#“all vampires are born out of trauma”

[gabriestat]

the scene where daniel makes armand apologize for what happened to him during san francisco and armand sees as a bigger issue that he erased his memory than the whole beating him up and keeping him locked for almost a week in that apartment + how it connects with what daniel says about syntax and the impersonal pronoun 'one' that vampires use as a way of despersonalization...essays could be written about that scene let alone

[the-crooked-library]

IWTV characters are so real to me. my personality disorder has also caused me more angst and problems than my queerness ever did. the queerness is still a major theme though

[canihaveacalmtime]

Vampires like you weren't very preferable in society, to say the least. Humans and vampires have been in a pretty much not so good terms with each other for centuries, after a certain war where vampires lost, the vampires lost their place in society and have to submit to the humans.

So in order for you to survive, after gotten adopted to a human family, you try your best to 'be human' even though it is impossible, or that's what every vampire said.

Your adoptive family loves you as you return their favor by assist everyone in the household with anything that you can do. You know that what you're doing isn't really enough but sooner or later, you'll have to leave as you can not keep up with the act much more longer.

Before that day comes, you try your best to bring others the most happiest times you can. You listen to their stories and feelings, you decorate and make the atmosphere more cozy for them, you bond the siblings together more and make your adoptive parents smile more.

You also make sure that you can part yourself away from them more and more by time so that when you go, they wouldn't take notice.

Well that plan of yours soon failed when your siblings confronted you about your real identity during a late night talk. Your face went pale and time feels like frozen for you, even though your siblings said that it's alright, you were backing away from them and even attempted to jump out of the window to your siblings' horrified.

If your brother didn't held you back in time and knock you out to calm you down, you'd have gotten yourself hurt.

Your family knew you were a vampire after the few first weeks you were adopted. It was kind of obvious because you never really go outside and tend to use wood things and avoid silver. Even though they knew and was very wary of you at first, you're just a child trying to survive, clearly.

You don't hate humans, you never really did, all your life, your only goal was to survive and try to have a good life and not have to worry about being hunt by the vampire hunters or other humans.

They begin truly seeing you as their youngest and taking care of you like you were their own child and sibling. They get really amused whenever you accidentally drop your human act and pretend that they didn't notice anything, they thought that their bond with you is enough to finally tell you the truth but even though they thought that they knew you, they only knew you now, not your past or what you've seen before you were adopted.

Your reaction when they confronted you said it all. You were scared, scared that if they knew, all the torture that the other vampires went through will happen to you too and your inner traumas were born from those fears.

After the thing happened, you were scared for your life, you try to do more escape attempts but they stopped you every time. As you isolated yourself in your room, each time they burst into the room to try and get you out to eat, you refused to even go near them let alone have appetite.

It was only when they decided to use your fears against you to convince you to feed on them for blood and won't have you starve to death, you give in.

You were feeding on your mother's neck and sobbing slightly while she carries you in her arms, comforting you, telling you that it's okay, that they won't hurt you...

...as long as you don't leave them.

[sophsun1]

All vampires are born out of trauma.

Interview With The Vampire (2022-)

[ivyithink]

all vampires are born out of trauma

[pastel-greene]

The Daughter | king!sukuna x curse user!reader

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Summary: The mother of curses happens upon a blind child and decides to impart a portion of her power to them as an experiment of sorts. The power morphs the child in their image until they are part curse and part human. So what happens when they get employed by the King of Curses? Will humanity bloom as newfound emotions flow between the two? Or will they usher in an era of never ending terror?

Notes: not all of this will be canon, it will be loosely based off of the jjk universe :) taglist is open, comment on any chapter to be tagged in future ones

Genre: female reader, fluff, angst, ‘loads’ of smut, violence, sukuna true form but like not with the weird face lmao just double set of eyes and arms, dark reader

Warnings: profanity, explicit smut (two dick sukuna, sadistic sex, biting, oral m & f receiving, pet names, more to be added), violence, depictions of gore, dark minds cause yk, mentions of rape, toxic relationships, chaotic neutral reader, trauma, possessiveness from reader and sukuna, torture, vampire themes (reader’s blood is infused with the Mother of curses so if a curse user is to drink it it basically gives them a temporary stat boost bc what can i say vampire sukuna seems hot), and more to be added as story progresses

Word count: 1.4k

This work contains mature content, so absolutely no minors I will block you if I find out :)

The battlefield roars around her as she lets out a feral laugh. The scent of blood bathes her skin as enemies around her burst at their seams as if allergic to their own viscera. Her power curls around her in dark tendrils, shadowy mist traveling from her feet and from it monstrosities spawn. From her being they are born, from her existence cursed energy sprawls damning the world. Humans and socerers alike flood to exterminate her like the blight she is, but their hatred and fear only makes her stronger. Their infected emotions only allow her entry into their minds, allow her new hosts for her children. With each minute, more and more of them succumb to the sickness and from their corpses new curses rise and fight. She is the unending threat, the undying plague, the Mother of Curses.

This was her life for an uncountable number of millenia for her existence started with the creation of light, for light could not exist with darkness. A life full of death, misery, and sadistic pleasure. That was until, she fell in love with a human. Not in a romantic sense, but in a maternal sense. It happened after a particularly interesting battle with a man donning white hair and crystal blue eyes. His technique and mastery over cursed energy was a sight she never expected. It left her more wounded than she had ever been. Of course, she wouldn’t die from it, but it still hurt like hell. So she found herself stumbling across the snowy expanse and upon a run down hut. It was warm and smelled of a hearty soup begging to calm her ailments. She approached the hut with little trepidation and swung the door open ready to evict whoever was inside, but she didn’t see anyone. She stepped further in and looked around but the place was empty. A trap perhaps? She thought. But where is the trapper? Is the food meant to lure victims in only to poison them? She again stepped further into the abode, further towards the food, but she sensed a presence. It seemed to lurch from nowhere straight towards her. She turned quicker than the being could register and grabbed them by the collar of their shirt and held them up.

“Let me go you you thieving piece of shit before I strangle you with your own damn innards, add you to the fucking stew, and drink it through your hollowed out eye sockets!”

….before you what? The mother of curses had never heard such a threat to her. Never heard something as unhinged and quite frankly gross as that, especially from what seemed to be a child. Yes, a child it was, one with white hair and eyes to match.

”What are you fucking deaf? Unhand me and get the fuck out!”

The Mother of Curses started laughing as she moved her hand to grab the child by the jaw, her shadows unarming the girl of the knife she thrashed throughout the air. Defiance sat on the child's face as she spat right on the Mother. Ohhh you are so fucking close to dying. You think being made into stew is bad? Just you fucking wait. I will show you the true reaches of pain. Up came the Mother’s free hand to wipe the spit off of her face before using the girl’s hair to dry it off. Then went her finger into the girl’s skull. A strangled scream ripped from her and she writhed in plea of escape.

Within her mind was vile. Her memories were dark scapes filled with throat wrenching smells and unknown touches. Her fear of being touched without being able to see stained each and every rotten corner of her mind. But as the Mother dug deeper, she could make out silhouettes, each with a different feeling. The child had learned to feel people’s energy and had used that to navigate.

That must be how she sensed me coming. And knowing she can sense other’s energies means that she can probably sense her own. Which would explain why I didn’t sense her at first because she has most likely learned to mute her presence altogether. Cheeky little assassin, yeah?

In her memories the Mother feels and smells a very familiar substance—blood. She pulls herself towards the memory drenched in it. A memory of the girl’s first kill. It starts with screams and sobs overpowered by hungry laughs and hands. It wasn’t the first time the girl had been in this predicament, but this time is what changed her. Something in her snapped and all of the beauty made by the Mother herself started pouring into the girl. Strength she hadn’t known before surged through her body and before she knew it her hands were slicing through people like butter. Now it was her hungry laugh drowning out their screams and sobs. Some pleaded which only earned them an audience with her teeth as a wicked smile pulled back her lips to introduce them. Into flesh they sank, blood pouring down her face and throat and dousing the room as she ripped back. A feral beast finally liberated from its cage.

The Mother had originally intended to pump her with cursed energy until she popped, but another idea came into her head. She decided to add onto the cursed energy the girl already possessed but not to kill her. To enhance her. To make her a spawn of the Mother of curses in human form. Her proven survival instinct and bloodlust were promising aspects for a spawn and her cooking smelled decent enough that she could at least cook for her if nothing else. The girl’s writhing calmed down as she felt the power flowing into her. Everything felt as if it was exploding inside her as her very makeup was being altered. Her bones grew denser, her blood grew richer, her muscles grew stronger, her hair grew darker until only a section of the light remained, and within her eyes bloomed irises of blood.

The Mother withdrew her finger and released the girl to collapse on the floor as she headed towards a pile of blankets in the corner. Her state haggard after parting with energy after being in such a state already. The girl sat there on her knees looking at her hands.

”You are going to overcook the soup. Hurry and serve it already,” she said whilst stretching out her legs under the small covers.

The girl looked back towards her, finally seeing the mask that hid the bone chilling aura she felt. She stared for a long minute before getting up and pouring the woman a bowl of her soup. She continued to stare at many things as she ate, things she had never seen before. It was beautiful. She would have cried if her intruder was not still present.

From that day on, the Mother stayed in that little run down abode with the girl. Teaching her how to use her new body, showing her the secrets to her ever growing powers. It was something the Mother never saw herself doing, but an experiment that had her shaking with anticipation. She had started to consider what it would be like to withdraw to her domain and leave her spawn behind to rule. She wanted to see the chaos that would ensue without her, wanted to see what curses would be born from a human with her powers. Someone with a different mind, someone hardwired differently. She knew her curses would always be stronger, but would hers be more adaptable? The Mother knew nature would create stronger sorcerers like that white haired prick, so she knew curses would need to evolve as well. They needed to possess intelligence as well as strength, needed to be able to amass followings behind them.

For this to happen, the Mother kicked the girl out of her own house 10 years after their meeting and out into the world on her 18th birthday. Most children would have screamed and cried, but she was excited. She knew from the past how to get by and figured if she could do it blind and basically powerless, that it would be exponentially easier now. She bowed to her Mother as they laid their hands on her.

“Show me you are worthy of my blessings. Make the heaven’s weep at your monstrosities and the realm beg for your pardon. Make me proud or take this dagger and bury it in your heart,” the Mother said with her usual smile as she unveiled her final present to the girl. The girl looked at the gift in awe as she took it into her hands.

“Don’t worry Mother, I will make you prouder than you can ever imagine.”

Notes: ahh hehe my writing is so rusty but I am really excited to write this idea. Updates should be (relatively?) frequent and I am determined to finish it lol. The following chapters will be told in first-person with (Y/N) tags. Canon in this story is that the reader has mostly black hair with only a small white section left and their irises are blood red. Going forward though I will use (h/c) and (e/c) so that it can suite whatever you want for your reading purposes. I hope you all have a wonderful day, see you in the next one muahhh~

[justporo]

My new bestie, I honestly would love to see you write Father!Astarion 🤤🤤

How would he react to the news? Would he want a little girl or boy? How would he react when they are born, and they look just like him, but pre vamp eyes?

(Vampires can sire babies, with the highest chance after they are fully well fed)

Hello my tadpole bestie and thanks for the request! Astarion as a father really seems to be on people's minds, hm?

I get it, I like it too, but let me put this out there (yeah yeah, I know it's all fictional, but let's be real for a second): I would much rather imagine this when Astarion has done some much needed healing. This man hasn't had autonomy in two centuries and really needs to find himself again and work through trauma - with Tav on his side of course. And children are a huge responsibility - mentally, physically, emotionally, financially - I imagine (I wouldn't know, I'm not a parent...). I'd really wish for him to be ready for something like that.

