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mooshywrites · 1 month

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Bloodied Stars - Part 4 - Velvet Hairpins and Plush Pillows

Fem!Reader x Ascended Astarion

Masterlist

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Word count - 6.3K

Warnings - (Series contains - Angst, “enemies” to lovers, pregnancy, disagreements, slow character growth, smut, typical asshole ascended astarion behavior, cliffhangers, murder, death - This takes place after the events in BG3, the ‘reader’ (you) is not Tav. Just a Baldur’s Gate resident )

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“Yours always.”

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Chapter List

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“What’s his name?” you asked, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you could even register them as thoughts.

“Astarion,” the pale man whispered, his voice more tense than before. He slipped past the door and shut it before you could ask anything else, leaving you in the dark dusty room.

You fell back against the bed, too tired to cry any more than you had. You stared at the gold and red stitching on the duvet below you, trying your best to ignore the shade’s dead match to the Vampire’s eyes.

Astarion, you thought, rolling the name around in your head.

Sleep pulled you close faster than you could realize, the chaos of the day already fading. Images of Astarion danced in your mind, his sharp features softening the same way they did when you caught his mask slipping. The way his eyes held a stormy complexity that both intrigued and terrified you.

Before your eyes fluttered shut for the day, your naive heart couldn’t help but remember his all too pretty lie.

“We could be a family.”

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The next morning, you awoke to a soft rustling sound in the room. Slowly opening your eyes, you blinked in surprise to see a small figure hovering at the foot of your bed. It was a pale wiry woman, her features much softer than the spawns you’d seen thus far. Thin wrinkles creased her eyes and her smile lines, making you wonder how someone who looked so happy could be in a place like this. She hummed softly, her melody winding through the air beautifully.

“Good morning, Miss,” she chortled, giving you a warm smile. You couldn’t help but smile back, her comforting aura shining brightly through the dusty room.

In her hands, the spawn held a tray filled with an assortment of breakfast items. There were delicate pastries dusted with powdered sugar, fresh fruits arranged in an artistic display. There even sat a cup of fragrant tea in the corner, steam rising in tendrils. The spread looked like something out of a lavish banquet, not a meal found in the home of a vampire.

“Where did you get all of this?” you questioned shyly, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Well I made it,” the woman replied with a grin, setting the tray down next to you.

“You cooked all of this?” you asked incredulously.

The woman chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement at your disbelief. “Yes, indeed, I did,” she confirmed, her voice carrying a gentle lilt. “Cooking is one of the few joys I still hold onto from my human days. Though the skill goes to waste most of the time in this house.”

“It really is lovely,” you whispered, sitting up and giving the tray another once over.

The spawn accepted the compliment graciously, her smile growing wider as she gave you a slight nod. Warmth bloomed in your chest, your heart clinging to someone so kind in a place so compassionless. The spawn before you seemed so different than the others, almost sounding maternal as she explained the different dishes.

As you both made small talk, you couldn’t help but be more and more drawn to her infectious energy and kind demeanor. The way she spoke about cooking with a mix of nostalgia intrigued you, making you want to know more about her past.

To know that despite vampiric nature, someone could still have some humanity.

After a while, you finally gathered the courage to ask for her name. She paused for a moment, as if contemplating whether to share that part of herself with you. Then, with a soft smile, she whispered, “Evelyn. My name is Evelyn.”

The name rolled off her tongue like a melody, fitting her perfectly. You repeated it back to her, savoring the chance to connect with someone though you were trapped here.

With a graceful gesture, the woman handed you the cup of tea, the rich aroma enveloping you like a warm embrace. It smelled of deep herbs and spices, faintly sweet after a while. You took a small sip, worried you’d look like a starved animal if you ate at the speed your growling stomach demanded.

The woman let out another melodic laugh, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Go on, Miss,” she urged, her small hand gesturing towards the feast before you. “Don’t be shy. I’ll still be here to keep you company while you eat to your heart’s content.”

You tentatively picked up a delicate looking pastry, its flaky crust glistening in the warm candlelight. As you took a bite, the taste exploded in your mouth. A perfect blend of buttery sweetness that made you all but forget about the ache in your stomach. But as you swallowed, a sharp pang shot through you, and you immediately felt queasy.

Evelyn noticed the sudden change in your souring expression and reached out to your arm, concern etching lines on her forehead.

“Are you alright, dear?” she asked softly, the genuine worry evident in her voice. You tried to muster a reassuring smile, but the discomfort gnawing at your insides made it difficult.

“I- I think I just need a moment,” you managed to say, setting down the half-eaten pastry with a trembling hand. The woman’s eyes softened with understanding, and she reached out to pat your hand gently.

“It’s alright, my dear. Don’t force yourself to eat it,” she assured, exuding care. “Perhaps it’s too rich for your current condition.”

You felt a surge of guilt at her words, knowing how much effort she must have poured into preparing the breakfast before you. How you had hoped with all your heart that someone in this house would be kind, yet here you were, too weak to accept the gesture. The woman seemed to sense your inner turmoil and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Do not fret, Miss. I understand pregnancy can bring about peculiar cravings and aversions. Especially with a dhampire child,” she said with a comforting smile. “Let me bring you something lighter that will nourish both you and the little one.”

“Dhampire?” You squeezed her hand back, hoping she wouldn’t leave just yet. As painful as it was to admit, you felt so much safer, so much more cared for with the woman here.

“Dhampire,” she repeated with a nod. “A child conceived of a vampire and non-vampire. I can’t tell you much more than that, the Master should explain all of that to you.”

“I don’t want to see him,” you said quickly, trying to keep the panic out of your tone. The hurt of the day before was still raw in your chest, you weren’t sure if you could face the man without devolving into a storm of tears.

Whether that was the hormones or the being kidnapped part, you couldn’t tell.

“Oh, miss,” the woman sighed, giving you a pitying stare. She seemed to deliberate for a moment, her expression softening as she gazed at you with a mix of sympathy and understanding. With a gentle touch, Evelyn reached out to brush a stray lock of hair away from your face, her touch cool and comforting.

“I can see that the Master’s actions have left a mark on you,” she murmured softly, her voice carrying an underlying current of familiarity. “I won’t tell you what the right thing to do is. But you can’t avoid him forever.”

“I know,” you whispered, feeling a sense of resignation settling in your chest. Despite your dread at the thought of facing him, you knew Evelyn was right. You couldn’t close yourself off from him, especially not in his own home.

“I’ll put together something lighter for you to eat, my dear. Someone will bring it to your room shortly.” Evelyn cooed, her thumb rubbing circles on your hand.

“Can’t I go with you?”

Evelyn’s eyes softened with a mixture of sadness and longing, seeming to want the chance of more time with you. There was a moment of hesitation before she spoke, her voice gentle yet firm.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, dear. The Master has given strict orders that you are to remain in your room until he decides otherwise,” she explained, her delicate features betraying a hint of worry.

You felt a surge of frustration suddenly, your condition hurtling you into a new emotion. If you were going to be imprisoned here, the least the arrogant “Master” could do is let you into a hallway.

As Evelyn rose from her seat, her movements graceful and purposeful, she leaned in closer to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Be patient, my dear. If anyone can get through to him, it’s you,” she whispered. “He’s already been out of sorts since the first night you were behind these walls.”

With that, she glided out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the remnants of the uneaten pastry.

You watched Evelyn disappear through the partially opened door, the soft click signaling your solitude once more. Her words lingered in the air, your feelings growing conflicted. The dusty room suddenly felt oppressive, the weight of your confinement bearing down on your shoulders.

With a determined sigh, you rose from your bed and set about tidying up the neglected room. The dust motes danced in the magical light, making you wonder how you made it all of this time without being reduced to a puddle of sneezes. The soft glowing light from the room made you wonder, realization dawning on you that this room was much brighter than the hallway you were carried through.

With vampire’s having near perfect night vision, did this mean that someone had purposefully lightened the room for you?

You shook off the idea. The last logical thing would be to think that your kidnapper cared about you at all.

You rummaged through the bookcase, stumbling across an old rag. With meticulous care, you began to scrub away the inch thick layer of dust, each swipe revealing more of the delicate wood beneath it.

As you cleaned, a sense of purpose began to ease your anxieties. The rhythmic swish of the rag against the wooden surface was strangely soothing, almost hypnotic. Each stroke revealed the intricate carvings on the bookcase, depicting scenes of knights in battle and dragons breathing fire. The craftsmanship was remarkable, each detail painstakingly etched into the wood with precision.

Lost in the beauty of the carvings, you almost failed to notice the faint creaking sound coming from the corner of the room. It wasn’t until you heard a soft click that snapped you out of your trance. Glancing over, you saw a previously unnoticed door slightly ajar, sunlight streaming in from the other side.

Curiosity piqued, you cautiously made your way towards the door, your footsteps silent on the dusty floor. Pushing it open further, you were greeted by a washroom that seemed to belong in a palace rather than a forgotten room.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked towards the stained glass windows. Why on earth would there be a source of sunlight in the home of a Vampire? Even if being ascended meant you could walk in the sun, you knew for a fact that the spawns couldn’t.

Who was this room meant for?

You stepped further inside, gazing around the room. The walls were adorned with shimmering mosaics that glinted in the light of the colored glass, casting a rainbow of reflections across the marble floor. The air was scented with the sweet fragrance of dried lavender and jasmine, the tiles beneath your feet cool and smooth.

A large claw foot bathtub sat in the center of the room, its gleaming surface inviting you to sink into its depths and wash away the grime of captivity. Dusty towels were stacked neatly on a golden rack, perfectly placed next to the row of dishes filled with bars of soap.

Overwhelmed by the sudden luxury surrounding you and the mystery of its existence, you felt yourself growing tense. You quickly stepped back, shutting the door to the washroom gently behind you.

As you turned around, you were startled by your bedroom door swinging open. Your eyes tried to adjust to the dimmer light of the room, focusing in on the figure. Your eyes widened at the sight of Amastacia standing there with a tray in her hands.

Amastacia’s presence sent a surge of anger coursing through you, memories of her betrayal flooding your mind. You could feel the heat rising within you, the urge to confront her clawing at your insides like a beast hungry for vengeance. But you held yourself back, your jaw clenched tight as you glared at her from across the room.

Amastacia’s eyes met yours, a flicker of annoyance passing through them before she composed herself into an icy mask of indifference. With a nonchalant grace, she sauntered towards you, the tray in her hand rattling slightly with the plate of bread upon it.

“Breakfast?” Amastacia offered, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

You recoiled at the sound of her voice, the memories of her honeyed lies still fresh in your mind.

“I don’t want anything from you,” you spat out, your tone laced with barely contained fury.

A smirk tugged at the corners of Amastacia’s lips, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, darling, no need to be so hostile. After all, you need all the food you can get since you’re eating for two,” she said, settling the tray down with a clank.

You eyed the bread warily, knowing better than to trust anything that came from her hands. You could hear the thinly veiled aggression in her words, the challenge she was presenting.

“Surely, you don’t expect me to eat something when the last meal we had you drugged,” you gritted.

“Surely you don’t expect me to care,” she bit back, all fake pleasantries disintegrated. “I’m not going out of my way to make you eat, even if you are Master’s latest pet.”

Your blood boiled at the mention of being called Astarion’s “pet”, the audacity of Amastacia’s words cutting deeper than any blade.

Speaking of blades, the moment you came in possession of something sharp, you were driving it through this harlot’s chest.

Beneath the anger you felt lay a flicker of something else, a strange sense of possessiveness that tugged at your heart. As much as you despised Astarion at the moment, part of you longed to be more important to him than just some means to an heir.

With a forced calmness, you pushed aside the bread, refusing to let her see how much her words truly stung.

“I am not anyone’s pet,” you said through your teeth, your fist clenched at your sides.

Amastacia’s laughter rang through the room, sharp and mocking.

“Oh, sweetling, you are far too naive if you think he thinks otherwise. You’re nothing more than a momentary nuisance,” she taunted, her eyes gleaming with malice.

A surge of defiance surged through you, igniting a fire within. You stood taller, meeting her gaze head on with a hardened glare.

“Maybe he doesn’t, but you’re no better. Nothing but another one of Astarion’s slaves,” you retorted, your voice steady despite the turmoil within.

The air crackled with tension, the unspoken challenge hanging heavy between the two of you. As Amastacia’s smile faltered ever so slightly, you knew you found the chink in her armor.

Astarion.

Amastacia’s broken smile quickly transformed into a sneer, her eyes narrowing with a dangerous glint. The mention of Astarion’s name had hit a nerve, and you could sense the shift in her demeanor as she struggled to regain control of the situation.

But you refused to back down, emboldened by the realization that you held power over her at this moment.

“You think you know him so well, don’t you?” Amastacia’s voice was laced with venom as she took a step closer, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “But you have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the intensity in her gaze, but you stood your ground, unwavering in your defiance.

“I may not know everything about him, but I know enough to see through your facade,” you shot back, your tone challenging.

Amastacia crumbled before your eyes, revealing a glimpse of the seething rage and possessiveness that lay beneath. Her chest heaved with each ragged breath, her eyes blazing with a fierce intensity that sent fear through your veins.

“You know nothing,” she hissed, her voice barely more than a whisper but filled with a deadly promise.

In that moment, the room seemed to shrink around the two of you, the air heavy with tension thick enough to suffocate. You could feel the weight of her fury pressing down on you, starkly contrasting the affectionate gaze she started this whole series of unfortunate events with.

“Maybe not,” you conceded, trying to swallow back the adrenaline coursing through your veins, “but I know unrequited love when I see it.”

Amastacia’s eyes widened at your words, a mixture of shock and fury crossing her features. The room seemed to vibrate with her suppressed emotions, the air crackling with the intensity of her anger. In a sudden movement, she lunged towards you, her hands clawing at the air as if trying to grasp hold of something intangible. You barely had time to react before she was upon you, her nails digging into your skin as she snarled incoherently.

Pain flared through your body, sharp and biting as Amastacia was overcome with a primal rage that seemed to consume her from within. It was as if a beast had been unleashed, all semblance of control slipping away in the heat of the moment.

You fought back as best you could, adrenaline fueling your movements as you tried to push her away. But her strength was surprising, her grip unyielding as she continued to claw and snarl, her face contorted with a savagery that chilled you to the core.

Just when it seemed like Amastacia’s onslaught would never end, the door burst open with a resounding crash. Astarion stood in the threshold, his crimson eyes blazing with a fierce intensity that matched the flames of Amastacia’s fury. His presence was like a tempest, commanding attention and respect as he surveyed the chaotic scene before him.

Without a word, Astarion moved swiftly towards you, his movements fluid and graceful like a predator closing in on its prey. In one swift motion, he ripped Amastacia off of you, his strength overpowering hers effortlessly. She snarled and hissed, struggling against his hold, but he held her firmly in place with an iron grip.

“Enough,” Astarion barked, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. The force of his command seemed to quell the storm of emotions swirling around you, bringing a moment of calm amidst the chaos.

Amastacia glared at Astarion for a split second of undisguised hatred, her chest heaving with anger. Astarion’s glare deepened, leaving no room for argument.

“Leave,” he spit, his tone deadly.

For a moment, it seemed as though Amastacia would defy him, her aggression sparking like embers in her eyes. Yet then, with a venomous glare in your direction, she wrenched herself free from Astarion’s grasp and stormed out of the room, her rage echoing in the emptiness left behind.

As the door swung shut behind her, a heavy silence descended upon the room, broken only by the sound of your ragged breaths and the distant echoes of Amastacia’s footsteps fading into the night. Astarion turned to face you, his expression growing more exasperated than angry.

“What did you do to make her so upset?” Astarion sighed, his frustration palpable as he looked upon the aftermath of your scuffle. His gaze fell upon you, accusatory and questioning at the same time.

In response to Astarion’s question, you felt a surge of indignation rise within you. He quite literally had to pick her up like a rabid animal and he’s assuming you were the one in the wrong?

“I did absolutely nothing,” you seethed. “Maybe you should be more careful with who you ‘employ’ from now on.”

Astarion regarded you with a mixture of surprise and skepticism, his eyes probing yours for any sign of deceit. After a moment of tense silence, he let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his silvery hair, seemingly lost in thought.

“I admit, I may have underestimated her propensity towards violence,” he relented.

“Underestimated?” you laughed dryly, holding out the deep claw marks on your arms. “She would have killed me! Might I remind you that if I die, your precious heir dies too?”

Astarion’s expression darkened at the reminder of the stakes involved, his features hardening with resolve. With a curt nod, he took your arm in his hand, looking over the scratches. You winced at the stinging pain, but his touch was surprisingly gentle. His cold fingers traced the lines of blood, his expression becoming softer with each passing moment.

As he observed, you found yourself drawn to his presence once again, the way his fingers soothed the pain sending goosebumps across your skin. You tried to ignore the way your heartbeat began to flutter, the undeniable pull you felt towards the pale elf ramping up again.

Astarion’s gaze lifted from your arms to meet yours, his expression unreadable.

“Forgive me,” Astarion murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Moving faster than you could realize, he brought your arms to his lips, licking a long stripe along the fresh cut. His eyes never left yours, the sensation of his tongue grazing your skin sent heat through your chest. A mixture of fear and an unsettling thrill coursed through you as you looked on.

As he finished cleaning the wounds, you could feel the tension between you heating in the air. Astarion’s gaze held a hunger that you weren’t quite ready to unpack, afraid of what his gentle touches meant. With a sudden intensity, he leaned closer, his breath mingling with yours.

“You should never have been put in danger. I won’t allow such things again,” he whispered.

His promise hung in the air, low and sure. You were caught in a trance, unable to tear your gaze away from his hypnotic eyes. In that moment, you knew your life had become completely intertwined with the vampire, bound by an unspoken connection that defied logic.

“Now come,” Astarion said simply, straightening and dropping your arm. Gone was the intensity of his gaze, your mind reeling to catch up with his mood changes.

Did the pregnancy hormones seep into the air and affect him as well?

“We need to go see our in-house healer. Evelyn informs me that you haven’t been able to eat.“

You followed Astarion out of the room numbly, still trying to catch up from the intimate moment you had just shared. The tension lingered between you, a potent mix of fear, desire, and uncertainty swirling in the air. As you walked through the dimly lit corridors of the castle, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his lips against your skin, the memory burning hot in your mind.

When you reached what must have been the healer’s chambers, Evelyn was already there. Your smile grew wide at the sight of her, the stress of the day already seeming to melt away.

“You must know how to do everything, Evelyn,” you laughed, looking around at her healer’s office.

The space seemed to be a sanctuary within the cold stone walls of the mansion. Soft, flickering candles cast a warm glow, illuminating shelves lined with jars of herbs and vials of potions. The air was thick with the earthy scent of dried thyme, instantly calming your racing heart.

Evelyn cast a weary glance at Astarion before looking at you. Her eyes immediately flitted to the deep scratches on your arm, her breath gasping sharply.

“Oh, sweetling, whatever happened?” she cried, rushing over to look over your injury. She glared at Astarion, no fear in her eyes. “Did you do this to her? I swear to every god I can name, if you did,” she threatened.

Your jaw dropped in surprise, completely shocked with how brazenly the older spawn was speaking to the pale elf.

Astarion only chuckled softly at Evelyn’s stinging words, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Now, now, dear Evelyn, there’s no need for such hostility. I assure you, I had nothing to do with her little mishap. Ask her yourself.” He waved his hand dismissively, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Nothing, hm? You should take better care of her,” the woman narrowed her eyes skeptically at him before turning her attention back to you. With gentle hands, she began tending to your wound, applying a salve that soothed the pain instantly.

“Might I remind the Master, she is growing your child,” she continued, chiding Astarion as if he were a babe.

You watched the exchange between Evelyn and Astarion with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. It was clear that despite his confident mask, Astarion held a healthy respect for the old spawn in front of you. As Evelyn continued to scold him, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude that there was someone in this building who seemed brave enough to talk to Astarion like he wasn’t a god.

The pale elf leaned casually against a nearby table, his eyes never leaving you with an odd sense of concern. The tension that had filled your life earlier had seemed to dissipate, replaced now with comfortable small talk.

“You wound me with your accusations,” Astarion teased, a playful glint in his eye. “I would never harm our little one… or its vessel,” he added with a grin.

You couldn’t help but smile back, despite the obvious disrespect in his tease. It was so interesting to see the man act this way. It was as if he had been replaced by an entirely different person, a doppelgänger that wasn’t so needlessly dark and depraved.

Perhaps Evelyn just had this effect on everyone.

Evelyn rolled her eyes at Astarion’s dramatics but couldn’t hide the spark of affection in her gaze. She turned back to you, finishing up the treatment on your arm with practiced ease.

“You’ll be as right as rain in no time, my dear,” she reassured you, patting your hand gently. “But do take it easy. For your sake and the baby’s.”

“Of course,” you nodded gratefully.

“Speaking of,” the woman directed her attention at Astarion, “I believe I know why she is having trouble keeping food down.”

“Oh?” Astarion prodded, his face growing serious. Based on his reaction, you wondered if it was something they had talked about before. You felt your chest flutter at the thought of the two of them being concerned about something so mundane.

“I believe that when an Ascended Vampire conceives a baby, the pregnant person has to consume vampire blood for the baby to grow,” Evelyn began, her voice lacking a sense of humor. She paced between the two of you, throwing her hands up as she spoke.

“It’s an exceedingly rare occurrence, mind you,” she continued, her brow furrowed in concentration. “But I was able to find it documented in a few books I’ve studied. The blood of an Ascended carries with it a unique quality that is essential for sustaining life. For parent and child.”

A hush fell over the room as her words lingered in the air like rotting meat. You couldn’t help but feel your stomach upturn at the gravity of her revelation.

“I have to drink his blood?“ you asked quietly, feeling positively ill.

Astarion threw you a glance, seeming all too aware of your discomfort in the situation. “For the baby,” he whispered, his gaze unwavering. You could see the concern in his eyes, his feelings seeming genuine for once.

Evelyn nodded solemnly, her expression grave. “I understand this is probably too much to ask of you,” she said, her tone gentle. “But it is the only way to ensure the child’s survival. And your own.”

As she made her way towards the door, Evelyn paused, turning back to look at you both. “I have to go about my rounds now,” she said, her voice tinged with pity. “I will leave the two of you to discuss this further.”

Alone in the dimly lit room, the reality of the situation sank in. The thought of consuming blood, fresh blood, turned your stomach. The image of it swirling your mind like a dark, viscous liquid.

“I’m sorry,” Astarion offered quietly, taking a few steps towards you. “I realize that the last few days have probably been a lot for you to handle. Even without adding this on top of it all.”

Astarion reached out a hand, his fingers hovering just inches from your arm as if unsure of whether or not it would be welcomed. His words held a weight to them, a sincerity that caught you off guard. You couldn’t help but feel a flicker of warmth in the cool room, the shadows dancing around you both.

“Drinking blood… It’s not something I ever imagined myself doing,” you admitted softly. The very idea seemed monstrous, unnatural. Yet, there was an undeniable pull in Astarion’s eyes, a depth of understanding that made you question your own reservations.

“I think I would be more worried if you had,” the pale elf chuckled.

