#adrian's past garb

[ruiniel]

u know what, i'm gonna be a basic b and ask for the ever iconic it's way too cold outside so lets cuddle naked and pretend that we're not aroused trope for castlevania's alucard. gotta love some of that sweet sexual tension

Some classics are made to last and be retold, never worry! I wanted to practice some writing but was also tired so uh, took an alternate ending to a scene from an older Alucard x OFC fic that used the 'beauty and the beast' trope, changed a few things, and included your prompt. … I wouldn’t exactly call it cuddling, but gave it a dose of UST. A lot of setup, though, even some action before that. Hope you like it.

This is the continuation of Schemes (warning, major angstfest there). Schemes doesn't need to be read in order to get this one, but it sure would enhance the last scene here.

The title is part of the proverb Still waters run deep. It was just there.  

Still waters

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Relationship: Alucard x fem!reader

Characters: Alucard, Reader, Original Characters

Count: 4k

Rating: M (🔞)

Tags/CW: scholar!reader, brief depiction of illness, abuse, verbal abuse, violence, attempted murder, unresolved sexual tension, Alucard is Not nice in this, Though he still means well, OK he's *kind of nice*, explicit language, post Castlevania season III, POV Reader Character, Second Person POV, references to past emotional conflict, protectiveness

Summary: He frightened you that night... but you’d been so foolish. Taking a moment of weakness for something else, pushing when you shouldn’t have. Now here you are: alone, worn, having traveled along the first dusty path you found away from the woods, aiming to be as far from that castle as possible. You have but few belongings, save a valuable manuscript he’d once gifted you.

"And where would I go?" you asked with a newfound, raking sort of hurt pride, a wayward look of disbelief in your eyes.

"That is your concern, not mine," Alucard retorted tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Adrian—" you tried again, only to be cut off by a scalding look.

"You will regret ever setting foot here otherwise," he snapped at you, his words chopped and shaking.

Trembling like a leaf, you bit down the crippling misery that piled up your throat. "I already do," you spewed before turning on your heel and dashing out of his sight, sparing no glance back.

You shook your head wearily at the wretched, aching memory of that last encounter, and peered beyond the heavy wooden gates of the village you’d discovered in your path. You hoped someone was awake on the other side, waited for a few minutes. Nothing. You were about to knock again when a bell began its chiming chant, in reckoning of dawn. After the bell died your knuckles struck the wooden gate again.

"A’ight, ai’ght," a disgruntled elderly voice began from the other side. "Got a bad leg y'know," the voice went on, and the trap door opened level with your face. Suspicious old eyes found yours. "Your name and your business," the watchman demanded.

You gave him your name in your most steady voice, though it came harsh with disuse. "I am no more than a traveler, fatigued and in search of lodgings."

The distrustful air held, and the trap door was closed. A moment later the gate opened either way, as was the custom in some areas once daybreak hit.

"Traveling alone are ye?" the somewhat raggedy old man placed his hands on his hips, shamelessly eyeing you striding past. " ... I'd watch meself if I were you—" the watchman added, but the end of his sentence was lost on you, now too preoccupied with taking in the new view before you. It was a rather large settlement, not quite a town but far from being a hamlet. Wood and thicket houses lined the uncobbled streets, and tall wooden gates spread unevenly delimited different homesteads from one another. You noticed folk were already up and about, most garbed in similar thick linens and furs. There was a bustle of men and women of various ages heading into different directions to pursue the labors of the day.

"Pardon me," you swiftly asked one passing woman. "What is this place called?"

"Why ye find yerself in Bran," she replied hastily, rushing off before you had a chance to ask whether you could expect to find room and board of any kind. Bran. You had no notion of this place. Sleeping under the naked sky was not something you shied away from, and there was little doubt you’d resort to such again throughout your journey. But for now, well, now you needed a good long rest and a warm meal. And a batch of new memories, if possible.

You walked along the main street, eyes searching for anything which may have constituted an inn. Mud and dirt clung to your boots and the hem of your cloak, gathered along the wet road drenched in nightly rains. You sighed, shouldering the satchel containing your few belongings.

Morning, midday and afternoon passed with little commotion and no success in finding a place to stay. You felt all the more despondent, though the reason had little to do with your uncertain options for the night.

You felt empty and a little lost, in more ways than one. Something was missing, and it was not unlike an invisible string puppeteering your thoughts; they ever returned to him. You wanted to forget, but no doubt that would take time. You wanted his callous words to stop striking dents into your mind. What was causing the most distress was the way his merciless distrust had slammed into you, and during moments you could not erase from your mind however much you tried.

You regarded the bleak day, strewn with impending grey clouds looming in the distance, wondering whether he was well, whether he was at all regretful for how it all spiralled down between you. After all, he did have a human side, supposedly. You may have taken a wrong step, and as time wore on, the stronger this conviction became. But your head had been full, of both wine and him and a ruthless desire you could not rein. No use regretting it now.

Soon, there was commotion around you as you reached the village marketplace. There were various merchants selling leathers, metalwork and wooden carvings among others and there was even a stand laden with smoked meats. There was plenty of mud here as well, giving the gathering a rather splattered appearance. You also saw chickens, goats and pigs put up for sale.

You waded through the crowd, considering spending coin on whatever nourishment you could find, when a wail was heard from without. The sounds were inhuman to your ears, closer to screeches than anything. 

You approached the curious crowd that had gathered, and craning your neck to see better, you noticed a young girl, writhing on the ground. Her body was contorting in strange positions. She looked to be in her early youth, and was a sorry state. Her eyes were rolled over so the bare whites were visible, and she was uttering sounds that would have caused a night creature to flee. An older woman was on her knees and attempting to keep her flailing arms at bay.

"Witchery..." you heard the word whispered by more than one. "The devil has her, she is under its spell again," another was saying.

You sighed in annoyance, shouldering your way between them. That is no spell.

You’d seen this condition before, during your studies. It was an affliction of the mind and body, leaving one too weakened and unable to perform tasks as others would. The older woman was desperately trying to soothe the girl, now foaming at the mouth, even as you came before them and lowered yourself beside them. "Hold her jaw," you said. "I am a... healer," you offered by way of greeting, at which point the woman's eyes widened. She did as was asked.

"She must not bite her tongue," you told the frantic woman, moving the girl before pressing two fingers to a specific spot along the side of her neck. The struggling soon ceased, and her arms and legs became slack, her eyes closed.

You caught the gaze of the older woman.

"It usually takes me much longer to still her," she said, her eyes full of worry and gratitude. "I have never seen anyone achieve what you have done."

"Your child has an ailment, one she will bear if properly tended," you leaned in closer. "And it has nothing to do with God or the Devil," you whispered, looking to the somewhat wary crowd. People had begun to disperse and go about their business.

"Well, whatever it is, I am in your debt." She lowered her head.

"Let there be no debt, I do not do this for recompense."

"I am Rafilae, and this is my daughter, Maria," the woman looked to the girl now nestled in her arms. "I have a cottage at the other end of our village, and though we have no wealth to speak of, I would still wish to repay you, somehow. Come, I think we have enough food to share for tonight, and you look to be in need of rest yourself."

You could do little to deny that. You were tired, you were hungry. "If that would not be too much trouble..."  you said, with little conviction.

"Bah, no trouble at all. I'll explain all to my man. Now come," Rafilae urged, and having nothing else to do nor indeed anywhere to go, you heeded.

A cloaked figure watched you depart but did not follow, instead fading amid the crowd of the bustling market.

Evening found you seated on the ground at a wooden table in a small thatched roof hut, a steaming dish of root vegetable broth set before you. You were joined by your new acquaintances and hosts, both of whom seemed wholesome, hardworking people. Rafilae's husband Rufus had been an amenable man, and all the happier when he heard of the aid you provided. Maria lay on a bed of hay not too far away, joined by her brothers and sisters, having regained herself in the meantime.

They asked of your purpose in Wallachia, of your own lands. They were curious people, but you were at a point where you craved and welcomed the openness of human contact. You kept most of your trials to yourself, placing forward the idea that you were a traveling healer. You then instructed the couple on a few techniques to help their daughter and spoke of the condition she bore. These simple folk were looking rather incredulously at you, still somewhat unable to believe their child was not possessed by any forces of evil. It was during this conversation that a vicious knock sounded at the door of the hut.

"Rather late for visitors," Rufus said with narrowed eyes.

All conversation ceased, and the man rose, taking a heavy pitchfork in hand. You rose as well and peered outside to catch glimpse of the intruder. Your eyes widened at the sight.

Six figures, all armed and dressed in robes of black and gold were planted before the homestead.

One of them pointed a long, dirty finger at you. "That one."

Rufus went to stand as a shield before you and his wife, grasping the pitchfork firmly in his hand.

"The Lord's Horde," Rafilae placed her hand to her mouth, while you were suddenly looking about them for any possible ways of escape. Yes, you remembered their kind. You recalled the etchings of their garb and the ruthless dogmatism which drove them to blind murder. It was their kind who chased you that rainy day, whom you barely escaped; who led you to...

"Are you certain?" one of the robed men asked.

"As I live and breathe," came the confirmation. "That’s the witch Denes and the others caught in Rusi. When I saw her in the market today in the commotion I could not believe my eyes. She drew out the devil from one, so there's further proof." His voice dripped loathing. "I never thought she would dare show her face around these parts after what she did."

"What is the meaning of this?" Rufus demanded.

The second man who’d spoken neared. He clasped his hands together in his faded robe, his air one of distinction. He had a long dark beard and wore a faded black prior's cap on his short cropped hair. "You host a witch in your midst."

You scoffed, though inside you quaked. Not again, not again. 

The man continued his case. "She is responsible for the deaths of men in our brotherhood who tried to capture her near Rusi. We never saw them again."

"I am no witch!" You seethed, looking pleadingly to Rufus and his wife.

Rufus did not seem convinced either. "Do you have proof of this?" he looked back to the prior.

The prior frowned, his cold eyes gaining a mad glimmer. "You know our cause. You know we will fight for the Lord with all that we are, and against anyone who stands in the way of His justice," he looked pointedly at Rufus. "I would entreat you not to interfere with God's work, lest you are prepared to face the consequences."

The man briefly took in the various sharp weapons the others wielded. Their gazes were cold and there was the same spark of maddened devotion in their eyes.

The children had appeared at the entrance, curious and wide-eyed. You sighed upon seeing them, lowering your head.

"No," you placed a hand on the man's shoulder, then regarded the prior icily. "I will go freely." You looked to Rafilae, who was wringing her hands. "Thank you for your aid." Then swiftly you retrieved your satchel, and hands were on your shoulders, and you were dragged away before the startled eyes of the family who'd shown you kindness. It is true, everything does go in cycles the thought crossed your mind.

"What will you do to me?" you dared ask as one of the men pulled your hands to bind them. You struggled in vain, but the man forcibly revealed your wrist, still bearing marks from the incubus attack weeks ago.

"Further proof, prior Horvath," and all gasped when they saw the reddened scars as he forcibly brought your wrist upward. "Cavorting with vampires also, no doubt."

The one called Horvath sneered, his dark eyes set on your livid expression. "We take her to the river," then his smile turned vicious. "You do what you will with her." The others grinned, looking at each other. "Throw her body in when done."

"No, please," you tried reason, struggling as the bonds were tightened. "I bear nothing but knowledge, and have no skill nor anything to do with the dark arts!"