But the thought is incredibly sweet, so let's go:

Headcanons about Astarion being a father

When Tav tells him she's expecting, he's truly speechless for perhaps the first time in his life; and then he can't sit still: swinging from delusionally happy to overthinking and being worried; but Tav takes his hand and reassures him that they'll be in it together

Has he thought about having kids? Yeah sure, but he'd never thought of it being possible until it happened, although when Cazador forced him and the other spawn to behave like a family he'd sometimes thought about what could've been

He's absolutely overprotective when Tav's pregnant: "Oh no, no, darling, you are not carrying that around, think of the baby!" "Astarion, it's A MUG OF WATER!"

Also he adores her body that is creating such a miracle: "You're glowing, my heart. You are truly a goddess!"

If he was handsy before there are now no moments where his hands aren't on Tav's body and on her belly

When he feels the first movements, he cries, and then Tav cries and then there's just a fountain of happy tears and lots of "I love you"s

He's taking such good care of Tav; especially when she doesn't feel well or when she's exhausted - she'll get all the herbal teas and massages

Birth though is scary - for both of them; but I'm sure he'll have some friends by his side (because think about the adventure troupe waiting with him while he's pacing the room like a panther: Karlach's biting her nails off, Gale's just blabbering to distract himself, Shadowheart is praying for everything to go well, Wyll tries to calm Astarion down (unsuccessfully), Lae'zel is unusually silent with crossed arms hoping everything will be okay, Halsin's keeping the group fed and all because "Nature will make it all right")

Boy or girl? Doesn't matter at all, all that's important is that Tav and the baby are healthy and ready to receive all his love

First time holding his child - he can't even cry because it's such a miracle; "This... this is the best thing I've ever had and created!"

The tears come later when you're alone - just the three of you

He's absolutely a very loving father, caring so much about his kid - and also equally taking on responsibilities and care with Tav

When the kid's eyes become their real colour and it sparks a memory Astarion had long forgotten, he's too stunned to acknowledge what he's seeing: the kid has his eyes - the way they were before he was turned

Later, when the child's already a little bigger he loves to show them stuff, teach them, read to them; also inciting them to go and annoy Mom - which makes Tav want to push him off a cliff but also hug him to death - because who'd have thought it would ever be possible?

Alright alright - I've gotten almost off the rails with this one. Because honestly, there's a lot to imagine there. Also maybe I wasn't prepared for the things that would make me feel (and I don't mean baby fever).

Alright, hope you enjoyed this headcanons, time for me to go to bed!

[thot-writes]

i just posted art of my werewolf tav & astarion so y’know what?? take this fic to go along w it. what would astarion/the gang do if u were a lil werewolf (i did not mean for it to get this long lol)

your vampire not-quite-boyfriend + the gang find out you’re a cheeky little pup (act i post-grove);

Lycanthropy wasn’t something you were born into like some. No, like most others bearing the curse you were infected with it. The transformation process was an excruciating, torturous one that is still branded into your very bones.

The bloodlust festers in you, day and night, like a splinter that’s burrowed too deep for you to dig out. It calls for you to rip, tear, dominate— kill. But you can suppress it. Mostly. You refuse to be one of the many werewolves that is controlled only by their base instincts.

But every full moon the beast blood takes you completely, and you have no choice but to transform. You never remember the night after you’ve turned back. Only brief snippets of red, pain, and fur.

Despite not tracking the stars, you can normally tell when a full moon’s coming because your body begins to ache, preparing itself to split open to birth the savage wolf that slumbers within. Usually you’d start your preparations to restrain yourself, to limit the carnage as much as possible.

But these aren’t usual times.

Three weeks ago you were captured from your home by mind flayers and infected with a tadpole, your entire world turned inside out with stranger things happening every day.

You now travel with a Sharran, a githyanki, two ticking time-bombs, a warlock, and a vampire.

One of their spawn, at least. It’s a good thing that in Faerûn, vampires and lycanthropes tend to be neutral towards each other — unlike what the romance novels would have you believe. Otherwise it’d make the regular sex you’re having with Astarion quite awkward.

You’d think that knowing all the sordid details about your travelling companions would bid you to confess your lycanthropy, but you could never find a way to bring it up.

Or, more accurately, you could bring it up you just didn’t want to. Not necessarily out of trauma, just convenience on your part. Confessing lycanthropy normally comes with questions, and the way you were turned is… kind of embarrassing, so you’re never keen to retell it.

But tonight, the moon will tell everyone for you. if you don’t get out in time.

The whole day your blood hammered in your flesh, your head splitting apart in a horrific headache and your bones feeling as if they could break and reshape at any moment. You lied to your companions, insisted you must’ve just drank too much last night at camp, and they bought it. Kind of. You hope.

You retired early for the day and whilst the others lounge about the camp you’re near biting your fingers off in uneasy anticipation of what’s to come. You need an excuse— any excuse to get the fuck out of here before the moon fully rises. You think you have an hour at most before you’re no longer you.

“My, but you’ve been looking ill all day, [Name]. I don’t recall you drinking that much last night.”

You almost jump out of your skin. Your heightened senses of smell and hearing usually help in preventing unpleasant surprises, but not today, not when you’re so on-edge. It was Astarion’s lilted voice that called from behind you. A sweet tune you’re all-too-happy to hear, in regular circumstances.

He gazes at you with that hard-to-read gleam in his eyes. The kind of gleam where you’re not sure if it’s because he knows something, is hiding something, or wants to tease you. You manage a shaky smile in response.

“You weren’t with me the whole night, Astarion. We slept separately,” you attempt.

“That night anyway,” he adds with a pretty little grin on his lips. You notice his gaze flickering over your body. “So you’re saying after I drank from you, you… what? Went back to your tent for some late-night binge drinking? Not that I’m surprised, you seem the type, but even still. Your hangover looks particularly… aggressive.”

You throw your hands up in an exaggerated shrug. “What, are you gonna throw an intervention for me? Gonna beat me up? Write me a letter about how much my drinking affects you?”

He chuckles. “Oh please, as if I care that much. I’m just saying that you seem a little sicker than alcohol would leave you.” He gasps, then presses a hand to his face. “What if you were poisoned? By someone in this very camp? How scandalous! My money’s on the gith.”

“If I was poisoned my money’s on you bitch.”

A grin. He always seems to smile so much in your presence. You wonder how much is real. You wonder if you’re overthinking it, or if you smile just as much as he does.

You’re ripped away from your thoughts as a terrible pain grips you. It takes all your strength not to double over right there— you’ve already drawn too much scrutiny, you don’t want more. You squeeze your eyes shut and hold your trembling hands still as the curse makes itself known. The pain you experience in transforming is what you’d imagine childbirth to be — if you gave birth to a baby out of every pore. You’ve only had this curse a scant few years, how have people managed to live entire lives with it?

Astarion notices your struggle. He tilts his head and looks on. “You really do seem like you’ve been poisoned. Or at least I hope that’s all it is. If you’re sick then I’m afraid you’ll be sleeping alone for a while longer yet, pup. I don’t want… whatever that is.”

You grit your teeth to prevent a cry. “I’m fi—iine!” you grunt. The pain lapses for a moment, this is your chance to leave. “I just— I have—uhh— really bad diarrhoea!”

“What?”

You make a show of holding your stomach and slouching. “Oh man it’s soooo bad right now, I’m probably gonna be shitting up a storm in the forest all night!”

“Gods above, please… spare me the details. Just go.” Astarion waves you off and grimaces at the mental image you’ve conjured for him.

“Okay, I better go have violent diarrhoea everywhere in the forest now— don’t follow me! Don’t look for me! Don’t let anyone look for me! I gotta go, goodnight! Don’t look for me!”

You give him no time to answer as you sprint into the wilderness. Your heart is hammering and your pulse quickening. You feel you only have a few more minutes until…

A scream escapes you before you can stop it, your skin is starting to bulge and split, revealing [colour] fur beneath it. No— not now, you’re still too close to camp— just hold on a little longer.

You gather all the strength you have, which is more than usual with the wolf so near, and run.

-

You’re deep in the wild now. Your screams are more frequent, your body produces sickening crunching sounds as the wolf starts its escape. You collapse to the forest floor, writhing in abject agony as your body tears itself apart. Transforming like this only ever takes a few minutes, but it always feels so infinitely long.

Soon your cries morph into a pained howl, and the birthing process is complete. Your mind has now been banished to the darkest recesses of you, and in its place is a beast.

It’s a blur each time you’re turned like this. When it’s of your own volition the process is simpler, quicker— though no less painful. You can maintain control if you focus hard enough. But the forced transformations are a different experience entirely. There is no control, only hunger. Only fangs, claws, and a deep, insatiable yearning for prey.

Astarion did as you asked. He didn’t search for you, not even when he heard that first scream. The thought of walking in on you… projectile excreting was enough of a deterrent to stay his curiosity.

But hours have passed since then. He couldn’t hear you, there was only quiet. When Gale asked where you were, he simply said you had taken ill. But now Astarion was the only one left awake, and there was still no sign of you.

You had been acting off all day. He didn’t believe it was simply a hangover, he’d seen many in his lifetime but they never caused anyone to disappear into the woods. As far as he knew.

But then… what was this odd subtle tightness settling in his chest? The thought that maybe something had happened to you, and you were no longer safe?

Could it possibly be that he was… worried about you?

He shakes his head. No, of course not. You’re nothing more than a target, a meat shield for if and when things go wrong. He didn’t have any feelings towards you, and certainly not enough to worry.

Astarion stays awake. Not for you, of course— perish the thought— he just wanted to get more reading done. Obviously.

Another hour passes.

Then one more.

Still nothing.

He’s coursing with anxious energy now and gets to his feet. What if you’d been turned into a mindflayer? What would that mean for the rest of them? Because of course it was his own well-being he was concerned for— definitely not yours!

He goes to the tent nearest to him, Lae’zel’s, and shakes her awake.

She grunts and sits up. “Chk, what is it Astarion? Why have you disturbed me?”

“[Name] still hasn’t returned, and dawn’s almost here,” he answers. His voice is a little shaky, but it’s probably because he’s a bit cold. “We should try to find them.”

Lae’zel nods curtly and begins to rise. She slings her sword over her back and says to Astarion, “Wake the others. If [Name] has become ghaik, we will need to put them down.”

A knot forms in his stomach as he turns to rouse the others. He finds himself hoping you haven’t been transformed— then quickly catches himself and buries the feeling.

He wakes them and explains the situation, and the group splits off into pairs to search for you; Wyll and Karlach, Shadowheart and Gale, Lae’zel and Astarion.

One would think someone with your supposed illness would be leaving… traces. But there’s nothing. It was almost like you’d just vanished— until Karlach had found your clothes. There was no blood on them, no damage, no filth (at least no more than usual).

The search continues.

Dawn isn’t far. Just a little longer.

As Astarion and Lae’zel scout together, he catches a whiff of blood in the distance. Animal blood, certainly. But it seems like… a lot. He notifies Lae’zel and they follow the scent, only to come across a mauled boar carcass. It’s practically been reduced to a puddle with how much carnage was heaved upon it, and what’s more…

There’s massive paw prints in the dirt. Soaked in the blood of the boar. Could this creature have hunted you? Is that why you never returned?

They alert the others and follow the tracks, along the way finding great claw marks in the trunks of the trees, various piles of viscera from unfortunate beasts, and small patches of fur. Fur the exact same colour as your hair…

The tracks lead to a small clearing in the forest, and in the middle of said clearing is… you.

Well, not you-you, but the hunkering direwolf-humanoid you turned into.