He let out a soft sigh, his gaze meeting yours with a matching uncertainty. “I never imagined I would be in this position either,’ he confessed. “But it must be done. I won’t risk your-… I won’t risk the baby.”

“I don’t even have fangs,” you replied numbly, ignoring the pause in his sentence.

Astarion broke out in a grin, unable to stifle a laugh. “It’s a slight impediment, I suppose,” he teased, the tension in the room easing just a bit. “I am more than willing to lend you mine.”

He held his hand to his mouth, biting into the skin softly. You couldn't help a nervous giggle, laughing at the absurdity of the situation. You felt a strange mix of revulsion and gratitude as you watched Astarion pierce his hand.

He must have sensed your mixed emotions, his eyes soft as he raised his bleeding hand towards you. You hesitated for a moment, the fear of actually drinking his blood still coursing through your veins. You looked up into his eyes, trying to borrow some of his ever present confidence.

You took a deep breath and slowly reached out to touch the trickle of blood that had formed on his skin. His fingers trembled slightly, exposing his own apprehension in the situation. He gently wrapped his other hand around yours to steady it, his touch sending a warm surge of reassurance.

You would have to unpack his newest affectionate demeanor when you weren’t face to face with his blood.

As you hesitantly brought your lips to his hand, Astarion’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you could see a flash of desire. The moment felt vulnerable, the vampire offering a part of himself to you.

You closed your eyes, willing yourself to trust him, just this once, taking a small sip of the blood from his hand.

The flavor zinged across your tongue like electricity, completely different from the metallic and putrid taste you expected. Instead, it was smooth and rich, like the finest wine you had ever tasted. It flowers through your veins, alighting your nerves and filling you with a sense of power and strength. It was exhilarating and vaguely reminded you of how it felt to have the pale elf’s aphrodisiac bite.

Astarion watched you intently, his lips parted ever so slightly and his eyes filled with satisfaction. You pulled away, savoring the taste on your lips and the warmth that spread through your veins. You couldn’t help but look into Astarion’s eyes, seeing the matching spark reflected in them.

For a moment, you forgot how dangerous the man in front of you was, or how volatile the situation you found yourself in. All you could focus on was the growing intensity in the air around you, Astarion’s eyes flitting to your lips.

You exhaled a shaky breath, a small tentative smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Thank you,” you murmured softly.

Astarion nodded, his eyes still locked with yours. His hand held yours close, leaning in ever so slightly. You could see the flecks of gold amongst the ruby sea of his irises yet again, your breath catching in your throat.

Astarion’s gaze heated for a moment as he shifted forward, his breath mingling with yours. The tension between you pulsed like a living thing, wrapping around you in a heady embrace. His touch was feather light on your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he brushed his lips against yours.

The kiss was hungry, bordering on desperation. You realized you felt exactly the same, your feelings raw and exposed once your resolve had been peeled back.

You wanted him. Wanted him so badly.

Craved him like it was the air that you breathed. It may be irrational, perhaps even foolish. But you had been chasing the high you felt your first night with him despite the wall firmly placed between you.

But just as quickly as the passion ignited between you, Astarion pulled away abruptly, the fire in his eyes dimming to a cool mask of indifference. His jaw clenched, betraying the turmoil within him as he turned away, his back now to you.

You watched him in silence, feeling the weight of his absence hanging heavy in the air. It was as if there was a chasm between the two of you, wider and deeper than any physical distance could ever measure. Astarion stood motionless, his shoulders tense with an invisible burden that seemed to crush him from within.

The vulnerability you glimpsed in him just moments earlier now made your heart ache with a longing you couldn’t quite name. You reached out tentatively, your fingers hovering over his arm before hesitating. Would he push you away or pull you closer?

You pulled your arm back silently.

“Feel free to roam outside of your room from now on. Just don’t leave the grounds. I’ll find you in the evenings to feed.” Astarion broke the silence, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Right, thank you,” you replied, uneasily matching his demeanor.

As Astarion left the room, you were left standing there, the echo of his presence still lingering like a ghost in the empty space between you. His departure felt like the closing of a door, separating you from a world where anything seemed possible.

Returning to your own chamber, you sank onto the edge of the bed, your mind swirling with thoughts of him.

Were you falling in love with him?

The question echoed in your mind, bouncing off the walls of doubt and fear that surrounded your heart.

You traced patterns on the coverlet with trembling fingers, lost in a maze of uncertainty and hopes. Astarion was a puzzle you couldn’t solve, a riddle wrapped in enigma and shrouded in darkness. And yet, there was a hint of something in his eyes, a longing that drew you into his embrace time and time again.

The night stretched on before you like an endless tapestry, woven with threads of longing and desire. Torn between wanting him close and fearing that the whole affectionate thing was an act, you wrestled with your own emotions in the quiet solitude of your room.

You were drawn back to the washroom, craving the view of the outside world. The moon cast a silvery glow through the glass, painting everything in shades of grey and blue. As you sat, staring at the stars, you wondered if there was even a place for anything more than duty and necessity in Astarion’s life.

If there was a place for you.

Sleep finally claimed you, pulling you into a dark embrace on the cold tile floor. Even while deep in slumber, you couldn’t help but feel that you didn’t mean anything to the pale elf at all.

When you awoke to the sunlight filtering in, washing over you like a warm blanket, you immediately regretted falling asleep on the hard ground. Your mood was sour as you trudged back into the bedroom, your eyes catching on a plain paper resting on the small bedside table.

You picked it up curiously, flipping it over to see the writing. Tied to the edge was a small hairpin. The silver piece was adorned with delicate ivory carvings of intertwining vines, their leaves and flowers forming intricate patterns that seemed to shimmer as they caught the light.

It was absolutely magnificent.

As you examined the hairpin more closely, you found that the tip had been sharpened to a fine point, one that would easily draw blood with the slightest wrong movement. You felt your chest flutter, your eyes flitting back at the note attached to the gift.

All of your doubts melted away as you read the crimson cursive writing, the words giving away more than your pale elf could ever say.

“For my fangless vampire so that she’ll never again grow hungry.

Yours always,

Astarion.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Next chapter

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─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Tagged - @dinoace2 , @tiedyedghoulette , @n3cros1sbunny , @bloodlust-1 , @bookishpenguino , @asterordinary , @generalstephkenobi , @under-the-crescent-moon ,

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natalie668 · 10 days

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Chapter 3 -Lost Girl

As i pull away from her hug, I can’t help but grin. She seems like such a sweetheart; “Come on, let’s go sit down to the dinner table I’ve bought pizza home for tea.” She says as she begins to make her way down the stairs towards where I can hear rustling of pizza boxes opening.

Michael takes my hand, we make our way down for food. He turns to look at me as we get to the top of the stairs, “We’ll continue about your other mates when we’re finished down here.” He says as he rubs his thumb against my cheek rubbing against the side of my lip. I can’t help but blush and nod. This guy is making my heart feel like it’s having palpitations.

Once we’re in the dining room, Michael pulls a chair out for me to sit at, Lucy smiles as she slides a paper plate over to me, I help myself to a piece of pepperoni pizza. Taking a bite I can’t help the moan that escapes. “Hmm, this is so good.” I say. “Thank you for the food Lucy.”

She smiles at me in return, “what’s ours is yours now sweetheart, you’re family.” Michael sits in the seat next to me, his hand rests against my thigh, I reach for his hand with my own, our fingers intertwining.

“So y/n, where are you from.” Sam asks around the pizza that he’s chomping away at in his mouth, Michael and Lucy grimace over his lack of table manners neither impressed seeing the food in his mouth while he’s talking.

“I’m from y/h/t, in y/c,” I say as i take another bite, Michael’s fingers squeeze against my own. I appreciate the comfort from his touch.

Lucy seems to read the room, and quickly changes the subject getting Sam’s attention from me, I appreciate it. After a couple of more slices of pizza Michael excuses us and we head back to his bedroom.

As we enter his room he leans behind me and slides the lock across the door, we both seem to lean in at the same time, his lips pressing against my own, our tongues caressing one another. I pull away, breathless.

I stare up into his eyes, “You were going to tell me about my other mates?.”

He sighs and throws himself down onto his bed, “I did, didn’t I.” He says with a sigh, his hands run through his curly hair. “What I’m about to tell you is going to sound crazy, but you’ve got to trust me. I’m telling the truth.” He says.

I look at him smirking, “Pretty sure I’m having Deja-vu here.” He looks at me with a grin, “You can tell me anything, I’ll believe you, like you believed me.” I say as I come and sit next to him my hand reaching out and taking hold of his.

“Your mates, and I. We’re vampires.” He says, his eyes peering up to my own.

I sit there in shock, surely I misheard. “Uhm, please repeat that.” I say, even though I don’t need him to repeat it, “you know what you don’t have to repeat it, what do you mean by vampires, like Interview with the Vampire, vampires? Bram stokers Dracula?”

Michael looks away from me, and when he turns back his eyes are a golden orange colour, his facial features have changed and he now has fangs in his mouth.

I lean forward, I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I’m intrigued to hell about those fangs, and how can he still look so incredibly handsome with his vampire face. Heck I’m kind of not surprised I’m pretty turned on by the Vampire face, Angel and Spike from Buffy used to make me hot and bothered too.

I lean forward taking my hand as I trace my fingertips down his face, tracing his cheek bones, all the way across his lips to his teeth, my finger gets too close to the pointy bit and it pierces the tip, a drop of blood puddles up on my finger, I take it into my mouth sucking it away.

Michaels gaze follows my finger to my mouth, he leans in and kisses me, his tongue pierces my mouth, his tongue attacking my own like he’s trying to suck that little bit of blood into his own mouth. We pull apart both breathless, his face back to normal.

He looks over to the alarm clock on his side table, it reads 11:17pm, “We should go meet your other mates,” he says with a sigh, as much as he’d like to keep you to himself, he knows that if they find out he’s kept you like that without letting them meet you he’ll be in for a hell of a shout down.

I can’t help but to feel both excited and scared, you’re about to meet 4 other soulmates, who are vampires no less. With a nod, you take his hand in your own and you both make your way out of the house.

As we set off on the bike, the wind blows in my hair. I look around at the surroundings which pass us by, the sound of the boardwalk lingers as background noise. Soon enough we’re driving through wooded areas, and we come upon a cliff, Michael pulls us over.

He takes hold of my hand, leading us down some scary looking steps, we keep going down until I can practically feel the spray from the waves hitting my face. I look forward taking in the signs saying no trespassing etc. we keep going forward, descending into the cave i expect it to look like what a cave should look like, instead it looks like a cave that’s swallowed an old looking hotel.

I take a step away from him, this cave feels like home, I have no clue as to why, it doesn’t look like our own home we no longer will ever see, but it feels like it’s mine.

Michaels arms wrap there way around my waist, I lean back into him. “They should be back soon,” he says against the back of my head. He leads me to the sofa, we both get comfortable, I look around spotting what looks like a hallway leading out of the main bit of cave. I walk forward, taking in the miscellaneous bits around, I pass a bookshelf as I go further into the cave. My fingers caress each books spine, whomever the books belong to have taste.

“Come, we can explore later. I heard there bikes. They’ll be here any minute.” He says as he drags me back to the entrance.

Taking a deep breath, I hear laughter echoing down to us. The first person who steps down has bright bleach blonde hair. His eyes meet my own, their name burns on my arm as our eyes meet.

“Mate,” he says as he rushes forward towards me, his hands taking hold of either side of my face.

I look at him, peering into his face, “my name is y/n.” I say as I rub my cheek against his fingerless gloved hand.

“David,” he says after a few seconds, he looks over to Michael his eyes squinting at him, they seem to have a silent conversation. I can’t help but wonder if their vampireness gives them the ability to share thoughts.

Authors note: Thank you guys soooo much for liking both chapters and for the comments. Next chapter we have more interaction with David, and we meet the rest of the boys. This is an AU story, you will see just how much in the following chapters 🖤 let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list 🖤❤️

@acemisanthropist @richardsamboramylove55

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nockfellblues · 11 months

Note

I have two requests! So firstly, can I request Hellsing Ultimate but with Alucard and Sir Integra pining after the same person (reader)?

Aaah absolutely! Thanks to a kind donation, I’m the proud owner of an actual keyboardddd. I’m still adjusting sooo. If there are typos, no there aren’t 👍

Warnings: None!

“Ugh, this display is revolting.”

Alucard didn’t even bother hiding the amused snort at Integra’s words, idly leaning against the wall behind her, not even pretending to be the least bit interested in the current function they were attending. Some ostentatious soirée of old money families and crown boot-lickers putting on their best displays of ass-kissing to keep their names in the Crown’s good graces. Posturing. Boring.

Currently he was acutely aware of y/n’s nervous laughter as some puffed-up lord’s son-or-other tried to sweet-talk them for what had to be the fifth time tonight. He had to applaud the boy’s gall, if nothing else, as they were most definitely out of the boy’s league. Being the god-child of the Queen of England made them, by all definitions, unobtainable; but their questionable origin had definitely made them absolutely off-limits. No one ever truly questioned the sudden appearance of a mysterious royal god-child; god knows there’s always a royal cousin creeping from the woodwork somewhere. That was, until it came to the Hellsing Organization’s attention that said-child was indeed much more strange than just their circumstances. After all, it wasn’t often that the crown would willingly board a Damphir within the royal palace.

To The Queen’s credit, she had the sense to ask Integegra’s, and by proxy Alucard’s, help with ensuring they were well-versed in their heritage before being allowed to wander the halls of England’s seat of power and be sat at the Queens right hand. Intrigue turned to true curiosity and the newcomer was accepted, taken in, taught and educated appropriately.

What a mistake that had been on both Alucard and Integra’s parts.

They were captivating in both mind and power, and Alucard was beside himself- a Damphir was thought an impossibility, much less one from such an old and powerful line of vampiric lineage. They were powerful, elegant, alluring, viciously smart, and loyal to a fault. Within the year they spent under the Hellsing Organizations watch, y/n had Alucard pinned under their pretty little finger- and Integra too.

Though she’d deny it with every fiber of her being, Integra was hopelessly pulled in by the damphir’s natural charm. It was almost cute, if not for the fact that it made them technically rivals of a sort. He couldn’t deny he loved to watch his master silently pine over this pretty little thing. She would lose all focus on what she was doing with them in the room- completely lose the tight grip on her frigid countenance when they would playfully joke with her. To say Integra was enamored would be an understatement. In all the time he had known her, Integra had never shown even a thimble of the interest she had in y/n.

Both of them were hopelessly infatuated with this unique creature that had stumbled into their lives and was utterly and completely off limits to them in terms of a relationship beyond acquaintance . Not only because of their lineage and ties to the crown- but because they had become quietly engaged to a certain bumbling blonde Vampiress they both knew all too well.

True, either of them could have stepped in and ended the relationship at any time; been selfish and cruel and stolen them away for themselves. But as much as they’d deny it outright, they loved Seras beyond words. How could they deny her the happiness she had found in all of the hell they dealt with?

Eyes drifting over the crowd, Alucard sighed, catching the eyes of Walter as he approached with Integra’s next drink. Wine seemed all they were supplying tonight and Integra had groused the whole first hour that there was nothing harder than, “bloody juice,” to get her through this socialite-styled torture.

“You’re a godsend, Walter,” She thanked him quietly, chin in her hand as she swirled the deep burgundy wine.

“Not at all, ma’am. How is poor y/n doing with that young chap? Trenton, was it?” He adjusted his gloves , setting into place besides Integra.

She chuckled, “He’s still at them. Good thing poor Seras isn’t here yet or she’d have had him unconscious in a broom closet and hour ago. I think they’ve blown him off a good three times now-“

“Six, actually,” Alucard supplied with a grin, spotting them from between bodies as they escaped the bull-headed boy towards the entrance. As if sensing his interest, their eyes met his before bouncing between Integra and Walter, their smile widening nearly imperceptibly as they gave a small wave. Behind them a pair of gloved hands reached for their own, a certain Police Girl finally making her demure entrance at last. His grin slipped to something bittersweet as y/n turned and the two met each other half way, foreheads together as they shared a quiet laugh in greeting. With hushed voices they moved the the outskirts of the party to avoid anymore would-be “suitors” and enjoy the evening in peace.

Alucard was brought back by Integra’s quiet sigh. He knew the sound all too well and watched as she pointedly avoided looking back to the entrance.

“As I said: Revolting.”

--*-*-*—

Wahooo- its been forever since I’ve written Alucard. And I’ve never gotten to try a hand at Integra. I really hope you enjoyed. I wanted the ending a little bitter-sweet and I do think they’d both be willing to sacrifice their own happiness for the sake of dear Seras ;-; Thanks again for your request! I’m working on the other one too! c:

#Hellsing x reader #alucard x reader #sir Integra x reader #Integra x reader #Seras x reader #can you imagine alucard being your wingman #wild.#my writing

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emilykaldwen · 5 days

Text

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Fourteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

no tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

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Author's Notes: Back from hiatus on April 26th! (Chapter 16 is just about polished and I finally made progress for chapter 17). I'm sending huge, huge thank you to my beloved beta and co-pilot, @vampire-exgirlfriend for all her love and support and kindness. There's been a lot of times that I've thought about stopping, about not continuing this story, about maybe just keeping it to myself. It's been her love and very aggressive 'that is DUMB' affection that has brought us close to the end of Arc I.

And a huge thank you to the people who have liked this story. I genuinely would love LOVE LOVE to hear your thoughts. In inbox is open, reblog and tag me, however you want to let me know that you're here <3

we are now entering the 'oh my god these too are so fucking into each other they want to fuck so bad it makes them look stupid' era

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Love the World Like I Should

Grandfather Rodrik shows up with love and gifts, and there's some smooching on the dance floor at Aegon's nameday feast. Also some political anxiety.

King’s Landing was filled to bursting in the days approaching Aegon’s nameday celebrations. Never had Abby seen so many people crush themselves into the Red Keep. ‘More will be at Harrenhal for the wedding’, Helaena had said, their small group seeking solace away from the gaggle of the court for a while. Baela had come with them, overwhelmed with the crush of noise herself, even if she did not admit it. The Princesses Targaryen, Abby, Wylla, little Floris, and Baela’s two ladies had all sought the quietest part of the gardens to hide from the increasingly aggressive attentions.

Now, though, Abby could not hide from the crush of people.

The Reyne retinue arrived in the early afternoon, and while an ancient and powerful house as theirs deserved their pomp, the familial presentation was for Rodrik Reyne, uncle to the Queen Alicent Hightower, and grandfather to the future Princess Abrogail Strong.

Grandfather to the potential future queen, as the whispers and rumors flew around the Red Keep with the coming celebrations. Rumors that Abby wasn’t sure would come to pass, but could not deny that the king’s wishes still might change. That was a future she wasn’t sure what to think about.

His hair was more gray than auburn, thick and wavy as if he were a man of twenty instead of near seventy. Lord Rodrik was tall and broad, an imposing figure on his gray and white courser, its fine white mane braided into little knots along the elegant arch of its neck. To see him and the king that was only feet away from her had a curl of unease snaking through her belly. To look at the king was to see a man wasting away, a man at death’s door. To see Rodrik Reyne dismount with fluid ease was to see a man who, while past the prime of life, clearly had so much left in him.

“Your Grace.” Lord Rodrik mounted the steps, arm clapped to his shoulder in the Westerland sign of fealty as he bowed. “It is good to see you in fine spirits, my king.”

“No finer time than to celebrate such a joyous occasion, Lord Rodrik,” the king said with a smile. Rodrik clasped Uncle Otto’s arm in a firm grip, pleasantries exchanged and his smile broadened as he bowed lower before Queen Alicent.

“You are the light of the seven, aren’t you, my dearest,” he complimented her, genuine to the core. The queen’s cheeks pinkened at the praise and she readily embraced her uncle, fingers grasping his arms.

“We are so glad you are here to celebrate, uncle,” she said. “I am pleased to see you in such fine health and I’m so sorry Aunt Dalla could not come.”

“It is a long journey and she is not as quick as she used to be. She was quite happy to stay back with Daerion and enjoy the children. I am their favorite, after all. It’s only fair that I give everyone else the opportunity to receive some attention.” Alicent blinked as she registered the joke, a chuckle spilling from her as her uncle pressed a kiss to her hand.

Aegon stood between his mother and Abby, and she felt more than saw him straighten up as Lord Rodrik turned his cool blue eyes on him. Age had not shrunk the man, and Lord Rodrik stood as tall as Uncle Otto, and though there was a far less threatening air to him, it made him no less intimidating. Aegon’s chin tilted up to meet the man’s eye and he inclined his head.

“It is good to see you, Lord Rodrik,” Aegon greeted, his voice polite and steady, when not two hours before, he’d been with her in the alcove behind the tapestry of Jonquil Drake frantic with nerves at meeting her grandfather. It seemed like the kisses she’d given him, as well as the growing bruise that was barely visible above the collar of his deep green damask doublet had not eased his worries. “I hope your travels were easy and without issue.”

The last time they’d seen any of the Reynes had been near a decade ago, at her mother’s funeral. They had spent time with her and her father at Harrenhal before coming down to King’s Landing to spend time with the queen and her children, and that event was entirely different than now.

“Good tidings on your nameday, nephew,” he returned with all the formality as if he were addressing him by princely title. “Our travels were well, and it’ll be good to be off the road for some time.” An expression of mischief danced in the pale gray-blue eyes of Rodrik as he assessed the prince before him, eyes catching on the bruise on Aegon’s neck and then glancing at Abby and the arm she had laced through his own. He raised a brow. “It would appear that your betrothal has made a man of you yet, my prince. I might even say you’ve grown an inch or two since I last saw you.”

Heat flushed through Abby’s face and Aegon’s own, his sputter brief and confused as the Lord gave him an amused look, as if he might ruffle his hair had Aegon been a decade younger. Instead, he gave another incline of his head before coming before Abby.

“You are most certainly taller than I last saw you,” he said, cupping her face in his gloved hands, the scent of horse and spice clinging to him as he kissed her forehead. Her hand slipped from Aegon’s arm to clutch at her grandfather’s crimson sleeves beneath his brown leather jerkin, warmth spreading through her chest at the gentle affection.

“Not much taller than this, I’m afraid,” she said, a light, awkward laugh. Her grandfather reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, where the rest of her hair hung in a long, simple braid down to the small of her back. He cupped her cheek, and she caught a shine in his eyes, a slow exhale as the familiar look of grief she knew well crossed his features, aging him in the moment. “I’m very glad to see you, grandfather.”

Rodrik Reyne nodded, pushing past the emotion before moving on to greet the rest of his nephews and niece, and she felt Aegon’s hand slide around her waist, fingers bunching slightly against the crimson and silver damask against her hip. She hid her hands in the belled sleeves, knotting them together and taking comfort from Aegon’s touch. Her chest ached painfully but she gave him a smile when he murmured her name.

“I am well,” she assured him, leaning into him momentarily before their party went inside, her grandfather speaking of the gifts he had brought for all of them.

Over the past days, it had been a bustle and flurry of becoming reacquainted with her grandfather, of suffering through her sister’s company. The apartments that she technically shared with her brother had served as the hub for the activity of their family. Houses Strong, Reyne, and Lannister moved in and out of the modestly decorated space. It had been overwhelming, but with the arrival of her grandfather, Cory’s acerbic tongue and judgmental looks had been averted, and Abby wondered if there was jealousy hidden beneath all that venom. She had fallen into her own acquaintance with the Queen, whom she had known when she’d served as one of Rhaenyra’s ladies when they were young.

