finish this off, Shadowheart also painted her lips with berry juice.

“At least I look good with red lips…” she thought, looking in the mirror again. “But I look like a clown. Next time I'll try to do things differently. I don't like how it turned out."

Despite the reflection in the mirror, it was still her.

Sometimes changes are not so necessary. Walking quietly closer to the river so as not to wake anyone, Shadowheart quickly washed away this makeup and, with a refreshed face without makeup, returned to sleep by the fire.

"Good morning, Shadowheart. Oh… A little unusual, but I hasten to note that you still look just as beautiful,” Gale was the first to meet her. "I hope you got enough sleep today…"

“It’s okay,” she answered him and headed back to the tent to apply a new makeup that was more familiar to her facial features.

“Breakfast will be ready soon…” the wizard reminded her, just in case.

The Cleric of Shar examined her reflection in the mirror when she finished applying eyeliner. It was definitely much better this way. Not too bright, more restrained, but beautiful. Now she could forget about applying makeup at least for a couple of days. There was no point in reapplying her makeup every morning. The maximum she could afford was to touch up her makeup early in the morning if everything was really bad.

“I saw everything, darling.” Astarion teased her about her nightly experiments. "Next time, go to me if you want to look stunning."

“And this tells me a person who rehearses his phrases before saying them to someone,” she pricked him slightly skeptically in response, which caused the indignation of the vampire spawn. Of course, a little joke won’t ruin their relationship, but it will at least put him in his place a little. The offer is still tempting - she will think about actually turning to him.

In the meantime, a hot breakfast and a long journey awaited her. The artifact will not take itself into the Baldur's Gate.

[oops-it-happened-again]

Fanfic appreciation Bingo

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by @last-capy-hupping are amongst my fave WIPs. (But there are so many)

@fellowshipofthefics here's what I whipped up really fast :D

I posted this on the wrong blog. Please forgive me! It's me, @i-did-not-mean-to, being an utter idiot!

[y-rhywbeth2]

For the murder-inclined types: Poisons

(tbh, I think some of these would have medical applications too...)

Poisons, officially classified by the law, are substances considered too dangerous to be permitted either because of past use or because they only exist to injure and kill (certain drugs may be classified as poisons in some realms and cities). All poisons are illegal to produce, sell, possess and use, and they can be difficult to acquire if you don't know where to go. Followers of Talona are often a good source.

-

Calad An opaque golden liquid created from the cranial fluids of various creatures, including basilisks. Attacks the victim's vision and hearing, leaving them disoriented and in agony as the poison begins corroding their internal organs.

Thardynyn An odourless translucent yellow liquid that tastes of strawberries. Distilled from birds' blood, fish scales and wine (other alcohols may be substituted). Thardynyn causes seizures when it makes contact with the skin.

Horel A green liquid distilled from lilypad-like plants called oxhrel or "halfling's hand" and powdered horseradish. Harmless to touch and ingest, but it causes violent seizures if it enters the bloodstream.

Imvris A paralytic. Clear, with a very faint purple-tinge. Smells "peppery" and floral due to being distilled from the crushed petals of twelve types of rainforest flowers (so look at ingredients imported from Chult, I guess) Imvris is versatile: it can be absorbed through the skin, which leaves them momentarily paralysed before dissipating within the hour, but it works with greatest efficiency when ingested.

Vampire blood Tricky to use, especially because the vampire needs to be alive for its blood to contain magical properties and they're not very receptive to being on the other side of a blood donation as a rule. Vampire blood appears much the same as humanoid blood at first glance, but has a golden sheen when held up to allow light to pass through it. It may be caustic to touch or ingest (though the properties of vampire blood is highly unpredictable, and some vampires have blood with other random effects, some of which may also function as poisons of different effects).

Dragonbane Bright blue and opaque, the poison is brewed using the blood of three different dragons. Obviously, due to the difficulty of acquiring the ingredients, the poison is rarely seen and more of a legend. Used on most creatures the toxin will only cause wracking pain and a little distress to the organs, but its main targets are dragons (possibly dragonkin?), upon whom it becomes a fast-acting deadly neurotoxin that prevents them from breathing.

Swiftsleep A gummy liquid that looks like ale and smells like citrus. It's a very easily aquired and common poison created from crushed flies and tree beetles mixed into the sap of duskwood trees. As the name implies, when injected into the bloodstream the victim drops almost immediately into a deep sleep.

Drow Sleep Poison A similar poison to swiftsleep, though far more potent. It's highly sought after by surfacers, however it needs to be carefully sealed and kept out of the sunlight or it loses its effect. It takes the form of a heavy thick black liquid, like molasses in texture. Dark elves coat their darts and javelins in it. When entering the bloodstream it causes damage to the internal organs and quickly causes the victim to fall into a brief coma which nobody can awaken them from without use of a neutralise poison spell. It also causes damage if it gets into the eyes, nose or mouth, and drow like to make nail varnish out of it. Notably it is not effective on dark elves, who have gone out of their way to engineer a resistance to it Minthara-poisoning-her-lover-while-they-sleep-style.