You’re crouched down, curled into a ball as your mind rends itself in twain. As dawn approaches, so too do your senses begin to return, but the wolf is not ready to relinquish control — it never is. The two of you battle for dominance in a silent struggle, ignorant to the group surrounding you from the trees.

Your werewolf self is a grotesque, fearsome thing, even as you’re lurching in pain. Your fur is an exact match of your natural hair colour, as are your eyes, even though in this form they’re clouded in rage and hunger. If you were stood upright, they’d see how you reached just over nine feet tall, how your hands and paws were lined with razor-sharp claws. Even as pathetic as you are in your current state, you’re still no creature to be trifled with.

Shadowheart steels herself as Lae’zel raises her sword high, prepared to strike you while you’re distracted.

“Abomination,” she spits, venom heavy on her tongue. “Lurk in these woods no longer, you die by my hand.”

She brings the blade down in a wide crescent motion, and you barely move out of the way in time. She’s managed to cut you, but you’re lucky to have missed the brunt of the attack.

You leap away from Lae’zel only to move into Karlach’s range of attack. She strikes you with her battleaxe and you roar as it slices into the skin of your back. Your wound quickly heals, and you spin around to swing a clawed hand in her direction. Your fist meets her side, and she’s flung feet away.

The group— your group— begins their surprisingly well-orchestrated assault, and it becomes clear that, as strong as you are, you cannot hold out for long. Not against all of them. Probably not even against half of them.

But the gods sometimes grant small mercies. The sun finally breaks, the Dawnlord’s radiance has weakened the wolf’s chokehold on you, and you stumble backwards. Your body begins to rapidly decay and break apart, and the others step back and watch the spectacle cautiously.

In less than a minute, the vicious wolf you were has become naught but gore, and underneath is your naked body, soaked in blood.

“What the fuck— [Name]?! I’m not seeing things am I? Tell me I’m not seeing things!” Karlach exclaims, suddenly overcome with guilt at having tried to kill you.

Gale watches in resignation as you limp, holding your beaten and broken body. “You’re not. That’s our [Name], alright. A lycanthrope... What a shock.” Because of course the group can’t have one normal person, can it?

Astarion is simultaneously the most and least surprised at this revelation. “So you’re telling me this entire time I’ve been sleeping with a werewolf? Ugh, there’s a joke about giving a dog a bone in there somewhere, but I’m too tired to think of it.”

You collapse, exhaustion claiming your mind after a long, blood-filled night.

-

When you awake a couple hours later, you find you’re tucked in your bedroll, wounds tended to and dressed once again. How did you get here, you wonder? You leave your tent to find your friends waiting around in a circle by the long-dead fire.

Astarion’s the first to notice you. “Ah, darling, you’re finally awake! I don’t suppose you’d be up for a little chat, would you? I believe we’re owed an explanation.”

You freeze. An explanation for what? Did they find you and take you back here? Do they know what you are?

You don’t have to wait long for an answer.

“After everything we’ve been through, travelling together these last few weeks, I’d have thought we developed enough trust between us. But apparently not.” Gale pauses, then looks you in the eyes. “Why did you hide what you are from us?”

“This fuckin’ world is so fucked up,” you say, folding your arms and scrunching your face. “We got two people with bombs in their chests and a guy who drinks blood but because I turn into a rabid dog once a month I’m the bad guy, really?”

“We’re not saying you’re a bad guy, we’re wondering why you didn’t trust us!” Karlach protests. “We’re supposed to be friends aren’t we?”

You frown a little and slump your shoulders. “We are friends. But we’re already dealing with sooo much bullshit I just thought it’d be better if I dealt with it myself, y’know. I mean it’s not like you can help me with it anyway, cures are hard to find and lycanthropy isn’t as bad as tadpoles and orbs and devils.”

“I’m fine with your condition [Name], so long as you don’t transform in front of me, that is,” Shadowheart chimes. “But aside from that… that wolf form seemed quite formidable. Perhaps we can make use of it, now that we know.”

Astarion claps his hands excitedly. “Oh yes! I’d love to see that! Werewolves can be quite vicious you know, always good fun to see the hounds on a hunt.”

Shadowheart turns to him. “You’re not mad that your lover’s a werewolf, Astarion? I’d have thought you’d be more upset, as a vampire and all.”

He rests a hand on his hip and half heartedly inspects his nails. “Oh please, werewolves and vampires are just as likely to be allies as they are to be enemies. Cazador has had so many wolf pets over the years, I suppose it was only a matter of time until I got my own.”

“You’ve got it ass-backwards Astarion, if anything you’re my pet vampire,” you tease.

“How dare you! Here I thought puppies were supposed to be cute and obedient,” he cries in mock offence.

“Says the one who gets on all fours for a dog—”

Gale clears his throat loudly and claps his hands. “Ahem! Alright, now that that’s settled, I hope there won’t be anymore surprise revelations about the members of our group. Gods know we have more than enough of them to last a lifetime. Shall we get on? We have a long day ahead.”

It’s of a great relief to you that they didn’t ask too many questions, though you somehow suspect you’ll be telling them the humiliating story of your infection someday soon. In such a short time, you’ve grown fond of your new friends, and even fonder for a certain vampire…

And you’re sure you have a long, long road ahead of you yet.

[glitteryinknotes]

Astarion & his life before Cazador

After seeing a few different takes on it, my thoughts have been circling around Astarion's pre - vampiric life and what it must have been like to shape him into the person we know, behind the trauma and his attempts to hide the truth of his feelings and vulnerability inside him.

After days of musings, I've tried to gather my thoughts into a single analysis of a sort, both on his general mindset and his life as the person buried in the graveyard as Astarion Ancunin.

What can be said - disappointing as it is - is that in his life he most likely was what can be tactfully referred to as "an asshole". He held a magistrate's position, but most likely didn't give a damn about anything other than luxuries this position provided him with and the life of utter debauchery he was given on a silver plate. I don't think he's ever had to really fend for anything nor work towards anything, or deal with any kind of problems either on personal or any other level. What's worse - he probably had his part in some form of severe oppression of the common people, otherwise why would he get jumped and beaten to death (his attackers clearly aimed for his death, not just a lesson to be taught) in his own city.

(I would like to mark at that point that my further thoughts are not an excuse for him being a shitty person. If he was a dick indeed, that's on him)

Astarion is, fundamentally, as others have pointed out before me, a rather selfish person - or more specifically, self - absorbed to the point of selfishness. That's one of his core vices.

However.

He isn't an evil person either. He is capable of compassion and taking interest in other people. He is fiercely loyal to those he loves (that being Tav) and capable of consideration, pride and joy for those he considers friends. He is very slow to trust (understandably so) or accept kindness - but once he does, he remains true to the people who granted him those gifts. His confession scenes are the best proof of that - where his consience, still intact, is eating him up as he can't stomach leading on the only person he knows who treated him well.

And as much as he adores his own charms, beauty, pleasure, fine things, there is deep within him the yearning for something more than that. He isn't truly sated by all of those shallow things, nor is he pushed to any kind of growth within them. This yearning is something he is barely able to recognise and understand himself, let alone pursue it. But it's there.

Astarion's character and behavioral patterns must have been shaped before. The trauma from Cazador's enslavement broke him, scarred his psyche to unimaginable extent, exposed his worse qualities and drove him to become a shell of who he could have been, leaving him utterly out of touch with himself, burdened with indescribable guilt and self - loathing, stuck in desperate survival mindset. But his inner self was still shaped somewhere and somehow.

I've come to imagine that his pre-vampiric life wasn't really a happy one. It was undoubtedly rich, loud, unspoiled by any hardships, but fundamentally empty. Without any semblance of meaning, without any true kinship with anyone or any genuine emotional intimacy. Even if he lived like there was no tomorrow and nothing in the world mattered but his pleasure - deep down, maybe he knew he wasn't truly satisfied and that no amount of shameless, drunk debauchery would ever fullfill this emptiness. Perhaps he craved something more after all, something he hadn't been taught how to seek.

Now how could it have come to that?

He was most likely born in some wealthy local family (or one with considerable influence in the city) that held the position of the magistrate for generations, hence his lifestyle and being granted the title at such a young age for elven standards (he was 39 at the time of his presumed death; i personally would equal that to no more than 30 years by human standards, more like middle 20s even). He was obviously somebody's son - but I don't personally believe he ever experienced the healthy, genuine love a child should be provided, he strikes me as a type of person who never quite had a good, trusted role model to look up to, no one to call him out on his vices and lovingly steer him into growing into a possibly best version of himself. No one to check him on his selfish instincts and show him that there may be a more rewarding way of going through the world. That kind of thing usually happens through some sort of neglect and lack of sufficient care; my guess is that he never had an actual meaningful bond with his parents, was raised mostly by hired caretakers and overall in his childhood didn't experience the much needed selfless love & care from emotionally close people, the kind of love that subconsciously makes us believe that there is good and kindness in the world and that it's worth the effort on our part.

Whatever came in his elder years couldn't have been better, and it certainly didn't make him a better person. Some amount of power, money, countless pleasures, all of that he so adores but which doesn't ultimately fullfill him nor make him truly value and appreciate himself on a deeper level. And after his death - he was most likely mourned in some way, but not necessarily missed by anyone and was quickly forgotten. Perhaps his parents remembered - but they too eventually moved on.

What leads me to believe that?

The most interesting thing about Astarion's final love declaration to Tav is that he says he feels "seen" with them. It's one of the most beautiful things we people can offer each other - the feeling of being "seen" and safe in that sight, understood, felt, valued. That can only happen when the other person knows us well enough to be aware of all the ugly qualities we possess, but is just as aware of our capability for all the good ones, and so, in the greater picture sees the better version of ourselves (sometimes even better than we ourselves can picture) and that vision, when truly caring for the other person, we trust and want to live up to. By seeing ourselves the way our loved one sees us, we allow ourselves to grow and be better.

I don't think Astarion ever had that kind of person. I don't believe that he ever, in his pre - vampiric life, experienced a kind of love and trust needed for such a feeling - being "seen", and wanting to be seen as someone good, worthy, valued. Even more - I don't think he ever had any kind of true friend or companion. And that kind of emptiness deeply cripples a person, no matter who they are.

The tragic thing is - Tav may not be the first person to show Astarion kindness and care after years of torment from Cazador, they may be the first selflessly caring and kind person in his entire life. Even if he doesn't remember anything about his previous life, emotionally, he doesn't even seem to recognise the feeling of being cared for, considered, valued, appreciated for who he is, he doesn't instinctively recognise emotional closeness of any kind. Tav may be his first ever true companion, confidant, someone he comes to value and trust enough, that he eventually wants to be the same for them - and be better himself.

Tav may just be the first person to be a selfless and genuinely healthy influence for him, the first person to call him out on shitty behaviour and challenge him, but also to the first one to care. Ever. The first person Astarion comes to care about. The person through whom he learns to care and value more, both others and himself. And the person through whom he learns to love.

I don't believe he ever loved before, nor was he truly loved in the first place. Maybe he never tried, maybe he never dared, maybe he didn't know how to, maybe no one taught him. Tav was the best thing to happen to him in both of his lives.