Abby also had to organize the gifts brought from the Westerlands that would be sent back with Uncle Simon. Bolts of fine cloth of gold and silver from the expansive Reyne mines, a peregrine falcon, lovely cream and gray with black specks and bright black eyes she’d named Caelus. There’d been books too. A small chest carved with mountains and flowers contained five books, mostly from Myr, and some from Braavos, including what looked to be an interesting treatise from a Volantine woman who advocated for the importance of women’s contributions, and another on teaching woman to cultivate what she had determined as useful qualities, to achieve worthy acts in their lives.

‘A woman’s success,’ it read, ‘depends on the ability to manage and mediate by speaking and writing eloquently and effectively, for men so easily dismiss the thoughts of women, especially when their power is threatened by them.’

Perhaps she should look to promoting more copies of the sumptuously illustrated work. Perhaps she might even try her hand at replicating some of the images therein. There’s been a box of paints and new charcoal among the gifts, as well as a newly bound book for her to sketch in. Abby smiled at the idea, and had tucked it away for later.

“Mind the dress,” Wylla’s voice came from behind, already dressed for the feast and bossing about the red-clad maids of the holdfast who had been helping Abby as she worked to put together her household. Theraxis lay reclined along the end of the bed, his great yellow eyes watching the flurry of maids with such focus as if he too were supporting Wylla’s orders.

“Only a single lady?” Grandfather had balked, perceiving insult before she’d hurriedly cut in, explaining Wylla was more than enough, she did not want to be demanding, and hadn’t needed anyone else.

Wylla had snorted, eyes flashing in the familiar argument. “She’s meant to be looking for more ladies over the course of the festivities,” with all the same annoyance aimed at her as she had aimed at Aegon in the courtyard so long ago. “She needs six at least, but will she listen to me? Nay, she’s a wee stubborn thing and Lord Larys doesn’t seem to push it either.”

The gifts had not stopped there, and she was currently staring, wide eyed, at the most recent one.

The ornate wooden box before her was made of varnished rosewood, with inlays of silver decoration along the edges, and an equally delicate lock that her grandfather had carefully opened with a tiny silver key. The tiara that lay inside was fit for a queen. Ten citrine sunbursts wove together like flowers, the colors of them running from red to gold to orange and in the center of each, diamonds glittered. It sat in the center of the box, resting on a cloth of silver pillow and her mouth went dry.

“Th-this is too much. Grandfather…” Abby’s voice faltered and she lifted her gaze to meet his. Never had she felt so spoiled, so doted on. She felt guilt for it, the way it warred in confusing uncertainty. So long she had never asked for more, and it wasn’t as if Larys was a doting brother who snuck her sweets and trinkets the way Harwin had.

Her grandfather’s gaze was a mixture of annoyance, affection, and more that she did not understand. “It is most certainly not too much, dear child,” he said with a casual wave of his hand. Wylla slightly raised her eyebrows when he wasn’t looking and gently lifted the tiara from the box. “You are the blood of Castamere. You are my blood, my granddaughter,” he had said, cupping her cheek in a warm, rough hand and pressing a loving kiss to her brow. “The realm would do well to remember that you are a Reyne just as the queen is. It is not simply Hightower blood no matter how much my good brother likes to pretend.”

At least her grandfather was honest and she could not blame him for that. This was how the game was played. This was how power was brokered, even Abby understood the simple truth of it. Unlike most, Rodrik Reyne did not hide his motives, and the care that he expressed towards her since his arrival a few days ago had proven genuine. He did not ask her for favors, had inquired about her wellbeing and made sure she had what she was owed to her station.

Wylla’s nimble fingers had ensured the tiara was settled in her hair, twists of braids securing the citrine that matched her hair. The Riverlands style was one that she was glad not to give up and she would not have anyone thinking she was anything but the daughter of the rivers, and now a child of Castamere.

Her grandfather had escorted her down to the queen’s party. The king and her brother and uncle were already in the throne room and she could hear and feel the buzzing of growing anticipation as they approached the antechamber. Her hand rested in the crook of her grandfather’s elbow and her fingers spasmed with nerves. His hand found hers and she looked up at him, mouth parted as if to speak. He smiled at her instead.

“You look so much like your mother,” he said softly, his blue eyes misty and his smile warm. It took Abby aback. She had not seen the Lord Hand smile so openly and honestly. Larys barely smiled and when he did it made her wish to avoid it more often than not. The last man who smiled at her in such openness was her father. “She is here with us and she would be so proud of you.”

“Would she approve of this?” Abby asked softly. It was a silly question, the kind of question a motherless child who could barely remember her own mother asked. She could see the queen through the doorway at the end of the hall, hear Helaena’s laughter echoing along with Daeron’s.

Her grandfather paused and seemed to steel himself. The emotion was plain on his face. The grief was palpable and he did not meet her eyes as he composed himself. “Your mother was in the very fortunate position where I could let her choose who she wanted to marry. She could wait, and find a match that she got along well with. Lord Jason was a possibility, but even if your mother wanted to marry him, I couldn’t let her resign her future to a foppish imbecile like him, Lannister seat or not. She fell in love with your father and he did not demand heirs of her or money or prestige. He simply wanted someone to spend his days with and they found that in one another. That is what your mother wanted for you. A world where you were safe and loved.”

He cupped her cheek and Abby lifted her hand to hold his, feeling her own tears threaten. “The future has one certainty and there will be hard choices to make. Know that your family stands behind you, and that you may be a Riverlands girl, but there is a lion inside of you. They say in the north wolf packs survive together. You are part of a pride and are just as fierce. Dragons could not take the Westerlands and fire cannot burn the rivers.”

“He won’t burn me,” Abby said softly. “I trust him. I… care for him. I want him, not for a title, not for whatever the future may bring. I simply want him and he wants me and we just want to be happy. I think we can make each other happy, Grandfather.”

“Good,” he said and dropped his hand. “Then should the Stranger take me this night, it will be knowing you will be happy.” He gave her a watery laugh, amusement on his face. “And should he mistreat you, then I will haunt him to madness.”

When they entered the antechamber, Lord Rodrik pressed a kiss to her hand and went to join the rest of the gathering in the throne room. Helaena was in conversation with Daeron, and Aegon…

Aegon turned to look at her upon her entrance and his face went slack. She blushed, smoothing her hands over her gown, watching as the candlelight shimmered over the green and blue layers of the skirt, the fabric diaphanous, like currents of water around her legs. Her fingers found the golden dragons embroidered over her waist, intermingling with the glittering red weirwood leaves, worrying at the material. Her slippers were as gold as the dragons on her bodice, peaking out beneath her hem as she closed the distance between them. Aegon reached for her and she slid her hand into his and watched the smile spread slowly across his face.

‘I think we can make each other happy.’

Abby was not meant to be on Aegon’s arm as they entered the feast. He should have been escorting his mother as protocol dictated since King Viserys had entered the feast already. It was a heady feeling to know Aegon would not let her go, even as he was forced to drop her hand so she could tuck hers into the crook of his arm. A thrill that continued down her spine and coiled in her belly with the rest of the bursting butterflies dancing inside that gave her the strength to tilt her chin up as all her lessons instructed her to do. The perfect posture, the perfect gait all came rushing to her in a way that she finally understood why it mattered.

The pride that she felt wasn’t about being Queen Alicent’s pet project, or even that she had somehow snagged a prince for a betrothed. She was Lady Abrogail, heir to Harrenhal, the legacy of her mother’s fierceness and her father’s wisdom. As they walked behind the queen and Lord Otto, Abby squeezed her hand along Aegon’s bicep. She was the daughter of the Riverlands, and Aegon was lucky to have her, for there were many others that she could be with.

He looked at her with clear and bright eyes, the lilac full of mirth in a way she hadn’t seen from him in so long, and there were broad smile lines around his mouth, the flash of white teeth as he grinned at her. His hair was freshly washed, the silver curls gleaming gold in the sea of candleglow. His doublet was new as well - a fine, black silk brocade with a pattern woven in that evoked a shimmer of dragon scales. Golden clasps in the shape of dragon heads gleamed down the center. The seams were piped with red silk, and red silk trim embroidered with golden dragons wrapped around from the center and over his back. The same embroidered trim encircled his sleeves, which were slashed open along the back of his arms from bicep to the buttoned cuffs, the Targaryen red brocade of his shirt beneath poking through.

For the first time, he wore a crown upon his brow. It was a hammered circlet of gold that rested gently around his head, interspersed with seven circles stamped with dragons. Before the realm, he truly looked like the prince that he was.

A son who was celebrated by his parents.

She was lucky to have him. Let them see it. Let Queen Alicent see how brightly they made one another smile when they got to choose one another. Let them see she was not beholden to The High Tower, or to the Targaryens, or to anyone. Let them see that for all they may want to whisper about machinations and intrigue, she wanted him, and he wanted her.

Abby curtsied deeply before the king before they took their seats. Aegon was on his father’s left hand - the place of honor for the evening, and she was beside him. ‘How lucky we are’, came the thought again. She had not realized she had spoken the words aloud until Aegon’s grin widened into a beaming smile, his eyes crinkling with his own joy.

This was how the past weeks should have been. This is what the welcoming feast to Lord Tully and his party should have showcased: the two of them united, happy now, even as they set out to figure out what their marriage would be, what it would look like. There was enough time for that.

“You know, people like us don’t marry for love often,” Wylla had said, words that had stuck to her ribs.

The queen, her brother, and her uncle did not care for her and Aegon’s happiness, that much was startlingly clear to Abby. They had not come together in this betrothal by choice, but beneath the heart tree, they had made a promise. They had made their choice.

As her elder sister, Corynna, and her husband, Erwin Lannister sat beside her, Abby wished for the comfort of Wylla and Heleana at her side. The latter was at the other end of the table, and Abby’s gaze sought the friendly face of the young woman at the table below.

Wylla sat with Uncle Simon and Aunt Mya, looking striking in her black velvet gown. It was cut in the southern style, the neckline edged in white and silver cut across the line of her shoulders, her raven hair twisted into three rope braids woven with white ribbon and strung with pearls. She looked like a dream, Abby thought. A maiden of winter with all her pale skin and dark hair; striking in a way that many other women were not and Wylla wore it well. Harrion was beside her, his head inclined toward a lovely, red haired woman beside him. Wylla had said that his betrothed, Lady Alys Bracken, had only just arrived. She was so slight next to the northman’s bulk, her smile soft, eyes crinkling at the corners as she laughed at something he said.

Wylla caught her eye and sent her a warm, reassuring smile that Abby returned with a little wave, uncaring of decorum at the moment with how shaky her nerves were starting to get now that everyone was staring up at her. Her dear friend had not shied about her own discomfort in crowds, declaring her own relief that she was not the one who would be center of attention in her teasing, sharp yet fond way.

A harsh pinch against her left arm made Abby jump and she turned sharply to look at her sister, who was smiling serenely as if nothing was amiss. “Stop it, you’re behaving like a child,” she hissed behind a gritted smile. “I’ll not have you shame me.”

“If returning a kind gesture and a greeting to someone across the room is childish, then I cannot imagine you have many friends, Corynna, that do not cling to your skirts.” She smiled at her sister, whose saccharine falseness turned quickly to annoyance. “Do mind yourself, Cory. You are not my mother, nor my guardian.”

She caught the sidelong glance Aegon gave her and she felt his warm hand on hers, drawing it to his mouth to press a kiss against her knuckles. Abby felt the spray of heat along her throat, pressing her lips tightly together to keep from biting at her lip and being too obvious. He kept hold of her hand, thumb running lightly along her knuckles in familiar reassurance, and leaned in to speak softly against her ear.

“Lady Abrogail, if that’s the kind of behavior you plan on keeping up, as your husband, it shall be my duty to discipline you for such talk.”

Abby’s mouth went dry, her flush deepening and she glanced up at him, demure beneath her lashes. “Prince Aegon, you get ahead of yourself. I am the image of propriety.” He smirked and they both drew back. Abby reached for her goblet to calm the different sort of butterflies fluttering through her stomach now.

The echo of a staff cracking against the stone floor of the hall reverberated through the hall and all fell silent as the king rose, the queen beside him in what was meant to be a show of unity. But Abby knew that she was there to steady him so he did not have to rely on his cane. The black, red, and gold robe he wore nearly swallowed him whole, and she wondered how heavy it was for him.

Beside him, Alicent Hightower wore the colors of her house instead of a glow of green. She was as regal as Abby had ever seen, in a storm gray damask gown with white flame embroidery along her neck and shoulders. A cape of gray silk felt about her and the gray sleeves of her gown hugged her arms until they flared out at her forearms to bell around her wrists. Her auburn hair was twisted back on the sides of her head before coming to a single twisted braid down her back. Upon her head rested her crown of state. It was a gold circlet with seven points of golden flame rising from it and in the center flame was a blood red ruby that matched the gold and ruby earrings dangling beneath her hair.

“Be welcome,” the king said. His voice had rarely been a strong one, but he had found the strength behind it to let the words carry now. “It is good to see so many happy faces here, as we come together to celebrate my son, Prince Aegon’s nameday.” He turned his head to look down at Aegon with a nod and a gap toothed smile that, while fleeting, was genuine. The people clapped, thumps on tables shaking the cutlery, and Abby grinned at him. Aegon looked taken aback by the well tidings, the shouts of wishes for good health and good fortune. The hand that he had rested on her knee tightened and Aegon straightened in his seat, smiling back and giving a wave of thanks as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him.

The King continued, “The Queen and I also honor House Strong this night. Since my ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, landed upon these shores, the Strongs have been a leal and loyal house. Ser Osmund Strong himself was the longest serving Hand, and through the decades, this family has proved themselves time and again, their fealty to the throne and their dedication to the realm. It is why upon the passing of the beloved Princess Rhaena, that my grandfather, King Jaehaerys, bestowed the great Harrenhal to House Strong. It is this dedication that before he passed, our late Lord Lyonel Strong, the Seven keep him, agreed to a proposal. We welcome you all to celebrate with House Targaryen and House Strong as I announce the betrothal of our son, Prince Aegon, to the Lady Abrogail Strong, and their investiture as the future Lord and Lady of Harrenhal, under the wise and clement eye of Grover Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.”

The whispers of the betrothal had already snaked their way through the keep over the past weeks. First the servants gossip, then the unofficial talks among the lords who had, by now, sent ravens back home to their holdings in the Riverlands. It was news that had passed naturally among the realm, and while Abby did not see any surprised faces, the cheers that roared up took her by surprise. The slamming fists on the tables, the clapping, the shouts of well wishes and even some crass remarks was not at all what she had expected. She felt her cheeks burn and the flush of it snake across all the exposed skin of her gown. She yearned for the coverings of her linen gowns so none could see how red she had turned at the attention.

Yet, Abby did nothing to hide how large her smile was, so wide it nearly hurt. She met Aegon’s eyes, his own grin crinkling the corners of his eyes, and she never, ever wanted to see him frown again if this was how bright his smile could be. He then looked at the crowd and she followed suit, waving at the smiling faces, blowing a kiss of thanks to all. She did not startle when Aegon lifted his hand from her knee to tuck beneath the fall of her curls and rest along the back of her neck in a possessive gesture that made her belly roil with heat. She looked at him from the corner of her eye and saw that his bright smile had set into something darker, more firm.

The feast began, servants coming out of the shadows. Trenchers of roast pork in red wine and plum sauce were placed before them, steaming with scents of ginger and cinnamon. Shrimp cooked in fennel and white wine steamed from large platters, boiled eggs cut and stuffed with fragrant cheese and herbs nestled among salads of other fresh herbs and greens. Abby gasped, admiring the hollowed out Stormland lemons with glistening pieces of Dornish blood oranges and lemon sticky with sugar dotted the table in pops of bright, delectable color.

Aegon was eagerly filling his plate with the roast pork he so adored, and she reached for one of the sour orange treats, popping a sticky piece of fruit into her mouth and hoping it calmed the knot of nerves that were growing insistently.

“They certainly spared no expense,” Corynna’s voice was soft at her side. Abby glanced over at her sister who was commenting on the wine being poured to her husband. Her sister was as beautiful as she was sharp, resplendent in the colors of House Lannister, a ruby red gown that set off her golden skin, and an overdress of golden silk. Her brunette curls were tamed and pulled back into a low bun at the base of her neck, encased in a jeweled net of gold and rubies, a heavy lion pendant hanging from her throat. She decided not to engage with her sister’s low commentary, for it was exactly what she wanted, and instead busied herself on the treat in front of her.

“Here.” Abby glanced at Aegon, who held his fork up with a piece of pork. She opened her mouth to decline, and he popped the piece in with that dangerous smirk flashing across his mouth before going back to his food. It was good, the spark of ginger cutting through the sweetness of the plum. It had also served to get her mind off the fact that they were eating at the head table, and she let her gaze drift, ignoring her sister’s tut of disapproval.

Abby caught Baela looking at them curiously. She was beautiful that evening in the colors of her mother’s house. The aquamarine gown was cut in the Pentoshi style like the previous one she wore to their family dinner, with a deep v cut into the bodice and the layers of fabric pinned like a chiton at her shoulders. On her head she wore a silver tiara shaped into the heads of seahorses with matching gemstones for their eyes. Abby gave the princess a small smile. “You look lovely tonight, Princess. I am truly glad to have you here and I look forward to us getting to know one another.”

Baela’s violet eyes narrowed somewhat at being addressed, and Abby felt Aegon shift beside her as he honed in on the conversation. “May your futures be bright and happy, Lady Abrogail. Cousin.”

“Thank you, cousin,” Aegon replied with his tight smile. “Perhaps it will be your nuptials we’ll be celebrating next.” The words were friendly, at least somewhat so. Abby suppressed a sigh, but knew it was at least a small win. Baela did not seem to mind sitting next to Daeron, for the pair of them had fallen into a discussion about their dragons and how Tessarion had fared in Oldtown. “I heard Mother wondering if her and Jace will wed next.”

Jacaerys.

Abby chanced another look at the incredibly awkward end of the table. There was the queen, then Lord Otto, then Larys, and then… Aemond, Helaena, and Jace. The three of them were utterly silent, like mimes in a play, and it was hard to tell what made it worse: the fact that Aemond and Jace had ended up wearing near matching doublets that evening, or the sapphire sun that was Helaena between them.

Aemond and Jace and Baela should have been separated, but Jace could not sit next to her, for the rumors that would cause and so poor Helaena was stuck as the wall to separate them.

She looked every inch the beautiful princess from a song. Her silver hair hung loose and free down her back with four braids keeping her hair from her face. The twists wound themselves into the silver tiara she wore, the sapphires winking out like stars from the woven metal strands that took the place of her usual braid. Her gown was diaphanous silk, her shoulders bared. The sleeves were a light blue and the sheer fabric hugged her arms. The gown went from a lovely sky blue to a deeper shade of twilight along the hem, and the silver embroidery evoked silver flames dancing across the gown. She wore the colors of Dreamfyre, dragonrider that she was, the princess of House Targaryen that did not need to evoke her house colors to state her place in the world.

The look on her face was blank and somewhat wide-eyed, focused on the shrimp in front of her. Abby’s heart ached, wanting to go to her and get her out of the situation she was in, but there was nothing for it. Helaena already grew anxious with crowds and she didn’t need the extra stress of being caught between two petulant looking boys.

Jace tilted his head towards her, saying something that drew a small smile from Helaena, and the knot of worry eased slightly.

The course was cleared away, the minstrels along the side gallery merrily playing songs from each of the realms present there today. Currently it was a Westerlands tune, fewer drums than the melodies of the Crownlands, and Abby caught Lord Tyland’s head bobbing to the music from his place at his twin brother’s side.

The next course was brought out and it was the largest pie Abby had ever seen, along with pottage of wild hare and cabbage, roasted lamb smelling of caraway and fennel and thyme. There was roasted chicken in orange glaze. Her gaze returned to the pie. It was as big as a wagon wheel, the pastry crust browned and caramelized and surrounded by many smaller pies like a crown. The crusts were slivered all around and gilt in gold along the top, and she could smell the saffron and cloves. They were stuffed to the bursting with more eggs and mixed meats and smelled delicious, but Abby’s stomach was knotted with nerves combined with the heady twist of arousal that pulsed every time Aegon’s knee bumped hers, or the way he’d tap his fingers upon her wrist to make sure she was alright.

Aegon inclined his head towards her, waving the servant away and pushing his plate between them. “You’re not eating. We’ll share.” He even pressed his goblet into her hand, taking hers and sipping from it in such an intimate gesture that Abby’s nerves were utterly forgotten about in that moment. She took a sip from his goblet, unsure of what to say. Aegon raised an eyebrow at her. “Eat,” he ordered and she knocked her slippered foot against his boot.

“You’re eating enough for the both of us, Prince. I couldn’t possibly keep up with you.” His appetite was a voracious one, and the plate he’d pushed between them had already started inching back towards him. She stabbed a piece of meat and gave him a look as she ate. He looked only somewhat abashed and popped a piece of crust in his mouth, licking juice from his fingers. She was reminded of the lakeside picnic, and the way his lips felt against her fingers while she fed him, the blushing heat as he fed her cakes in return and the kisses shared.

It must have shown on her face because a wicked gleam flashed across his eyes, gaze drifting to the low neckline of her gown and the gentle swell of her breasts. A voracious appetite indeed. He laughed when she busied herself with her goblet.

“Everyone is staring,” she whispered, unsure if she was chastising him or reminding him. Aegon’s gaze raked along the bare expanse of her shoulders, his hand twitching along his stolen goblet as if he was keeping himself from reaching for her again.

“Of course they are, hunītsos. Let them. Let them see how happy you look.” His gaze grew uncertain for a moment and she understood what words he held back.

“How happy you make me,” she offered softly. It was finally Aegon’s turn to blush, the expression uncharacteristically shy, and Abby could not help but lean over to brush a soft kiss against his cheek. Satisfaction was bright in her chest when his blush deepened before his own satisfaction crossed his features.

Let them witness. Let Edmund Vance and whatever moody River Lord conspired against them see that Aegon was hers, claimed by the rivers.

“Prince Aegon,” Erwin called halfway through the following course - mutton and stag and boar drenched in plum and wine sauces, brown sauces, and surrounded with dates and figs. The youngest Lannister brother was a gleaming gold lion, square faced with bright green eyes. He was not lanky as Lord Tyland nor as haughty as Lord Jason. He was a third son, bred for battle, and while he did not appear to cross swords with her sister, Abby wondered if that was a battle he had no desire to engage in. “I hear you’ll be participating in the melee on the morrow. Do you wield a morning star like Ser Criston, then? Or perhaps a battle ax?”

Corynna tutted, leaning back with exaggeration so her husband might speak. “It was only a matter of time before we talked swords.”

“The Prince is admirable with his sword skills, Erwin,” Abby piped up proudly before Aegon could speak, her turn to boast of him as he had done for her.