"Silence!" the prior boomed, features contorting. He thrust his face close to yours, taking a fistful of your hair and pulling so harshly you screeched in pain. "Where are our brethren then, hmm? There is nothing you can say or do to make me believe you, wench, save for their safe return. And even then," he gripped harder, causing your eyes to water. "You are still a filthy servant of the Enemy." He released you, and bid them march ahead with you dragged in tow.

As you left the village behind, you were trying to come to terms with the fact that life was apparently not on your side. None dared intervene and there were few people out and about since evening had fallen. All feared the darkness and what lurked beyond it, and rightfully so. The tall woods soon swallowed the group, and two captors lit torches.

When you heard the murmur of water nearby, you swallowed. They must have neared the river. You looked left and right, seeing nothing but gloom. They’d taken your satchel away, reverently saying its contents were destined to be burned.

Then you were being dragged by two of them, struggling and panting, towards the steep edge where the river thrashed below. Your legs flailed, and a powerful strike ended your wailing. You saw stars.

"Pin her down," one said, and they were about to do just that, when something hissed past them.

You saw nothing in the dark, save for the torch fallen to the forest bed. You heard groans and muffled cries as bodies fell to the ground.

You rose swiftly to your knees, trying to rip the bonds with your teeth to no avail, fumbling onto the ground, looking for the satchel. You stared about yourself, for whatever was happening lit by the weak light of the fallen torches.

A tall figure faced the prior.

It all happened too fast. You were being dragged by the hair, caught in an armlock that had you choking. The prior stood alone, and spilled blood rose warm in the air. He was ever pacing back towards the cliff, and the river below, with you struggling in his grip.

"Stay back!" he cried, brandishing a long knife even as his opponent stepped ever closer. 

"Release your captive," the presence commanded, aiming his weapon at the prior's chest.

The voice. That voice.

"What?!"

"Release your captive, then jump," the voice repeated calmly as the blade swished through the air, glinting eerily. "And you may survive the river. I will count to three, at which point your heart will be pierced by my blade. Your decision," he offered as the prior kept looking back towards the gaping nothingness, then to the catlike gaze of the stranger.

True to his word, he began his count. 

"Are you mad?! Your witch will perish too, you fucking beast, because if I go, she goes with me."

If you didn’t know better, you thought you’d heard a growl. 

"Here, if you want her so badly, she’s all yours—” 

You gasped as you were forcefully flung into darkness, deafened by your own startled cry, by another short, agonized gurgle.

And then, pins and needles, and the cold numbed all.

Pain. Everywhere and nowhere; too hot, but then too cold. You opened your eyes to what seemed like pale daylight sifting through a window, closed them again. 

Am I alive?

The capture, the darkness, the river, all came crashing down in waves of memories, and a violent quiver shook your frame. You were strewn on something softer than a forest bed. You opened your eyes anew, saw nary a movement, and felt something warm pressed to your forehead. A palm. You shivered, shivered, shivered, before losing consciousness again.

Must it be so cold everywhere? Everything hurt. As you stared blearily along your arm, you felt the bruises forming there. And then, a change: warmth at your back, much needed heat enveloping you. Pleasant and alive, and before you understood—or cared—what it was, you pressed closer. Something locked around your waist.

"You fidget," and despite the ache, the warm breath against your neck sent a different shiver down your body.

This was not actually happening. You were caught in some feverish dream, dying on the stony banks of the river.

"...where… you…"

"Don’t try to speak. Rest."

"...came for me? But how…"

An exasperated sigh. "My senses. I know your scent."

At any other time, those words might have had your heart soaring and mind reeling, but now you were too numb for even the infatuation which, even in delirium, apparently wouldn’t loosen its hold.

"You struck the waters before I reached you,"  Adrian went on in that soft voice, though its tone was rather clinical.

Yes, you struggled to remember. He did arrive, it had been him. Right before…

It was then you noticed something mortifying—you were bare under the covers, and the warmth against your back was skin. 

As if reading your thoughts, Adrian spoke again. "You were in shock when I retrieved you from the water. The medicine supplies here were mostly destroyed during the siege on the castle," he said, and you realized that what was closed around you was his arm; his bare arm, and your back was pressed to his chest. You were too tired to move, too gutted to speak. Last time you attempted closeness, he all but cast you out of the castle and now, now…

If only you had the strength to be angry.

"The heating system no longer works since then, and I had no firewood, and your condition was fastly worsening. I had no choice," he spoke again.

And the way he said the last words was killing you; like you were a chore, and a disturbance. 

Still, he… he was there.

"...I see…" you managed, feeling him warm but stiff as you lay unmoving on your side. You wished you could scream, demand an apology for his denial and his distrustful, unjust words during that last encounter but then—he saved your life.

"Why?" you croaked, staring out the window, where clouds darkened the sky above the forest.

"I told you not to speak."

"Why did you do it?" you asked stubbornly, feeling the arm tighten around your waist in an uncontrolled jerk of movement. "Why did you go through the trouble of dragging me from their clutches when you demanded I left in the first place."

"I demanded you left, but never wanted you to come to harm."

You closed your eyes. "You called me a liar." He could be so goddamn infuriating. Never a straight answer, but his warmth seeping into you felt so good it made you drowsy, and the most primal side of you felt it seeping within, lacing pleasure to pain.

Silence. You wondered if you’d finally reached him, or if it was the guilt at his past conduct that drove him to this. You could not help remembering the way he held you then, the desperate longing in his kiss, the heat rising between you as he crushed you closer—a heat not unlike the one burning you now; you no longer shivered from the cold, but were loath to tell him.

Damn you. Damn him.

His chest rose in a sigh against your naked back. "There are things you do not know. About me. I…"

You couldn’t be more bewildered if you saw a pig on white wings flying towards the sun. Adrian, being honest and straightforward? Still, you did not hedge him. Let him struggle, the petty side of you urged, the other melting with desperation and love.

"My trust was broken before," he finally said, and you waited, but Adrian added nothing else.

Still. "I did not know," you said, staring out the window. 

"I realized that. After," and for the first time, you sensed a sliver of remorse in his tone. Not an apology, but, for now, all else considered, it would do. This was not the way things went in your lustful dreams of him from before; aching all over, unable to move. 

"How do you feel?"

You swallowed. "Warm."

A pause. You’d half expected him to rise and leave, but nothing happened.

"Good," he said. He felt warmer, or maybe it was a slight of the imagination. And then, "I do not think you a liar."

You still felt resent at the memory, but on impulse, your hand reached, pressed over his own that was splayed over your abdomen. Your fingers slipped between his; he did not withdraw. 

"Please," you heard then, and the whisper held something ragged in it, and you became aware of a hardness against you, just like… like that first time you threw yourself at him like a fool with your head full of wine and body thrumming with desire.

You said nothing else, become aware of the risen heartbeat against your spine. And suddenly you wondered, and suddenly you understood. 

"Did you bring me back to cast me away again once I’m better? Will you reprise that humiliation?" You could not help it, though his words on trust haunted you already, as many of his past actions gained a new, horrible sense.

"No." It sounded pained on its own; you let it be.

You lay in silence, aware you could not even move if you tried to turn and face him, to see his eyes, to feel him closer, to tell him. "I will wait for you, Adrian," you said either way, and never heard his answer as exhausted sleep claimed you.

MASTERLIST: CASTLEVANIA SERIES x READER

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[nala-raines]

Chapter 5 History

Tomorrow the five of us are headed to Ludington to do some sightseeing and to see/tell my Aunt Karen that Adrian and I are engaged.

I’m in bed, watching a movie on my laptop, waiting for Adrian to join me when I hear him call to me from the bathroom, “What did you and your family do in Ludington when you were little?”

I take a moment to pause the movie and remember before answering, “We used to sit on the beach and watch the water. I used to play in the waves, even if I didn’t bring my bathing suit.” I pause to laugh and I hear Adrian chuckle. “One year, the four of us took a 2-mile walk so we could get to a lighthouse that was supposedly haunted. Sarah and my mom complained most of the way there, and most of the way back. And we went to a historic village, called WhitePine Village. Old houses, kitchens, toys, and people dressed in 1700’s garb. It was fun, even though Sarah tried to rush through the whole thing, and they had a whole building full of old freaky frickin’ clowns. Oh, and another time my Aunt Karen and her friend took Sarah and I on a sand dune tour. That wasn’t in Ludington, but it was still a lot of fun.”

“So, you’ve always been fascinated by the past.” Adrian comes out of the bathroom leaving the light on and shutting the door but leaving the door slightly ajar to let some light into the room. He knows that I don’t like the dark, especially after waking up in a coffin and being on Feral Island (Demetrius’ Island, but it still works). After he gets in bed with me, he takes the laptop and sets it on his lap so I can lay on his chest before I answer.

“Yeah. From the clothes to the history, I’ve always just been drawn to the past. I used to say that if I was the way I am now, but I lived in 1775, in New York, I would die an old maid.” I tell him jokingly.

“That’s not true. And before you try to argue with me, in case you’ve forgotten, I lived in New York in 1775, and if I had met you, I would’ve followed you home, asked for your father’s blessing, and married you as soon as I could.”

“What about Elenor? When did you meet her?” I ask him teasingly.

“I was friends with Elenor at that time, however, I had no romantic feelings toward her. Like I told you when I gave you this ring, I feel more comfortable with you than I ever did with anyone else. Including Elenor.” I sigh, nuzzling my head against his chest and resume the movie, and I immediately start to fall asleep. “Get some rest, My Love. After all, we will be hitting those spots you mentioned tomorrow.”

“What if it gets sunny? You and I will be okay but the others won’t be.” I say falling asleep.

“I already checked the weather, it will be cloudy, but no rain. If it rains or the clouds break and the sun comes out, we’ll bring a few umbrellas and they can wear a hoodie or a jacket. It won’t kill them.”

“You’re right. Love you. Night.”

“Good night, Love. Sweet dreams.” He kisses my head, as I fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, excited to see what tomorrow will bring.

⚜ ⚜ ⚜

I wake up at 7:30 in the morning. I turn to see Adrian looking at me, “Morning, Handsome.” I say as he puts his hand on my cheek, while the other is supporting him. I place my hand on his as he bends down to kiss me, before saying.

“Good morning, Beautiful. How did you sleep?” He says stroking his thumb along my cheek.

“I slept great. How long have you been up?” I ask him. He’s usually up before me, but I always ask, afraid that I may have woken him up somehow.

“Not long. Maybe ten minutes. I like seeing you so peaceful.” He says before kissing my forehead.

“So, you like watching me sleep?” I laugh and he rolls his eyes before chuckling and saying,

“Yes, but not like that. I know that today may be taxing for you, and didn't want to wake you. Besides, I thought that the more you slept the less likely it would be that the jet lag and vertigo would kick in. So, how do you feel?”

“I feel good. Just… happy that I get to wake up and see this handsome face.”

“I feel the same way.” He tells me, he is so sweet and caring towards me.

“Well, there is something I guess…” I say shyly.

“What is it?” Adrian’s face fills with worry, but I just laugh and give him a kiss.

“It’s nothing bad. I was just wondering if I could get up, and take a shower before we go eat and hit the road.”