[jasmineoolongtea]

Hiiii how ya doing? I'd like to req a Megumi X Reader plsss. Smth where the reader is super shy and antisocial (could be due to trauma or their own experience whatever works for you) so they're mostly by themselves because they choose to and avoid people unless it's training and even so they're just alone (or with a mentor IDK). Still, everyone tries to get close to them and Megumi seems like he doesn't care but he does little gestures to make sure reader is comfortable and reader appreciates that a lot. IDRK how to describe this anymore but this is the big picture for me. The rest is up to you. I'M SRY IF THIS LOOKS CONFUSING BUT THXXXXX

a/n: hii anon, i'm doing alright !!! (just kinda busy this week ;-; so sorry for the delay in responding to this) hope you're doing well too !! don't worry i totally get what you mean so i hope that this lives up to your vision 🫡🫡🫡

if most people had to describe you, the word 'loner' or a more polite 'shy' would probably be thrown around a lot with other vague descriptors that only scratched the surface of who you were as a person, but to you, that was the least of your worries.

it was better this way. honestly, was it so wrong to want to keep people at arm's length? contrary to popular belief, there's merit to be found in being alone and you just wish that others had the same understanding that you did.

a 'how are you doing' here and 'wow, the weather's pretty cloudy today' there and you can already feel your energy being sucked away like there was some sort of energy vampire following you around. getting invited to places as a part of a large group was even worse as you were forced to spit out a pathetic excuse that you were sure would leave them wincing from just how bad and thinly veiled it was.

in a better-case scenario, they would pass on an apologetic smile your way before clumsily making their escape away from you and that would be the last you'd hear of them for a while. in worse cases, and unfortunately the more common one from your own personal experiences, their previously friendly faces would quickly morph into a snarl with all of their old pleasantries going out the window as they scurry away from you, though not before throwing some... colourful words and jabs in your direction before they disappear out of your earshot.

you once heard a phrase that sums up conversations like this perfectly; 'water cooler conversations', conversations that are only born out of the belief that silence between people is bad and that superficial, surface-level talk is the better alternative which is a notion you strongly disagree with.

albeit, you know deep down it would be wrong to fault them as after all, they only had nothing but good intentions. however, good intentions can only carry you so far when the recipient isn't necessarily the most willing participant.

at times, some people would just try to strong-arm you into a friendship with them, whether it be figuratively or literally, and those were almost always the most intense and ironically, short-lived ones. there were some who would just flail the moment you stopped responding to them. sure it was awkward, but at least you had the benefit of silence. with others, it felt like looking into the sun and the longer you stared at them, the more likely you're going to end up with a sunburn and the more you missed the comfort of the darkness that you've become so accustomed to.

but with megumi, it was different, in a good way.

with megumi, things felt... easy, for lack of a better word. you didn't feel like you had to force on a polite grin or shallow laugh for appearance's sake. every word, expression and reaction with megumi was raw, genuine and natural and suffice to say, you craved this more than you were willing to admit.

exchanges with megumi were largely wordless most of the time with more being said in between the silence that the two of you frequently shared with one another. it was like you two had your own secret language which was spoken through brief touches and lingering glances and that if you blinked, you would have missed it.

after a particularly rough training session (no thanks to the boiling heat of the midday sun), you find yourself more exhausted than usual to the point where you simply collapse on the nearby bench in a boneless pile.

when you look up, you're met with the sight of an outstretched hand holding a drink, your favourite drink no less, in your direction. the sun's shining right in your eyes so you have to squint slightly to get a better look at the good samaritan that has managed to stumble on you in this state and are surprised to find out that it's someone you're more than well acquainted with.

turns out, it's megumi who's offering you salvation in the form of a bottled drink and you eagerly accept his offer (albeit a bit more eager, which almost veers on the side of desperation, than you were hoping to come off as). for a brief moment, your fingers brush against his as you reach forward to grab it and maybe it's a trick of the light, but you swear you catch a glimpse of the tips of his ears turning bashfully red.

you take a sip of your drink and a grateful sigh escapes your lips. he's not looking in your direction, seemingly more interested in something far off in the distance, however, his shoulders visibly relax and his whole posture loses its once-tensed-up stance once the sigh leaves your lips. his hand hangs awkwardly by his side and for some reason, you're met with the sudden urge to grab it and you wonder what it would be like to hold it - would it be calloused and rough from years of training or would it be surprisingly soft and relatively scar-free despite your lifestyles - but you quickly shake those thoughts away in an attempt to fight the butterflies that flap around in your stomach.

instead, you settle for a tap on his arm which gets him to turn towards you, a curious expression painted on his face as you pat the spot beside you. a silent invitation for him to join you there. he pauses for a moment, as if weighing the decision in his mind before relenting and taking you up on your offer. you don't say it but this is your silent thank you to him and you know he understands you because that's just who he is.

once seated, you're suddenly met with the burning heat of the sun again and you realise that megumi was purposefully standing in the way of the sun for you and was using himself as your own personal source of shade. another little gesture from him to you.

there he goes again, you think to yourself. you're not sure how he does it but it's like he has an uncanny ability to anticipate your needs, sometimes even before you realise it yourself. furthermore, megumi never asks anything from you, not even a verbal thank you, seemingly just content with being able to be near you.

it's a bit confusing if you're going to be honest. to someone who's so used to being perceived as either a social pariah or as someone who can be used for the benefit of others, you're not sure why he keeps on doing all these things for you and why you find yourself being so drawn to him despite everything but you choose not to push it.

deep down, you know that you're scared that if you question it, then it'll just be nothing more than a nice dream that the universe has allowed you to indulge in for a bit but that's a topic for another day.

seeing that the sun is deciding to be very stubborn today and is not easing up on the strength of its rays, you search around the largely abandoned training field by now for a more shaded place and spot a small clearing underneath a tree on the opposite side. you stand up, startling megumi slightly as he jolts upright, and open your hand towards him. he looks at your hand and at you, his gaze drifting up and down before gingerly reaching out and taking your hand in his.

you're right, his hand is softer than you were somewhat expecting though it's a pleasant surprise nonetheless, and make your way towards the shaded area as he trails behind you with your hands connecting you two together like paper dolls. now under the cool canopy of the leaves above you, the heat is much more bearable and you take a seat with your back against the tree trunk.

you let go of his hand as you do this and he quickly follows suit, though this time, instead of allowing there to be a small space between you, he sits right next to you to the point where if you allow yourself to lean right ever so slightly, your shoulders are going to brush against his. even more shockingly, you feel a warm presence on top of your hand and when you look down, you see that it's megumi's hand resting on top of yours. you both don't look at each other, perhaps in an attempt to hide the pale dusting of pink that surely adorns your cheeks.

maybe one day, you'll get the courage to break the silence you've grown so comfortable with but for now, this is all you could ask for and more.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Wicked Felina (The Girl That I Love)

Part 2 - “Peter”

Azriel x Reader/Rhysand’s Sister - Angst

Visions of a past life plague Felina as she recovers from burnout. Rhys seeks answers. Azriel comforts his mate as past-trauma comes crashing down on her. A former lover tracks her down.

Part 1 - El Paso Series Masterlist Part 3 - Vampire

warnings: past trauma, panic attack, references to sex, elements involving death, blood drinking, violence

Forgive me, Peter. My lost fearless leader.

“Quit fidgeting, Y/N.” Mother whispers as she runs a brush through my tangled hair.

Father is in Windhaven this week and I’ve been free to roam the skies as I please, whenever mother turns a blind eye. The arts district is vibrant with life and so often my family carries me out kicking and screaming. Well, aside from my brother who hides his amusement behind a mask of irreverence. He knows I love the rainbow.

Of course, Rhys has been gone on courtly business for weeks and I am dying to see him. My brother, the one person who truly understands me. Well, as much as one’s older brother can understand their sister.

I miss him.

“Sorry, mother.” I sigh. “I’m just excited to see my brother tomorrow on our travels.”

A pause of the brush strokes gliding through my hair shoots worry through me. I grit my teeth, bracing for her next words. “What is it?” I inquire, turning to see Mother’s lovely face downcast before her warm gaze meets mine. “He’s been held up and cannot travel with us tomorrow.”

“Oh.” I sigh. Hurt running through me. It’s not his fault, he’s busy and a far more benevolent leader than our father is a ruler, though he plays the game quite well.

An hour later as I lay in bed my heart races, my thoughts spiraling into the places I do my best to forget. The males of this court always let me down. Oh the perils of being the second born heir, younger than those surrounding me, female, and never taken seriously.

The goddess of timing, once found us beguiling.

A note appears at my bedside.

“Night’s truest bloom, there is no starlight without you. Won’t you cast thy gaze upon my room? Xx, Peter”

I smile at the flirtatious note, biting my lip. “You know I can’t but think of me as you bask in sunlight while mother and I trudge through the Illyrian forests tomorrow. Rhys bailed.”

“I don’t like that you’re traveling alone. Shall I come escort you?”

I blush at the thought of walking arm-in-arm with him. Gods, I’m so totally enamored. How did it end up like this?

“You High Fae, so territorial.” I write back.

“You are partly High Fae yourself, my lady. In fact, I’m pretty sure you offered to kill the last female who got too close for your liking.”

My stomach turns. I would. The female’s a lech.

“Semantics. I’ll see you when I get back. Dream filthy dreams of me.” I press a kiss to the letter and send it off.

“Only the filthiest, my sweet Felina.”

She said she was trying. Peter, was she lying? My ribs get the feeling she did.

—————-

Felina

“Y/N?” A cautious voice stirs me from my dream. I wake to find myself in a very large bed, surrounded by luxurious blankets that likely cost twenty-fold the standard linens I’d become accustomed to - the ornate room around me more spacious than anywhere I could recall resting my head.

My body is sore, lethargic. I stretch my arms and - ouch - stiff as well.

“Take it, easy, okay? Your body was under a lot of stress.” I blink my bleary eyes to see Azriel’s concerned gaze fixed upon me.

My body feels weighed down from exhaustion but my heart, it feels heaviest of all - a feeling I’ve continued to carry since Azriel found me at the Inn. Shouldn’t I be happy to have a piece of my life in place? I have a mate - and from what I can recall, a damn good one as well.

I open my mouth to speak but his eyes go distant, a look I’m familiar with but trying to place.

An urgent knock intrudes upon the silence, a look of irritation crossing Azriel’s features before he mutters an apology to me. “He couldn’t wait for me to speak with you apparently.”

My gut clenches, dread overtaking it as the door opens. In walks a male with a face so familiar that my heart’s pace rushes. My brother, Rhys.

“Y/N.” He chokes out, love and longing written all over his beautiful face. “You’re home.”

The name. Y/N. So familiar and so foreign. I remember it now but Felina brings me comfort. “Felina, please call me Felina.” Pain flickers across his features before giving a subtle nod. “Okay, Felina.”

His eyes sparkle as tears form in his eyes. “How? How are you here? Where have you been?”

I reach a hand to touch his face, the scruff beneath itching my palm, his hand instantly finding it and leaning in. It feels so warm and familiar and yet, I yank my hand away like lightning. “I don’t know.” My breaths quicken. Flashes of centuries of lies and manipulation rush into my head and it’s all too much. I can’t process this. I can’t relive it.

My hands find my torso, wrapping myself tightly, I can’t catch my breath. The hot blur of tears fill my eyes as I screw them shut. “I’m sorry- I- I“ can’t finish the sentence as I heave, trying my best to even out my breathing and failing miserably. The inky feel of power seeps from my skin and I can’t process the male voices speaking beside me. My name; a cold, icy voice giving a command; a broken voice of night giving in to whatever was commanded as heavy footsteps pace away, and then -

Darkness. Warmth. A heartbeat in my ear. A brush of lips against my hair. Azriel.

I stay there, sobbing as the emotions crash into me like the surf to rocky shores. The pain doesn’t alleviate for what feels like an hour, the rhythm of my mate’s chest finally bringing me back to the present.

When my eyes open, Azriel is draped over me, wings cocooning protectively around my body, his heartbeat the steady constant in my ear. “I’ve got you.” He whispers. I give into his warmth and drift off again.

————————

Said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me.

Lovers in a field. Brushed hands at balls. Green eyes meeting violet. Shared smiles.

Words from the mouths of babes

Tears cried into a broad shoulder. Whispers of “It’s not fair”, drunken chants of “fuck the cauldron!”, late nights and long dances beside reflections of starlight.