Aegon’s hand rested along the back of her chair as he leaned over with a grin on his face. “Some could say. It’ll either come down to skill or my lady’s favor, should she grant me. Mayhaps I’ll have the good fortune of meeting you in the ring?”

“Everyone knows the joust is where one proves themselves,” Baela cut in.

“Prince Daemon was quite impressive with his blade in the last tourney I saw him in, just as he was with a lance,” Erwin said with ease and a smile. “All the bouts require their own skills and strength.”

The conversation of the small tourney for tomorrow kept on, with Daeron joining in. Abby ignored her sister’s displeased muttering and her husband did as well. Perhaps that’s how the peace was kept in their household.

As the dessert course came out, those in attendance began to move about the room. No doubt they were eager to speak of the confirmation of what had been announced, judging by all the gazes that flitted in their direction. There were her favorite strawberry and cream cakes just out of reach, but she found that she had no appetite for the rich confection with the nervous energy building. Instead, she snagged a piece of marchpane dragon off Aegon’s piled plate of treats. He playfully snapped at her as if he was going to bite at her hand before handing her a marchpane crown without comment.

She leaned towards Aegon, brushing his ear and delighting in how he shivered at the contact. Her fingers tapped against his arm. “I’m going to speak to Wylla.”

He reached up to snatch at her wrist. “Stay,” he murmured, eyes searching her face. Don’t leave me alone next to him, she knew he was asking. Abby shook her head.

“We have to mingle, Aeg, We can’t sit up here all night.” He rolled his eyes and Abby tutted. “Go rescue Helaena.”

Aegon glanced down at the miserable end of the table and they spied Gwayne having come up, a hand braced on Aemond’s shoulder as he spoke to Larys and his father. “I’m surprised Aemond hasn’t stabbed him yet,” Aegon muttered and gave a nod. “Is this to be our duty now, my lady?”

Abby scrunched her face up in amusement and took his offered hand to rise from her chair. “Aye, it shall be, my lord. Save me a dance.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and they parted, Aegon going to join his uncle and siblings at the end of the table. She tilted her head, admiring him as he walked from her before heading towards Baela.

When Abby looked at Baela, she was reminded by the statue of Visenya that Aemond favored so in the gardens, or the tapestries that hung in the upper levels of the gallery: women who rode the skies with braids twisted into their long hair, the fierce and determined looks on their faces showing their command of the world. Targaryens were the closest one came to gods in Westeros. This fact Abby had grown with all her life. Everyone in Westeros did. She saw how the smallfolk clamored for the affections and attentions of the dragonriders during parades, the furrowed brows of the septons who disliked the competition to the Seven.

“Princess,” Abby gave the other a bright, welcoming smile. “Come with me, I have someone to properly introduce you to.” There was deference in her tone that Baela was owed, but Abby also clung to the reminder that she was to be a princess too. They would be equals in a few months, and the Queen wanted her to grow accustomed to this fact.

Baela, her lovely, violet eyes narrowed in her direction, seemed to have other ideas. Abby had asked Helaena the other evening what it was that Baela had said in Valyrian, and the princess had only said that she should not worry, for she did not believe Baela would speak so carelessly in the future. The other woman held her gaze, assessing in the way Abby was sure her dragon, Moondancer, would assess and Abby swallowed past the lump of nerves beneath the gaze. She realized after a moment that it was one of uncertainty. It had initially felt hostile - which considering whatever Valyrian she’d spoken upon arrival had been clearly hostile, it made sense - but it had also become clear that the princess was uncomfortable and therefore more judgemental, Abby thought, than she might normally be. At least, Abby hoped that was the case.

“You have people to introduce me to, Lady Abrogail?” The disdain was not obvious, and Abby wondered if this was what it meant to be unaccepted by the Valyrians. The family had kept to themselves since the landing. She had studied the Targaryen family tree in her studies and knew how rarely they married out of the houses. ‘The blood of the dragon must remain pure’, was stated when they’d learned about the Doctrine of Exceptionalism that allowed the practice of incest, and outlawed the multiple wives that The Conqueror and King Maegor had taken.

Would Aegon have wanted multiple wives? Would he have wanted someone more Valyrian to make him feel closer to his heritage? The curious thought flitted through her mind, and Abby felt a stab of jealousy at the idea of such a scenario, along with an uncertainty she couldn’t quite identify, but similar to the feeling of otherness that she found herself experiencing among the company of the other Riverlanders.

��I do. I hope, very much so, that your time here in the capital will be as comfortable as possible. I understand that it must be quite the change from Dragonstone, and the company of the rest of your siblings.” Baela said nothing at first, lips pressed in a thin line before looking down the table. Abby followed her gaze.

Jace and Helaena had a series of tarts and other confections in front of them, and Helaena was laughing brightly at the marchpane tentacles rising from a plum tart. Jace plucked one of them, slathered in cream to take a bite, offering the piece to Helaena who shook her head in amusement and reached for one of the candied lemons.

Aegon had pulled his brother away with a firm grip on his shoulder and the pair of them had headed towards the floor, goblets in hand with heads bowed towards each other. They were accompanied by some of the other young men at court; the Fossoway boys, Ser Leo Costayne, brother to Lord Owen, and their cousin, Lyonel Hightower, heir to the Oldtown seat.

Ser Leo was the eldest at over twenty, his almond eyes from his mother’s Lyseni heritage striking with the silver hair of Valyria that spread across the empire. He had already earned the title of The Sea Lion, the West taking pride in their own fierce seafarer as House Velaryon did with The Sea Snake, Lord Corlys. Little Floris had found him handsome, blushing when her avid gaze had been pointed out by Helaena. Abby had found herself readily agreeing.

At four and ten, Lyonel was as tall as Aemond with the promise to be taller, with the same cut cheekbones Abby could see was a Hightower feature, while Alicent, Aegon, and Helaena shared the soft roundness of their Reyne mother. His skin was swarthy from his Dondarrion mother, a contrast with his lighter brown hair. Her eyes drifted to the group of ladies, colors of the Reach and Westerlands in their clothes, and how they clearly were eyeing Prince Aemond, who was doing his best to pretend to be above it.

Far better for their attention than that of Cassandra Baratheon, who was stoically sitting by her heavy set father, face flushed with wine and quietly hissing at his eldest daughter. An unbidden pang of sympathy pulsed through Abby’s heart at how unhappy the other woman looked, momentarily overriding her displeasure.

Abby turned her gaze back to Baela, whose own eyes were sweeping the mass of people before them. She wondered if the rumor was true of a possible betrothal between Jacaerys and Baela, the future king and queen of the realm. Dragonriders both, in the Targaryen ways of old like Aegon and his wives, like King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne. She wondered if it had happened already and was simply unannounced, Rhaenyra waiting for the most opportune moment. Or perhaps the pair were simply siblings, mayhaps promises made out of stubborn pride. Would that explain Baela’s disdain for them? Did she see them as interlopers in a place that she considered her birthright by conquest and the Valyrian blood flowing through her?

Baela finally rose, fluid and graceful and confident in all the ways that Abby still found it difficult to be. The other woman stood a few inches taller - not a difficult feat by any means, but Abby was envious of the graceful turn of her neck. She was reminded of the descriptions of Visenya: comfortable in silks as she was in armor. What a sight the other would make upon dragonback with a war cry tearing from her. How confident Baela Targaryen was;in her sense of self, her place in the world, in all that made her Valyrian.

It struck Abby then how she did not feel like a child of the Riverlands no matter what she claimed. It felt as if she were spinning falsehoods into a cloak to shroud herself in, to distract from her own sense of confusion. As they approached the closer table where her Uncle Simon sat with the Brackens, listening to the conversation blend before her in the lilt and familiar cadence of the Riverlands, Abby found herself feeling like an outsider. It had not quite been like this at the welcoming feast those weeks ago, where they spoke the language of the capital. Her mother tongue had been one lost to her over the years since her father died, relegated to the dinner table and bedtime stories, of ephemeral memories of lullabies long sung. To hear Wylla’s own northern brogue share in the words of Old Tongue falling in a similar harmony, panic settled in Abby’s chest to find that she couldn’t quite keep up with the words exchanged.

The panic was frozen when Wylla turned her head, and all at the table gave move to rise and give their courtesies to Princess Baela. Out of the corner of her eye, Abby saw Baela shift a little, felt the whisper of silks brush against her. “This is Lady Wylla Karstark, from Karhold,” Abby introduced, her voice coming out higher than she intended as she forced past the lump in her throat. Wylla rose, nodding to her brother who was also getting up to speak with some of the other lords.

“Princess Baela, I hope you’re enjoying the festivities.”

Baela inclined her head but said nothing.

“She is my dearest friend and also far from home. Also quite the archer.” Abby reached for things that Baela might find intriguing and welcoming, hoping her instincts weren’t wrong.

Wylla shook her head slightly. “You are too kind, Lady,” she lightly teased with the use of the title.

Baela’s head cocked, the tinkling of the silver charms in her hair soft among the din of the room. “My, all that snow and ice. It’s a wonder you do not melt beneath the dragon’s heat,” Baela said and the challenge was clear in her voice.

Wylla smiled in her sharp way, ever the winter fox. “As a daughter of fire and sea, I would assume you to be well acquainted with contradictions. One must burn hot to survive the cold.”

Baela actually smiled at that and Abby took the chance. “Wylla is a far better archer than I, Princess. I hear you yourself are well acquainted with the bow.” Wylla’s storm gray eyes flitted to her and Abby did everything she could not to shift awkwardly beneath her friend’s gaze. Not in this dress, and not with the sunburst tiara that graced her head. Instead, she grinned back at her. The princess merely glanced back at her before shifting closer to Wylla.

“Do you hunt, Lady Wylla? I hear there’s to be a hunt later this week and I do so miss hawking…”

Abby released a soft breath, pressing a grateful squeeze to Wylla’s shoulder before moving on to her aunt and uncle. Her cousin, Gareth, had stayed behind at Harrenhal, and she had fuzzy memories of her Aunt Mya. The older woman was plump and warm, brushing a soft kiss with a greeting. The din of the throne room grew louder as the meal came to an end, servants dashing between the party goers, removing plates and replacing carafes of wine and small foods for guests to continue to indulge in. The music shifted to a more lively fair and the dance floor quickly filled with eager revelers.

Lythene Ryger of Willow Wood had drawn her into the shy gaggle of maidens who were standing expectantly along the edge of the dance floor, trading glances across the room at the lords and Abby had noticed the looks they’d thrown in Aemond’s direction. Lady Lythene was five and ten, soft featured with honey brown eyes, her strawberry blonde hair woven with strands of river pearls in the common half knot coil that was common in the Riverlands.

“If Lord Yorick were here, none of these men would have a chance to win tomorrow,” Melony Piper said, all dark hair and more freckles than one could count. “My sister says he was the most fearsome knight not so long ago.”

“Psh,” Lythene rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows Ser Gwayne is a force to be reckoned with. Besides, Lord Yorick never leaves Runestone and if he did, Lord Borros would throw a fit.” She looked smug with the knowledge imparted and whatever look on Abby’s face seemed to spur her on. She leaned in. “Lord Yorick is married to Lord Borros’ younger sister with a son of their own. Should Lady Elenda not have a son, it’s said his sister may push one of her son’s claims to Storm’s End.”

As one, their eyes swiveled in the direction of Cassandra Baratheon, perfectly coiffed, and everything the daughter of a Lord Paramount would be. Raven hair wild as storm clouds around her bare shoulders, her golden dress sparkling in the dancing torchlight with an opal the size of Abby’s fist nestled in the hollow of her throat. Abby’s hands twitched, smoothing over the cloud of blue and green silk organza, the golden dragons and weirwood leaves embroidered over her bodice.

A warm hand touched her wrist and Abby met the gentle, honey eyes of Lythene, who smiled up at her. “Tá cuma álainn ort, a bhean,” she said softly while the others tittered. It took Abby a moment to register the words, “you look beautiful, my lady”, and Abby smiled shyly.

“Go raibh maith agat,” she thanked her and Lythene bit her lip as if holding back a chuckle.

“Agat,” she pronounced softly, the inflection different. “A little closer to got, and less like goat.”

Her cheeks burned and she repeated it softly and Lythene took her hand, squeezing it. “I can’t imagine you get to practice with many people here in the South,” she laughed, a tinkling like bells that drew the attention of other men.

“I haven’t. I’m looking forward to getting to speak it more, but I can’t get that sort of practice teaching Aeg- Prince Aegon.”

“You mean he’s actually going to try learning our tongue?” came the aggressive disbelief of Lady Melony. “Targaryens aren’t ones to debase themselves so.”

Lythene opened her mouth but Abby cut in, a frown slashed across her face. “Aegon is a Targaryen and a Hightower, a family that traces their lineage and impact to before the First Men, some say.” She tilted her head, exhaling softly and shook her head. “The Targaryens may be above us due to the gifts of the dragon, but you can be assured that Prince Aegon will take his duties seriously.”

She was reminded of the words Edmund had sneered at her, of how none would trust a dragon coming into the Riverlands and it was foolish to think so. Lythene said nothing, watching her curiously while Melony Piper’s bright green eyes narrowed somewhat, thin mouth pursed. Abby’s grandmother had been a Piper, which made the two of them kin.

Seven and the Old Gods help her if Aegon did not live up to her promise, but Abby trusted that he would. That he would, at the very least, try.

Melony opened her mouth to speak again but murmurs danced through the crowd, attention towards the dance floor. Abby looked over her shoulder in surprise.

Jace led Helaena by the hand to the crowd of dancers as the next song started, fingers touching as they circled around one another. She was a glittering, blue dragon amidst the crowd, hair like mercury as it flowed around her. Helaena loved to dance and the joy was obvious on her soft features, Jace’s own smile a shy one, his broad frame more obvious as he circled around her. Not as tall as Aemond, but Jace would grow taller yet.

“Well,” Melony’s attention had changed. “That’s an interesting development.”

Abby’s eyes instinctively cut to the queen where she sat at the King’s right, a slight furrow to her brow, and the Lord Hand beside her, his attention also on the pair dancing. A fond smile cut across Otto Hightower’s face as Helaena laughed when Jace spun her, and Abby wasn’t at all sure what to make of it.

Helaena looked happy, though, and that was all that mattered.

Abby startled at the feeling of a warm hand stroking against her elbow and Aegon’s laughter was soft as he stroked his fingers down her arm in a way that had goosebumps flaring across her skin. His fingers twined with hers and the ladies around her bobbed curtsies, murmuring My Prince and Your Grace.

“You all look like you’re having so much fun here, but I must steal my betrothed away,” Aegon said, his voice light and amused, in his element as the center of attention and even more dangerous without drink to cloud his senses. Abby felt the heated flush creep along her throat when Aegon tugged her into him. “I promised you a dance, didn’t I, Lady Abrogail?”

Lythene looked amused, Melony uncertain and Abby turned under Aegon’s arm so that she was facing him. “You did, my Prince. Thank you for the conversation, Lady Lythene, Lady Melony,” she thanked as Aegon began tugging her away. “It was good to meet you.”

Everything else drifted away when Aegon pulled her into his arms. The contrast to the last time they’d danced together was palpable. There was no anger between them, no confusion, no fear. He twirled her as he drew her into the space as if he were showing her off, her skirt flaring around her, rippling greens and blues like the rivers of her home, the candlelight glimmering along the golden threaded dragons on her gown, and the citrine bursts along her tiara. When Aegon pulled her into him, she could feel the heat of his body barely pressed against her, the flush of it coursing through her with every hammering beat of her heart.

“I wish we were somewhere more quiet,” Abby murmured to him as they turned around one another, clapping their hands before reaching for each other again. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Aemond tugging Wylla on the floor, her friend caught between surprise and a pleased flush along her cheeks. Abby would have to tease her later, in return for how merciless Wylla had teased her.

“Do you?” Aegon asked, grinning at her, eyes full of heat. “We could, you know. It is my nameday.”

“We’ll be caught, and I’d rather your mother not find us,” she chuckled, spinning away from him to turn around Lord Tyland, who smiled down at her indulgently while Aegon politely moved around Lady Johanna Westerling, Tyland’s goodsister and dance partner. Her gaze kept pulling back to Aegon whenever they were separated in the dances, and when they came back together, there was an ache in her chest that she could not identify. Relief? Want? Longing?

Everything?

“Remind me to get you a map of the tunnels,” he murmured, leaning down to brush a kiss against her temple and she couldn’t help the bubbling of giggles that escaped her. Aegon looked incredibly pleased with himself, and as the next song started, he pulled her closer to him, hands possessive on her hips as he lifted her in the air and spun her around.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked. Then it clicked. “What, so I can sneak to your room?”

Aegon winked at her. “Clever girl.”

“I try.”

As Abby turned, her eyes caught on the furious, dark gaze of Edmund Vance across the hall, accompanied by Lord Piper and some of the other River Lords. Abby blanched, the joy she had felt abating like water on a fire at the ugly look in his eyes. So distracted, she was, that she stumbled her steps of the complicated dance, nearly falling had Aegon not pulled her to him in time. She saw his gaze follow hers, his own smile morphing into a hard look.

“I’ve taken care of it.” Abby didn’t understand, trying to find the steps again without ruining the entire dance, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Aegon’s hand brushed soothing along her arm, his other hand warm on her waist and giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Focus on me, eyes on me, hunītsos.” His voice was gentle and firm all at once, quiet and earnest and Abby focused on the sound of it, her gaze finding his, softened now. “Aemond saved me from making a scene, but I’ve handled it.” He tilted his head. “I don’t need to take his hands.”

Abby struggled to find words, a strange and unfamiliar thrill coursing through her that she could not examine too closely in the moment. “And what have you decided to take instead?”

As the dance came to a close, Aegon reached up to cup the softness of her cheek, tilting her head back with his thumb on her lower lip. He leaned in, mouth brushing against hers, and the vow he made was full of promise.

“His pride,” he murmured, and kissed her in front of the realm to seal it.

What was your favorite moment of the chapter? What's something you're looking forward to? Any fun theories!? I'd love to hear your thoughts on what you're enjoying about Maiden and any curiosities you might have! And if you're not sure what to say, just a kind reblog with a heart or something would be lovely <3

[Chapter Fifteen]

#fic: the maiden and the drowning boy #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen #aegon x oc #aegon ii targaryen x oc #hotd #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #house strong #aegon x abby #my fics

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 10 months

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Love Song for a Vampire Pt. 32

Pairing(s): Edward Cullen x Wolf!Reader, Jacob Black x OC!Witch

Warnings:none

Words:2144

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39

Bright and early, you leave your house to check on Evita. Sam had told you making just one of those wards had drained her of all energy. Just one. And there was so many more she needed to make in order to protect the borders of La Push and Forks.

Evita sat out on Sam’s front porch, a mug in her hands that had ribbons of rising steam trailing from it. Her face was pale, too pale opposed to her usual tan complexion. But her eyes when they flick to you are still alive and observant. A hair band pushed away her tightly wound curls to show off the pale pink scars on her face. “Good morning (y/n).”

“Good morning. How are you feeling?” You ask and sit on the front steps, angling your body toward her since there was only one chair on the porch.

She sighs and leans back, her shoulders sagging. “It’s taking a lot longer to recover my energy. I was hoping I’d be able to make another ward today, but I don’t think I’ll be up for it.”

“Sam said you had a friend coming.”

With a hum, she nods. “Yes. But I don’t know when he’ll be here. He’s constantly on the move. Most of the time he doesn’t have cellular service.” Her fingers tap against her mug. “I didn’t know it would take that much out of me. I’m not the strongest witch out there, but I’m fairly competent. I’ve seen my mother make wards before but mainly for our home. Nothing for a large reach of land. Times like these I wish she was here or even Leti. Leti was the most talented of our whole family. That’s why Xiomara saw her as a threat.”

She really hadn’t had time to mourn her sister. Now she was far away from any kind of family and help. You admire her tenacity. How strong she was even though Evita couldn’t have been much older than you. You think of your parents and how relieved they were when they saw you last night. Constantly making them worry about your wellbeing. Not even being with Edward had soothed them. Was Evita’s mom equally worried about her young daughter all alone?

”By the way,” Evita takes a sip from her mug before she proceeds “who was that girl yesterday? I don’t think I was introduced to her before.”

You knew who she meant. “That was Bella Swan.”

One thick eyebrow arches in intrigue. “TheBella Swan?”

“The one and only.”

You catch the space of skin between her brows crease. “Interesting. In a room crowded with wolves, I sensed her above them all.”

“What do you mean?”

Evita pauses for a few breaths to mull her words over in her head. “Hmmm, I should I put this. . . People, whether they be human or something else all have an aura. In the state that overcomes me when I’m performing my craft, my ability to see them intensifies. And you said Edward had never been able to read her thoughts?”

Affirmatively you nod wondering what this was leading to.

“That kind of aura,well, many magic welders have one just like her’s.”

“You’re saying Bella is a witch?”

“She’d have to practice at it, but yes she does have the capability of being a witch.” Her drink depleted, Evita sets it down next to one of the legs of the deck chair. Fixedly she looks at you, shooting you unspoken words that you read loud and clear.

Pursing your lips, you lean back against the stair rail. “Can she learn fast?”

“Normally I would say no.” Admits Evita. “But it’s not that often a human is naturally immune to a vampire’s power.” Her fingers tighten around a small jar that hung off her neck, caged in silver wire and strung with rope. You remember her making it. It protected her thoughts from Edward and other prying minds. She'd made it when she found out Edward could read everyone's thoughts except for Bella's and now your own.

Letting out a small sigh, Evita picks her mug back up and stands. You follow suit. "I need to get my strength back as soon as possible." She taps the mug. "This tea helps. I've already had three cups of it."

"Is there anything the pack can do in the meantime?" You ask her.

Evita's face glows and with her free hand, she holds your hand for a moment. "Spend time with your vampire now that you have him. Take this opportunity to bond before chaos ensues."

While she had spoken lightly as it was meant to cheer you, you couldn't help the shadow of worry cast over you at her last words. Foreboding of times to come.

Evita was to wait for her friend to arrive before she even entertained the idea of training Bella. She was no teacher and wouldn't even know where to begin with such a daunting task. She said his name was Dieufel and he was older than Letizia by three years. Still relatively young, but Dieufel was extremely talented and had traveled around the world to gain knowledge of all the known magicks out there. Dieufel called Haiti his home and had been there the last time Evita heard from him. That was a while ago.

While Dieufel wasn't the only magic wielder Evita knew, she was much more familiar with him since Letizia had gone on a few trips with him through the years of their acquaintanceship. "After yesterday though, I realize we'll need more people on deck to make the other wards."

“We’ll get them. Carlisle and Jasper are already on the road to get more vampires on our side.” You assure her. “And Edward texted me this morning that Alice also left last night too.”

“I hope they find success.” Evita smiles.

You left so Evita could get more rest and head back down the road. When you got home, you planned on suggesting a day for your date. Even thinking about it made you smile like a fool. While you wished you could go out on your first date right then and there, you couldn’t. You had to finish your summer school work before you academically fail even more. Not even werewolves could escape school.

Passing by the Black house, you notice Bella’s car pulling into the gravel driveway. This was the most you’d ever seen of Bella. Even when the vampires and wolves had been training together.

She hops out of the driver’s side and waves to you.