Adrian breathes a sigh of relief, then kisses me once more,  “Of course. Where do you want to go for breakfast? I know there's a breakfast bar here in the hotel, but is there anywhere else you want to go?” He says as he sits up and walks around the bed, as I get out of bed myself. And he picks up my suitcase and sets it on the other bed in the room.

“Thanks. And no, the hotel breakfast bar is fine. I’ll try not to be too long in the shower.” I say grabbing an outfit out of my suitcase, as Adrian hands me my toiletry bag.

“No, I want you to take your time. I know that hot showers help you relax, and that is part of the reason we’re on this trip.” He stops to think for a moment, “Well at least as relaxing as I can make it.”

“Wow. It’s like you spend half of the time studying me. Is it weird that I think that’s sweet?”

“I don’t think so. I believe that couples should spend some time studying each other. To notice the little things.” He says as he presses a kiss to my temple.  Before I walk to the bathroom, but I leave the door open a little so we can still talk.

“So, what ‘little things’ have you noticed about me?” I ask as I start the water so it has a chance to warm up.

“Well, you bit your lip, when you're nervous or anxious. You play with your necklace or your ring, too. Or you do it absentmindedly. You love using emojis, even though you don’t use them often. And when you’re angry, you get really quiet, and usually write or listen to music to calm down.”

“Wow, you really do pay attention to the little things,” I say from the bathroom, “Ah, crap.”

“What’s wrong?” 

“I left my shampoo and conditioner in the bag. Same with my razor.” I pause before asking, “Could you hand them to me, please?” Talking through a slightly open door while one of us is taking a shower or a bath is still new for us. I wanted to relax and hear about Adrian’s day, so we came up with this compromise. However, this is a new level of comfort with each other, at least on my side.

“Sure. Is the bag on the counter?”

“Yeah.” I answer quietly. I hear him open the door, and a moment later, he hands me the bottles through the curtain. I grab the bottles before saying, “Thanks. At least I didn’t leave them at home.” We both chuckle a little, but I can tell that he knows that something is up.

“You know that I would never disrespect you or make you feel uncomfortable on purpose, right?” He says gently.

“I know. I’m more comfortable with this than I thought I would. And I don’t know if that’s a good thing or bad.” I tell him, putting the shampoo in my hair. Being honest with him is easy and hard at the same time, but I know that at the very least, talking with him can help me sort out how I feel.

“Do you want to be comfortable with this?” He asks.

“If you’re referring to you being in the bathroom, while I’m naked in the shower, then yes. I want to be comfortable, I am comfortable with this. I just…” I pause, “I don’t know, I guess I’m just wondering if the way I’ve changed other the past few months is good or not. Kinda like how you felt right before Jameson grabbed me a few months ago.”

“Oh, yes. I’m here to listen if you want to talk. I want to help you the best I can.”

I’ve rinsed out all the shampoo and conditioner, and move to shut the water off, and then grab a towel off the rack and wrap it around my body before pulling back the curtain and stepping out of the shower. Right in front of Adrian. “You don’t make me uncomfortable, I know that when I draw a line, you respect it. Like right now. I was just raised differently, told to think differently, I even felt differently about this a few years ago. But, I don’t know, after everything that’s happened, I feel better with you around. Does that make any sense at all?”

“Yes, I understand what you are trying to say and I would never intentionally disrespect you. Nala, please let me know if you want to do something different when it comes to us. I know we’ve been through a lot, and that it’s pushed your boundaries, but if there’s something that just you want to do when we’ll do it.”

“I know and I will. The truth is, I like how we are, you respect me, my beliefs, and my boundaries. Like where you are fine with having sex outside of marriage, I’m not okay with that, and you haven’t pushed for it once. Even after we moved in together. I think I feel comfortable because of the respect and trust that we have for each other. Thanks for listening babe.”

“Of course. Now, I’m going to step out so you can finish getting ready.”

“Sounds good.” He steps out of the room with a smile. When I’m done getting ready, Adrian takes his own shower, we meet up with the gang. Eat breakfast and hit the road.

⚜ ⚜ ⚜

You would think that being in a car for two hours with four other people in the car, with no one saying anything, would be awkward, but it's not. It’s kind of comfortable, usually, when it was quiet, we knew something bad was about to happen, or something bad had happened. But this is oddly peaceful until I realized that Adrian had made an odd turn that made the GPS angry. “Hey babe, where are you going?” I ask Adrian.

“Like I said, this trip is meant to be relaxing. I knew that there would be stressful moments, but I want you to relax too. That said, I want to surprise you.”

“I wish you would've told us,” Kamilah said from the back.

Adrian just slightly shakes his head, “Don’t worry I have everything covered.”

I look and see a small grin. Adrian has always loved surprising me with dinner, a trip, gifts, etc. I can tell he’s excited about this one. I just know one thing… I’m taking way too many pictures.

A few minutes later I see a familiar sign. Slightly faded dark green and white paint, WhitePine Village. I feel my eyes widen in shock, and my jaw drops. I look over at Adrian as he parks the car, and he sees my expression. He smiles at me. I look back and forth between the building and Adrian, the excitement rising in my chest. I quickly turn and throw my arms around Adrian’s neck, while shaking with excitement.

“THANK YOU!!! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” I say almost faster than I can comprehend. I quickly grab my purse, open my door, and hop out of the car, before turning back and saying, “Come on, guys! Let’s go!”

Adrian laughs and gets out of the car. Followed by Kamilah, Jax, and Gaius. I grab Adrian’s arm and quickly head to one of the small buildings that was the gift shop/box office.

After Adrian bought everyone’s tickets and I grabbed a map, we started walking the grounds.

I followed the map, just like I did the last time I was here. It felt nostalgic, but better since I was on Adrian’s arm. After taking a quick glance at Kamilah, Jax, and Gaius, I giggle. Remembering a few scenes from Bridgerton, that Adrian and I binged last weekend.

“Is something amusing to you?” Adrian asks, seemingly feeling in the past himself. Although, he’s probably farther back in the past than I am.

“I was just wondering if this is what courting felt like.” I tell him, hugging his arm closer, and tilting my head towards our friends, who are having their own conversation. Close enough to keep an eye on us, but far back enough to give us some privacy.

Adrian smiled, and shook his head slightly, before answering.

“A little bit, but not quite.” We stopped for a moment, looking at the small ‘lake’ in front of us. After a moment, Adrian looked back at me, “I’m glad that the times have changed. That the way people ‘court’ has changed.”

I figured where he was going with this, but I want to have my fun with this too.

“Because back then we would’ve taken chaperoned strolls in the park. Or had iced tea on a porch.” I turned to face him better, looking at his face. He still smiled but he had that ‘oh here we go’ look on his face. Watching dumb movies helps me destress and relax. The movie of choice a few weeks back had been the entire Twilight Saga. We made fun of most of it, insulting people’s choices, how inaccurate the is, and how dumb/concerning the relationships and dynamics between the characters.

“And maybe stolen a kiss or two.”

“Oh, I would’ve stolen far more than that.” He said wrapping his arms around me. I look in his eyes and see love, devotion, humor, and so many emotions that I can’t identify. “Even though I would’ve done everything I could to make sure that we could marry within the first week of meeting you.”

I feel the truth of his words sink in. I lean up and kiss him, and as always, he returns it. Sweet and slow, letting all of our love seep into it. It only lasted a minute. When we pulled away, I rested my head on his chest, looking at the water.

“Hey, Jax. Would you mind taking a few pictures of Adrian and me?” I ask him. Happy and carefree for the first time in a while.

“Of course.” He said walking forward and taking my phone. Aiming the camera at Adrian and I.

“Smile.” Jax said.

Adrian pulls me closer to him as we both smile. But of course, it wasn’t just the one picture.

Adrian turns and kisses my cheek in another.

We stare into each other’s eyes. We kiss sweetly for another. After the impromptu photo shoot, Jax hands me my phone back, and we look over the photos. Each of them is pro-quality (in my opinion).

“These are great Jax, thank you.”

“No problem.” he says with a smile.

We continue through the historical site, enjoying the sights, and Gaius, Kamilah, and Jax poking fun at my fear of clowns.

All too soon, we go back to the car and head to see my Aunt.

‘It’s just my Aunt Karen. It’ll be fine.’

Tag list:

@secretaryunpaid  @txemrn  @obsessedwithdool  @evlyngashfordraines @god-save-the-keen  @adriansbiss @kinda-iconic​ @kingliamandriley

#adrian raines #adrian raines fanfic #adrian raines x mc #bloodbound #jax matsuo #kamilah sayeed #gaius augustine #bloodbound 4

[rosalyn51]

A Discovery of Witches drops first season 2 photo, with Matthew Goode in a doublet

By Maureen Lee Lenker Sept 5, 2019

My edits. Origianal photo: Sky One [Rosalyn51 note: This is the highest resolution pic of the day so far 2700x1800 pixels x]

The past is about to get witchy.

A Discovery of Witches released the first official photo from its upcoming second season Thursday, featuring witch Diana (Teresa Palmer) and vampire Matthew De Clermont (Matthew Goode) in full Elizabethan garb.

Keen fans of Deborah Harkness’ source novels will recognize the setting as Blackfriars, where Matthew and Diana make their home when they travel back to Elizabethan London to escape the Congregation and unlock the secrets of Ashmole 782, also known as the Book of Life. The photograph showcases Diana in traditional Elizabethan dress, including a full skirt with a farthingale underneath and a high starched collar, a more casual version of a ruff. Matthew walks beside her holding her hand, wearing a leather doublet and matching breeches.

“We’ve finally arrived at Elizabethan London… Who’s excited for season 2?” the show’s Twitter account asked alongside the release of the image.

The first look also comes with some long-awaited casting news, including the actors who will bring to life the fan favorite Gallowglass, Matthew’s Norse-Gaelic vampire nephew, and Phillipe De Clermont, Matthew’s stepfather. Steven Cree, who portrays Jamie Fraser’s beloved brother-in-law Ian Murray on Outlander, will portray Gallowglass, a hunky vampire and soldier of fortune who holds a soft spot for his uncle. British actor James Purefoy, best known for his work on Rome, will play Phillipe, founder of the Congregation, commander of the Knights of Lazarus, and mate of Ysabeau.

“To have such high caliber talent joining an already exceptional ensemble is a testament to Deborah Harkness’ brilliant novels, Pete McTighe and Susie Conklin’s scripts, and to the immensely talented cast and crew working to bring all to life,” executive producer Jane Tranter said in a statement. “The bar was set high with season 1, but season 2 is already shaping up to take fans into a new realm as we follow Diana and Matthew into Elizabethan England. With cast like this they will not be disappointed.”

Much of the rest of the season 2 cast was announced as well, including Paul Rhys (Victoria) as the frightening vampire Andrew Hubbard, Sheila Hancock (Doctor Who) as the witch Goody Alsop, Barbara Marten (Casualty) as Queen Elizabeth, Jacob Ifan (Cuffs) as Benjamin Fuchs, Holly Aird (Waking the Dead) as Francoise, Michael Lindall (Deep State) as Sir Walter Raleigh, Adam Sklar (Faceless) as Henry Percy, Joshua Pickering as Jack Blackfriars, Elaine Cassidy (Harper’s Island) as Louise De Clermont, Victoria Yeates (Call the Midwife) as Elizabeth Jackson, Adrian Rawlins (Chernobyl) as William Cecil, Lois Chimimba (Doctor Who) as Catherine Streeter, Amy McAllister (Philomena) as Marjorie Cooper, and Milo Twomey (Mother, Father, Son) as Pierre.