Sindari Made from herb native to Thay: when ingested the poison is slow acting, showing no effects for 24-hours, at which point the victim begins to experience violent seizures which will rapidly cause painful death.

Jesseret A lethal poison in the form of a purple powder with a strong peppery flavour, named after the rogue who invented it.

Snow Adder Venom The snake's venom causes paralysis and is cold enough to inflict frostbite while in the bloodstream.

Srindym An old elven poison, to which the elves themselves are immune and half-elves are resistant (including drow and half-drow), and which was created aeons ago by individuals and organisations to use against "lesser races". It's a nightmare to find and insanely expensive when you can get it. The Tel'Quessir don't enjoy reminders of their less pleasant side; people who can make it are rare, secret caches are carefully hidden. It's a neurotoxin crafted from elven blood and several plant-based ingredients, mixed under the moonlight and enchanted with several spells. Srindrym is versatile: the victim can be poisoned through ingestion, dermal absorption or by getting it directly into the bloodstream. It causes delirium, seizures and loss of consciousness. It's possible to develop a resistance to the substance over time though.

Belarris An oily black mixture of wyvern blood, two types of tree bark, and six plant saps. It's one of the few poisons that can be used to lace uncooked food without losing potency in the cooking process. A fast acting poison that causes rapid overwhelming fatigue almost immediately after entering the system and causes them to lose consciousness for several minutes.

Lorbral Fully named lorbralinth, the poison is crafted from the saliva of sixteen different monsters (including the basilisk, again). It's clear, has an oily texture, and a sweet smell. Fast acting but brief in effect: If it enters the bloodstream, be that from a coated weapon or ingestion, the victim is debilitated by severe fevers and chills.

Bhaalspawn Blood Basically impossible to acquire due to both the severe scarcity of the Children of Bhaal and their tendency towards horribly murdering people who pick fights with them or try and take their blood; some Bhaalspawn have been known to have blood that - upon entering a human[oid]'s bloodstream, usually applied by coating a weapon - causes extreme fatigue and weakness, worsening until the victim falls into a coma and wastes away into death. The blood may appear normal, or be black and viscous.

[akitasimblr]

a very dreadful harper bachelorette challenge 🦇🖤🥀

nathalia: watcher, i want you to find me the most picky, fussy, demanding, troublesome, importunate, irritable, whiny, peevish, petulant, critical, caustic, cynical, mordant, bitter... well, you got the point! find me the dreadfulest pixels, the pixels no one would dare to send to a bachelorette challenge. i wanna meet them. soon.

watcher: your wish is my command. wanna make an intro about you?

nathalia: i'm a vampire. i bite. period.

watcher: ... and that's all...?

nathalia: for now, yes.

watcher: (to the audience) don't worry, i'll write a presentation of nat tomorrow, guys. Sorry, she's always like that...

a bachelorette challenge in which the dreadfulest pixel wins. will you dare?

submission rules:

nathalia will be accepting 13 sims in total (the first 13th entries will be automatically accepted);

non-occults, occults are all welcome;

all sims/genders/sexualities are welcome;

give them the skills you wish;

give them likes and dislikes, but choose the less agreeable of course 😉 oooohhh! and more dislikes than likes, be picky!

only one outfit per category;

cc allowed to the amount of your desire;

i will use my eyes defaults (opal eyes) for all sims in-game;

give your sim a brief, medium or testamentary backstory (i will read everything!);

as for the cas traits, follow the guides below, but feel free to give them any rewards/aspirations traits.

they can't have the following traits:

cheerful

goofball

romantic

bro

family-oriented

good

loyal

outgoing

proper

and they must have at least one of these traits:

erratic

gloomy

high maintenance

hot headed

paranoid

squeamish

unflirty

kleptomaniac

overachiever

perfectionist

evil

hates children

jealous

noncommittal

mean

snob

gameplay dynamics:

i won’t be following the official bc rules strictly - this means i will adapt them to a more carefree gameplay style (i'll announce them soon);

first impressions will be in effect;

wicked whims will be on too (but like i do in my legacy no adult content will be published);

i won’t be doing official ceremonies, dialogues and no poses shall be used. the game will be as organic as possible and 100% spontaneous;

nathalia harper’s relatives - the vamfires - will interact with contestants too.

i hope to start the challenge around the mid of september of 2023.

please tag me and use the tag #dreadfulnat with your entry!

if you have any questions about it, feel free to send me a dm or leave a comment :)

thank you so much!