You wave back and anxiously eye Jacob’s garage where he always was when wolf duties didn’t pull him away.

Did Jacob tell her about imprinting on Evita? You wish you’d gone to check on him first before Evita. Internally you curse yourself for being a bad friend.

“You and Jake hanging out today?” You ask her, doing your best to be polite.

“Actually I wanted to see how Evita was doing.” She rubs anxiously at her arm despite the weather not being chilly at all. “Yesterday was really intense.”

“I think Evita would appreciate it.” You smile. Would Bella be happy about potentially being a witch? It could be a burden for her, something else to remind her of how her life has been tossed around by the world Edward and you live in. She would never have been privy to it prior to her life in Forks. There had been no fear of actual vampires walking on the same streets she walked. “I just came back from there. I think she wanted to talk to you too.”

Relief smoothed out the nervous lines on her face and she really smiles.

It was unwise though for Jacob to be anywhere near Evita right now. Evita didn’t need another situation on her plate.

You open your mouth, prepared to offer to take her to Sam’s yourself, when Jacob pops out of the garage with his house keys in his hands. He froze when he finds you there standing right next to Bella. Being friends for over a decade, you knew each of Jacob’s facial expressions and what they meant. His was one of guilt. You didn’t want to admonish him in front of Bella in case he hadn’t told her yet. But you definitely didn’t want him to go to Sam’s, especially if the alpha wasn’t their to monitor him and Evita.

“You guys might have to postpone your visit though. Evita’s still pretty tired and was going back to sleep when I left.” You smoothly explain, regretting the lie when you saw Bella’s look of disappointment.

“Oh, okay. Guess we’ll do a rain check.” Bella nonetheless smiles at you and is about to go back to her car when Jacob cut in.

“It’ll only be for a few minutes.”

Uh oh. You were wondering when his adolescent wolf brain would kick in. “She was pretty exhausted Jake. Plus Sam’s not there right now.”

You were getting in the way of him and his mate and his stupid testosterone was making him act irrationally.

Jacob’s jaw ticked.

Overly aware of Bella being so close to him, you slowly side step closer to her in case he did explode. She didn’t know what was going on; why Jacob had suddenly turned feral.

“She’s okay Jake.” You don’t pull your eyes away from his. “Everything’s fine. Let her sleep. It’s no use going if she’s sleeping.”

You nudge Bella’s arm, indicating for her to shift behind you and start to slowly move to her car.

Don’t do anything stupid you idiot. You think to yourself, unable to shout it at him through pack telepathy.

“(y/n). . .” Bella whispers at your back. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing’s wrong with him.” Well, if he wasn’t going to tell her now then you’d have to. “He’s just imprinted on Evita is all and is acting like a stupid male wolf.”

You saying it out loud snapped him of whatever stupor he had so quickly plummeted in.

“On Evita?” Bella breathes out shakily.

“Yes. And he’s acting irrationally because he doesn’t know how to deal with it.” You were tired of keeping the poor human in the dark. “Because he always wanted to imprint on you, Bella. But we don’t get the choice in that and we have to live with it and accommodate.”

Bella addresses Jacob “Is that why you didn’t tell me sooner? How long have you known?”

He glares at you for revealing everything to Bella when he wasn't ready. "Since the first day she got here."

"She doesn't know yet. It's best for her right now to focus on getting the wards up for protection. She doesn't need this imprinting mess impeding on her work." You remind him. "If you act like this in front of her, she'll definitely know something's up. So it's best if Jacob just stays away for the time being."

Now Bella knew Jacob had used her just to see Evita.

Chancing turning away from Jacob, you say to Bella in a softer tone "Evita really does want to meet you though. She said. . . She said you might be helpful to her."

The hurt on her face stalled for a moment. "Really?"

You nod. "If you feel like you need a wolf chaperone to go to Sam's, then I'd be happy to accompany you next time." While Bella hadn't shown any romantic attachment to Jacob (that you'd seen at least), you knew it might hurt losing another close person to imprinting.

You'd give her credit though as she took a deep breath and nods. "Thanks (y/n). I think I'll just go home for now. But can you call me tomorrow if Evita is ready?"

"Of course."

You and Jacob watch as she hastily drove off. Immediately Jacob verbally tore into you. Condemning you for telling her something that wasn't for you to tell. The news of his imprinting was something he should have announced when he was ready. But it was clear keeping this from Bella was the wrong choice. And you used that fact to snap back. He'd been the one who was inconsiderate to Bella's feelings. Of course this would be tough to tell her regardless.

By the end of it, both of you were trembling, your wolf threatening to come to the surface and snap actual deadly teeth against someone who had been one of your closest friends. For fear of an actual fight breaking out, you storm off to your house even though you wanted to go back and tussle with Jacob. You remind yourself how you were when you first imprinted on Edward. Such a confusing time but you'd found isolation the best way to come to terms with your new reality. Perhaps that was what Jacob needed too.

TAGLIST: @saltedcoffeescotch , @dangerouslittlefairy , @burn-crash-rqmance , @casedoina , @avadakadabra93 , @daryldixonstorm , @blue-aconite , @xanniestired666 , @esposadomd, @godinho11 , @arin-swear-rose , @alexizodd , @melaninsugarbaby , @lyeatoalinatoheaven , @ronwownsme , @itsmytimetoodream , @afro-hispwriter , @mutandis-extremis993 , @hxgemxscles , @nightly-polaris , @corrodedcoffins-slut , @ellesalazar , @itgetzweird08 , @crybabyatthediscooffandoms , @sassyandclassyx , @scarlet2007 , @theroyalbrownbarbie , @jennyamanda8 , @stevenandmarcslove , @biancaindaeyo , @loversjoy , @turningtoclown , @vixorell , @xxthackerybinxxx , @daredevilonmyheels , @dumbbitch-juice , @southern-bell-give-hell , @nat-the-gemini , @imdoingathingmom , @emmettcullenswife , @yoong1c0re , @daddykylokenobi , @minjix , @magical-spit , @krismdavis

#edward cullen fanfic #edward cullen fanfiction #edward cullen x reader #twilight saga #twilight fanfiction #twilight fandom

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anincompletelist · 5 months

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halloween, huh fic recs :D

so it's CRIMINAL how little time I've had to read fic lately, BUT I've been trying to catch up on some of the ones that I've missed! the halloween huh fest fics were revealed not too long ago, and I've been slowly working my way through them and wanted to share some of the ones I've loved lately!

you can find the complete list here, please be sure to go browse and bookmark the ones that look interesting, and send love to all of the authors and mods that put so much work and love into this fest!

[disclaimer: I will probably read and love ALL of the fics in this fest because I'm a sucker for anything halloween or au BUT I am a slow reader and these are just the ones I've completed so far :) enjoy, and happy reading!]

in order of reveals --

Incenatus | @missgeevious | E | 11k

Alex receives an invite to the hottest and most mysterious party in New York, but he's unprepared for what he finds there.

Night Class | @orchidscript | E | 12k

Alex how found the simplest solution for all the facts he had been presented. There were plenty of them to make sense of. Alex was taking the path of least resistance, accepting that whatever remained after all was stripped away must be the truth. June could laugh at him for the rest of time if she wanted. He was right. He knew he was right. He had to be right because nothing else on earth or in the universe made sense. Henry Fox — his smarmy, entitled, wealthy, bland, irritating neighbor — was a vampire. Alex knew it. He could prove it.

Freaky Friday (I woke up in my enemy's body) | @happiness-of-the-pursuit | M | 8k

“So he’s entered some weird-ass, stress-induced fever dream where he’s in Henry’s body. It’s probably, like, the latent guilt Alex feels for the repercussions this will have on his mom’s approval rating even though the whole thing is objectively stupid and people will forget about it in a week.” Or, a FirstPrince Body Swap AU.

These violent delights | @lizzie-bennetdarcy | E | 14k

There's an empty corner near the back of the shop, and he tucks himself in. Perhaps he's waiting for his target to walk into the cafe — it wouldn't be the first time. Suddenly, as though a hand has reached out and yanked on his hair, Henry's gaze is lifted and he knows it's who his Senses have been telling him to find. Sitting at the table across from Henry, sinfully long eyelashes lowered as he focuses on the pile of papers in front of him is the most devastatingly beautiful man Henry has ever seen. It's such a shame he has to kill him. Henry is a vampire hunter, with a very intriguing target.

Save a Horse, Ride a Princess | @affectionatelyrs | E | 8k

“I have to say, this is all quite literal, don’t you think?” Alex wouldn’t know literal right now if it hit him in the head. “Huh?” Henry points at Alex: “Pillow Princess,” and then to himself: “Cowboy. Ready to ride and all that.” Alex nods dumbly. “Right.” (Or, Alex and Henry dress up as the ultimate couples costume for Halloween — themselves — and they both feel some kind of way about it)

you knew what it was (he is in love) | sheWritesToLiveVicariously | M | 3k

“I’ll text you later.” “You’d better,” Henry murmurs, pulling him in from the waist. One hand comes up to pull back the hat off his head, and Henry leans down to kiss him, and the entire thing feels painfully romantic and Alex fucking loves it. (Alex and Henry halloween/trick-or-treating meetcute. Henry has a daughter, Alex is babysitting his niece, and the girls know each other.)

that's all for now! I still have a ridiculously long tbr list ( @littlemisskittentoes @heybuddy-drabbles @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @inexplicablymine @read-and-write- @raysletters I'm looking DIRECTLY at yall's next and I can't WAIT to devour hehehe)

please visit the link above for yourselves at leave kudos and comments for all of these lovely & talented people! more to come! <3

#fic recs #rwrb fics #rwrb #red white and royal blue #red white and royal blue fanfic #firstprince #MY FRIENDS ARE SO TALENTED PLS GO YELL AT THEM #my fic recs

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maleficentra · 6 months

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First night (Astarion x Dark Urge)

To make it short; It about Astarion x Dark Urge first time they had sex. Some of you people know, that Astarion wanted to manipulate Dark Urge/Tav but in the end, he fell for her and the nights meant something for him, even though it felt tainted.

About my drabble:

Astarion and Maleficentra appear to have a complex and intriguing dynamic. Astarion's past as a vampire spawn, marked by manipulation and cruelty, contrasts with Maleficentra's caring and selfless nature. Their relationship seems to be evolving from a tentative connection into something deeper, despite the challenges posed by Astarion's inner demons and Maleficentra's uncertain understanding of his past.

Astarion's inner struggle, his attraction to Maleficentra, and his growing emotional connection to her make for a compelling character arc. Maleficentra's kindness and willingness to see beyond Astarion's past mistakes hint at her compassionate nature and her potential to influence his character development.

How "Tav/Dark Urge" in my case "Maleficentra look like:

The night, which was originally meant to be enjoyed by Astarion and Maleficentra, was haunted by tormenting memories from his dark past. Cruel, frightening words whispered repeatedly by his former master had etched themselves into his memories like poisonous thorns.Amidst these painful thoughts, a gentle voice interrupted his memories and thoughts.

"Astarion? Are you okay?"

Maleficentra asked while gently stroking his cheek, her soft touch tickling his skin. Her delicate fingers found their way to his hair as she sat on his lap, her presence comforting and concerning. Instantly, the scent of fresh grass filled his senses. It was as if a piece of spring had entered with her. Yet, even more captivating was the subtle hint of freshly roasted almonds clinging to her skin. This sweet, enticing fragrance drew him irresistibly and enveloped him like a gentle veil.

But there was something deeper beneath the surface. Astarion couldn't deny that he could smell her delicious blood, and a little of it still dripped from her neck. It was as if he had discovered a special bouquet of flowers that stood out amidst all these fresh scents.

The scent of her blood was breathtaking, a complex bouquet of life and passion. It carried the richness of fresh roses, the liveliness of wild lilies, and the depth of sinfully sweet orchids. This alluring scent was pungent yet strangely pleasant and soothing. It was a temptation he found hard to resist, and simultaneously, it stirred a secret longing within him that he had thought lost for a long time.

His thoughts were suddenly distracted by a powerful desire. He wanted to bite her, over and over, but he knew he had to control himself. He couldn't afford to lose his composure. Yet, Maleficentra was a distraction that was hard to ignore. Her beauty, her kindness, her playfulness, and her concern enchanted him. She had captured his attention, and he didn't know how to deal with it.

"Darling," he said with a somewhat forced smile, "What's the matter? I'm enjoying every moment here."

Her look still held concern, and a hint of skepticism appeared on her forehead. She didn't believe him. "You know," she began, gently stroking his cheek, sending shivers down his spine, "if you're not feeling well and don't want this, we can stop. You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

His heart pounded loudly as she uttered those words. What was she saying? For 200 years, decisions had been made for him, regardless of how he felt. Now, this gentle being was telling him that he had a choice? He stared at her in shock, trying to grasp her words. It was insane. She was crazy. He swallowed as he began to understand what she was saying. She was selfless. She was pure. She was loving. She cared. She was real. She was not someone who deserved to be manipulated. Or was she playing a game? She was dangerous when it came to her enemies, and she had uncontrollable nights. Was she only playing this?

A faint, sad smile graced her lips. She gently wrapped her arms around his back, leaning her head on his shoulder. Her wings encircled him, and Astarion gasped as it happened. This was unusual; he had never been embraced like this, let alone asked if he was okay. He felt his cheeks redden and his heart race. He became nervous.

Maleficentra closed her eyes, still wearing that sad smile on her lips. She wondered what he was hiding from her. He was doing it all the time. Or did he not want her in the end? Maybe he didn't like her? Whatever it was, she had to respect it, even if it hurt. But she didn't know his reasons. Perhaps it wasn't about her. At least she wanted to believe that.

"It's okay, I accept it," she said. "You have a good heart, even if you don't always see it in yourself."

Astarion felt a strange warmth spreading within him, a feeling he hadn't experienced in years. He was at a loss for words. Maleficentra's words were like a healing touch for his wounded soul. In that moment, he realized that what they were sharing went beyond manipulation or deception. It was something real, something meaningful. She was wonderful. She was alluring. She was seducing him.

"You little minx," Astarion said with a grin.

He held her face in his hands, his fingers gently sinking into her cheeks, and he pulled her gently but decisively toward him. His gaze conveyed an insatiable longing, and before she could realize it, their lips were pressed together. That was it; he wanted her. He had enjoyed it from the beginning, and he had allowed himself to be too distracted by his dark memories. She didn't deserve that. She deserved his attention and a reward—for her tenderness, honesty, and for testing his limits with her seductive teasing. She couldn't expect him to always restrain himself.

The kiss was initially demanding and passionate, almost coercive, and she could barely contain her surprise. But she felt that there was more than just desire. It was a deep, irresistible connection that held them both captive. She could feel each other's heartbeats quicken, in sync with her own. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he loosened his grip, and the kiss transformed. The passion, which had been wild and untamed, became gentler and more loving. Their lips engaged in a sensual dance, with each touch serving as a silent declaration of affection.

In that moment, she surrendered to the kiss, allowing herself to get lost in it. The world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in an embrace of tenderness and passion. The kiss became a promise of love, leaving no room for resistance or turning away. It was as if their souls were connecting in a way that transcended words.

Astarion felt his heart racing as their lips met, and he could sense that Maleficentra was experiencing the same emotions. The kiss was a revelation, a bridge that connected their souls, and he couldn't help but feel that this was just the beginning of a deeper connection between them.

He released the kiss, a smile gracing his lips.

"I promised you a night you'll never forget, Mali, and I like to keep my promises."

Maleficentra laughed, filling the forest with the liberating melody of her laughter. Her laughter was infectious, and Astarion couldn't help but join in. He enjoyed her cheekiness; it brought light to his dark thoughts. Her laughter was like a sunbeam in his gloomy existence.

"Say please," she playfully said, wrapping her arms around him. Her eyes were brimming with joy. She possessed an endearing cheekiness that could disarm even the sternest of souls. Her intentions were pure; mischief danced in her eyes as she reveled in the simple joys of play. With a mischievous grin, she pushed the boundaries of his patience, testing his resolve. Her actions were not just cute; they were a delightful blend of innocence and the irresistible charm and it touched his heart. He did not felt offended at all, he liked this adorable challenge.

She was not just a temptation; she was a light in his darkness.

"What?" he inquired, but his smile had become more sincere. He heard her at the first time, but still pretended. She was cheeky yet loving, and her eyes sparkled with vitality.

She smiled and twirled a lock of his hair around her finger.

"Say please," she repeated, and her gaze deepened. "If you say please, we will continue…if you want it. And then I will give you a night you will never forget."

His heart quickened as he met her gaze. In that moment, he realized there was more between them than just passion. It was a connection that touched his soul, and he wanted more of it. He was addicted to her. As she asked, Astarion couldn't help but notice the captivating beauty of her voice. It was a gentle, warm voice that shaped the words in a unique way. The words sounded like delicate melodies resonating in his heart.

Maleficentra noticed his interest and smiled. She was patient. He felt drawn to her in a way he couldn't quite explain, not yet realizing that this was the beginning of a deep infatuation. It was as if his heart was leading the way, leaving his mind struggling to keep up.

"Please," he said softly, and his eyes revealed his longing. Maleficentra smiled with contentment and drew him closer. Their kiss was tender, and in that moment, they found not only each other but also a profound connection that transcended words.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #dark urge #dark urge x astarion #astarion x reader #astarion baldurs gate #astarion bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #astarion #baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion drabble #tav #astarion fanfic #astarion headcanon #astarion headcanons #astarion x female tav

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beevean · 1 month

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Give each NFCV and Nocturne character ratings, as in scores :P

Why must you hurt me in this way.

Trevor: 7/10. A cliché personality, but enjoyable enough, and with a nice mini arc in S1. Too bad he was turned from protagonist to silly comic relief by S2.

Sypha: 5/10. She's supposed to be the plucky innocent girl, but she's just too rude and insensitive, and not even by design.

Alucard: 1/10. A cunt with a bad boob job.

Dracula: 9/10 in S1, 5/10 in S2. He started out so well in the first episode, being actually the grief-stricken monster he was supposed to be... and then he became a Stupid Old Depressed Man for the sake of propping up Carmilla. bruh.

Lisa: 4/10. Way less likeable than she appears. She's condescending towards the peasants she supposedly wants to help and she doesn't give a single shit about her only son, even preferring to let him grieve the death of his parents.

Hector: 8/10 in S2, 5/10 in S3, 2/10 in S4. Started out as a promising character with an unique worldview and genuinely morally grey. Became nothing more than a punching bag for Ellis, losing his personality and dignity in one fell swoop. Will always be remembered as the dude who fell for vampire pussy. The way he was written in S4, which was supposed to "fix" him, makes me want to destroy a house by punching it.

Isaac: 2/10. He gains some points by being the only character with a coherent character arc, even if rushed like hell. But he's still a pretentious prick who got unfairly sucked off by the story and nowhere near as "deep" as his fans tout - he was just lucky to be the only character written with respect in the shitstorm that was S3.

Carmilla: 3/10. She's like Mephiles and Starline all rolled into one unlikable OC villain who only exists to paint Dracula in a bad light. She seems like a mastermind manipulator only because everyone around her lost IQ points exponentially. She became utterly irrelevant after S2 and had a grandiose death for nothing. She could have been much more, but this is what happens when a sexist pig writes a radfem villain.

Lenore: 1/10. That one point is because she had the potential to be an interesting, fleshed out antagonist with again an intriguing grey morality. But she had the misfortune of being written by a hack who can't give his characters a consistent personality and a sex pest with a clear dommy mommy fetish, so she became rape apologism bait and now she pisses me off at sight :D

The Lesbians: who?/10. Waste of good character designs. At least Striga was used for Berserk bait.

The Japanese not-twins: 0/10. Completely pointess torture porn fodder.

St. Germain: 8/10 in S3, 5/10 in S4. Pretty enjoyable in his first appearance, and surprisingly faithful to the game counterpart in spirit. I didn't even mind his descent into villainy, in theory. But let's just say that his motivation is... lacking. and hilarious.

Death: fuck/10. He's the ShTH of NFCV.

Richter: 6/10. Not too bad? I don't understand the hatred for him. He's perfectly inoffensive, if not bland. The only line that made me go "bruh" was him correcting the girls about the meaning of "fraternity" lol

Maria: 4/10. This is not a character. This is a parody of a communist teen on Twitter.

Annette: 1/10. As I said multiple times, she doesn't feel like a character, but as carefully engineered rage bait.

Tera: don't care/10.

Abbot: 4/10. I would care about his conflict more if he wasn't the stupidest man alive. Also his Devil Forging machine sucks ass.

Cecile: 3/10. Maybe don't teach your student that she is perfectly in the right in looking down her white French friends...?

Edouard: WHEN I'M LAID/10.

Olrox: 7/10. As for now, he's fairly interesting, mainly because of his intrigue. A bit too try hard, though.

Bara Agent Stone: bro really was shocked at the abbot having a child when he was happily sticking his dick in a male vampire/10

Sun Thundercat: 0/10. By far the worst villain I've ever seen in any kind of story.

Tiddied Isaac: 4/10. I would like her more for her unapologetic style (calling it "personality" is a stretch) if she didn't expose the sheer hypocrisy in the fandom :^)

#anti netflixvania

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wheretheharekissesthefox · 6 months

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Tav’s sex parade – Chapter 13: Pillow Talk (Astarion x Gale)

(Trigger warning (18+): graphic description of sex, smut, anal sex, lap sex, consensual blood drinking, hand job, gentle slow sex, body worship, the feels, slight angst, talking, lots of talking)

Notes:

Gale mentions his past which I wrote a fanfic about.

According to DnD lore, elves don't sleep, but rest in a meditative, trance-like state called reverie. You can see Astarion do exactly that in camp during a long rest when a sleep-around-the-campfire cutscene plays.

Gale rested on the bed in his study, engrossed in a book, when Astarion walked in and closed the door behind him.

"What's that new tome about?" he asked.

"Magic," Gale mumbled with his eyes still glued to the page.

"Really?" The vampire spawn rolled his eyes. "Anything in particular?"

"Druid magic."

"I didn't think you'd be interested in that," Astarion remarked, flopping down on the bed next to Gale.

The latter finally looked up from his reading.

"Well, it's never wrong or too late to learn something new. Plus, I'm intrigued by the fact that druid magic doesn't come from the Weave. When I was a young boy, my mother always told me that she draws magic without the help of the Weave and that I should stay away from Mystra. – I should have listened to her."

"Naturally," Astarion agreed. "The entire tragedy with the Orb... Well, I hope you learned your lesson at least."

Gale snorted.

"I definitely have. I don't think that's why you're here though. What's on your mind?"

"Well..." Astarion kicked his feet up elegantly. "Tav, Shadowheart and Halsin are busy with each other and I, like you, am not in the mood to watch, so, I thought we could spend some time together."

"Oh... that sounds... interesting."

"I was hoping for a little bit more enthusiasm, Gale. Gods."

"Apologies, I didn't expect you to wish to spend time with me. Plus, the book's rather interesting."

"Fine," Astarion sighed. "I'll leave you to your beloved reading, but don't cry for me when I'll die of boredom."

Chuckling, Gale held the vampire spawn back by the shirt sleeve and retorted: "The book can wait. I'd like your company."

"Really?"