Season 2 will also see the return of much of the season 1 cast. As Matthew and Diana face new dangers and mysteries hidden in time, the story in the present day will also continue as Diana’s aunts, Sarah (Alex Kingston) and Em (Valarie Pettiford), take shelter with Matthew’s mother, Ysabeau De Clermont (Lindsay Duncan), at her home in France, Sept-Tours. In Oxford, Matthew’s trusted allies Marcus (Edward Bluemel) and Miriam (Aiysha Hart) will strive to protect daemons Nathaniel (Daniel Ezra) and Sophie (Aisling Loftus). The Congregation, including Gerbert (Trevor Eve), Peter Knox (Owen Teale), Satu (Malin Buska), and Domenico (Gregg Chillin), will also enlist their considerable powers to hunt down Diana and Matthew and the secrets they’re keeping.

Season 2 will be based on Harkness’s second novel in her All Souls Trilogy, Shadow of Night. No premiere date, either in the U.K. or Stateside, has been announced.

*Meanwhile Radio Times reported “The second series of A Discovery of Witches is currently filming ahead of a confirmed early 2020 airdate" 🙌🙌 

#matthew goode #matthew roydon #matthew clairmont #a discovery of witches #teresa palmer #james purefoy #steven cree

[aquilaofarkham]

title: bad things come in threes rating: teen and up (death, canon-typical violence, blood, coarse language)  word count: 3,747 summary: three pivotal scenes revolving around the main trio that act as a prologue to Netflix’s Castlevania - the destruction of the Belmont manor, Sypha traveling with the Speakers, and Alucard witnessing Lisa’s execution.

read on ao3

--

TARGOVISTE, WALLACHIA

“They found a witch on the outskirts of the city.”

Mother always told him to ignore what others said about his family, no matter how hurt or angry he felt. People always fear what they cannot comprehend. But he should never believe what they say.

“The doctor? Always knew there was something suspicious about her.”

“What will happen to her?”

“Nothing good.”

Now Adrian isn’t sure, and it kills him inside. He tries blocking out every overheard voice as he rushes through the woods at an inhuman speed. They say the church found Lisa, formerly of Lupu, and are now acting upon their heinous superstitions. Adrian doesn’t want to believe it. The half human half vampire holds onto the hope that there’s still enough time; he’ll reach her long before they have a chance to. If he meets the witchfinders, he knows what must be done.

With his long coat billowing in the wind, Adrian tells himself to keep running. Stop for nothing. His determination is only outmatched by his rising hatred for those who are allowing this. The Bishop of Targoviste, the Witchfinder General, the ones who saw his mother’s skill as a doctor and said witch. Devil worshipper. And what of those who benefitted from Lisa’s goodness? They entrusted the lives of their families and themselves to a headstrong woman who healed their many ailments. Where are they?

Adrian chastises himself for not being there sooner. Against his own wishes, he lets genuine panic bleed into his more level-headed thoughts. Soon enough, he arrives at winding path lined with wildflowers. He’s close. Yet the once welcoming sight gives Adrian no relief, only more dread. He looks up and sees a tower of smoke rising higher into the sky. The dhampir runs further down the path, just to be greeted by something he only ever saw in his nightmares. Lisa’s clinic, his second home, engulfed in flames. Adrian should have known that no amount of reassurance or “there’s still time” muttered under his breath would have been enough to save it.

He doesn’t allow himself to break down. Not yet, not when he sees a familiar silhouette kneeling in front of the fire. Beside them lies another body dressed in the garb of the witchfinders. Adrian cautiously steps forward but before he can speak, their head spins around like a frightened animal, jumping at every out of place sound.

“Julia... it’s alright, it’s only me.” Upon hearing Adrian’s soft voice, Julia Laforenze, Lisa’s most trusted assistant, takes a few sorely needed breaths of relief. Her usually well kempt hair is in tangles, her clothes are dirtied with ash, and she is still visibly distraught, but she manages to stand on her feet.

“Adrian, thank God you’re okay.”

“What happened? Where is my mother?”

“It was a normal evening. We were tending to some patients but once they all left, the witchfinders and priests, they... they came for us.” Adrian listens intently, despite knowing how hard it will be. “They wouldn’t even allow us to speak up for ourselves. They didn’t care. The priest leading them ordered for everything to be destroyed. The medicine, Lisa’s notebooks... they’re all gone.”

“Julia... where is Lisa?”

“They took her. I know they don’t have the mercy to give her a fair trial.”

Adrian glances at the body; his limbs are bent in unnatural positions while black bile oozes out of his eyes and mouth. “What of him?”

“He tried to take me as well. But he won’t be a problem for us. Not now... not ever again.”

The dhampir feels a shiver crawl up the back of his neck, yet he holds no sympathy for the witchfinder. Julia, much like Lisa, is a kind woman with good intentions. Unlike Lisa, she was born with abilities beyond understanding and has never been afraid of them. Nor has she ever been hesitant to use these powers.

“Do you know where they might be holding her?”

“The cathedral. I’m coming with you.”

Adrian places his hands upon Julia’s shoulders. “No, they’ll be looking for you. Is there anything that can be salvaged? Anything you and my mother worked on together?”

Julia ponders his question for a brief moment. “There might be some small things. I’ll try my best.”

“Take whatever you find and go to the Baljihet Mountains. You’ll be safe there.”

“What about you?”

“I’m going into the city. I’m going to find her.”

“Wait, Adrian!” Before he can leave, Julia steps forward and wraps her arms around him. The embrace is short, too short for either of their liking, but time is of the essence. It’s enough to show how much Julia cares about him and his family. “Take care and good luck. If you ever need me... you know where to search.”

Adrian looks at her as if to say, “I wish the same for you.” Not wasting another second, he darts back down the path. It seems as though the running will never stop. That’s all the Țepeș family has been doing these past twenty years. Running from the church, from witchfinders, from fellow creatures of the night who were less than enthusiastic of the marriage between a vampire and a human. Or the birth of a bastard dhampir.

The gates of Targoviste come into view sooner than Adrian expected. Fortune may actually be on his side after all. There aren’t any guards in sight; another sign in his favour. As Adrian makes his way through the city, he notices how the streets seem oddly deserted. No horses, no carts, or citizens visiting their local tavern for a long night of drinking. It’s as if something is attracting everyone together, young and old, poor and rich, drawing them to a single location.

An execution.

Adrian doesn’t want to think the worst but it’s the only thing propelling him towards the grand cathedral situated at the very centre of Targoviste. Just as he reaches his destination, he skids to a halt as a distant golden hue catches his eye. An impenetrable crowd blocks Adrian’s view, but the dhampir is resourceful. He assesses his surroundings and quickly finds the ideal vantage point. Climbing the overarching buildings is no challenge for him.

After reaching the top, Adrian looks down, nearly blinded by fiery embers carried by the wind. The heat on his face is unbearable but he cannot turn away from the woman tied to the pyre. Lisa’s dress is nothing more than a rag and the long golden hair he used to braid white flowers into has been cut short. She doesn’t beg or cry out in pain; she won’t give the crowd that kind of satisfaction.

Adrian’s human heart pounds with relentless hatred. He grips his sword handle with a force that could snap it in half. Glaring down at the church members and witnesses, he hungers for their blood. Angry, monstrous tears well up in his eyes as he pictures each and every one of them dead. Their hearts, organs, and limbs strewn across the cobblestone streets while the gutters overflow with their blood. The dhampir’s humanity overcome by rage. Maybe then his father’s “friends” will finally accept him as one of their own.

“Don’t hurt them! They don’t understand!” Adrian’s thoughts of death are cut off when he hears Lisa’s voice shouting over the flames. He watches his mother lifting her face to the heavens. Can she see him?

“I know it’s not your fault... but, if you can hear me, they don’t know what they’re doing! Be better than them!”

Be better than them. You place too much faith in me, mother. But Adrian cannot move. His anger still burns, yet his grip on the crissaegrim loosens ever so slowly. Should he heed Lisa’s final wishes? If he doesn’t, is this truly how he wants to honour her memory?

There are so many things Adrian wants. His mother alive, the ones responsible dead, his family left alone. This overwhelming feeling of guilt and self-loathing to end. You’re wrong, mother. It is my fault.

Vlad should be returning home soon. Adrian will go to his father and mourn alongside him. Then they will discuss what must be done.

--

ENISALA, WALLACHIA

Sypha misses the countryside.

Who wouldn’t? It’s vast, quiet, and lonely but not the unbearable sort. One can be at peace with their thoughts without much disturbance. The opposite of a city like Enisala. Crowded, loud, claustrophobic, and with too many wandering eyes staring while a traveling congregation of hooded, blue-clad Speakers make their way down each street. The real reason why Sypha and her group keep to the alleyways; better they don’t become the centre of attention. Especially with children under their protection.

“We should hurry,” Arn mentions. “They might leave without us.”

“They would not do that. Stop worrying.” One child grabs onto Sypha’s hand in order to keep up as they move. Speaking to another in Spanish helps her feel more at ease, though Arn’s concern is not unfounded. Sypha knew tensions were steadily rising among the people of Wallachia. She didn’t need her grandfather to tell her that. But when they arrived in Enisala to offer their assistance and join a separate train of Speakers, things were far worse than anyone expected. Superstitions, paranoia, citizens turning against one another. People calling for anyone suspected a witch to be burned alive immediately. A mirror of Targoviste.

“It’s wrong,” Sypha mumbles.

“What did you say?”

“I said it’s wrong what happened to that woman.”

Arn knows what Sypha is referring to. The Speakers travel fast, but terrible news travels even faster. “You don’t believe she was a witch?”

“No. Even if she was, she did not deserve to die like that.” Sypha holds the trembling child close against the side of her body. Every word she says is dripping with disgust.

“You are right. It was a great injustice no matter what, but did you hear what happened following her burning?”

“No...”

Arn contemplates his next statement. “Many people who were there claim they saw a vision that appeared out of the fire and then vanished.”

“What sort of vision?”

“They say it was the Devil. But... others swear they heard the apparition call itself Dracula.”

Arn now has Sypha’s full attention - and fear. Everyone says Vlad Dracula Țepeș is no more, that the horrors he inflicted upon Wallachia and others died with their tyrant a long time ago. Sypha knows better. Death is not always the end and vampires do exist.

“What do the oracles say?”

“One does not need a soothsayer or stories from the future to know what a terrible omen it is.” Always the voice of reason, even if it does sometimes come across as rudeness to Sypha.

However, there is truth in what Arn says yet the real Speaker oracles have said very little about Targoviste. Sypha has always respected their words, but this needless silence aggravates her. Should the Speakers heed the warnings and leave Wallachia for their own safety? Or should they continue on their path towards cities and towns that need their aid the most? Questions she wishes the oracles would answer in order to quell shared anxieties. Instead they give vague truths, claiming the future is shrouded in mist. They announce that all caravans should travel to the city of Griset but do not say why.

Her grandfather, always the gentle one, reminds her to be patient. Maybe, or rather hopefully, the oracles will reveal everything once the stories become clearer, but Sypha is still frustrated. At least Arn feels the same way.