Promises oceans deep

Young lovers questioning eternity, the forces of fate. Letters signed with pen names.

But never to keep

————————-

“Brother, you need to sleep.” Rhysand stressed into Azriel’s mind.

The stubborn bastard had refused to leave Y/N’s side for the days she’d been unconscious. A huge part of Rhys beamed at that. Who was he to question the bonds forged by fate? Was Azriel being his sister’s mate ideal? In a sense, no. As an older brother, he’d always felt protective over her. But Y/N had always gravitated to Azriel, even as a child his shadows could calm her when she was fussy, his patient demeanor had always been a soothing balm to her inquisitive mind. He’d listen carefully as she pondered the great mysteries of life out loud long after the rest of the family had tuned her out.

“I’m fine.” Azriel’s conscious growled in return.

He sure as hell didn’t sound it.

“Let me send darkness to soothe her, just long enough for you to eat and get some sun.”

A pause and then the mirthful reply of “Is it an order?”

Maintaining composure the High Lord replied, “Is it necessary for me to do so?”

Ten minutes later, Azriel appeared at the bottom of the stairs, the light of the foyer emphasizing his hallowed eyes and drained skin. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.” Azriel muttered.

Rhys knew he sounded like a prick but it was true. “How about you go sun your wings in the garden?”

The energy of the room shifted as Azriel’s eyes rolled, caught between humor and bitterness as he reminded his brother for the fifth time that week of the current circumstances. “Despite your good intentions, you seem to forget that prolonged exposure to the sun is exactly what I do not need.”

“Shit! I am never going to get used to this.” Rhys placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “Fine, sit. Amren brought a fresh blood supply this morning. She says it’s goat from Sevenda’s but she was in a mood, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the blood of whatever poor souls had the nerve to cross her path on the way here.”

Azriel wanted to grin at the attempted humor but didn’t have it in him. What a strange turn of the tables, Amren no longer the bloodthirsty one.

The males sat in silence, Azriel nursing the goblet of blood Nuala had kindly brought in to him. Soft footsteps padded into the space, a familiar floral scent wafting through the room, as Elain entered.

“Oh.” the middle Archeron sister gasped. “I’m sorry to interrupt.” She gave a wary smile, sad eyes falling on Azriel before flicking back to Rhys.

“Not interrupting, Elain. What do you have there?” Rhys glanced to a piece of paper in her clutched in her grasp. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she spoke too quickly, her pulse fluttering. “Writing secret love letters, Elain?”

She shook her head, glancing to Azriel once again. It grated Rhys to know the recent history, or whatever it was, that transpired between Azriel and Elain. With his sister being thrown into the mix now, he was battling that instinct to protect her at all costs.

Elain blushed a soft shade of pink, nearly matching that of her pastel dress. One hand grasping the delicate wrist of the opposite. “I’ve been writing to Lucien.”

“Ah, and how is dear Little Lucien?” Rhys raised an eyebrow, lip quirking upward.

“He’s fine.” Her words were clipped. “I have to go now. Cerridwen is waiting for me in the gardens. We’re planting a new variant of night-blooming jasmine.” She gave a nod and scurried from the room.

Azriel’s lips remained in a firm line as Rhys nursed the whiskey he’d poured himself.

Months ago, her words would have hurt, sliced like a dagger at Azriel’s own lack of a bond. Now, well, he still felt jaded toward Rhys for the solstice that he essentially banned him from pursuing a relationship with Elain. But- it worked for the best. There was nothing in this world he wanted more than his own mate, his Y/N, his Felina - as she insisted she be called.

Guilt tugged at him, he should be up with her, not downstairs. What if she needed him? What if she woke with a night terror and he wasn’t there?

“She’s fine, brother.” Rhys broke him from his thoughts. “Your shadows will alert you the moment she wakes, and I have darkness soothing her.”

Shaking his head, Azriel rested his face in his own palms as if he’d rub his face hard enough and all concerns would fade away.

Finally, he looked up. “How do you do it, Rhys? How do you stay away when there are so many questions that need answered?”

Sitting his glass down onto a coaster, Rhys leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. “I know she is in good hands. You brought her back to me. And I know, a mate can help her right now far more than an older brother.”

The thought warmed the icy chill that had settled into Azriel’s bones, he reveled in the moment before replying. “There’s so much we don’t know- So much we need to know.”

“You’re the spymaster, Az, and she’s your mate. I know you need answers. And gods, don’t think for a moment that I don’t want answers too. It takes every ounce of will not to just dive in to see what I can find, but…. It’s her story to tell. And, when I send my darkness to soother her, her shields, there’s something about them that my own darkness recoils from.”

Digesting the words, Azriel took another swig from his goblet. “I need to go back upstairs.”

Rhys only gave a knowing nod.

—————————

Love’s never lost when perspective is earned

Dreams shifted from young love and light to pain and darkness plague my sleep state with visions of bloodshed on pristine snow. Brutal hands of power-hungry males. Sharpened blades. A mother’s scream. Shredded wings falling to the earth.

Lost to the Lost Boys chapter of your life

And then, warm hands and a familiar face. Love and terror in emerald eyes. Strong arms carrying a broken body. Cries of “Please just hold on for me.”

A promise of “Stay right here. I’m getting help.” The back of a lupine creature running toward the distance.

Forgive me, Peter, please know that I tried to hold on.

The effort of holding on is growing too hard. My head slumps as blood trickles from my wingless back. An unheard plea of “Peter!” falls from frozen lips.

Then there is darkness. Void. Impending death.

A cold, pale hand chills my skin. A cruel, beautiful face promises eternity. Unfamiliar arms drag me away and I do not fight.

But the woman who sits by the window has turned out the light.

———————————

Azriel

Azriel had finally settled in beside a sleeping Felina, resisting the urge to take her in his arms and never let go.

His shadows alerted him to the breach in the wards first, shock running through him at the intrusion. Apparating to the entryway, he found Rhys at the front door, baring his teeth at the intruder, waves of night rolling off of him in a way that would send most running.

Icy rage shot through Azriel’s veins at the audacity of the male to show up at their door. The urge first, ask questions later pulling him toward the intruder. His lunged was interrupted by a sharp inhale behind him behind, diverting him from his war path.

His mate had walked down the stairs, her first time out of bed since arriving to the River House. Her slim form trembled, those otherworldly eyes swirling with emotions he couldn’t comprehend.

“Peter.” She whispered through rapid breaths. Azriel ran to her, bracing an arm around her back to steady her uneven footing as she climbed down the grand staircase.

The blonde male fell to his knees, his tears falling ricocheting off the marble floors.

Azriel has no time to ponder the incorrect name she’d used, focusing on her steps, observing the sight before him. He’d only ever seen the male solemn or filled with rage. Never this.

And Felina, there was no fear or hate in her eyes, no wariness, as she took in the male. No, the only emotion he could now read was one his heart wasn’t prepared to face.

So, Azriel watched as his mate’s eyes lined with tears, her slow steps increasing and filling with purpose as she reached the entryway, stepping out of his brace and flinging herself into the arms of the High Lord of the Spring Court.

—————————

Tamlin

Are you still a mind reader? A natural scene stealer?

He didn’t believe it when Lucien wrote to him sending word that Elain mentioned that Y/N was in Velaris. That she was alive. There was no way and getting his hopes up would kill him.

How many nights had he spent plagued by the memories of the day it all came crashing down? The ruination of a beautiful friendship, of a love forged from two kindred souls damned by fate, and the role he played in it.

They were both so jaded at an early age, he and Y/N. And for whatever reason he couldn’t fathom, the princess of night found the youngest heir of spring to be worthy of her presence. She was everything and he was just, a lost male. Everyone wanted her time but she wanted his, and so began the affair of sneaking off at parties, stolen kisses under starry nights, long rolls in soft grasses, love notes written with pen names.

He was Peter, the lost boy forced to grow up too soon - who wanted nothing more than a life of music and poetry but doomed to strengthen ties to Hybern, to be married off like seed stock to a mate that he hated, Hybern’s wicked general.

And Felina, feline, curious and sleek as a cat. She’d been heartbroken by a one-sided mating bond, by a mate who only saw her as the child she once was, a mate too busy pining over her cousin to notice the gem he had right in front of him.

They’d found comfort and peace with eachother, two young adults who could be whomever they wished in their stolen moments.

They were careful to avoid being caught. So careful, until the day he snuck off to watch as she traveled through the Illyrian forests with her mother, that instinct to protect those he cared for surfacing at such an early age. He thought he’d lost her forever. He’d tried so desperately to save her. By the time he returned with a healer, she had disappeared. To this day, Felina had been his greatest loss.

And moments ago when her cry called into his mind, “Peter!”. There was nothing that could hold him back from her, no wards too strong, no distance too far to winnow. There was only he and his need to see her for himself.

And now, here she was in his arms. Repeating over and over how sorry she was for not holding on, for not having faith that he’d return.

All he could choke out was, “Felina.”

We both did the best we could do, underneath the same moon in different galaxies.

—————————————

Tags:

General ACOTAR: @lilah-asteria

Series tag list: @saltedcoffeescotch @julesofvolterra @glittervame @nocasdatsgay

SPOILER FOR THIS STORY (in case you need to know who is end game) : click here

[ardentpoop]

“tfw 2.0” summarized bc I can’t sleep

sam: the devil’s (and everyone else’s) favorite punching bag bc he always gets back up. technically able to kill people with his mind but dean violently cut that power off. also technically an ex-vampire. born to fall. dean’s brother-wife and moral compass.

dean: bully cop if we’re being honest. god’s specialest boy and “daddy’s blunt little instrument,” except he turns out more twisted and fearful-wrathful than daddy was at his lowest. born to kill. sam’s brother-husband and overzealous bodyguard.

cas: sentient nuclear weapon powered by celestial jizz… in a trench coat. ancient being who mystifyingly doesn’t act his age most of the time. if he would’ve just talked to sam half the times he wanted to talk to dean he’d be far less of a walking disaster. born to follow. considered the winchesters’ pet by all the cool demons.

jack: the devil’s estranged son. able to bend reality to his will. a literal baby who speedran sam’s trauma arc(s) and cas’s corruption arc(s). born to die. ostensibly samndean and cas’s kid except sam’s in charge of the mom shit and cas’s in charge of the dad shit and dean’s in charge of threatening to murder him when the mood is right. 😇

[y-rhywbeth2]

D&D Vampire Lore Dump #5

Vampire Psychology Is extremely depressing! The changes vampirism inflicts on the psyche, plus vampire morality and the state of their souls; How they deal with conflict; Vampires' relationships with others (including other undead); vampire "mental health" and depression naps.

OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER FOR FIRST TIME READERS: D&D is decades old, spans five editions, several settings and hundreds of writers. One guy establishes a piece of lore, and then the next picks it up goes "nah" and writes something else. I collected info from four different source books, all from different editions, which naturally don't entirely agree on how vampires work. Lore never stays consistent and may contradict itself. You may see information somewhere else from a source I don't have that contradicts what I wrote here. If you read this and like some of this stuff but not other bits, take the good and ditch the rest. Larian themselves have not written BG3 totally compliant with some established D&D lore or the original games. You do what you want.

Feeding | "Biology" | Hierarchy | Weaknesses and Cures | Psychology

Are vampires evil? As a rule, yes. Gleefully so. Vampirism, the condition, is inherently evil/harmful. Vampires as individuals may be more complicated, as they are still people with their own personalities, and vampirism can affect them atypically or with varying levels of severity. There are exceptions to norms and rules...

...except for the rule that vampirism is a curse and it does corrupt one's emotions and values, twisting them to be monstrous parodies, inversions or extremes of the original quality to at least some degree.