Positively surprised, the addressed kept seated, smiling at the wizard.

"We can have our own kind of fun."

"What do you envision?"

"Sex, darling," Astarion smirked. "You and me."

Gale was taken aback and flustered.

They only engaged in such activities when the others had a threesome. But they'd never taken the initiative.

"I- I don't know. We never - hm - we never engage with one another without Tav's involvement," the wizard stammered.

Astarion leaned in closer, replying: "We're in a polyamorous relationship and we're free to do whatever we want with each other. Hells, the druid even sleeps around with strangers because it's an open relationship, so, why can't we have some fun alone once in a while?"

Gale licked his lips and swallowed. Then, he probed: "And uhm... you wish to do so? With me?"

"Only with you," Astarion revealed, sincerely.

The wizard's heart fluttered nervously and he was painfully aware that the vampire spawn could hear it.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to. Don't feel pressured, but what - what do you have in mind?" Gale asked.

"Oh, darling, it's sweet how you worry about my wellbeing, but I'm perfectly fine. I want to kiss you until you're breathless and your lips are numb, and I want to ride you –" The vampire spawn scooted closer to whisper in the wizard's ear. "– until you scream my name."

The addressed turned crimson.

"I don't scream."

"You've said that before," Astarion chuckled, "but I'm still determined to get you there."

Slowly, he connected their lips, giving Gale the chance to back away if he wanted to, but the wizard stayed where he was and reciprocated the kiss. First, it was sweet and gentle, almost shy and chaste, but then, their tongues got involved. Astarion moaned into Gale's mouth and pulled him closer. The wizard panted, tongue kissing back as well as he could. After a while, they broke apart to breathe.

"Your tongue surely is talented," the vampire spawn purred. "It surprises me anew every time I get a demonstration."

Gale blushed again and wanted to hide somewhere. He still felt self-conscious when being intimate in real life instead of in the Astral Planes. Astarion got up and stripped quickly, standing in front of the wizard in all his beautiful, elegant, pale glory. Tentatively, Gale touched his partner's body, running his fingers across the soft skin.

He looks so delicate, he thought. I'm scared of breaking him.

The vampire spawn gazed at him.

"What are you waiting for, darling? Take off your clothes."

The addressed shivered at the term of endearment. Astarion usually never used it, except to teased him. It was the first time, he said it and meant it.

Gale took his clothes off, slightly uncomfortable as always, but he looked up at the vampire spawn to distract himself from worrying about his appearance. The latter smiled at him and straddled him. He wrapped his arms around the wizard and lolled his head back.

"Mmh, darling. You drive me crazy," he sighed.

"I do?" Gale was doubtful. "I'm not as experienced as Tav, and I haven't - haven't done certain things to you."

Astarion gave him a serious look and explained: "You don't have to do things you're uncomfortable with, like eating me out. I'm glad with what you give me."

Gale averted his gaze and swallowed.

"How do you do that?" he muttered. "How are you comfortable sharing your lover with others? You're Tav's first. We have no right to get a piece of her. She's yours. I still... Gods... I still get jealous sometimes and I'm... afraid I'm not enough."

"Oh, Gale..." The vampire spawn had an unreadable expression on his face as he stroke the wizard's jawline. "I'm not as great as you think I am. I'm scared too sometimes and then, I fear that Tav will leave me for one of you because I'm a burden and not enough. I understand your anxiety. But the thing is, we live like this for a year now and she still hasn't left. Tav's happy and deep down, I know she won't leave any of us because she loves us equally. Honestly, I didn't believe that it's possible to love more than one person at once, but... I experience it too now. – You're very dear to me, Gale. I want you to be happy, I want to make you happy, and I wish to spend the rest of your life with you – as well as with Tav, and even with Shadowheart and Halsin. Usually, I have better taste."

Gale snickered at the displeased face Astarion made, but let him continue.

"Jealousy's an ugly beast, born from your own insecurities. Believe it or not, but I actually talked about this with the druid. He told me that jealousy comes from the fear to lose our partner to someone else. To lose our grasp on them. We feel like we're losing a possession. The funny thing is, that can't happen with something that was never yours in the first place. I didn't understand what the druid meant first, but I get it now. You never own your partner. The only way your partner's yours, is when they actively choose to be yours. Tav tells all of us that she's ours and that's why she is; because she chooses to be ours. And as long as she makes this choice, you don't have to worry."

For a moment, Gale was quiet, then, he said with a small smile: "I didn't take you for such a philosopher."

The vampire spawn pouted at him, making the wizard smirk.

"Thank you, Astarion. I appreciate it."

The addressed nodded and Gale just had to kiss him again. Astarion was surprised at the wizard's proactivity, but was more than happy about it. He wiggled around on his partner's lap and felt both of their erections stir.

"Let me," he whispered and wrapped a hand around both of them.

Gale gasped at the coolth of Astarion's hand, but bucked up into his grip immediately. The vampire spawn moaned and smashed their lips together to swallow all of his partner's little noises. Gale placed his hands on Astarion's waist, stroking his thumbs over the skin there. They finally drew back, panting, and the vampire spawn said: "I've already prepared myself, I'm ready. Please, let me ride you."

"Yes," Gale whispered, suddenly desperate for it.

Astarion got up on his knees, took a hold of the wizard's member, which was wet with precum, and slowly lowered himself onto it. Moaning, he threw his head back. He loved it when Tav pegged him, but nothing could beat the real deal. The human heat could never be replicated and Astarion got a kick out of it. It made him feel alive again. He sunk down on Gale's cock until he was so full, he trembled.

"Mmh, Gods," he moaned and dug his fingernails into the wizard's shoulders.

"Good?" the latter asked, concerned.

Astarion opened his eyes to gaze at him, replying: "More than good. You feel fantastic, darling. You're the best I had in a long time."

Gale blushed the third time this evening, but muttered: "If I remember correctly, I'm the only one you had since the nautiloid crash."

"Yes, but that doesn't invalidate my statement," said the vampire spawn, cheekily.

The wizard huffed a laugh before kissing him again. Astarion started to move slowly. Up and down, up and down. Always at the same leisurely pace, rolling his hips sensually. Gale panted against his neck and held him close. Then, he tentatively wrapped his hand around his partner's member to stroke him. The vampire spawn's legs threatened to give out as he moaned in ecstasy.

"Yes, oh, yes. Please!" he whined, not even knowing what he was begging for. He dug his nails deeper into Gale's skin, leaving bloody trails, and moaned loudly.

The wizard's other hand wandered from Astarion's waist up to his back where his fingers gently stroke the scars. The vampire spawn shuddered. Gale had never touched him there because Astarion had never let him. But now, the gentle fingers caressed the puckered skin almost reverently.

"You're beautiful, Astarion," Gale whispered. "All of you. Inside and out."

The addressed sobbed and pressed his face into his partner's neck. The latter hummed.

"You can drink from me, dear. I don't mind."

Moaning, Astarion sunk one of his hands into Gale's soft mane and licked his exposed neck. Then, he bit down, whining at the taste of the wizard's blood that was sweeter than any other he'd ever had. Everything about Gale tasted slightly sweet; his sweat, his blood, and even his semen. Gods, Astarion was utterly weak for this man.

The wizard's breath hitched and he came, spilling deep into the vampire spawn's cool body. The latter moaned gutturally at the feeling of heat spreading inside him and climaxed as well. Panting, Astarion rested his forehead on Gale's shoulder, trembling. His hole still pulsated as if it wanted to pull Gale even deeper and milk him dry. The wizard groaned at the feeling, but kept completely still, except for his fingers, which continued to caress Astarion's back. They recovered this way and then kissed slowly and softly.

"Everything alright?" asked Gale.

"I should be the one asking you this question," Astarion chuckled. "Gods... You knocked me out like a drug."

"Hm?" Gale furrowed his brows and the vampire spawn chuckled.

"You taste divine, is what I'm saying, darling. I don't need to eat your home-baked cookies, your blood's sweet enough."

"Really?"

The wizard seemed surprised and then, his eyes glazed over in that typical fashion of his when he got lost in his thoughts to ponder about nerdy subjects. With a smirk, Astarion snapped his fingers. Gale blinked and was back in the presence.

"You can think about the different tastes of blood later," the vampire spawn teased. "If you need insight knowledge from a professional, I'll gladly help you."

"Of course, you would," chuckled Gale. Then, he looked at Astarion, slightly anxious, and pulled him into another kiss. "Stay with me tonight."

Smiling softly, the vampire spawn rubbed their noses together and answered: "Nothing would give me more pleasure."

After cleaning up, they slipped under the blanket and rested in each other's arms. While Gale fell asleep shortly after, Astarion drifted into reverie. Imagining the snow that was dancing through the night sky.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #fanfic #astarion x gale #astarion #astarion ancunin #gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #mind the trigger warning #smut

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luanna801 · 2 years

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I saw a post recently to the effect of “If you’re going to do the reincarnated wife plot in Dracula, it would at least make more sense if Dracula’s reincarnated love was Renfield”, and I think that’s a very intriguing thought, but I’d like to suggest an alternative idea that’s taken over my brain lately: Renfield as Van Helsing’s offscreen “mad wife”, who we briefly hear mentioned in the book but never see or learn any details about.

Let me just lay out my case here:

Van Helsing has a wife who, we’re told, is mentally ill and presumably in an asylum. Her mental breakdown is often assumed to have had something to do with Dracula, even though there’s nothing in the text that explicitly suggests this.

Renfield is a man around Van Helsing’s age (presumably - Renfield is explicitly 59, and Van Helsing seems to be middle-aged) who’s mentally ill and in an asylum. His mental illness is often assumed to have been caused by Dracula, although there’s nothing in the text that explicitly suggests this.

We never see Van Helsing’s wife onscreen, nor do we learn any details about her as a person, her relationship with Van Helsing, or the events that led her to where she is at the time of the book. It’s often theorized to be in some way connected with the death of Van Helsing’s son (also briefly mentioned but not elaborated on), which I think makes sense, but again, we know no details. Did she have a breakdown from the grief of losing her son, or did the same thing that killed Van Helsing Jr drive her out of her mind? Or is it a bit of both?

Van Helsing obviously couldn’t go around referring to a “husband” or male lover in the Victorian era, so it makes total sense that (when he can get away with it) he’d refer to having lost a “wife” to make people understand the kind of grief he’s talking about without giving himself away.

Now, to be clear, I absolutely don’t think this is canon, nor does it work seamlessly as an interpretation of canon. There are a number of nuances in canon that point against it - let’s start by looking at Van Helsing’s full statement about his wife:

“... and me, with my poor wife dead to me, but alive by Church’s law, though no wits, all gone—even I, who am faithful husband to this now-no-wife...”

“By Church’s law” means that the Church still considers them married despite Mrs. Van Helsing’s condition, which obviously makes no sense for a relationship between two men that the Church wouldn’t have recognized in the first place. And that would be a very random thing for Van Helsing to throw in there if it wasn’t true.

Also, this is a very delicate topic (and the whole thing touches uncomfortably close to ableism, obviously), but... the way Van Helsing talks about his wife here - “dead to me, though alive by Church’s law”, “no wits, all gone” - makes me picture someone who isn’t as lucid and aware as Renfield seems to be. Like maybe someone who’s in a catatonic state, or who’s so completely lost her sense of reality that she wouldn’t even recognize Van Helsing or be able to interact with him in anything approaching a normal way anymore.

So no, I don’t think it 100% works within canon - but what’s striking to me is how seamlessly it fits into the canon framework if an adaptation or AU fic chose to go this route, while also bringing a ton of new dramatic and emotional potential to the table.

And I can see them making sense as a couple, is the thing. They’re both very intelligent, creative, and intellectually curious (and, perhaps, a bit high-handed at times). Jack writes that Van Helsing has “an absolutely open mind” and “his views are as wide as his all-embracing sympathy” - despite being a scientist whose work is rooted in facts and logic, he’s willing to consider ideas that others might consider absolutely crazy, like the existence of vampires. And the same, of course, is true of Renfield as well. He’s not just a crazy person with random crazy delusions - there’s a clear logic behind the ideas he’s pursuing, and one that isn’t even entirely bizarre when we consider that he exists in a world where vampirism is real.

The way Renfield systematically sets up investigating his theories, moving from one carefully planned stage to another and recording the results in his notebook at each phase, is like a twisted science experiment (again, something Jack specifically notes about him). And I wonder if there isn’t a clue to his past life there: Maybe once upon a time he was doing actual science experiments - unconventional ones, to be sure, maybe pursuing ideas that other people would dismiss as ridiculous, but not anything twisted or harmful. And I can imagine Van Helsing being absolutely fascinated by the work he was doing - that both of them, in fact, would have valued having someone they could always brainstorm with and discuss any idea, without the limitations that narrower minds might place on them.

I’m also kind of obsessed with the dramatic potential of the fact that the first time they interact face-to-face in the book is the scene where Renfield is begging to be let out of the asylum. Like imagine if up to that point, everything’s played out exactly the way it does in the novel - you have the scene of Van Helsing talking about his “wife” (maybe even in a bit more detail, in a scene where he’s trying to comfort Jack or something?), and you have Renfield having his whole plot unfold, and there’s absolutely no hint that there’s any connection between the two. And then suddenly you have that scene, and from the second Van Helsing walks into the room you see that immediate moment of recognition between him and Renfield.

And Jack is oblivious to this, going through the rounds of introducing everybody, and meanwhile Van Helsing and Renfield are just staring at each other in absolute silence. Like cannot take their eyes off each other, the rest of the gang might as well not even be there.

Until, before Jack can get up to Van Helsing’s introduction, Renfield very calmly and clearly says “Hello, Abraham.”

And like, how does that change Van Helsing’s reaction when Renfield starts pleading??? Would he beg Jack to go along with it? Or would he just be standing there frozen, not trusting himself to speak in case his feelings are clouding his ability to think clearly?? How much of an emotional punch does it add to the scene if Renfield can turn to him and say “You used to trust me before; why won’t you trust me now??”

Bear in mind, even in canon Van Helsing admits if it had been up to him, he would have been about to let Renfield go (at least, up until “that last hysterical outburst”). How much more might that be the case if he has an emotional connection to this man on top of everything else?

I think, if it was up to me, I wouldn’t directly tie Dracula into their backstory - that feels too pat and simplistic IMO. But I think I’d have it that their son was preyed on and eventually killed by a vampire, and they didn’t realize what was happening in time to save him. Afterwards, their attempts to piece together what had happened account for both the fact that Van Helsing clearly has some pre-existing knowledge of vampires (but is clearly not the expert vampire hunter pop culture often portrays him as), and also the cause of Renfield’s current obsession. I can imagine the grief and trauma of having lost his son, along with the unreality of starting to understand that something totally outside of the normal world did it, taking a toll on his probably already-not-great mental health until his attempts to solve what happened spiral into a full-on breakdown and end up with the obsession with vampirism we see in the novel.

(How do they have a son as a gay couple in the Victorian era, you ask? I honestly don’t think it’s that hard to justify. You can either say Van Helsing did previously have a wife and was widowed, or that it’s an orphaned kid one of them took in as a ward and considered their son (similar to Jonathan’s situation with Mr. Hawkins, perhaps?)).

I don’t think it was bad, at all, for the novel to leave some things up to the reader’s imagination, but I also really love how this idea allows us to take two tiny scraps of backstory which are either only vaguely hinted at (Van Helsing’s) or almost completely unaddressed (Renfield’s), and combine them into something which can add a lot of depth and emotional impact for both characters. It takes those hints that we know from canon, and even some of the more well-known theories attempting to fill in those gaps, and combines them into one story that (to me) seems to fit together seamlessly while also fleshing things out beyond canon. It gives us a totally different picture of who Renfield was before he was in the asylum - a brilliant and unconventional scientific mind, a man who had a partner and son he loved and loves deeply - and a sense of everything he lost. And at the same time, it takes Van Helsing’s lost love from being a nameless and faceless woman we know literally nothing about, to a character who’s a major part of the narrative and who we get the chance to know in depth in his own right.

I just think there’s a lot of potential there, if a retelling of Dracula ever chooses to go that route.

#dracula #dracula daily #abraham van helsing #r.m. renfield #rm renfield #van helsing jr.#headcanon #books #literature #bram stoker #love #romance #shipping #rambling

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nightmaretist · 3 months

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TIMING: Mid-December PARTIES: Zofia @zofiawithaz & Inge @nightmaretist LOCATION: Dance Macabre/the streets around said bar SUMMARY: Inge finds Zofia in the undead nightclub by accident and addresses her — the two string up a conversation and find common ground. CONTENT WARNINGS: None.

Dance Macabre always enveloped her with welcome arms, it seemed. Inge didn’t really wish to go out in any place else in this godforsaken town, as she kept finding herself looking over her shoulder. Here, though, her kind gathered and here, she was certain she could find some kind of sanctuary. Nothing perfect, nothing that didn’t make her wonder if perhaps she should be looking out for that Cortez, that Rhett, that Owen.

She was in a good mood, all things considered. The alcohol helped. As did the relative absence of Christmas decorations in this place. But she was still alert, at least somewhat, and when she passed by a woman introducing herself to another as Zofia she halted, turning on her heel. Inge took her in, this dark-haired beauty and went over all she knew.

A woman scorned, a woman maimed, a woman seemingly maddened — these were all grounds for her hard-to-gain sympathy. But then she had undone Cassius, hadn’t she? And so, her empathy ended before it could even properly begin. She mixed herself into the conversation with little hesitation, not having struggled with taking up space in at least a few decades. “So you’re the elusive Zofia,” she said, extending a hand when she’d like to raise it to smack the other like she’d smacked Cassius. “Ingeborg.” She was sure to squeeze tight and smile sweet. “Heard a lot about you.”

___

Zofia needed a fucking drink.

She’d finally obtained some clothing that didn’t look as though it had taken a trip to hell and back and was also her own taste. She’d traded in the jeans and t shirt she’d been given by Alistair for some new finery the moment she’d had the means to do so. Donned in sheer black lace cut in a deep v down her chest, maroon pants, and red lipstick, she felt more herself than she had in an eternity.

Sat at the bar, she kicked one leg over the other as she surveyed the space. No familiar faces. For the best, probably. She wasn’t sure she could deal with complicated reunions and questions of where she’d been. Or worse, running into those she’d already seen since she’d been back.

She flicked her dark hair over her shoulder, downing the last of her drink. She felt a tap on her shoulder and a face she didn’t recognize asked if she was someone named ‘Jessica’. Did she look like a Jessica? “No. I’m Zofia. Sorry.” The stranger went on their way, and Zofia went back to her drink.

Her name carried over the music from a voice she hadn’t heard before, and Zofia felt as though she’d been doused in ice water. She went still as a statue, fighting every urge to hastily dispatch whoever it was and get the fuck out of there. But that would cause a scene, and scenes were bad for people trying not to be hunted again. That and something about promising to try and better herself and then lashing out sat wrong with her. A fake smile gritted across her face, appearing more like the bared teeth of a wild animal.

She turned, taking in the other woman, trying to assess if she was a threat or not. “I’m at a disadvantage, Ingeborg.” She took the woman’s hand, giving it a shake. “You seem to know me, but I don’t know you.” Her eyes narrowed. “So who sent you?”

_____

Was she a bad friend, for being intrigued by this elusive creature? Sofie, the person she’d only ever known as Cassius’ disappeared lover as he’d never introduced them. Zofia, the person who had left him crumbled upon her return. Were there other versions of her out there, just like she carried her past versions with her? Nika Beinhacker, Ingeborg Beenhakker-de Jong, Ivonne Coëme and now Inge Endeman, all different editions of the same person. Who was this Zofia and perhaps more pressingly, why was she?

And she did resent her, this vampire who had hurt someone she cared for. But another part was intrigued, the way she often was. In a way that went against better judgment, in a way that made her cross whatever boundaries she may have set for herself. Inge had never been a person of very strong principles. She followed her heart, and if not, she followed her desire for whimsy, inspiration and distraction. She wasn’t sure win what category the vampire fell, yet.

The other didn’t seem quite as charmed by her, as it turned out, and Inge was intrigued by this. She was quick to take the seat next to the vampire, settling easily as she crossed her legs and considered her drink options. That could come later, though.

“Oh, no, no. No one send me. I am not someone who is sent.” She gave a knowing smile, which hardly revealed anything. Perhaps she should try harder at not seeming like a hunter type, but the notion of her being anything like a hunter was so offensive to her that she hardly considered it. She turned her attention to the barkeep, ordering another round of, “Whatever she’s having, for the both of us.”

Then, back to Zofia. Sophie. Sofieke. Whoever. “We have a mutual …” Inge thought for a moment, then shrugged, deciding against a label, “Cassius. I heard you went through quite an ordeal, but …” Tsk, her lips clicked together. “Have been causing a stir yourself. That’s all. I figured we should meet and hey, here you are.”

————-

She was pretty. About the same height as her, with big brown eyes and auburn hair. Zofia’s eyes flickered from feature to feature, looking for any clues as to what she was, and what she was up to. She had come to Dance Macabre, so there was a good chance the woman no longer had a pulse. Or she was a hunter who was running the risk of being caught for the sake of staking out a target. Literally.

The stranger ordered another round, and a few moments later two dry vodka martinis with lemon twists floating on top were set before them. Good. The drink would make whatever this was about to be more tolerable.

At the sound of an all too familiar name, Zofia took a lengthy sip of her drink. “I imagine whatever you heard of my ordeal is lacking in details.” Another lengthy sip as she started thinking of an exit strategy. There had to be other places to drink in this town where she wasn’t likely to get a stake in her chest. Or that didn’t have friends of Cassius lurking to confront her for her actions at their little reunion.

Perhaps, on second thought, being staked would be preferable.

“So you are a friend of his?” She asked. It wouldn’t surprise her. Cassius, after all, was a good person. A kind person. A person who frequented all the same spots as her- how the hell was she going to find new places to go when only a handful of places were designed for undead clientele?!

__________

She gave a hum of approval at the drinks that appeared, taking her glass and taking a small sip. The vampire had good taste, that at least could be said. Inge could appreciate that. As for who she was and what she’d gone through and done subsequently — well, she hadn’t quite made up her mind. For all the love she had for Cassius, she did sometimes think his judgment to be rather poorly. (Which in Zofia’s case could be a blessing or a curse.)

Not that Zofia’s judgment seemed all that sound. Leaving bodies around for a past lover was admirable on a dramatic level, but otherwise a rather outrageous action. “Well, they do say every story has many sides. I’ve heard his.” Inge shrugged. “I am not opposed to hearing yours.”

And that was true. She had been in a position like this before, hadn’t she? Escaped from hunters, her mind frazzled and not quite her own. Looking over her shoulder. She was a solitary creature, one of little loyalties, but she did feel a kinship with her fellow undead — most especially when they had fallen into the claws of some cruel slayers. “What I do know is that hunters can do a number on you. Irregardless of whatever else.”

Inge nodded, circling the rim of her glass. “Yes. But like I said, he didn’t send me. It’s — well, pure coincidence.” She smiled, as if it was a lucky and happy accident. She considered rubbing in the other’s face that Cassius was properly heartbroken, but swallowed the words.

———

The music changed in the club to something with a consistent pulsing beat. It made Zofia’s skin crawl. She lifted the glass in a half-salute before downing another sip, trying to chase the thoughts away.