“What are you doing here?” An unfamiliar, demanding voice asks the two Speakers. They don’t stop or acknowledge the question, knowing that it’s not worth their attention. Sypha has heard it more times from observing citizens than she cares to keep count of.

“I said what are you doing here?” The same voice repeats, turning the inquiry into a threat. Sypha turns around, ready to quiet them for good, until she sees a man pulling one of the Speaker children away from the group. It’s not clear whether he is a priest or witchfinder, but she’s not going to take any chances.

“It’s not safe! Where are your mother and father?”

“Let go!” The child resists but the man’s grip on their arm is like iron.

“Stop writhing!”

Sypha feels the first sparks of heat crawl towards her fingertips.

“No! Go away!”

“You little brat...”

“Leave them!” Sypha’s anger echoes off the stone walls. Arn takes a step back while the other children cower behind him.

“This is your fault, Speaker! Where are you taking these poor children? Hand them over this instant.” The man opens his mouth but Sypha’s tolerance has already run dry - not that she held any for him to begin with. Instead of words, surprised gasps that turn into chokes leave his lips.

“Do not make me repeat myself.” Sypha growls, switching languages as she lifts her pinky and index finger, emitting a small ball of light between the tips. Raising his hands to his neck, the stranger lets the child go. They run back to the group, unable to look away.

“Arn. Get the children to safety. Do not let them see this.” Arn tries to do just that with very little success. She doesn’t join him, even when the man stumbles to the ground, blood dripping from his gaped mouth.

“M... my throat... burning...” Sypha furrows her brows and concentrates on the spell.

“Sypha, no! He isn’t worth it.”

“He is worth every second of it.”

“Then let his blood be on someone else’s hands. Remember our teachings! Think of what others would say about us!”

She pauses. Killing the man would be easy for her; easy and quick. Then Arn had to raise the question of what would come after the deed is committed. They would be feared, yes, but also hated. Sypha could give herself up to protect her commune along with others; a useless, ineffective sacrifice. The Speakers will still be hunted down as murderers.

Arn and the children wait with bated breath for what Sypha will do next. She bites the inside of her cheek, hard enough to draw blood. The light fades as she turns to face Arn. “Get everyone to the caravan. Do not wait for me.”

“Sypha...”

“I will catch up to you soon. Now go! Quick!”

Arn fears what Sypha will do the moment his back is turned to her. However, what matters most now is the safety of the children. Guiding them out of the alley, he leaves Sypha behind, telling each one to not look back. Breath slowly returns to the stranger, but she’s not finished with him.

“Consider this a warning.” One you do not deserve. Before he can stand, Sypha clenches her hand into a fist. With a sickening CRACK, five of the man’s fingers are curled backwards, deformed by an unseen force. His horrified wails of pain give her some satisfaction. “Never come after us or try to take one of our own again, or next time I will not spare your life.’

‘Hunt for witches and you will get one.” The stranger gives no response. Sypha walks away with anger in every step she takes. There are other monsters in this world. She will save the worst of her spells for them.

--

MUNTENIA, GREATER WALLACHIA

It begins well past midnight when the corridors are silent. Neither the moon nor stars shine this fated night, which makes the cowardly perpetrators’ escape all too easy. They work quickly, breaking in and planting their fires in as many corners as possible, before disappearing into the shadows with the hope that their little gifts will grow and finish the job for them.

Trevor stirs in his bed, trying to sleep off another long evening spent with good food, good drink, and even better company. An evening that, while much needed by everyone, Trevor needed the most. Part of him is still angry at everything. The rumours, the ostracization, and the excommunication to top it all off. But if there’s anything the Belmonts are known for, it’s their persistence.

“Life will still go on for us.” That’s what Sonia Belmont told her son following the news of exile for their family. Trevor wants to believe it. The Belmonts will do their work and continue protecting the people of Wallachia. Church be damned.

Opening his drowsy eyes, Trevor awakes to the stench of smoke wafting into his room. He almost ignores it, thinking it’s just a torch that’s been left burning for too long, until the smell grows. Stronger and stronger, faster than he can prepare for. Trevor sits upright in a panic as a thickening grey cloud obscures the walls, fireplace, and bookshelves. Not bothering to put on anything more than the thin tunic and trousers he was sleeping in, he runs out into the hallway, shielding his face to the best of his ability. He hears glass shattering and his family heirlooms burning. The wooden beams holding the manor together are already in flames.

There’s only one thought on Trevor’s mind as he makes his way along the hall: save his family. Nevermind his safety, nevermind his own life. Get them out of the building before the fire guts through it entirely. “Mother! Father! Hold on! I’m coming, just hold on!” His voice is choked back by the smoke, drowned by the encroaching flames.

“Come on... come on, just a little furth-GAH!” A sudden, searing pain shoots through Trevor’s head. He falls to his knees with a hand covering his left eye. Scattered about are burnt remnants of wood and stone; they must have dropped from the ceiling. “Fuck...” Trevor hisses, feeling the warm blood crawl down his cheek then onto the floor. Despite his shaky legs and lungs full of smoke, he rises to his feet.

After what seems like a cruel eternity, Trevor arrives just a few feet away from his parents’ bedchamber but there is no reason to celebrate. He strains his watery eyes, trying to look past the chaos, and sees something that instills a new kind of fear within him. Lying in the doorway is his father. Trevor forgets about his fresh wound, even with it clouding his vision with red, and rushes to Gabriel’s side. His forehead is painted with blood, dripping over his closed eyes.

“Father!” Trevor shakes his shoulders. “Can you hear me? We need to leave right now! Father, you need to get up!” In the middle of everything, he notices the larger man’s chest. There’s no movement, not a single breath. “Please, just get up!” He cries out, doing whatever he can. It’s not good enough.

“Trevor?” Speaks another voice from inside the room. Trevor looks around and finds his mother trapped underneath more rubble, her body pinned against the floorboards. No matter how much she struggles, Sonia cannot free herself.

“Don’t move! I’m getting you out of there.” Trevor coughs out as he crawls towards her.

“Trevor... I can’t feel my legs...”

“Just hold on!” Gritting his teeth, he tries lifting the first plank of wood.

“You need to get out.”

“I will but not before you and father!” Nothing moves a single inch and it feels as though his fingernails are close to tearing right off. Trevor doesn’t care.

“It’s too late for me. Just go, get out while there’s still time for you.”

“Don’t you dare say that! Don’t you fucking dare give up!” Trevor barely feels the pain in his hands; nor does he notice the tears coming from his own eyes.

“Trevor for once in your life listen to me!” Sonia screams. It convinces her son to stop before he does irreversible damage to himself. Though Trevor does what he’s told with great reluctance. “You need to go... go and live. They can’t kill us all. You need to show them that.”

“No. Not without you.”

Using the last of her strength, Sonia reaches out and touches Trevor’s bloody cheek. “I love you more than anything in this world. And there’s so much more I wanted to teach you... but this is my final lesson to you. Now go.”

Trevor has exhausted not only all his options, but his voice as well. Yet he still protests. “I’m not leaving without you.”

“I found him! He’s in here!” A faint voice calls out as fire and crumbling rubble continue to surround the two Belmonts. At first, Trevor can’t hear them. His focus is entirely on Sonia, even when he feels multiple hands grab hold of his shoulders and arms. They pull him backwards, away from the only thing that matters to him.

“What the hell are you doing?! Let me go!” His strength has been drained past its limit, but Trevor gives them a fight. He thrashes about, trying to tear himself out of the rescuers’ grasp. “Help her! Just leave me and go save her, you bastards!” Only one can be saved, and they know this. Trevor might know as well, but he refuses to accept it. Especially when he’s being pulled farther and farther away, watching as Sonia’s weary face disappears behind a veil of smoke.

They drag him down each corridor, their window of opportunity growing smaller by every second. Objects Trevor knew his whole life, everything from books to tapestries hanging off the walls, crumble into blackened cinders. Evidence of a family’s legacy gone in an instant. When they finally make it outside, the cold air hitting Trevor’s face like a dozen knives, it’s with only a short moment to spare. With a final burst of fire, the manor’s entire roof collapses, engulfing the building in red and gold.

Trevor is angry at Sonia. Enraged. She was always the strongest, the best. She spat in the face of death. Why didn’t she try harder? Why didn’t she let him save her? His misguided anger is quickly drowned out by an oncoming sense of grief and guilt. It wasn’t Sonia’s fault, nor was it the fault of the rescuers. Whatever blame there is lies with whoever started the fire. But perhaps, Trevor thinks, some of it may lie with him.

It can’t be changed, it can’t be made any better. The last surviving Belmont is carefully lowered to his knees onto the wet grass. All he can do is watch. The blood covering his left eye is still wet.

#castlevania #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #alucard #adrian tepes #netflix castlevania #my writing #*cvfic #trying something a little different with formatting my fics #lol watch season 2 completely retcon everything in this

[boundinbloodhq]

THE CAVALIER 

Full Name: Adrian (or first name UTP ) Reyne

Age, Birthday:  00 Mon UTP, 1753; 266 yrs ( Appears 28-30 /Or UTP )

Species: Vampire

Occupation: CEO of Reyne Corporation

Alliance: Clan

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Faceclaim: Andrew Cooper

PERSONALITY

        ( + ) cunning, protective,  compassionate, quick-witted         ( - )  assertive, battle-hardened, brash, controlling 

BACKGROUND

I THE PAST

From the start his story was not for the faint hearted. It begins with the first firing of a musket on the encroching redcoats. Wounded and thought be away from the war for some peace of mind, his fate was sealed. When a another wounded soliders appeared at their doorstep there was no stopping his wife from shooing him away. An act of genorosity quickly turned deadly in the dead of night. Stirred from a sound sleep,  the sound of the scuffle down the hall would echo in his nightmares for years to come, he happened upon a sight of the soldier standing over his wife, bathed in crimson. Enraged and brokenhearted Adrian fought him with everything he had. Unforunately it wasn’t enough. Left for dead, slashed across his chest Adrian awaited death…

But death was not the kind and silent angel he’d been told about. When a man, in aristorcratic garb stood above his body preaching of a new life, the world was confusing and strange. Everything felt...different. It would be the first of many moment that this man the second son as he claimed to be, would bring him into the world of supernatural beings. Born a new he was the faithful solider, warrior prince to a man who would put even lucifer to shame. But the bloodshed wouldnt stay hidden in the past. For years to come he along side his maker and the others in their gaggle would rampage the world in the night in hopes of creating their own kingdom in the heart of the New York. 

II THE PRESENT

He was a monster who longed to do good, to make the world a better place. And so he set off to create his own company founded on the ideas of hope. But his own hope had vanished as the years drew on. When his maker concoked the idea to turn a group of the mundane population into a feeding farm it seemed that his blind loyalty had waviered. With the illusion of oasis in the night shattered, after the rough battle it was he who made the call to keep him locked up. A mistake or for the better of their kind? It seems with the recent happenings in the city that choice might just come back to haunt him.

HEADCANONS

[ x ] The clans are an old, antiquated system for old, antiquated creatures stuck in their ways. However, they serve a useful tool of order, so, Adrian plays his role well. Easy to keep track of people when they’re in such narrow little boxes.