One of the most notable traits vampirism is that it will twist and inflate is the individual's pride, and arrogance is a universal trait. It definitely doesn't help when the vampire in question was already a self-absorbed idiot in life. Many vampires are completely consumed by delusions of grandeur.

Even when they want to be good people, vampires are flat out described as typically being "innately selfish" which "makes a good alignment difficult to uphold."

Vampirism also instils sadism and violent tendencies - vampires enjoy violence and hurting people and when they experience rage the sensation is made more powerful.

That vampirism corrupts its victims isn't that surprising, considering the origins of vampirism all seem to lead back to evil Powers who exist to corrupt people the exact way vampirism does. Demons, infernal pacts, Archdevils, and evil deities like the Dead Three…

However, a vampire can resist this corruption. There is at least of a fragment of the mortal they were in a vampire, the "part of it that is still mortal [and] yearns tenaciously for the things it had in life," even as the parts of them consumed by vampirism scorns those impulses.

If their will to do so or their attachment to a specific part of their identity is strong enough then individual vampires can retain/maintain some part/s of their mortal self intact and untainted by the curse. Vampires do not necessarily begin their unlives evil-aligned and have the option to struggle against their condition and be more than their curse tries to make them, if they chose.

It doesn't help that their nature is enforced by their "upbringing." The combination of vampiric nature with the trauma that they're "born" into leaves an incredibly strong inclination towards evil alignments eventually.

Maintaining a good alignment is beyond the "typical" vampire, but neutral alignments have been seen in those who don't want to be the monsters their master made them into. They can choose to help others and resist their worst impulses. Notably while the 3.5e description of vampire spawn as pcs says that they are traditionally evil and typically find good difficult to uphold due to their nature, that exact wording means that being good-aligned or leaning towards it is not impossible. It is unfortunately far easier for vampires to backslide than to move forward, and there is no escape from the constant instinctual drive to become evil for as long as a person remains a vampire, but it can be done.

"The arts of creating and controlling undead are Evil […] but undead themselves [vampires included] are not always evil." - Lords of Darkness (1e)

And on the bright side of innate vampire inclinations, vampires don't have the inherent hatred for the living possessed by other undead! (They just tend to think mortals are inferior and usually only bother to look at them if they're in need of slaves and/or food…)

Vampires without souls are a special exception to morality here, they are fully evil and have nothing within them to counter the vampiric instincts, but first we need to talk about the state of a vampire's soul - a topic of much bickering.

-

The soul in D&D canon is basically the essence of life and personhood - without it, while the brain may continue to fire neurons and circulate hormones, the individual feels "empty" and grows increasingly disassociated from those emotions and the world around them. They lose their personality, emotions and ability to form genuine relationships as everything they were starts to fade away into nothing.

Here's a quote from a soulless dude talking to the woman he loved up til the moment he lost his soul and couldn't love her any more that I think sums it up quite nicely: "I… I do not remember your love […] I have tried to. I have tried to recreate it, to spark it anew in my memory. But it is gone… a hollow, dead thing. For years, I clung to the memory of it. Then the memory of the memory. And then nothing. […] I look upon you and I feel nothing."

So, in 1e undeath destroyed the soul. In 2e I'm not sure if they had one - no, I think? 3.5e and 4e I don't know ever answered the question. 5e says they do have a soul, but it's corrupted in the manner already discussed.

In the Baldur's Gate series? Yes, they do. Aside from the whole 7000 souls thing, back in BG2 there's a vampire you kill whose soul is in agony and lingers to beg you to kill him and thanks you when you do for freeing him from undeath. In BG3 you may read Cazador's subconscious thoughts- as he mourns his mortal life, "the monster that will not end" and wishes to die. The soul is still there in the background, but it really wishes it wasn't.

In the case of vampires that don't have a soul all that's left behind is a flesh puppet piloted by a curse, echoing emotions they can't feel based on memories of a mortal life they can't really understand because all they are is a void filled by the violent, selfish, power-hungry monster that is pure vampire while the person they were is gone forever.

And even they're having a bad time! In BG2 we have another vampire: an elf whose spirit/soul is long gone, and she's still subconsciously screaming in horror at what she's become (which says a lot considering how evil she was to begin with. Like, "drain the life from the population a whole city, killing them to empower myself" unrepentant Evil).

-

Revisiting that "innately selfish" thing; The one thing vampires prize above all else is their own skin, and they will usually avoid risking it at all costs. A vampire might be willing and able to put aside the urge to be a selfish asshole, if it's for the sake of something they care about enough, but that's rare.

Vampires often rely on strategy and avoid straight-up fights. A "fair fight" is a foreign concept. They don't face an unknown enemy face-on until they know what they're dealing with, and will generally keep their distance trying to manoeuvre themselves into an advantage. They'll pretend to be more affected by their weaknesses than they are, to trick an opponent into letting their guard down. For example, pretending to be turned by a cleric, only to sneak back when the party's asleep and kill them then. Fleeing to either draw enemies into a trap or to sneak back for a backstabbing is a very popular tactic amongst vampires.

They also like to try and weaponise whatever social skills they have. Seduction, intimidation, coercion, bribery… whatever they think they can use to try manipulate others. They infiltrate the echelons of power, turning the rich and influential into their puppets. Build spy networks. They'll try to divide groups of potential enemies by exploiting their weaknesses, trying to weaken the group by turning the group against each other and enticing others to betray their allies in exchange for allying with the vampire. Vampires do so like to collect minions. Whether it's an innate desire for domination or a side effect of beginning unlife without autonomy, it's hard to find a vampire that doesn't (want to) have an army of servants and a desire to control people.

-

Speaking of minions, Vampires have a knack for necromancy and commanding their fellow undead considering them obviously inferior and so obviously existing to serve them. You'll often find other kinds of undead in the service of vampires.

Other sapient undead in turn think that vampires are obnoxious morons! Mummies think vampires are disgusting because they drink blood and they have little patience for vampires' tendencies towards peacocking and melodrama. Ghouls prefer to avoid interacting with vampires because they're arrogant pricks. Wights think vampires are "embarrassing poseurs trying too hard to pass themselves off as living beings." Mohrgs respect the vampiric drive to seek power, but look down on them for depending on the living to survive.

Vampires make the absolute worst company for other vampires; they're solitary predators, competitive and highly territorial and two free willed vampires will fight if they occupy an area together. It won't necessarily be combat; it might be fighting through their minions; or sabotaging each other's political machinations or something - but one needs to feel it has defeated or driven away the other. When it does come to a fight, it can often dissolve into animalistic violence. An example given of vampires in combat is of two vampires trying to kill each other with their bare hands, "hissing and spitting like cats". As vampires get older they learn to control their instincts and temper, and they can ally with their peers temporarily, but this too will inevitably collapse under the stress this cooperation puts them under. The only vampires another vampire can (barely) tolerate are the ones it controls or the ones it's magically brainwashed into "loving". If a vampire must deal with another on less unequal terms, they do it at a distance and they engage in a careful exchange to ensure the deal does not benefit the other party more than it benefits them and does not place one in control of the other in any way.

Young vampires often turn their loved ones in order to avoid losing them to age, disease and death. This obviously backfires, as the loved ones can only stay with them as slaves or enemies.

Despite the instinctual side of being a vampire ensuring that they can't be around each other, as individual people, vampires can have compatible personalities and feel affection for each other without being chained to one another (by doing it from a distance) - Mortals, of course, do not pose this issue. They pose other ones related to power dynamics and being a potential food source.

As vampires always seem to be utterly selfish fucks who treat everyone else as garbage that exists only to be ordered around, nobody expects them to care about anything or anyone else. And that's why people get caught off guard when a grieving vampire - against all expectations of vampire behaviour, arrives - sometimes out of nowhere, to exact vengeance on behalf of whoever was killed. Typically vampirism will try to warp affection into obsession and a desire to possess, but vampires can care about others.

Also when vampires feel strongly about another person, they definitely don't respond very healthily to losing them. Vampires seem to largely respond to the initial hit of grief by going into a blind, animalistic frenzy where they massacre everything within arms reach. After that they become utterly consumed by vengeance, which can spiral horribly out of control.

One day, inevitably, the stress and misery of eternal unlife gets too much. Depression is a given. Paranoia is also incredibly common. Whatever coping mechanisms the vampire has steadily spiral out of control. If the vampire's choice happens to be violence and hedonism, then they rapidly devolve into an utter monstrosity. Often the vampire's struggles become increasingly obvious until they're killed either by hunters or another vampire. Suicides also occur.

When vampires feel the weight of their unlives pressing down on them they usually go into hibernation in the hope that the rest will refresh them a bit and alleviate the stress. Or at least shut out the world. In a state of hibernation the vampire's thoughts are slow and sluggish; a single thought can take months or years to process. They have no sense of the passage of time or hunger as they experience strange dreams mixed with memories and the occasional vague impressions of their surroundings. The vampire has no way to know or control how long they will be in hibernation for. It will last at least 40 years, and has been known to last for centuries. In this state a vampire is significantly weakened, physically and mentally. Being forced to wake before their time may kill them, and if they wake "naturally" it will take 3-10 days for their minds to fully shake off the hibernation state. The vampire must feed within 12 hours prior to laying down in a safe space, underground and surrounded by several feet of rock/earth on either side (including above and below) in order to enter hibernation.

[siampie]

Get Off the Highway || Chapter 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 3.3K 

Warnings/tags: Enemies to lovers trope, pining, angst, fluff, childhood trauma, eldest daughter syndrome, mention of depression

A/N: Alright, I struggled to write this chapter. I wanted to get the interactions between Dean and Reader right but also, wanted to give you more info on Reader. So, I really hope you’ll like this chapter.

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Tag list: @lyarr24, @deans-baby-momma, @hell0-ki11y111, @kr804573, @zepskies, @impalari, @urinternetmom, @sushiumex

Dividers by @cafekitsune

You poured the salt on the corpse. You cracked a match and threw it on the body. Flames engulfed the bones. You stood there for a little while longer. The poor girl had not stood a chance. Her family had been horrible to her. Put her through torture. And that was decades ago. She had no reasons to remain amongst the living, no reasons to haunt them. They weren’t the one who had hurt her and yet, she still wanted revenge. Blinded by her rage, the spirit had killed the people that had lived in her mansion over the years. Some were classified as natural deaths, and others as freak accidents. With so many deaths in one mansion over the years. All happening at a specific time of the years, you had to check it out.

It was a run of the mill hunt. Quite easy. You threw your bags in the trunk of your car, and climbed in the driver’s seat. Your goal was to get out of town as quick as possible, to disappear. You drove through the night. You wanted to get to your small flat as quick as possible.

Your two bedrooms apartment was your refuge. You could go there and recuperate for a few days. You loved hunting, you really did but you sometimes needed a break from it. Adding to the dangerous nature of the job, and the constant near death experiences, it was also draining. And rarely, was it ever rewarding. But that was not why you were doing it. You truly believed that everyone in this life was born with a purpose. There were people born to be doctors, or cops, or even firemen. And some were born to be hunters. That was you.

One fateful night, you found out that monsters were real. Everything that went bumping into the night, the monsters under the bed, the witches, vampires, werewolves, they were all real. That fateful night was also the start of your aversion for woods, camping and wendigos. You hated all three of those things, and you avoided them at all cost. But it had not deterred you from getting into the life. After finding out about them being real, you could not just ignore it. You could not keep living your life as though nothing had happened. As though you knew nothing of monsters and of the people that hunted them.

So, you became one yourself.

The sounds of gunfire welcomed you as you pushed your door open. And the voice of your youngest brother swearing at the television followed. You pushed your door closed behind you with a tired sigh. Sure, you had texted him to let him know that you would soon be back. But you had not expected him to be there still.