Her eyebrow raised over the lip of her martini glass as the other woman offered to listen to her story. “Are you asking out of morbid curiosity?” The music thumped on. Her eyes closed, her face screwing up in concentration as she tried to shove away the matching plink plink plink of leaky pipes in her mind. The tempo changed and the thoughts subsided.

A sad smile settled on her face. So that was it. She sat back in her seat, her hackles no longer completely raised. “They certainly can.” She sighed. “Tell me, how old are you?” Zofia cocked her head to the side. How much had she experienced? How much running, how much fear? How much living had she done?

She hummed, unamused. It figured that the universe would have a warped sense of humor. Depositing friends of his directly into her path. “It’s a small world, after all.” Zofia glanced around the space, trying to determine who else might be a friend of Cassius’s, intent on coming over and reminding her of what she’d done just by announcing his name. “Care to take this conversation outside? It’s quieter.” And less of a chance of being overheard. And there were more routes for a quick escape.

———

Many things Inge did were out of morbid curiosity. She’d watched a zombie maul a man because of it, just as she’d entered Parker’s workshop because something within her needed to be satiated. But this wasn’t really one of these cases — whatever Zofia had done and gone through wasn’t bound to stir her to her core like a hunter’s place for torture, after all.

Maybe it was simple solidarity. She did think that important among her fellow undead and besides, she could not help but draw a parallel between what she’d heard about Zofia and what she herself had gone through. “No. Curiosity, yes. Morbid, no.”

Some relief seemed to spread through the other which was a welcome sight. Inge didn’t mind people being distrustful of her, but she disliked it a little when it came to people like Zofia. Undead. “Almost eighty,” she said, knowing it could be relatively young by certain standards. “What about you?”

She nodded. “Exactly.” Never mind that Zofia had returned to Wicked’s Rest, rather than flee to another town — which is what Inge would have done, in her shoes. Always running, barely ever returning in case of what if. She considered the other’s proposition. “What do you suggest? An alley, in stead?” That wasn’t particularly safe, either. “A quieter place would do, though. We could go for a walk?”

________

Zofia could respect curiosity. A little. She thought. But what good had sharing the little details of her life done for her in the past? Gotten her friends? Maybe so. But where had those friends been when she’d needed them? She took another long sip of her drink.

Almost eighty. The ‘almost’ drew a smile from the vampire. It reminded her of when little children insisted they were almost the age they’d be in eleven months, which meant they were practically a grown up. Of course, almost eighty was long past childhood. Long enough to experience, long enough to grieve, to love, to mourn, to hurt… But still young. It was closer to childhood than Zofia had been in a long, long time. “Three hundred fourteen. Three hundred fifteen in the new year.”

Taking one last sip of her drink, she set some money down on the bar before sliding off her chair. “A walk sounds good.” Moving was good. Moving meant if she was being followed she would notice sooner rather than later. She slipped her coat on, wrapping herself in the burgundy wool, even if the cold night air wouldn’t really bother her. She extended her arm for the other old woman to link her arm through before heading out the door. “I’m sure you have questions.” She sighed, glancing back at the other woman. “Will you ask them now, or shall I start at the beginning?”

_______

Oh, she was old. Properly old. Inge felt a tinge of inferiority spread through, almost wished she had lied about her age — seventy seven was still just a human age, one that people lived to with some back pain and complaint but generally little issue. But being over three centuries old, now that was an accomplishment.

But she swallowed her insecurity and gave a look that did reveal her being impressed, “Good job on sticking around for so long.” Not everyone managed, did they? She’d known undead like them to lose their minds in their immortality. Though that might be a kinder fate than having your head chopped off. She thought of Sanne, how there had been a small moment of her head falling before she’d turned into dust.

She threw down some money as well, still wanting to pay for the round she’d ordered on proud principle and wrapped her own body in her leather trenchcoat. She’d gotten it in the nineties. Inge stared at the arm offered to her, bemused and surprised by this move, and took it. If it was a challenge, she’d meet it. If it wasn’t, then she wasn’t sure what it was. Once the night air greeted them, it seemed the conversation was bound to properly start. “I’d rather you tell it however you want. I know speaking of such matters isn’t always the most … easy.” She certainly did not talk of the ways hunters haunted her, still. “Speak, if you’re fine with that. If you’d rather have questions, sure. Start with what happened.”

________

Zofia snorted. “It goes by in a blink.” She’d heard it said so many times over the years, from people with white hair that spilled around faces with lines and wrinkles. People with eyes that spoke of a wealth of human joys and sorrows. She wondered what her eyes spoke of. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know anymore.

Ingeborg linked her arm in Zofia’s, and the vampire led on. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, she sang over and over in her thoughts. She didn’t know if she had friends any longer. It was safer to keep everyone so very very close. The closest of enemies, so that she could see the cogs tick in their minds, so she could figure out the trap before it snapped shut with her inside.

She sucked the cold night air in, embracing the chill. “It’s a story that started some time ago.” Zofia said simply. “You would have been a young thing. Maybe in your twenties. I had a family. A family that I chose, and for hundreds of years a family that continued to choose me. And god, did we live.” A wistful smile stole at her features, only to be swept away as the story continued. “Someone plucked them all away from me. Dead. Missing. Who’s to say, really. I never saw them again, and I gave up hope that they’d ever turn up a long time ago.”

“And then I started to rebuild. Let myself enjoy life again. Enjoy love. And…” She cut herself off, her eyes darting toward an alley at the sound of a crunch. She watched, waiting for the trap to spring to life. A rat skittered out of a dumpster with some papers in its little mouth, squeaking as it scampered away with its prize. She continued walking.

“It was dark there. You’d think I wouldn’t mind the dark, since I can’t enjoy the sun anymore. You’d think it would have been a wonderful little respite. But it’s never been fully dark out here. I’ve always had the stars… the moon…” Zofia looked up at the distant, twinkling lights. A reminder that she had found a way out. “A dark, small room. A bunker, really. In the ground, deep down, below some old cabin in the woods. Probably long since forgotten by everyone in this damned town, except for the monsters who hunt things like us.”

“They were looking for information.” She continued, not wanting to live in the details for any longer than what was necessary. “They used all the tricks of their trade. All the things they knew could hurt, to try and figure out where the members of my clan, my family, had hidden themselves away. I was the easiest to find. The easiest to catch. The weakest remaining link. And they tried so very hard to break me.” Her voice wobbled. She stopped talking for a few minutes, refusing to cry in front of a stranger, especially one who’s knowledge of Zofia consisted of information gained from a love story that had ended spectacularly badly. “They succeeded. Just not in the way they were hoping.”

She couldn’t always see them. Couldn’t always hear them. But she knew they followed. The ghosts that had visited her. Haunted her. Watched her, unable or unwilling to help. She could see them now. Lurking just at the corner of her vision. Still not helping. Still not quite comforting. Simply watching. Waiting. Zofia fixed her gaze on the woman who’s presence she’d proven to herself was real when she’d taken her arm. “What questions do you have.”

__________

“So they say,” Inge said. And she supposed on one hand life had flown by. How many years had it been since her daughter had died? Since Sanne? Since she had died? It all still felt like something that had happened not much longer than a few weeks ago while simultaneously feeling like a lifetime ago. Decades stretched, decades melted together. Time was an incomprehensible thing, both in dreams and in real life.

As the other started speaking she moved with her in tandem. She had always envied the vampires and their clans, those houses and families that stayed together forever. She’d had Sanne once, her former nightmare and for a while current dream — but it hadn’t been the same. She was glad for her nature, did not envy those that had to drink blood to survive (boring, compared to the nightmares) but mares were often so solitary. Even if named after animals that moved in packs.

But what good where these micro-societies when hunters could rip them apart? It meant there was more to lose, more to leverage against you. Inge did not envy Zofia any more in that regard. The losses she’d suffered had ruined her enough, she figured.

She let her talk, resisting the urge to interject or let out an expletive, but her expression was one of empathy. Slayers were a cruel kind. Never able to simply kill, it seemed. Taking advantage of the undying bodies of their prey that could be maimed endlessly. She needn’t ask what had happened. She remembered Italy. She remembered Switzerland. She remembered Wicked’s Rest.

The story wrapped with a request for questions, as if Zofia was one of her students presenting a piece of art. Inge looked at her inquisitively. Her eyes were red. She should don her sunglasses. “First off, I am sorry that some people felt entitled to ruining your family. That they thought — that there was some righteousness there, that it was their right to. They’ve taken from me too.” Sanne’s head toppled from her neck and turned into dust before it could hit the ground. She blinked up at the stars. “And I am sorry they did this to you. It is an ugly delusion, that they think they can. That they think —” She shook her head. “It makes them better than us. I’ve always figured it makes them worse.” At least vampires healed fast, she figured. At least there was that blessing. In this area she envied her blood-drinking kin, too.

“Did they survive you, in the end?” That was most important. “Are they after you, still?” That mattered to her personally, too. More slayers was never a good thing, especially not in this damned town. “And … what is it you’re after?”

__________

Zofia knew what pity felt like. It was cloying and smothering and altogether intolerable. This wasn’t pity. This was understanding. She didn’t cringe away from the red eyes as they studied her. Whatever Ingeborg had been through in her life, it was enough to compare to the last half century of her own life. Steely eyes shifted to a red that matched Inge’s, and Zofia met the younger woman’s gaze.

“I’m sorry for whatever cruelties you’ve endured at their hands.” She wasn’t used to this understanding. It wasn’t uncomfortable, thankfully. It was bolstering. It made her feel as though she could reforge the broken bits of her with damascus steel, remake herself into something that would not be torn asunder again. They both could.

“Only one was there when I got out.” A dark smile drew up the corners of her mouth as a memory of lullabies and the metallic scent of fresh blood drifted through her mind. “I wish I could say he got what he deserved, but I didn’t have time for that. He’s burning in hell, all the same.”

The smile fell as another face drifted through her mind. “The one in charge wasn’t home. He’s still out there. And the other one probably had friends.” Zofia took a moment, mulling over the final question. “Everything they took from me. Security. Family. Peace. And I won’t have any of those things until I see the life fade from their eyes. Is that too much to ask for?”

———

She supposed that was an acceptable way of putting it. Having endured cruelties at their hands. Inge refused the title of victim. It was not one she would don, not for Hendrik, nor Sanne and certainly not a handful of hunters. But she had endured cruelties at all their hands. Endured, being the key word, cruelty being the condemnation of the other party. To have gone through it made them stronger. To have doled it out made the perpetrators worse than them. (Still – she didn’t quite think her ex-husband or creator perpetrators. She preferred not to think of them at all.)

“It’s okay,” she said resolutely. “I will outlive them all, in the end. And so will you.” Those slayers, with their petty lifespans and their even pettier lives … most of them didn’t make it that far in life. “Let every scar we bear remind us of what we’ve managed to survive, hm?” This unlife was to be a celebration.

Zofia had killed one of her tormentors. That was good, Inge thought. A closure of sorts. She wondered if the vampire was vengeful enough to after the rest of them. “Good. Let him burn there forever.” She wondered for a moment how the other murdered. Was it all vampiric fangs and bloodshed? She carried herself with grace now, but perhaps she was more brutal out there.

She halted, looking at the vampire. “I understand.” Did she? She ran from her tormentors. She ran from town to town, finding no security, no peace, no family. But art — there was always new art. “It is an understandable approach. They deserve nothing less.” Inge wasn’t going to offer her assistance. She barely went after the slayers she encountered. Worse, she’d recently bought one a drink and fucked another. “You deserve nothing less.”

But. There was a but. She let it dangle in the air for a moment before grabbing it. “But, Cassius. Can you leave him be? I know — well, I don’t, not fully. But whatever transpired, it must ache.” Sanne’s head toppled from her neck. A lost lover could make one quite lost. “I suggest you do if you want those things in this town. Security. Peace.” Inge shrugged. “Perhaps even family.”

———

“That we will.” She certainly planned to outlive hers. It would be easy, since she didn’t plan to rest much until they were incapable of doing harm to her or anyone else again. Though Zofia supposed it would be easier when the scars weren’t still open wounds on her soul. It would be easier when every noise and shadow wasn’t another threat. If that day ever came.

A dark smile danced across her features for a moment. It was a memory that gave her comfort. One gone. She managed to avenge the lives of those she’d lost and herself, even just a little.

She paused in their walk, the humor that had momentarily flickered in her eyes all but snuffed out at the reminder of who she was there on behalf of. Even if she hadn’t been sent by him, he’d no doubt hear of this exchange in passing. “That won’t be an issue,” Zofia’s affect was cool and detached. “He has another, now.” Now. As if so much time had passed. The vampire felt herself bristle. Replaceable. Was that what she was? A piece that could be swapped out and exchanged easily with another?

“Perhaps,” she echoed, the anger that had bubbled up fading at the mention of the one thing she still, somehow wanted. Family. “I’ll rebuild, I’m sure.”

_______

There was a switch, like all the heat was sucked out of the air. Inge wasn’t surprised. She looked at Zofia calmly, vaguely understanding of the anger of a scorned woman but also, most of all, protective of Cassius. It was a strange balance to try and uphold. To care for him while also understanding her.

Because there was a string of past lovers, faces that had come after Sanne. She had broken some – if not most – of their hearts, but some of them had left her own metaphorical one cracked. There was still, even after all these years and all her experience, something deeply intimate and vulnerable about the exposure of sex, the constant return for it. She was still emotionally driven, more than by lust. She’d haunted a man who’d broken her heart, once. She got it.

But she wouldn’t tolerate it. Not in herself, let alone in Zofia.

“Indeed.” And it was cruel of him, wasn’t it? To have moved on. It was, in a way. But matters of the heart often were. She got that, too. “And I am sorry, for that. It’s no easy thing. But there’s no use in … eyes for eyes, and the like.”

Inge hesitated for a moment, then linked her arm back with Zofia’s. “You seem like you know what you want. So you shall get it. And there’s plenty interesting people in this town, surely you know that.” Cassius was one of them — but there was a whole world beside him. “If there’s one thing our kind has, it’s time.”

———

“Well there is a use for it,” the vampire sighed, shaking her head. “But not in this case. Not with him. I can spend that currency elsewhere. With people who actually deserve what is coming to them.” Zofia would rather spend her resources securing her safety and exacting her revenge on the hunters that had taken everything from her than wasting it on someone who, at the end of the day, did not deserve it.

She let out a soft huff. “I’m very old. I have only so much time before some switch in me flips and whatever humanity I cling to burns out like a lightbulb. If there’s even much of it left, now. This town may be full of interesting people, but I’m not sure time has much left in that particular deck of cards for me.” Still, there was no point in writing it off entirely. She could still enjoy herself, if she could allow anyone close enough to her to enjoy.

“You have my word. I’ve no intention of hurting your friend. I have better things to occupy my time with, and no interest in spending it hurting myself further.”

———

Inge had killed a slayer before. Humans died so easily compared to the likes of her. Lacerations of her skin hurt, but she would never bleed out, her skin would always regrow — but humans bled. Humans didn’t need their heads cut off or their bodies starved from sustenance for over a week. But when she’d taken a slayer’s life it hadn’t been calculated revenge. It had just been a move of self defense and desperation. She tended to run, after all, as that was the easiest option for her. Flee into the astral and look down on the world and its dangers. Except for that time. That time she’d drawn her gun and loosened all six bullets and disappeared.

Had it felt good? Sure. There had been a satisfaction. But it hadn’t lasted. Not because she felt guilty, but because in that case death wasn’t the end. She was still looking over her shoulders, there were still hunters out there. It had been futile. It was not something to just throw on the table, though, this insight in that fear of hers she was still convinced didn’t exist. “Good. Focus it on them, then.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps. Maybe the issue is that you’re still thinking in terms of humanity when we’re not human any more and haven’t been in some time,” Inge said. “But you can find your people again. That we do need, hm?” Even she had her tethers. Even if she snipped them from time to time, when she ran.

She nodded, appreciative. “Perfect,” she almost smiled while saying it. Unsaid went the pain she’d already delivered to Cassius, but Inge wasn’t the type to think much of a slap to the face anyway. “Perhaps we can spend some of that time together, hm? I’d like to hear about all the things you’ve seen and done in your years.”

______

A smile flickered at the corner of her mouth. “Perhaps,” the woman drawled. It was a difficult thing to let go of, humanity. She’d been playing pretend for centuries. Drinking blood from glasses as if it were simply another expensive vintage from the DuPont wine cellar. Zofia had known better, had always known better. It might do better to let herself be something more. Something new. Something not quite human, but not quite monster. And perhaps it was time to find more like minded people.

“ I think,” The flicker of a smile caught on her lips and lingered. “I think I’d like that very much.”

#threads.#zofia.#friend of a friend.

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summercreolefanfictioner · 1 year

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ayo it's my favorite girl's bday (tw: trauma, nsfw)

maya sakamaki: birthday headcanons

maya doesn't usually celebrate her birthday tho

she might've celebrated her own bday as a child, happily chanting the happy bday song before making a wish and blowing the candles

but the thing is on her 7th bday, her parents sold her to a brothel. that's why all her bday could remind her of is that "you exist to be sold"

so ever since then, maya has never thought of holding a party or telling people her bday

ofc her former master, gilbert feinze, knew when her bday is but since she doesn't want to celebrate, gilbert just makes her take a week off from her duties as a vampire doll

but now that she's married to kanato and has become a full-fledged vampire, she thinks there's no reason to remember her bday anymore like why would she? vampires live longer than humans and age slower than them so there's no reason for her to remember her age or something

that's what maya thought until yui encouraged her to celebrate her bday even once to commemorate her being alive or something like "it's the day you were born so you should be glad about it" (ofc yui how easy to say those words huhu)

so maya bought like two magazines from the nearby convenience store to check for bday celebration tips until she heard these two girls talking abt what kind of present they wanted from their boyfriend

"Hmm... I want my boyfriend to be my present, though?"

"Eh? Like him in a birthday suit?"

"Yeah. It's hot, for me at least."

and so maya went home, turned on her laptop, and searched for this thing they called birthday suit and voila the next thing she's browsing on the infamous yellow and black website (p*rn I don't wanna spell out for you)

ya know what this girl did? fvcking watched the whole scene and got intrigued by the story 😭😭😭 she even made popcorn

but yeah she also immediately turned it off once the sex part started bcos she thinks it's disgusting

and so maya decided not to celebrate her bday after all

yeah that was the decision until kanato (along with ayato and laito) went home from demon world and surprise surprise! HE KNOWS WHEN HER BIRTHDAY IS

so she was still asleep on their bed when kanato kissed her head and woke her up, presenting a huge box along with a 2-tier birthday cake that looked like it came from a vintage movie bcos of its white icing with pink swirls and skewed handwriting

and to her surprise, he was wearing a black suit

"Happy birthday, Maya-san," he whispered in her ear with a smile so genuine you wouldn't believe it's kanato. "I made this gift for you. I hope you'll wear it to our mini tea party that I had prepared."

and so the familiars started dressing her up in this white poofy dress with her hair tied up in a bun and matching fancy hat leather mary janes, and white lace gloved; yes she basically is dressed as a white victorian lady

truth be told, there was an elegant tea party set by kanato and maya felt that something strange will happen (even though there are times when kanato is just 'behaved') bcos there was an eerie sense in the way the middle triplet smiles at her, observing her every move like a predator watching his prey

he presented her with a bday cake, simple with the words "happy bday, maya-san" on top and asked her to blow the candles, to which she did

and when they were eating cake, kanato decided to stand, take every piece away of food and tea from the table, and walk towards maya, kneeling in front of her as he held her chin

"I've been bothered by how pure and beautiful the dress I made you. I think it needs something."

in one swift move, maya was sprawled on the table with kanato hovering on top of her, and then he cut open the flesh from her exposed shoulders, spreading the blood all over her dress as he caught a whiff of her addicting scent

maya understood the reason behind his act, smiling mischievously as she untied the ribbon around his dress shirt's collar, exposing his neck to her

"I heard from Teddy you wanted to wear a birthday suit for your big day."

"Did I live up to your expectations, then?"

"No, Maya-san. You've become my reality."

after that, he bit her neck, sucking the blood out of her as she held his hand and bit on his finger, savoring each other's taste for pleasure bcos they knew no amount of food can satisfy their hunger

once done, kanato grinned, sitting on the chair as he pulled maya, making her sit on top of him. the bday cake was still intact as he presented it to her. she was a bloody mess of an art, looking down at him with unsatisfied eyes.

"Happy birthday, Maya-san. Bon appetit!"

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fitzrove · 7 months

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TdV plot summary but with the symbolism being made painfully apparent (Kunze said once that vampire bites = sex) (contains mentions of sexual assault, though very brief and vague. All discussion of Magda and Chagal is omitted because that storyline is a Mess. Not explicit but also not for under 18's)

Alfred and Sarah are innocent youths. The conservative world around them desperately doesn't want them to have sex (of any kind) - the village Sarah lives in works obsessively to keep the local Sex Maniac away, and Professor Abronsius has made his life's mission to eradicate People Having Sex. But one day the Sex Maniac (also known as Count von Krolock) shows up and tells Sarah that sex condemns you to eternal life and a cynical existence (Gott ist Tot) but also that it's thrilling and cool (Einladung zum Ball). Sarah is intrigued but Alfred is terrified and thwarts the invitation by alerting the professor. Sarah's parents punish her for disobeying them. Later, however, she sneaks out again, with the intention of running away; Alfred is outside too, and together they dream of freedom somewhere far away (Draussen ist Freiheit). Alfred still thinks going to the castle (to have sex) is scary and dangerous, but in the end, Sarah resolves to go anyway, distracts him and runs away (Die Roten Stiefel).

Instead of staking Chagal, the professor and Alfred task him with leading them to the castle. In front of it (Vor dem Schloss), Krolock tells Alfred that they should have sex (look, "sink with me into the sea of time" kinda implies that Krolock's offering to bite him, and also, "fühl die Wohllust, dich aufzugeben" helppp??), that Alfred shouldn't think too hard about conservative, stifling morals and that freeing himself is the way to the Enlightenment that Alfred thinks he's pursuing with the professor's cold, logical approach. Alfred gets spooked and runs away.

Sarah and Krolock have a duet (Totale Finsternis) about how thirsty they are - for either new experiences (Sarah) or just plain thirsty/looking for environmental enrichment to his cynical boredom (Krolock), but resolve to wait until the ball. Meanwhile, Alfred has an erotically charged nightmare (Carpe Noctem) where he bangs Krolock first, after which he, emboldened (?), delivers Sarah into Krolock's arms and is therefore guilty for her "loss of innocence" - but also can't resist partaking in "taking it" from her. He wakes up, relieved that his anxieties weren't real (Ein Perfekter Tag), and resolves to destroy Krolock (non-sexual) before Krolock destroys him and Sarah. But in the end, he hesitates and can't do it (In der Grüft) - even though the professor attempts to convince him to do it, for Sarah's sake.

Later, Alfred finds Sarah, attempting to persuade her to flee once again. Sarah is resolved not to go until after the ball. Alfred still doesn't understand why she doesn't want to flee, but swears to stay by her no matter what (Für Sarah).