[ x ] The Second Son haunts his mind. Not as bad as when he was first cast aside, but enough to have his blood run cold at the utterance of his name. [ x ] Acts calm, cool, collected, but on the inside? Itching for a fight. A good enough reason to let loose and take out some… mounting frustrations. [ x ] Has his mind gets stuck in the past more often than he'd like to admit. Thinking of the things he’s done wrong. How he could’ve changed. People he could have changed. An endless sea of doubt that washes over his mind like tides on a beach. [ x ] He has a dog. His name is Kevin. Very loyal Bloodhound (har har.)

CONNECTIONS

 THE INSURGENT -   While their partnership seems to be a symbiotic relationship, he and THE INSURGENT seem to have an understanding of just how far the other is willing to extend their neck. Sometimes it’s better to have friends in unlikely places

THE SOUTHERN BELLE-  One can hardly ever justify the things the heart does. It wants what it wants when it wants. The same could be said about THE SOUTHERN BELLE. Despite their long history, there is no animosity for him and her. Often finding himself confiding in her over drinks. 

THE TURNCOAT -  Where would men be without their second in commands? Trusting a mundane is never easy in these times and days but The Turncoat has proven herself to be quite the asset. Smart and quite the leader there are times he isn’t sure he can do all the things he does without her. But there are some things he can’t give her, despite his gratitude. 

THE BOSS LADY -  History creates an unlikely family. And in these trying times, it’s no different. The Boss Lady has always provided a form of counsel and reason for his brash choices. He trusts her and would do anything to ensure she stay alive in the times to come.

      ↳ TAKEN

[aion-rsa]

Morbius Delay Should Not Affect Spider-Man 3’s Spider-Verse Story

https://ift.tt/2Y9uUud

Sony Pictures’ Spider-Man side of the Marvel Cinematic Universe has been weaving a web of sequels and spinoff projects to increasingly intricate effect. Compounding that, the apparent plot connectivity of the untitled Spider-Man 3 and Marvel Studios’ subsequent sequel, Doctor Strange in the Multiverse, seems destined to shift the shared continuity on a dimensional level. Thus questions have been raised by Sony’s latest shift for the Jared Leto-starring spinoff, Morbius, which is now on schedule for January 2022. This places the vampire film one month after the Spider-Man threequel’s December 2021 release.

The Morbius migration—the second such shift in just under a fortnight and its fourth delay overall—was a necessary retreat in the aftermath of yet another move by a bigger franchise fish in MGM’s James Bond sequel, No Time to Die, which abandoned its Easter weekend theatrical release plans for the more COVID vaccine-permeated date of Oct. 8. Nevertheless, the move could leave Morbius—a spinoff focused on the classic “Living Vampire” Spider-Man villain-turned-antihero of Marvel Comics—in a bind, since its new date of Jan. 21, 2022 puts the Spider-Man-less spinoff in the dubious position of becoming an afterthought after the possibly universe-scrambling Spider-Man 3, which is (as of press time) still holds firm on its Dec. 17, 2021 release date.

But make no mistake about it, Morbius has its own greater role to play in the grand scheme of Sony’s slow-burn plans. In fact, there appears to be a two-pronged strategy: the first goal of the new Spider-Man films is expected to focus on a continuity-shifting “Spider-Verse” storyline, possibly analogous to DC’s Crisis on Infinite Earths, where elements (and potentially castings) are reshuffled or jettisoned. That one seems set to start with Spider-Man 3, which will see Tom Holland’s wallcrawler joined by Benedict Cumberbatch’s Doctor Strange (and maybe Charlie Cox’s Daredevil), and feature a puzzling lineup of villains from past franchise iterations like Alfred Molina’s Doctor Octopus (from Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man 2,) and Jamie Foxx’s Electro (from director Marc Webb’s The Amazing Spider-Man 2).

The other prong seems to center on Sony’s long-mooted plan to build toward a team-up of villains–an anti-Avengers movie that adapts Marvel’s classic sextet of Spider-Man villains, the Sinister Six. Indeed, Morbius showcased its adherence to the latter concept over a year ago upon the release of its first trailer, which bore plentiful Spider-Man teases.

The vampire film, in a manner akin to 2018’s Venom (whose sequel, Venom: Let There Be Carnage, is still set to arrive this June) will introduce Leto’s Michael Morbius, a scientist suffering from a rare blood disease. In his desperation, Michael concocts a radical cure that grants him superhuman abilities, albeit with the cruel caveat of being forced to mollify an insatiable thirst for blood. Hence how the character—created by writer Roy Thomas and artist Gil Kane—becomes a “living” vampire. This also means he’s not technically an undead creature like the fang-bearers of conventional lore.

Read more

Movies

Is Spider-Man 3 a Spider-Verse Sinister Six Movie?

By Jim Dandy

Movies

Morbius: An Introduction to the Spider-Man Spinoff Movie Character

By Rob Leane

After being introduced in the pages of The Amazing Spider-Man back in 1971 as a villain, the character gained popularity due to his portrayal as a tragic figure, and, by the early 1990s, became a full-blown antihero and member of team-ups from the Midnight Sons to even SHIELD itself. There is 50 years’ worth of potent Marvel material to adapt in order to expand Morbius’ role in the MCU-adjacent Sony Spider-Man corner.

Yet while the cold introduction treatment of Morbius in his own film might bear similarity to the release of Venom, Morbius‘ trailer implies that the MCU Spider-Man connections will be far more prevalent this time around. Firstly, the clip includes a scene (pictured below,) showing Leto’s Morbius walking in a dirty back alley—noticeably in covered-up prison garb, indicating he’d just escaped—while passing a poster of Spider-Man graffitied with the message “murderer,” which firmly places the film’s setting after the events of 2019’s Spider-Man: Far from Home, in which a mid-credits scene shows Jake Gyllenhaal’s Mysterio posthumously getting revenge on Spidey by outing him as Peter Parker, and framing him for his murder.

But the trailer’s real kicker is its cameo from Michael Keaton, who is seen reprising his antagonist role from 2017’s Spider-Man: Homecoming as Adrian Toomes/the Vulture, clearly codifying the spinoff’s place in the wider continuity.

Therefore Morbius seems likely to become a key early component of Sony’s long-term Sinister Six designs; a stratagem that the studio can feasibly implement concurrently with its apparent continuity-crossing storyline—speculated for Spider-Man 3 and Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness. That would leave the smaller-scope movie, Morbius, awkwardly in the middle of the two presumed Spider-Verse offerings. Yet it’s not an unprecedented position since the 2018 MCU sequel Ant-Man and the Wasp similarly found itself scheduled between the monumental, Thanos-snap-centric events of 2018’s Avengers: Infinity War and 2019’s Avengers: Endgame.

Additionally, Sony’s desire to get the higher profile Spider-Man 3 in theaters in time for a Christmas release—particularly with the film apparently being set at Christmas—would likely supersede any concerns of continuity, presuming some degree of vaccinated normalcy is achieved in the next 11 months.

Consequently, should the current release dates hold (which, in all honesty, is a tenuous proposition), then Morbius’ shift to Jan. 22, 2022 shouldn’t (emphasis on “shouldn’t”) have a negative effect on the speculated Spider-Verse movies between which it has been sandwiched on the schedule. While we’re still a long way from Sony’s Sinister Six, the film’s inclusion of Vulture is telling, since he’s a founding member of the rogues team, and a key presence in its various lineups throughout the decades. It’s an aspect that could lend Morbius the same kind of auspicious energy that Samuel L. Jackson’s debuting Nick Fury brought to the MCU-launching Iron Man’s mid-credits scene, in which he teased “the Avenger initiative” and “a bigger universe.” – That, of course, proved to be one of the biggest understatements in cinema history.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[underthekillingmxxn-a-blog]

✂️

// Send ✂ and Vileblood Adrian will kill your muse - Not accepting //

[Under read more for length and violent/bloody/gory content]

A harrowing, deep squeal pierced the Stygian blue-black night, causing bushes and trees to tremble with fleeing animals. Then, booming gunshots followed, one after another, leading to another set of shrieks, this time more desperate and higher pitched. With just how loud and rich the bestial noises are, the porcine monstrosity sounds huge, perhaps even similarly sized to the Man-eating Boars occasionally found in the area. But the richness of the cries identify it as something more, something different, something even more unnatural. The flora rustles more, this time as a baritone voice yelps, followed by blood-curdling screams precipitated by loud thumping wet noises.

Three blazing red eyes emerge from the brush, rapidly blinking as blood flows into them. He can feel it, the Boar, that he is dying. Not from the gunshot that rendered three of his eyes blind and shot out one of his ears, but the electrified spear that had stuck straight into his heart. And, of course, the fool didn’t realize he would charge. The fool didn’t realize the beast would charge forward and gore him, even if it meant driving the weapon further into his body. Every single nerve in his body feels like it is burning him up. Each successive beat of his heart beats weaker, slower, even as the puncture sealed itself somewhat. And even if some of the ‘Good’ Hunter’s intestines are strung up on his tusks like wreaths, this victory will kill him. The bolt paper has rendered his Vileblood regenerative abilities useless.

Only one person would recognize Adrian in his current state, but they weren’t here. They were likely at home on the very outer part of Yharnam, inside and safe with their family. For one rare moment, the mad hog stood on his hind legs, somewhat hunched over, and feels a strong pang of loneliness. He would die here, alone, without saying goodbye to anyone, not that anyone would wish to say farewell to the great beast. The transform shakes off the viscera on his snout, shakily breathing as the his weeping chest wound sends a new and strong wave of agony through his body. It makes it difficult to concentrate on more than the pain and terror of the Nothing after death.

But oh would the Vileblood manage it. Rage began to well within his monstrous chest, and the bristles on his head and back stand on end. Hate fills the pain like an analgesia. Hate directed at the blasted hunter who mortally wounded him, hate at the Healing Church, hate at Yharnam itself, hate at the circumstances that caused him to leave the city for the Forbidden Woods. Adrian refuses to die feeling helpless, and so he rises on his legs as tall as he can, eerily erect like a man. Despite being a boar beast, his silhouette in the night suggests something lithe and elegant. Even if the arms are somewhat long, and his hands large, they do not appear unwieldy or out of place.

The blood sings him a sublime and gentle elegy and springs tears to his sanguine hued animal eyes.

Twelve claws click together as he slowly moves, his breast still heaving and struggling with each breath. The woods appear more like a dark teal to him than blue, especially with the blood in the eyes that still work. And with only three instead of six, his vision only sees half what he should. And yes, it scares him even more as he ambles through the woods on his hooves, caring little that he crunched twigs and even fallen branches beneath him. Though he couldn’t really see them, not well at his height without depth perception, he could hear and smell panting scourge beasts and hissing snake parasites moving out of his way. They normally gave him a wide berth anyways, but something about his state made them even more wary.

Understandable, given wounded and dying wild hogs are some of the most vicious creatures, as the dead hunter found out the hard way.

Suddenly, Adrian stops his death march to huff the air, breathing in as deeply as his wound will allow. It hurts to breathe that deep, but his spiteful and stubborn nature snarls at it. Rears its abhorrent and beautiful head at it. He can smell people, their musky sweat and their pungent fear. His mouth waters with the prospect of a few last kills right before he ceases to feel anything, ceases to have any consciousness. The Vileblood wants one last taste of blood in his seething fear. At least, that way, he could have one more peaceful moment unclouded by animosity.