“That’s not why I left you a key, you know?” You said dropping your bags by the door, after you locked it.

He put down the controller on the coffee table. “Your plant is taken care of.” He shrugged turning to you. “You look awful.”

“Thanks.” You answered dryly. You dropped your keys on your dinner table, and moved to your kitchen. “Want a beer?”

“Yeah,” He got up and followed you into your kitchen. “So, how was it?”

“Matt—”

“Come on, you can tell me.” He leaned on the counter behind him.

“I don’t want to tell you.” You shook your head. “I’m not talking about it with you or anyone else.”

“Why not?”

“Because—we are talking about hunting monsters. And I don’t want any of you into the life.” You moved back into your living room. “And what the hell are you still doing here anyway? Don’t you have a girlfriend to go back to?”

“Just wanted to make sure, you were alright before I left.” He shrugged.

You smiled fondly at him. “That’s so sweet.” You cooed at him, pinching his cheek. He swatted it away.

“Stop.”

You snorted. “I’m alright, not injured. So, you can go back to your girlfriend.” You slapped his shoulder.

“you’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” You nodded. “Go.”

“Alright, call if you need anything.”

“I won’t.” You called after him. “And don’t call me for the next few days, please.”

“I will.” He walked and locked behind him.

You spent the next few days locked up in your apartment. True to his words, your brother called you. But you really did not mind. Your youngest brother only wanted to make sure that you were taken care off. After all, you were living alone while he and your two other siblings had people to come home to.

Building relationships with anyone had never been easy for you. Especially romantic ones. Something always went wrong. You felt as though you were giving more than you were receiving. You always thought that you were not understood as you did them. And instead of expressing those things, you kept quiet. You let things go, hoping they would solve themselves. And ultimately, it would lead to break-up.

You never stayed home too long. You gave yourself a few days off, away from hunting and monsters, before going back into the fray. It wasn’t surprising to find you back on the road within days. And you always let your brother know when you did.

Out of all your siblings, he was the closest to you. The one that truly worried about you and made sure you were alright and taken care of, when you were home. And to think both of you hated each other growing up, was just laughable now. You knew you had failed him when you were younger. Always siding with your parents, trying your best to keep peace within your family. It had put a strain on your relationship with your siblings over the years.

“Agent Prentiss, FBI.” You flashed your fake FBI badge to the officer on the scene.

“Officer Davis.” He introduced himself. His eyes inevitably landed on your cleavage area.

Your white buttoned-down shirt was a little tight around your breast, you had left a couples of buttons undone. Which was giving him a glimpse of it  

“What brings the FBI into this neck of the wood?” Davis said, clearing his throat.

You smirked as you caught him ogling at your cleavage. “The bureau has taken an interest into the recent strings of death that has been happening lately.”

“There’s nothing interesting in a couple of animal attacks.” Davis scoffed.

“True but these are quite unusual.” You pointed out. "Hearts missing. And nothing else. Doesn't really sound like an animal to me."

“Look, it’s better if people think it’s an animal.” Davis said quietly to you. “We don’t want them to panic while there’s a killer on the loose.”

“I completely understand your situation, trust me.” You told him. “I’m only here to help you. Maybe, a set of fresh eyes may help you see things a little clearer.” He seemed to hesitate. “I don’t want to step on your toes, here. I really do want to stop the killings. So, let me help you.”  

You looked up at him. He ran a hand on the back of his neck. Hesitating on letting you in the investigation.  He looked around you, the crowd at the edge of the crime scenes, the journalist looking for sensational news. Clearly, he was at a loss. He needed to provide answers to the victims’ family.  

The killing spree had started a few days ago. It was pretty gruesome. Dead bodies had been found recently; their hearts had been ripped out. For you, it was quite an easy hunt. It was clearly werewolves. The deaths started with the full moon, and their hearts were missing.

“What can you tell me about the victim?”

“Young woman, early twenties,” He cleared his throat. He started to lead you toward the victim, where the Medical Examiner was getting a look at the victim. “She was found by a couple of joggers.”

You raised a skeptical eyebrow to him. “People jog in this area?”

“Yeah, there’s a short trail that go into the woods for a few miles, before it cuts back into the park over there.” He gestured over your shoulder.

You looked over your shoulders briefly, and did a double take when you recognized a couple of familiar faces. “You have got to be kidding me.” You said under your breath.

“What was that?” Officer Davis asked you.

“It seems there was a mix up at the bureau.” You smiled tightly at Davis. “Anyway—” You turned to the M.E. “Anything you can tell me on the cause of death?”

The M.E. looked to the leading officer for approval. The latter nodded at her. “Same as the others.” She said, moving the head of the young woman to the side. “No apparent defensive wounds, she was hit over the head. Same spot as the others,” her hands left her head and went to victim’s wrists. “Ligature marks, and of course her heart’s missing.”

It looked like a werewolf kill alright. Although, the ligatures marks did not make much sense to you. Neither did the head trauma. Werewolves were pretty strong creatures and this seemed to indicate that they needed to restrain the victim before the kill, but why?

You turned around to see Dean and Sam Winchester were walking up to you. You excused yourself and met the brothers halfway. Dean looked a little peeved by your presence there. You approached them under his glare. You really did not get why he was mad about you being there. And you didn’t care.

“Winchesters, we meet again.” You said as a form of greeting.

Sam smiled down at you. “It’s good to see you.” Dean scoffed at that.

“Not everybody agrees.” Your eyes drifted to Dean briefly before you returned your attention on Sam.

“You’re not working the case.” Dean said and you glanced up at him confused.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re not working the case.” Dean then gestured between him and Sam. “We are.”

You scoffed in disbelief. “I already have an in with the officers. I got this under control. You can sit this one out. You do look like you need some rest, you look tired.” You patted his shoulder; and he recoiled from your touch.

“I don’t need rest.” He pointed an angry finger under your nose. “And really?!” Dean’s eyebrows went up into his hairline. “You got this under control?”

“Yeah, I do.” You nodded.

“So, you have it all figured out already?” Dean questioned, clearly hostile.

“I mean, yeah.” You shrugged. “Dead bodies, heart’s missing. I’d say—werewolves.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“And you do?”

“How can you be so sure it’s werewolves?” He questioned.

“Because it makes sense.” You argued back. “What else could it be?”

“Skinwalker.” He shrugged smugly.

“Please.” You scoffed. “You’re just pulling something out of your ass.”

“Dean’s right.” Sam sighed. “It could be a skinwalker. We don’t know that for sure.”

“We do.” You retorted. “It’s a full moon.”

“It won’t matter if it’s a skinwalker.” Dean shook his head.

“Alright.” You snapped at him. “I’ll take that in consideration. Thank you for your help. Go home.”

You turned away from Dean and stomped to your car. You were angry with him, now. He was talking to you as though you didn’t know how to do your job.

Dean grabbed your arm, stopping you on your way to your car. “Listen, kid—“ You looked between him and the grip he had on your arm. “You could barely handle a vampire hunt on your own and now you want to take on werewolves?” You ripped your arm out of his grip. “You should really leave this one to us.”

“First, not a kid. Never was.” You replied. “Second, I called for help because I had never hunted vampires before.” You walked closer to him and jabbed a finger in his chest. “I know how to handle myself on a hunt. Not that’s any of your business, Winchester. I don’t need you or your brother, I can take care of this.”

You turned around and ripped the door to the driver’s seat open, before slamming it shut. And peeled out of there. How dared he? He treated you as though you were an amateur. This wasn’t your first rodeo; you knew how to hunt. You weren't new to this job. You should have reminded him that you saved his life on this vampire hunt. Had he forgotten?

You couldn’t care less if he stayed in town or if he left. You would just proceed with the hunt. Whether it was a werewolf or Skinwalker; as they suggested; you’d kill it and be out of town. After all, it was an easy enough hunt.

As you’d soon find out, they, in fact, did not leave town. You crossed path with them at the diner. You sent a glare Dean’s way as you walked up to one of the empty booths. You were determined to ignore Dean Winchester and his brother. You were determined to show them that you could handle yourself, and take care of it all on your own.

You didn’t need them. You had never needed anyone.

You sat alone in your booth and ate your lunch while reviewing the victims’ files. They all had been found by the trail near the small wooded area. Heart’s missing, ligatures marks, slight head trauma. The heart being ripped out, indicated a werewolf kill but the ligatures marks and the head trauma suggested something different. You didn’t understand why they were there. Why did they tie up the victims?

There was only one way to find out but you did not like it. You had an aversion for the wooded areas by night. More than anything. However you were a hunter and sometimes, you had to do what you had to do. So, you traded your FBI pantsuit for dark jeans that hugged your large hips and thick thighs perfectly. You traded your dress shirt for a tie-dye crop top that showed a sliver of your skin, and the stretchmarks that peeked out of your waistband. Scars that you had gained over the years as your body changed. It had grown and suffered. It wasn’t slim or thin, it was curvy and big. You had large hips, thick and plushy thighs, a large breast. You loved your body and you had learned to flaunt it.

Flaunting your assets was not what you were going to do tonight. Anyone who knew you, would tell you it was the worst idea you’d ever had. Especially knowing your aversion for the woods at night time. Garth would advise you to ask the Winchesters, since they were in town, to accompany you. And in retrospect, you probably should have. But he didn’t need to know about that.

“Son of a gun!” You breathed out shakily. You tightened your dark green flannel and your thick jacket around your torso.

You were too stubborn to ask for help when you should. But asking for help was like admitting weakness. And you refused to appear weak in front of Dean Winchester. He already thought you were incapable. You didn’t want him to think of you as weak. You were not going to give him the satisfaction.

Your fingers were tight around your lamp torch. Your heart beating wildly beneath your ribcage. Every breath you took was shaky. Everything in you was screaming at you to run. To go to safety. But you were a hunter. You needed to put an end to the killings. You needed to take care of the werewolf. Or the skinwalker.

Crunch. You froze. Crunch. You pulled out your gun. Crunch. A snort. You knew it wasn’t human. You took another shaky breath. A failed attempt to steady yourself. Your feet remained rooted to the ground. As the sounds were coming closer to your position. You needed to move. And fast.

When your body finally obeyed your brain, it was already too late. You had barely moved when the beast pounced on you. You let out a scream as you landed on your back. The wind got knocked out of you. Your gun flew away from you.

There you were, defenseless. And alone.

Yellow eyes staring into yours. Bared fangs as it snarled at you. Its breath was hot on your face. You did not wish to die here. Alone. Away from your family. This seemed much too familiar to you. A feeling of déjà-vu. You hated it. You hated the woods. You hated that monster breathing down on your face.

A shot rang. Its head snapped up to the sound. Two tall figures were rushing to your aid. You could have sobbed with relief at seeing them. But you weren’t out of the woods yet. No pun intended.  

Its snarled at them. They fired their guns again.  The creature fled as fast as they could. Sam rushed to your aid while Dean pursued the monster.

“Hey,” He helped you up. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly. You were still shaken up. This was too close. You could have died tonight. All of that because you weren’t prepared. Because you wanted to prove something. You screwed up. You clenched your fists repeatedly. You just wanted for your hands to stop shaking. If they could only stop shaking.

“What the hell do you think you were doing?” Dean snapped at you, once he came back.

“What?”

“We were tracking it down and now it’s gone.” He continued. “You screwed it all up.”

“Dean.” Sam put a hand on his brother’s chest.

“Excuse you!” You snapped back at him. “I screwed up? I was being attacked.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t know what you’re doing, princess.” Dean stepped closer to you, glaring down at you. “I don’t know how you survived this long on your own, but it won’t last much longer if you keep pulling stupid stunts like that. Leave this to us before you get yourself killed.”