Herbert comes close to assaulting Alfred until the professor intervenes (Wenn Liebe in dir Ist). Afterwards, Krolock shows up to gloat; he says that the professor, given his academic interest in sex, should have some ("you have to become what you study!"), and taunts Alfred, telling him that the enlightenment (and, therefore, sex) he subconsciously seeks can only be found at the castle, and that if he flees, he won't reach it.

Krolock laments that, through his cynicism and greed, he ends up destroying or "ruining" every romantic/intimate relationship he has (Die Unstillbare Gier).

At the ball, Krolock and Sarah finally Have The Sex, and he implies that the professor and Alfred are free real estate for everyone else (ouch). However, the humans manage to escape before anything happens. But, as the professor sits down to scribble down notes, Sarah takes initiative and her and Alfred Have The Sex. Alfred, to quote him, finds it "not bad at all" despite his fears. They escape into the wide world hand in hand, impliedly with the intention to have sex with lots more people agfghagfhjs, and the finale number is about how YOU (the audience) are NEXT

#tbh this wasnt needed at all as a post its just me wanting to make the point that krolock implied he'd bite alfred and kunze said #'homoeroticism? in MY musical? noooooo'#krolock actually meant it in a straight buddy way #musicals #theatre #i dont want to put this in the main tag its maybe too unhinged #ramble

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mirisss · 7 months

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Bloodbound

Vampire! Mun Junghyun x afab! human! reader

Wordcount ≈ 4.8k

Warnings: Blood, fighting, death, but still very fluffy

Genre: Vampire au, fantasy au, supernatural au,

Summary: Mun Junghyun has never truly been in love, even if has been alive for 300 years. No one has ever felt special to him. That was until he met, (Y/n). The human girl who made him feel alive. The girl who awoke a side of himself that he barely knew existed.

A Halloween special fic! Please reblog!

Bolded sentences at the start of a paragraph indicate a new chapter/a jump in time.

Third person POV

Mun Junghyun has been alive for 300 years. Or alive might be the wrong word to use. Junghyun’s a vampire. Has been for 282 years. He was bitten and turned when he was 18 years old. When he was first turned, he had to hide in the shadows, doing everything he could to not be found out. In today’s day and age, though, humans are a rarity while mystical supernatural creatures are the common norm. Through the years the supernatural creatures took over the world, with them becoming more and more common soon humans and supernaturals began falling in love and as the supernatural creatures' DNAs were stronger most children were born as supernatural creatures. Because of this, Junghyun didn’t have to worry about moving around or hiding anymore whenever it would become suspicious as to why he wasn’t aging.

Throughout his 300 years of being alive, Junghyun has never once been in love. Not even when he was still a human. All around him, he saw people falling in love left and right. He yearned to find someone who would make him feel as happy as the fairies who danced in the sky or the wolves who roamed the forest at night. He hoped and wished that he would soon stumble upon the person who would let him know how it felt to be in love and to be loved.

In the heart of Crestwood High, a place where the bustling halls echoed with teenage chatter and the scent of youth hung in the air, Junghyun found his immortal existence forever changed. His eyes met the shy gaze of an unassuming girl named (Y/n). In the midst of the bustling student body, her quiet presence was a beacon of calm amidst the storm. Her timid smile held a depth of kindness that intrigued him, and her eyes, though often cast downward, shone with an inner light that pulled at something deep within him. As he observed her from afar, he felt an inexplicable pull, an unseen force that drew him closer with each passing day.

Every stolen glance, every accidental meeting in the school library, fueled the burgeoning emotions in his undead heart. Junghyun, the three centuries-old vampire, was falling helplessly and irrevocably in love with the quiet girl who, unbeknownst to her, had rekindled the long-lost warmth in his frozen veins.

Junghyun walked into the library searching for the girl he longed to hold, though he had never truly spoken to her, he always had a deep desire to be close to her. He easily found her as his heightened senses allowed him to find her scent entangled with the scent of the books and the 78 other people in the library. As he walked into the aisle where (Y/n) stood, Junghyun smiled as he finally had a chance to speak with her. (Y/n) stood on her tiptoes trying to reach for a certain book, yet no matter how hard she tried to stretch herself, she could not reach the book. Junghyun approached her quietly, he gently reached over her head and put his hand on the book she was trying to reach.

“Is this the book that you need?” His silky voice sent a shiver down (Y/n)’s spine, yet it also brought her comfort as it was filled with warmth and care. (Y/n) turned her head and looked up at the boy who was standing behind her, she internally gasped at how beautiful the boy was. “Yes, thank you,” She whispered. Junghyun only gave her a warm smile in response as he brought the book down and handed it to the girl whose heart was beating just a little bit quicker than before. “Here you go, need any other book?” (Y/n) looked down at the floor.

(Y/n) recognized the boy in front of her now that she had a clear view of him. Mun Junghyun. A vampire. Often found around Lee Jeonghyeon, a fellow vampire, and Park Hanbin, a werewolf. (Y/n) had noticed that Junghyun often appeared at places where she would hang out, the library, and the rose garden a little east of the school’s backyard. Truth be told. She didn’t mind his company, (Y/n) often felt uneasy around most people it didn’t matter if they were human, fairy, vampire, werewolf, or anything else, but Junghyun never once made her feel scared or unsettled.

“Actually,” (Y/n) began but she stopped as she didn’t want to burden Junghyun, he probably offered out of courtesy, she thought. “Yes?” Junghyun encouraged her to continue, his smile ever so friendly. “I do have two more books I need for my literature essay. But you don’t have to help me get them, I don’t want to burden you,” “Nonsense, now which ones do you need?” Junghyun’s smile widened a bit more, happy that he found the perfect opportunity to finally speak with the girl he was so intrigued by.

(Y/n) allowed Junghyun to help her out after he gave her another persuading smile and a wink. Junghyun insisted on holding the books for her as they walked around the library searching for the books that she needed. This interaction led to the two speaking a bit more frequently, every once in a while when Junghyun showed up at the library he would sit and read beside (Y/n), or the times when he was in the rose garden when (Y/n) walked over there, they would sit by the fountain just talking about their days. Before they knew it, the two had become friends.

Junghyun yearned for an even deeper connection. He wished he could hold (Y/n) in his arms, hug her, kiss her, protect her, and show her parts of the world she didn’t know existed. Throughout his 300 years of living, he had never once felt this way about someone. He recognized some feelings as possessiveness, the feelings that told him to swoop her up and hide her away from everyone else. Junghyun never wanted to act on these feelings, though that proved to be harder than he thought.

Junghyun, despite his outgoing and kind demeanor, grappled with the innate instincts that came with his vampire nature. He was well aware of the darkness that lurked within him, the primal urges that occasionally clawed at the surface. Yet, his love for (Y/n) was a beacon of light that kept those instincts at bay. He tried his best to hold them back, fearing that if he ever let his guard down, she would be frightened by the depths of his true nature. He cherished their friendship and the connection they shared, cherishing the moments of laughter and understanding they found in each other. Every day, he fought his vampiric urges, determined to be the person she saw - the sweet, outgoing boy who made her smile. It was a constant battle, one he faced for the sake of their friendship and the burgeoning love he felt for (Y/n). And in those moments when his dark side threatened to consume him, it was the thought of her that kept him anchored, reminding him of the importance of control and the strength of their bond.

Over the course of a year, (Y/n) found herself drawn to Junghyun's kindness and gentle demeanor, his dark eyes hiding a depth of understanding that resonated with her in ways she couldn't explain. As their friendship deepened, she couldn't help but fall in love with him, captivated not just by his supernatural allure but also by the genuine connection they shared. In the library, amidst the scent of old books and the soft whisper of turning pages, their love story quietly bloomed, transcending the boundaries of their worlds. Despite their differences, they formed an unlikely friendship, bonding over their shared passion for stories and quiet moments.

One afternoon, as Junghyun and (Y/n) were about to meet in the serene rose garden behind the school, an ominous shiver crept down Junghyun's spine. His instincts, finely attuned to the darkness that lurked in the shadows, screamed at him to act immediately, warning that (Y/n) was in imminent danger. His heart raced as he felt a sense of foreboding wash over him. Without a second thought, he turned on his heels and sprinted towards the garden, propelled by an urgency he couldn't explain but dared not ignore. Every fiber of his being told him that he had to reach (Y/n) in time, to shield her from whatever sinister threat loomed ahead.

(Y/n) felt a sudden, inexplicable pang of dread grip her heart. It was as though the air had grown heavy with an unseen menace, making it hard to breathe. A shiver danced down her spine, raising goosebumps on her skin, and a sense of impending danger washed over her like a tidal wave. Confusion and fear clouded her thoughts, and her senses heightened, making every rustle of leaves and distant sound seem magnified, intensifying her anxiety. Instinctively, she clutched at her chest, her eyes widening with alarm as she scanned the garden, searching for Junghyun. The world around her seemed to blur as her eyes fell on a dark figure approaching her. She didn’t know who it was, all she knew was that it wasn’t Junghyun. A knot of unease tightened in her stomach, leaving her paralyzed with fear, unknowingly mirroring the danger Junghyun felt rushing towards her.

As Junghyun dashed into the rose garden, his heart pounded in his chest like a drum of war, each beat echoing the dread and determination that surged through him. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his eyes, normally warm and inviting, blazed with a fierce protectiveness. The sight that met his eyes struck him like a lightning bolt. There, under the fading light of the afternoon sun, (Y/n) lay unconscious, a frail figure amidst the vibrant roses. His eyes narrowed with a mix of fear and anger as he took in the scene – an unknown vampire standing over her, a sinister smirk playing on his lips.

Rage, pure and unbridled, coursed through Junghyun's veins, eclipsing his usual calm demeanor. The realization that someone dared to harm the person he cherished most awakened the primal instincts he fought so hard to control. His fangs elongated, and his nails sharpened into deadly claws. The world around him seemed to blur, his focus narrowing to the threat before him. With a feral growl, he lunged at the intruder, his movements swift and precise. Every fiber of his being screamed for retribution, demanding justice for the innocent girl lying defenseless at his feet. Junghyun's protectiveness transformed into a ferocious determination, vowing to vanquish the menace and shield (Y/n) from any harm, his love for her fueling his unwavering resolve.

Time seemed to stop as he fought the vampire who had dared harm (Y/n). Junghyun couldn’t tell how long they fought for, all he knew was that he would kill that man. He scratched, hit, kicked, and bit the man with every chance he had. The man did a number on Junghyun too, but he felt no pain, adrenaline coursing through his cold veins, all to keep (Y/n) safe. The sun had set, casting the sky into a dark blue hue as the stars began showing themselves to the world. At that time, the man finally fell without getting back up. Junghyun kneeled beside (Y/n), panting, out of breath from the fight and from the fear of losing the only girl he had ever loved.

With trembling hands and a heart heavy with fear, he gently cradled her in his arms, her fragile form a stark contrast to the fierce determination that had just fueled his fight. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks unchecked, as he looked down at her pale face, willing her to wake up, to be okay.

His voice broke into desperate, whispered pleas, his words a fervent prayer to whatever forces governed life and death. "Please, (Y/n), stay with me," he choked out, his voice raw with emotion. He pressed his lips to her forehead, his tears mingling with her skin, a silent testimony to his anguish. His grip on her tightened as if he could will his strength into her, his love and desperation pouring into her unconscious form. The world around him faded into insignificance, the only thing that mattered was the fragile heartbeat he clung to, the proof that she was still with him.

At that moment, Junghyun was no longer the supernatural being with centuries of existence; he was just a young man, pleading for the life of the girl he loved, willing to give anything, even his own existence, to ensure she would open her eyes and smile at him once more.

The world stood still for Junghyun as he held (Y/n) in his arms, his desperate pleas hanging in the air like a silent prayer. And then, just when hope seemed like a flickering candle in the dark, a faint tremor coursed through her arm, so subtle that only he, with his heightened senses, could perceive it. His heart skipped a beat as he felt the movement, his eyes widening with a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming relief.

"(Y/n)?" he whispered, his voice barely audible, his eyes fixed on her face. He gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, his touch light and tender as he searched for any sign of her returning to consciousness. The seconds felt like an eternity as he waited, his entire being hanging on the precipice of uncertainty.

And then, like the gradual dawn after a long, dark night, her eyelids fluttered open. Junghyun held his breath, his eyes locking onto hers, his heart swelling with a profound sense of gratitude. "(Y/n), you're back," he breathed, his voice breaking with emotion. At that moment, the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders, replaced by an overwhelming flood of joy and love. He cradled her face in his hands, his thumb gently brushing away the remnants of tears on her cheeks. Relief washed over him, knowing that she was awake, alive, and safe in his arms.

As (Y/n) blinked away the haze of unconsciousness, she found herself enveloped in Junghyun's warm, protective embrace. The pain, both physical and emotional, surged through her body, making her acutely aware of her fragile mortality. Despite the agony, there was a strange comfort in the fact that the boy she loved was by her side, holding her close as if he could shield her from the pain itself.

As Junghyun held (Y/n) in his arms, his grip tightened instinctively, as if trying to anchor her to the world. The weight of his emotions bore down on him, and he found himself unable to keep the words inside any longer. His voice, usually calm and composed, trembled with the intensity of his feelings.

"(Y/n)," he began, his voice soft, barely audible above the rush of his own heartbeat. He gazed into her eyes, his dark orbs reflecting a storm of emotions. "I love you," he confessed, the words hanging in the air, heavy with vulnerability. "I've loved you from the moment we met in that library. You've become my world, my reason for existing. The thought of losing you... it terrifies me beyond words. You're not just a friend to me. You're the beating of my heart, the light in my darkness. Every smile you've given me, every moment we've shared, they've become the most precious treasures of my existence."

His fingers traced the outline of her face, his touch tender as he continued, "I've been afraid to admit it, afraid that my feelings might burden you. But now, in this moment, with the possibility of losing you looming over us, I can't hold back any longer. I love you, (Y/n), with every fiber of my being. I would give anything to keep you safe, to see you smile, to hold you close. Please, stay with me. Choose to live, not just for me, but for the love that binds us, for the future we could have together. I can't imagine my eternity without you in it." His eyes, filled with unshed tears, pleaded with her, hoping she could see the depth of his love, his fear, and his desperate need for her to stay. “Let me turn you, that way, we can be together forever,”

In that moment, she gazed into Junghyun's eyes, seeing a mixture of relief, love, and an underlying sadness. His proposal hung in the air like a fragile thread, the possibility of a new life as a vampire. It was a choice that carried immense weight and consequence, and (Y/n) felt her heart race with uncertainty. The idea of immortality, of being with Junghyun forever, tugged at the corners of her mind, tempting her with the promise of eternal love.

As she considered the proposition, she realized the depth of Junghyun's devotion. In his eyes, she saw not just the fear of losing her but also a profound desire to share eternity together, to protect her from the passage of time and the inevitable pains of mortal life. It was a choice that would bind them in ways she could scarcely comprehend, a decision that held both the allure of everlasting love and the weight of a life irrevocably changed. In that moment of pain and love, (Y/n) found herself torn between the life she knew and the unknown, the boy she loved, and the unending night that lay ahead.

With her remaining strength, (Y/n) mustered the energy to look into Junghyun's eyes, her own filled with a mixture of love, fear, and acceptance. Every fiber of her being screamed in protest, her body growing numb as her lungs fought for air. Despite the overwhelming pain, she summoned the last ounces of her strength, her lips trembling as she whispered, "Junghyun, I love you too."

The words, though weak, carried a weight of determination and affection that resonated in the quiet space between them. It was a declaration of love, a promise of eternity, and a plea for him to understand the depth of her feelings. In that moment, she clung to the love they shared, using it as a lifeline, a beacon of hope in the darkness that threatened to consume her. With her final breath, she poured all her love into those words, hoping he would carry her love with him, even as she faced the unknown.

With (Y/n)'s heartfelt declaration of love hanging in the air, Junghyun's eyes glimmered with a mixture of determination and desperation. At that moment, he felt the weight of her words, the depth of their connection, and the urgency of the situation. Without a second thought, he bared his fangs, his vampiric instincts taking over as he pressed his lips to her neck.

He bit down, his fangs sinking into her skin. As her life essence flowed into him, he closed his eyes, focusing all his strength and willpower on the transformation. Time seemed to stretch, every second feeling like an eternity as he willed the process to be successful. He murmured words of love against her skin, his breath mingling with the scent of her blood, a fervent prayer for the universe to grant them this chance at eternity.

He wished with every fiber of his being that he had managed to turn her in time, to bind her fate to his and grant her the immortality he possessed. He held onto the hope that their love, pure and unwavering, would be enough to guide her through the threshold between life and undeath, forever intertwining their destinies in the darkness.

The transformation would take hours until it was fully complete, Junghyun gently lifted (Y/n) into his arms as he began walking to his apartment. He couldn’t keep her out there in the cold night to heal, no it would be better for her to be somewhere comfortable.

With great care, Junghyun cradled the unconscious (Y/n) in his arms, her fragile form a stark contrast to his supernatural strength. With determined steps, he carried her to his apartment, a place where he felt the most secure, hoping it would offer her the comfort and safety she needed to heal.

Entering his apartment, he laid her down on a soft, plush couch, gently arranging her limbs to ensure she was as comfortable as possible. The dim light cast a soft glow over the room, creating a serene atmosphere amidst the shadows. Junghyun moved quietly, his every action careful and deliberate, his focus entirely on her well-being.

He fetched clean, soft blankets, covering her with a gentle touch, tucking her in as if shielding her from the world's harsh realities. Nearby, he set up a chair, vowing to keep a vigilant watch over her as she rested. The air in the apartment was filled with a mix of anticipation and worry, Junghyun's eyes never leaving her face as he waited for any sign of her awakening.

When (Y/n) finally stirred, her eyes fluttering open in the soft light of Junghyun's apartment, his heart leaped with relief. The exhaustion that had etched lines of worry on his face instantly melted away, replaced by a profound sense of gratitude and joy. His eyes, normally so composed, glimmered with emotion as he watched her regain consciousness.

"(Y/n)," he breathed, his voice barely more than a whisper, filled with a mixture of tenderness and awe. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek as if assuring himself that she was truly awake and safe. "You're awake," he said, a soft smile playing on his lips, his voice filled with overwhelming relief. He carefully helped her sit up, his touch gentle yet reassuring, his eyes never leaving her face.

"You had me so worried," he admitted, his voice laced with vulnerability. "I thought I had lost you. I'm just... I'm so glad you're okay." His words were filled with sincerity, his relief palpable as he held her hand in his as if grounding himself in the reality of her presence. The depth of his feelings for her was laid bare, his love shining through his eyes like a beacon in the dark.

Confusion flickered in (Y/n)’s eyes as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. The last thing she remembered was the pain, the darkness closing in, and now she found herself in this unfamiliar yet strangely comforting place.

"Where... where am I?" she murmured, her voice barely audible, her gaze shifting around the room before finally settling on Junghyun. His face, etched with relief and worry, came into focus, and her eyes widened with recognition. There was a flicker of familiarity, a sense of trust that made her heart race.

"You're in my apartment," Junghyun said gently, his voice a soothing balm to her disoriented mind. "You passed out, and I brought you here to help you heal."

She instinctively touched her neck, expecting to feel pain, but there was only a dull ache. Confusion clouded her eyes as she spoke, her voice laced with a mix of awe and bewilderment, "But... how am I here? I remember... I remember feeling like I was dying."

Junghyun hesitated for a moment before he took a deep breath, his eyes searching hers. "I turned you," he confessed, his tone soft but laden with a weighty truth. "I couldn't bear to lose you. I wanted to save you."

(Y/n)'s eyes widened in astonishment, her hand trembling as she tried to comprehend the enormity of his revelation. The realization dawned on her that she was no longer human, that she had crossed a threshold into a life she hadn't chosen. A whirlwind of emotions – fear, curiosity, and gratitude – surged within her. She looked at Junghyun, a mix of confusion and acceptance in her eyes, as she whispered, "Thank you... for saving me."

In the days that followed, (Y/n) remained in Junghyun's apartment, her new sanctuary and training ground as she adjusted to her newfound existence. Under Junghyun's patient guidance, she learned the intricacies of being a vampire: the heightened senses, the strength that now flowed through her veins, and the insatiable thirst for blood that required delicate control. It was a challenging journey, filled with moments of frustration and temptation, but Junghyun was there every step of the way, offering his wisdom and support.

Junghyun taught her the importance of restraint, helping her hone her abilities and keep her instincts in check. As the days passed, (Y/n) grew stronger and more confident, her bond with Junghyun deepening with each shared experience.

Yet, amid the challenges, there were moments of unexpected beauty. Junghyun showed her the wonders of the night, the hidden corners of the city where vampires roamed freely, unseen by prying eyes. They explored the world together, embracing the darkness as their shared realm, finding solace in the understanding that only they could truly comprehend.

In those quiet moments, (Y/n) also discovered the depth of Junghyun's love. He was not just her mentor but her confidant, her rock in the storm of her new life. His unwavering belief in her, his ability to see the human within her vampire form, reassured her in ways she couldn't explain. Their connection became a source of strength, a testament to the power of love in the face of the unknown.

As the nights turned into weeks, (Y/n) found herself not just surviving but thriving in her new existence, with Junghyun by her side, guiding her with a steady hand and a heart full of devotion. Together, they embraced the eternal night, finding comfort and purpose in the shared journey of two souls bound by an immortal love.

The night was quiet, the world outside Junghyun's apartment shrouded in a gentle darkness. A soft, silvery glow from the moon spilled into the room, casting intricate patterns across the walls. (Y/n) and Junghyun stood facing each other, their eyes locked in a moment that felt suspended in time. The air was charged with an unspoken intensity, a mingling of anticipation and nervous energy.

Junghyun's fingers brushed against (Y/n)'s cheek, his touch feather-light, as if he was afraid she might vanish if he pressed too hard. His eyes, deep and intense, searched hers for permission, for a sign that she was ready for this next step in their relationship. (Y/n) met his gaze with a mixture of curiosity and affection, her heart fluttering in her chest like a caged bird yearning to be set free.

With a barely audible sigh, Junghyun closed the distance between them, his lips soft and warm as they met hers in a tender, hesitant kiss. It was a moment of exquisite vulnerability, a shared exploration of unspoken emotions. Their lips moved together, a gentle dance of longing and affection, conveying what words could not.

Time seemed to stand still as they kissed, the world outside fading into insignificance. It was their first taste of intimacy, a moment of connection that transcended the boundaries of the physical world. In that kiss, they shared not just their passion but the depth of their emotions, a silent promise of love and understanding that would guide them through the eternity that lay ahead.

As they finally broke the kiss, their eyes met once more, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. It was more than a kiss; it was a declaration of their love, a promise to stand by each other in the endless nights to come. In that quiet moment, their hearts spoke volumes, sealing their bond in a way that words could never capture. Bloodbound for eternity.

#evnne #evnne x reader #evnne imagines #evnne oneshots #evnne fluff #mirisss #mun junghyun #mun junghyun x reader #vampire au #vampire mun junghyun #evnne au #mun junghyun x afab! reader #evnne junghyun x reader #evnne junghyun #evnne munjung #munjung x reader #evnne imagine #evnne fic #halloween special

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