Lowering himself to all fours, he begins to rush towards the scents, able to avoid running into trees but scraping himself up against bushes on this blind side. Tiny spidery lines of crimson show against his bluish gray hide and black bristles. Despite it all, he manages to move relatively fluidly, though not as swift as he could uninjured. Really, he knows his approach cannot be sneaky or inconspicuous, but even two able-bodied men couldn’t run from him. Even at his size. His powerful back legs especially granted him quick strides across the forest, even if he looked anything but natural moving given the length of his limbs.

Resentment and dread so clouds his judgment that he doesn’t even recognize the two people staring at him in horror. They reflect in his crying red eyes almost unobstructed, the lanky frame of a pale man with pale hair and the pallid, malformed boy he carries. Their familiar cries don’t even register as they stare at him. Do they recognize him, somehow, despite his twisted, enormous form? Do they see the human Vileblood lurking beneath the surface of the Boar of Cainhurst? Most likely not, as he springs like a loaded bear trap at the those two smaller screaming forms.

The pain of two bodies hitting his own pales in comparison to his wounds. He can feel himself growing weak from the blood loss. Finally, he can feel the itchiness of healing flesh as the effects of electricity wears off- but it is far too late. Too much blood has been lost. Unless he can somehow inject blood into himself, he will perish.

As he barrels past them, the Beast turns so he can look at them with his good eyes. They’re terrified and winded, covered in scrapes and marks. Scared of imminent death, just like him. Good. Adrian rasps out a grunt, a warning and a promise as he circles around them in a wide arc, hooves and claws heavy on the brush below. Up above, the canopy formed by towering trees cast sinister shadows on his hide, making him look even more peculiar and phantasmal in form. He both looks as though he belongs in this foul forest, yet he looks completely foreign.

Just as his eyes catch movement, just as he notices Lorian pull out a gun, the Boar lunges at him, ignoring the barely moving form of Lothric vanishing. Jaws filled with teeth too sharp for a normal hog snap at the limbs and digits, sinking into the bone. Crunch. The beasts shakes his head just out of spite, makes sure he drops the gun. Blood fills his maw, and he lets out a pleased oink so deep it seems demonic. Still working eyes bore holes into Lorian, still convinced the man he stares at is just another dumb, brutish hunter convinced of his superiority and mastery over Nature. 

But his greedy disposition wants more, needs the blood rapture. He can almost feel it over the anguish and the frayed nerves, over the burning of his chest, over the gaping oozing wound sealing itself. Adrian steps forward, one large hand pressing hard into Lorian’s chest, and stares him down. Red eyes, full of unimaginable malice and horrific intelligence with just a hint of fear, gaze upon him. The other hand rips the collar off his jacket for better access to the neck. The blood, it beacons to him, pleads to him to take it, take it take it take it. It won’t save him, this he knows. It doesn’t matter to him. Nothing matters to him anymore but to destroy destroy destroy.

Again, the Boar’s great muzzle opens, hot saliva and blood spilling all over the tattered leather garb of his victim. Another jaw, full of needle-like sharp teeth that look like they belong on a fish and not a pig, juts forward a scant few out of his mouth and into the exposed neck. The warm, fresh blood floods his jaw as he lowers himself closer. Adrian smells heavily of musk, forest, blood, soil. In any other situation, it wouldn’t be unpleasant, but here, it overwhelms as he presses further down to feed. Far too narrow for his jaws, the beast settles on clamping down across the neck and shoulder to gorge himself on the blood. The keening of his prey disturbs him not.

An all too familiar ringing in his ears and pressure behind his eyes gives him pause. His jaws release him and look around. Over the aroma of human blood, he can smell something else, definitely not human. His head begins to pound right around the time he can feel his breath coming slower, harder. Adrian wants to rest. He no longer feels scared, so full of blood. Nothing can touch him anymore. Something scratches at the back of his brain, some sort of recognition, and he brings himself onto his wobbly four limbs.

The Vileblood turned abhorrent hog crawls forward, willing himself this as his body hearkens him towards his last slumber. Adrian’s head begins to hurt more, throbbing and pounding as he drags himself along. He knew this feeling. He knew it very well. Why couldn’t he remember? Perhaps it was just the blood rapture, but something told him they were happy memories, recent ones at that. As he makes his way to the source of the noise, his form smothers tall, dry grass. Whimpering and sniveling noises fill his stinging ears. The pain in his head crescendos, then suddenly, it peters off.

Finally, he turns the good set of eyes at the source below. A pale, pitiful form not quite human. It almost reminds him of legends of mermaids and mermen. It is dying too, he can tell. Was this the source of those excruciating headaches? As his sight begins to fail, as his lungs struggle to provide enough air, the scent of the boy before him causes him to remember what the pain and rage made him forget. The mad hog gulps, a woefully human-like gesture, as wide fading black eyes stare at him, unable to comprehend. A deeper pain that the spear that skewered his heart settles in his chest.

No longer having energy to carry his massive body, the boar collapses in front of Lothric with a plaintive sigh. Now, he just wants to sleep, sleep it all away, sleep forever. His eyes slowly close, and his body shudders once before emitting a horrible gurgling noise. It almost sounds like an attempt at sobbing “Madre.” 

At last. Peace.

#asks #;answered bb au #;(i am so impure) bloodborne verse #blood cw #gore cw #body horror cw #cursedandcarried #;drabble #this is actually a three-fer #no one gets out of this alive *shrug*

[rockrevoltmagazine]

Iron Maiden Kicks Off The Book of Souls U.S. Tour Run in Virginia

Iron Maiden – Jiffy Lube Live – Bristow, VA – June 3, 2017

Iron Maiden continues to prove that if Father Time is actually knocking on their proverbial metal doors, the band must be opening up that doorway and having Eddie beat the ever living crap out of him time and time again.

The band kicked off the current U.S. leg of their Book of Souls tour at the Jiffy Lube Live amphitheater in Bristow, VA this past Saturday with a performance that if had to be described in a singular word, that word would be legendary.

As the day’s twilight faded into the darkness of the night UFO’s, “Doctor Doctor” began to play over the venue’s PA system. This of course is a signal that all die hard Maiden fans know all to well as being the final countdown to the lads storming the stage to begin another one of their vaunted live performances.

One by one Steve Harris, Nicko McBrain, Dave Murray, Adrian Smith and Janick Gers sauntered onto the Jiffy Lube Live stage while launching into the opening bars of “If Eternity Should Fail,” the title track off of 2015’s The Book of Souls.  Shortly thereafter the 58-year-old Bruce Dickinson creepily appeared atop the Mayan temple the band is using as the theme for their Book of Souls tour run.

Menacingly hovering over a bubbly cauldron for a few moments, while creating an air of palpable tension, Dickinson then launched himself as if being shot out of canon down the temple steps to join his mates in delivering what would turn out to be a 15-song career spanning set.

Iron Maiden’s fans are beyond loyal, thus it was no surprise that even though the band chose to open with two tracks off of their latest release, the audience reaction was still beyond exuberant.

Based on this spirited rejoinder alone you would have thought they had kicked the performance off with something along the lines of “Hallowed Be Thy Name,” a track the band is sadly not currently playing due to some pointless litigation surrounding the song.

Long time fans didn’t have to wait all too long for the band to turn back the clock, as two of Maiden’s classics in the form of “Wrathchild,” which everyone in attendance seemingly sang word for word, and “Children of the Damned,” from 1982’s Number of the Beast, the first Iron Maiden album to feature Bruce Dickinson on vocals, followed next.

The meat of the performance would go on to follow this same formula of Maiden playing a few songs off of The Book of Souls such as “Death or Glory” and “The Red and The Black,” only to have these newer tracks be balanced by classics such as “The Trooper” and the definitely fan favorite, “Powerslave.”

During “The Trooper” Dickinson raced up the pillars of the Mayan temple in his familiar revolutionary times British military garb waving the Union Jack furiously back and forth.  At the mid-point of the song the front man even teased a few of the fans close to stage by faux tossing the the British flag directly at them.

It’s safe to assume had Dickinson actually hit a fan in the head with the flag that individual would have probably been eternally grateful for the experience of getting to personally interact with Dickinson himself, even if said interaction came via a head wound, imagine that?

Who knows if Harris Murray, Smith and Gers are taking the equivalent to metal Viagra or Cialis but for a gang of musicians now in their fifth decade of performing the quartet are a non-stop motor of metal hysteria from the very moment the band’s performance begins.

Gers in particular is beyond animated as he and his guitar were a whirling dervish of ferocity throughout the entirety of Maiden’s time on the lighted stage.   The guitarist also shared more than a few evil moments with Dickinson as the pair regularly engaged, hamming it up for a crowd that continued to beg for more from their storied British musical heroes.

Harris, who has served as the backbone of Iron Maiden since the band’s inception, never disappoints as a showman, as he too shared countless personal moments with the fans, regularly striking his all too familiar machine gun pose with his trusty Fender bass.

Although a bit less animated than Gers and Harris, and let’s face what musicians would even dare keep up the pair’s live performance pace, Murray and Smith dropped countless surreal guitar solos on the night, while delighting the crowd every time they came together to trade off leads.

Iron Maiden’s beloved Eddie would make his first appearance on the Jiffy Lube Live’s stage during the band’s performance of “Book of Souls.”  The beastly mascot stalked the stage attacking band members randomly until his final showdown with Dickinson.

The front man exchanged a few blows with Eddie until the lead singer channeled his Mortal Kombat “finish him” move by literally reaching into Eddie’s guts, ripping his heart out and tossing the bloody organ into the crowd for the crazies to fight over.   If that doesn’t sum up the theatrical and metal lunacy that is an Iron Maiden live performance, what on Earth possibly could?

As the show winded down Dickinson addressed the crowd and the state of the current world we live in commenting, “The world is run by lunatics and I don’t know who picked these lunatics or how they all managed to screw it up.”

The front man also touched on how music can unite the masses and regardless of color, race, creed or religion that we all had come together on the night to have a blast with one another.

Dickinson’s statement might have very well been understated as countless smiling faces, fevered hugs and waves of high fives could be spotted throughout the entire venue before, during and after the band’s performance.

Music, friendship, love, high fives and Iron Maiden.   Maybe those things can’t save the world but for one evening in Bristow, Virginia the boys in Iron Maiden sure made 20,000 people believe they can. Well played Iron Maiden, well played.

Swedish metal icons Ghost opened for Iron Maiden and provided what could only be described as a truncated greatest hits set.  Highlights included refulgent takes on tracks such as “From the Pinnacle to the Pit,” “Year Zero,” set closer “Monstrance Clock” and the song the band won the 2016 Grammy for Best Metal Performance for, “Cirice.”  Tobias Forge, more recognizable known as Ghost’s front man Papa Emeritus, and his current band of Nameless Ghouls, unfortunately received only a mixed response from the Jiffy Lube Live crowd.   This certainly couldn’t be attributed to Ghost’s performance as Iron Maiden’s fans were likely just far too focused on Maiden’s impending performance to pay the requisite enough attention to a band that was actually delivering a more than solid set of Scandinavian tinged evil metal in front of their very eyes.