What he said wasn’t untrue. You could have gotten yourself killed tonight. It was reckless to go in before truly knowing what was behind the attacks. Although, that was unfair of him to say. You didn’t set out to be attacked or get yourself killed. You were only trying to do your job. You were a hunter and this was what hunters do. This was what they were doing. So, why was it okay for them to do but not for you?

No one believed in you. No matter how hard you tried they still thought you were uncapable. You had met hunters like him before. Doubting you and your skills. You were too soft, they said. You scared too easy, they said. However, you had proven to them that you knew what you were doing. You had proven to them that you got the job done.

You glared back at him. “Like you care.” You wanted to sound harsh, angry. You wanted him to know that you won’t let him get to you. But that wasn’t how it sounded coming out of your mouth.

You sounded tired and defeated. No one would care if you did die. Not the Winchesters. Not even your own family. Those words had always been floating in your brain for years. After all, you had done so many things for so many people. So many things that went unnoticed. Of course, if you were to disappear. No one would notice the difference. They didn’t need you. Not as much as you needed them. You felt the tears pressed against your eyes.

You would not give him the satisfaction to see you cry, on top of everything else. So, you turned around and walked away from the Winchesters. You heard Sam called you but you ignored him.

You needed to get away from the woods. You needed to get away from Dean.

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[chaoticbardlady99]

Astarion x Tav, but get this… A Druid with a wyvern drake hybrid (think the dragons from GOT and HOTD). Saddle and EVERYTHING and it’s not small, no it’s like 80 feet long with a 98 foot wingspan, black scales, and very very jealous when Astarion and Tav have alone time

If You Give a Dragon a Steak- It Will Bully You Into Flying (Astarion x GN! Reader)

I AM SOOOO SORRY! I must have seen this and just forgot about actually posting it!

CW: Brief mentions of smut, brief mentions of trauma

Not my pic, but this is what I was thinking of, but all black. Her name is Cala- Cala means light in Elvish. Cala refers to Astarion as isk which is Star in draconic.

What’s actually really cool about this is that there is something called a Dragon Knight in DND and you can link your soul with an actual Dragon (so cool, right!?)

This is lightly edited 🫡💜 please leave a comment or a like if you enjoyed my story! I would love to hear what you all think!

Astarion is used to sharing your affection with the likes of Scratch or that little Owlbear cub. Yes it was annoying from time to time and the two still live in your house, but the creature he wasn’t expecting? The giant fucking Dragon that would live in his backyard post Tadpole.

He was outside one night, just minding his own business, and a couple wing beats later- you were crying tears of joy while scratching a dragon like it was a dog.

Of all the people he had to fall in love with, it had to be a Druid Dragon Knight. Astarion knows there are worst things, but my Gods how many more animals do you need!?

Your dragon, Cala, is jet black, at least 80 feet tall with a wing span the size of Baldur’s Gate itself. She is a very friendly dragon, but also incredibly possessive. Astarion hasn’t been able to have a moment alone with you since the Netherbrain was defeated three months ago. However, he is grateful for the Dragon’s existence- she’s saved him and you multiple times when a search for a way to either cure his vampirism or his ‘allergy’ to the sun goes awry. Cala is also very nice to him and if you are gone- the dragon will shrink itself down to a comically cute lap size and sleep next to Astarion on the couch until you return.

Astarion is certain he can convince her to leave you alone at least for an afternoon.

So here he is- five or six incredibly expensive steaks in a box and walking towards a Dragon like it’s the most normal thing in all of Toril. Cala eyes him, not suspiciously, but curiously.

“Hello Night Child,” her melodious voice floats through his brain, “how can I help my person’s beloved this evening?”

Astarion grins at the last part before putting the box of Steaks on the ground.

“My beautiful scaly friend, I have brought you some steaks,” he kicks the box, “and you can have them, but they come with one condition.”

Cala’s eye becomes eye level to him and she looks amused.

“A condition? You do realize I could eat these steaks and you in one swift motion?”

“Yes,” Astarion says, “but I think we both know how upset Tav would be if you ate me.”

There is a huff of agreement and a soft look in her eye. Astarion knows he has nothing to worry about.

“What are your conditions, isk?”

“I am so very glad you asked,” Astarion says, trying to keep his nerve from dying out, “I want one evening alone with Tav.”

“No.”

Dammit.

“No!?” He says incredulously, “what do you mean no!?”

“I mean that you spent time alone with Tav for the last six months while I had to be without my home- my person. You can wait at least another six months.”

Astarion just gapes at the giant beast. If he wasn’t sure she’d kill him in three seconds flat- he might just try to slay the damn thing.

“This is! Are you!? I was enslaved for 200 years!” Astarion says sputtering, “I’ve waited 200 years for Tav to come into my life! You’ve been with her since the moment you were born!”

Cala seems to consider this- her eyes thoughtful and her posture relaxed still.

“Tav wants to take you flying.”

Astarion feels like he’s going to be sick. Tav had brought it up to him when Cala first arrived. When he tried to say, “sure,” he began to dry heave. You haven’t asked him since.

It’s not that riding a dragon doesn’t appeal to him- he would love to be able to watch you in your element. Astarion just doesn’t love the idea of accidentally plummeting out of the air because you do one of your fancy tricks and he didn’t hold on tight enough.

Astarion squints at the dragon, “and?”

“Go on one flight with us and then I will leave you alone for multiple evenings as asked.”

That seems entirely too good to be true.

“Okay,” Astarion says slowly, “I agree to your terms.”

Cala’s eyes light up with Glee before looking at the box of steaks between her and Astarion.

“Do I get to keep the steaks?” Cala asks, her tail swooshing back in forth in the grass out of excitement.

Astarion scoffs, “what do you think?”

Her massive tail stills and there is a sad look on her contradictory (cute and scary) dragon face.

“Oh don’t give me that the sweet disappointed, ‘I’m not getting cuddly Astarion’ pout.”

And yet, Cala persists. Throwing his hands up in defeat- Astarion marches away and listens as Cala devours the box of steaks.

**********************************

You are practically skipping as you hold Astarion’s hand. You had been over the moon when Astarion asked if he could go on a ride with you and Cala. You immediately dragged him away when you got home- something about wanting to do it before the moon gets too low. He didn’t consider having to be worried about the sun melting him to ash if you don’t get back in time.

“If you become comfortable, we could even fly over the Ice Spires and the Spine of the World!” You say.

He offers you a tight lipped smile and you squeeze his hand in reassurance. You asked him multiple times if he was sure and he told you he is nervous, but wants to see what all this “flying nonsense” is all about. Astarion won’t tell you that he has essentially been cornered into this by a massive fucking dragon- only because he doesn’t want to become a snack (again, now that he thinks about it. Cazador did drink all his blood once).

Astarion’s stomach is churning, but your excitement has loosened the knot of nerves that are threatening to suffocate his being. He hasn’t felt this kind of fear and anxiety since Cazador.

Tav and Cala won’t allow anything bad to happen.

That’s what he keeps telling himself when he gets on the saddle behind you and all of a sudden- Astarion is in the air on a fucking dragon.

“DOESN’T BALDUR’S GATE LOOK SO SMALL!?”

Astarion wouldn’t know- his eyes are clenched shut and he has his face buried in the crook of your neck. The sound of your enthusiastic, beating heart helps him focus on calming down. Astarion thinks of laying with you in bed, reading a funny novel together, and any other shenanigans you get into together before he finally opens his eyes.

If Astarion needed air- he would have died immediately from losing all of it.

If someone had told him even 50 years ago that he would be riding a dragon, free of his master, and with the love of his entire life giggling with glee in his arms- he would have told them to piss off.

Astarion has never seen anything like it in his 239 years of life. He doesn’t think he ever wants to land. Why had he been so afraid before!? This is amazing!

“It is very small, Darling!” Astarion muses, “is that?”

“The Fields of the Dead?” You shout excitedly, “it sure is!”

Astarion initially thought it would be a quick five minute ordeal, but soon you were both flying over all of Elturgard. You soared over the Reaching Woods and the Sunset Mountains. Your last tourist attraction for him was the Lake of Dragons- Astarion swears he has never seen a more bluer blue- before heading back home. Much to Astarion’s disappointment.

You help him navigate his way off of Cala and the Dragon nudges him with her nose as a sign of trust. Astarion scratches her nose before following you back into your shared home.

“What did you think!?”

You whirl around and look at him with wide, nervous eyes. You are playing with your thumbs incessantly like you usually do when you worry you may have disappointed him. It’s such a silly notion- you could never disappoint him.

Astarion pauses your twiddling by taking your hands in his and placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I would like to fly over the Northlander Isles at some point,” he says, “if you would be willing to have me join you on a flight again.”

You beam at him before getting up on your tiptoes to place a kiss on his lips.

“Astarion- you are always welcome where I am. I couldn’t think of a better person to see the world and this life with even if I tried.”

He couldn’t help but cry at your statement. Astarion is so grateful to be able to call you his home.

At least Astarion was finally able to worship you properly since Cala kept her promise.

You are riding him as Astarion pushes his hips up to meet your downward thrusts with eager enthusiasm. When both of your climaxes hit- you put your face in the crook of his neck and giggle.

“What’s so funny, Darling?”

You look up at him- hair beautifully messy and eyes looking blissful. Another giggle escapes your lips as you begin to say what you are thinking.

“Save a dragon, ride a Vampire.”

[callmeklair]

this has been on my mind for a while but still didn't say it because I didn't want people to come after me and cancel me. just know I like ayato, but I don't like the overrated hype on him by people. I'm not hating on Ayato stans, because I was one myself but this overrated hype got me out of it after discovering more knowledge on other characters.

the way some people hype the Ayato "overrate" is too much. like I get it Rejet gave a lot of signs of painting Ayato as the main lead, but it was prolly to have some easier ideas on merch and fanservice contents (like youngblood). yes there might me Rejet's favoritism too here, especially in anime, like all the boys barely have any interaction with Yui except when it came to suck her blood, but that wasn't the case with Ayato. I feel like if Rejet had shown favoritism towards Subaru or actually tried to highlight Shu or Reiji or even Laito's trauma like they did with Ayato, then the main love interest would have pointed towards them.

people saying that Ayato "truly" deserves to be the ML because he had it "worse" are we starting to compare everyones' trauma now??? I'm sorry but trauma can never be compared because everyone has their own experience, sufferings and hardships going through it.

alright if you wanna compare "worse" then, what Ayato had worse? Cordelia abusing him to study 24/7 to become number one and not letting him play + venting her anger out on him? then what about Shu??? as the first born I'm pretty sure it was way worse for him especially how strict and cold Beatrix was. and the only solace, his friend edgar aka Yuma, was also snatched by him. If you guys would have read Shu's LE vampire end starting monologue, then you guys would have known how Shu was talking about his trauma and how he dealt with it using music, pushing people away, etc. + plus it's side effect on him.

"Ayato forgave Cordelia in DF in his route even after what she did to him" okay? so did Yuma. He forgave Reiji for what happened in the past. Laito also forgave Cordelia in his DF route after discovering Karlheinz's journal. Carla was ready to help vampires, the species he hates the most, just on Yui's saying.

Yes Ayato had development, but I feel like Reiji, Ruki, Kou, Shu and Laito had the best one and more better development than him. Like through each and every game you can see them coming over trauma through Yui's help and becoming a better person. While in Ayato's case I just felt like they dumped the "main hero" plot on him by reviving Cordelia. yeah DF was the only route I saw his development while in other games, I didn't see much unlike what I witnessed with other characters.

Subaru was the green flag from the start and if Rejet would have given him the screen time instead of Ayato, he would have become the Main Interest.