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Connect with Iron Maiden (click icons):

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All Writing and Photography:  Robert Forte

Instagram:  40_photography  http://www.instagram.com/40_photography/

Facebook: 4zerophotography http://www.facebook.com/4zerophotography/

Iron Maiden Kicks Off The Book of Souls U.S. Tour Run in Virginia was originally published on RockRevolt Mag

#adrian smith #BB Gun Press #book of souls #Bruce Dickinson #concord music group #dave murray #Eddie #funhouse entertainment group #Ghost #ghost band #ghost meliora #Iron Maiden #janick gers #jiffy lube live #Live Nation #meilora #Nameless Ghouls #nicko mcbrain #Papa emeritus #Papa Emeritus III #parlophone records #Steve Harris #Warner Bros. #warner music group

[underthekillingmxxn-a-blog]

@rosmcrinus, continued from [ here ]

The Vileblood, in torn pants and covered in dried blood and cold sweat, abruptly opens his eyes. His head swims, disoriented and body aching from bones and muscles and organs shifting back into place. At first, he merely stares at the ground, sable irises darting back and forth, trying to recollect the rest of the night. At least Adrian ended up in an alleyway instead of laying half naked on the street in trousers ripped from the mid thighs down. He lays prostrate, limbs all strewn out, surrounded by an absurd amount of discarded boar bristles.

Then, he begins to recognize the odd garb this woman has dressed herself in and bolts upright. His eyes grow wide with pupils contracted into tiny little dots. Oh no. This was bad. This was very, very bad. He didn’t want to end up on a cold table, strapped down, and his body pulled open for all his insides to be exposed to the world. Though he didn’t exactly know much about the Choir, they were similar enough to the white garbed members of the Healing Church that it made his skin crawl.

“[ Bloody hell, ]” he hisses in his birth mother’s tongue before he darts past Yurie, cheeks beginning to flush. Whether she understood him, he didn’t care. The Vileblood needed to flee before too many pieces were put together. Certainly, he’d look odd running with most of his clothes off but that came secondary to his safety. 

#rosmcrinus #;(i am so impure) bloodborne verse #just wanted to do a smol reply #doesn't have to go anywhere if you don't want it to :>

[underthekillingmxxn-a-blog]

🎶 - 'professional killer' :^)

// Songs from my playlist based drabbles [x] - Not accepting //

Cut below because long

Disrobing of his Clandestine uniform silently in the comfort of his dorm, Adrian stood before his dresser, complete with a mirror he had to stand back in order to properly see his entire body. He began to put on more pedestrian clothes, first slipping his bare legs through the pants of some rather plain looking beige trousers. He then followed with an off-gray tunic that tied with laces at the neck and a white jacket with hidden pockets. Ordinarily, the assassin wouldn’t bother wearing such a boring and terrible outfit, but it proved far more inconspicuous than the very distinct clothing required out of the headhunting scholars of Vinheim’s Dragon School. When he grabbed his old boots from home, he sat down on his surprisingly comfortable bed and pulled them on.

The sorcerer took his paired daggers from atop his dresser and slid them into the pockets of his jacket. After sliding on a belt, he attached his catalyst on a loop. It would be a chilly autumn night, and on the equinox as well. Aristocrats and other such ‘important’ people would be hosting balls.

A perfect time for a kill. These days, instead of an intense feeling of dread and nausea, he felt a sort of excited energy that kept him alert, that made him unable to keep still. The young man could hardly wait until he saw red.

The mark will likely be out on his balcony. Don’t do anything that will draw suspicion. Just watch closely like you’re supposed to, even if you’ve been observing him for a while.

Now, he couldn’t exactly enter through the main entrance, but it wouldn’t be too much of a fuss climbing up the side of the building where no one be watching. The manor was big, and most of the guests would be concentrated in that one area.

True, his height made him stick out, but he didn’t plan on letting the man see him, and he planned to leave soon after. What kind of Vinheim sorcerer would he be if he couldn’t use aural spells to his advantage? No one see him, no one would hear him. Under normal circumstances, leaving after curfew, and in clothing that violating the student dress code at that, would be unacceptable, but he carried a small letter with him that gave a vague explanation. But really, everyone in the academy knew what it meant, and no one could say anything when he was working for them.

It was in his school contract. Adrian couldn’t afford tuition otherwise, and thus whenever his assigned instructor gave him written instructions on a new mark, he did it, no question.

As he left, he grabbed a packet of rotten pine resin and locked the door. Walking heel toe, heel toe through the quiet, dark blue hallway, he wondered if he’d see his roommates out there. The change of the season always meant that students would break curfew to attend to evening events, and the university mostly ignored it as long as the students didn’t break the law.

With the exception of the clandestine sorcerers of course, but the trick was to not get caught. Being found meant that you were sloppy, and sloppiness didn’t befit an assassin.

As he made his way across the city to the noble district in the cloudless night, his jaw length hair bobbed against his face. Sighing, he wished he had tied the front back when he was still in the dormitory. Still, it bothered him relatively little, and wouldn’t distract him from his work. As he took in the sights of the grand manors with few lit windows but numerous shapes wandering around on balconies and great halls, he couldn’t help but feel a bit of envy at being born with a silver spoon in one’s mouth. True, he had attended these parties himself, blended in seamlessly in with his charm and his sartorial dress and good looks, but that didn’t mean he belonged to their world.

And he didn’t want to, either.

Gritting his teeth, he spotted his goal down the cobblestone street. Aristocrats, dressed all posh, wandered the streets, paying little attention to him despite his garb. It wasn’t unusual for students to attend the events, and it wasn’t unusual for nobles to hire servants. As long as he acted like he belonged on this side of the city, no one would question him.

This is it. Looks so much different with the windows lit up at night.

Taking a deep breath, Adrian cautiously ambled around the side, waiting until he felt certain no one would see him climb up the side. Deftly slipping his staff out of his belt loop, he waved it overhead, producing a quiet humming noise as it enveloped his boots in a pale blue glow. Not only would it muffle the noises he made, it would also dampen his falls. And for someone climbing up two stories, such spell found great and judicious use.

Carefully, he climbed the ivy-laced lattice on the side, as swiftly as he could manage without losing his footing or handle. Once he made it to a window, he easily managed to pry it open using the blade of out of his daggers. Slipping inside the aperture, he found himself in a dark room, likely just a storage room given random furniture filled it. He prudently closes it behind him, and makes a mental note to return to this room in order to escape later. As he made his way to the other side of the room, he put his ear to the door to listen for any footsteps of guards that might be patrolling the floors and rooms of the building that currently weren’t in use.

Nothing.

Didn’t mean he could consider himself in the clear.

Slowly, he turned the door knob, and peaked out from the small gap in the door. Noting no detectable movement, he opened it enough so he could turn his head towards the blind spot created by the door. 

Not a single thing on this side, either.

Adrian emerged out of the door and into a dim and uncomfortably still hallway. Even in the poor lighting, he could see looking glasses and paintings on the wall, with the occasional small statue at corridor intersections and ends. As he neared the path towards the stairs down, he head the heavy footsteps of boots. Without so much as panicking, the assassin backtracks slightly to a split in the hallway and hides behind a corner.

As he peaks his head out slightly, he sees the distinct blue beam of light from an enchanted lantern that gave off no toxic smoke. Adrian slides further backwards in order to avoid being spotted by the guard making their rounds. His heart drummed in his ears once the beam of light shines down the corridors in front of him. Silently, he hopes (not prays; Vinheimians were very rarely religious) that they don’t turn it in his directions. Clunk clop clunk clop. 

The guard passes by without so much as pivoting their head in his direction.

Letting out a breath as quietly as he can, Adrian waits until he can no longer hear the steps of the guard’s boots before turning the corner in the direction they came from. Of course, he makes sure to check for another before committing to the stairs. Detecting no other guard, the mage slunk down the stairs, taking the same kind of vigilant steps to avoid the sentries.

Unlike the last floor, candles illuminated half of it in gentle golden light. The smell of the candles wafted in his direction from a breeze likely brought in from the balcony. Still wary, he carefully glides down the hall, watching for any guards that might chastise a guest for wandering in the dark parts of the story, clearing indicating it off limits. Maybe it wouldn’t be enough for him to get booted, but that sort of suspicion wouldn’t do him any well.

After checking and finding no other guard wandering around, he saunters on to the well lit areas of the floor. As long as he could find that damnable gray eyed, blond haired, weak chinned, short bastard within the next ten minutes, he wouldn’t have to worry about using his staff again to renew his aural spell. While striding towards the light, he began to hear the soft rumbles of conversation. Ordinarily, he would avoid it, but given he would have to locate his mark, it would be best for him to find a spot he could eavesdrop or, even better, look on from without making himself evident.

He went to go sit on one of those cushioned benches in the far corner nearby and listened to them. A tall potted fern put him just out of view.

“They approved my grant to investigate those ruins about halfway between us and Astora. Didn’t take much persuading when I waved around a restored scroll and told them it was dated from before the last two cycles.”

Though Adrian really didn’t care why he had been assigned this mark, he could only assume a jealous rival had been responsible. Money is money, after all, and he wasn’t in the position to be picky. Anyways, the more he worked his job, the more he found himself despising the people he killed. All of them were petty academics, caring more about their Ivory Tower and their money and their squabbles more than the lives they trampled in their pursuit of Knowledge.

Not that he had noble ideals in mind; it just gave the assassin even more motivation to just twist the knife in as deep as possible. Luckily, impartiality wasn’t a requirement for his job; no one cared about your connections to marks or your political beliefs as long as you were successful.

I might not make my parents proud but they can’t deny I didn’t reach for my dreams.

The other scholar patted him on his shoulders, and excused himself to go get more wine. His steps on the marble were quick yet slightly clumsy, and went on by looking past the sitting assassin. And then, his mark was alone, except for his company. Thus, he carefully took out both of his daggers and applied the poisons to the end of the blade as he watched for the man to turn his back to him.

It was in the silence he appreciated just how beautiful the night was, between the brightness of the moon, the brisk air, and the energy buzzing about. Adrian smiled sadly, wishing to himself he had someone to spend it with after. Someone to sneak into their dorm or house or whatever and surprise them. Someone to spend all night with in bed, not even necessarily having sex but touching each other in affectionate ways delightfully unknown to him.

As soon as his target began to turn and walk towards the railings of the balcony, the lanky yet graceful assassin stood up with a slow and eerie confidence, his face becoming remarkably stony and blank. With long, swift steps, he made his way behind the scholar, clutching at both of his poisoned daggers. Several steps, then a few steps, then precious inches between them, then none as he shoved the blades, inches apart, in between ribs to puncture both lungs simultaneously.

The best part, as his mark suffocated on his own blood, he would be unable to take breath to sound an alarm.

As his mark collapsed onto the ground breathlessly, with a sadistic smirk Adrian turned on his heels, marching out with his head held high as if he had done nothing wrong, with all the nonchalance of a killer. It would take about three minutes or so for the man to finally die, and he cared not to speed up the cold and terrible agony of a death like drowning. He could feel those gray eyes on him, glazing over as he struggled to stand as his breath was literally taken away by his sliced lungs. Just the thought his mark suffered those three minutes terrified and helpless would both please him for days.

It didn’t haunt him anymore. Not between the sex and the wine.

As he wound his way back, he decided on the way back, as he wiped off his bloodied daggers, he’d find some handsome noble to bend over in the bushes of some snob’s estate.

#asks #;answered ooc #;drabble #long post #I would accept more but I suspect I will likely be very worn out between the three in my box #and the reply I need to do later #this is dead on the first song to my playlist for Adrian I'm so mad #skelephibian